#hades x persephone!reader

[peachesofteal]

The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends. 

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone. 

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera- 

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.  

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along? 

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this? 

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo. 

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.  

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

 “I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold. 

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods. 

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.  

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.  

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not- 

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.  

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment. 

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone. 

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand. 

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day. 

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core. 

Ungovernable Persephone. 

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.” 

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison. 

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still… 

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling. 

My darling… 

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.  

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort? 

No. 

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself. 

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away? 

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack. 

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?  

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth. 

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld. 

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try. 

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them? 

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you. 

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool. 

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What? 

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck. 

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from. 

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic. 

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town? 

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have? 

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway? 

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them? 

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose? 

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.  

Fuck. 

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool. 

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always. 

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him? 

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods. 

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough. 

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more. 

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are. 

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK) #modern retelling

[jointherebellion215]

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood. 

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.” 

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid. 

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

#dune #dune 2 #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha fic #dune fanfiction #dune fic #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x oc #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #inspired by hadestown #hadestown au #dune movie #dune 2024 #dune part II #orpheus and eurydice #hades and persephone #feyd rautha fanfiction #jada writes sometimes #dead dove do not eat

[priyajoyyy]

Tangled masterlist

Clarisse la rue x Pesephone!repunzel!fem!reader

You had spent your entire life hidden away in a tower to protect you from the outside world wanting you for your powers, its only when a certain daughter of ares finds you scared and confused, that she finally gets to see the outside world like you always longed to.

[part 1]

Clarisse finds you hidden in a tower in the woods and realises you might be the daughter of a god

[part 2]

Clarisse helps you get over your fear of leaving (rather forcefully) causing you to leave your tower for the first time in your life

[part 3] coming soon

You finally get to explore the world you’ve always wanted to your entire life, with Clarisse and her quest mates leading you back to camp

[part 4] coming soon

Arriving at camp, you get to meet Chiron and all the other campers, learning more about your heritage and why your parents chose to hide you away

[part 5] coming soon

Your parents realise you’re missing and aren’t very happy you’ve been taken from safety and taken to somewhere anyone could find you

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #percy jackson #clarisse x reader #clarisse x female reader #luke castellan #clarisse my beloved #toxic!clarisse la rue #tangled #repunzal #repunzel #clarisse la rue sister #clarisse larue #camp half blood #clarisse #persephone #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy pjo #percy series #hades

[yournextbimbogf]

“Just take out all your stress on me kay?” Were the last words you said before you were in this position.

So here you were, bending in ungodly ways, panting, your eyes rolling back and drool slipping out of your lips. He strikes your ass yet again as he’s pounding you into oblivion.

“Fuckin’ ugh baby you feel so good, thank you again for letting me have at it with this pussy. How’d you know i was all stressed?” he groans out in pleasure. Your ass is now sore and thighs are tingling. The amount of creampies he gave you definitely made you fuzzy all over.

“Open up” he barks out. He puts his thick thumb into your mouth and lets you suck on it, of course he’s still pounding you almost balls deep. It was hypnotizing the way his cock goes in and out of your cream-filled pussy. Before this he had you on your knees playing with his balls and sucking his hung cock. He grabs you by your skull and pushes your head further into his cock as he watches you gag and choke on him, fat tears are rolling down your face and your lips are all swollen. Don’t worry though. He praises you the whole way so he doesn’t seem half as rude.

After sex he definitely lets you play and feed treats to Cerberus 🖤!

#tumblr fyp #fypツ #smut #fanfiction #yournextbimbogfwriting #blurb #rough kink #fiction #hades! Miguel #greek mythology #greek myth au #greek mytholagy! au #hades and persephone #hades x persephone #persephone! reader #please consider reblogging #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #reblogging is appreciated #across the spiderverse #the avengers #Miguel blurb #hades! miguel blurb

[charliemwrites]

Making this a separate post because the idea has evolved a bit:

(Was talking about this in the discord if it looks familiar)

I’m thinking less of a 1 to 1 Greek god au. I’m thinking it’s more of a theme to their dynamic and in parts of their story.

Johnny is a reincarnation of some ancient, nameless (or many-named) god, associated with dark forces. He’s not evil incarnate. But he is something of a representation of “darker” human nature. Anger, bloodlust, impatience, selfishness.

Persephone!reader, by comparison, is sort of a personification of gentler human nature. Patience, mercy, altruism, gentleness. She is less “awakened” so to speak because her mother has been a major limiting factor in her life. Like, helicopter parent to the extreme.

Persephone!reader goes to her aunt Laswell as a sort of compromise. See the world, the real world, in a controlled sort of way with her aunt watching carefully over her shoulder.

Problem is, no one is expecting the dreams to start as soon as she gets to base. Dreams of a man that scares her as much as tempts her, and encouraging the worst and most selfish of her impulses. She doesn’t tell anyone - why would she? They’re just dreams.

Captain MacTavish scares intimidates her, even though she insists that he doesn’t, looking him in the eye with her chin tilted up defiantly. When he’s on base he finds all sorts of ways to cross her path, sometimes teasing her into an indignant fluster, other times telling her off for “distracting recruits”. Always, always has an eye on her, even if it’s not his own.

Once things come to a head (I haven’t figured out how yet) Persephone!reader insists it isn’t fair. And just because they’ve been something in the past doesn’t mean they have to now.

Johnny, of course, is utterly amused. She’s barely got any idea what’s going on, but sure, she’s going to deny forces beyond life and death.

They strike a deal. When he’s away (for months at a time… a season’s length, even) she can run and hide and do whatever she wants to “escape” him. If he cant find her within a week of coming back, then he’ll leave her be and she’s “free”.

(She scoffs that he’s going to cheat, using her aunt and all of her connections but he just scoffs. As if Laswell would help him over her own niece. And as if he needs the help.)

He always finds her within a day of coming back from a mission. No matter where she is or what her name is. No matter how well she covers her tracks (even with Laswell’s help). He comes to her with gifts.

At first it would be sweet if not for the smirk on his face and the realization that she’s “lost” again. He brings flowers of all kinds, and green plants in little pots. Then it’s a new sweater, a nice coat, a piece of jewelry.

And then… and then they get worse. A bullet is the first sign. It’s just a whole bullet, her name engraved in its side. Then it’s a casing, the bullet clearly having been shot. He tells her it went right between someone’s eyes. The “gifts” become patches from enemy jackets, pretty stones splattered with dried blood, a human tooth.

It’s awful. She hates it. She can’t ever make herself say it (or believe it). And when he’s gone, she physically can’t make herself throw them away. Shes tried and tried, and the last time she put a real effort into it, she ended up on the floor having a panic attack, sobbing and calling Johnny.

(He purrs at her through the phone, gunfire background noise while he soothes her back inside. His voice keeps her company while she makes a tea, readies a bath. Tuts at her to call him again when she’s tucking into bed. She refuses to acknowledge that she does.)

Similarly, she finds herself getting or making things for him. For his inevitable return. Cigars and his favorite whiskey. Making patches for his uniform. A leather bracelet with her initials on a silver charm. A ring with an inlay the color of her eyes. Doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she’s home or the thing is done. She’ll hide them away for months with no plans of giving them to Johnny. He inevitable finds them within his first week home anyway.

(There’s the one time she bakes for him, humming as she measures and mixes ingredients. Lets him steal tastes from the bowl and lick flour off her cheek. Only realizes what she’s done in a domestic haze when he’s eaten the sweet treat and thanked her for it.)

And when he’s home…

The deal is that when he’s home, he gets to treat her like his. Climbs into her bed, grumbling about pillows being a poor substitute for him. Steps into her shower midway through, ducking his head so she can shampoo and condition his hair with her gentle hands. Dresses her in his clothes, in his dog tags. Always has a hand on her, even in her (their) home.

And he delights in yanking her into his lap - especially in public. When his team comes to visit (and they always do) he lounges with her on his thigh. He’s also kind of a dick. Like he’s courteous to servers (mainly female ones because chances are they won’t flirt with his girl) but pretty much any stranger talking to him or his Persephone is met with smarmy asshole behavior.

It’s to the point that she just fusses at him to let her talk to people. And he’s happy to do so, amused by the way she charms people. He only intervenes when someone is rude or a little too friendly with her. She’s had to break up bar fights before because god knows his men won’t try to stop their captain.

She is literally the only being in all of history that can tell him no and stop and he’ll listen regardless of the situation. She has to actively remind herself that it’s not healthy and she should not be a little flattered about it. And she’s not. (She is.)

#cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #hades and persephone #Persephone #hades John mactavish #captain mactavish x you #captain john mactavish #Persephone reader

[sophiethewitch1]

In Death's Embrace

Jason x Death!Reader

His head is in your lap, the sun peeking through the black locks of his hair. He grumbles at the light interrupting his nap, and turns and presses his face into your thigh. You chuckle, carting a hand through his hair just like he loves you to.

He’s at peace. The world is at peace. He’s safe here, in your unending embrace, and he knows he’ll never have to leave it. He knows that’s the way it should be.

“You’re so clingy today,” you tease him, and he chooses to ignore your words. The quiet is peaceful, and he longs for more of it, even as he wants your words too. Of course, as always, you understand. Instead, you whisper sweet nothings to him, gazing out at the wheat fields surrounding the two of you.

There’s a book in your hand, the one that doesn’t pet him. It’s in a language he doesn’t know, doesn’t recognise. It’s probably as old as you are.

He didn’t know much about you. He didn’t need to. He understood who you were, what you were. He wasn’t stupid. He understood that you comforted billions of others, held them like you held him. Maybe once he would’ve been jealous, but he knew that feeling was pointless too.

Here, you wouldn’t let him feel anything but peace. Here, he needn’t want for anything but you, and you’d always give yourself over to him freely.

Your hand pauses in his hair. It tightens. Jason likes the feeling, likes anything you do to him, but he senses your tension, and opens his eyes. You’re not looking at him, instead staring up at the blue sky. Mouth pursed, you tilt your head.

You look back down at him, smiling softly. It’s the same as every other smile you give him, but he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t trust it. Something’s wrong, and he’s filled immediately with a sense of panic he hasn’t known in years.

“Fascinating,” you say, and Jason pulls himself up from your lap, grabbing your hands in his. You let him move you, let him pull you to your feet, don’t resist as he follows his instincts, running into the strands of wheat like hell is on his heels.

It might be.

“Jason,” you call his name, your voice calm despite his hurried breathing, “Jason, dear.”

He pauses just long enough to look back at you, to look at the blue sky cracking open in jagged edges, to see the reeds pulling backward into a gaping void. He can feel the sucking gravity, and he plants his feet against the wind. You’re unaffected by the tear in the sky, your hair calm, your clothes still.

“Jason, it’s a good thing. Not many get a second chance,” you cajole him, pulling on hand from his grasp to cup his chin. He leans into your touch, savouring it, needing it.

“It’s not. I won’t leave you, I can’t,” he whispers, his words almost lost in the roar of the wind.

“You have no choice,” and your eyes are almost… sad. He doesn’t think that’s right. He doesn’t think someone like you should feel sad. You’ve seen so much, know so much.

What does it say for his future? What does it mean, when Death looks at you with pity?

“Save me, please,” he begs you, and you shake your head.

“I have no choice, either. You must make the most of it, Jason. You must do your best. And I’ll be here when you come home, waiting for you,” you promise him, and he has to choke down a sob. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

He was supposed to have you forever.

“How can I when you’re not there with me?”

You peer into his eyes, and the void rips wider behind you.

“You won’t remember me, darling.”

The last thought, before it takes him, before it swallows him whole, is that that’s the worst part.

Part two!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason tod x y/n #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #batfam x reader #part two? #ive also got an idea for persephone!jason x hades!reader #where hes hopelessly in love with you and very grumpy everytime has has to go bring spring in or whatever #and youre “like the fate of the world rests on this go do your job” and he's like “but babe :(”

[ophelieverse]

Can you write Aemond x Rhae daughter?She can be a Velaryon/Strong and she is like the sweetest girl and Rhae is not very happy about them being a thing and have to share her only daughter with her half brother?

⊱ ❀ ✿ cold springs

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

I’m a simp for Greek Mythology so after reading this request I immediately thought about a sort of Hades and Persephone AU with Rhaenyra as Demeter.

I didn’t gave reader any features so she can be read as Laenor or Harwin daughter(it’s up to you).There’s a little bit of smut in the beginning,also there will be incest(if its makes you uncomfortable do not read)

Y/n is once again leaving King’s Landing for the beginning of the spring to go back to Dragonstone,to her mother and siblings to spend the spring and summer with them.She and her husband share their usual “see you soon”moment.

Than you for the request and let me know what you think💕✨

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Their shared quarters in the Red Keep were etherously quiet.After all the servants and maidens had left,the luggage was ready and the feeling of home had finally hovered again in the rooms,breaking the silence would be a shame.

«Oh Aemond…»Y/n moans softly,moving her hips up and down,riding the length of her uncle and husband.

There is not much sound,apart from the shortness of breath and the rustle of the sheets,skin on skin.The quietness of their chambers is not disturbed... more perpetuated by the lazy morning activities of the residents.

«My beautiful petal,just like that.»he encourages her,his lips tracing down her neck with hungry kisses.

Y/n brings her head backwards,her mouth open in a silent moan as his member presses against her cervix again and again.Aemond holds a tight grip on her hip,the other hand caresses the young princess nipples,as he pushes languidly inside of her.

«Sweetheart.»Y/n murmurs breathless,as her limbs turn into jelly,the heat licks her core as her body moves up and down.

It’s almost hypnotic,as Aemond watches Y/n fall apart above him,he lets her take the lead as her hands are open on his chest moving her thighs at a steady pace.There is a slight veil of sweat that covers her soft body,making her glow like a goddess under the first lights of the morning.

