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snickiebear · 3 years

Note

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

#silly things from silly friends #kakasaku #that one ninja anime #200 follower event :)#a shared pen

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Here Without You

A/N: I’m back for a moment to drop this sort of angst piece of god and goddesses au sort of. In which they are a bit like Poseidon and Athena but not really, I just needed the rivalry bc I’m trash <3 (it doesn’t make sense I know)

Big thanks to @wafflesandkruge for giving me the idea. And for also going through and editing this long mess of words KJHASLFDJ ;-;

Basically light/vague plot, only monologues and longing.

Summary: Cursed to live on earth as humans, Zoya has been finding Nikolai in every life he gets reincarnated. But every time they meet, it is always the same: he doesn't know her. He has no memory of her or anything about their past immortal life. And in every lifetime, she is slowly losing hope. For how long could she hold onto the thought of him remembering her again? Is her love enough?

Word count: 9629

How long does it take to fall out of love with someone who can't remember you?

If there was anything that Zoya learned after being stuck in a human body for so long was that nothing was ever permanent. All of it, whether it was a physical thing or an intangible emotion, disappeared in time. Such a harsh truth, she knew, but it was the truth.

For a long time, she had waited for it to disappear, or just fade if only for a bit.

But for over a millennium, her love for him remained.

Maybe that was what had driven her to stay away instead of finding him this time. Because no matter how many times they met, or how many times their paths crossed, or how many lifetimes passed, the result would always be the same.

He would never remember her again.

It was only reasonable for her to stop hoping for the impossible to happen.

---

Athens had been slightly cold that time of the year, even with the sun high up, which was a change since she last visited.

Zoya looked around. There were quite a number of tourists visiting today, bustling around the site and taking photos of the scenery. She almost chuckled at the silliness of it. If today had been some other time before, the sight would've been better when the temple was still intact. But looking up at it now, in its ruined state, only brought haunting memories of their last stand against their common enemy before everything fell apart around them.

Minnie? His voice echoed in her mind, along with the image of the worry and terror in his eyes as he knelt on the floor, trying to reach for her. What's wrong?

She shook her head, harshly shoving the memory away. But the sight of him vanishing after was already branded into her mind as if to remind her of her failure.

The coldness of the small piece of metal in her hand was enough to bring her back, and Zoya pressed it harder against her palm until it hurt. Better this pain than the one in the past.

With a shaky breath, she made her way through the rubble of what once had been a divine place made by the people for the god of the seas. She remembered how much he appreciated the place, how much he took care of it during the old days they were still all in peace.

He grinned, the one that reached his eyes and made them bright. His arms were spread wide. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he said, gesturing to his newly built temple.

She merely raised an eyebrow at him. “Mine is definitely better,” she countered with a sneer. “And besides, yours wouldn’t even be there if I hadn’t allowed it.”

“Guess I owe you my reputation, then?”

“Obviously, so stop being a show off.”

Then he winked, and she didn’t like the way it made her heart skip a beat. “Only for you, dear.”

The memory faded.

It was then she realized that he never got to see what she had done to his temple. If he saw it now, what would he feel?

Nothing, her cruel mind said. He doesn't remember anymore.

"Am I really waiting for nothing?" she said bitterly, not minding the weird stares she got from a nearby group.

Zoya reached the entrance of the front hall. It faced the seas, a view which he had never grown tired of. And seeing it from here, she figured that she could never really blame him.

The cliff from where the temple was built gave a wide view of the sea, stretching as far as it could until the other end that could be seen was only the horizon. Its glow of a mix of green and blue blended well with the afternoon sky, and it gave her a sense of serenity. Even if for a bit.

The seas can help us find peace, dear, his voice echoed in her mind again, unwanted and welcome at the same time. I'm sure you would appreciate it more in time.

Don’t call me dear, she had said, but it didn’t have the poison and sharpness from when they were still rivals.

Zoya felt a sad smile twitch on her lips. She did appreciate it, loved it even. An eternity with him before surely contributed to the love she had for the seas now.

But an eternity without him only made looking at them feel bittersweet. It was as if she could see him nearby, but could never reach for him nor be with him.

It was never fair.

She shook the melancholic thoughts away. She hadn't come here to lament over the things that could never be again.

Zoya opened her palm to eye the small object. It was a trident keychain she had bought from one of the souvenir stores near the site's entrance, its gold color immediately catching her eye as she had passed by.

It had become a tradition for her to leave various things by his temple whenever she visited. Whether it was of the strangest things like a water lily from a nearby pond or something like this, she always left things that reminded her of him.

It was only fair to remember him even if he didn't remember her.

"An offering to the most infuriating deity I knew," Zoya whispered, her voice breaking slightly despite the softness of her tone. Her eyes suddenly burned. She blinked rapidly, feeling a tear fall on her cheek. She reached up to wipe it away. Why now? She laughed bitterly. "I am still crying over you even after a millennium while you live and pass by without any memory of me."

She looked down to her right, where a boulder was perched on a pillar by the entrance, gently placing the trident on the surface. If only it was as easy to leave your feelings behind just as she left things in his temple.

"Sad and fascinating, isn't it?"

Zoya jolted in surprise, her hand knocking over the small trident before she could let it go completely. That voice—

But it couldn't be. It shouldn't be.

The voice continued on. "To have such a vast structure built only for it to be destroyed later," it said, "it really is tragic."

It was coming from behind her. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart was beating erratically in her chest.

It could be anyone else, her mind berated. Stop doing this to yourself.

But hearing his voice lifetime after lifetime, she would know it from anywhere.

It was him.

Zoya released a shuddering breath, finally turning around to face him. She had seen him be reincarnated far too many times for the past two thousand years, had steeled herself from trying to run to him every time they met again. She had become better at making herself not care as the years passed.

What she could never get used to was the excruciating pain in her chest whenever she saw the person she had been longing to remember her appear in her path once more.

He still looked the same in every life, with his blond hair and hazel eyes, and that all-too-bright grin that she adored for thousands of years]. If she were to take a glance at him, it was as if nothing had changed.

