#slightly A Star is Born!AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

romanoffsbish · 6 months

Text

Castles Crumbling

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Natasha x Wanda / Others

Valkyrie x F!R

Royal AU Request | Natasha never was a fan of rules, so when sets were placed upon her love she pushed against them… Now she wonders if it’s too late to make it right again. | WC: 7,550

Warning: “Unrequited” Love | Jealousy | Mean Fuckboy Natasha / Sad R | Abusive Parents / Fucked Systems | HE!

Minors DNI | 18+

“Natalia, keep your chin up," Melina scolded her daughter who was too busy glaring across the ballroom to even acknowledge her mother fixing up her gown. The strap had suddenly tethered, if not for Melina's resourcefulness she'd have had to hold an apology in front of the kingdom for her daughter, the heiress to the throne's, albeit unintentional, lack of modesty.

Natasha's eyes stayed trained on you, who was giggling at a slightly older woman's words. You were her fiancée, yet there you stood enraptured by another's presence as if they hung the moon and stars for you.

———

The redhead had no throne to sit upon though, she very well knew that, this unbearable distance forged between soulmates was one she herself created half a decade ago. She'd regretted it from the start, living without your love was lonely, and in this moment she felt the regret double at the thought of losing you fully.

You were once hers, exclusively so...

The two of you were the best of friends until she found out the intense love she held for you wasn't meant to be organically woven. Instead, the two of you'd already been signed up for a life together, something she should have seen as a gift, but the idea that you were only ever going to be hers due to legalities broke her.

To think, had she and Yelena been born in reverse that it'd be a much different fate. The redhead loathed the idea that such a system would exist in the first place and vowed to never place that pressure on your kids.

The kids she now wondered if you'd still share...

Natasha, in her state of grief has been blinded to the familiar turmoil you'd also experienced. It had gutted you when your parents said you were in line to marry the Romanov's heir, to keep strong alliances between your Kingdoms. To have the Romanov name was a dream come true, but to have no say in it upset you just the same. Yet you were ready to live life the same, to continue to fall in love with your supposed destiny and to thank fate for guaranteeing your forever bond.

Natasha regrettably went the other route, letting her resentments fester, and in turn she pushed you away. It wasn't gradual either, you were really confused by the dynamic switch—it was like night to day, and for years you were faced with her venomous demeanor. Animosity that was rooted in falsehoods still hurt just the same, and now you two couldn't be further apart.

Just like the strap of her emerald gown, she worried that the tie between your confused hearts was near to severing. Natasha could actually feel her heart splitting at the thought, she never considered her horrid actions would lead to an eventual permanent loss of you.

But now that she sees the web she's sown she gets it.

For the last five years shortly after you hit puberty, you had to watch as the woman you wholeheartedly adored became a stranger that thrived on promiscuity. To hear about it too as the women of the kingdom never minced words about their nights with her, and with each rendezvous you lost more hope for a joyful forever with her. Natasha buried herself in other woman, and actually thought you'd just wait patiently for her to come back, but clearly you'd grown tired of it.

You once thought it was just a rebellious phase, many heirs to thrones go through them, and you knew Nat was a free spirit. You even understood her want to be free, to see whomever she wanted in her youth. It was a natural curiosity you didn't indulge in though, because your heart only beat for the redhead, but you never asked her not to have explored it. Especially because she was never going to listen if you did. Natasha was headstrong, a natural born leader, not so much a lover.

Well, at least not this version of Natasha. She'd lost her once sweet demeanor with you, every interaction turned tense and abrasive. Natasha used to hold doors open for you, now she was purposeful in closing them. As if she was letting you know that her heart was no longer in sync with yours. She'd shut you out entirely, it was the vindictive nature of it all that really broke you down over time, and lead you to this moment of despair. In your youth she was your greatest hope.

— • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • —

"If he doesn't stop staring at you I will have to gouge his icy blue eye's right out of his skull," your best friend grumbled loud enough for the Barnes boy to hear as you both passed him by. "Natalia!" You shrieked, tiny hand flying to your mouth as you tried to hide your smirk of inappropriate amusement. The older princess smirked as she watched you losing your composure. "You can't just say those things!"

Natasha smirked, the gesture entirely teasing, "Why?"

"It's not ladylike." Natasha grinned even wider at the challenge of your words. "Fuck being ladylike."

Natasha threw her head back as she laughed at the sight of your shocked face. Your eyes wide and mouth comical agape. "Natty, we're royals!" The redhead shrugged, and rebutted lowly, her tone chillingly grave, "Yeah, as is he but he doesn't respect us like we are," then she walked further down to the murky body of running water, you followed her in a rush, but in your hurry you tripped over a rock and fell towards the creek with a fearful squeal.

"Careful now detka," Natasha teased as she caught you with ease, using her body to push you up against a tree to have you upright again, and for a second in time you thought—hoped—she might kiss you. But life was cruel in a way as all she did was assess your face for injury before she slid her clammy hand into yours and guided you over to the bundle of rocks. Careful as she helped you climb up first then she settled behind you and the two of you watched the sunset as you did every Sunday to mark the week's cruel end.

— • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • —

Everything was hectic being the children of royalty, especially for you, but with Natasha at your side it was all okay. The redhead always used to sneak you away to the creek that connected the many kingdoms, to where she'd let you play freely, like a kid should. Then as preteens it just became your spot to get away together.

Now it was where you spent your nights alone, talking to the moon and asking her where it all went wrong.

The redhead used to afford you the space to be your true, wild-child self unlike your parents who were far more strict in comparison to hers. Melina and Alexei held their children to high standards, of course, but they also never prevented them from being children.

Your parents were more akin to royal traditionalists in many ways, they believed children were meant to be seen, never heard. To be flaunted like assets, but never loved by anything outside of the hired help, who did their very best, but it's not like they were treated much better than you. To be given away like chattel, and never acknowledged as a person with free will like the commoners were. To never exist outside of the castle's bounds, a prisoner of the most bleak circumstances.

Natasha was your beacon of peace, she had always cherished your friendship, and held you in the highest of regards. Her biggest goal used to be to make you laugh, she'd tell you stories of Yelena's chaos, and on rare occasions she'd even let the blonde tag along so you could feel true joy. Then all of a sudden she cast you away too, you were obviously hurt by her choices, but even with her sudden animosity towards you you'd never shown her anything but respect and kindness.

Fellow royals called you a pushover, others a hopeless case, but truth be told, there were small cracks in her resolve at times that told you she must've still loved you. It was in the glances she'd cast your way when you were usually preoccupied. You'd always look up just in time to catch the traces of longing before her steely composure returned. She also was insanely protective of your womanhood, as if she had any right to claim it.

Like when the older Stark brother tried to get you to follow him to his quarters one night months back when his family was visiting. The redhead followed your naive form, then just as he went to escort you into his room she'd punched him so hard that his nose cracked, and his once white polo was soaked in crimson.

Before you could question anything she spat, "Don't ever try to sleep with my girl again Tony!" Then before you could savor the warmth of her claim to you she swiftly added her hypocrisy: "It ruins the appearance we must keep up for the public." She was gone in a flash, and you apologized to the man before running off to your quarters to sob over the loss of warmth.

It was a consistent cycle too, every time someone like Danvers, or Barnes tried to court you she was there, dauntingly lingering like a viper prepared to snap. Her gaze was always piercing, and they'd learned quickly to run to avoid needing to be physically removed.

Natasha's promiscuity obviously flourished, while your potential was always curbed at every turn. Not only did you hear the women whispering her praises, but just last week, after a pre-nuptials celebratory dinner with all the neighboring kingdoms you watched her leave the follow up gala with Wanda Maximoff, the gorgeous princess of Sokovia, in a fit of drunken giggles. Her brother, Pietro, was the heir marrying your brother.

You've now reasoned that you two would be entering a loveless marriage (on her end), just like your brother. All in the name of diplomacy you'd reminded yourself this morning, so you believed you'd both have your own partners. Which is why you were finally indulging the vivacious soul of Valkyrie, the shockingly single King from the neighboring kingdom of Asgard. She was beautiful in her own right, incomparable to your hearts muse, but undeniably gorgeous nonetheless.

It never once crossed your mind that Natasha would be fuming, and even if you'd maybe known she would be, you didn't really care anymore. This was the game she started, and you're fed up, so you'll gladly play along.

Why should she get to have all the fun?

Melina gripped her daughter's clenched jaw softly, and sighed in annoyance as she had to forcefully bring her gaze down to face her instead of you. "You did this to yourself Natalia, woman up and face the ugly truth that you alonenpushed your beloved into another's arms."

"Mama," Natasha whimpered pitifully, she always hated how serious and practical her mother could be. Never seeing between the lines, or trying to understand the reasons why. "No, there will be no pity from me, your father might coddle you girls, but you broke Y/N too many times for me to sympathize with you. Now fix your face, and go mingle with your people, Queen."

For the next ten minutes the redhead held her head up high, and conversed with the elders in the crowded room. It was the night before you were to be wed, so of course there was a pre-nuptials party. "Where is your fiancée?" Natasha cast her gaze to the corner you were in moments prior only to find it empty. Her body was actively panicking at the prospect of you slipping out, but she kept her voice steady. "I'm sorry, but please do excuse me. I actually need to go find her, she is really good at getting lost in the ballroom after a drink."

The man nodded sympathetically, and Natasha practically sprinted away from him as she frantically looked around. She nearly tripped over the gowns of the attendees as she haphazardly made her way over to you. Her blood boiled as Valkyrie's hands were holding you close by the hips, your gorgeous, genuine smile on display for a woman who held no claim to you.

Natasha was genuinely near to tears when she saw the way the suave woman whispered something humorous into your ear, making you laugh aloud so freely, with your head thrown back and a hand on her shoulder.

Her heart ached at the memories of all the times it was her making you laugh until you cried. She yearned to go back in time with every step she took to get to you, if she could undo her mistakes she would. Oh would she.

"Sweetheart, we've got incoming," the beautiful woman spun you out, and you saw a flash of red before you were back against her chest. Natasha's jaw clenched just the same as yours, how dare she even consider ruining your moment to move on from her once again.

"Y/N, we need to go mingle with the crowd," Natasha tried to grab your arm to pull you away from Valkyrie, but you roughly shrugged her off. "I'm having fun here Romanov, so you can speak for the both of us, you've done well enough at it so far. Feel free to continue on."

Valkyrie leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek and Natasha quietly growled, "Unhand my fiancée Brunnhilde," to which the older woman merely rolled her eyes before she was whispering in your ear again, "Just go and talk to her Y/N, I'll be right here if you need me sweetheart, but don't let her upset you enough that you cause a scene in front of your parents."

You suddenly remembered your place, and silently parted from the woman with a sad smile that actually broke Natasha's resolve. Valkyrie scoffed as pools of brown met hers of green, "You're wasting a good woman," she shook her head and walked off towards the bar leaving the redhead to stew in her shame.

Seeing you so sad to be left alone with her was jarring, then she saw the evil glare of your fathers and wondered if things had gotten worse since she no longer really knew. She'd left you alone, and if she was right, he likely blamed you for her own promiscuity.

She could hear his morose voice clear as day, "Well, if you were more inclined to put out, she'd have stayed." He was always blunt, and degrading—never kind, and to think she'd given him a reason to hurt your feelings devastated her. She'll never really forgive herself.

But for some reason she hoped you still would as she calmly exited the ballroom, her feet moved faster as soon as the doors blocked the patrons view though. All the redhead wanted was to reach you, and apologize.

"What was that Natasha?" You inquired just as soon as she entered your soon to be shared room. "I mean honestly, you have some nerve staking your claim to me as if you even mean it. I am my own person, and quite frankly Romanov I have needs you don't satisfy!"

It was insane what she said next, the woman should be begging on her knees for your forgiveness, like she had planned, but instead she put her foot in her mouth.

"Please tell me you're still a virgin..." Your eyes went wide, and you rightfully scoffed, "And what if I wasn't? Is that a dealbreaker for you Miss Chastity Belt?"

Natasha's eyes welled with genuine tears that made you melt ever so slightly, apparently the idea that you'd given yourself to another devastated her, even if she was a bit of a hypocrite. You too were reacting like you were unwell, feeling warmth at her weak show of love.

"Y/N, please just answer me..." You rolled your eyes, and shrugged nonchalantly. "No, I am not a virgin."

"Fuck!" Natasha collapsed to her knees, her gown layered around her beautifully yet tragic. This was her worst fear. "With who? I-I, please just tell me now."

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics, as if she had any right to question you like this. Still, seeing her broken hurt you, it was truly unfair to you, and even if it would be embarrassing you reached into your bedside table, and threw a worn down painting, and a strap at her.

Natasha's jaw clenched at the sight of the plastic, wondering who took your innocence with the device, picturing their demise, but then she lost her breath as the painting flipped over to reveal her obvious likeness.

"I-I don't understand Y/N," she spoke softly, her head tilted up and you bit back a smile at seeing the confused, adorable little pout that she wore. "It's called steadfast loyalty Natasha, plus, it's not like you didn't run off every prospect I've ever had over the years."

"Y/N, I," she cut her apology off as she sobbed even harder. You wanted to remain furious, but you could feel her pain reflecting in your heart, so you gently caressed her glistening cheek, and weakly smiled. "Get off the floor Nat." The redhead jumped to her feet in seconds and clumsily crashed into you, making your body stumble backwards until you were flat on the bed with the breathtaking woman hovering. The beautiful image of karma unfolded before you, it hurt your heart to see her sad, but you couldn't deny that the flushed skin and glimmering eyes added a layer of palpable attraction to her overall perfection.

The moment was the perfect time for her to finally kiss you, to break that distance, but she once again missed it as she collapsed and cried against your chest," I-I hear the people talk about me like I'm a monster." Natasha paused as she did her best to contain her devastation, but it was no use as she continued to speak in a cracked voice, "They used to chant my name, but now they all hate me, and I deserve it..."

You sighed, reluctant yet ready to console her, but she just kept going, "I hurt the one person I always vowed to protect." Natasha sobbed, but this one caught in her throat as she choked on the brutal honesty. "Oh God," her position shifted and she pressed her forehead against yours. "I never wanted you to hate me!"

"I do—."

"My love..."

"Natasha..."

"What have I done to us?!"

You groaned in frustration, "Are you done with the dramatics? May I speak now?" Natasha froze then squeaked out an mhm. Seeing her submit so easily nearly made you laugh, but this wasn't the time to tease. This was a time to fix what she recklessly broke, and to ensure she knew that to mend this took effort on her part. "Our foundation is undeniably cracked Natasha, but that doesn't mean we can't rebuild to a place of total equity. Remember that I am your partner, and not some consolation prize you can flaunt. You own my heart, yes, but not my mind or body."

"You still want me?" She asked in shock, and flinched as you sadly met her gaze and sighed, "I'm cursed with the inability to love another." Natasha smiled like a kid who just got out of time out, "So we'll rebuild?" You rolled your eyes and nodded, "Our castles very well crumbled but with time we'll build it even stronger."

"I'm so sorry," she tried, but you hushed her with a finger over her lip, tired of the words and more so ready for the action. "I forgive you, it is enough for me that you sobbed on the floor. What a filthy girl..."

Natasha's cheeks flushed and you once again found yourself amused, she was incredibly shy, and not at all like you'd pictured her to be from all the rumors.

"C-can I kiss you then?" You giggled, then allowed her to do so after a moment of recomposing. It was a bit sloppy, but you didn't mind, because she tasted like heaven. With how tentative she was to deepen the gesture you were under the impression that she wanted to slow down, maybe even wait for the wedding night.

After a moment of reprieve was taken you moved to sit you both up, her body forced to straddle yours so as to not fall off the bed. "Wait, please don't stop," Natasha pleaded, her hands connected behind your neck and suddenly she was that same nervous teen again, the one who ran from her feelings. "You're the one with all the experience here Nat." Natasha gnawed on her lip, and bowed her head in a mix of shame, and sadness. "I never kissed their lips, or let them touch me."

"Wait," you momentarily paused to process, "Are you?"

"I'm a virgin in the ways that count," she admitted with her gaze cast down at your lap to avoid your potential expression of judgement. "Look at me Natalia."

There was no room for disobedience, she knew that she was lucky enough to even have your forgiveness, she wouldn't dare try to test your patience as well. It was difficult, but she lifted her head, and her heart skipped at the sight of your soft expression. She felt silly for ever doubting you'd be kind—of course you would be.

Meanwhile in your chest you could feel the way your heart danced with excitement. Not only did you have a leg up on her with experience—thanks to Maria Hill, who made out with you for hours last fall after you'd drunkenly cried about never being kissed, but you also just found out she'd never been pleased by another. It stung less to know you'd be her one and only lover.

In the ways that count of course...

"I can lead," you smirked at the flash of understanding in her eyes, it was only fair that she knew, and honestly it served her right to not be your first everything. The same way you wouldn't be her first encounter, the way her nails dug into the skin of your neck said she got the message. "Who was it with?" The disappointment laced her tone heavily, even with as many times as she'd laid with another, she regarded a kiss more intimately.

"Why ask a question that will only hurt you Nat?" Natasha's jaw clenched, but she kept her temper at bay, not wanting to sound off like a hypocrite would. "It's important to me detka, I deserve this pain."

You contemplated answering her, but were too smart to fall for the bait. You realized that sweet old Maria deserved protection from your stewing bride to be.

"She is irrelevant, just a maid father had hired," you facetiously admitted, "Said that maybe if I learned how to clean from her that maybe I'd be a good wife... I am honestly not sure how he ever bagged my mother. In what world does a Queen clean the fucking castle?"

Natasha gasped, "Y/N, that's not very ladylike..."

"Fuck being ladylike," you mirrored a fond memory, and she couldn't help but to smile, but her eyes grew sad the longer the silence dwelled. "You've changed."

You nodded. "I had no choice. I had to grow up, and when I did I realized life is nothing short of cruel." Natasha hummed and nuzzled her nose to yours. "Does that bother you Nat, that I'm not the same innocent person? I always thought that was why you left..."

"No," she frantically spoke, "I was just being an idiot, too rebellious for my own good, and your heart being caught in the crossfire is my biggest regret to date."

"Biggest regret, hm?" She nodded. "Any others?" Natasha smiled bashfully, her cheeks turning redder than they already were from the current proximity of your bodies. "Not kissing you before the nth hour."

"I'm that good, huh?" Natasha laughed nervously, and you watched as the woman nibbled on her bottom lip. "It's okay to admit it Natasha, it's just you and me."

The redhead surged forward, her forehead collided with yours but you hadn't the time to care about the pain when her lips sought to devour your very own. You once again found your body pressed into the mattress, but this time her tongue took a calculated risk entering your mouth. Once she passed your lips she froze, the feeling and taste of you absolutely drove her mad, and she felt her underwear growing sticky.

Following a natural flow you found your naked bodies were soon pressed together, with your back against the queen sized mattress. Natasha's mind went blank at the feel of you, so she let you take over the kiss that had divulged more so into your collective sharing of breaths as you ground her pelvis down into your own with two firm hands on her silky smooth hips.

Natasha pulled away from your lips with a groan, her back arched and pressed her wetness into yours as she desperately craved more friction against her core. You were ready to grind her hips at a more brutal pace, but then she pressed your hands into the bed and kissed you roughly instead. There was no way she'd be selfish enough to take pleasure before giving you some first.

Her lips naturally traveled down your body, and with each nip of her teeth, or suckle to your bare skin she managed to pull the sweetest of moans from you. It drove her even crazier, her arousal literally dripped onto the sheets beneath her body but she kept her focus solely on you. To taste you was a dream that she had never let go of, and she'd no longer squander.

"Holy shit," you cried as her deft tongue lapped up the moisture that had collected along the slit of your core, it was the softest of stimulation but you still writhed. Having her mouth on your pussy just felt prophetic, her name dripping from your lips like a stolen prayer as she proceeded to dive her muscle deep within you.

Explore as you have, you'd never made yourself feel half as good as her animalistic tongue was doing, which was a bittersweet notion since this was where her obvious experience became a lingering thought.

The sadness dissipated fast though as she tipped your body into a state of unnerving pleasure, your body felt both hot and cold at the same time. The chill in the air had highlighted the beads of sweat on your skin, and sent a sharp shiver down to the base of your spine. It was all too much, and yet, somehow it was not enough.

Natasha greedily slurped up your cum, it was like she couldn't leave her place between your legs until you had stopped spilling for her, which consequently never happened because she continued to overstimulate you. It was only when your hand fought to slip from her weakened grasp to shove her bobbing head away that you were finally able to shakily intake some oxygen.

"I need more," she groaned, her wild eyes bore into your own as she hovered over you in a split second. Even with the overstimulation your thigh clenched at the sight of her hunger. "Please, I need you."