«Gods,right there!»Y/n whispers,the heat builds up inside her,and her eyes close,her head dangles to the side as Aemond hand tightens,sliding his hips and snapping harder.

The colors explodes under Y/n eyelids and her arms tremble.She slumps forward to capture Aemond lips in a deep kiss,sucking his tongue, sloppy and hot,but he simply wraps his arms around her neck,pressing his face closer as he pushes into her cozy warmth.

Y/n moans breathlessly,and Aemond takes advantage of the moment to turn around until he's on top and his wife arches her back.

Aemond manages to feel Y/n orgasm approaching,then lifts her left leg above his shoulder and presses her on the mattress,his mouth devouring on her throat while maintaining the same slow,agonizing rhythm.

«Fuck petal,you are so beautiful.»Aemond says on her skin,breathless like her,and lowers his hand to devote himself to the little pearl between her legs,caressing it to the rhythm of his thrusts.

She whines«Aemond..i’m..I-I’m...»she chokes out on the pleasure.

«I know baby,I’m there too.»he mumbled kissing her messily.

«Oh gods!»Y/n gasps,the words break into suffocated moans,and the air around them heats up,increasing the pressure,the orgasm that taunts them and the fire that ripples under their skin,until they hit their climax together.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream,tilting her head back into the pillow as she squeezes around Aemond member.They come simultaneously,and his hips tremble as he throws himself deep into her,he moans in her neck as the orgasm runs through him,silent and prolonged,and sighs satisfied.

They both stayed there,basking in laziness,Aemond running his fingers through Y/n hair,trying to regain control of his breath and letting their bodies cool down.Everything around them is quiet,and it seems wrong to try to break the calm silence.

The room seems to contract,like his chest.Y/n hands are looking for him,they are looking for his,among the tangle of blankets that protects them from the gaze of the dying stars of the morning.

Aemond reach them,he squeeze them and his heart loses a beat,two,three,he stop breathing. She take his breath away,with the light layer of shiny sweat that veils her forehead,the hairline messy,gorgeous,wavy,long.If he wasn’t holding her warm hands,he would run his fingers through them.She take his breath away,with lips shiny and red like ripe cherries,sweet like ripe cherries.

Y/n takes his breath away,with eyes alive made of a thousand asteroids than even the night sky envies her beauty.

Aemond can't help but to put her arms around his hips,feeling her squeeze him closer,and wishing for her to squeeze him strong,stronger.He would let her destroy his bones as well:if it should serve to make her feel even more his,he would let her do anything.

For a moment their bodies collide,her chest on his,heart height.Their two hearts have never made a single beat together,always forgotten, as if they had actually already forgotten each other,always so rushed or so slow for each other.They were meant to be like that:cold to one another,distant and divided like their parents wanted them to be.

For a time it was like that,but Aemond and Y/n seemed to explode at the wrong time for each other,didn't they?His supernova was always so far away that he couldn't even see hers,which shone in the distance.Now everything is different,now that they collide,for a second, for a thousandth of a second,their hearts beat at the same rate.And Aemond feels like he’s drowning.

It was all so overwhelming.That time of the year had come again.

Although they had already decided to organize themselves that way for the past three years, Aemond had not yet gotten used to seeing Y/n leave.He knew how he behaved as they approached that date:he became grumpy and of few words,he couldn't enjoy the moments together,because his mind was already thinking about the next six months without her.

How would he have done without her laughter that filled the corridors and that always put him in a good mood?He would have missed waking up every morning with her sweet body next to him – even in her absence,Aemond would continue to look for Y/n warmth,but finding only cold sheets on the side of her bed.

Six months apart were far too long and it scared him.It was an inexplicable fear,the one of forgetting her voice.He loved to hear her speak,her eyes shone when she described something that was close to her heart and she was very infuriated when she told him about the injustices that some of her acquaintances had suffered.She was a very empathetic person,his sweet Y/n.She really liked to sing,but he had only found out when they fled to Essos and had started living together,because Aemond didn't remember ever hearing her before.She had this habit of singing while they bathed together or to lulling him to sleep.

Aemond knew that what he would be most nostalgic for were her reproaches – she had complained more than once about his disorder:

“Why do you always leave your books around?”she would scold him,but it had happened to him more than once to find some of her things out of place,shoes,needle and thread and her creations.

His eyes would no longer be graced by her figure,he could not dwell on some of her details,such as her hands leafing through a page of a book or those same hands that masterfully and gracefully sewed,her fingers tapered around a pen as she wrote,her concentrated expression that formed small wrinkles on her forehead,her long hair that were always illuminated in the morning by a ray of sunshine coming from the window.

Aemond had promised himself not to ruin that last month before the departure,but from the expressions Y/n had thrown at him in those days,he had not succeeded at all.

He silently pleaded her to look at him with those eyes full of wonder.Let him feel what her lips can't say,let him look into the dark wells that look like the iron of his magnet every time. Aemond can never stop staring at her,first one then the other part of her body.

His fingers leave hers,the warm place of her palm;but it's just the distance of a moment, because he need to feel her under his fingertips.Aemond gently caress Y/n cheek to make her turn towards him,her big eyes finally in his,but she seem almost surprised,as if she saw him for the first time.She looked at him almost as she didn't know him,like him and her weren't in the same bed.

«Don't do that,»Aemond spoke softly«don't look at me like that or I'll start crying again.»his fingers are shaking,on her soft cheek.

«I can’t help it.»Y/n murmured,leaning in his warm touch«Every time that i leave i wish i could take a piece of you with me.»she said.

«I’m always with you»he reassured her lovingly«as you are always with me.»he played with the Valyrian steel ring on her finger.

A dragon and a rose decorated with red rubies,one for him and one for her,his gift for their wedding day and something too look at and keep close when the sea and their family divided them.

The light breeze makes him tremble,and he rest his head on her chest.His breath stops again when he feels her approach the top of his head and leaving a kiss in his hair,sweet,light to the point that he almost doesn’t feel it.Aemond release his restrained sigh trembling,as small pearls accumulate on the eyelid.He wanted Y/n closer,now that he feels her under his skin and hidden in his heart.

Aemond can't get enough of it,if it were up to him,he would live like this,stuck in her arms forever.He feels good.He feels at home.Despite this,every breath she take shakes his chest.

It happens every year and every time he ask himself how he will survive?He prayed every day for the gods to give his father a quick and painless death so that his half sister can come to sit on the Iron Throne and have Y/n always there with them both at the same time.

This sharing method,this sick idea came from his father rotting brain and Aemond hated him even more than he had ever did.It wasn’t a secret that the King favored his oldest child,his daughter Rhaenyra,more than his other children.He named her his heir,he spent his time with her and gave her everything that she wanted on a silver plate.

Aemond and his siblings were left with pretty much nothing.He didn’t received justice when he lost his eye and he didn’t received what he wanted without Rhaenyra getting in the way,as always.

After he and Y/n had escaped together,flying with their dragons to Essos,they lived peacefully and in love in the free city of Lys before their uncle Daemon had found them.

To put an end to the hatred between the Queen and the old princess,that came screaming in the King chambers about how his son had kidnapped her only precious daughter,Aemond and Y/n were married but only if both the groom and mother of the bride were able to share her presence.

Y/n would’ve spent the cold seasons with her husband at the Red Keep and the warm ones with her mother at Dragonstone,till the King would die.

Aemond loved Y/n more than anything,he always did.He was more than willing to compromise if that meant call her his wife,to be able to live with her.

But sometimes was it really enough for him to hold on to her chest,have her close to him,to breathe the same air as her?What if one day they would have to keep play this chasing each other between the planets and he lost her?What if they were to count the flowers from the moon and she slipped away?What if they were to take the bright shells to the bottom of the ocean and she was to become a wave foam?

What if once Rhaenyra will become Queen,she will forbid them to be together once for all?Once that she will have all the power,will she try to separate them forever?

She wouldn’t,this marriage was for the peace and by breaking it war will be brought upon the House of the Dragon.

Aemond often thought about that too.His love for Y/n was brighter and warmer than a million suns,he would go to war with a smile on his face if that meant having her for himself only.He was a selfish man,he desired her body,her heart,her time to be only his not to be shared with her mother.

What if one day,all of this system wasn't really enough for him anymore?If he was to feel that he wanted Y/n even closer,even closer than that,how will he do it?If all this beating of forgotten hearts no longer made him live peacefully,if this eye will no longer be able to detach from her?What will he do with this chest that does not rise,laying eye on her in the morning,when she is still sleeping and she is serene,as serene as she is when she is not awake?

But then he looks at her,as fragile as a dandelion and as brave as a wildflower.She had followed him that night,when he asked her to escape with him,without hesitation.She knew what the consequences would’ve been,but instead of be concern about them,she kissed him and told him that she would follow him to the end of the world.It was all worth it.

«You should get a tattoo.»Aemond spoke suddenly,kissing down her naked chest«I heard that in Penthos a woman with blue hair is fully covered in them.»he mumbled,tasting the silky and warm skin.

He inhales deeply,like he was addicted,wanting to bottle his wife smell,her perfume and sweat and her jasmine soap and home fragrance.She always smells like home.

«And where do you think I should do it?»Y/n asks with indulgence,lying on pillows,her hands playing with her husband hair as she lets him have fun with her body for the fourth time since last night.

«Right here.So that I’ll be the only one able to see it.»Aemond said,biting the bone of her left hip making her yelp,his hands wandering along her smooth thighs.

«Oh?»Y/n giggled,peering at the young man,his hair ruffled by early morning sex and positively glowing skin,looking so perfect that it almost hurts.

She often wonders what good she ever did to deserve to call this perfection hers.When she has escaped with him and spent the most beautiful time of her life with him,she had agreed to her grandfather orders to grant the wishes of her mother.Spending the cold months with him was more than enough if that meant be with him in the first place,if it meant having him between her legs,having him tell her that he loved her more than anything in the world and that he would burn it down if someone dared to separate them forever.

«I'm going to tattoo something here,»Aemond kissed the red marks he made with his teeth,satisfied.«So I can caress it with my tongue like this.»he goes on to lick her skin,and it tickles,so Y/n laughs,but a small choked moan comes out.

«What are you going to draw?My mother face?»She jokingly proposes,trying to wriggle away.

«I'll write “My husband property” if you don't be behave.»Aemond growls at the mention of his half sister,tightening his grip on Y/n bare legs to hold her steady.

She laughs again and her heart hurts,as much as she loves her mother,Y/n knew this is happiness.Aemond,her husband,the man that she loves is happiness.

«But I don't want a tattoo.»Y/n whispered, losing the thread of speech when Aemond mouth gets closer and closer to her heat.

«Isn't there something you want to remember? Something you want to keep forever while we are not together?»Aemond gasps down at her feminine center,his breath blowing over the already wet flower.

Before that he can continue,he feels her pulling him up,Y/n mouth that clings to his,luring him into a deep,languid kiss that leaves both of them breathless and forgetting everything he wanted to say.

«As you said,we are always together.So I don't need tattoos when I have you.»Y/n breathed,her lips moving along Aemond ones,familiar and kind.

She observe the young man's pupil dilate,his sapphire shined under the light and his face blush before moving away slightly.

Before he could turn away from her,Y/n gentle hands grabbed his face.Her thumbs caressed his cheeks lovingly,before placing a sweet kiss on his forehead.

«I know something is bothering you.Talk to me.»she whispered in his hair,cradling his head in her chest making him lay on her.

«I can’t fool you,can I?»he commented, jokingly,enjoying her soft breast as pillows.

He hoped that it was enough to lighten the atmosphere,to take away that weight he had on his stomach.Why is it so simple for her?Or is it just a feeling?

An instant of silence followed.So heavy that it could almost break the room.

«What's wrong?»Y/n asked him,caressing his long hair to calm him down.

She knew something was off,because he had warned her,in these past few days that he wanted to tell her something.And she imagined that he didn't know how to approach the topic.

Aemond closed his eye for a moment,like he was taking courage to speak«It's hard for me,you know,to see you go away.»he breathed out the truth.

«When we got married it seems to me that you agreed.»she spoke softly«It was the only way to make sure that my mother wouldn’t gone crazy without me and to be with you»she reminded him.

For as much as he hated her,Aemond had understood that him and Rhaenyra were just the same.Both of them couldn’t live without her,a wife and a daughter.And they were more than willing to share her heart and time if that meant still having her with them.

«Of course,it’s not that.»he immediately said and paused a little, before continuing«It's that I'll miss you.»he whispered.

Y/n stopped her movements,tilted his head and looked for Aemond purple eyes.He was so good with words,he knew a lot more than she did and sometimes sported the more old ones just to hear her laugh,as he pronounced them with a certain accent: “No one talks like that anymore”she used to comment,giggling.

She had noticed that,when feelings were involved,his oratory skills were lacking.She knew how much it had cost him to make such an admission.There he is,her brave husband.

There were still those who associated the adjective strong with physical abilities,especially the more visible,but Y/n was aware that there were different types of strength.And in that moment Aemond had nothing to envy to the image of the knight in the shining armor on his white horse facing trials and obstacles to save the princess,the hero of the stories she loved as a child.

«I’ll miss you too.You know it.»she reminded him,tracing the scar on his eye with a delicate finger.

He knew it,but it didn't change things.That unpleasant feeling in the mouth of the stomach did not hint at disappearing.

«We are doing this for your father and my mother.Once my mother will be Queen we’ll be together all the time.»Y/n reassured him again,her voice was steady and calm.

«You and me or you and your mother?»Aemond joked,making her chest rumble with a small chuckle.