But the lack of recognition and warmth in his eyes told a different story.

Were the Fates just that cruel to make their paths cross again and yet never last?

Her eyes stung again.

"I'm—" A look of worry bloomed on his face, and he held his hands up in apology. He winced. "I'm so sorry, I thought you could use some small talk. You look a bit sad earlier."

Zoya wanted to laugh. He still talked too much in every timeline he got reborn in. "It's—it's fine." She waved a dismissive hand, wiping at her eyes for a moment. "Just had something in my eyes."

If he wanted to say he wasn't convinced, he didn't bother to. He grinned and looked back up to the temple instead. "I'm really curious about this, though," he said as he approached the pillar to her left.

She drew in a sharp breath, wanting to step away and put as much distance as possible between them. But she stood her ground. She wasn't going to shy away from only that reason.

He touched the surface of the pillar and then pounded a fist on it twice. "The material looks sturdy enough to withstand a lot of calamities. But the damage looks far more than just that," he said, his eyebrows furrowing. Then he turned to her, hazel eyes curious. She found herself staring right back at them. "What do you think happened here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "If you're curious about it, why didn't you get one of the tour guides for your questions?"

Almost immediately, he grimaced, scratching the spot behind his ear. "I left my wallet back in the hotel I was at," he said, voice lowering with every word. "I only have enough spare cash for a bus ride back."

Zoya looked at him incredulously, and he obviously shrunk back slightly, the embarrassment still evident on his face. Still the idiot he is.

He sighed. "Well, at least I'd still be able to go back in a bus. I mean imagine walking back to your hotel in this kind of weather," he said, gesturing at the sky. "The sun god isn't merciful today."

She stared at him for another moment, and then she did one thing she hadn't done for a while.

She laughed. A genuine, loud one that surprised him, and even herself. Another moment passed, and then he was softly laughing along with her as well. If there were some things that remained unchanged, it was his blabbering mouth and idiocy in every life. It felt as if he was really here with her.

"Trust me, the sun god is more merciful than you think," Zoya said. If only Tolya can hear you now. "Give him a bit more credit."

"If he calms the blaze down for even a bit, then maybe." He shook his head with a chuckle. Then he patted the pillar. "I hope the god of the seas doesn't mind hearing me badmouthing his fellow deity."

Whatever happiness she felt was short-lived and instantly faded at that, her heart clenching. She forced a smile on her face. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"You sound like you know a lot about the gods."

I know a lot more. "I know my mythology."

He raised a brow, an amused grin playing on his lips. "So does the mythology expert have a name?"

Zoya froze, and her thoughts stopped altogether. She had gone through this for as long as she could remember, and yet she still found herself stuttering every time.

"Minerva," she said before she could even think of it. Her mind panicked. It was her godly name. They had chosen their current names when they first answered to the humans a long time ago, and when they were damned to the mortal world, it had been the names they’d lived by ever since.

All the times she had met him, she gave a different one, while he said the same over and over. She didn't know why she told him her real name all of a sudden.

"A lovely name," he said, extending a hand out. "Nikolai."

She only hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. His skin was warm against hers, and she felt their connection throughout eons in that one touch. His eyebrows knitted together the moment their hands clasped together, but it was gone as soon as she blinked. She didn't know if she had just imagined it.

"Nice to meet you," she said. The words already felt hollow after repeating it for over a millennium.

Nikolai grinned. "Likewise." He let go of her hand before gazing up to the temple again. "So, I'm guessing it was destroyed from within. An explosion, perhaps? A divine explosion, if I may add. It's only plausible to think of that reason if we were to consider the mythology." He shrugged, looking totally satisfied with himself. "Correct me if I'm wrong, though, o' wise one."

She didn't answer for a while. The question he asked was bringing back far too many buried memories of the dark era. Genya's unwanted deception. Harshaw's downfall. Alina’s sacrifice.

Nikolai’s doom.

It came back rushing to Zoya, and it took all she could to not break down. She clenched her hands to fists, willing the memories away. It wasn't the time to let them take over. Not that there ever was a right time.

"Minerva?"

She broke out of her thoughts, turning back to Nikolai warily. There was a worried crease in his eyebrows as he looked at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Yes, of course. I'm just trying to remember something," she replied.

"Ah, is the wise one starting to forget her mythology?"

Zoya tried to ignore the way the nickname prick at her heart. It was hitting too close to home. "I tend to forget things too, you dolt. Be glad I'm willing to answer your questions instead of leaving you hanging with your curiosity."

To both her surprise and expectation, Nikolai only laughed. He had never minded her sharp tongue and rough edges. Not even once. "Then do scold me for my wrong assumptions," he said.

She huffed, but looked back up to the monument. "No need to ask for the worst," she said. "But you're actually quite right about that. It was destroyed from within, and not by a natural calamity."

"I knew it," he said triumphantly, his grin lightning up his face. "Though I'm quite surprised the sea god was allowed to be given a shrine in Athens. If my memory is right, didn't the goddess of Wisdom win that war?" He frowned. "I'm sensing there’s more than what was said in the books."

More than you'll remember from all your past lives, my love. Zoya recovered with a scoff. "The modern books are shit. Anything printed in them barely holds the truth." She wrinkled her nose. "I've been in far too many old libraries to know."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to elaborate on the real history, then?" he said, eyes holding only genuine curiosity and no mocking. "I'm all ears."

"You're not going to let this go easily, aren't you?"

"Not after you intrigued me with your confidence about its truth." He paused, his expression suddenly turning somber as he looked around the ruins of the old temple. "It's strange but there's something about this place that draws me in, and I just want to know what it is."

Zoya felt her chest clench as she looked at him sideways. This happened in every life; Nikolai would be reminded or be familiar with everything, but he never remembered. And she was always left to deal with the pain alone.

With a quiet sigh, she braced herself from the upcoming pain of trying to reminisce a memory of them together, even more so when it was the start of their eternity together. An eternity that was ended in a blink of an eye.