In a moment inspired by pure adrenaline you flipped your bodies and jumped off the bed onto wobbly legs. Natasha grunted as her back hit the mattress, her body was soon propped up onto her elbows so she could find out where you'd gone to in the blink of an eye. Only for her to be met with the glorious sight of you slipping a side of the strap between your puffy, cream coated lips.

Natasha fell back on the bed with a raspy groan being torn from her throat as the deliciously sinful image was permanently etching itself into her mind. Her entrance pulsed with need, warm slick trailed down between the plump cheeks of her ass and she whimpered for you. You clumsily climbed above her, and pressed your lips to hers, feeling this strong urge to take control, but not knowing exactly how to do that, all you could really do was slip your tongue into her mouth and kiss her into a state of desperation. Her tongue was velvety, and tasted like a mix of something sweet and bitter.

"I-I want to taste you too Nat," you confessed, a bit too intrigued by the taste of you on her tongue to hold any patience, but the redhead also couldn't wait. "After, please, I need you inside now detka, I'm dripping!"

You chuckled softly, "That's a virgin hole angel," your eyes sparkled as you watched her skin flush even more, you would've happily waited the rest of the decade for this if you knew she was going to be so easily flustered. "You have to let me build you up to the stretch," you teased her hole with just the tip and she winced, but before you could pull away she firmly gripped your shoulders and gulped down her fear. "I can take it detka, I've been waiting for so damn long, fuck me."

"Beg," you flatly said, an air of confidence to you that the redhead found alarmingly attractive. "Tell me what you want baby, let mommy give you what you need."

Natasha's entire mind blanked, her eyes frozen in place as she stared up at your smirking face. Something inside of her was clicking, and she didn't know if it was her own desires or seeing you living out yours that got her so hot right now, but she didn't care. The sudden confidence radiated off of you and oozed out of her cunt, her pussy slick enough to push your strap out.

"Mommy please," her nails dug into your flesh and she angrily yanked your face down to hers, the tip and then some of your strap nestled back inside of her and she moaned her own interruption against your cheek. "I, fuck, mommy I need to be full, please, I need it so —."

Natasha's breath hitched as you delicately circled your fingers around her clit, then she huffed the air against your smirk as she sucked even more of you in. It was messy, and loud as her cunt sobbed joyously and her moans echoed throughout the master bedroom. In only five seconds did you have the ability to slip the rest of it inside of her, your lips sloppily landed on her chin as the strap perfectly curved against your walls. A gasp of joy left you both as your slippery cunts kissed, flaps rubbing as the both of your hips jolted in need.

Natasha's eyes rolled as your clit brushed hers, and a low rumble sounded in her chest as the swollen nub was electrified by the merest of grazes. The redhead appreciated the way your hips stilled, allowing her to feel out the stretch of her walls, but then you didn't move and her eyes fluttered open to ponder why.

You were nervous... Her heart absolutely melted.

"Just do what feels natural," she rasped, hands raising to cup your cheeks and pull you in for a needy kiss, her fingers slipped into the base of your hair and tugged, you could feel the urgency rolling off of her as her hips canted off the mattress. You both moaned into the other's mouth, it took you a second to recover from the stimulation; to build your confidence back up so you could properly fuck her like no one ever had before.

All it took was one involuntary twitch of your own hips, she moaned and you suddenly knew how to make this the best night of your lives. Natasha whined as you slid out of her, but then she squealed as you yanked her to the edge of the bed and thrusted right back into her.

"Oh god," Natasha cried, "Mommy it feels so good."

"I know baby," you panted, "Mommy loves feeling you, so wet I didn't even need to prep you for my cock."

Natasha's eyes rolled and slammed shut as she thought of what created the glorious mess between her legs; you—the way you moaned her name, how you tasted and what she wouldn't do to live between your thighs.

"I-I," Natasha couldn't speak, the pleasure building inside of her was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Something she knew she'd only ever feel with you, heat spread from the depths of her pelvis to her heart as she imagined getting a second chance to love you, fairly.

You'd been here before, on the precipice of a release you weren't expecting. Your first time, when you used your strap with her portrait was a tad bit messy.

It felt like you were on fire, and like you needed to pee, but even with the potential of such a thing you couldn't stop the thrust of your desperate hips. It was heavenly. You wanted to see her wait, but not as much as you needed to be the reason she thinks she's dying. So you knew by the confused look on her face that she needed to be given permission. "You need to let go baby."

Natasha whimpered, but her body turned down the offer, it wasn't ready, something was missing.

Your hands firmly gripped the skin of her thigh and used your unexpected strength to push them up and into her chest. The new angle was optimal in bringing you both insurmountable amounts of pleasure. You had hardly any warning as her cum drenched your thighs, her walls held the strap still and caused your end to press even deeper into your sensitive spot.

The moan that left Natasha's throat was carnal, anyone within a hundred feet of the room would know that she just had her soul cleansed. Yours directly followed as your pussy spluttered against hers. They were short, and breathy, the heat of them fanned over her racing pulse point and her body shivered with aftershocks.

For a moment you both panted out of sync, yours were far less refined in comparison with the athletes. It'd made you insecure to think about, but the way her hands roamed over your curves was affirming. When she squeezed your hips and soft skin rippled between her fingers you could feel the way she loved you.

Her lips were on yours the entire time she'd been feeling you up. You nearly busted again just because her lips touched yours, there was not much urgency down below as you devoured her whole up above. Then your hips started rocking slowly, a natural rhythm of the game at hand, but then she whimpered softly and you pulled out of her puffy, glistening core. Tears fell from her eyes and you apologized as she thanked you.

Thanked you for fucking her so well that she could barely remember her own name, but she promised she'd never forget how to scream yours. She was overstimulated, but pushing you anyways, so you silenced her with the side of the strap that was once stretching out your tight, hollowed walls. Her eyes glazed as they rolled back, and you felt liberated.

A hoarse, “Oh fuck,” vibrated around the silicone and you chuckled devilishly, reveling in the foreign power, “Such a slut for a little taste of me, aren’t you kitten?”

Her eyes muddled even further and you felt godly. “Tomorrow you'll be sworn in as the leader of our merging kingdoms," you chuckled, "but look at how quickly you submit to me baby, that's concerning."

Natasha whimpered around the strap, and you smiled broadly. "There, there honey," you coo'd mockingly, tongue flicking over the salty tears trailing down her rosy cheeks. "Mommy will take charge for now..."

You continued to fuck her throat with the strap, it was mesmerizing to see her cry, her eyes glistening, sorta reminding you of a lively leaf beneath a raindrop. It was as if you brought her back to life, you could see the love uncovering beneath her outwardly guarded eyes as they bore into yours. Your Natty was reviving…

But her Y/N not so much, there was an unfamiliar darkness that surrounded you. The love you held for her was there, burning bright, but she could see the unresolved pain trying to dim it, the darkness controlled you and the tenderness was broken, as if it was simply switched off. With every thrust the redhead now gagged, there was a bit of vengeance in your eyes as you drew the reaction from her. You were truly enamored by the experience, you watched as her drool trailed down the sides of her chin and coated the skin of her jawline, staining her with a mix of you and her.

The longer you watched the more interested in getting a taste of her essence you became. Without removing your gaze from hers you lowered your head, tongue flicking out to lick up what you could of her essence, but it had dried some under the rooms dry breeze. It only made sense for you to sink down, the redheads eyes widened in shock, or alarm—maybe it was both.

The warmth of your mouth did the trick in softening her slick, and you moaned at the taste as she gagged, her end being now pressed beyond her throats tight hole. She spluttered as she felt the painful stretch, one would think your goal was asphyxiation, but as she focused on your softer gaze she was able to mirror you as you breathed through your nose. Even in her hazy state it was clear to her that you’d done this before.

Envy gripped her heart as she realized you were the first person to drink from the well she deemed hers. Bittersweet solace wrapped around yours in the same blink of time, you were still so unsure about trusting her again, but you fought the temptation to run. If she was truly back, you could find it in you to stay as well.

Once your lips met you stayed still, the air was charged with a need for more, her green eyes begged for you to kiss her truly, but you made her wait a breath longer. Then you slowly pulled back, your own mess of drool slid down the strap and into the hollows of her cheek. As much as the redhead wanted reprieve, and you, she also found some comfort in the suckling of the plastic.

Once you reached the tip you gripped it with your teeth and abruptly pulled it from her mouth, trails of spit, cum and blood followed and your eyes widened some. But Natasha’s were unwavering as she pulled you down and into a kiss that gave way to her every single fear.

The redhead flipped your positions and pressed even further into you, her lips firmly kept their rightful spot against your own, and the two of you made out like there was no plans for tomorrow. Her love and your pesky frustration bled together as your tongues met.

Natasha wanted to keep going, but it was too much to ask of either of your bodies, so she pulled away after her lungs gave her no choice, and fell on top of you. Silence followed, aside from the soft, labored pants of a job well done. It was eventually Natasha that broke it.

"We've done everything backwards," she whispered against the skin of your throat, you'd barely heard her from where she'd burrowed, but you fortunately did. "That's the price to pay for all other parties decisions."

"I-I was just so mad," she morosely admitted, "they made decisions for us that only we should have."

"I know," you acknowledged with an edge to your tone, discussing this was likely going to be charged with the anger that only just began to settle down in your heart.

"I was upset too Natasha, because I dreamed of the same thing but they tainted it with their diplomatic nonsense. It felt spiteful, as if they knew what I was only just discovering. Using my feelings against me, and then, what I didn’t expect was the next day when I woke up to find you suddenly didn’t want me around.”

“That’s not—, Y/N, of course I wanted you around…”

“Your actions said otherwise, and they only left me shattered and then the foreseen inevitably, alone."

"I am so sorry," she softly cried and you hummed, “I know,” your hand was rubbing her back gently in a soothing manner, your tone a little less on edge now, "I'm trying to forgive you Natty," you admitted, a bit of a fall back from your earlier spoken sentiments. In that prior heated moment it felt resolved, but the more you thought it over, the more you felt she'd need to work towards making this destiny work out harmoniously.

Natasha ached at the realization, no matter the way she preserved herself for you, it obviously wasn't enough. A juvenile thought coming back to bite her in the ass she supposed, but she didn't care about the consequences just as long as she had the chance to make it right. She would do anything to, no matter the cost, whether it be monetary, or her soul; she’d even kill another for you.

"Can I take you somewhere?" Natasha meekly asked after another bout of silence, you’d honestly thought she fell asleep, but she was stewing just the same.

The gala likely ended an hour ago, with your collective parents, yours most certainly begrudgingly, dismissing the crowds in your place, with some excuse, like your need for sleep as the wedding of the century occurs tomorrow. Yet you weren't sleeping, instead you were accepting the invitation from your fiancée, allowing her a chance to get started on fixing your relationship.

Which started with a sweet shower, she washed your body with care, the rag slid over your curves and the love you'd been missing was back as if it never left. A truth of sorts as Natasha only hid her abundant love.

Once the both of you were clean, she guided you over to her tub, and left you to soak your aching muscles for a bit longer in a bubble bath while she set off to plan.

Natasha rummaged through her wardrobe and pulled out a few of her fleece sleep linens. You walked out of the bathroom with only a towel for your hair and the redhead shamelessly stared at your gorgeous body.

"My eyes are up here Natasha," you reminded and she carelessly shrugged, "I know. I'm starting at your tits."

"If you're not ready for my hand in marriage," you began to scold in jest but the redhead swooped you off of your feet and into a silencing kiss instead. She softly laid you onto the fresh sheets and just as gently kissed down your body, her tongue ran through your folds as a tease and you choked on your breath. Natasha just wanted to taste you over the mint of her toothpaste. “I’m ready for everything the world will throw our way just as long as I get to taste your divinity, my queen.”

“Natasha,” you whined and pulled her up so that she could meet your glare, she chuckled as her lips gently pecked your own. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.” She winked, then made quick work to dress you in her navy blue pjs, kissing the skin of your stomach and under boob as she settled the fabric against your skin. Then she slid into her crimson set and guided you into a pair of boots before she helped you sneak out of the castle.

The two of you were hand in hand as you ran across the massive courtyard, nearly tripping over the wet grass while giggling like little kids as you approached the creek that held your fondest memories. The moonlight was beautifully shining off of the murky water and illuminating your face just right. Natasha tripped as she was stepping over a root, and just as she came to terms with the incoming impact she was fine. Just when she was about to hit the dead shrubbery you hooked your arms beneath her armpits and yanked up.

"I'm already yours Natasha, there's no need to fall." You pushed her petite, muscular frame against the tree and she smiled as the memory of a lost opportunity passed through her mind. Part of her regrets not kissing you back then, but most of her thinks the path that led her to you was just as it should be.

Her lips lovingly met yours, the both of you smiled as you felt the dynamic changing, it was as if all the stars and planets had finally aligned; destiny sealed shut.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff is an idiot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader

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risuola · 1 month

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ENTRY #3 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

The skies bear the stars, And the oceans – so full, Yet I realize, All I crave is blue.

contents: arranged marriage!au, slight misogyny — 0,9k words

a/n: you voted, I deliver - an entry that might seem slightly out of place, slightly not relevant but it's important to the story, it shows the slow development.

series masterlist

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You sat on an armchair, somewhat tensed despite the comfort of your own home and the soft cushions below you. In front of you sat a man. An arrogant grin plastered onto his objectively handsome features that somehow made you cringe at the sight. His mouth moved, he was speaking, over and over again telling the same story from a different angle and throwing facts at you that didn’t quite make sense, no matter how many times they were replayed.

“It’s an offer,” he spoke again, his pearly white, perfectly straight teeth glimmered in the sharp sunlight that bounced off the glass in the frame containing your wedding picture. “There’s a prestige tied to it, a status much more influential than your current last name could ever provide. I understand Gojo Satoru’s high position in the world of sorcery, but realistically, it doesn’t benefit you the way it should.”

He was talking, confident and loud but you couldn’t help but find him slightly sociopathic. Severely narcissistic. His sharp brown eyes were piercing through you and you could tell that every spasm of his muscles was forced, creating a fake illusion of some twisted version of kindness and gentleness. He moved in a way to appear more approachable, more inviting. You were taking in his form, clad in traditional kimono and hakama bottoms, oddly contrasting with his bleached hair and pierced ears. Thing is, there was nothing inviting about him.

“My marriage is an arrangement made with the thought of the best interest for both mine and my husband’s clan.” Your words flew out of your mouth a little too rough and yet, it was the first time you put a heavy accent onto the word that described who Satoru was to you right now.

“Of course it was,” the man chuckled. Evil. “But you see, Satoru Gojo is an anomaly born for the first time in four hundred years. Probability of you bearing a child that would bring value to his, arguably extinct, clan is relatively low, if not zero. On the other hand, my technique is easily passed down in blood and strong as it is, even without considering the possible Ten Shadows awakening though I believe that the input of your cursed technique makes the chances that much higher.”

“Forgive me my bluntness, Zen’in, but my marriage is finalized and I don’t intend to–“

“You don’t understand, woman,” he snapped, harsh and rough and raised up to his feet a little too eagerly. Realizing that, he took a breath and walked towards the wooden dresser. His greedy hands snatched the picture framed in the constellation of intricate veins and leaves carved into the dark oak and his fingers run across the glass front. “There’s nothing better you can do, than marrying me, one and only rightful heir of the Zen’in clan. Me, Naoya Zen’in, a man above all those weaklings around. I’m a prodigy, a genius. I’m the stronges–“

“I dare to disagree,” you cut the reckless spurt of nonsense leaving his lips. “I do recognize your strength and the values you represent, but as I already told you. My marriage is finalized, I’m married to Satoru Gojo and, with all due respect, you’re not close to being the strongest.” You stood your ground, firmly and with confidence and as you approached the man, you gently took the picture from his hands. “And also, even if I were not tied to Satoru, I wouldn’t allow myself to ever cross paths with a buffoon such as you, Naoya.”

“Clearly, you don’t know your place, do you?” He groaned, lowly and animalistically and it was a split second before his long fingers dug into the fat of your cheeks as he grabbed you by the face. “You know where’s a place of a woman? Three steps behind her husband. On her knees, ready to serve. There’s no other purpose for you than to–“

“I’ll advise you to take your hands off my wife, Zen’in.” Another second and your husband was home, right next to you, appearing out of thin air. His large hand wrapped tightly around Naoya’s forearm and their eyes meeting in a challenge. Despite the ice-cold tension in the air, Gojo’s face was neutral, amused almost. The corner of his lips twitched, lifting up just slightly as his unwavering gaze slowly pierced a crack into the arrogant mask of the guest.

“We’re just talking,” he hissed through his teeth but allowed his fingers to relax, releasing your jaw.

“Actually, it seemed as if you were leaving already,” you added calmly and it didn’t take longer than two minutes until the doors closed and the blonde left, mumbling insults under his breath. You exhaled, deeply, allowing the tension to leave your body as you twisted the locks and it’s just at that moment when you realized how much relief and sense of safety your husband brought.

“Care to explain why was Naoya Zen’in in our house when I was out? I don’t remember that visit being scheduled.” Satoru questioned and you let out a sigh, approaching him. With gentle hands you reached up to where the blindfold hung loosely around his neck and carefully pulled it up to cover the blue of his eyes.

“I’d love to know more than you do, but I don’t,” you replied. “He came uninvited, offered me marriage and didn’t take rejection too well.”

“Offered you marriage?” He scoffed. “The audacity.”

“Doesn’t matter. I said no and he left. Thank you for showing up.”

“I’m fulfilling my duties. That’s all.”

“Of course, you are.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban, @lotomber, @netflix-imagines, @kawliflo, @nishloves, @ghostfacefricker6969, @thejujvtsupost, @yozora7154, @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost

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bucknastysbabe · 3 months

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criston cole in a greens win au really is the kingmaker if he’s cucking aegon. slapped a crown on the king and now he’s making bastard kids to go on the throne. u go king.

Now I must write a blurb hnghhhh cuckingggg this is prob ass bc I’m sick rotting in bed with flubonic plague but OH WELL

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dayne!reader, greens win AU, Criston is dark and manipulative, Aegon sad sacking around the place, cukolding, exhibitionism, breeding kink, crispy creme pie, infidelity, v!fingering, oral (m!receiving), pnv!sex, no beta I die like Ned stark, jealousy, one-sided-ish

Taglist: @starogeorgina @moncherri @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @valeskafics @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii

Do Your Job - C.Cole

Criston stopped caring long ago, pulling himself out of the layered filth of blood, gore, and dirt. Bodies of his men. The butcher’s ball they called it. Criston made sure that the Winter’s Wolves, Benjicot Blackwood, and Roddy the Ruin got a nice death by dragon. After some torture.

He saw through with that, as the Hand of the King and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Criston had to attend to such matters. Such as what to do with Rhaenyra’s last child. Or the fucking mess that was Aegon. Aemond was still lurking around Harrenhal— said to return when his child was born. Aegon meanwhile, made Criston’s blood boil. Alicent was a maddened gnat in his ear.

Aegon had been recently remarried to a Dayne of Starfall, seeking out the ashen hair and Valyrian eyes of the Dornish house. She was gorgeous, eager to please, and could suck Criston’s prick under his desk for hours. The adorable queen had trouble with Aegon— considering the man was a bag of shattered bones and burns. The maesters had been attending to the two’s fertility plan.

She was not hard to woo, seeking Cole’s comforts as Aegon still wanted to hoard playthings and whores, uncaring much of his wife at the moment. He bedded her regularly— but they had to be careful with his bad leg and hip. Criston’s little star, beautiful as one, was the shiniest thing in the dreary keep by far. But horribly lonely, so he’d been keeping an eye, asking the Queen to help him with letters and tasks of the realm.

It wasn’t long before she was in his lap crying about how terrible the Red Keep was. Criston had his proverbial claws sunk deep into her by then. He meant his words of praise, how special his star was, and meant doubly on how much he too hated the Keep. Criston’s fingers crawled up her dress as he cooed, bringing the girl to likely her first orgasm since arriving.

They sat together in the Hand’s foyer, Ser Cole writing a letter to some raucous lordling. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back, dark eyes meeting a strange indigo of sorts. “Have there been any advancements with the maesters and your womb?” She shook her head, blush dusting her cheeks.

“Go on, what’s the issue my star?”

She leaned over the table to grip his hands, pleading in her body language. “Do not grow wroth when I tell you this okay?” Criston nodded, there was no chance he would not be pissed. Just a feeling. The Dayne sighed, “He’s impotent but he swears it’s me, I don’t know, they’ve started transferring his, seed, into me. By now I’m not sure, he berates me about it.” Criston’s eyes narrowed and she squeaked.

The smaller figure was picked up by him, striding to the King’s chambers. Where Aegon was like to be making two court favorites defile themselves. The queen begged, “My lord, please, I know you feel strongly for me but-“

He growled, “No!,” then softer, “No. He’s being a fool, a lady’s desire should help the process. I’ll oversee you two. We need heirs to the throne.”