Then she turned serious«Since my father died she’s been very sad,I’m her only daughter..»she trailed off,looking somewhere in the room.

«You told me.You're too good.»he mumbled to himself.

While Aemond and Rhaenyra endured the whole situation,Y/n seemed to be the only one willing to change her lifestyle,to sacrifice her marriage to be close to her mother.Perhaps,if Aemond was in her place,since he also has a close bond with his mother,he would have been better to understand Y/n choice as a daughter.

For now the only thing he could do was to place his forehead on her shoulder.There's nothing else that can comfort him more than that.It's when he feel her arms begin to melt from his back traversed by millions of chills that his heart begins to sob.It's stronger than his desire to look like it,strong.She would leave him alone, in the warm and empty bed,getting up to look for everything that she will need at Dragonstone.

His gaze trailed down to her body,to the smooth skin covered in his presence as she got up from the bed to put on her nightgown.He’s sitting,and looks at those clouds hiding the warm rays of the sun.

«Will you help me with these?»Y/n gently asked him,as she held two dresses in her arms.

Aemond smiled,helping her getting ready to go away was like being stabbed in the heart.But he immediately got up from the bed to put his clothes on«Here,petal.»he said taking them from her.

Her trunk at the end of her bed was full of everything and it was almost impossible to put something else in there.

«I’m afraid that you will have to leave them here with me.»Aemond told her,placing the two dresses on their bed.

It wasn’t two simple dresses.The first one,the light lilac with lavanders embroidered on it was the one she wore when Aemond asked her to flee with him,the second one,the sea green with the silver seahorses was the one she wore when her grandfather had announced their betrothal.She couldn’t just leave them here.

«Damn it!»Y/n felt overwhelmed,between them she was the one that held all together,for both of them but now she was on the breaking point.

Aemond realized that it was time to intervene. He approached her,calmed her down and together they succeeded into fit the dresses in the white truck.Eventually they raised their heads and their eyes crossed.

Like this,eyes to eye,reading each other's emotions.

«You are my spring.Going away,you take her away with you and the only thing that it’s left is this cold,empty room.»Aemond said,taking her face in his hand.

He tried his best to be supportive and to not let her know his true feeling.This was the first time he confessed to her how he felt,when she was at Dragonstone.She could have imagined what sad and gray months would be his.

Their room wasn’t completely empty,so it wasn't a definitive goodbye,but despite repeating it endlessly it wasn't enough to reassure him once and for all.Everything that was previously colorful and alive lost those bright shades,assuming some more faded,it was as if the environment reflected his emotions,a bit like a plant that was wrinkling,slowly losing lifeblood.

Y/n would have brought that joy and warmth elsewhere.And it wouldn’t be hard to imagine Rhaenyra radiant face at the sight of her only and so loved daughter coming back to her.

Instead of living in spring,it would have been a long winter for Aemond.And,although spring was Y/n favorite season,without her he wouldn't been able to appreciate it in the same way.

«You could come away with me this time.»Y/n hopefully asked him,already knowing the answer.They had already discussed this.

«You know I can't,petal.»Aemond sighed.

His parents and Rhaenyra would not allow him to follow her.That was the deal and he had agreed to it to marry her.

«I know.I just wished to walk on the beach with you again.»Y/n said dreamlike,placing her arms around his neck«You know,like we did when we went to Lys.»she kissed his cheeks while hers bloomed with red at the memory.

«I'm not sure your mother would like it.She's convinced I kidnapped you.»Aemond looking into her beautiful eyes like he did on those nights in the free city.

She laughed«You do know how to charm a young,innocent princess.»she smiled placing her forehead on his and her hand on his cheek.

«For her I'm the bad guy,there's no doubt.»he closed his eye,to savor her touch.

He reminded her of a cat,eager for cuddles.His hand rested on top of hers,imprisoning her in that position,stretching that caress as much as possible.Y/n felt his fear in that gesture;he feared that she would leave out of the blue and that she would never come back.

For her it was a senseless fear,but she understood it:every now and then Aemond would be convinced that he did not deserve her love,that it was impossible for her to reciprocate his feelings.

«It depends on who tells the story.»she said with a small smile and winking at him.

«And in your version,what role do I play?»he asked then.

Although the question had been asked for fun,Y/n weighed it seriously.

«I'd say you're not a bad guy.Although you can be very vengeful of those who have wronged you...»she started,taking in all of his face,tracing the scar of his lost eye.

Aemond expression changed as if he wanted to say something,as if he wanted to disagree,but then he thought again.He couldn’t deny this.

«But you are not the hero either.»Y/n continued to look at him like she was studying him.

He didn't expect a similar statement,he didn't like it very much.

«You would be a complex character,one of those who either you love or hate.You know those characters neither black nor white,but halfway?»Y/n asked still rambling

«The gray characters?»he answered her question with a raised eyebrow.

She nodded immediately«The ones that have a depth to bring them closer to real people.They are complex,because they have feelings,motivations and desires,sometimes even conflicting.You've met some of them in your readings,didn't you?»she said with bright eyes.

It was not so common,but yes,he had happened to find characters characterized so well that he could imagine them in the flesh and blood next to him,to feel them so close as if they were friends,with whom he could have a good chat and with the wrong mood even get to fight.

«It would be fun to read your point of view,because it would never be boring.»she smiled at him,walking towards her things.

«Of course it wouldn’t.I always think about you.»Aemond confessed.

Y/n had convinced him,he did not feel sorry for not being considered among the good guys,because basically from that description one of his hypothetical literary counterpart would have been more interesting and the subject of several debates among readers.

«Anyway,you should remind your mother that it was your choice to come with me to Lys.I didn't forced you»Aemond told her as he watched her taking her silver hairbrush.

Y/n was sitting at her vanity,looking at her husband from the mirror in front of her as she brushed her long hair«But she knows,I told her about our story.She still sees me as her little girl,she can't fully accept the fact that i grew up and that i left the nest to have a life of my own.»she explained to him.

«The one who could kidnap you or hurt you in some way,if anything,it’s Daemon.»Aemond grumbled.

«Our uncle Daemon?My mother husband?»Y/n asked surprised«Why would you think that?»she said getting up to get dressed.

She thought it was a joke,but his expression was serious.It seemed a bit exaggerated as a statement to her.It was strange how the two men,who had never spoke to each other if not forced by the situation,felt a strong dislike for each other.

When Y/n was a Dragonstone,Daemon had admonished her more than once on Aemond:in his opinion,the time when he would leave her would come soon,because he would get tired of her.And it would make her suffer,and her uncle wouldn't have allowed it.

“The Hightowers are all the same.”her uncle said all the time.

“But he’s a Targaryen and the blood of the dragon runs thick.”she defended him always.

Although Y/n agreed on one thing: she would feel a lot of pain if Aemond really decided that he didn’t wanted her anymore.Daemon didn't know her husband at all,she was sure he would never leave her for a similar reason.

If Aemond ever decided to do it,Y/n was sure that he would put her well-being first,arguing that he would do it for her,that it would be the best choice,because then they could not continue like this.

Aemond would let her go,convinced that he couldn't offer her what she wanted and that one day she would find the right man for her.This was more his style.But to get to that point,it meant that he had stopped fighting and believing in them.And the same young man that had accepted this condition to marry her,would never leaver her.

Aemond walked slowly behind her,Y/n was putting on a canary yellow dress and his hands were there to help her to tie the laces,even though his body wanted nothing more but to strip her naked and get her in bed again.

«From what I heard and what you told me about him,he never made a good impression on me.He may be my uncle but I don't like him.Don't trust him too much,be careful.Do you promise me?»his skillful fingers tied the laces in few seconds as he voiced his concerns.

Y/n too had heard stories too about their uncle.On how his first wife mysteriously died,how he lusted over the throne,how quickly he married her mother after his second wife death.Maybe Aemond was right.

«Of course.I won't let my guard down.»she promised him.

At these words it seemed to her that his features stretched out a little.However,she did not find that relief in the depths of his eye.It was that dark purple that it assumed whenever her husband was worried or upset.Y/n almost always knew when negative,sad or gloomy thoughts crossed his mind.

Now that she was all dressed,a cloak on her upper arm and gloves in her hand she realized.Y/n had done her best not to get caught up in emotions,but at that moment she realized that in a few hours she would get on her dragon and leave Aemond behind.

For the months to come she would only be able to write letters to him,she would no longer be able to touch or hug him,they would not share meals together,they would no longer read and fall asleep together curled up on their bed.

If she had initially believed that maintaining a long-distance marriage was not as difficult as everyone claimed,she was now beginning to feel the weight of it.They should have found an alternative solution,she wasn't sure she would be able to endure many more years in this way.

As much as Y/n wanted to resist and leave him an image of a strong woman,she understood that she would not make it to hide the tears that were on the verge of flowing,so she threw herelf into his arms.

Aemond catch her immediately,as always.She could count on him,he would always be there for her.He was her lifesaver.He didn't ask her anything,but lovingly he consoled her,returning the hug.He also did it for himself,he needed it. In that hug he put the same impetus and the same suffering.

Y/n clung to him like a shipwrecked would have done to the rock,to not to get carried away by the waves of the sea,like her life was depending on it.Aemond inhaled her perfume to memorize it,avoiding the fear of forgetting everything about her.He didn't want to be like a puzzle without a piece,that empty space that incessantly attracted the sight,thus forgetting the image it depicted as a whole.

He was slightly dramatic,he knew it,but since Y/n was born and became a part of his life,he couldn't imagine a future without her.They lingered longer than they could,squeezed into each other,to draw strength from the other.

When it was time to separate.Y/n wiped her eyes and in a feeble voice said to him:«We'll make it.Spring and Summer will pass in an instant.»kissing him on the lips for the last time.

«I’m always here.I'll wait for you.»Aemond smiled at her.As soon as she turned around,a tear rolled down his cheek.

Six months will flew fast in the wind and with the first brown leaves,she was back to him again.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon spoilers #dance of the dragons #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #rhaenyra x reader #hades and persephone #greek mythology #au #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #demeter #aemond smut #cold springs

[kopivie]

hades!wriothesley who, at times, appears more like an apparition to you when you first get to know him. his footfalls are nearly imperceptible and he's quick to change positions. how a big man like him is able to move around undetected, you'll never know. (you'll also never know that he's doing that on purpose because he loves when you jump. he ghosts his cryo-tipped fingers across your nape when you least expect him to, bursting into a fit of laughter when you yelp and scurry to warm yourself up.)

hades!wriothesley who leaves little pieces of himself in the little nooks and crannies of your shop and your heart. it becomes a mutual exchange; you give him dendro-enhanced flowers to last while he's in the underworld, and he leaves folded up notes tucked underneath flower pots for you to read during his absence. he treasures the fragrance of the petals while you treasure the parchment that just so happens to smell of his rich cologne.

hades!wriothesley who catches you reading one of his notes when he returns to visit you. you don't notice him -- you're too engrossed in reading. you're holding the paper close to your chest with the most smitten smile on your lips, and wriothesley has to count to 50 before he enters the shop, lest he come in and do something he might regret. (you're biting your bottom lip to stop from smiling. oh, how he wants to brush that lip with his thumb.. how badly he wants to kiss you stupid..)

hades!wriothesley who never kisses the back of just one of your hands, oh no – he always insists on kissing the backs of both of your hands at the same time. you once joked about him being extra gentlemanly. he bit your finger in retaliation. (you also noticed that his canines are particularly sharp.)

hades!wriothesley who stays with you on the night before he has to return to his domain. cerberus will likely act out if he's gone for too long, but he doesn't wish to leave you just yet. so he sits at your beside stroking your cheek with the back of his icy fingers. cold as he may be, you feel nothing but warmth emanating from him. it's you who kisses the back of his hand this time, a gesture that gives him pause. once he's recovered, he cups your warm cheek in his palm. moonlit grey eyes soften as they drink you in.

"may i be frank with you?" wriothesley asks softly.

"you may."

"i want you." you feel his hand stiffen as he realizes what he said. "not-- not in that way. not yet, anyhow. and certainly not before you're ready. but i... i want you. all of you."

you want to reply. you so badly want to return his feelings. you can feel it in your heart, your very soul calls out to him even when he's near. and yet something chains you in place, makes you unable to verbalize it. you open and close your mouth a few times as you struggle for words.

hades shakes his head. he's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "you don't need to say anything. if you wish to take it slow, then i will do as you please. i just wanted to let you know."

"...i'm sorry." you close your eyes and lean into his touch. you feel the bed shift as he leans down to touch his forehead to yours. your heart stutters and your breathing hitches. "i'm so, so sorry."

"it's okay."

"i want you too. really, i do."

"i know." the two of you breathe in tandem for a moment. the unspoken confession lingers in the night air. then, after a long silence: "i have to leave."

it's your turn to sigh. "i know."

wriothesley pecks your nose. "wait for me."

and you shiver. not because of the cold, but rather because he was not asking. he knows that you will wait for him. he knows that his place in your heart is assured. "wait for me," he murmurs again.

"i will." you hum when you feel his lips ghosting over yours. you hold your breath in anticipation. "please," you practically beg. "just do it."

wriothesley's breath fans over yours. you can feel his words being spoken against your mouth. even in whisper, you can hear his voice tremble. "you're tempting me."

"just... give me something to remember you by."

and that's all it takes for him to kiss you. you become drunk on the moonlight coating his lips.

so this was just a little ramble and test of my ability to write a scene! it's been so long since i've written like this, and i just figured that this was a good au to test it on!

i do wanna dedicate this little thing to @catcze though! i know timezones are super fucky but! it's still your birthday where i am, so!!! happy birthday!!! i hope you have dreams of wrio in the future 💕💗💕

#[ 💭 — thoughts. ] #wriothesley x reader #hades!wriothesley x persephone!reader #i dunno i was just... #commuting and these all came to me in little bursts #please lemme know what you think 🥺

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN

A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.