But she figured that she would still indulge him. Even if it was the last time.

"They were rivals," she started. "Archenemies if you want to call it that, always had each other by their throats. It started when the sea god tried to ransack the temple of the wisdom goddess with a great flood."

She'd never forget the rage she felt at that time when she caught him in act, and how that rage deepened when he reasoned out that it was the sky god who had forced him to do it. His reason turned out to be true, but since the sky god was untouchable, she retaliated by stealing and burying the sea god's trident way underground for at least a decade.

It had rained non-stop in Olympus that time, but the defeated look on his face as he lived without his prized weapon was worth it.

"The sea god is a huge idiot, you see, and the wisdom goddess dislikes that kind of person." Zoya wanted to laugh in the way she was narrating their history, but the thought of him not remembering any of it was disheartening. "But that's just the way he was."

Nikolai chuckled. "Am I sensing bias?" he said, shaking his head. "Sounds like they had a pretty silly rivalry."

A smile twitched on her lips. "That's a nice way to put it," she replied. "One petty thing led to another, until they were both interested in becoming the patron of this city that the rivalry between them worsened. The sea god even went as far as challenging the wisdom goddess to a duel the night before they set to present themselves to the king of Athens, saying that she only got interested because he was interested.

"It was actually half-true, and also because the wisdom goddess did not want to make things easier for him as he did with her for centuries."

"Please tell me they didn't go on with the duel," Nikolai said.

"Joke's on you. They did."

"Damnit." Then he laughed. "Who came out the victor?"

Zoya couldn't help but smile triumphantly. "The wisdom goddess, of course," she said. "She put him in his place that night and told him to forfeit his plans being the patron of the city."

"I'm sure he didn't come to present himself to the king the following day, then?"

"Another joke on you. You're underestimating the stubbornness of the sea god." She shook her head in disbelief, and it made Nikolai laugh a bit more. She raised an eyebrow to his way. He should really stop laughing at himself. "If there was something else constant in him other than his idiocy, it's his optimism and stubbornness. He still showed up the next day despite having lost the duel."

Nikolai chuckled. "Sounds a lot like me," he said. Zoya's breath hitched, but she ignored the tiny spark of hope starting to ignite again. Then with a shrug, he added, "Well, you know what they say. No guts, no glory."

"The wisdom goddess literally almost gutted him but he still persevered, and she had to commend that, at least. She didn't bother wasting her time berating him when he showed up." She kicked away a rock near her foot. It toppled over the huge crack dividing the ground, a fissure she had created after seeing him crumble to nothing in front of her. She forced her eyes away. "Even now, I still don't know why she didn't."

"Out of respect, maybe?" he offered with a shrug, and Zoya considered it for a moment. Perhaps it was. "What happened after?"

"They were asked to offer a gift to the people that will prove useful for a long time. Of course, being as confident as he is, the sea god volunteered to go first. He struck the earth with his trident and a fountain of water came forth. But what he didn't know was that it could only produce saltwater. It was pretty much useless for the population.

"Then it was the wisdom goddess' turn. From there, she struck her spear on the ground and planted a branch that grew an olive tree. The king was more impressed with the wisdom goddess' gift, so he chose her to lay claim on this city."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so that's what happened." He nodded in understanding. Then he frowned and glanced up at the temple, pointing a finger up to it. "Wait, that still doesn't explain how the sea god got his own temple in the city where his very own rival was the patron? I'm quite sure the sea god didn't accept his loss that easily."

"That's where you're wrong." Zoya followed his look up. "He peacefully conceded," she said. And it was the very first time you regarded and smiled at me without a hint of malice. "So she obliged his supporters' wish to build him a shrine near the sea. Thus the temple in this location."

The smile that appeared on his lips was almost affectionate and soft, and she found herself smiling a bit sadly. "I guess despite the rivalry, they could still be forgiving with each other," Nikolai said. Then he turned to her. "What happened to them after that?"

"They—" Fell in love and had an eternity in front of them, she wanted to say but decided against it. She had told him enough truth. "—made a truce and agreed not to come after each other again. No other wars between them after."

"Just like that?"

We've had a lot more than just that. He didn’t need to know how he became much different to her after that, his treatment around her becoming much better despite her initial hostility to his changed attitude towards her, or how he made his way to her heart without her even realizing that she'd let her walls down for him.

Nothing would make a difference.

"More or less, yeah," she replied after a moment.

Nikolai still didn't look convinced when he turned back to her. "Not even on friendly terms?"

Zoya only shrugged. "There were no further things said in the old stories," she said. She didn't know why she was lying to him when he didn't even remember anything. "So we're left to our own assumptions on what possibly happened in the following years."

A look of disappointment bloomed on his face. "I refuse to believe nothing happened else after that," he said firmly. "It's too….open. There must be something more."

"It's quite disappointing, but it is reality. Sometimes that's just the way it is."

"Fair. I believe there's something more, but I guess I'll have to leave it open as well." He sighed, and then smiled ruefully. "The worst part of every story is having no ending."

Zoya only smiled sadly as she turned away from the temple and faced the sea. Beside her, she felt Nikolai shift and do the same. The quiet stretched on, and nothing but the occasional sound of wind and the other tourists' voices could be heard.

It was at times like these that she appreciated the calmness that the view of the sea brought to her, and she was left to remember that what he told her about the seas was true.

Another wave of pain and longing washed over her, the stinging in her eyes returning. He was so, so close and yet she could never reach out to him and hold him close again. But she would be content with having him near even without any memory of her rather than losing him forever.

"How about you?" His voice came after a long while, soft and soothing as the afternoon breeze. "Do you believe that there was nothing more for them than just their rivalry?"

Zoya didn't answer right away. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, to say that the two most opposite deities had overcome their differences and fallen in love against all odds.

But her exhausted heart was too afraid to open up with the truth when she knew that nothing would change if she told him.

"To be honest," she said, mustering up all her courage to keep her tone flat, "I don't know. Maybe there really wasn't."