He kicked open the door, startling a half-awake Aegon. Criston gently laid the Queen on the bed then turned to a glaring Targaryen. Aegon’s burnt face twisted in annoyance, slightly slurring, “The hell is going on here Cole?” A goblet of wine sat in front of him— of course he was drinking.

Criston folded his arms. “You’re drunk right now? It’s barely even past midday.”

“Sorry, one tends to get bored when his wife would rather cavort around with the Hand,” he acridly spat back.

She protested from behind, “Alright, I can stay around, it’s fine!”

Criston eyed his star and back to Aegon. He asked “You have a beauty like that and can’t fill her belly with seed? You have the maesters stuff her like a turkey instead? Pathetic.”

Aegon’s form shook with rage, reaching for his crutch, Criston swiftly kicking it out of the way with a clatter. Aegon barked, “I’m your goddamn king, bring that back now! Maybe she’s the one barren, dirtied by lowborn seed!”

That little fucker! Criston’s eye twitched. He had not put his cock into her sacred place but now? Someone had to do the job— and it would be him. The taller brunette forced Aegon’s chair closer to the bed, the king hissing in pain, violet eyes wide. Cole chastised, “Since you’re so smart, I’ll do a little test, see if my lowborn cock has sullied her womb.” Aegon’s soft face pulled into a frown, squirming in position.

Criston began to pull at his gauntlets in quick snaps, then the bracers, and the chest plate along with the heavy shoulders. He decided to keep his chain of hands on as an ego boost. Lowborn cock raised to the second highest position in the realm, doing the highest position’s job.

Dayne stared at him, eyes flicking to the strangely silent Aegon, then back. Criston smiled at the queen, winding a tan hand into her ashen locks. He murmured, “Don’t worry dearest, we’ll have you feeling wonderful in no time, right your Grace?” Aegon remained stone cold— lips pouting.

The hand began to ease off the simple Dornish layers of her dress, baring that gorgeous body. How could she not be fertile? His star was all curves and soft skin, she would be great as a mother. Criston told her that, earning a whine, her legs wrapped around his waist. He panted to the king, “First, they need to be actually attracted to you.”

Cole pressed lush kisses to her neck and shoulders, his big hand testing the waters between her thighs. She was a little wet, not yet how he could get the Dayne, sopping. He rasped just for her ears, “Relax for me, he’s so jealous you might get an obedient king. Gorgeous star doesn’t know her own wiles.” She writhed a bit, tits pressed tight against flat chest.

“Oh, oh, there my Lord,” the blonde panted.

Criston was pumping one finger into her velvet heat, sliding in a second one to crook upwards. His thumb swirled around her swollen bud. He laughed carelessly at Aegon, whose scarred hands dug into the sides of his chair, puffy lips open. The brunette snarked, “See how easy it is not to be a selfish prick? It’s quite rewarding to make your lady come— although I think she’s already too attached to me.”

The king whined softly.

The queen moaned louder, crying Criston’s name and wetting his fingers further. The knight pulled from her full tits, purposely working her cunt over while asking. “Doesn’t that feel good little star? Don’t you wish your King would take care of you like that?” The queen gasped and mewled, cheeks a deep flush, eyes guiltily looking over at the squirming Aegon.

Criston patted her cheek, pressing a kiss over plump lips. Inky eyes and smug lips turned again to talk down to the Targaryen. He added in a dark voice, “Obviously you can’t do the fucking job so I will until you get it up and pump her with a blonde one. Although I am quite attached myself, she’s a wonderful little star. I’m going to fuck her good and thorough. Our first time too.”

Aegon whined, begging, “Ser, stop, I didn’t know, don’t!” But his hard cock was pulsing and the king had made no attempt to call for help. He couldn’t move either, the crutch out of his grasp. Aegon watched Criston work his wife into a peak, her pretty breasts heaving, thighs twitching. Utterly gorgeous. Jealousy swelled within his burnt chest.

The Dayne beauty sloppily mouthed against Criston’s mouth, trailing down to press kisses against his lower belly, grabbing his cock before asking. “You want to impregnate me sir? Give me an heir?” She could almost explode at the thought. Criston nodded, eyes hazy as her plump lips enveloped his cock, hands expert on rolling his balls and the other working in tandem with that warm mouth.

Aegon made a gutted noise.

Criston groaned deeply, watching his length disappear down velvet throat. The queen kept her indigo eyes on him, teary and wide. Fucking beautiful. He swallowed down a weak noise and rasped to Aegon, “She’s quite good at this, willing to please and eager to learn your Grace. But there you are, quickly back to your old ways.” She shuddered at the praise, Criston easing his star off so the real fun could begin.

He murmured, “On your back sweetling.” He pecked her once, shivering at the taste of him. The queen laid on her back, instinctively tucking a pillow under her hips. Criston rumbled, playfully giving her ass a smack. “Good girl, mmm, you just want to be a mama hm?” The shared noises of Aegon and his Queen made the Knight laugh.

He eased himself on top, making sure her thick thighs spread around his waist. The knight laid forward, grinning and nuzzling her nervous face. He cooed, “You’re safe with me star, pretty baby, doing so good.” Her arms slunk around his shoulders, their bodies fitting with together as Criston eased himself into her slick, swollen folds.

Fuck, she was tight and pulsing already, inner walls aiming to milk the man. Lady Dayne cried out, busty tits heaving as she was filled up by Ser Criston’s heavy cock. It was foreign, having so much care put into her pleasure. She moaned in surprise when he bottomed out, rasping nonsense against her neck.

Aegon sniveled now, watching his Queen get something he couldn’t possibly provide. Ser Criston, the crafty fucker, already worked his magic and cock into his queen. The blonde regretted many an action against his wonderful wife— seeing how she mooned over fucking Cole. Cole; a common born conniving oathbreaking madman, he truly enjoyed seeing suffering and agony. But there he was, giggling and gently fucking Aegon’s queen, the picture of chivalry. He needed more wine, and to tug his miserable cock.

Criston hiked her legs up, the back of her knees in the crooks of his arms— a mating press. She cried out, little hands scrabbling at his shoulders, eyes getting teary with pleasure. He moaned low, forcefully fucking himself inside her tight cunt, making sure she could feel every little drag and thrust. She mewled in ecstasy, “Criston, Ser, breed me, breed me please! Ohh I want it, need it!”

He grinned at Aegon’s sobs and pulling of his own prick. Criston teased “You want my seed star? Want to be all pretty and round, knowing your Lord Hand made you swell? Tits and hips so ripe for me, such a pretty mother you’ll make.” She tightened around him, arching her back, practically drooling. He focused on fucking her deep, swiping his thumb around her button, earning the cutest little mewls.

“Yes! Gods yes! Criston,” she howled, clamping down on his prick. He pressed his lips to hers, grunting as he fucked her to the point of no return. He cooed at his cute little star crying out her peak, gushing all over his still-moving cock. She weeped, “Please, give me your seed, want to be a mama, please!” Cole couldn’t deny her request, groaning long and low as his tummy tightened, emptying pump after pump of his cum into her tight pussy. He bit his lip bloody in the process, feeling feral, but the knight wouldn’t tear her skin like that.

He let go of her legs, gently holding her canted hips, humming, “How long do they say wait Aeg?”

A sharp cry, gasp, and tortured, “15 minutes.”

The Dayne didn’t even seem to be worried about her broken husband, smiling and holding Criston’s big hands. She kissed at each knuckle, eyes full of adoration and love. How they should be. How he deserved all along. What a special little star.

The first two came out with brown hair and eyes, sending a familiar shock across the keep. Then the third had ashen hair, just like the Queen. Mayhaps the Targaryen gene wasn’t that strong within Aegon, people whispered. Criston would smile, not indulging a secret. He’d rub her pretty bump alone, let Aegon play the daddy. He did alright enough.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #one sided feelings #aegon ii targaryen #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #Criston cole x reader #Ser criston cole imagine

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

turtle dove and the crow, part two

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

chapter tags: 18+. p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, threats of animal violence (there will be no animal violence in this fic).

PART TWO: REAL LOVE, BABY (9.9k)

I’m a flower, you’re my bee

It’s much older than you and me

I’m in love, I’m alive

I belong to the stars and sky

Let’s forget who we are for one night

We’re not animals, baby

It’s the people who lie to themselves

Real Love Baby— Father John Misty

Somehow, the knock on the front door the next day comes as a surprise.

Maybe it shouldn't have; maybe you should've risen expecting Eddie to call on you first thing in the morning before you'd even brushed all the tangles from your hair. You hear those three sharp knocks while sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, slowly nibbling on a piece of toast slathered with butter and homemade apple jam and still rubbing the crust from your eye with the other hand. You frown towards the front door, suspicious, at first, that the sound may have been a hallucination borne of your sleep-heavy mind. But when you hear it again, you rush forward in your flimsy nightgown, grabbing your Mama's housecoat from where she'd left it hanging over the stair railing and wrapping it around yourself as you hasten to answer the door. The thought of a visitor seeing you in such a state brings a little self-conscious heat to your cheeks, though the coat protects your modesty; still, there's no alternative. Pa's already out working, and Mama's started on the weekly washing, which typically takes her nearly the whole day and can easily put her in a gruff mood. The last thing you need is to start the day off on the wrong foot by making her answer the door.

You reveal your visitor. And though the sight on the other side of the screen still separating you might be a surprise, the way Eddie's face brightens so eagerly when he sees you - his features all lit with handsome delight like he's seen the thing he desires most in this world - tells you the whole story.

You can't help the sappy smile that plucks at your cheeks when he pulls the screen door open, letting it thump to prop against his hip as he removes the final barrier between you. Eddie looks a dream haloed by bright summer sunlight, dew darkening his loafers as he stands on the mat at the threshold of your door. Your eyes trail from his shoes upward, skating over bony ankles which lead to long pale legs and ruddy knees exposed beneath the hem of smart beige shorts. His button-up shirt sports a checkered pattern and is practically wrinkle-free, and there isn't a smudge of dirt on him— not on his pale forearms, nor his neck, nor his rosy cheeks. And what's more: his hair looks freshly washed, curls bouncy as if the water from his bath has just finished evaporating off them, leaving his bangs soft-looking and slightly frizzy as they ruffle in the early morning breeze.

"Hi." Eddie's voice isn't at all sleep-hoarse when he greets you— in fact, it's downright chipper to match the sparkle in his umber eyes.

"Hi," you echo, still sleep-hoarse yourself but sweet all the same. Eddie's curls rustle again with another gust of light wind, and your fingers itch to reach out and feel that softness for yourself.

Before you can, you feel Mama's presence looming as quick-shuffling steps halt right behind you. Eddie's spine snaps a little straighter as he sees her over your shoulder; he tucks his hands behind his back like he's standing in a military line.

"Good mornin', ma'am." His broad smile is oozing with charm, and you have half a mind to peek behind you to see if it put a chink in your mother's stony expression, considering the way it makes your own heart squeeze in your chest.

"Good morning, Edward," she says, not quite stiff but with a hint of wry amusement.

Clearly, his charm doesn't work as well on her as it does on you, but Eddie perseveres nonetheless, asking politely, "I was wonderin', given it's Saturday and all, if maybe y/n would be available for a while this morning? I was hopin' to read to 'er from this book—"

He pulls the hardcover from behind his back, presenting it to your mother with a flourish. She cranes forward to peer at the cover— a knight on horseback firmly gripping a lance, with the words Don Quixote embossed overtop— but she merely leans back, resting on her heels rather than taking it from him. Eddie finishes his sentence hastily. "—if that's all right with you, ma'am."

You do turn to face her then, eyes wide and pleading. "Oh, Mama, can I? I really wanna know what happens next." Your face flashes with hopefulness as a sudden idea occurs to you. "And I can practice my embroidery, too, to get ready for the showin' at the fair."

Caught between your hopefulness and Eddie's earnestness, your mother relents quickly in the interest of hurrying this business along. "Go'n get yourself dressed, now," she instructs you. "I'll not have you sittin' on my porch in your bedclothes for the neighbors to gawk at."

With a bright beam directed toward the boy before you, you spin and hurry up the stairs before your Mama can change her mind.

When you emerge onto the front porch— dress thrown on, hair hastily brushed, embroidery basket in hand, cheeks rouged from being pinched between your fingers as you rushed down the stairs so as not to keep Eddie waiting— it's to a symphony of late summer in the early morning. The squeaky creak of the weathervane and the trill of birdsong punctuate the light air, which is scented by the heady perfume of the hydrangea bushes framing the base of the porch. You take a moment to breathe them in, letting the air rush into your lungs— dry, not quite crisp, but not as heavy with humidity as yesterday. This August morning is sunny and bright but mostly still and quiet; it's early yet for the dirt road beyond your front yard to be anything but empty, save for the occasional motorcar mosying in the direction of town.

You glance automatically toward where you assume Eddie will be, but the two rocking chairs to your right are empty; you glance to the left and see that Eddie has chosen to sit on the wicker couch instead, nestled into the corner against the floral cushions. Your expression shows your curiosity about his choice, and an easy, lopsided grin accompanies his explanation.

"Well, I thought about sittin' in the rockin' chairs like we normally do," Eddie tells you, one arm slung across the back of the couch and the other dangling the hardcover from loose fingertips, "but I changed my mind on account of my voice."

He pauses, eyes twinkling with mirth as your nose scrunches with predictable puzzlement. "Your voice?" you question, and his smile widens.

"Tha's right," Eddie declares, leaning forward and crinkling his brow in an exaggeration of earnestness. "M'voice is just so tired from that story you made me tell you yesterday. Y'know, you really twisted my arm with that one, turtle dove. Really took a lot out of me, weavin' you that yarn."

The rasp of Eddie's voice sounds just the same as usual— no more throaty or hoarse than normal, like he's claiming. You cock your hip and plant your unoccupied hand there as you raise a skeptical brow, but he ignores you. And that voice of his is still warm with brashness as Eddie falls into a cadence somewhere between smug and teasing. "So you got to sit close to me, y/n, if you want me to read to you from this here book. You don't wanna wear me out by makin' me speak too loud, now, do you?"

Eddie raises his arms, the book dangling shakily now in his grip as he wiggles all his fingers, beckoning you over. You twist your lips against a pleased smile, an affectionate tingle stirring behind your sternum as you sigh theatrically. "Holy moly, Ed, you really are such a wuss," you pretend to grouse. "The things I do for you."

Eddie's face brightens as you pad over, bare feet skimming the porch floorboards worn soft with age. You hesitate for a moment near the leftmost cushion before choosing the middle. As you sit down, Eddie shifts his body so that, in the position he's facing, you have no choice but to lean back half against his chest and half against the cushion, your embroidery basket in your lap. The floral cushions are scratchy, but Eddie's shirt is so smooth, as is his hot skin where his arm is thrown along the back of the couch behind your shoulder as if encouraging you to nestle into his side. You give into the temptation, relaxing into his chest, which is firm and yet soft. You and Eddie shift and shimmy a bit until you're both comfortable and ready to take up your activities; as you pull out your embroidery needle and choose your threads, Eddie props the book against his knee, his loafer braced on the wicker edge of the couch seat.

And with that, Eddie begins to read to you from the book he'd forgotten yesterday. Yesterday, you'd been disappointed by that fact, but now, you couldn't be any more grateful.

It's still hot, but as the minutes tick on and the sun rises higher in the sky, the day remains not as hot as yesterday. The breeze keeps you comfortable as it plays with the pages of Don Quixote and the edge of the fabric peeking from the embroidery hoop in your hand. You move the needle in and out, in and out, and it weaves like the cadence of Eddie's voice as he reads to you, lulling you into contentment. That contentment stretches like a cat when he runs his calloused thumb lightly against your upper arm, the rough pad catching the skin there. Its path is stuttering, slightly uneven because of it, but you just lean into him more, humming as it relaxes you. And Eddie smells so unbelievably good— clean like laundry powder and hay but musky like tobacco and the salt of his skin. His voice rumbles in his throat and chest, smooth and even and practiced as he lets the words dance from his lips to create pictures in your mind as your fingers twist and pull the needle without much conscious thought.

And every once in a while, Eddie's words will fade into silence like the light of a firefly. He'll turn his head to let his dry lips skim your temple before returning to his book, his voice picking up again as if he'd never interrupted himself. Each time is abrupt, as if a sudden impulse has caught him; sometimes, he even stops speaking right in the middle of a sentence to whisper his lips against your smooth skin. It's a light touch, gentle as the beat of a bird's wings— reverent and sweet, a graze that has your heart turning in your chest with the utter rightness of it.

After some time, the deep grumbling of an engine draws your gaze to an approaching truck, faded blue and familiar. As it rambles up the drive and rolls to a stop before the red house next door, you can see the curve of Eddie's uncle's shoulder and the plaid of his gray shirt just barely visible through the smudged side window. The puttering engine silences, and you smile and wave as he pulls himself from the driver's seat like he's made entirely of creaking joints before slamming the door shut behind him in a rattle of steel. "Mornin', Mr. Wayne!" you call, wagging your arm high in the air until he spots you. He crosses around the front bumper to trudge up the steps toward the front door, throwing you a brief wave before pulling the straw hat from his head and rubbing the sparse hair that encircles the bald spot on his crown. Once the door has thumped closed behind him, Eddie lets the arm slung across the back of the wicker couch fall heavily upon your shoulder, and you giggle as he wraps it around your clavicle to pull you tighter against his chest. "What're you makin' there?" he asks, peering over your shoulder.

You hold it up to show him the thread dangling from the N of the completed 'MUN' stitched in the left half of the hoop's center. There's the suggestion of a flower below it— a large deep brown circle with a smattering of butter-yellow petals beginning to surround it, along with a few deep green leaves. "I'm makin' it for you," you say, and when Eddie lets his chin drop gently against your shoulder, your cheeks heat despite yourself. "You n' your uncle. See? It's gonna say 'Munson' in the middle. And I'm puttin' sunflowers on account of the ones growin' on your side of the fence." You turn your face toward him but can't see much more besides the curve of his cheek and the pink of his lips, which look, unfortunately, very kissable right now. You glance away and lean your temple against his instead to avoid temptation. "What's your favorite flower, Ed?"

You can feel the stretch of Eddie's smile in the subtle shifting of the skin at his temple before he turns his head to face you. "How are you just the sweetest girl I ever known?" Eddie murmurs against your cheek, kissing you there before leaning back against the wicker couch again, pulling you with him. You sigh, melting into his side. "I dunno," he says offhandedly, his thumb back to trailing along your arm, and you shiver as goosebumps pimple under the scratch of his warm skin. "Always kinda favored chicory flowers. They're like the color of the sky on a clear day. No clouds make the sun brutal while you're workin', but y'can't deny it looks nice like that."

It's quite sentimental coming from your wild best friend, and you stifle a sudden giddy giggle as you pull your bare feet up onto the cushion, tucking your knees beneath your skirt, which brushes low on your ankles as you fold up. "What?" Eddie snaps playfully. "Y'ask me what flower I like the best and then y'laugh at my answer?" His breath huffs indignantly against your shoulder. "I take it back. You're the yuckiest girl I ever known."

Your giggles spike at that, growing in intensity, which is clearly the opposite of what Eddie wanted because the warmth of his arm withdraws abruptly from around you. "The yuckiest?" you question through your laughter, nose wrinkled skeptically. "What're you, twelve?"

You twist to face him, and as you do, Eddie's fingers ghost loosely along your shoulder, brushing to remove some invisible dust as the sour pucker of his lips draws into a smirk. His brown eyes glint with a sudden spark. "I think you know quite well I'm not no twelve-year-old anymore, turtle dove," he murmurs, and the sensual timbre of his voice conjures a spark of heat that makes your thighs press together beneath your dress.

"I don't hear no readin' out there. What are you two schemin' up now?" Your Mama's voice calling from beyond the window screen right behind the couch, harsh from shrillness and warning but not outright angry, has you immediately springing apart and scrambling to take your activities back up— Eddie, the neglected book discarded against the wicker arm, and you, the neglected needle dangling from your embroidery hoop.

You hear the creak of the front door not long after, which Mama pushes open with one ample hip, searching with her foot for the step down she knows is there but can't see due to the heavy load of laundry in her arms. It's mounded in a large wire basket, and an occasional drop of water splatters to the wooden porch as she finds her footing and steps down.

Eddie is suddenly a flurry of activity beside you— the book thumps discarded onto your thigh as he clambers up off the couch with an offer spilling eagerly from his lips. "Here, let me—"

He takes the loaded basket from your mother's arms, ignoring her hems and haws of polite protest. He bounds down off the porch, leaving her with a faint smile of gratitude as he strides briskly toward the laundry line to the side of the porch.

Your Mama's voice draws your attention from his lanky form as she addresses you, saying, "I need you to go to the store for me this afternoon; fetch me a few things."