A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.

Playlist:

🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn

🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie

🌸Call Me-ShineDown

🌸Granite-Sleep Token

🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift

Title: Every Last Seed

He goes by many names.

He always has.

Hades.

Ploutos.

King of the Underworld.

God of the Dead.

Bringer of Death.

Lord of Darkness.

But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-

Mine.

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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.

"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"

"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."

Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.

"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"

His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.

Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.

Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.

"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."

Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.

He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.

"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."

Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.

"Great. What is it?"

Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.

It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.

"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"

Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.

"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"

Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.

"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.

Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.

"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"

He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.

Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.

Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.

"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."

Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.

After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."

Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"

His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.

"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."

Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.

Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.

God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.

A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.

"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."

Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.

"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."

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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?

Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.

And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.

"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.

You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.

"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."

Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.

"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.

Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.

The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.

"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."

He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.

"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."

"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.

Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.

That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.

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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.

It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.

Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.

Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.

It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.

"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."

"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.

You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.

Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.

He's grateful for that.

"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.

"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."

You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.

You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.

Fuck, you're adorable.

"I heard Zeus came to see you."

"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.

He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.

"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.

His dick swells at the thought.

He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.

"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"

He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.

"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."

He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.

"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.

You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.

"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.

"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"

An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.

He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.

"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."

Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.

"Because of our marriage?"

Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."

One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.

Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.

Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.

You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.

"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."

He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.

"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."

Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.

"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."

You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.

He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."

His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.

"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."

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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."

The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.

"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.

The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.

"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."

"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.

You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.

"Don't call me that."

You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"

"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I think you do."

You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.

"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.

You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.

His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.

Fucking. Hades.

Brother of Zeus.

God of the Dead.

He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."

Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.

"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.

He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.

"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."

He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.

When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.

"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.

You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.

"Will I see you again, your highness?"

You swore he smiled beneath the hood.

"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."

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"You can't have her, you know."

Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.

He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.

"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."

Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.

His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.

"Nephew."

Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Uncle."

Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"

Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.

"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."

"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."

Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.

"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."

And with that, he was gone.

Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.

Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.

"I'm surprised you came."

Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.

"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."

The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.

"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."

Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.

Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.

His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.

Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.

"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."

Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.

Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.

"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."

He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.

"There. Happy?"

Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.

When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."

There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.

Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.

"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.

The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.

Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.

The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.

He paused, freezing, and listening.

There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.

Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.

It almost sounded like-a gasp?

Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.

Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.

It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.

Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.

Gods above, you were touching yourself.

He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.

You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.

You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.

Suddenly, he can move again.

Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.

"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.

You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.

"No. Don't stop."

You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."

You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-

And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.

He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.

Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

You were brave, he'd give you that.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.

He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.

"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.

"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.

He took a step closer.

"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"

Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.

"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.

Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.

Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.

He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.

Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."

You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.

You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.

Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.

"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."

Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.

"Why?"

Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.

"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."

He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.

His dick was still unyieldingly hard.

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.

You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.

"Your highness?"

"Yes?"

You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.

When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.

You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.

"What do you think about when you come?"

He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.

Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.

"You."

"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.

Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.

"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."

Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.

You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.

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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.

He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.

"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.

"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.

Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.

"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"

Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.

Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.

"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."

Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.

"Jeongin. Get out of my way."

Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.

He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.

"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.

"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.

Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."

Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"

Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.

It's admirable, he'll give him that.

He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"

Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.

He can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"

Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.

"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"

Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.

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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.

The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.

He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.

The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.

He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.

Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.

"I heard your mother stopped by today."

He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.

"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.

He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.

"(Y/N)."

You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.

Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.

The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.

"What did you talk about?"

You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.

"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."

Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.

"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.

You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.

"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"

Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.

"Yes."

Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.

At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.

"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.

Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.

He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"

"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."

Chan feels his heart immediately sink.

A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.

You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.

Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.

"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.

The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.

Chan ignores them.

You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.

"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."

You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.

Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.

He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.

You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The mess he always makes.

After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.

Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.

Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.

"Little blossom, leave it-"

He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.

Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.

His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.

"You're bleeding."

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"You're bleeding."

Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.

"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."

Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"

Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.

You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.

"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.

Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.

"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."

You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.

"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.

The look on your face took his breath away.

"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"

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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.

You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.

When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.

"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.

He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.

You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.

"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.

Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.

"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.

"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."

You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."

The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.

"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."

You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.

He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.

"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."

You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.

"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"

He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.

"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"

"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.

He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.

He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.

The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.

"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"

"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."

Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."

You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.

"You're right. I know you are."

Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.

The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.

He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.

"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."

You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.

"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."

A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.

"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."

You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."

Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.

Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.

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"Do you think we're all fated to another?"

You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.

He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.

The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.

"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.

"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"

Chan considers.

He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.

"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.

He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.

"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."

He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.

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Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.

"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.

"I'll what?"

Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.

You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.

"Hi?"

He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.

You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

"I missed you, Channie."

"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."

You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.

Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.

"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.

"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."

And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.

#skz #stray kids #stay #bang chan #chan #christopher bang #skz chan #persephone #hades #skz fanfic #skz reactions #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz greek gods #greek gods #skz smut #skz fluff #skz angst #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #chan x you #chan x reader #femreader #y/n #chan x y/n #hades x persephone #cb97 #skz au

[bby-deerling]

elysium (zoro x fem!reader)

fluffiest of the fluff! you and zoro get lost on his birthday wc: 975 this is so self indulgent

Sweet lavender haze settled quietly in the clearing, overgrown with tiny wildflowers.  The soft midday sun on the spring island you had stopped at for supplies was partially covered by clouds, its warmth broken up by gentle gusts of breeze.  A pair of arms holds you close, back pressed against a hard chest, preventing the wind from dusting a light chill on your upper arms.  The fresh spring growth is as naïve and new as your steps past a mere friendship, and as green as his mossy hair.

You both had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there.

Zoro always appreciated the way you never teased him for his lack of direction; it was out of respect and understanding on your part, but deep down it amused him that your internal compass was almost as offset as his.  The rest of the crew saw him getting lost as something ranging from an annoyance to a burden, but you never seemed to mind.  At times you would even drag him further away from your intended course, eager to drink in the sensations of your unfamiliar surroundings.  Tiny quiet ponds, tidal pools hidden behind perilous crags of rocks, and peaceful, open clearings like this one were secret rifts in the fabric of reality where time seemingly stopped; he held these moments close to his heart.

“Looks pretty.” he says as he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice still carrying the weight of sleep.  You hum a quiet thanks in return, engrossed in your work, but still flushing pink at his praise.  A colorful landscape painting of the field in front of you sits, nearly finished, in the pochade box on your lap; he’s impressed that your brushstrokes hadn’t suffered despite him restricting the movement of your arms somewhat as he held you.

He leans forward and watches the side of your face with a soft, sleepy smile as you squint, concentrating on adding the finishing highlights, trying to capture the warm glow of the sun.  The adorable and slightly eccentric way you scrunched your nose and bit the inside of your cheeks when you were focused was just so fun for him to watch, just as you were intoxicated by the determined look in his eyes when he trained. 

Laying back against the tree trunk that served as his bed just moments ago, he admires the flow of your hair in the wind and lifts a bottle of sake to his lips.  The clear liquor is expensive, rich, and smooth—you had borrowed a fortune from Nami to gift it to him.  Licking his lips and setting it down, he almost feels guilty that the bottle is already nearly empty.

As you clean your brushes and wipe the paint from your palette, Zoro absentmindedly starts picking flowers in reach and placing them in your hair.  By the time you start to pack up your box of supplies, he’s turned you into a sight to rival the field in front of you, a rainbow of petals tangled in your thick hair, at one time straight but turned wild and wavy with the mist of the sea.  As you turn around in his lap to show him the finished piece, he nearly forgets to look, completely captivated by the excitement in your eyes; when his eyes drop to examine your work, his chest brims with pride.  Decisive, impressionistic brushstrokes captured not just the physical but the emotional.  One of your best.

“I’m so proud of you.” he says, unable to hide the grin on his face.  In these quiet moments alone with you, he finds it easier to display his emotions without the shame of being vulnerable; he is also appreciative of the way you effortlessly can read his face during all the other times when he finds himself incapable of peeling back his shell.

He listens intently as you walk him through your process, analyzing your metaphorical leaps forward and steps back, just as you do when he informs you on the outcomes of his workouts; this was your training, and your discipline to your dream enrooted you into his heart on a visceral level.  When you finally finish, he offers you the last swig of sake from the bottle.

“You’ve earned this.” he says, watching as you eagerly tip the bottle into your mouth, making sure you swallow every last drop.  By the time the bottle is placed to the side, his lips are on yours, chasing the taste of liquor, and melting into your soft but passionate touch. 

Pulling away to glimpse the dreamy look on your face leaves him breathless.  Sun illuminating your wispy stray strands of hair, petals scattered in your hair, and barely-there freckles dusting your cheeks from too many naps in the sun, you’re a goddess of spring through and through.  Worn, stamped patchwork pants straddle his thighs as he cups your cheek.

“I love you, Zoro.”

Though you often expressed your emotions through gentle looks and unspoken touches, it’s the first time it’s been spoken aloud.

“I love you too.”

He’s a demon basking in the glory of being bathed in light.  Despite your divine appearance, you require no sacrifice of him, no rituals of humiliation—only a piece of his heart.

He gives it over to you whole.

In return he only asks that you stay by his side, following him to the Underworld and sacrificing your chance at salvation to walk through hell with him.

You take the lead, tugging on his hand as you stumble through the fire licking at your feet.

As Zoro begins a new turn around the sun, he counts the amount of times he’s shared sake with you and prays that twelve sinful sips are enough to keep you in his clutches for all his years to come.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #who needs therapy when you have blorbos #god i love him #hades and persephone dynamic but make it cute

[peachesofteal]

Prologue: The Moirai

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 1.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: modern setting retelling of Hades and Persephone A strange dream, a strange visit.

For months, you’ve had the same dream.

You’re wandering a valley, your valley, a lush, green collection of rolling peaks, sweet grass and clover nearly velvet beneath your bare feet. The sun, high in the sky, does not moisten your brow, or cause you distress. You do not thirst. You do not tire.

You only meander, feeding the earth snippets of power, growing flowers and vines, a plethora of life, amusing yourself, as you do every night.

You roam this meadow, until your eyes open at dawn, bullfrogs and crickets and the raw chirp of birds tapping against the windowpane, brightening you to the morning better than any alarm clock ever could.

But tonight, the dream is different.

You’ve never seen so much Narcissus. It paints an idyllic picture, bright petals sparkling far and wide, blanketing the hills until they swoop low in the soft belly of the dream. They draw you in, pulling you down until you’re seated amongst a mass of blooms, Asphodelus scattered throughout, honeysuckle vine curling through the grasses, more fragrant than sea spray, filling the air with an intoxicating sweetness that you can taste, crystal like dew dripping with jasmine and vanilla.

It's beautiful. 

A creek babbles nearby, crooning in its own language, rushing trickle drowning out your thoughts and feelings, twisting and tugging until it’s hard to remember you’re in a dream at all.

Is this not your meadow? 

Is this not your own? 

The Asphodelus shivers, rocking back and forth in a cool wind, the kind that chills your skin, whips around your shoulders and tousles the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hello.” The greeting startles you, twists your torso in the waist deep flora. Rise. Instinct booms, like your mother’s chide ringing a shrill bell for you to obey.

A figure stands in the meadow behind you, tall beside the sun, rays of golden light casting long shadow across their features. You squint, but it’s of no use. You cannot make them out.

“Hello.” You mirror, palms forward, heels digging into the grass. There’s a sharp prick, a sting that bleeds, and you curse, lifting your hand for inspection. “Acantha.” You hiss at the goddess, as if she has anything to do with your dreams.

Gold runs from the wound like the creek, slicking your palm, coating your skin in ichor, your own lifeblood.

The lifeblood of the Golden ones.

Lest you forget.  

The figure kneels in the grass before you, their head bowed, black gloved hands reaching, tugging your palm upwards, dragging a thumb through the mess of ethereal life.

“I’m fine, just a prick.” You assure in the silence. There is so much light, and yet none, nothing to illuminate the face or the features of whomever it is that occupies your dream.

A fragment of your mind, perhaps. A trick of your mother’s. 

Or an interloper. 

“You’re hurt.” The dark pitch of the figure’s voice is startling. It’s fathomless, beautiful like the coast of the Aegean, guttural like the shout of death. Raw ruby, not quite plucked from its sanctuary, not quite finished or ready to be seen, a secret gem, only for you. The meadow rustles, thousands of faces in the little flowers leering, scowling, blue sky dimming into grey. Thunder shatters the tranquility, clapping in the distance, a garish boom sending electric shocks through the clouds, all manner of rumbles rolling over the hill.

Rot. It fills your soul in a flood, current wrapping around your ankles and tugging, like a thousand Oceanids lay at your feet, crying. Screaming.

But your hand is warm. Your hand is warm and it is held, for a moment, a moment in which you feel dramatically unlike yourself, unlike the fledging goddess you claim to be, unlike the unloved one you’re known as, and then-

it is cold. Your hand. Your heart. You. The being, the figure, is gone.

And you are alone.

The Greenhouse is quiet. An easy peace, so easily disturbed by comings and goings, friends and patrons, all manner of beings and others, stopping in and out.

They say hello. They ask for help, advice, favor. Some things you cannot give, even to some visitors who you hold close. Dearly.

These moments alone, moments of solitude in the Greenhouse, and some that you love the most. Moments when you're alone with yourself, your power, your connection to the earth. When you can feel it the most, the worms in the dirt, the roots desperate for water, the blooms aching to flourish. You are all these things, when you're alone. A power unto yourself. A goddess of life, of fertility, of Spring. The essential reawakening. The circle of seasons. 