Nikolai nodded in understanding. "I suppose that's possible too," he said. "Guess we're of opposite minds, yeah?"

"We've always been," she whispered, and she was almost thankful for the shrill sound of his ringtone to cover up for her voice.

He immediately answered it, his becoming relieved. There were a few exchanges of words before he was ending the call. "My rental car is finally starting up again so I'll be able to head back to the hotel. I'm afraid I'll have to cut off our tour short," he said with obvious dismay. "Thank you very much for the knowledge and wisdom you have bestowed me today."

Zoya was already starting to bid him goodbye, but her mind had begun pondering over his words and the ones from earlier. "I thought you said you were taking a bus back?"

"Oh. I, uh," Nikolai stuttered, scratching the spot behind his ear with a nervous chuckle. "I kind of made that up." Then he quickly added, "I'm so sorry about that but you looked like you needed a small talk or something, and it was the first excuse that came to my mind." He tried to smile, but it was pained enough to pass it off as a grimace instead. "Though it’s probably a good thing I hadn't hired a tour guide as I learned a lot more from you, I apologize for making an excuse up."

"You don't have to explain yourself, I did actually quite enjoy sharing too," she said, offering him a lopsided smile in return. "And also, thank you for being kind."

He grinned at that, his face lighting up. "Likewise." He tipped his head in a polite bow before extending a hand. "It is nice meeting you, Minerva."

Zoya tried to ignore the heaviness in her chest in the way he said her name. She put on a small smile. "Likewise, Nikolai."

He gave another smile before letting go of her hand and turning to leave. Only to stop after a few steps and face her again. Then he was pulling something out of his pocket.

"Well, a token of appreciation for your expertise on mythology," he said, handing her a small keychain. "And also for enduring my curious and talkative self."

She opened her hand, and he placed the object to her palm. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized it.

It was the miniature version of her shield.

"The wisdom goddess' shield," Nikolai said as he pulled his hand back. He offered her a soft smile. "It's only fitting for you to have it because you share the same level of wisdom as her." Then he gave another polite bow. "Farewell, o' wise one. Though I do hope to see you again some time."

With a final grin, he finally turned and left.

Zoya stared at his retreating form until he disappeared among the crowd of tourists, feeling a lot heavier on her shoulders now that he had left. The keychain was still warm in her hand as she walked towards the cliff's edge, and away from the people that might possibly see her.

The weight of it all came crashing down at her. It felt surreal, a fever dream she couldn't get out of, and she was left reeling from the effect of what had just occurred.

Why today? Why here?

It was one thing to see him again. But in this place out of all the ones he could have met her? It was cruelty, a mocking from the Fates to show her that she was never free of her torment even when she already remembered, and he hadn't.

She will never be free of it.

The burning in her eyes felt too much again. But this time, Zoya didn't do anything to stop the tears from falling.

---

What she hadn't expected was seeing him again later that night.

It wasn't new for her to stay late at the site, even after its closing time. If you were old friends with the manager of the place, you got quite a bit of special treatment.

You can stay for as long as you need to. The text message from Genya had been displayed on her screen for quite a while now. Just don't make yourself too sad.

Zoya huffed lightly. If that were easy to do, she would have done it a thousand years ago. But a lot of things were easier said than done.

The alcove she had been staying at was just several feet below the cliff's edge, particularly made for lounging a long time ago. But after years of neglect, what was once a finely made spot was now nothing more than a small opening carved from a trident's strike. The boulder that used to be big enough to hold two people had now crumbled to smaller rocks, and she was left to sit on the cold ground instead.

Nikolai had built the spot when they wanted to have a quiet time together without the prying eyes of mortals or any of their fellow deities nearby. She remembered nights when he would point out the constellations for her, and despite having all the knowledge about it, she let him talk and make up stories for each of them. Other times it would be still, neither of them talking and hands just clasped together, watching the waves on the seas surge and move to his bidding.

The memories hit her painfully. She longed to have those nights with him again, or even to just be with him, without having to worry about him slipping away from her.

But that seemed impossible now.

Her watch suddenly beeped, signaling that it was already one in the morning. But somehow, the sound was muffled amidst the memories in her head. She needed the calm, the quiet. A place where she could be in peace. And she knew just where that was.

Zoya stood up and dusted her pants off before making her way back up the cliff again. Slipping off her cardigan and shoes, she left them along with her phone and wallet by the row of rocks that served as the barrier for the edge. She made her way to the lower part of the ravine afterwards, where the drop was directly to the water on this vantage point.

If Genya were here, she would surely reprimand her from doing such a dangerous thing in the middle of the night. But Zoya usually did night dives during the times she visited here, as the seas brought the serenity she used to feel around him, and she was just desperate to have it again. And it wasn’t as if she could die.

She closed her eyes and turned to the night sky, breathing in deeply as the wind picked up around her. Then, with a contented sigh, she broke into a run and jumped off the ledge.

The rush of air felt familiar in her ears as she plummeted to the sea, and a moment later, she was submerged under the surface. Underwater, it was quiet, the tranquility making it easier for the memories to come rushing to her mind. The coldness should have bitten at her skin the moment she sunk, but she didn’t feel anything. She closed her eyes.

Her mind chose to bring her back to one night on the beach, when he stopped the tides and held her close as they danced slowly under the stars. It was the very first time he had bared his real self to her, and the first time she had seen him past the confidence and the cruel persona he wore as one of the highest among the gods.

She hadn't known how to react that time, and she found herself at loss for words. It was the moment she doubted herself. She was the goddess of wisdom who liked definitive odds and probabilities. She approached everything with caution and vigilance. And above all else, she was supposed to treat him as a rival. An enemy. An opponent of the other side.

But Zoya must have miscalculated, because she ended up going against everything she’d ever believed when she fell in love with him.

Her eyes stung, and her chest clenched. It wasn't from the lack of air.

Please, I'd do anything, she pleaded desperately to any other divine being that could hear her. Make him remember. Make him remember me.