You're nodding before she's even finished speaking. "Of course, mama," you reply dutifully. "I'd be happy to. Just tell me what you need."

Her approval, clear in the softening of the crows' feet beside her eyes, brings you sweet nourishment. "Thank you, dear. I'll make you up a list—"

"Oh!" Eddie's quick interjection draws both your eyes— hers hawkish, yours doe-like. He plops the wire basket of laundry in the grass beside the clothesline and toddles over, ducking his shoulders to the side, brows tugged up innocently as he looks at your Mama. "You know," he says, "my uncle's been needing a few things from the general store, too." He glances from her to you and then back. "Maybe y/n and I could go together? Use his handcart for the flour sack?"

Eddie shoots your Mama another one of his award-winning smiles, and while she doesn't quite melt like butter— not in the way you do— you soon find yourself mosying down that dirt path, dragging the handcart behind you, paper list clutched in your fingers as Eddie whistles your way into town.

A scant few hours later, you're walking back down that path in the opposite direction, handcart filled with the spoils of your bounty, your apron pockets newly laden too. In town, you'd checked down Mama's list one by one: purchased some meats from the butcher, then canned vegetables, a sack of flour and a smaller sack of sugar at the general store, plus some laundry soap to replenish what had been used up today and some chewing tobacco for Wayne. Eddie had, in fact, stretched the truth in saying that Wayne had been aiming to go to the general store too, but you couldn't begrudge him the fib.

It wasn't the only thing he'd fibbed about, too. Rather than using the handcart to tow the heavy bag of flour, Eddie had very adamantly insisted on loading all the smaller purchases in there so you didn't have to carry them, hefting the heavy sack onto one shoulder with ease. You can't deny that the display of strength— his bicep flexed, one ruddy hand holding it in place, but his expression showing no sign of strain as he lopes easily in stride with you— sent a stirring straight to the deepest parts of your belly. And your best friend seems to know it, too; when you cast him a glance laden with the honey of your want, he smirks back at you, preening at the sight of your appreciation, though a bashful blush also dusts his nose.

Soon enough, your familiar blue and red houses loom back into view, and the rusty metal frame of the handcart squeaks its way along as it trails behind you. As you tromp up the path to your home, dropping the handle of the handcart and snatching up the perishable paper sachets of meat as you mount the stairs, Eddie follows you with the flour bag. He's still whistling like he had when you'd first left, none the worse for wear after walking and shopping and hauling that heavy sack all the way back home for you.

You meet your Mama in the dining room where she's polishing the silver— spoons, knives, and forks are all laid out in orderly rows on the tablecloth, and her eyes widen with brief surprise when she sees how Eddie has the flour bag slung over his shoulder. "Where d'you want this, ma'am?" he asks politely.

"In the pantry— just through here. The door's on your left."

Eddie disappears through the archway, and your Mama rises from the dining room table to assess the meats you'd bought, nodding in approval as she takes them from you to put in the icebox. You bring in the other items, depositing them into their rightful places to another approving nod from your mother.

"You did good," she says. "Both of you."

Before she can return to cleaning the silver, you dig in your apron pocket for the purchase that you're most excited to show her. You smile as your fingertips skim silk, but you reach past it, seeking the three round disks instead and pulling them out to spread in your palm and show her.

Your last stop in town had been to the tailor's, where you searched for a button to repair the one missing on Mama's favorite house dress. You'd been disappointed not to find a perfect match for the original buttons, but since they were just a few cents each, you'd decided to buy enough to replace all of Mama's buttons. You pull them out and show them to her, face bright with innocent pleasure.

"I got you these, Mama. They were just a few cents each from my allowance," you tell her. "I know you were real sad when you lost the button off your dress, so I was thinkin' I could sew them on for you. And I got enough to make 'em all match, too."

You can feel Eddie's heavy footsteps stop right beside you, but you only have eyes for Mama— your Mama, whose face has crumpled in a rare show of sentimentality. "Why, y/n!" Your name comes out in a hush of awed breath, soft as the silk in your apron pocket. "That's very sweet of you, honey. You din't have to do that."

"I wanted to," you assure her genuinely, and the brush of Eddie's hot elbow against your arm, which lingers long enough to let you know it wasn't accidental, pleases you just as much as the affection on your Mama's face.

"Ma'am?"

Mama glances from the buttons on your open palm toward Eddie, her face smooth and unburdened as he continues somewhat hesitantly, "I'm not presumin' to know what you have planned for the afternoon, but I was wonderin' if it would be possible for y/n to come with me on a quick ride?"

When she merely stares at him without replying— not shutting him down, but not encouraging him either— Eddie stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as he continues quickly. "Jonathan Byers told me there's a field bloomin' full of wildflowers still this late in the season. Said he happened upon it just this week. And I was thinkin' maybe she'd like to see it, considerin' how she really likes flowers."

You blink at Eddie, noting the cautious optimism on his face. You wonder if he knows it's a bold request— asking you to go out after reading with you all morning, not to mention alone and unaccompanied. And you think, judging by the way his eyes crinkle just slightly in a subtle wince, maybe he does, though you aren't sure that wince would be noticeable to anyone but you, who has gazed at your best friend's face more often than anyone in the world, except perhaps Wayne.

It's a bold request— bordering on too bold if you had to make a supposition. Yet, now that the question has been asked, it cannot be swallowed back up again.

Mama's face hasn't quite soured, though it has lost some of that warmth from a moment ago as her discerning eyes scan first Eddie's face and then yours. And as her words echo in your head— 'Y'aren't to go off with the Munson boy anymore; it's not proper at your grown age'— you anticipate the same sentiment to fall from her thin lips.

Your Mama offers the second surprise of the day.

"One hour," she says, brows raised nearly to her hairline as she levels you with a loaded look. "Go'n visit the flower field and come straight back. No dawdlin’, no galavantin’. You hear?"

The shock that races through you is rivaled only by a sharp welling-up of giddiness that you fight valiantly to keep from showing on your face. "Yes, Mama," you reply obediently, managing to keep that quivering excitement from leaking into your voice. "I promise. I won't even take Guinnie so's to save time. I'll just grab my bloomers." You glance at Eddie, and it's much harder not to react when you see the eager sparkle in his eye, the one he can't quite stifle even in your mother's presence. Your suggestion comes out in a rush of words, bending up at the end like a question. "Go'n get Merlin ready, 'n I'll meet you by the truck?"

You want to run, to race up the stairs to your room, rip on your bloomers, and fling yourself from the window in your impatience to reach the ground. You're able to contain the impulse long enough to see Eddie jerk his chin in a nod before you turn away, lifting each foot and setting it down deliberately, walking with measured steps toward the staircase. But once they're out of sight— once you've let Mama and Eddie slip from view behind the wall and placed the first foot upon the bottom step— you can't quite keep a giggle of utter delight from slipping out as you abandon the pretense of calm and rush up to your room.

Merlin's hooves thump softly as he treads over grass and dirt, and your hips sway in time with his haunches as you lean against the broad, strong back of your best friend, cheek pressed to the linen of his shirt. It's warmer now than it had been on the walk back from the general store, and that heat is sinking into your muscles as the sun glows upon the top of your head, turning your eyes heavy and your body languid aside from the grip you have on Eddie. Your arms are wrapped snugly around his middle, your hands locked around your forearms, and his arm is tangled up between. Eddie's skin is a little rougher than yours, his arm hairier, and his hand calloused and dry and practically burning hot, but it's a welcome contrast. There's something about the way Eddie has wedged it between yours as if to ensure you won't let go of him, something that makes a certain feeling stretch and curl around your ribs and sternum, nuzzling the same way your cheek does against the plane of his shoulder— affectionate, appreciative. Content.

You're content to hold Eddie and let him guide you, eyes closed as Merlin continues at a gentle trot until a potent aroma hits you. It's the soothing comfort of honeysuckle and the untamed spirit of milkweed, mingling like a melody of sweet and earthy notes that dance in the air.

You've arrived.

It's as your eyes pop eagerly open that Eddie pulls back on Merlin's reigns, and the muscles of his back roll against your breasts, flexing in a way that is unintentionally erotic. You feel a pulse of heat low in your belly, but Eddie remains ignorant of your reaction. As Merlin slows to a halt, he swings himself down without hesitation, looking up to offer you a hand, unaware of how the sudden loss of his warm strength leaves you almost bereft. Still, you let him help you down, and momentarily, the allure of his closeness is superseded by the allure of the place he's brought you to. Your breath catches in your chest at the sight of the field, which is somehow more stunning than you had expected it to be.

The gold of black-eyed susans and the pale sun of yellow coneflowers mix with the purples and blues of wild indigo and ironweed; soft white milkweed floats like clouds among the tall grasses and ferns, and cardinal flowers dot amongst them like tiny spots of flame. The air is thick with the gentle hum of bees and the chirping of crickets nestled within the foliage, and the field is surrounded by a thick copse of shadowy elm and hickory trees. All of the landscape is bathed in the deepening orange of the setting sun, casting the landscape in a warm glow that seems to both deepen and enervate its wild beauty.

As the wind picks up, the sea of wildflowers ripples like a living, breathing organism, swaying as one, beckoning you and Eddie with its dance. And you accept its offer; you cast a smile overflowing with joy toward Eddie, and without any further fuss, you plunge into that living sea.

As you make your way through, the gentle swaying of the plants brushes against your bare ankles, rustling and catching on the fabric of your skirt and apron. You let your fingertips trail along velvety petals and ticklish grass, feet sinking into the soft earth still warm from the heat of the day as you trail a meandering path through the foliage. You are aimless in your destination, drawn by the beauty of the field you're bathing in, until, on a whim, you stop, spinning on your heel to find Eddie only a few steps behind you. The grasses of the field part like water to make room for him beside you.

Your earlier excitement has simmered to deep affection, sticky and thick like honey as the setting sun glints in Eddie's umber eyes, lightening his curls to deep caramel. "Ed," you murmur softly, "thank you for bringing me here." You suck your bottom lip into your mouth as he draws closer until his scent mixes with the sweetness of the sea surrounding you both: the warm smoke of tobacco, the brightness of laundry powder, the musk of a summer storm.

"'Course, turtle dove," he murmurs, and it's curious that you're both speaking quietly despite being the only ones here, as if afraid the sudden sharp sound of your voices will wake you from a pleasant dream. Eddie ducks his chin, peering at you from behind the curls that slip past his ear to drape near his cheek. "I'd hoped you'd like it."

"Of course I like it," you reply, half-exasperated but still soft. "This is… well, this is the prettiest thing I've ever seen, I think."

Eddie doesn't reply; instead, he drifts closer until you can feel the heat of his body against the peaks of your breasts and the brush of his linen shirt against your apron. He reaches out, and you think those long fingers will wrap around your hip or sink into the curve of your waist, caressing you softly. But they don't. Instead, they dip into the pocket of your apron, seeking the item still left inside— the one the tips of your fingers grazed when you searched for the new buttons you'd purchased for your Mama. And you watch Eddie pull out a line of silk, which unravels to spill open from its roll.

While you'd perused the buttons at the tailor's shop, Eddie had drawn his calloused fingers through the display of hair ribbons near the counter. He'd skipped over waxy pinks and cloying yellows, lingering longer while considering deep amethysts and verdant greens. In the end, though, he'd chosen white— shiny white like a dove's feather. "So you can wear it anytime you want," he reasoned when he presented it to you, "'n you don't have to fuss over whether it matches your dress or whatever silly nonsense you women worry about." He'd grinned wide when you smacked him lightly for that remark before rolling the ribbon carefully up and slipping it into your apron pocket to join your own purchase.

Eddie's fingers are long and ruddy, cracked and calloused; his palms are dry, broad, and strong, accustomed to brutish work and the roughness required of a man of his trade. Yet when he reaches behind your neck, fitting the cool silk of the ribbon against the nape before drawing the sides carefully forward to wrap around your throat, his touch is as gentle as the brush of fuzzy down against your delicate skin. His tongue peeks pink between his lips as he slowly and carefully ties the ribbon into a bow, tightening it just enough to keep it snug without it pinching you too tightly. You hold your breath as he adjusts the loops, eyes locked on your neck until his hands drop and that umber darts up to meet yours.

A corner of Eddie's lips crooks in a lopsided smile, and one of his dimples comes out to greet you. "You're pretty," he tells you, and you flood with more of that sticky-sweet honey as you brush your thumbs against his jaw, fingers splaying over his cheekbones to pull him into a gentle kiss.

When you break from his lips, what happens next becomes an inevitability.

Eddie avoids the spiky petals of black-eyed susans as he draws you down to the grass, his lanky limbs nestling into the colorful sea. He settles you on top of him, and your knees press into the warm earth as he gathers your long skirt in his hands and you pull his shirt hem from his shorts, pushing it up his belly to reveal the divet of his belly button and the dark hair that trails downward to lead below his waistband. You work the button open unhurriedly as he searches for your skin beneath your dress, grunting as he encounters your bloomers. You breathe a chuckle as he pulls them down sloppily, releasing his pants to help him; he helps you in turn until your undergarments are finally discarded in the tall grass beside you, and his are pushed down far enough to reveal the semi-hardness of his thick length, which lazes comfortably against his abdomen. As you finally settle down on him, hot skin against hot skin, Eddie cups your face to pull you into a kiss.

Eddie's kisses are deep, warm, and wet, drawing you into him until between your legs beats in time with your heart. Your hips begin to shift against him, seeking friction to relieve the ache, and as your arousal increases, so do your kisses grow more frantic— sloppier, less careful, more needful. He bucks up into you, swallowing your slight whimper as his hands snake beneath your skirt that has fanned to cover your lower halves, skimming up your thighs to take firm hold of your hips. He maneuvers you slightly until his hardness slots right into the slippery heat of your lips, his erection pressed flat against his belly as he grinds you down onto himself.

A haze of desire blankets you as you move atop Eddie in the grass; your mind creeps with it, fogging until there's nothing but the feeling of his body, solid and warm beneath you, and his lips, firm and soft against your mouth. You move by instinct, rolling your hips until you're moving yourself equally as much as he's moving you. Your hands seek his curls, burying just above his ears as you grind down on his cock until you're writhing, whimpering, leaking, cream easing that slide and dripping down to coat his balls.

The ache inside you that was sated by the feeling of Eddie's hardness against your heated flesh returns, insisting that you be filled. You drop staccato kisses to Eddie's lips before leveraging against his ribs to kneel up straight, gathering your skirt and apron in hasty hands to reveal the place where you will soon be joined. You lift your ass as Eddie grasps himself, fitting the fat head of his cock between your sticky lips; you shift until it stops bumping against you and instead nudges slightly inside where it belongs.

When you sink down onto him, and Eddie stretches you open this second time, it doesn't hurt as much as the first, whether because you've already experienced this or because you're distracted by how his face contorts with the pleasure of feeling you engulf him. There's still a pinch, but it's expected now; and as you fall flush with his pelvis, you only pause briefly before you begin to move again with him now inside you.

You don't move expertly, far from it, but you allow instinct to continue guiding you. Your thighs cradle Eddie's hips as you begin to rock gently together, the mutual sounds of pleasure mingling to join the chorus of nature around you. You're enjoying the sight of him below you when he wraps his arms around your back, drawing you down flat against his chest as he takes over moving for you, pumping his hips up into you. Due to the angle, his movements are slight but still pleasant, and you enjoy the way he can now lavish you with kisses— brief tender pecks that land on your nose, your cheeks, the corners of your lips, your chin. Eddie kisses anywhere he can reach, picking up speed until you're giggling, and then he smiles, eyes crinkling with the force of his delight at your happiness. You return the gesture, pressing your hands against his ears to keep him still so you can pepper him with affection until he's giggling too.

"Don't eat me up," he teases you, gently pulling your hands from his ears and weaving your fingers with his.

"You're the one eatin' me up, Ed!" you return playfully, and he hums as he draws your hands toward his face. He kisses each finger, umber eyes locked unwaveringly on yours, and your chest stirs with tenderness at the gesture; he presses his hands into the grass near his ears, shifting you with him to lean forward.

"Use me," he murmurs, his voice a sensual hum. "Press down on my hands."

You follow his direction, using the leverage to lift yourself so you can move more boldly on top of him. As you do, you watch the pleasure begin to grow on Eddie's face— the crease of his brow, the haziness of his eyes, the flush spreading on his cheeks and throat, the plush pink of his lips that pucker around white teeth as he bites the bottom one, earnest and wanting as he stares at your face. The signs of his pleasure increase yours, as does the rocking of his hard cock snug inside your tight heat, a combination that soon has you panting, your head lolling loosely as you look down at him. Eddie's abundant curls are splayed across grass and flowers, dark tendrils that paint the yellows and blues and purples with a spillage of beautiful ink. The skin of his face and neck is pale as it always is but sun-kissed in the late summer, freckled from days spent working the fields. The sight of your best friend beneath you increases that tingling and throbbing between your hips, and with it, the movement you can manage in this position is soon no longer enough to satisfy you.

You pull your fingers from Eddie's grip so you can brace your hands on his chest instead, leveraging a new angle that has your hips rolling snugger against his. An eager groan rumbles in his throat and pushes through those plump lips, and Eddie's fingers plunge beneath your skirt to take hold of your thighs, squeezing restlessly as you rock on him. "That feel good, Ed?" you ask, voice quiet and high but hoarsened with need.

"Yeah, baby," Eddie rasps, "feels— feels so good—"

Your pussy flutters at the praise, and Eddie grunts, eyes widening in surprise as he blurts, "Oh, fuck me, you're— shit—"

"Mmm—" The filthiness of Eddie's mouth makes you moan, whiny and pathetic, and you try to stifle the sound behind a bitten lip.

Immediately, his hand leaves your thigh to find your mouth as he hisses, "No, sweetheart, let me hear you— wanna hear you."

His thumb presses insistently on the plump of your bottom lip until you release it, and he rewards you by caressing that rough pad sensually across its softness. You whimper again, and the sound passes high and sweet through the open seam of your lips as he drags the bottom one down, his index finger pressing under your chin to keep you where he wants you. You rock your hips a little faster as you watch him stare at your mouth, his eyes hazy and deep, almost hypnotized, as he plays with your lip. The movement of his thumb remains languid, slow and meandering. That is, until it wanders almost incidentally past your teeth to press lightly against your tongue.

Whether it's the unexpectedness of the action or the fact that you can feel him inside you in two places now instead of one, the feeling of Eddie's calloused thumb against your tongue makes you moan and shiver with an acute burst of pleasure. Almost instinctively, your lips close around it, cheeks hollowing slightly as you suck; you watch Eddie's eyes widen, pupils visibly blowing as you wrap a hand around his wrist, holding him there so you can suck on his thumb as you ride him. He moans, voice higher and hoarser than before, more breathy and uncontrolled; the sound spurs you on until you're rocking harder, mindlessly obeying your body, behaving the way it wants to behave. And your body wants you to suck on Eddie's thumb, to move until you're bouncing slightly on his cock, ass slapping rhythmically against his thighs as he gasps and stutters, "Holy— that's it, please— please d-don't stop, sweetheart, don't stop—"

And you've only lain with a man once, but the way Eddie's fingers are digging into your hip; the way his hand pinches your chin as you suck and lave his thumb; the way the tendons stand stark from the flushed, mottled skin of his throat, the way the rapid rise and fall of his chest has begun to deepen— they tell you what all women know as their men's pleasure begins to tip toward inevitability. You whimper, your own pleasure flaring at the knowledge of what's approaching, and the sound is muffled around Eddie's skin; you pull Eddie's thumb from your mouth, nuzzling against his knuckles and ignoring the fatigue in your thighs and hips as you say his name. "Eddie," you call, sweet and needy, your yearning evident in the honey that drips from your tongue. "Eddie, please, I want you."

It's a vague request borne of shyness, but Eddie knows what you mean. "You want my seed again, y/n?" he husks, voice hoarsened with desire for you, for what you request of him. "You want me to empty inside you?"

"Yes, yes—" your reply is a rapturous sigh of deep wanting; when he hears it, Eddie huffs harshly, rutting up into you in time with your bouncing once, twice, and then again—

And the inevitability comes to pass.

Eddie pulls his fingers from your grasp to squeeze your hips with both hands; he presses you down hard onto his cock as it jumps and pulses inside you. You hear him moan, the sound hoarse and high, and you sing along with him, sweet sounds of satisfaction that only subside once the warm flood of his cum has coated you entirely inside and the tensing of his muscles has relaxed to leave him a boneless heap beneath you. You lean forward hastily, hands dragging up his shirt to fist in the collar; instantly, as if he is of the same mind, Eddie's broad palms drag from your hips up your back to tangle in your hair.

And then you're kissing him desperately.