The secret weighs heavily. 

But a goddess of Spring, is no mere goddess of Spring, your mother's voice echoes. A goddess of life, may as well wear a target on her back. 

This morning, when the dew still refracts the light of the sun and birds are singing, no one comes. You sit alone, pruning, detangling, taming a pothos, encouraging its lovely green vine to live on its own. It protests, and you huff at it, conjuring slivers of magic, feeding it kernels as if you care for a child, trying to encourage it to eat. 

“You must try, you know.” It curls around the back of your hand, lovely silver-white speckled leaves shimmering in the morning’s light. “You’re not staying here. The Greenhouse is full. I don’t have any more room.” The overcrowded shelves and carts agree, saplings and ivy and atropa belladonna all singing in unison, quivering voices rising in protest of the pothos’ weak effort. “See? You’ll make everyone unhappy.”

“You have a habit of talking to all your plants?” A musical voice chimes from the front door, and you jump from the stool, a book on your right clattering to the concrete.

“No, I…” Your voice fails, the woman in the doorway steps closer, allowing her mortal appearance to fall away, removing her Cloak and revealing her true identity.

The Moirai.

The Three who are One. 

She turns her head to the east, a flash of the Maiden surveying your workbench, and then the Crone shines through, all faces eventually melding into one.

The Mother. 

“Daughter of Demeter.” She inclines her head in greeting, and you blink rapidly.

“You...” What are they… is she, doing here? “You shouldn’t be here.” You swallow the fear that races in a cold rush under your skin. A frozen river runs in your bones, frigid rapids roaring, trapped beneath a thin sheet of ice, churning your power into a weapon of terror, an uncontrollable force that tries to build beneath the swell.

“Your mother is preoccupied.” She waves her hand; unease props the hair up on the back of your neck.

“What do you want?”

“To see you.” She strolls, careful, casual steps echoing off glass. “Finally, in the flesh.” The sh sound hisses, and your power pulses, pushing forward in preparation. “You are truly as lovely as they say, little Spring Goddess.”

“I’m not the Goddess of Spring.” You rebuke, and the resounding chuckle is dry wine, a tatter of bubbles that on her tongue that sours your stomach.

“You are not.” She nods. “No. You’re so much more now. You will be.” She steps closer, red lips perfectly lined and plump, pursed as she stares you down. “I’m satisfied.” She murmurs, and even though she looks right at you, it’s as if you’re not in the room.

Rain drops patter on glass panels.

“Pity.” She frowns, and then winks as a young woman, as an old one too, vanishing from sight with each step she takes to the door.

The clock ticks too loudly, and it feels like doom. Like a shattered mirror, shattered reflection, shattered life.

The Moirai have never visited you. 

Why now?

Outside, a screech owl hoots, startling you backwards, a hand rocking down to the work bench in an effort to steady your trembling legs.

“Ouch!” you shriek, flipping your palm over, a pair of pruning shears dug into your skin, golden blood leaking out around their cool metallic points. “Fuck.” Your lips cover the puncture, tongue flicking against the rivulet of ichor.

The screech owl screams.

The throne room is silent. Darkness ebbs, inky webs slithering across the floor, shadowing the blood red stone that spills from the mouth of the dais, two identical, straight back chairs sitting proudly in the middle of the hall, dwarfed by columns stretching so tall Johnny swears they surpass the boundary of this realm. Their onyx marble shrouds Simon, who stands maskless, his hands clasped behind his back, peering into the pitch-black pool of liquid vibrating inside a silver bowl. 

“Who is she?” There is a woman in the seeing glass. Beautiful, bright, an overflowing bouquet of narcissus, an endless melody of spring, the promise of early death. The greenhouse breathes in her presence, all nature of blooms and blossoms straining closer, desperate to be within fingertips reach. “A goddess?” He looks closer, and Simon’s amber laden eyes affix his, broad palm tenderly cupping Johnny’s cheek. His answer is a whisper, something unearthly and severe as they are: two Kings of the Underworld, two souls twisted together, two macabre fates made one. His words are a looming promise, a vow so ruinous Johnny knows the Moirai howl and the Lethe trembles.

“Our wife.”

#peaches writes #AIV(OFK) #ghoap x reader #hades ghoap #persephone reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #Simon Riley #john soap mactavish

[eraenaa]

From The Underworld and Beneath (Greek Mythology AU)

Aemond x Reader AU

Synopsis: You, the Goddess of Spring, were captured by the King of the Underworld, who was intent on keeping you there.

Warnings: Mature 18+, Fingering, Grinding, Stockholm Syndrome, Abduction

Word Count: 3080

Perfect and pretty, perched upon a stone, picking at petals. Pure, sweet relief. That is what you are. Not a thought bothers you, sweetling. Pampered and protected by your mother. A heavy price would be paid if anyone dared bother the perfect peace you always had. 

A breathy sigh escaped your lips. You were in paradise, but why did a frown adorn your pretty face? Goddess of the spring, you are. Sullen, you are, as well. You continued to pick at the petals. The same thing every day. The same faces before you. The same task was presented. You were growing of your little routine. You wanted something different. Something that would disrupt the perfect peace bestowed upon you.

“Are you well? What bothers you?” They ask as they play in the field. You sighed once more, deflated shoulders shrug. Your complaints not wanting to leave your plump lips. Should you not be grateful for your station? Everything was provided before you. The ground you walked upon, worshiped. You were adored by many. Then why should you feel such melancholy? 

You faked a smile, not wanting to seem ungrateful. They bought it easily, returning to play once more as you sat somberly upon the stone. You stared upon the bud; you picked off the petals, naked and bare. Now vulnerable with the touch of the world. You brought the bare flower to your lips, the bud brushing upon your flesh before you discard it. You stood and searched for another flower. Another to feel, another to asses, another to bless with your touch. 

You hear the chatter and laughs of your other friends as you stray further away. Searching for something to bring you excitement. Searching for something to bring you pleasure. You bent down when something pretty caught your eye. Greedily picking on it, ripping it away from the home it had known. 

Then, all of a sudden, the ground you stood upon shook. You looked around in panic, searching for something, anything— but what would that help? You had no clue what to do. So you stood. You stood there until a chariot came into view, dark as night, and did not sit well upon the field of light you prance upon. Your brows furrowed again, but that did not matter. Because one moment, you were picking pretty flowers, flowers as pretty as you, then the next, a stronghold placed itself upon your waist, and you were whisked off. The last thing you saw was your friends running and calling after you, but it did not matter. You were already taken. Taken by a man who would never relinquish his hold. 

“What happened? Who dare take my daughter? Answer me!” Your mother demanded, a group of nymphs before her. Her face filled with fretting rage. “It was your brother… Aemond, we are certain of it,” They said, and your mother’s heart pitted. You were taken, and she had no idea how to rescue her precious daughter. “How can we save her? We’ll do anything!” Your friends pleaded, but Rhaenyra only shook her head, clueless as well on how to proceed. The only thing she could think of was to come to your father for assistance, for guidance, for vengeance.

You stare wide-eyed as you sit on a lap. A lap of a man you did not know. His hold on your waist had never left, strong, cold hands steady on it’s hold. You had not uttered a word, enveloped in shock, and you would say fear as well, but it did not feel as if it were the right word. It was more of confusion, confusion as to why you were taken, and confusion as to why you did not feel fear trickle inside you.

 “Who are you?” You dare ask at the man whose lap you were perched upon. You still had not lifted your gaze; you had not met your abductor’s eyes. You simply stared at his dark leather robes, stiff and smooth against your white dress. You hear a scoff leave his lips and feel his hold tighten; his other hand moves to twirl your hair. 

Aemond hummed as your gaze was still cast down. His fingers ran through your silky hair; he took a deep breath and eased on his throne as he smelt you and the flowers in your hair. He had been watching you for a while… had been wanting you for a while as well. And finally, he had enough of watching from afar. He was done hiding in the gardens to catch a single glimpse of you. He was done fantasizing about holding you— touching you. He had to take you. “I see my sister has neglected to warn you about me,” he watched you as your back stiffened by the mention of your mother. Aemond felt his breath stutter as you finally placed your gaze upon him. “You are her brother— Aemond?” You asked and watched as the ball on his throat bobbed and how his lone eye closed. Aemond felt a wave of pleasure rush through him by the mere act of you uttering his name. 

“Why have you brought me here?” You asked as you finally realized where you were. Somewhere, the sun did not shine; somewhere, the flowers did not grow; somewhere, you did not belong. “Please, you must return me to my mother! She—“ Words died on your tongue as Aemond opened his eye, his grip on you growing tighter and tighter, pulling you closer to him. “She had neglected her precious daughter… I have seen you… so sullen, so melancholic.  Things you must never be, little flower.” You held your breath as his face drew closer to yours. “It is not her fault!” You defended. “I…I had just…I— please, you must return me to her!” You begged. Looking before the man, skin pale, eye dark. A black, sharp crown upon his hair of platinum. You held your breath as his cold hand went to caress your cheek, him humming in satisfaction. “Never,” He swore. 

Pleasure was something Aemond never felt. He was deprived of it— starved of it. But not now. Not when he placed his lips upon yours. Sweet and plump, another something he had never felt— never tasted. Aemond felt himself turn rigged as a whimper left your lips, certain you would pull away and be another to deny him pleasure. But you stayed still; you kept your lips upon his. You let your blessed touch cup his cheek. His mind was made and fortified; he will never let you go. No, he could never let you go.

“Daemon, he has taken my child! Our child!” Rhaenyra screamed through the whole of the heavens. “I demand you to demand him to bring her back to me!” She cried for her child. “That is something I cannot do.” Rhaenyra felt the eyes of the others watching them. “And why not?” She questioned with desperation. She watched the man before her, thinking him the most powerful and rightful of all. But now, as he sat on his throne, gaze shielded from her pleading eyes. She saw him as nothing but a fraud. “Fine. If you do not bring me my child— I shall do it myself.” Rhaenyra swore and raged out, going through the ends of the world in search of her beloved child. In search of you, who had your lips dancing against your captor’s. 

As Aemond moved you to straddle him— for both of you to feel each other… you froze at his touch. Questions swirling in your mind, great questions that muddled the great pleasure you felt while in the king of the underworld’s arms. You hear a deep whine leave Aemond’s throat as you part from him. His head moved, lips still puckered, and wanting to feel it against yours, but you were persistent in asking your questions. “Why—why have you brought me here?” You breathlessly asked, hands on his shoulders, trying to push him and keep the distance between your lips. You watched his eye, dark and filled with wanting. Your eyes copied his as every moment passed. Wanting fueling both of your beings. 

“It is simple… I want you.” Aemond uttered and moved to kiss your sweet lips once more, but you shook your head. You feel your heart spike as he tightens his hold on your waist. His lips pursed, and you felt yourself waver by the look he gave. “You, my little flower, will be my queen.” You feel yourself pale at his words. “But— my mother— I must see her.” You insisted. But instead of answering your plea, Aemond placed his lips upon yours again. The taste of wine on his tongue intoxicates your senses. You flutter as you feel his strong hand slowly move and cup your cloth breast. You gasped in shock, and he retrieved his hand. Trepidation swirling, but you took hold of his hand and urged him to keep it there. The initial shock turned to excitement and, dare you say, pleasure as his cold hands met with your pebbled and warm flesh. 

“Aemond,” You mewled as he kneaded your tits. You panting, as you had never felt such a sensation before. Had never encountered such a touch before. Beneath you, you feel his length, prominent and grazing over your cunt. Your wanting body had muddled your mind, and you boldly moved your hips, brushing and pressing against the god of the underworld’s length. A sound rumbled on from his throat— a deep growl that made more color rise to your cheeks. That made you want him, a stranger, even more.

You feel his hold on your waist again. Him guiding you to grind upon his cock. The friction against your cunt was another thing you had never felt. Things you had never thought of before, sensations you had never experienced, anticipation and excitement you had been longing and searching for presented themselves in the form of the man whose lips were peppering kisses on your neck. Whose bulge perfectly met with your needing cunt. Whose hands had found home in your waist.

“Ae—Aemond?” You called, and he hummed as he continued his torment on your neck. His lips left his mark. “I… want you— I want you to take me.” You breathily whispered and felt him tense beneath you. You captured his gaze, indigo eyes darker than they had ever been before. “You do?” He gritted. You bit your lip and nodded. You took his hand and guided it downwards, wanting his cold, strong hand to be met with your warm, dripping cunt. You watch his eye grow wide by your actions. 

Aemond had never thought that it was possible for him to want you more than he already did, but by your actions… your boldness and eagerness to let him touch you in such a way, all he wanted to do was bend you over his throne and fuck you until the whole of the world and heavens hears the pleasure he gives. Aemond moved to kiss your swollen lips once more, his fingers starting to draw circles on your needing cunt, but you backed away from his lips. 

“I want you to take me… make me your queen, but only after I’ve seen my mother. I must say my goodbyes.” You said and pouted as the pleasurable movements of his fingers ceased. He raised his brow at your ultimatum. “Please…” You begged and pressed yourself further to him, letting your ample breasts rest against him. “You will return?” He asked. Aemond tried not to let doubt seep into his mind and tried not to grow distracted by your body. He had you— you were finally with him. How could he ever let you go? 

You eagerly nodded, “I swear… I will return, and after we— we can continue.” You slyly said, not missing the way his lips twitched upward. You watch him for a moment of still silence. And after, a sigh left his lips. His fingers remove themselves from your wet cunt, and you feel yourself grow alight as you watch him lick the digits that succumbed to your essence. 