Something grabbed at her wrist, and her eyes shot open. A figure was trying to haul her up to the surface. She struggled for a moment, but whoever was pulling her had a strength of the currents and waves of the seas during a storm.

After a moment, they finally resurfaced. Zoya was gasping for air as they broke out of the water, immediately getting hold of the person's collar and turning them violently to her.

Whatever harsh things she was about to say were forgotten when the dim lights from above the cliff caught the face of the figure.

"Minerva, are you alright?" Nikolai asked, concern evident in his voice. What the hell was he doing here? His eyes searched her face. "Why did—no, never mind that. Let's get you out of the water first."

She was still too shocked to move or answer, so she let him drag her to the sands on the far left side of the cliff. He did most of the swimming, as her body still refused to cooperate with her. It must have been a struggle for him, but he didn't show it. His movements were precise and powerful as if he had been doing it all his life. Though considering his real identity as the god of the seas, this was nothing to him.

They hit the sands after a short while, and it was then a bit of Zoya’s strength returned. She immediately pushed Nikolai away.

"Let go of me," she hissed, voice hoarse from being under the water for too long.

He stumbled, clearly not expecting the act, and he looked at her with obvious hurt in his eyes.

If it was some other time, she would have felt bad and tried to apologize. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be hurt. But she was exhausted and miserable and she didn't want to deal with anything at all. She let her emotions take over.

"How did you find me?" She gritted her teeth as she wobbled on her feet. "You aren't supposed to be here."

A look of disbelief appeared on his face. "A thank you would be nice," he said. "I just saved your life."

"Who said I needed saving?" she snapped. "Didn't you consider for a second that maybe I knew what I was doing?" She started towards the path leading back up to the temple, calling out to her shoulder, "You should mind your business."

"So you preferred to drown down there alone?"

I can't die, Zoya wanted to say, and she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying it. She chose to ignore him instead and continue up the upward path. The cold was starting to seep to her skin, making her shiver slightly.

She could hear his rushed footsteps behind her as he followed. "Minerva," he called out. "Look, I'm sorry."

Zoya ignored him. They were almost at the top of the cliff again.

"I didn't mean to upset you—please, Minnie."

She abruptly stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. Her thoughts stopped all together. Could it be?

Slowly, she turned to face him, her heart in her throat. "What did you just call me?"

Nikolai seemed to realize what he had said, and he looked mortified. "I—I'm sorry, it just came to my mind."

Zoya wanted to laugh bitterly at herself. Of course, he still didn't remember. It was always only reminders of their former lives that came to him just to keep her hopes up. But it was all the same after.

"Leave before I report you for trespassing," she said curtly and continued up the path. Just stay away, she pleaded in her mind desperately, even though her heart wished for the opposite. But she couldn't take any more pain right now. Please.

Thankfully, she didn't hear him behind her after that, and she made her way back to where she left her things. But when she finally got there, the exhaustion caught up with her and she stumbled to the row of rocks. Her body was already shivering when she sat down, and she put a hand to her face.

Realization dawned at Zoya all of a sudden. Her harsh treatment of him wasn't necessary, and there was no one else to blame but herself for letting her emotions take over. And even if she wanted to apologize, she had already scared him off.

Something warm was draped around her shoulders, and the smell of the sea wafted to her nose. A choked sob made its way out of her mouth. Why hadn't he left yet? She had regarded him badly when his intention was solely to save her from drowning. She didn't deserve his kindness.

"I told you to leave," she said, moving her hand away from her face. But she didn't turn to him. "I warned you that I would report you, didn't I?"

Nikolai laughed lightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him settle over one of the rocks in the row near her, though he still kept a considerable distance between them.

"If you wanted to report me," he said, "then you would have gone straight to security the moment you arrived up here."

Zoya huffed, but didn't say anything more. She hated that he was right about her. He could always see right through her, and it was the one thing that didn't change in him.

His voice came after a moment. "Did you really intend to stay underwater for that long?"

She didn’t answer right away, because she didn't know how. She hadn't even realized that she had been underwater for too long. "How did you get here, anyway? And why are you here?" she asked instead, effectively deflecting the subject.

Nikolai winced. It was obvious that he didn't have a clear answer to her question either. "I have my ways. And I can assure you my reason isn't for cruel purposes."

"Guess I won't report you, then," she said, and Nikolai smiled at that.

"I owe you my life, o' wise one," he said.

I couldn't even save you on time, Zoya thought bitterly.

A long silence came after, with the both of them facing the well-lit temple that glowed against the night sky. The wind picked up, and she shrugged the jacket tighter around her. She looked at Nikolai sideways, remembering that he had also been soaked to the bone when he jumped in after her. But there weren't any traces of him being cold, so she turned her attention back to the temple.

"I couldn't sleep," he said after a while. He took a small piece of gravel from the ground and tossed it over the cliff's edge. "It might be strange to hear this reason, but the story you told me this afternoon kept me up, and it drew me back here. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight. It wasn't as if coming back here would answer the questions in my head." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I was never a fan of open-ended stories."

"They fell in love," Zoya said simply, averting her gaze from him and looking back up at the temple. She could practically feel his shocked expression directed her way. She figured that she owed him the whole truth at least, after treating him badly just earlier.

And for the last time she would be able to talk to him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me."

Nikolai scoffed. "If this is some lie just to sate my thoughts, then I would prefer the cruel truth to hit me squarely in the face."

"I'm not lying. I know it seems quite impossible if you look back at their history," she said. "But the ones that happened after were more important. The oldest scriptures said so. They fell in love and had an eternity ahead of them." And we had. We just didn't know it would end in the cruelest way, and you would be taken away from me. "It wasn't well-known to the public as the modern books stated that they stayed rivals throughout the rest of their immortal lives."

"How could two gods who literally fought over this city fall in love?"

"I don't know." And it was the truth. He really was her biggest uncertainty and miscalculation. But it was the one thing she didn't regret happening. A rueful smile appeared on her lips. "And yet they did. Against all odds."

Nikolai laughed lightly. "I can't believe it," he said, his tone bordering breathless and disbelieving. "Do you think they're still in love?"