His still-hard cock slips out slightly as he hauls you against him, and you feel the leakage of his seed as it spills from your pussy to coat his balls, but neither of you care. You kiss Eddie, and he kisses you, hungry for the intimacy felt in the caress of one another's lips, the drag of one another's tongues, the sweetness of one another's breaths that slip into your lungs.

You and Eddie kiss until the fervency of your shared desire dips like the waning sun into gentle affection again. You notice that the light around you is dim as you calm; the sky has sunk past orange and blue to deep violet and pink, the oaks and hickories now nothing but shadows, signaling that it's time to return home.

Now that you're both sated, Eddie presses a chapped kiss to your forehead before releasing you from the welcome cage of his arms. And when you finally rise together, looking down at the place you'd chosen to express your devotion, the imprint in the crushed flowers forms the shape of a single body— as if you and Eddie have become one person, forever connected, eternally entwined.

Eddie Munson never does anything by half.

Now that he'd discovered what acts of service would afford him with your parents, for the next week, he makes himself quite abundant. You begin to predict the sight of those dark curls bobbing towards you from next door in the late morning or afternoon, brown eyes alert and hands ready to assist. When he's finished with the tasks around his own farm, like aiding Wayne in irrigating and fertilizing the corn fields or mucking out the stalls for Merlin and his uncle's horse Sally, he'll toe off his loafers on the front door mat and poke his soft nose around the corner of the foyer wall, seeking for somewhere he might be needed. In the past four days, Eddie has repaired the bottom step of the staircase, the one that always creaked so loud no matter how gently you stepped on it; tightened the joists on the banister to stop it from wobbling; patched and painted the wall where Pa'd cracked the plaster slamming the back door open too hard; and hung the mirror that had been propped in the corner of your bedroom since you'd brought it home since Pa'd gotten too busy to do it for you. Mama hovers in the doorway, watching like a hawk as Eddie works in your bedroom, her body half-shielding yours behind her, though the gesture feels less like protection and more like a boundary you cannot cross. But Eddie just measures, carefully hammers in the nail, and grunts when he lifts the heavy iron frame; he steps back, squaring his fingers and squinting as his tongue pokes between his lips. After a brief perusal, he drops his hands and expression, seemingly satisfied, as he turns towards you two to gauge your assessment.

You beam brightly at him from behind your mother's shoulder, and it doesn't take too long for Mama to nod. "Looks good there," she says, warmer than you've ever heard her when speaking to or about your best friend. "Thank you, Edward."

"It's no trouble, ma'am," he replies, and the look of pride— the gentle pleasure that blooms across his face to hear your mother's approval— just makes you sink that much farther into the depth of your feeling for him.

If Mama suspects or questions why Eddie has been so helpful the past week, she doesn't share her concerns with you; and once she's voiced her thanks so explicitly, Eddie turns his attention toward slaying his next dragon.

It's about a week after you'd read together on the porch that he finds his chance. You're in the goat pen, refilling the metal trough with water from the well while your father works in the field beyond. "I know," you murmur consolingly to the gray-furred kid hiding behind your legs. He's cowering, eyes rolling, his small mouth open in a near-continuous bleat drowned by the growl of the tractor. "I know you don't like the sound. I'm sorry."

Your words do little to quell his distress; as you finish pouring the water from your bucket into the trough, he doesn't move to join the others, standing with his legs splayed wide and his back arched. He bleats and cries incessantly, staggering after you a few steps when you begin to drift toward the gate. "Okay, okay," you say, your sympathy for the animal winning out against your desire to keep busy lest you face your Mama's reprimand for idling.

Abruptly, the aggressive growl of the tractor subsides to a puttering hum and then, shortly, to silence. You glance toward the expansive field to find it all shorn now, the hay cut to flat and dry before it can be rolled into bales next week. You watch your father hop down from the tractor, his face contorted in a wince as the smallest goat in the pen continues bleating despite the lack of noise from the tractor. Where your Mama is short and ample, your Pa towers tall and narrow, stretched out like a beanstalk, with wiry limbs and a tightness about his manner that manifests in severe lines around his mouth and across his brow.

"That damn bleating's drivin' me up the wall," your Pa grouses. "Kid's 'bout to get tossed in the crik if it doesn't stop that infernal noise-making."

Your voice bends up imploringly, distress clenching in your chest at the idea. "He's just scared o'the tractor, Pa. He can't help it." He scowls, but his rebuttal is interrupted when Eddie appears from alongside your house, heading straight for you both. You and your father look at him, and your eyes rove over his form— he's dressed in overalls, his pale skin shiny with sweat and ruddy from the heat, though it hasn't dulled the warm umber of his eyes.

"Hi, Ed," you greet him, the cloud of your worry broken up by the brightness of his sudden appearance.

"Afternoon," he greets you both, flicking his sodden bangs out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. "Been fixin' up my uncle's fence on the far side opposite your property," he explains, gaze locked on your Pa, "and I've got some leftover planks. Was thinkin' maybe you'd like me to replace some o'your oldest ones. It wouldn't be any trouble."

Your father pulls off his cap and rubs the sweat roughly from his weathered forehead. His brows flash as he fits it back on smartly, and his voice is much less gruff than before as he replies, "Well, if you're inclined to spend your afternoon workin' on my fence, Edward, I certainly wouldn't stop you."

Eddie nods, sweaty curls bobbing as he stuffs his hands into his overall pockets. You can tell he's trying not to look too chuffed, but the dimple at the corner of his mouth betrays how much he's pleased with your father's answer. "Happy to hear that, sir," he says, and his gaze quickly flashes to you and back. "I'll grab the boards and such. Be back over in a jiff."

Your Pa nods and watches him leave; once he's gone, both pairs of eyes, father and daughter, turn back to the kid, who has wedged himself between the wooden shelter and the wire fence of the pen, disinterested in food or drink. He's still bleating, though not quite as loudly now, but the way your father's eyes narrow at the sound of his pitiful cries has that anxiousness crawling up your throat again. "Pa," you say cautiously, chewing your bottom lip as a vein twitches in his narrow forehead. "I'm sure he'll quiet down soo—"

Before you can even finish the sentence, your father has stalked forward, snatching up the struggling kid in a splay of kicking legs. "No, Pa," you whimper, earnest in your protest but half-hearted in your delivery as that anxiety condenses to a thick lump at the base of your throat. "Please don't throw him in the crik; he's just a baby."

Pa rounds on you, eyes steely, brow furrowed deeply with consternation and stress. "I told you, y/n. It's been days of this now, and I can't abide it no more."

Your lip wobbles as you stand there, watching helplessly as he maneuvers around the other goats in the enclosure, heading towards the fence.

It's when he's almost reached the gate that Eddie turns the corner of the house again, carrying a few boards under one arm and jingling with each step as the nails in his overall pocket sing to announce his arrival. Pa halts just at the edge of the goat pen as Eddie looks up, his face instantly creasing with confusion and concern as he takes in the sight before him: your father, holding a struggling, bleating kid, scowling down at the gate that he can't open with his hands occupied as they are, and you, wringing your hands behind him, shoulders drawn up and eyes big and wet, very clearly distressed.

"Boy—" Pa jerks his chin at Eddie, motioning toward the gate with his elbow. "Help me get this open so I can be rid of this infernal racket once and for all."

Eddie lowers the boards to the grass, and while he doesn't dare disobey your father's command, you can see from how his eyes dart that he's thinking quickly. "He been cryin' long?" Eddie asks casually.

"Been days now, ever since I started up with the tractor to prepare for harvest," your father grunts. Eddie nods slowly, eyes tracking the kid's knobby legs as they swing wildly. You watch with bated breath as his brow furrows; slowly, so as not to spook the animal further, Eddie reaches out and gently wraps his ruddy fingers around the kid's front left leg. Impatience leaks in a growl from your father's mouth. "What're y'doin', Edward? Open the damn gate."

He says Eddie's name like a warning, and your heart leaps in your chest, but Eddie merely peers closely at the hoof for the briefest moment before letting the animal quickly go. And had it not been for the earnest seriousness in his voice as he meets Pa's eye calmly, the question Eddie asks next would have made you faint.

"If I can make him quiet, sir, would you still wanna throw him in that creek?"

The goat is still struggling in your father's hold as he squints at Eddie for a moment, his expression half-contorted as if he's undecided about whether to tell him off. Your heart thumps hard, your sweaty fingers wringing as the two men face one another— your father is nearly a head taller than your best friend, but Eddie doesn't cow to the intensity of his stare. Instead, he stands tall, shoulders solid and proud but brow unfurrowed. Not defiant. Just not acquiescent, either.

Rather than replying, your father merely steps back and drops the kid to its feet, not altogether kindly. He wrenches the gate open himself, stalking through and slamming it behind him; it bounces back open, and you rush forward to block the exit as he heads straight for the house.

His shout carries back to you, crisp on the wind. "If it ain't quiet by the time I'm back, I won't bother with the crik. I'll just wring its scrawny neck."

And with that, he disappears into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

Now alone, you and Eddie meet eyes, but there is no secret smoldering or shy smiles now. Instead, Eddie slips into the pen, brown eyes wide and solemn as he crouches to his knees in the dirt. "It's okay, little fella," he murmurs, one calloused finger stroking lightly between the kid's horns. "We're gonna help you feel better."

"What's wrong with him, Ed?" you ask, shaky with adrenaline and distress as you see Eddie pull a small penknife from his overall pocket.

"Don't worry, turtle dove." Eddie's voice is just as gentle as he looks up at you, and the soft kindness there makes you want to snatch up his face and press kiss after kiss to his lips. "He's just got a rock stuck in his hoof. That's all."

Your breath shudders out shakily as you watch Eddie take hold of the goat's leg, moving slowly and surely so as not to startle him. It squeaks out another sharp sound as he lifts its hoof; the kid's leg bends at the knee as it wavers slightly while trying to balance on its other hooves.

But when it comes down to it, the whole affair is really quite quick work. Eddie works the penknife carefully between the stone and the horn of the goat's hoof, jimmying it slightly until the object comes loose and falls to the dirt near his knee. He drops the kid's leg, and immediately it backs up, scuffing its other hoof against the ground in agitation.

Eddie is unbothered by its display of hostility. "There ya go." He picks up the small rock, tossing it out of the pen to land softly in the grass beyond. "Now you'll feel much better."

A potent mixture of relief, guilt, and gratefulness fills you as the kid falls finally silent. Relief that he'd be okay now. Guilt that you hadn't thought to check for another explanation for his bleating. But strongest of all is gratefulness— gratefulness that Eddie was able to stand up to your father when you cowered away.

"Thank you," you say, soft and sweet as you gaze into Eddie's umber eyes.

"No trouble, y/n," Eddie replies, his lips tilting with a lopsided smile, one cheek dimpling with the fondness of it.

For a moment, you gaze at that familiar pale face framed by dark, sweaty curls. The face of your best friend, the person you adore most in this world, whose wild restlessness— the fervency of it— is rivaled only by the depth of his care for you and the kindness that leaks obstinately through despite the world's attempt to stifle it.

You gaze at Eddie, at the face you've known for ten years. And in that moment, you realize that you love him.

In your backyard, standing in the goat pen, you swallow thick, welling with love for Eddie Munson. But you are unsafe from prying eyes that may be peering through the kitchen curtain; your voice is silenced by the threat of that screen door swinging open unexpectedly. So you do the only thing you can think of to show Eddie that you've realized you love him.

You brush the dirt off his knees, swiping the dark earth away with patience and diligence until the soft denim is clear blue again.

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gyu-effect · 6 months

Note

Hiii Sarah! I saw your requests were open so I came RUNNING🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Could I maybe ask a scenario where it is like "what are we?" But where you are confused, but the other is so sure you are already in a relationship? Anyone you think fits the vibe is fine!

Hope this makes sense, if not that is totally okay! Love you and have great day💗

PAIRING || Seokmin x Female Reader

GENRES || Fluff, Friends To Lovers AU, Angst (if you use a magnifying glass i suppose)

WARNINGS || none

WORD COUNT || 0.8k

A/N || asdfghjkl omg im flattered! i hope i did justice to your request and i decided to pick seokmin because i felt like he fitted this scenario and totally not because he's my bias. also, i had a field day with making this cover as an excuse to go scroll tho seokmin pics lmfao. thank you so much for requesting! requests are open !!!

TAGLIST || @romeosbreastmilk @y00nzin0 @cecedrake2217 @candidupped @ashkuuuu @hanicore @alyssng @weebotakuboy @angelfeverdream @aaniag @sea-moon-star @thepoopdokyeomtouched @winterbeartaehyungbestboy [if you want to be added to my taglist, fill in this form!]

[15:30]

“you both are coming to jaehyun’s birthday party, right?” seungcheol’s question caused the two of you to look up from the shared maths textbook, you glaring at him slightly for causing this useless interruption. “what?” he asked again, seeing your expression. “it’s a genuine question!”

“and why is it a genuine question?” you asked, causing seokmin to chuckle beside you.

“yeah cheol, why is it a genuine question?” seokmin asked too, but you got the feeling he was just entertaining you. because seungcheol then gave him a dry look, as though saying, don’t act like you don’t know.

“well, you know. ‘cus he said you need a date to come to his party.” seungcheol answered.

“since you already know that clause, why are you asking then? valentine boy wanted to make sure people knew he was adonis and hence born on 14th february but rather unfortunately we are bitchless so we won’t be going-”

“what?” seokmin asked, causing you to turn to him. he was looking at you in complete surprise, as though your answer had caught him off-guard.

“what what?” you asked, unsure how to react to the way he was acting. you could see the slight hurt in his eyes, and you swallowed thickly, wondering what had you said wrong that hurt the angelic boy sitting opposite to you.

“uhm, i need to go find joshua. i’ll leave you guys to talk. bye!” seungcheol muttered but you didn’t hear him fully because you were busy trying to figure out this sudden change in seokmin. you reached out for his hand but he jerked it away, still staring at you in disbelief. ouch.

“you said we are bitchless?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. he looked like a puppy that had been kicked and you almost heard your heart shatter.

“y-yeah? i- i mean- oh my god, do you have a girlfriend? oh my god, i’m so sorry seok. i didn’t kno-”

“but aren’t you my girlfriend?” he asked, frowning at you.

now it was your time to be confused. “what?” you asked.

“what what?” seokmin asked again, imitating you. you blinked at him to snap out of your daze, before punching his arm lightly. “seokmin! don’t joke like this!”

“but i’m not joking!”

“what are you talking about? when did we start dating? aren’t we- aren’t we friends?”

“friends?” he blinked at you in surprise. “i thought you had a crush on me?”

“yeah but that was- that was then! and then you started talking to me so i thought- i thought-”

“you thought?” seokmin whispered, edging closer to you so that your noses were almost brushing. he was so close to you that you could almost count the lashes on his eyes and you felt your face flush. you wanted to look away but the way he was looking at you, with his eyes shining, made it difficult to focus anywhere else except his face. “do you not like me anymore?”

“i do.” you muttered, finally being able to look down. your knees were brushing against his and you could feel your heart hammering loudly in your chest. “but to be honest, i approached you just to be your friend because that was more than enough so i thought…”

“but i never said i didn’t like you, did i?” he whispered, his soft breath hitting your face. “i knew you had a crush on me and i treated you as specially as i could. did you not realise?”

you finally looked up at him, blinking as the words slowly settled in. seokmin liked you back. lee seokmin, the sweet boy you always had a crush on but thought was just a good friend, liked you back.

“what are we, seok?” you whispered, scanning his sincere face for answers. though you already knew the answer, you wanted to hear it from him.

seokmin smiled at you softly, causing your heart to nearly explode as he slowly pulled you in closer with one hand while the other gently cupped your face. “more than friends?”

“you never told me.”

“yeah, i’m sorry love.” he chuckled, his breath fanning your lips. the urge to kiss him was growing stronger with each passing second and you nearly smashed your lips against his when he asked, “can i kiss you?”

your eyes fluttered close as you nodded, and you soon felt his soft lips brush against yours lightly. but the next second he kissed you harder, completely enveloping your lips in his as he stole your breath away, tilting your head to get a better access to your lips.

finally the two of you broke apart, gasping lightly for breath as you rested your forehead against each other.

“so,” seokmin asked, his voice a bit hoarse. “do you want to go out with me to jaehyun’s birthday?”

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crisiscutie · 1 year

Note

It's does remind me this one song, Christmas Kids. Yandere Sephiroth tried babytrap his s/o for not leaving him. Christmas kids represent the triplets. Which is Yan!Sephiroth tried to make his s/o pregnant. They tried best to escape hell away from their own prison house. Even, they're change their name and move other country, Sephiroth will find them no matter what.

Yandere domestic Sephiroth AU? Yes, please. I've listened to the song, I really like it. Something about sad songs with happy beats always gets to me. I may have heard it before in some YT shorts... Anyways, it fits a domestic Yandere Sephiroth and a Pregnant!Darling very well. Just imagine the darling coming back to her new home and finding Sephiroth waiting...

Companion fic here.

Content Warnings: Slight NSFW, Emotional abuse, Pregnant Darling. Long headcanons under the cut.

Grocery shopping for the week wasn't easy, but it had to be done. The boys won't be happy that their mother went shopping without them, but school must come first.

Plus, the darling wasn't in the mood to hear Loz and Kadaj arguing and begging for certain foods that week. But regardless of their squabbles, they are her precious gifts. Her Christmas kids, as they were born on that day. The happiest day of her life.

The darling opened the door to her new home, taking a deep breath and feeling the exhaustion from the errand. The ache in her swollen feet, aching back and sensitive milk-filled breasts was overwhelming.

But the pain and discomfort she felt in her pregnant body was a small price to pay for the freedom she and her boys gained.

The young, naïve triplet boys were confused of why their mother wanted to move suddenly, but they obeyed her with little hesitation, anyway.

The darling didn't want them to turn out like Sephiroth. His possessiveness and control were too much to bear. When he took to killing innocent people in the misguided attempt to "protect" her and the boys, that was the last straw. She knew she had to leave that fucked up place called "home" behind...

She grabbed her young boys and left their prison house when the stars aligned...

Despite her unexpected pregnancy by Sephiroth, her journey brought her here. She kept pushing forward, and the reward was a peaceful, cozy home for her and her children. Until today.

As the darling placed items on the shelves, she felt a cold, eerie sensation, as if something was watching her from the darkness.

She forced herself to ignore the eerie chill, opening the window blinds slightly as she resumed her normal stocking pace.

Even though the sun was shining brightly on this beautiful day, the eerie chill still lingered in their new home.

But it has nothing to do with what happened in their past. Definitely not. It's probably just a cold flash from her pregnancy getting so close to the end.

As she tippytoes, she strained her body to place the last few items.

As a response, the backache from her pregnant belly intensified. She could feel her baby's sporadic movements, ranging from gentle kicks to violent jolts. Maybe the darling should've invested in a step stool...

A wave of heat washed over her, a heat that was neither comforting nor from the sun, but a heat that was harsh and oppressive.

Now she's having hot flashes? Oh, the perils of pregnancy. At least this little one inside her should be much easier to have than the triplet boys.

The darling softly smiled as she recalled the adventurous banter among the triplets during their journey to a new home. They were debating the sex of their new sibling.

Loz longed for a younger brother to wrestle and play games with, knowing that he would have a better shot at winning against him, unlike his other brothers.

Yazoo, with his level-headed and composed outlook, predicted it would be a girl, welcoming the possibility of her tempering the wildness of his brothers (what a hypocrite).

Kadaj didn't care either way, as long as they didn't challenge his position as the leader and his status as his mother's (self-proclaimed) favorite.

The darling let out a deep groan as she paused her stocking. Her unborn child ended the sporadic fetal movements with the hardest kick yet. Something just isn't right... Perhaps she will see someone later this week after she and the boys finish moving in.

Suddenly, the dark, icy chill behind her shifted to a menacing heat, like a furnace blazing from the shadows. It felt so familiar, like… No! It's impossible! That chapter was a distant memory.

The darling is just imagining things. It should be no surprise that the human brain likes to play cruel tricks like this.

Like how Loz kept running to his mother, crying about seeing mysterious dark feathers around his school, the grocery store and other places their family would visit. He would complain that Sephiroth was too good at hide and seek.

The darling figured the strange dark feathers were simply a product of his mind, missing his father in his own way...

But it became alarming when Yazoo began to murmur and point out the smallest details of every single dark feather as he brought them to her.

Kadaj was getting frustrated, beginning to wonder why their father wouldn't help them finish moving in.

The darling refused to believe the boys. It could just be the ravens shredding their feathers, right?

With trembling hands, the darling slowly reached out for the final item. When she completes this simple task, she can lie down and relax. All of her stress, and the aching in her back especially, would soon be gone.

Just before she could grasp it, a large, gloved hand appeared and delicately placed the last item on the top shelf.

The darling felt a strange, unwanted sense of relief as she felt the slow and gentle strokes of another hand on her back.