Aemond smirked as he watched you grow red in shock. A sound of pleasure leaving his throat by the taste of you. Every part of you was sweet and tart— tastes he thought he had no care for now made him grow addicted. “Very well then,” he conceded. “You can return for your mother to say your goodbyes,” He permitted and watched as a sweet, blooming smile came to your lips. A smile that made the breath catch in his throat and made his immortal heart stutter. “Thank you!” You beamed and placed a kiss on his lips. Aemond hummed, “But first… you must eat. You would need sustenance as you ascend to the world above once more,” He whispered against your lips. He watched your innocent eyes grow confused, but still, you nodded. 

You watched as Aemond took hold of fruit, you still seated on his lap and watching as he unpeeled the foreign fruit for you. You watched him cut open the red sphere in his hands—the skin of the fruit thick and white on the inside. You watch him delicately take the seeds and place them in his palm for you to take. You look at him uncertainly, but he simply nods and urges you to eat. You hesitantly took a seed into your mouth. Aemond watching as you eat the fruit. You delight at the taste of it, sweet and tart— just like how you tasted to Aemond. He smiled as you took two seeds to your mouth next, a grin spreading across his lips as you took two more again.

Though you have sworn you would return, Aemond could not gamble on the possibility of empty promises. So he took matters into his own hands. The fruit that he fed you was an informal contract that will bind you to him forever. Just a few more seeds, and you will have no choice but to stay in his arms for all of eternity. As you took the sixth seed into your mouth, a deafening and shrill call of your name sounded through the whole of the underworld. 

Aemond placed his protective hold on you as he was certain whose voice it was calling after you. Your mother’s eyes were frantic as she saw you perched upon the lap of his brother, his arms around you; the seed of a pomegranate slipped past your lips. “No!” He screamed and traded closer, but a three-headed hound appeared from behind Aemond’s throne and growled at your mother. Aemond saw the fear in your eyes as the beast continued to growl at your mother, but he ran his fingers through your hair and hushed your fretting self as well as his hound. 

“Welcome, sister,” Aemond said and moved you to un-straddle his lap but still made you sit upon it, only moving your frame to face your mother, who seethed in anger from where she stood. “I am glad you have finally visited me in my kingdom after so many years,” You tilted your head in question as you saw the clear anger in your mother. “I demand you to release my daughter!” Rhaenyra screamed, and you turned to Aemond, a sly smirk on his lips. “That… I cannot do. She has agreed to be my wife,” Aemond smiled and placed a kiss upon your temple. You watched in further question as to why your mother kept her angered demeanor. “Say your goodbyes now, my flower,” Aemond whispered in your ear, and you nodded. Standing to meet your mother who stood at the end of the steps of Aemond’s throne. 

“We must leave!” Rhaenyra said as you neared, you turned back to Aemond. Him laxly sitting on his throne watching you. A pout started to form on your plump lips as your mother began to pull you. “But I wish to stay,” You stated, and your mother looked at you perplexed. “I want him.” You added, and Aemond smirked as he heard your words—a new surge of wanting coursing through him by your statement. 

“No! You do not belong here, my child; come now, let us leave!” Your mother urged, and you shook your head, staying your ground as she tried to pull you away once more. “I want to stay.” You insisted and saw the betrayal in the eyes of your mother. A wave of guilt crashed through you, but the desire for Aemond and to be his queen was much greater that you disregarded your mother’s plea. Stepping away from her, you returned to your seat on Aemond’s lap. The smirk never left his lips, but his hold on you returned as both of you watched your mother dejectedly walk away. 

The guilt forming in your heart could not announce itself properly as Aemond returned his hand to your cunt. The folds were still slick and wet from his earlier touches. The hurt you caused your mother could not be processed as pleasure was now seeping its way through you. 

“More… please,” You asked Aemond as his fingers were slow and teasing against your cunt. “Aemond, please,” you were quick to plead again. The king of the underworld smirked and obliged your wanting. One of his hands drew circles upon the bud of your cunt whilst the other moved to cup your tit once more. Feeling and squeezing the soft flesh. Aemond felt you move your hips once more, spreading your legs wider for him. He hummed in satisfaction to feel you flutter against him. 

You called his name again, a sensation new and somewhat unsettling. You gasped as you felt your insides wanting for release. It was almost a ticklish feeling, but it was wholly more. You harshly bit your lip, uncertain of what is to happen. “Come for me, little flower,” Aemond commanded by the shell of your ear and bit the lobe of it. You were not certain how to do it— uncertain on how to come, but you supposed you have done it as wetness from your cunt grew, and a hum of satisfaction from Aemond sounded through your pleasured daze. You could only watch as he brought his wet fingers with your essence to his lips once more. “So, fucking sweet.” 

#aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #prince aemond #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #hades x persephone au #greek mythology au #hotd fanfic #hades #persephone #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader

[priyajoyyy]

Tangled [part 2]

Clarisse la rue x Persephone!repunzel!fem!reader

After discovering you in the tower, Clarisse offers you a chance to finally get a glimpse of freedom, joining them on their quest back to camp half blood.

Warnings:

Toxic parents, yandere!parents, oblivious!, Clarisse being stubborn, overprotectiveness, cannon typical violence, bullying, reader has poor survival instincts, more to come maybe

You were scared to meet the other two people Clarisse had informed you were halfbloods. She told you that you were probably one too, or at least she thought you were.

She said it would explain your hair, and why your parents had left you in a tower your entire life. And how you could make plant life grow at will, or the fact your mother was called Persephone (a pretty big giveaway if you asked Clarisse)

You just thought that was all normal. Apparently not.

She told you this stuff as her brother made his way up the wall, the other girl, Anna, climbing up behind him.

When they eventually climbed over, sweaty and out of breath you watched them cautiously with wide eyes from your spot across the room.

Clarisse sighed and walked over to you, “it’s fine they’re my friends, they’re not gonna do anything”

You looked to her then, she thought you looked like a baby dear, terrified with wide doe eyes staring into her own with a little terrified pout on your lips. She couldn’t help but find it cute.

“What. The. Fuck” Elliot said in between deep breaths as he stumbled into the room, “who is she and why are we breaking into her house?”

“Shut up” Clarisse stated, rolling her eyes at the boy, “this is y/n, I’m pretty sure she’s a half blood and she’s letting us stay in her tower for the night”

“I am?”

“She is?”

“I-I don’t remember agreeing to that..” you stated looking at her confused.

“She’s a half blood?” Elliot asked, being ignored by his sister.

“You wanna go outside right?” Clarisse said, hoping her assumptions were correct.

You waited for a moment, not wanting to answer. Whenever you brought up leaving to your mother she got mad and told you how dangerous the outside world was, but you couldn’t help but not believe her with how beautiful the part of the world you can see is.

“yes but…” You eventually nodded at her hesitantly, muttering out, “but it’s dangerous out there, I can’t leave”

“It’s not dangerous” Clarisse stated, her brother wacking her arm causing her to correct herself, “well not if you’re with us, we’ll protect you”

You looked at them suspiciously, going to speak before being interrupted by Elliot.

“This seems like kidnapping” he said bluntly, causing Clarisse to roll her eyes as you looked between the two in worry and watched the other girl walk towards the window in annoyance of another argument between the siblings.

“Kidnapping from who?” Clarisse responded.

“Um maybe the parents she just said don’t want her going outside?” He rebutted.

“Oh the parents that have locked her away in a tower her entire life? Sure because that’s normal…”

“Yeah those parents Clarisse!” He continued, “the ones that are probably literal gods and will kill us if we take her!”

She glared at the boy for a moment, before both of them turned back to face you, the shock of it making you stumble backwards a little with wide eyes.

“Do you want to leave?” Clarisse asked for a second time, looking at you with expectantly.

“Well I-i guess” you responded, cowering back slightly as the siblings both glared into your sole, clarisses stare turning into a triumphant smirk when you finished speaking.

“There” Clarisse said smugly, “not kidnapping if it’s willing”

🍊☀️🪷

“Come on” Clarisse said firmly the next day, climbing over the side of the window ledge and beginning to scale down the side of the building, her brother following after her leaving you and the other girl stood watching them.

“H-how am I meant to do that?” You stuttered out to the girl, fear of the distance between you and the grass below.

“It’s not that bad, honest” she told you with a reassuring smile, watching you gulp.

“If you really can’t do it like we are” she added, jumping up onto the ledge, continuing with a shrug, “then use your plant power thing to help you down”

“Hurry up Anna” Elliot shouted up to the girl, causing her to begin to find her footing on the side of the tower.

You watched the three make their way down for a minute, contemplating whether you should actually leave or not.

Your parents had always warned you of the outside world, your mother said people were dangerous, you’d grown up on tales your step father told you of monsters that wanted to kill you.

Clarisse looked up at you in confusion, watching you have an inner panic and contemplate actually leaving, your head peeking out the window to look at the height.

She knew you needed a minute, you’d literally never stepped outside your home before, it obviously wouldn’t be easy.

But her impatience got the better of her when she shouted up again, “you’ll be fine!”

You looked down at her in shock, shaken out of your mini panic attack by her shout, “honestly! We’re gonna protect you, nothings gonna hurt you”

Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself to finally leave. You’d wanted to do this your entire life, you couldn’t let your nerves get the better of you.

Turning around you quickly grabbed a small bag you had packed the night before, all of your most important possessions safely packed inside.

Taking a step forward, you climbed up onto the ledge, reaching your arm out to a hook above you, vines beginning to wrap around the walls and down to your arm.

The three halfbloods watched as you chucked your small bag over your arm, before you clutched the plants and stepped off of the ledge.

The vines extending down towards the ground and taking you with it slowly as you held onto it tightly with shaking arms.

Stepping down onto the grass gently, you smiled and looked down. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing it, finally seeing the grass up close and feeling it under your feet.

You looked around, walking towards the small pond near you, lifting your dress and dipping your toes in that as the other three watched you in confusion.

You turned around quickly, spinning your face then with a large smile on your lips.

“Where are we going now?” You asked excitedly.

Readers is literally like Bambi istg 😭

This is not proof read sorry

Taglist:

@slaggylemon @yourmom-25s-blog @l0veshellarcelia @asvterias @ashisabitgay @sh1nnryuu @venusphoriia @isnt-itstrange @exactlycoralfox

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x y/n #percy jackson #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x reader #clarisse x female reader #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson show #percy x you #persephone #hades #camp half blood

[fl3shm4id3n]

Please hear me out in this, I think It matches perfectly

#bi han x reader #bi han x fem reader #bi han x female reader #bi han x you #bi han x y/n #hades bi han x persephone reader #hades bi han #hades!bin han #persephone reader #persephone!reader #bi han imagine #bi han fic idea #bi han mk #bi han mk1

[biteofcherry]

Sweet and stained

Sweet and stained

soft dark Nick Fowler x female reader

a Hades/Persephone inspired AU set in modern times, with an implied mafia background

summary: You live in the sun and blooms, under your mother's protective wing (or is it cage?). When Nick Fowler strolls into your life, he brings a wave of thrilling fresh with the darkness that follows him.

warnings: soft!dark Nick Fowler; sort of dub-con; kidnapping; manipulation; light corruption kink; mentioned breeding kink; a bit of smutty scenes included;

Author's Note: This is a trope that won the poll for my birthday celebration story. Honestly, the way I imagined this fic at first is completely different from how it turned out. Less sharp than my usual style and more of a gloomy, start-of-the-autumn poetics. Still, I hope you'll enjoy!

You never knew black could shimmer so brilliantly, even though you saw its various shades in petals of unique flowers. The night sky’s ink was dotted with sparkling dust, too, after all. Yet it was only now that you noticed the luminosity of dark, as your head tilted back on the softest pillows and your gaze roamed the supple garlands of the black canopy.

Dark interior, which scared you the first time you took a step inside, now engulfed you in heady warmth. Like a sip of spicy hot chocolate, so rich and thick it coats your tongue and fills your belly with a bitter bite to its general sweetness.

There’s more spice than sweetness to your captor, but you began realizing he remained the only one to treat you with softness. As if he truly cared.

Perhaps he did? 

Maybe the charm and patience he showed you at the beginning were as true as the ruthless possessiveness with which he bound you to him. 

You had years to find that out. Decades at his side, to unravel the scary mystery that was Nick Fowler.

Your husband.

His face above you, as he sat beside your sweaty, spent body, shone a serene glow. His eyes a shade of clear lake, with monsters luring in the depths. 

You still feared him, but Nick gave you enough proof that he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Even if his plan for you was weaved out of nefarious intentions. 

He set aside the glass of water which he brought to your lips a moment ago, soothing your throat that dried out from how much you screamed for him. 

It’s for the best that you couldn’t speak at the moment, your breath still ragged; since you didn’t know what you’d say to him after all the debauched things he did to you. Post sex pillow talk was never your forte, but it was even more awkward after willingly spreading your legs for a man who ripped you from your life as one plucked a flower from the ground.  

Silently, you watched Nick once again pick a crystal bowl from the nightstand, a shiny barrow of pomegranate seeds peeking above the rim. 

He devoured some moments before he indulged in your dripping pussy.  

Seeds glistened ruby richness on Nick’s fingers as he brought them to your lips; his own mouth stained with the juice. He left traces of the red sweetness on your thighs and mound, mixing pomegranate flavor with your combined spend. 

Your lips wrapped around his digits as he spilled fruity grains on your tongue. One of your hands rested on your belly, just below your navel. 

Nick has repeatedly filled you with seeds that night, not only those of a pomegranate. 

It made you tremble. His intent was clear; not only shown in relentless, deep thrusts, but dark and dirty words whispered into your ear. 

Your body shouldn’t react so eagerly to his plans, arching and spasming in whorish acceptance as he ordered you to take it; as he fucked you through one climax into another, telling you of his heir swelling in your womb. 