The question felt like knives being stabbed into her heart. I've loved you for an eternity, she thought as she looked at him, to the face that never left her mind for a millennium. Does your love for me still exist, even if it lays forgotten in the deepest depths of your heart?

Her eyes burned, and she looked away. "I hope," she said truthfully. "It would have been extraordinary."

"I would have to believe they still do," he said. "I mean, it's kind of amazing, isn't it? To love the same person for thousands of years."

Zoya felt another crack on her mask. "It is," she whispered. "A lot have tried gaining her attention, but no one can ever compare to him. She doesn't see anyone else."

Nikolai sighed contentedly. "They're lucky," he said. "To have a love like that, I mean. Those kinds are rare."

"Have you ever been in love?" she suddenly asked. She hadn't meant to pry, but she wanted to know if he found someone else during his time. She blinked, realizing how intrusive the question was. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Ah, is the wise one a curious cat now?" He laughed when she gave him a glare. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm joking." He turned back to the temple with a faraway look in his eyes. "But to answer your question, I don't think I have. At least not in the way the sea god and the wisdom goddess were."

Zoya didn't know whether to feel relieved or sad at that. So she only nodded in understanding.

"I like to think that maybe I did, even just once. There had been a few people in the past." Nikolai smiled sadly. "But there's always something missing, you know? I could never tell what or why I am feeling that way. There's just this…hollowness I can't explain." He paused, his eyebrows furrowing. "Somehow coming to this place relieved me of some of the emptiness. I guess I should come back here more often."

A tear fell from her eye, and she quickly wiped it away before he could see it. Her heart was beating erratically in her chest, that tiny spark of hope that she thought was dimming had ignited once more.

This was exactly why she didn't want to meet him again. They would cross paths, and he would be reminded of something in their past life that made her heart believe that things could be what they once were. But they couldn’t. They never would.

Destined to meet, but never to last.

So she didn't let herself ponder over it. This had already happened so many times, and yet she always got hurt for expecting too much in the end.

"How about you?" he asked, voice gentle. "Have you ever been in love?"

I have. And I still am. "Once."

A beat. "How was it?"

A curse and a blessing at the same time. She blinked her tears away and replied, "I still think about him everyday."

Nikolai hummed. "Lucky guy."

"He really is."

"Can I ask what happened to him?"

Zoya let out a shaky breath. "He forgot about me."

"I would remember you," he said.

Then why didn't you? She covered up with a bitter laugh instead. "Easier said than done."

He didn't say anything else after that, and another wave of silence filled the air around them. Zoya appreciated the quiet, reminding her of the moments of peace in the past, and she felt a sad smile on her lips along the ache in her heart.

She would remember this, even if it's painful for her. She didn’t know when she’d see him again.

If she would see him again.

Suddenly, a beam of light flashed to her face, and she raised a hand up to cover her eyes. "Miss Nazyalensky?" a voice asked. She immediately recognized it as Isaak's, Genya's head of security. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm alright," she said, and the light disappeared.

The young guard's eyes shifted from her to someone past her shoulder. If he noticed their still-drenched state of dress, he didn't say anything. His eyes narrowed. "Who—"

"Don't worry, he's a friend," she said, glancing at him sideways. "He's just about to leave."

A look of disappointment flashed on his face, and Zoya silently apologized to him in her mind. It was the only way to make him go. Isaak was looking at him expectantly.

"Yes," Nikolai said, "I was just leaving."

She turned back to Isaak. "Be a dear and show him the way out, it's already dark."

Isaak only nodded before turning to Nikolai. "This way, sir."

Nikolai sighed and stood up without further complaints, walking towards the young guard. But not before he looked back at her for the last time. He smiled softly. "It was actually good seeing you again," he said, and Zoya felt her heart break a little more with those words that held much more meaning to her. "Good night."

With that, he turned away to follow Isaak back to the entrance. Her feet were already moving before she even realized it.

"Wait," she said, and Nikolai stopped in his tracks. She made her way towards the temple's entrance, going over to the boulder by the pillar where she’d left the small keychain earlier. She found it on the floor, almost covered with rubble. But thankfully it was still there. She picked it up and turned back to him.

His eyes were expectant and curious when Zoya stopped in front of him, and she let her gaze linger to memorize his features to carry with her, as if she hadn't had all of him engraved in her heart and mind for thousands of years.

"Here." She handed the trident keychain to him. He took it reluctantly, a deep crease in his eyebrows evident as he stared at the object in his hand. "I left it this afternoon as an offering to him. But you might as well have it."

Nikolai blinked, a grin appearing on his lips that brightened his face. "I hope the god of the seas doesn't mind."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he won't." It's technically yours, anyway. "And it’ll be something to remember me by."

"Even if you don't give me anything, you're not that easy to forget, Minerva," he said, and then he tipped his head forward in a polite bow. "Thank you."

The look in his eyes was warm, and Zoya felt as if she was really looking at him. She desperately wanted to reach out to him and hold him close to her again. But she held back. "You're welcome," she said, stepping back before she did something she would regret later. She would not make this harder for herself.

With a final grin, Nikolai finally turned and followed Isaak.

And as she let him walk away from her for the umpteenth time in her life, she was left only with longing and the same pain she had been carrying for as long as she can remember.

I love you, she thought, hoping the winds would be kind enough to carry the words she had been wanting to tell him. This would be the last time.

***

The memory of that night came back to her as Zoya stood by the entrance of his temple again more than a year later. She didn’t expect herself to be back here; she had vowed that she would stop hoping for the impossible. But it was never that easy to let go of something you’d been holding onto for a long time.

She had spent the better part of the year trying to convince herself that she could do it, that she could let him go. Sometimes she thought she did, as her thoughts about him didn't bring that much pain to her than before. But more times than not, she would still find herself crying at night, wanting nothing else than to have him with her again, asking any other deities to hear her plea and end their torment.

And yet it remained unanswered just like it had always been.