...His presence could not be denied any longer. She felt his chest expanding and contracting against her head, and heard the gentle thump of his heart.

Sephiroth… No matter how many miles they traveled or how many times they changed their names and minds, he still had the determination to find them. He'll always know.

His silver tresses brushed against her skin as he hummed his sinister lullaby, pressing his lips to her ear.

His free hand grazed one of her sensitive, milk-filled teats. His hand then slowly descended, aiming for the treasure below.

His darling's swollen belly, where the new life within her stirred and grew.

He rested his hand on the center of her large belly. Warm, twisted happiness now radiated from him. His plan worked.

His darling refused to turn around. Struggling to contain her sobs, His darling averted her head from him and wept in silence.

His fingers glided over the stretched skin of her stomach, while his other hand moved lower to caress the small of her back.

As he opened his mouth, his warm breath tickled her ear.

"A touching reunion."

I wasn't sure if the prompt ask had the darling pregnant with triplets or already had them and was pregnant with a spare child, so I just combined a little of both concepts, but regardless, thanks for the great inspiration.

Yandere Domestic AU chronology: Christmas Kids | The Reunion is Nothing to Fear | Wait for me | Homecoming | The Crowning Moment

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cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin.

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that.

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness.

02.

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester.

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time.

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture.

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red.

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao.

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day.

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before.

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do.

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists.

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke.

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater.

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.”

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm.

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him.

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?”

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein.

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.”

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!”

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much.

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05.

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being.

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest.

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations.

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later.

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him.

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks.

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie.

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.”

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06.

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year.

But you let him in anyway.

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years.

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you?

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with.

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you?

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up.

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…”

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you?

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it.

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him.

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long.

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago.

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh.

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love.

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel.

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor.

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all.

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work.

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you.

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end.

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares.

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ?

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist.

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems.

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.”

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao.

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception.

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.”

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at.

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao fanfic #xiao smut #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #cryoculus

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crystaljellie · 2 months

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I’m doing it I’m yapping.

Okay so my life series fantasy AU

Basically Joel and Jimmy were isekai’d into this fantasy world. Everyone else is already part of the world. Jimmy basically wake up with Grian standing over him (Grian is a parrot Avian in this as per usual) and Jimmy totally freaks out.

And all I know from there is that Jimmy and Grian overthrow Ren and Joel heads to the feywilds and meets Lizzie. Oh and flower husbands meet and kiss by a lake, I’m sure there will be angst I’m getting there

So now actually about the guys

Bdubs

Moss spirit

He lives in the forest and loves to cause chaos

But also he helps people get in an out of his forest because it’s dangerous at night

Being a moss spirit Bdubs body is basically just made up of moss

Bdubs and Grian have issues, and when I say issues Grian causes problems and Bdubs has to deal with the aftermath

BigB

BigB is a fae who lives outside of the fae wilds

He has a bakery in the main city of the kingdom Ren and Martyn rule

He frequently speaks to the royal order something something maybe suspicious things

He’s best friends with Tango who he met through Skizz

Etho

He’s an Arctic fox

He lives in the ice realms which are relatively near the southern realms which is where the kingdom is

Jimmy breaks into his house by accident at some point and Etho just is like

‘This guy is my kid now’

Jimmy has no idea how to escape forcibly assigned son

Scar

A desert elf (desert duo ref)

Scar used to live in the kingdom before moving to the desert realms with Grian (they’re boyfriends)

Scar is a falcon tamer, usually he just tames regular falcons but was called into the city square to deal with a particularly pesky boy which is how he meet Grian

He also still has a wheelchair but it has like magic powers, Scar used his desert elf powers to make it so his wheelchair can drive across sand.

Grian

A Parrot Avian

HE CAUSES PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

He has little bird legs and he likes to fly onto Scars falcon brace

And he takes shiny things from shops in the kingdom

He’s the one who recommended Scar go back to the desert

Impulse

A Sun Imp

There are lots of different types of Imp’s

Depends which realm they were born it

Impulse was born in the sun realm

Martyn

He’s a wood elf

And he and Ren have issues

Ren and Martyn learn to stop tyrannic ruling

I’m gonna get the watchers involved somehow

He’s being given instructions and visions

He tries to follow them but it only leads to dead ends

Or death

Lizzie

She’s a Fae

And the High Queen of the fae

So she lives in the feywilds

Do her people lowkey kidnap Joel?

Yes but that’s a separate issue

Mumbo

He’s a vampire :3

But instead of drinking your blood he’s more like

Sunburns…

And can’t enter a building without permission

Sometimes you’ll just see Mumbo walking around with an umbrella

Everyone knows he’s a vampire

Sometimes they offer him blood he always says no though he thinks it’s rude of him

Skizz

Skizz is an angel

But he’s also the most unlucky person in the world

He was the first person to buy from Tangos shop and they became good friends because of that

Skizz is aware of the watchers due to his angel origins

Scott

Scott is actually a star born

But he disguises himself as a Sea elf

He lives in solitude behind a waterfall in a flower meadow

He has long elf ears and coral in his hair that looks like it’s arranged slightly like a flower crown

Starborns have the ability to take the magical abilities of their surroundings or their friends, so Scott has magical powers relating to water and flowers, but this can change based on his surroundings in which he can gain additional powers (Water and Flower related powers will not change because he’s lived in the meadow for so long)

Something with him and Acho (his brother) having an argument, causing them to split from each other and adorn disguises heading down to the over realm

Scott has spoken to the royal counsel before but they do not like each other which is why he did not choose to live in the city, He is courteous with them but only really visits the city to speak with Impulse who he made friends with while living in the city.

Starborns being a rarer and more hunted but also very powerful species and kept track of by the royal order so he was mainly there to fill out paperwork

Tango

Tango is a fireborn

Fireborn do not have parents they spawn from fire and are only found in the Nether realms (Not to be confused for the Nether World) At the age of 16 Fireborn creatures will leave the Nether realms to find a home for themselves. The only fireborn who reside pass the age of sixteen are those who are unable to leave or caretakers of fireborn young.

So when Tango was 16 he left to the southern arms to set up a mechanics shop

When Tango gets angry his fire hair goes blue

Tango also had a mechanical arm :3

Pearl

Pearl is a lunar moth

She and Grian are siblings

They cause problems together I love them

I sadly don’t have much for anyone else right now :(

I’m working on it, but they’re my sillies and I can’t wait to make this a fic it’ll be so fun

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lilotio · 2 days

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I've been going crazy with Collector AU (by @cutepotatook) lately and I made this babi :> I want to show her off a bit :>

My English is very bad so please don't criticize me if you find any wrong grammars or words ;v;

★ My baby is Collector! Astray. She is a 10 year old little girl :>

★ Her design is slightly based on Collector Y/n's design ;v;

★ Ngl when Astray has great affection or admiration for these two people :>

★ Anyway, Layra by @softlantern :>

★ About Astray's lore, she was born as a creation of God. From childhood, she was always pampered and cared for very carefully by them (God in A's universe has no defined gender). Because of that, she has a great love for her God and is very attached to them like a child would do to its mother.

★ Until one day, the God created new creations, took care of their new children and gradually spent less time with Astray. At first she didn't mind much, but gradually she had a hunch that God was probably spending too much time with her new siblings. One time she asked for a hug from the God, they ignored her, making her feel a bit sad. Even though she told herself that everything was okay, a part of her was harboring jealousy. Astray's jealousy grew stronger and stronger as she observed the children being lovingly cared for and cherished by the God, she could not hold back her jealousy.

★ When she couldn't stand it anymore, she committed a heinous crime. She lured another of her siblings to a secluded place, and with a weapon in hand, she used it to vent her anger brutally on that child. Whatever comes must come, Astray's crime was discovered by the God. They were angry and punished her by causing her body to be tormented in extreme pain, her soul to pieces, she lost all her memories, was banished to a terrible place and forgotten by everyone (the two pictures above are when Astray was banished to the terrible place called The Void Realm). The little girl was banished there with many bleeding wounds in the shape of sparkling stars shining on her body, she was completely exhausted.

★ The Void Realm where she was banished to was not a good place. It is a place where there is no sun, not a single ray of light, it can be said with certainty that nothing like that exists. The Void Realm is a space covered in pitch black (the whole sky is black, the surface is only black water). Due to her exhausted state, she was unconscious there for an unknown amount of time (but let's just say it was a long time). Luckily, she was found by Collector! Wally was in a state where her body was floating on the water. Then Collector took Astray home and let Helper! Wally takes care of her wounds while he tries to put the pieces of her soul back together. The two of them took care of the little girl until she woke up, letting her live in the Collector's mansion :>

★ This is just a silly little comic where the duo encounters someone who wants to harm the little girl :> The truth is that Astray falls asleep very easily when she is in someone's embrace, no matter how big or small the embrace is, she will still fall asleep. Collector and Helper often witness such things, but I think they will simply put her to bed😭😭😭

★ A small fun fact is that Collector often calls Astray by cute nicknames like: Little Dove ; My Angel ; Little one ;... when she got used to life here. As for Helper, he simply calls her by her real name ;v; As for Astray, she often calls Collector Mr. Collector and Mister (she is used to using honorifics, a habit when she used to live in heaven) and with Helper, she calls him Mister or Mr. Blueberry (she calls him exactly what she thinks of him :P)

★ Woof the family trope so much hmu- I think Collector, Helper and Astray fit the family of three, the warm and happi one🥹🥹🥹 (don't mind me, I'm being silli now😔😔😔)

#collector wally au #welcome home oc #helperwallyc! au

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starry-hughes · 5 months

Text

playing santa (jack hughes)

day 10 of star’s ficmas event

single dad!jack au (jack hughes x reader)

Paisley was probably too young for Santa. The eight month old probably had no idea what was going on, just excited at the multi-colored lights on the tree. Ellen did almost have a heart attack when Paisley started yanking on the ornaments on the tree. As Paisley’s part-nanny and her dad’s girlfriend, you were determined to make Christmas special for her. For a baby, she had a hard life from the beginning, a struggling single father and a mother who walked out on her before she could even leave the hospital.

Jack was treating it like a super secret spy mission, dragging in the box with the ball pit into the house. You followed behind him, carrying the activity table. “Jack, she’s not waking up, nor is she crawling down the flight of stairs, we don’t need to sneak around like we are actually Santa.”

Jack groaned, “Babe. This is the fun part about playing Santa!” He shoved a cookie into his mouth, “But you have to drink the milk, I don’t want it.” He began unpacking the ball pit, searching around for the air pump that his mom had left out. You scowled at your boyfriend as you began unpacking the activity table to assemble. Paisley was just now learning how to pull herself up and this was a good toy for her to use to pull herself up on.

Jack had only left behind cookie crumbs and forced Luke to drink the glass of milk, but quickly telling him to leave just a little in the glass. You watched Quinn bite into some of the carrots that were left out for the reindeer.

You poured the balls into the ball pit and watched Jack put the letters in the name puzzle. “Do you think she’ll like her gifts?” Jack asked softly, “I just want to make sure she will enjoy her first Christmas?”

You weren’t sure why Jack was suddenly self conscious about everything. He had struggled as a dad in the first couple of weeks, before hiring you. Paisley was born weeks before the playoffs had started and he was alone. In the first couple of months, you knew Jack was worried about his ability to be a parent but you thought that his worries had disappeared. But here you were, staring at a worried Jack, a worried dad.

He got up and sat next to you on the couch, staring blankly at the Christmas tree with the Santa gifts sitting there. “Jack, honey, look at me,” you cupped his face. His eyes slightly glassy as he choked back tears. “You are an amazing dad. You would do anything for our girl. Don’t ever doubt that you are a good dad again, okay?”

Jack nodded, his hand brought your hands down from his face and he placed a soft kiss on the back of your hands. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly to you before kissing your lips. “Merry Christmas, J. I think we did a good job playing Santa. Now, lets go to sleep so we can be up for presents early.”

Your boyfriend nodded, standing and pulling you up with him. The house was silent and the Christmas tree glimmered as Jack and you went upstairs. His brothers in bed and his parents already asleep. Paisley was fast asleep in the pack-and-play, Ellen and Jim had begged Jack to allow them to get her a crib but the pack-and-play was good enough.

Jack smiled down at his sleeping daughter, in her Christmas onesie, happily asleep with her pacifier in her mouth. You joined Jack, smiling down at the girl you had helped raise. Even if she wasn’t your actual daughter, you knew you were her mom.

#single dad!jack #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #star’s ficmas #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

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moonshynecybin · 2 months

Note

rosquez same age au….. imagine those two having grown up competing together in all the categories. two prodigies born literally one day apart……. would they murder each other before reaching motogp? how many on track crimes are committed? soooo much fun to ponder and think about imo

at all times during the rest of this post should you realize that marc was like a full FOOT shorter than vale for most of their teen years. please.

the thing is if they’re in the same age group, then they are competing against each other from a pretty young age! which. as we all know. activates vale’s fuck you get mine gene (no hero worship here either for marc ! like they’re both initially charmed i’m sure but they don’t have the cultural context of vale’s icon status to color their dynamic.) so i actually think it’s a weird PEDRENZOOOOO parallel thats at play here where they’re locked in a rivalry for yearsssss and it makes SPLASHYYYY headlines for a long time before they get to the big leagues… it’s the main story of the junior classes…

and because this is rosquez, that rivalry is one side resentment both sides horny, and (because it is rosquez.) they are having teenage situationship drama. this thing is they’re actually TEENAGERS this time so it gets messy FAST. like the emotions are BIG the racing is SLOPPY (marc hasn’t learned even a leedle bit of restraint) and also. they are each other’s first EVERYTHINGGGG. first kiss first redacted first also redacted first heartbreak first guy who can regularly beat the other on track. first person who challenges them. like they’re going crazy they’re playing mind games they are sneaking off with a bottle of wine the night before fp1 and getting handsy…. like they’re on a roof DRUNK looking at the stars and marc says i was born the day you and they start mythologizing themselves in that way teens do and end up both implying that they literally believe they are each other’s soulmates (never outright stating it). AND THEN they don’t speak for three fucking months because marc overtakes vale in a slightly illegal manner at the race that weekend. teen love. also vale is also so much taller than marc in these years it’s so funny.

and i also think. in the positive sense this would actually fix a lot of their issues… it would make them way more comfortable around each other !! especially after a while. like knowing someone for that long let’s in small vulnerabilities and embarrassments and comfort. and in lots of ways i think it would alleviate some of marc’s child prodigy loneliness AND divert a little of the intense media attention vale got… the only person around them who is their age is each other. the only person who thinks about racing like they do is each other. marc helps vale dye his hair and vale visits marc in the hospital when he gets diplopia and says to him. you have to get better. i don’t know how to do this without you here.

#ask me about. when they get to the premier class…#wait a minute. is this not just brocedes in lots of ways.#motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez #like YEAH they’re rivals and it’s initially tougher but. who have you known longer. who understands you more. i was born the day after you.#was i made for you?#anyways it’s VERY hot and cold no one knows what page the two are on about each other it’s funny #elle i would also love your thoughts….#same age au

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yuesya · 6 months

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How does the Kamo clan, and even the Zen’in clan, compete with the Gojo clan in anyway in ZoS? Megumi has ten shadows yeah, but I don’t remember his cursed energy ever being said to be boundless like Gojo and Shiki who was 2nd to Gojo at 9 in CE, and I think you said CE is mainly set at birth in this AU? I also just don’t see how Ten Shadows competes with Mystic Eyes+Shiki’s technique or Sex Eyes+Limitless, even if Megumi did have crazy CE, Maho is strong but vuln to one shot. And then the Kamo�

In the current setting of zenith of stars, the Gojo Clan indeed possesses an indisputable advantage over both the Kamo and Zenin Clans.

Something to note about this, however, is that this is a recent development. The Gojo Clan didn't rise to overwhelming prominence until Gojo Satoru was born -and he's the first wielder of both Six Eyes and Limitless in hundreds of years for them. (Gojo Satoru is arguably also the strongest sorcerer that the Gojo Clan has ever produced, including previous wielders of Six Eyes and Limitless.) Prior to this, I'd imagine that the Three Great Families were roughly equal to each other in terms of power and influence, likely with the Gojo Clan lagging slightly behind the other two.

Megumi isn't a member of the Zenin Clan in zenith of stars, so he's unrelated to the Zenin Clan's posturing and politicking for the most part.

In terms of just cursed techniques alone, we have a canonical historical account of a wielder of Six Eyes and Limitless and a wielder of Ten Shadows killing each other. This implies that the abilities are regarded to be on equal terms with each other. Blood Manipulation also has the potential to be extremely dangerous. For example, if a user who was extremely skilled with Piercing Blood fought a Six Eyes + Limitless user who was not Gojo Satoru (and thus does not have an impenetrable barrier perpetually active) I could see them being evenly matched.

#QA #zenith of stars #hope this helps to clarify things!

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venusjeon · 1 year

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golden arrows

the god Apollo is dared to seduce the first mortal his eyes set upon without revealing his identity, so changing his appearance slightly and taking the name of Hoseok, he crosses paths with you. but as it happens, the only man you say you'd ever lie with is Apollo... also, you're on a quest to steal his golden arrows.

♔ PAIRING: apollo!hoseok x mortal!reader

♔ GENRE: greek mythology, historical & bet au, adventure, fluff, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 9.6k

♔ WARNINGS: religion themes, drinking, swearing, period-typical sexism, animal hunting&sacrifice, nudity, kissing, mentions of non-consensual sex, sex happens but no smut soz, murder

♔ BETA: @yoonoclock <3 thank you so much again !!

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: nvm the fic can we appreciate the banner bc i kinda served with it. no but this has been in my wips for almost as long as i've had this blog so i'm v excited for you guys to read it :D

Heroic Age

Sing to me, ‘o muse, the song of a priestess who was loved by a god willing to forgive her wicked crime.

It was a peaceful night on OLYMPUS, the home of the gods, where everyone had gone to sleep hours ago under a black sky dusted with stars.

Everyone save Apollo, Hermes, and Dionysus, who refused to be parted with their jug of wine that refilled on its own so the party should never end. So much of it had they consumed, though, that even the god of the drink had come to neglect his cup, slumping over the table while his half-brothers slouched on their chairs.

But what they were yet to lose was their sense of humour, as they teased each other about their tragic love lives. Now, it was Apollo’s turn to be taken the piss out of.

“At least the objects of my desire run towards me, not away,” laughed Hermes. “What was that nymph’s name, Daphne?”

Apollo gestured his discrepancy by waving his index finger side to side. “That was the doing of that winged fuck, Eros.” Famously, he had struck Apollo’s heart with an arrow that kindled love and Daphne’s with one that banished it. Pursuing her through the forest until she begged to be turned into a laurel tree to escape his advances, Apollo learned never to get on the wrong side of the god of desire again. “He’s always had it in for me, I tell you.”

“Sure, yes, blame him,” twice-born Dionysus said, cheek still glued to the table. “We can all play that game.”

Hermes nodded. “Admit it, brother, only the thrill of consorting with an immortal draws them to you. And it fades quickly once they realise you can’t pleasure them in bed.”

“Oh, you tell yourself that’s it.”

“I bet you my herald’s staff.”

“Bet what, exactly?” Apollo scoffed. “It’s not like I can stop being a god. Your joke of a point cannot be proved, you fool.”

“Except, it can,” Dionysus said as he sat upright, but Apollo didn’t understand, so he sighed, “Isn’t intelligence supposed to be one of your domains? We’re no strangers to changing our appearance so that mortals can’t recognise us, so seduce the first one you see without revealing your true identity. It will confirm they’re not pretending to love you just because you’re a god.”

“Another of my domains is prophecy, you seem to forget. I can’t lie. Otherwise, who would believe my oracles?” Apollo pointed out, then smirked. “It’s also why I can be trusted when I say you two are my least favourite Olympians.”

He was allowed to joke, right?

“More merit if you succeed. Which you won’t, of course,” Hermes said with a smile shared by Dionysus.

Apollo pursed his lips. He was aware the wine was to blame for his taking offence at the mocking tone of his brothers, but he couldn’t help his own pride.

“Very well. Kiss your staff goodbye.”

He would show them.

Past noon the next day, shining Apollo descended from the summits of Olympus having taken the likeness of a youth whose good looks equalled his—physical attraction was after all a part of love, as was Aphrodite’s other realm, beauty, a part of Apollo’s identity.

He would take the name of Hoseok. It meant ‘a name known throughout the entire country’, so it could perfectly be a new epithet of his, like Phoebus or Delius were. Yes, not a lie. All good. So, Hoseok chose a forest near the city of TEGEA to wander through, hoping to come across someone. That someone was you.

Bowstring drawn and arrow aimed at three sword-wielding men.