Disgust should have filled you, instead of arousal. Because as much as you believed Nick was going to dote on you, his owning of your body in every sense was driven by revenge. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With the wide rim of the sunhat on your head limiting your view and your focus on the pots dancing away from you (the wind that day was wickedly playful, knocking over the smaller pots every time you righted them), you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings. 

People walked past, some gleefully talking about plants, others arguing on what was or wasn’t needed in their garden. On a sunny day like that, Demeter Gardens had as many customers as a fun fair on weekends. 

The staff was really busy on days like this, doubling their efforts, because it was usually when your mother chose to grace the place with her radiant presence - radiant to the customers, an absolute harpy to her workers. 

There were many traits you admired about your mother. The most inspiring was the fact she was a barely out of teens single mother who managed to raise you and start a business that flourished into a state known brand. 

She had her faults, too. Like the high expectations and harsh tongue when someone didn’t meet her standards.

It went both for her employees and her daughter. 

Working with plants soothed you, so at least your future as the heiress to the empire your mother wanted you to take over didn’t look as grim. Even if some evenings you cried into a pillow, because it wasn’t what you dreamt of at all.

Growing under her wing, you didn’t get much of a chance to explore what exactly you could dream of, what called out to you, but you simply knew that running a gardening business wasn’t it. 

You never dared to tell your mother that. Enough times have you suffered her cruel words, snide remarks regarding anything that strayed even a step away from her grand plans. Demeter had ambition rivaling many moguls and she poured it onto you as well. The only praise you got was when you won any sort of competition, or mentioned business plans. 

Your mother may have only spiteful words to say about your absent father, but she possessed the same self-centered core as him. Rotten and unkind. 

How plants flourished under her hands, you had no idea. 

Though she didn’t spend much time with them anymore, leaving it to people who really liked working with plants. You liked the peace and quiet it offered, which is why you spent almost every day at the gardening center. 

“Excuse me?” A smooth male voice startled you.

Not only with how sudden and close it was, but also because it was so unusual in a place mostly filled with cheery, loudly speaking families or couples. 

You turned your head, pulling the rim of your sunhat up with your dirty fingers, so you could see the person better. 

Your gaze met a pair of blue eyes, with a silvery gray swirl in them, that chilled you like an autumn rain pattering on your skin. A shadow of stubble along a chiseled jaw, which would feel under your fingertips like frosty needles of the first hoarse coating November leaves. Subtle, pink lips curved in a smile, but its charm didn’t fully cover the sharp threat of teeth that could sink in ‘till blood spilled like in spooky nightmares of autumnal season.

This man looked like the stillness of dying nature, engulfed in fog and chilling to the bones. A dark spirit amongst the lush greenery and blooming life that stretched all around. 

And yet he was more beautiful than any man you ever laid eyes on. 

“Yes?” You swallowed nervously, mostly to wet your suddenly dry throat. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you can,” he said softly, his voice a brush of cool silk. 

“See, I usually hire garden designers to take care of any greenery around my business buildings, but the one at my actual home? I wanted to work on it myself.”

“Understandable.” You smiled at him. “Having your own garden is a personal thing. Working on it helps you connect with the place that will be your oasis.”

“The problem is, I quickly realized I have zero idea what I’m doing. But I’m a stubborn bastard, who’s still adamant on chasing what he set his eyes on.” He sighed dramatically, making you laugh.

“Anyway-” he shook his head- “I’m Nick. Please, help me out?” 

You gave him your name, taking his hand when he outstretched it. His fingers were calloused, though it’s the cool brush of metal of his rings that sent tiny spikes of sensation through you. 

“What exactly do you need my help with, Nick?” You took off your sunhat and squinted slightly as the sunlight soaked your vision. 

“My tastes are… unique.” You knew he spoke about aesthetic preferences, but couldn’t help hearing the double meaning behind it. Especially with the sensual flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m mostly out the whole day,” Nick continued explaining, “coming home only in the evening. Which is when I wish to spend most time in the garden. To relax and enjoy its secret beauty.”

“You want night bloomers.” You guessed, grinning ear to ear.

Flowers blooming in the evening and through the night were one of your favorites. There was something about them that called out to you. Perhaps the fact they were overlooked under the radiant sun, hiding their secret beauty to flourish in shadows, when no one could judge them. 

There was also the aura of mystery about them, pairing so well with your fondness for gloomy and gothic stories. 

“See? I knew I was asking the right person for help.” Nick mirrored your smile; his made you a little weak in the knees. 

“You have to get the Moonflower, of course.” You moved and gestured for Nick to follow you, as you led him to the far end of the center. 

“I have to?” Nick chuckled, matching your step to walk beside you rather than behind you. 

Shoulder to shoulder with him, you suddenly realized he was taller than at first sight. Much warmer than what his dark aura suggested, too. And his scent was a toe-curling reminder of spicy mulled wine sipped by the fireplace.

“Yes!” You nodded, brushing your fingertips along the plants you passed on your way. “Moonflower is my favorite. It’s similar to the morning glory. You won’t see its full beauty now, but I assure you it never disappoints.”

When you finally reached the corner with potted plants - from smallest to those quite grown already - Nick bent over to examine it closely. He gently trailed the heart-shaped leaves, then plucked the yellow card attached to one of the thin stems. 

“Moonflower, or moon vine,” he read aloud, “is a night-blooming morning glory that opens in the evening and stays full until morning.”

Nick straightened and turned to you, gaze slowly dragging up your body. When his eyes met yours, there was a glint of something cold and dangerous in them. As if for a split of a second you saw a flash of instrumental triumph.

“Opens in the evening and stays full until morning,” he repeated the words, his voice dropping an octave and filling your belly with unexpected heat. “I like it already.” 

“Uh, well-” you squeezed the rim of the sunhat in your grasp- “Yes, see, I told you. You’ll like it even more when it blooms in your garden.”

“I know I will.” Nick affirmed solemnly. 

Something about his gaze, or perhaps it was the set of his jaw, quickened your pulse with a warning that his intent was more than just a harmless flirting. There was this tinge of danger about him, fizzing on the tip of your tongue with a spicy aftertaste. 

If you licked his skin, the cold darkness may swallow you, but everything inside you would set aflame. 

Apprehension tingled inside your chest, like wind chimes’ pearly tune that lured with their woeful longing. Reason whispered to take a step back, but feet moved forward on their own, drawn to the inner flame that may as well be straight from hell. 

It was hard to break eye contact with Nick, but you feared if you didn’t look away he’d mesmerize you into selling your soul. And your body. Body which awoke with yearning to have his fingertips trail along your skin the same way he touched the plants.

Somehow you managed to turn away. The sun’s warmth returned to your cheeks, caressing your face with soothing lightness the second you stepped away from Nick’s gloomy aura.

“You should also get night blooming Jasmine. It smells so sweet.” You rambled about plants, clutching onto the topic like it was a lifebuoy keeping you afloat from sinking into fascinating, but scary depths that were Nick’s eyes. 

“And Angel’s Trumpets!” With your presentation, excitement returned. 

You were helping create something personal, something so very unique. However Nick chose to use your advice, you had a blissful sense of creating something yourself. A garden that may as well be yours, since it catered to your aesthetic and needs as well. 

Nick ordered so many of the plants you listed that not only did you run out of stock, but had to set up a delivery from another center. You weren’t sure how big Nick’s garden was, but considering the amount of plants it had to be a king-sized land. 

The thought of roaming it in the late evening, with dusk hiding hues of purple and gold in a shroud of ink black, and moonlit petals opening up for the life of creatures of the night; it made your heart yearn.

You’d love to wander through that garden. 

For someone who ran a gardening empire, your mother kept you both locked in a metal and glass skyscraper, in a two-floor penthouse with (amazing, but contained) view of the city. 

It was a cage. 

As you watched Nick walk away after he paid in advance for the order, though he took with him some chilling sense of danger, you envied his freedom to simply walk away from the sun and the blooms. 

Many would be jealous of you, you were aware of that. Living among lush greenery and constant sun seemed wonderful. It was to an extent. But this pristine, spring and summer only land, didn’t allow difference. There was no real room for unusual, dark undertones of wicked hearts that would love to have wild mushrooms spread over their lawn instead of snobby hydrangeas. 

When a cooling cloud shielded you from the scorching sun, coming along with Nick as he returned the next week, you felt like breathing freely for the first time since he walked away. 

This time he asked for fruit trees which he wanted to scatter among other types. The idea immediately struck you as unique, making your heart jump. 

Most of the time people divided their gardens - strict lines and areas for vegetables, separating them from decorative flowers. Mixing them up seemed chaotic, but so wonderful. What a surprise to walk through gemstone garlands of wisteria to find juicy peaches at arm’s reach. Or to tread through ferns and moonflowers to discover gooseberry bushes hidden amongst them. 

When Nick came on a third week, your excitement at his presence and news of his garden overpowered any sense of reason that kept you at a certain distance with him. 

And when he mentioned that keeping a routine and being at the center on the same day, same hour every week could be dangerous. 

“Someone could watch you, learn your schedule and plan how to steal you, Moonflower.” 

Having Nick call you Moonflower - the word rolling out on his tongue in a hum of wind, chilling to the bone, but igniting that deep-soul yearning - stirred feelings that overpowered the warning. 

Or maybe you started living for that rush of thrill Nick’s shadow elicited. The only spot of darkness allowed in your life. Enriching it thus. 

Still, fear resurfaced with tentacles of cold wrapping around you and plucking you from the sunny spot in broad daylight as you trotted to work the week after. On the same day as usual, with a bounce to your step as thirst for Nick’s brand of addictive flavor parched your throat. 

The car was black; a polished, obsidian arrowhead spearing the sheet of morning light. The engine’s sound more the growl of a prowling beast than the roar of an unhinged monster. 

Despite the speed, it stopped gracefully at the curb, cutting off your route. Nick’s silhouette stunned you as he exited the car; the blue-green depth of his eyes darker than when he walked along with you through blooming alleys. 

A smile didn’t have a chance to spread on your lips when his hand covered your mouth, the other arm wrapping around you. 

You screamed when he dragged you inside the car, but calloused fingers stifled the sound effectively. Wet tinkle of your cries reverberated against the metal of the rings adorning Nick’s fingers. 

Pleading eyes, so full of unanswered questions and fear, didn’t cut through the veil of composure. One had no chance begging their life out of death’s grip and Nick’s hold on you was a finality set in stone, as if the grim reaper came to harvest your soul to lead it to undying gardens for the rest of eternity. 

“No need for tears, Moonflower.” Nick took his hand from your mouth as the car sped away.

His touch traveled down your shaking arm, harsh fingers delivering surprisingly comforting caress. He took your hand in his and brough your palm to his mouth, kissing softly each knuckle. 

“I’ll make you a queen and treat you as such. No harm will ever be done to you.” 

“You kidnapped me,” you pointed out, voice quiet and quivering, though you bravely held his gaze. “That’s quite harmful.” 

“It’s only a means to avoid meddling of forces that would otherwise keep you away from me.” Nick rested his head back against the seat. “From what I found out about you, they’ve quashed you enough.”

“You know nothing about me, or my life!” You huffed, squirming back into the corner, your back against the side door.

You were never a physical fighter and Nick made no move to grip or hurt you other than pulling you into the car, so you didn’t attack him. You also doubted you had much of a chance of earning anything beside exhaustion and bruises. 

It was pitiful to admit, but you never fought anything or anyone beside the dragons in your head. The rebellion and storm were caged within your chest, mind full of words you wanted to scream at your mother, your father, the whole world. But you never did it. Never felt secure enough in your strength to cut those ties. 

“I know you’re dedicated and smart, finished on top of your class, gaining a degree that you never wanted to have in the first place.” Nick replied calmly.

His unperturbed composure was as much soothing as resonating with your usual behavior. Though you sensed that his limits weren’t pushable. If it came to it, his retaliation to being crossed would be severe. Lethal even. 

You envied that power. 

You wanted that power.

“You have passion for creativity and you are a fucking brilliant survivor.” Those words were spoken with admiration; a brilliant foam lighting up the sea storm of Nick’s irises. 

“You don’t love gardening as a business. I doubt you’re even interested in actual gardening work. But you see and love plants, their uniqueness, the details of them. You like their beauty, even the unusual ones. You’re an artist, Moonflower.”

Your heart burst with an intermixture of colorful emotion - a hail of fireworks against the black depth that is your caged life. 

“Artists should never be shackled into expectations.” 

“Yet you took me, because you expect something from it,” you retorted bitterly. 

“I expect nothing beyond you being by my side.” Nick’s fingers circled one of your wrists, thumb pressing against your pulse. “And strengthening the power of my empire.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” There was nothing of value that you could give him. Did he hope for a dowry and connections from your father? 

“Just by being with me.” He shifted, crowding you against your little safety corner. “Coming home to you would sweeten every hard day, knowing that I ripped something most precious from the one who took everything from my family.”

Comforting spices of his scent conflicted with the shadows he shrouded you in, painting a picture of a fairy tale that’s twisted enough that it shouldn’t be enjoyable. Yet struggling against the thorny veins of Nick’s plan seemed to have the opposite effect, pushing you further into forests of unknown thrills. 

“So I’m a vengeance plan?” You’d prefer it if your voice didn’t betray the disappointment, but it was too late to take back that undertone now. 

“Vengeance doesn’t mean burning the world down. That’s too simple and holds no ongoing effect.” Nick’s mouth curved in a scythe of dangerously alluring smirk, his eyes darkening. “Phoenixes rise from the ashes of burnt kingdoms. I rose from it.”

“My type of vengeance is to flourish on the fertile fields of my enemy’s broken ambitions.”