A strong breeze blew past the site, and Zoya shrugged the jacket tighter around her. It was almost the same as last year, albeit a bit colder, causing the temple to have less visitors than usual. The sun was starting to set in the west when she approached the cliff's edge, giving the sea an orange glow.

She smiled ruefully, suddenly realizing the depth of her decision. This view was going to be one of the sights she would have to give up if she ever stopped visiting here. And it was something she wasn't letting go. As much as she wanted to forget, his seas had been a constant part of her immortal life, providing her with peace that often slipped away from her, and it was the closest thing to him that she could be with.

The thought hit her like a ton of bricks, and Zoya wanted to laugh. She had been a fool to think that she could ever forget any of this, that she could forget him.

Because even after all her attempts to do so, he would always be the one on the other end of the red string tied around her wrist.

"It's not fair, you know? I'm still crying over you, and I'm so, so tired," she said to the sea, her voice quivering as she did. The stinging in her eyes came quickly this time, and she reached a hand up to wipe it away. A broken sob came out from her lips when she whispered, "It's not fair, Nikolai."

She put a hand to her face as she continued to cry. There were times that her grief would overwhelm her to the point that she wouldn't have minded whether she was in public or not, and the pain in her chest was enough to break her.

This was one of those times and she had no control over it.

Zoya didn’t know how long she stayed there, crying her sorrows to the seas that could only do so much to comfort her, that she didn’t even notice the presence behind her until it spoke.

"When I first saw you here a year ago, you were just close to crying."

Everything seemed to stop around her. Her thoughts halted and she brought her hand down from her face.

No, it's not real.

But she knew it was true.

Zoya turned to the direction of his voice, and there he was, basked in the glow of the sunset that made his eyes gleam much brighter than what she used to have engraved in her head.

Nikolai smiled softly. "It's been a while, Minerva."

She didn’t know why her mind suddenly started making up excuses, anything she could say to elude him before the pain became too much for her to bear.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" It might have been the stupidest excuse she could think of, but it was all she had. A look of hurt flashed on his face. Walk away, Zoya. "You must have mistaken me for someone else."

She briskly walked past him, each step away from him feeling like daggers being driven to her chest.

Walk away, Zoya willed herself.

She could do it. She could walk away so she wouldn't have to suffer. She could do this, and do it again in the next life.

She could stay away from him.

But as she went further away from Nikolai, her mind narrowed to one thought. I can't do it.

It was then his voice came, gentle as the waves from the shore. "Are you really going to walk away this time, Zoya?"

This made her stop abruptly on her tracks, her heart in her throat. A surge of wild hope ignited in her chest again.

No, he could've asked for it from the management, she thought. Isaak could have told him.

She had been waiting for a thousand years to hear it again, to hear the warmth in his voice whenever he said her name. But why wasn't she believing it? Why wasn't she turning to him?

Why only now?

Against her better judgment, Zoya finally faced him. Her vision blurred with another wave of unwanted tears. If this was some cruel trick to play on her—

Nikolai must have noticed her look, because he gave her a reassuring smile. "The seas can help us find peace," he said as he approached her. Zoya could only look at him, her heart still not wanting to believe. But he continued, "And I would gladly stop the tides and currents if it meant giving you the serenity you desired."

He stopped right in front of her, the gentle look in his eyes remaining the same. She looked back up at him, finding any traces of deceit in his hazel eyes, or anything that proved that he wasn't real.

But in them she only saw the warmth and love that he sent her way, the reflection of their memories worth for thousands of years, the one that the wisdom goddess didn't expect the sea god to give her.

"Hey," Nikolai said, his voice coming out in a broken whisper. His face crumpled when he brought a hand to her cheek. A quivering smile made its way to his lips as he said, "I'm sorry I'm late."

A sob tore from her throat as Zoya lunged at him, her arms wrapping around his neck tightly as if he would disappear again if she let go.

He's here. "You're back," she sobbed against his shoulder. "You're back."

She felt his arms around her not a moment later, strong and warm and welcoming, the same way she remembered even after a long time. The world could have burned down around them, and still Zoya wouldn't have cared, not when he was finally back to her.

"I remember," Nikolai was saying over and over, his voice shaking from crying. "I remember it all." He pulled away slightly, just enough to look in her eyes and see the relief reflected back in them. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he pressed his lips on her cheek— "So many lives, I've lived" —his lips went to the bridge of her nose— "So many times I've met you" —he moved to her eye— "And I didn't even know it was you that I was missing."

He pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed tightly. He brought his hands up to the sides of her face. "You always found me," he whispered, "and when I remembered, I knew it was my time to find you." He reached for her hand, bringing it to his chest, and she felt the steady beat of his heart as if it had finally found peace and its home. "I love you. I loved you in every life. My mind could forget, but my heart and soul never did."

Zoya laughed, but it came as a broken sob instead. She reached her other hand up to his face, her touch still hesitant. Everything felt like a dream. She had been waiting for this moment for so long, and now that it was here, she wanted to make sure it was real.

But he was warm and his presence comforting, and he was looking at her the same way he did when he stopped the tides for her that one night on the beach.

More tears fell from her eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again. I've watched you slip away for a thousand years, and yet my love for you remained the same, if not stronger," she said, voice hoarse. "I missed you every single day."

Nikolai leaned into her hand, pressing a kiss on her palm, and then on her wrist. A few tears landed on her skin. "I love you. I'm here now." His lips moved to her forehead. "I love you."

She clutched him closer to her. "I thought I lost you," she said. She closed her eyes as he moved to press a lingering kiss to her temple. Her voice broke when she repeated, "I thought I lost you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he murmured against her skin. "But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere." He pulled away to look in her eyes. "I'm not leaving you again."

And when he sealed his promise with a kiss, Zoya felt the thousands years' worth of pain and longing lift from her chest, replaced by the feeling of warmth and contentment, and finally, home. It would be another start for the both of them, as they had a lot of time to make up for. The road would be tedious, but they had each other.

Her love could last for another eternity.