Without a second’s delay, Hoseok made appear his golden bow and arrows, known to never miss their archer’s target. Surely coming to your rescue would be a good start? Except... you might need none.

The men were close enough to trust their own weapon outdid yours, failed to consider you’d move fast enough to dodge the sharp edge of their bronze swords and that by grabbing your arrow by its shaft, you’d manage to graze their skin with its tip, forcing them to step back with a grunt.

Unwilling to wait and find out how they’d counterattack, Hoseok nocked and then released his own arrow, which as intended, landed right before their feet in the form of a normal wooden one.

You turned around with a frown. Who–?

“That can’t be fair, three against one?”

The sound of the men fleeing behind you at the sight of this stranger halted your thoughts. His face certainly did too, as well as his bright hair that shone under the sunlight like spun gold. With a satisfied smile, he stored his weapons in the quiver he carried on his back and approached you, chest slightly out as if he owned the forest. From each step he gave seemed to spring a harmony that filled the air, but you still gripped your bow, wary. He noticed. “I mean you no harm.”

Once he was in front of you, Hoseok was able to take a better look at your face, one he instantly liked. What a relief that bet or not, he’d pursue you. However, he also noticed your smile was forced, as though being saved was an inconvenience.

“Good to know. Thank you for the help. I’ve no time to lose but if our paths ever cross again, I promise to repay your favour.”

And just like that, you walked past him.

“Wait!” He turned around to catch up with you once he got over the unforeseeable blow. “Allow me to escort you out of the forest. There may be more bandits lurking about.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

Clearly... He chuckled, “But I might need yours.” Just not for the reason being discussed.

Now that he thought about it, was this the work of Hermes? After all, he was the one in charge of keeping roads and travellers safe, as well as thieves.

You looked him up and down while walking. A man with such a build, he certainly would not need help, and if he wanted something of yours, he could just take it—or try. So he really was just a kind stranger, huh. “As you wish.”

Hoseok smiled, held hands behind his back. “Tell me, what is your name and where do you come from?”

“I am Y/N, and I’m a priestess of Apollo in PYLOS.” Hoseok almost gasped in delight. Well, this was fate!

Although based on the fact you dressed a man’s knee-length chiton and wore your hair tight up in a subtle bun, he’d sooner have guessed you were a follower of his twin sister, the huntress Artemis. The reason for it was probably that it was safer to travel as a man, but either way Hoseok was fucked. His priestesses were sworn to chastity.

“We are a long way from Pylos.”

“And going further away north-east, I know. I’m… on a quest.” The stranger’s visible intrigue pressured you into providing some context, “My younger brother Jungkook is a servant at the royal palace, and two days ago he was charged with treason for trying to murder the prince, of which I believe he is innocent. We weren’t allowed to speak but he’s a sweet boy, such evil would never cross his mind. He’s being kept in a cell now, awaiting an execution only I can prevent, for the king said he’d be pardoned if in seven days I brought him Apollo’s golden arrows...”

Hoseok had to stop himself from making a dramatic halt. If Jungkook was indeed as innocent as you claimed, you could pray for him to aid your brother either by lending you the arrows or making the king see reason. You needn’t be on a quest. Unless, “You mean to steal them.”

“I’ve no choice,” you said bitterly with your eyes cast down, ashamed all the same. Priestesses were supposed to honour the gods, yet you were about to rob one of them, yours. It was a blasphemous defiance, hubris, but also the only way to save Jungkook. You glanced at the stranger, wondered whether he was contemplating stopping you. “I bet you regret scaring those three robbers away earlier. It is odd that I haven’t rightfully been struck down already with a golden arrow shot from the Heavens for what I’m about to do. I know I’d deserve it.”

Hoseok understood your hands were tied. It was not you whom his anger was directed at, but the king, for sending you off on such a mission. He’d deal with him.

First, though, came you. No matter your circumstances, you were the first mortal he’d seen, and he’d already decided where to display Hermes’ staff in his palace in Olympus.

“Maybe Apollo has looked into your heart and seen it is pure, and will punish that who is making you do this instead. If only you pray so to him.”

You scoffed. “I think he has more important things to do than listen to the prayers of a nobody.”

A nobody? But you were one of his priestesses! There were few mortals dearer to him.

“I assume, then, that you’re headed to CORINTH.”

“Correct. I’m to catch a ship there to cross the gulf. But enough about me. What do they call you, and why do you find yourself in this forest?”

A forest that, you’d failed to notice, was crowded. Nymphs of nearby trees, flowers, lakes, and springs, all gathered to stare at Hoseok in awe as he walked. Animals too. They could see his ethereal self under his disguise, yet dared not approach him, hiding instead from your sight. Were he not busy, he wouldn’t mind lying there to sing and play the lyre for them.

“I am Hoseok, and my brothers… want me to meet a girl. I was on my way to her.”

“A girl? Do you mean, to take as wife?”

Hoseok astutely answered the first question only, “Yes. I’m told she will likewise be in Corinth.”

“If you can keep up, I’d not mind a travel companion.” Hoseok was about to say keeping up was not a problem with him when he realised the animals were dispersing and the nymphs forming a crowd ahead. You followed his gaze and groaned. “Another obstacle? Who am I, Theseus?”

Hoseok laughed, “Every hero faces challenges.”

Thief, rather. Though being called hero did make a flush creep across your cheeks… until reaching the hubbub, where all colour drained from them. The nine Muses were there, a youth knelt and clasping the knees of one of them in the manner of a supplicant.

“Please,” he begged, “I didn’t mean it, it was just a jest!”

They weren’t moved by his tears. “All here heard you set yourself above shining Apollo, speak ill of him. It is only fitting your mouth be sewn shut with a lyre’s string as punishment.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, amused. Nice one. He wished he could be there in his real form to do the job himself. But seeing you attempt to gulp the lump in your throat beside him, he could tell you were horrified. Did you fear to share the same fate? You would, in truth, had Hoseok caught you trying to steal his arrows, but now that he knew your justification and was set on seducing you, a different future was to be woven by the Moirai.

He whispered in your ear, “I think I dropped my bag of coins back where we met. I promise I won’t be long.”

You sighed, “I’ll watch the spectacle in the meantime.” To know what to expect when your time came…

The fair-voiced Muses recognised Hoseok as he left, pretended not to. If he was undercover, he must have a reason, and they wouldn’t out him. They weren’t surprised when he returned as Apollo.

He appeared out of nowhere, the god you planned to slight, so beautiful your eyes almost hurt as when one looks at the sun—radiance shone from his head, his curly hair so bright that a golden crown must camouflage in it under the sunlight, much like Hoseok’s. Guilt stung your heart when his gaze found yours and he smiled warmly.

Apollo then turned his attention to the kneeling youth, who’d begun to sweat. “What do we have here?”

“This boy boasted he was a better musician than you.” The Muses laughed, and you almost did too. It was a ridiculous claim.

“Did he?” Apollo’s good mood seemed untempered. “Well, I’ve no time for a music competition, so shall we just agree you’re in the wrong?”

The youth was quick to nod, yet dared not look away from the ground. “Y-Yes, Phoebus!”

“Do you regret your crime?”

“Awfully, lord, I do!”

“Well, tempted as I may be to make an example of you, today I’m feeling merciful. You’re forgiven.”

There was a pause in which the whole forest fell silent, asking themselves if they’d heard right. A god letting pass an act of hubris was unprecedented. You held the air in your lungs, unsure whether to release it in relief, as this might just mean your venture wasn’t doomed.

“Forgiven?” Even the Muses were dumbfounded.

“It’s not often mortals show remorse, so as long as they do, there’s no need for harsh punishment. Especially if they’re pretty.” Apollo glanced at you, making your lips part, before turning around to face the youth again. “Pour a libation for me and we’ll call it a day, eh?”

Later, long-winged Selene was pulling the moon behind her from the chariot she drove in the sky to bring the night when thanks to Zeus’ sacred laws of hospitality, xenia, an old couple near ARGOS was happy to feed you dinner and provide a bed for you to sleep in—one you’d have to share, which was absolutely fine and not the cause of your arisen nerves.

But once lying on it, the tension in your muscles weakened as you listened to Hoseok play a soothing melody on a lyre he’d found in a chest, and a faint smile settled on your lips.

“This song… I once heard Apollo play it,” you confessed. Given Hoseok was the author of it and had taught it to no one yet, he frowned. He was certain he’d never met you before that day, so how could you have heard him play it?

“When?”

“I was a child. Jungkook and I were playing in the forest outside of Pylos when we heard it. We followed the sound and found Apollo sat against a rock with all sorts of animals surrounding him, listening to him play and hum. It was lovely.”

Even though the gods were known to harshly punish mortals who spied on them, Hoseok smiled too. He played often for the animals, so he didn’t know which specific day you were talking about, but he was glad it served as a happy memory that eased your journey into the embrace of sleep. Although it probably had to do more with your brother.

Hoseok couldn’t blame you, as he also loved his sister deeply, had even slain a divine creature for his mother once. Family was as important to you as it was to him and for that very reason, he realised then that Hermes’ staff was already lost to him. There was nothing else you could afford to care about.

Little did you know, there was nothing else Hoseok chose to care about but you.

Early the next morning, you reached Argos, only that you went around instead of through it.

The great city wasn’t closed, but the old couple had warned you Apollo had stung its citizens with his arrows of pestilence because their queen had neglected him in her devotion, sacrificing to all the gods but him. She should’ve accounted for the detail that while one of his sides was healing and medicine, the other was plague and disease.

Hoseok didn’t regret it. It was her fault her people were suffering. But the grim look on your face when you’d been told… He knew the news had cancelled out the hope born inside you yesterday and that you’d immediately asked yourself that if he’d done that over some sacrifices, what would he do to you for stealing from him?

Midway through the day, while hunting for lunch, he decided to lighten the mood.

“But why not? Most priestesses don’t serve for life!”

A part of you hoped Hoseok was exaggerating his dismay at your refusal to marry not to make you laugh, but so you wouldn’t suspect it was in fact real– No. There was no sense to that thought. Where did it even come from? You were a priestess, he was to be married, and you didn’t know each other.

“My family would have to come up with a dowry and they can’t afford it.”

“I think any is a small price to pay for a man to keep your bed warm.”

Oh… so that was it? He was indignant you wouldn’t know such pleasures? You’d never craved them, honestly, rather thought they were only possible for men. Interesting. But not important right now, as opposed to the rabbit moving about in that bush. Nocking an arrow on your bow, you whispered, “The only man I’d ever care to sleep with anyway is Apollo."

Hoseok felt smug for a second, as he followed your step, then reminded himself this was bad. You were supposed to fall for him, not Apollo. “I’m sure every man back in Pylos prays daily that you quit priesthood.”

A snort betrayed you and the rabbit darted away from the bush, so seizing the chance, you released the arrow and assured lunch. “Thanks Apollo!”

“Don’t mention it–” During the short duration of a missed beat, Hoseok’s heart had forgotten that it was common for mortal archers to thank him, the god of archery, when they hit their targets. Sweet merciful Zeus! Why was he on edge? “Uh… D-Don’t mention his name. We don’t want to summon him, do we?”

Before heading to the lifeless rabbit, you nodded, figuring he was right. “I reckon you can’t wait to meet the girl your brothers want you to marry.”

Hoseok didn’t follow after you, instead watched as you picked up the rabbit and struggled to remove the arrow from its body on your way back to his side. By your tone, he could swear you’d spoken from a place of jealousy, distant as though it may be.

“I find I wouldn’t mind if the trip to Corinth lengthened.”

You looked up once near enough to tell him you would, but the words flew away from your mind the moment your eyes landed on him.

Hoseok was pleased he’d taken this appearance. You were mesmerised, eyes narrowing, likely wondering how you hadn’t noticed until now how attracted you were to him!

Or not. “You’ve a spider crawling up a curl.”

Hoseok was starting to think Hermes and Dionysus were right… The warmth of his divine presence tended to do the job for him, his wit and charm really played a secondary role. Now, he was forced to give up the former, but you, Hoseok feared, were proving to be either immune to the latter or remarkably good at pretending so.

Or maybe it was his fault fully… Just, why the hell did he get so nervous around you?! It was like he couldn't muster a grain of confidence. He’d have to make an effort for the first time not just to flirt, but finish a conversation feeling like he had things under control. That he was in charge.

It wouldn’t help that he wasn’t used to being treated as an equal by a mortal. Much less given commands. ‘Skin the rabbits while I gather some wood’, ‘Burn the fat and bones as a sacrifice to Artemis, will you?’... Even when he’d offered you his share because he, as an immortal, didn’t need food to survive, you’d responded with an assertive ‘Eat’. Not to say he didn’t like it. It was amusing, in a way.

But passing by a small lake fed by a waterfall, Hoseok decided it was his turn.

“Fancy a swim?”

“Sure. And to be fed grapes, while I’m at it,” you chuckled, under the impression Hoseok was joking until you turned around and saw him getting rid of his chiton. Your eyes widened like those of Athena’s owl at the sight of his bare body, looked away only once you’d fought through your shock. “My brother’s life is at stake. If you wish to stay, then this is goodb–”

“Oh, come on, just a quick dive. When was the last time you bathed?”

“Back in Pylos.”

“Thought as much.” You discreetly smelled yourself and at once agreed hygiene shouldn’t be neglected. There was just one thing… and by the way you kept quiet, Hoseok noticed. “What, you’re afraid of water?”

“Not water itself, but drowning.” You played with your fingers, embarrassed to say, “I can’t swim…”

A loud laugh made you snap your head towards its source to see Hoseok approach you naked without any shame. To your own surprise, your feet rooted to the ground instead of stepping back as he promised, “I’ll hold you.”

Never would you have imagined you’d strip naked before a stranger and get in a lake with him, but there was something about him that inspired trust. You knew he wouldn’t take advantage, his gaze keeping away from your private parts proved it so. When the two of you slipped into the water, Hoseok kept a firm grip on your waist, even though you managed to touch the bottom if you stood on your tiptoes. For a second you wished you didn’t, so he could hold you even closer…

��Loosen up, Y/N, you’re as taut as a bowstring,” he said in a low voice, as he was so close he needn’t be loud, and you swallowed hard while nodding.

He next told you to move your limbs about and before you knew it, you were swimming and splashing him and giggling.

The dark began to skew the sky with stars sooner than expected, though, and you blamed the pleasant time spent at the lake for it. You were supposed to sleep in Corinth, where the festival of Aphrodisia was being celebrated, but the city was so far that you were going to miss your ship at dawn!

Luckily, Hoseok had a plan.

While you were picking up some flowers to present to foam-born Aphrodite for lack of a proper offering, he snuck away into the forest, somewhere you wouldn’t hear him summon his kin. A mention of Selene’s name was enough for the goddess to have her white horses land before Hoseok.

Elbow resting on the edge of her chariot and palm holding her jaw, Selene sighed, “I’m busy, Apollo, in case you haven’t noticed. Night doesn’t just come on its own.”

“Speaking of which, I need you to hold back the moon until we get to Corinth, me and–”

“Your priestess, yes.” Selene smirked when Hoseok frowned. “It gets boring up there. One resorts to gazing down, and your lame attempts at seducing this girl provide the funniest distraction.”

“Will you help me, or not?”

Selene laughed, “Gladly.”

And so it was that you reached Corinth before midnight, hair however completely dry as the day had lengthened by many hours. You could piece together no explanation for it, so it had to be what Hoseok mused, that the gods must be making mischief.

Despite the late hour, the streets were crowded with pilgrims who sang hymns to the goddess of love and beauty, and every column of every building was entwined with flowers. The air was also perfumed with the scent of cinnamon but as a priestess, you knew that was to mask the spilled blood of the animals being sacrificed outside the great Temple of Aphrodite, that you entered to leave your modest offering.

Hoseok waited outside, and scoffed when he spotted a familiar face dancing in the crowd, a garland crowning his head. It was the mighty messenger Hermes—or Taehyung, as he liked to address himself when mingling among the mortals in such form.

“Didn’t take you for a faithful follower of Aphrodite’s, little brother,” Hoseok laughed when they stood face to face.

“Well, you know her. She’s likely to welcome me back into her bed if I sing her praises. Literally.” Taehyung looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, made appear his herald’s staff out of thin air. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about our bet? Your priestess will die of old age before you make a move on her.”

“Love isn’t born in a day,” Hoseok retorted in his defence, ignoring Taehyung counting to two with his fingers. “Besides, she’s on a mission of her own, it isn’t currently a prime concern of hers. Be patient, I have no deadline.”

"Even all the time in the world won’t be of help to you, Hoseok.” Taehyung patted his shoulder before joining the dancing crowd again.

Soon, you walked out of the temple and came to a stop in front of Hoseok, too quiet. He frowned.

“What is it?”

You looked everywhere but at him. “She must be waiting for you, the girl you seek to wife.”

Ah, jealous? “I think she’ll be pleased if I keep you company until your ship sets sail tomorrow. Make sure no harm comes to you.”

Since you did want to be with Hoseok for a bit longer, the corners of your mouth quirked into a smile.

The night was spent in a cloud of food, drink, dance, song, and laughter. You loved Jungkook dearly, but it was alleviating to set aside the anxiety suffered for his fate, as well as yours. Wine was good at that, casting away all the bad from one’s mind.

At some point, Hoseok decided it was bedtime. Relying on xenia and the generosity of strangers, he knocked on the first door he saw and a family surely opened it to welcome you in. They showed you to a spare room after some chatting and the second you were alone, you wrapped your arms around Hoseok’s neck and made your lips join.

He was taken aback, but readily licked both your lips before kissing you back ardently, like you were the goddess and he your worshipper. You closed the distance between your bodies to melt into his warm embrace. Hoseok knew you craved him inside, so as a tease, he slipped his tongue in your mouth when you relaxed your jaw and slid it across yours as his cock would. That caused you to moan, and your core pulsate with lust. This might be one of your last nights alive, so why not treat it as such and give in to your desires? To the sweet passion Hoseok stirred inside you?

You would’ve, had he not suddenly pulled back.

Your mouth tried to seek his, even let out a few whines, but he wasn’t having it. Why? Why too did he look like he was suppressing annoyance?

Hoseok did want to savour every sweet bit of you, but what he’d tasted on your tongue was an abundance of Dionysus’ wine. In truth, he only needed take a look at you, so drunk you could barely stand, supporting your weight on him not to stumble. Hoseok sighed.

As a god, he wasn’t subjected to the laws of man. They didn’t apply to him, nor did their morality, so plundering you in that state wasn’t a crime. Mortals were created out of clay to serve the immortals and be playthings to them… and yet Hoseok wanted to earn your love. Not because of the bet, which meant less to him the more time he spent with you, but because he was catching feelings himself.

Besides, none of this was real to begin with. You were just convinced you were going to die, hence why you were doing what you normally wouldn’t.

“Not like this, Y/N.” And carefully, he led you to the bed, where you fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

Your eyes fluttered open when Selene’s sister Eos cast open the gates of dawn.

An ache grounding into your temples, you sat up only to realise the other side of the bed was empty, thanked the gods for it when memories of the previous night resurfaced and embarrassment drowned you. What had you done?

And more urgently, what time was it?

You couldn’t risk missing that ship, so you slapped your own cheek—yes—and pulled yourself together, dismissing every thought that didn’t include Jungkook before joining the family for a quick yet lively breakfast.

The walk to the port was however a quiet one, where neither you or Hoseok seemed to know how to get rid of the awkwardness, and because of that, it was disconcerting when he held your hands once stood by the ship you were to embark, so tenderly like they were injured and he didn’t want to hurt you.

“I want to come with you.”

It took you a second to react. “No. We don’t both need to suffer the wrath of a god.”

“But I won’t let you die.”

You withdrew your hands, smiling wistfully. “My death is not for you to impede.”

Hoseok bit his tongue. “Have faith. We will meet again.”

Sailing away you pondered over how, if you ever did see Hoseok again, it would be as a married man. You’d rather rot in the depths of Hades’ dead kingdom.

For the moment, you prayed Poseidon was in a good mood and his waters remained peaceful as fortunately, your destination was another: the home of the Muses, as the cave in MOUNT PARNASSUS was known to be, and the place where Apollo’s golden bow and arrows were safeguarded when he had no need for them.

Merely crossing the gulf of Corinth would take you a full day, so in the meantime, Hoseok set off to Pylos. He wanted to get to the truth of the matter.

He found your brother guarded only by bronze bars, snuggled up on the cold floor of the palace’s underground cells. Apollo squatted next to him to tuck behind his ear the fluffy dark hair that covered his face, and a whisper of Jungkook’s name was enough to waken him.

Indeed, it was wide awake how he screamed and cowered at the corner of the cell.

“It’s been but four days, the king said I had seven! You can’t execute me yet, whatever the prince says!”

“I’m no executioner, Jungkook. I’m Apollo.”

“The new cook?”

“The Olympian!”