You believed Nick’s every word - that he had the resilience and endurance to build himself from whatever ruin his opponents left him with. It honed him, like hell fire does an indestructible blade. 

Many would use that lethal edge to cut the throats of all enemies. But Nick’s revenge wasn’t to bring short term pain and wipe out the others, he wanted them to drown in their suffering, to stretch it out plucking petal after petal of their lush empires. 

“You, Moonflower-” he skimmed his fingers along your arm and up the column of your throat- “are my prosperity. My core to thrive.”

“Binding you to me and allowing you to bloom into a woman you always wished to be, whatever form that may take,” Nick loosely curled his fingers around your neck, “will make me happy for I know you’re a brilliant gem. But I won’t hide that it will also crush the rotten heart of my enemy.”

“Seeing you at my side, growing along me and with me-” something about that particular choice of words unfurled heat in your core, like the time he mentioned flowers staying full-

“-will keep the flame of anger and pain consuming her daily.”

“Her?” you suddenly blinked, moving your legs slightly to alleviate the pressure that uncomfortably grazed your folds. 

“My mother?” You stared at Nick in bewilderment. “She’s your enemy?” 

Nick chuckled, though you weren’t sure if it was at your astonishment or the squirmy movement of your body which he noticed. He leaned closer still, knees brushing against yours. Where the fabric of your summer dress rolled up on your thighs, the fine fabric of his suit pants grazed your skin. 

“Your mother may present herself as the survivor against all odds and she is very determined, I’ll give her that. She also became heartless in her need to improve her life and show the world she doesn’t need help, ripping the fortune of others to build herself.” 

“She stole from you?” There wasn’t much shock in your response. After all, you knew the backstage face of the gardening queen; the truth behind the sunny smile of the nature-loving new age goddess. 

“From my family.” Nick gritted his teeth at the mention. “They took her pregnant under their roof, taught her family secrets of maintaining lush flowers. I was barely four when you were growing in her belly, but I remember her always slapping my hand away when I wanted to touch it, to feel a tiny baby miracle kicking.”

He didn’t say it, but you began to understand the part of possessiveness. The touch he didn’t withdraw an inch once he was able to reach for you freely. Something he was denied, now he ripped it away for himself. 

“First she stole the knowledge, then farms and fields.” Nick continued, his voice heavy with ice cold anger. “Came with fancy lawyers and bulldozers, chasing my family away from the scrap of land and the mounds of soil that my grandparents brought from Romania.”

You remembered one time your mother mentioned something about the secret being in the soil, a harpy reflection to her smile when she did. 

“My mother’s heart couldn’t take it. My father fled to Romania, finding the only solace in a small square of land where he grew a new hybrid of flowers. Named it after my mother.” 

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. A few breaths and the rage surpassed, leaving the lull of oceanic waves in his eyes. They rocked you as you held his gaze; your body attuning to the pulse of crackling fireplace on a dead cold autumn night that was Nick’s aura. 

“I’m not a gardener myself,” Nick shrugged, easing his free hand up your leg. “But I know how to plow through hard and high grounds. I’ve made myself a different kind of empire, though I always remained respectful of nature and plants, as my parents did.” 

You didn’t even feel him grip you any harder, yet somehow Nick managed to switch your positions in a blink of an eye - pulling you onto his lap. 

One of his hands remained at your throat, thumb gently stroking up and down along your pulsing vein. 

“You’ll be my queen. You’ll give me heirs.” It wasn’t a proposition, but a declaration of decision set in stone. “I’ll give you the freedom and power you so desperately crave.”

“What do you know of my cravings?” You hoped to challenge his confidence, to fight against the tendrils of magnetic pull that weaved around your limbs. 

“I know you turned my way like a plant does seeking the sun,” Nick’s hand slid beneath your dress. “Keeping so close, coming even closer each time, like an addict hopes to lick a single fleck of whatever gets him high.” 

Cool rings pressed into your skin, spiking your heart rate into a paradoxical pasodoble between desire and trepidation. Just like the nights you used your own fingers to the image of Nick fucking you in the night garden. 

“I know each time you thought I was coming to visit, you wore a shorter dress.” His fingers on your thigh inched further up. “This one today? If I met you inside the gardening center and you’d bend over to show me moss arrangements, I’d get a peek of your ass.” 

He did get that peek. 

When he bent you over his bed that night. After having you sign your name on all the legally (illegally too, undoubtedly) binding documents as a paid, stoic-faced registrar officiated your wedding. The ink was deep red, as blood that one spills for the devil. 

Red was also the wine Nick brought to your lips in a crystal glass. The rich, thick taste of it was a bland mist compared to the burning magma of Nick’s lips against yours, molting away the taste of your previous life as he sealed your contract. 

One hand on the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he fed you his sinful tongue, the other buried beneath your sundress. Firm, relentless fingers eliciting tangy, warm rain from between your thighs; watering the soil of the garden filled with plants that you picked. That you loved and Nick provided for you. 

He made you mark the land as yours, as he marked you as his. Your voice an enchanted cry of spell that was Nick’s name. 

Then he took you to the bedroom - the heart of the underworld kingdom. 

Though the dark interior sent a ripple of unease down your spine at first; it was like stepping into a cold, mountain stream after days of hiking in blinding sun. Then the jewel undertones of onyx and cuprite engulfed you. Shimmering black curtains of the canopy parted its wings for you, as Nick led you to the bed. 

You never strayed from dirt, but it only stained your hands and clothes as you worked with soil. The dirt spilling from Nick’s mouth as he took you seemed to twist your body into inhuman arches of pleasure, reshaping your mind so it became greedy for the sizzling impulses his filthy words elicited.

Tightest cunt.

Delicious hole. 

Breedable pussy.

Mine.

Tears trickled down your cheeks - a salty passage from a girly life of obedient silence into empowered if dark womanhood. Briny dew altered into shy sweetness as your moans stretched, tears turning into those of overwhelming pleasure. 

Nick showered you with it. With his tongue and fingers; with his cock that filled you with girth and the precious spent he cursed to take root in your womb. 

He led you like a queen, just like he promised, once you were able to stand on your trembling legs after hours of being both worshiped and owned. A silk robe in a color of a red so dark it might as well be woven from arterial blood floated around your frame as Nick took you into the garden. 

His fingers intertwined with yours. His pace adjusted to yours, not once rushing or slowing you down. 

Focused on admiring the beauty of silvery moonflowers and creamy bells of Angel’s Trumpets, you didn’t notice Nick’s eyes were only on you. 

#biteofcherry's birthday banquet #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler fic #hades x persephone AU #my writing #sweet and stained

[dema-heart]

Persephone & Hades

Persephone gn!reader x Hades Hobie

Spring is here, and with it, persephone must leave the underworld.

I tried to keep it gender neutral. There is the use of the terms goddess and queen when referring to the reader. However, it's more in title than actual feminine meaning.

CW: Mentions of ichor and selfharm very briefly.

"I'll be leaving you soon, my heart," you whisper the words into the shadows. Knowing he'll hear you. Knowing he's always with you as long as shadow and shade can reach you.

You're leaning against the wooden frame of your gazebo over looking your kingdom, your chosen home, the underworld. You smile, looking out at the vast dark lands lightened by the homes of your people.

Shadows nip at your fingers and trail up your arms before the feeling of your lover's warmth wraps around you.

"I know... I know, my world." his rapsy voice was laced with sadness, but his silky touch was a welcome comfort to the cold, although you'd grown accustomed to it.

"Persephone..." Hearing your name pulls your focus to him, Hades, king of the underworld or as you called him.

"Hobie, my love," you turn in his embrace, looking into his saddened eyes. Raising a hand to rest on his cheek, you smile as the fearsome king leans into your touch, eyes closing in content.

"When do you leave?" He places a kiss to your palm, sighing as he forces the words from his mouth.

"Not long from now." You give a sad smile as you watch your love's face drop. "Hermes will be here to escort me back to the mortal realm soon."

Sighing, his hand comes to rest on yours against his cheek, cupping it gently before pulling it away enough to place another kiss to your palm, then soft pecks to each of your fingertips. A shiver racks your body, and he peaks at you from the corner of his eye, mischief lighting up his face.

"We could always stage a kidnapping. I'll lock the doors and tell them I've decided to keep the goddess of spring all to myself. Any who dare attempt to get you will have to face the wrath of the underworld." He smirks, and the shadows of the land seem to flicker and roar with agreement.

You shake your head with a playful smile as he steps back, not letting go of your hand, bowing as if asking for a dance.

Laughing softly, you bowed back, allowing him to pull you to him with a twirl.

"We'll change your clothes and sneak you out the back before Pavitr arrives. Take you further into the realm where there's a small house waiting for just us." You laugh in glee as he dips you, the shadows around you whiping up as if to catch you.... or maybe swallow you up and hide you just as their king wishes. You lean your head back with a bright smile and unconsealed laughter, allowing the shadow's cool, wispy embrace to surround you. Letting them know they are seen and your joy is as much for them as it is their king, before Hobie pulls you up, holding you tight, as the shadows disperse, a hum of happiness in the once sullen air.

"Or we can sneak up to the human realm. where you can grow vast gardens and capture the heart of every living creature that comes by with your kindness and grace." There's a playful smirk on his face as he looks down at you.

"Which will it be your higness. At your command, I'll make it so." His tone is playful, but there is an underlying threat.

You know if you say you never wish to go anywhere without him, that your body aches at the thought of leaving him for these six months, he'd make it to where you never had to leave again even if it meant defying Zeus and all the other gods.

Your eyes lock as he waits for your answer. His gaze giving away his need for you, the same need and longing you're sure shows in yours. But instead of sealing your fates, you smile up at your king sweetly.

"It may have worked once, my king, but I do quite enjoy the mortals alive as much fun as they are when they get down here. And just as we need one another, my mother needs me." Your hands bunch the front of his tunic to pull him into a passionate kiss.

He obliges, leaning down slightly, letting you kiss away his sorrows for at least the moment.

Pulling back from the kiss, you step away from him, holding his hands now instead as you smile up at him.

"Hobie, my heart. Just a ichor flows through my veins. Your name is engraved in my heart. For my love for you is endless and always. For you allowed only once for tears to claw down my cheeks, for the golden blood in my veins to boil so hot with trepidation that even the sharpest thorns burned as they tangled around me, frenzied in my attempts to free myself from the anguish. You watched as Ichor bubbled from my skin and pooled in my hands like molten lava burning and poisoning everything in its wake, and you made me a queen, your queen. Took me against my will only to show me a freedom I'd never even dreamed of. You saw me for not what I was but who I could be, and for that, I will return to you in just six months. For that, I will always return to the place I now call home and the man who made it so."

You make this vow to him the same as you have done before. Tears pooling in your eyes that you refuse to let drop. You are not saddened to return above, missing the sun and those you called family, but to leave behind your heart to the cruel loneliness that comes with being king of the dead, a title not taken but forced.

You hold back a sigh, feeling him squeeze your hands. You open your eyes, not even realizing you had closed them.

One of his hands comes up swiping away your tears before they had the chance to drop.

"Persephone, my world. You have the ability to turn the darkest shades a blaze. The coldest places warm. And you are my own personal sun. You shined your light across our realm and showed me a world I'd never seen before. Just as one plucks a pretty flower, I saw you that day as tears streaked your face and anguish soured your soul but still your head was held high even as ichor drizzled your arms like honey, for the first time I'm sure. And I knew you had to be mine. If not, then at least my kingdom's for you deserved a status befitting the power you displayed in your darkest moment. I will forever be grateful you took the Pomegranate seeds from the fruit I bore, even if it was just due to hunger. Without you and the love you bring, I'd have been lost in the darkest corners of my kingdom, never to see what could have become of it. You will always have a home here...for everything, including myself, belongs to you here."

A passionate tension fills the air around you. It is as if only the two of you exist in this moment. Fingers entwined the same way your souls are. You hold each others gaze, neither willing to break the tranquil moment.

"Awwwwwwww, aren't you two just the cutest! Almost makes me sad to separate you buuuuut i am the messenger god, and my message just so happens to come in the form of the goddes of spring to one waiting and sorrowful mother!" Pavitr playful voice cuts the tension in the air with ease. He sits on the ledge you'd been looking out on, smiling brightly as you both turn to him with amused looks.

Hobie huffs, slipping from your grips to greet his friend with a playful shove before pulling him into a hug. "Pav, always good to see you."

Hobie playfully looks back at you before stage, whispering to Pavitr. "How much to get you to leave Persephone here and swear you never saw them. I mean also being known as the god of tricksters...." He's got his arm over Pavitr's shoulder, both facing you with matching grins as Pav pretends to think on it.

You shake your head, smiling at their antics. "Come now, Pav. Before the King gets us in trouble." You reach out your hand, and Pav is quick to fall into step with you looping your arms as you lead the way.

"Sorry sir, but an orders an order, and I could never reject a request from the goddes of spring, almighty ruler of the underworld. As you know, what Persephone wants..." Pavitr teases snickering along with you as you look at Hobie expectantly.

"...Persephone gets. yes, I know. I'm the one who started that." Hobie rolls his eyes with a fond smile, as you beam standing tall with mock arrogance before walking away with elegance, leaving behind the echos of your laugher and the smell of fresh floral earth.

Just as you leave his view and the shadows seem to darken, he feels the gentle caress of something winding up his arms, and the smell of flowers and fresh spring air surrounds him the same way the shadows had comforted you.

He looks down to see thin, leafy vines curled around his forearms similar to the arm cuffs he typically wears. Smiling as the scent of home surrounds him, he disappears into the shadows of the gazebo already anticipating your return.

#hobie brown x reader #rainbow's bookshelf #Hades Hobie #persephone reader #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #greek gods au #Pavitr as hermes?? maybe