“Oh…” Yes, he should’ve guessed it was absurd for the palace’s new cook to come greet him in his cell. Wait– Did this man say he was Olympian Apollo? Jungkook rubbed the remaining sleep off his eyes and wondered how he could not have recognised those shiny blond curls! “Oh.”

The god barely stifled an eye-roll. “I’m here to hear what happened. Tell me, and know that I’ll see a shadow behind your words if you lie.”

Jungkook gulped. “I was wrongly accused, lord. It is the prince who should be sentenced to death.”

Apollo cocked his head to a side. “The prince?”

“I’m his serving boy. The other day, I overheard him plot against the king with his stepmother. Everybody knows they’re having an affair… Well, everybody but the king, of course. I was going to warn His Grace, but the prince caught me and claimed I was the one behind the plot. The king decided that I’d be executed in four days from now if my older sister Y/N failed to bring him–” Jungkook shut his lips at once.

“My golden arrows.”

Oh, no. He knew of your quest? “Y/N is a priestess of your temple here in Pylos! She’s devoted to you, of all the heavenly gods fears your wrath most!”

“I know.” Apollo stood up and gave him a reassuring smile. “As I know you are telling me the truth.”

At nightfall, you arrived in DELPHI, heart hammering its way through your chest, as on the morrow you’d reach Mount Parnassus and carry through your blasphemous theft.

The nerves were clearly not going to let you sleep, so there was no point in making use of Zeus’ xenia. Instead, you were waiting for the change of guards at the entrance of the great Temple of Apollo—where the high priestess Pythia served as an oracle uttering prophecies under divine possession—so you could sneak in. Once inside, you walked to the end of the naos only to kneel before a tall statue of Apollo that made no justice to his ethereal beauty, and raised your hands into the air with your eyes closed.

“Hear me, child of Leto, he who presides over this temple! If ever I’ve served you in the past, if ever you’ve loved your sister as I love my brother and would do anything for him, grant my prayer and… do take out your vengeance on me. But not tomorrow when I rob you of your arrows, only after I have saved my Jungkook from the sword. Please, heed me!”

“I’ve never known anyone so foolish as to announce to a god her plan to steal from him.”

Your eyes snapped open to see the Pythia lurking in the shadows behind the statue. Shit.

Coming to your feet, you wanted to reach for your quiver and cut her life short before she alerted the guards. You were in a sacred place, but what was one more unforgivable sin?

What stopped you were Apollo’s own lethal weapons, his golden arrows, magically appearing in her hands.

“Phoebus has cursed them. Any who isn’t him and uses them will perish,” the Pythia explained flatly, as if she was hearing his voice in her head and repeating them out loud. “He wants you to give them to your king.”

She handed you the arrows, at which you stared astounded. Apollo knew? Had heard your prayers?

“What of my fate?”

“No harm will come to you by his hand, or any other,” she promised. “You’re under his protection now.”

Tears quickly flooded your eyes and then streamed down your cheeks. Your shaky breath morphed into a laugh and your laugh into a sob, all out of relief. Hoseok randomly crossed your mind, and the next question you didn’t know whether was addressed to the Pythia or yourself. “But why?”

She approached and cupped your cheeks, using her thumbs to wipe your tears gently. Even if you neither knew nor trusted her, you didn’t step back. Her touch was warm, felt strangely familiar…

“Because he’s looked into your heart and seen his light.”

Apollo was done with Hoseok for the moment. Or so he’d thought.

He’d meant to watch you from the clouds save your brother and be done with the ‘tomorrow I may die, so I’ll behave like nothing matters because nothing does’ cast of mind. He wanted to matter to you, to be loved by you.

Alas, his hopes and dreams were crushed.

The fifth day of your quest you spent sailing back to Corinth, but your sixth one, you finished entering Argos. Now, why in Hades would you do that?! Death dwelled in that city, had you forgotten? Or mayhap… you feared not disease, after being told Apollo would protect you.

Alright. He’d make you invulnerable like Achilles, then. No problem. He was about to when he saw two guards suddenly arrest you for no apparent reason in the middle of the street and drag you to the palace. Immediately, Apollo took the appearance of Hoseok and stormed off from Olympus—though really not that bothered in view of the fact that it meant he got to meet you again.

You, however, weren’t sure you were glad to see him. Not there, at least.

“Y/N, what a coincidence!” he joked before the guard manhandling him into the throne room forced him on his knees next to you. “Do you buy your vegetables here too?”

“Who is this?” the queen asked annoyed.

She was standing in front of the two of you, a small crowd of courtiers gathered as an expectant audience that seemed to be about to watch some spectacle. If only you knew what it was about. You’d been shoved there with no explanation, were about to demand one right before Hoseok showed up.

“He says he’s her companion, Your Grace.”

The queen frowned. “But the prophecy spoke of one only…”

Hoseok quelled a frown. Prophecies passed through him, and there was none yet that involved Argos. No, the city was supposed to suffer until he saw fit.

You, on your part, had had enough. Had wasted enough time. “I command you let us go right now! You’ve no reason to detain us!”

The queen scoffed, looking down both at and on you. “You command me, brat? I’d order your death if you weren’t already destined to have your throat slit at the sacrificial altar.”

What? In dismay, you turned to a Hoseok who seemed to not fear the queen of Argos at all, rather looked at her suspiciously.

“Perhaps if you were as kind as to tell us why, Your Grace,” he asked, disdain hidden behind his faked respectful tone. The queen wasn’t blind to it, but let it pass, choosing to just glare at him.

“Over the smallest thing, Apollo has cursed the whole of Argos with a plague. My seer claims the only way to appease his anger is to sacrifice in holy ritual the one person who dares enter the city.”

Hoseok almost laughed. Her seer was a fraud.

“Your Grace!”

Before you could even whip your head around, a guard had snatched the golden arrows from your quiver and walked over to the queen. You tried to stand up to retrieve them, but another guard held you down.

“What have we here?” The queen realised whom the arrows belonged to the second she had a closer look, gasped in shock. “It cannot be! Are these–”

“Mine.”

Everyone, including you, stared at Hoseok in disbelief.

The queen faced him. “So, you’re the thief?” Oh, no, of course! He didn’t know what had happened in Delphi, believed you’d stolen the arrows and would be punished by anyone who found out… Fool. Why would he cover for you? “Well, well. Apollo’s stolen weapons returned and a double human sacrifice… My loyal subjects, tomorrow Argos is saved!”

A loud cheer erupted, one you could still hear from the dark cell you and Hoseok were taken to by guards who then left to celebrate, trusting the bars to do their job.

You joined your palms and forehead with the wall, mumbled, “What use is your protection now that I’m stuck?” Hoseok knew that question was addressed at Apollo. The next one, however, asked as you turned around and walked up to him, was loud and clear and meant for Hoseok. “And what are you doing here? Are you mad?”

He flinched back, confused. Weren’t you happy to see him? “I came for you.”

You wanted to ask ‘What about the plague?’, but what instead came out was, “What about the other girl?”

Other… So you already considered yourself his?

Hoseok gazed into your eyes as he confessed, “My brothers wanted me to meet a girl, and I have.”

Your lips parted slightly. He’d turned down a possible bride in favour of you? He was mad. Mad enough to return whatever feelings you were struggling to suppress. You turned away from him, arms crossed. “A girl who’ll lead you to your death.”

Neither of you was dying tomorrow, Hoseok would sooner kill the whole of Argos than let anyone lay a finger on you.

“A girl who’d love me.”

Frozen in your spot, you daren’t turn around. Love was a strong word, and you’d known this man for just a few days. Eros’ arrow can’t have pierced your skin! Although… you couldn’t deny it must have grazed or scratched it.

“I don’t, I’m a priestess. What happened the other night… was a mistake. I’m sorry, I regret it.”

Since you weren’t looking, Hoseok allowed his lips an ironic smile. He could tell you were lying, trying to convince yourself rather than him. “You can both love Apollo and be in love with me.”

Shocked, you turned around. “Are you asking me to risk my position in order to what, be your lover?”

“It’s the gods who’ve brought us together,” Hoseok explained, walking closer. You held your breath, “who’ve shut the gates of my mind so I can think only of you. I believe the gods wouldn’t put your position in peril.”

And true that was. Priestesses were supposed to be spouses of the deities they served, so once Hoseok revealed his identity, you’d be relieved to learn your vow of chastity hadn’t been broken, as he was the only one it didn’t apply to.

You glanced down at his lips, then shook your head as though resisting a spell. “In my mind, there is only Jungkook.” The cell wasn’t too spacious, but out of stress you still paced around it. “And now we’ll die apart because I trusted a god who may have tricked me.”

Hoseok chuckled in the middle of the deep breath you were taking to calm down.

“You didn’t think I came here without a plan?” He walked over to put his hands on your shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze, putting an end to your pacing. “I’ll do everything in my power to reunite you with your brother. Do you trust me?”

You remembered when he told you to have faith you’d meet again. And you had. Besides, what other choice was there? “I do.”

Hoseok let go of you and went to lie down on the small bed, hands behind his head and eyes closed. “Then we’ll have to wait a couple of hours.”

You stared at him. He really didn’t want to just bed you, was actually looking out for you in a way Apollo was failing to. Or maybe he had sent him… Either way, Hoseok meant not to demand your love but deserve it, making your problems his like you shared a soul and body—and his, you realised then, you no longer wanted to resist.

“A couple of hours?” Hoseok nodded. “Well… it’s cold.”

“It is?”

You sighed, not knowing how to say it. “You once told me any is a small price for a man to keep your bed warm.”

Hoseok opened his eyes before the sentence was over and propped himself up on one elbow. You sat on the edge of the bed, a trembling hand rising that shyly caressed his cheek until he placed his own over it, and pressed a bit harder so you could really feel him, how hot his divine silver blood—known as ichor—was turning. You did, flashes of the night you kissed him making it into your mind. How his lips felt around yours, his tongue inside your mouth, your bodies pushed together…

Both leaned in at the same time, melting in a kiss that led to a night of pleasure dedicated to Aphrodite.

Meanwhile, Dionysus was doing his part.

Having taken the form he liked to call Jimin, he’d pretended to be a cupbearer at the feast the queen of Argos had held to celebrate the end of her punishment. No one noticed he didn’t belong as he poured his special, unmixed wine into the cups of every person in attendance, masking its strong taste with his powers. In a matter of hours, the whole court had lost their senses and passed out where they were, as mortal parties tended to finish in the presence of the god of intoxication.

Satisfied, he skipped his way to the cells, where he found you and Hoseok all cuddled up, skins glowing with the vigour you had loved each other with.

Jimin waved his hand and the cell’s door opened slowly, as though by a draft, but you turned around at once to see no one. “The gods be praised!”

Only seen and heard by a Hoseok who kept gesturing him to leave behind your back, Jimin laughed, “Dionysus, specifically.”

He disappeared then, and you and Hoseok didn’t hesitate to get out of there. What you did hesitate to believe was what your eyes witnessed once, in search of Apollo’s confiscated golden arrows, you entered the banquet hall. A whole court in the arms of Morpheus…

“There they are,” Hoseok whispered not to wake anyone, pointing at the end of the table, where the queen sat and in front of whom the arrows lied.

He walked over to get them, staring at the woman responsible for so much offence. Shielding the action with his body so you wouldn’t see, Hoseok grazed her arm with the tip of one of his sharp arrows, drawing blood. That was enough for her breath to still, her life to end.

You made it safely outside the city, near the house of the elderly couple who’d hosted you days past, even, but at some point you looked up at the moon and halted your rushed pace a tad abruptly, forcing Hoseok to do so as well since you were holding hands.

He frowned. “I don’t think this is the time to sightsee, Y/N.”

“But what’s the point?” you cried. “Pylos is more than two days away. There’s no way we can get there before sunrise.”

Hoseok looked up at the sky behind you, smiled. “Indeed. Though we might get there at the same time.”

You turned around for a peach-coloured sunlight to filter through the clouds and blind you.

Hold on, how could this be? It had been night for only some hours! And yet, before the two of you landed her chariot Selene’s sister, the rosy-fingered Eos. You held Hoseok’s hand tightly. In the presence of a goddess, one could not help but feel tense.

“You, child. Are you Y/N of Pylos?”

“I am, l-lady.”

She smiled kindly. “I’ve been sent to give you a ride, Y/N. I believe your king expects you.”

Relief washing over, you grinned at Hoseok, who caressed the back of your hand with his thumb. “This must be Apollo’s doing!”

“Must be, yes.”

You turned back to Eos and nodded. “Off we go, then, lady.”

In about twenty minutes, people in front of the palace of Pylos were making space for the white horses to land their chariot.

Everyone stared in awe. Doubtless they’d thought you were going to fail, yet here you were escorted by a goddess, with Apollo’s golden arrows in your quiver, and… a foreign man holding your hand?

Once Eos had flown away to drag along the dawn to the West, you discerned on the judgemental faces of the Pylians the conclusions they had jumped to. Conclusions that were correct. You had given your virginity to a stranger, become a whore in the eyes of the world…

Hoseok was the one who let go of the hand he’d been holding ever since you lay together, and you missed his touch right away, like it was the air your lungs needed to breathe. He put some distance between you and with a respectful bow of his head—that was just for show—said, “After you, priestess.”

Eager to hold Jungkook in your arms again, you nodded, then led the way to the throne room.

The second you walked in, all heads turned to the king, who was sat on his throne on the top of some steps, looking at you in the same shocked manner everyone was. Nobody dared say a word. The only sounds in the room were first that of your feet taking you in front of the steps, Hoseok closely behind, and second that of you reaching into your quiver to get hold of the arrows.

The king leaned forward as though spellbound by the beauty of the deadly weapons, without taking his eyes off them ordered a guard, “Bring the boy.”

You turned to smile at Hoseok and he smiled back, but once you’d directed your attention to the door, he continued glaring at the greedy king. He obviously believed luck was on his side, given you’d come back from a suicide mission with a prize for him, but he’d soon learn the gods were not to be fucked with.

“Y/N!” Jungkook exclaimed as the guard dragged him into the throne room. Having eyes only for your brother, you didn’t notice the prince and his stepmother arrived next and took the king’s side while sharing worried looks. Hoseok did, sensed they feared Jungkook would reveal their plot now that he wasn’t going to be executed. You were about to go make sure he was alright, but the king’s voice stopped you.

“Uh-uh. The arrows first.”

Apollo’s curse in mind, you carefully presented them to him. Hoseok watched as he examined them while you ran to embrace Jungkook free of impediment, then passed them on to his son.

Who wasted no time in stabbing his neck with one of them.

Gasps and screams tore the silence apart, echoing as if they came from the stage of a theatre. In fairness, you might as well be in a tragedy play.

Shielding Jungkook with your body out of instinct, you kept still not to draw the gloating prince and his stepmother’s attention, eyes wandering to a Hoseok who otherwise walked over to you without a care for the blood crime just committed. The murder of one’s relatives was against the natural order, punished by the Erinyes themselves. Fortunately for the prince, he wouldn’t be tormented by the goddesses of vengeance, as the curse was already doing its work, causing him to choke in the midst of a speech in which he was declaring himself the new king of Pylos.

To everyone’s confusion but yours, he fell down the steps, lifeless before reaching the floor. His stepmother and lover shrieked, knelt beside him to try to shake him awake, but to no avail. It was then when she found you among the courtiers and through her tears and grief, glared at you.

“What have you done?!” she shouted, Hoseok alone noticed, surreptitiously curling her fingers around the shaft of one of the golden arrows scattered about. “I’ll have your head for this!”

What followed happened so quickly that you had little time to react.

Arrow raised in a fist, the queen lunged herself at you, but Hoseok stopped her right before she reached you by grabbing her wrist, and as she fought to free herself, he received a small cut on the hand. Eyes wide with horror, you gasped.

No.

No, no, no, no…

“Is his blood silver?” Jungkook whispered to himself, and after a second his words transformed from a distant, incoherent echo to a clear question. Upon realising he was right, you frowned.

Hoseok snatched the arrow from the queen and she stumbled backwards, glancing at the guards.

“Come to the aid of your queen, I command you!”

Despite their reluctance, they were going to, but froze when Hoseok nocked the arrow on his bow and this one turned from wooden to gold before their eyes… and not just that.

Something changed about his appearance. Was it the hair? The eyes? You couldn’t tell. It was subtle enough to miss it yet substantial enough to know that your Hoseok was actually a god in disguise.

No other than Apollo, in all his glory!

As you blinked a few times trying to make sense of it, he aimed his arrow at the queen, and playing deaf to her pleas, slew her. Of course, his curse wouldn’t apply to an immortal.

When he turned around, a sea of courtiers fell to their knees, but he cared only about you, standing there in shock. Suddenly taking pity, he didn’t look forward at all to telling you he’d tricked you because of a bet…

A man thankfully rose to his feet and approached him before he had the chance to open his mouth. “Heavenly lord! You’ve blessed Pylos with your presence to free us from a family unworthy of our throne. Tell us, what can we ever do to thank you?”

Hoseok– or Apollo? This was tough, since you could somehow see both at the same time... Well, whoever, replied, “For now, consign the bodies of these three to the UNDERWORLD with all proper rites and burn them.”

Had Hoseok’s voice always been honeyed? His words certainly were... Though looking back, he’d never lied to you, just tip-toed around the truth. Didn’t make you feel any better, but he was a god. What an insignificant mortal felt must be irrelevant to him.

The courtier nodded, followed along with everyone the guards who carried the dead royal family outside of the throne room. Only you and Jungkook remained. And him.

“Leave us, little brother,” you ordered softly.

“But–”

“Listen to your sister. Fear not, I won’t harm her.”

Jungkook trusted that, he just didn’t want to leave your side ever again. However, it became clear to him that defying a god was the stupidest idea when he met his eyes. There was a subtle threat reflected on them.

He didn’t need to be told twice to go then, and the silence he left behind was beyond tense.

You daren’t look at Apollo now that you were alone. The man you’d spoken so casually to, bossed around, shouted at, made love with. But when you did muster some courage, you realised he didn’t seem so different in appearance, it was just that you weren’t blind to his splendour anymore.

He beckoned you to come closer and you obeyed with your face cast down as, would he punish you for doing the king’s bidding and stealing from him, after all? To your relief, he only raised your chin gently to make you look at him, but your eyes instead landed on the small cut on his hand, and without thinking you held it to check whether it was deep, careful not to touch his blood as ichor was deadly to mortals.

“Y-You’re hurt…”

“This little thing?” Apollo smiled at your concern, as it was no more than a scratch. He blew his divine breath on the wound and in seconds, it healed completely. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, lord.”

“Hoseok is fine. I rather like the sound of it when you say it.” He sighed when you just nodded. “We didn’t meet by chance, Y/N. Hermes and Dionysus dared me to seduce the first mortal my eyes set upon without revealing my identity.” Oh, so worse than you’d imagined. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d beat me to it.”

Your lips parted in confusion. “To seducing you? But I’ve done nothing but disrespect Apollo– I mean, Hoseok– Uh, you…”

He chuckled, “Believe me, I know. Without meaning to, you’ve bewitched a god well enough to make him overlook hubris. Do you know what that means?”

You shook your head.

“It means I am in love with you, and that I want you to be mine.” You avoided his gaze out of shyness, but he cupped your cheeks and kissed you like he had done back in that cell less than an hour ago, taking your breath away—only this time, you felt the heat of the sun itself on your lips. He pulled back only to whisper against them, “You know I do not lie.”

You did know that. But could you forgive so easily being deceived over a bet? Even the god of whom you were a priestess?

Truth was, it wasn’t just the fear of what then seemed to be a certain death by the hands of Apollo that drew you to his embrace the night before you left Corinth. Neither was it just lust in Argos. He’d earned your love, so much so that you’d agreed to become his lover, were likely going to quit being a priestess at some point to be wed to him. The bet was won long ago, he knew he needn’t claim your maidenhood for it, and yet he’d stuck around.

A different face mattered not.

He loved you, and you loved him.

“I am already yours.”

Hoseok hummed pleased before you kissed him, and you felt his smile grow under your lips. It made you smile too, and the two separated to laugh. Then, he headed to the steps to pick up his golden arrows and put them in his quiver.

“You’re leaving?”

“I must leave for Olympus. I have responsibilities I’ve set aside this past week, but I’ll come back whenever you utter a prayer to me. I promise.”

He saw the disappointment on your face and placed a hand over your belly, making you frown. “Intimacy with the gods always bears fruit. I can already feel twins growing inside you, and I cannot wait to raise them alongside you.”

At the thought of your children playing around the forest the same way you and Jungkook once did—or Apollo and Artemis, at that—you couldn’t help but smile again. Not to mention that you would not only preserve your position as a priestess, but also be revered for giving a god descendants.

Hoseok kissed you one last time, and when you opened your eyes, he was gone, but his warmth remained.

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