***

A/N: I have a short, fluffy one of the same au in the works. Might post it soon. JASHFLJASF

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #king of scars #idk this took me a while #and i made myself sad over this #basically gods/goddesses au #they're poseidon and athena #but also not really #i needed the rivalry ok #HASDFLKJHA #i tweaked some in the mythology #so yeah #im trash #and sad #have this long mess tho #my writing

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hardkinkbadkink · 4 years

Note

Re: humiliation - how about Geralt making Jaskier come on his boots & then lick them clean of his cum and the dust from the road?? Maybe Jaskier has to hump his leg/boot bcs his tiny cock doesn't deserve to be touched by a hand

so here’s the tea, i fucking Despise anything to do with f*et even remotely but this prompt,, this prompt had been calling to me ever since i first got it in my inbox. it’s. so good?? how. why. it’s a two sentence prompt and i barely even filled it cos i was like right, it’s all there innit?? scrumptious. amazing. thank u anon.

just a short little snack so you won’t go hungry babes x

***

"Need something?"

It's a cruel thing to ask, but the humour of it doesn't escape Jaskier, even as his joints ache and his thighs strain from kneeling on the hard wooden floor for so long, his legs spread too wide for comfort.

He whines, because that's all he can do with his mouth full.

Gods, his prick is so hard, he's near-delirious with it.

Geralt's cock is also very much hard and hot on his tongue, and his witcher won't let him do anything to get him off.

"Just hold it there," he'd said, unbuckling his belt and taking his soft cock out. "Need to meditate for a few hours."

And Jaskier knows that meditation aids Geralt's healing, and he knows that wounds the size of the one on Geralt's back take hours. And he enjoys this, usually, enjoys keeping Geralt's cock warm for him, slipping into a trance of his own until Geralt jolts him out of it, taking his mouth roughly and fucking Jaskier every which way.

Except that it doesn't happen for him tonight.

They'd been on the road for so terribly long, and Geralt doesn't let him come unless they're at an inn, and Jaskier's so desperate for it he could cry.

So he's restless, and twitchy, and his prick stays maddeningly hard and dripping even against the frigid air of their room. And Geralt doesn't like it when he moves too much while they do this, when he sucks and massages the cock in his mouth and makes it swell to stiffness before Geralt gives him permission.

"Do you really think you'll get what you want by misbehaving?"

He whines again, does his best to shake his head, but oh, how he aches for anything his witcher would give him.

Geralt's expression softens, somewhat, and he winds a gentle hand in Jaskier's hair. He moans at the touch, can't help it.

"You've been very good lately."

And now he's ruined it, and Geralt's disappointed in him, and--

"Just this once."

And then Geralt pulls his head up and brings it down again, pushes until his cock fills Jaskier's throat seamlessly, like it always does, and Jaskier wants to weep from the overwhelming joy.

He doesn't gag anymore, the reflex long trained out of him, but the slick sound of his spit and Geralt's cock forcing itself into the clutch of his throat still echo obscenely in the room. The grip on his hair remains too-tight and amazingly good, the act of being used only for Geralt's pleasure making his hips twitch toward, but finding only thin air.

That is, until Geralt--his perfect, considerate witcher, who always takes care of him, even when he doesn't deserve it--shifts his leg slightly and presses the cool, filthy tip of his leather boot up against Jaskier's prick. Jaskier nearly comes from that little bit of stimulation alone.

"Come on, then. It's all your tiny cock's good for anyway."

He does his best to hum an affirmation, frantically rutting his useless, barely-there prick against Geralt's travelling boot. He loses track of time and space, focused only on the raw bursts of pleasure that threaten to undo him in mere moments. Jaskier barely notices when Geralt drags him off his cock, but he draws in desperate lungfuls of air still. His tongue won't quite fit in his mouth, and he pants with it limply out like a dog.

Geralt yanks him forward to have him lap at his balls briefly, and that returns Jaskier to reality, somewhat. He loves doing it, loves sucking Geralt's constantly-full balls into his mouth one by one, simply because it drives Geralt crazy. He focuses on the task until his release isn't so frighteningly imminent.

"Is this what you wanted so badly?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier moans in response.

Geralt presses his boot closer, just a bit, enough that it's crushing Jaskier's little, worthless balls, and there's drool sticky on his chin, and he trembles all over when he comes and comes and comes.

"Thank you," Jaskier chokes out before the last of the aftershocks subside. His voice is rough from hours of disuse, fucked out and scratchy.

"Good, pup. Is that better? Can you behave now?"

Jaskier nods. He leans forward to lick at the sticky head of Geralt's cock, but is halted by the tightening of fingers in his hair.

"It seems that your pathetic cock's made a mess." Geralt looks pointedly down, where pearly white beads on the black leather of his boot. "Better clean it up."

He doesn't hesitate before he shuffles backwards on his knees, leans down until he's level with Geralt's boots.

They're filthy, dusty from the road, and yet he doesn't hesitate to stick his tongue out and dutifully lick up every trace of his seed, bitter with dirt. He moans as he does it, out of habit.

Geralt laughs when Jaskier straightens back up, cheeks smeared with grime, and yet he still yanks Jaskier forward to brutalise his throat, like he deserves.

Geralt doesn't take the boots off when he fucks Jaskier ruthlessly into the floor, one foot heavy against the back of Jaskier's neck as his sore hole gets filled over and over again.

#cw d/s #the incubus prompt is coming possibly later today #it's sittin pretty at 3k & about two thirds done #i do have shit to do but i desperately want the bastard finished so idk

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

lay me gently | ksj

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of. more technically accurate would be chronic pain!reader. but thats a whole discussion that ur welcome to have with me), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, smut, literally the most vanilla smut i’ve ever written there are only two warnings, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, there are mentions of a war god that is a dick but it is Not Ares i promise, everyone still hates zeus bc he sucks, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little,

word count | 12.9k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | this is the second installment of gods and monsters!! i was actually in the middle of writing from eden when i stumbled across a really fantastic blurb about retelling aphrodite’s story the way we’ve all collectively decided to retell persephone and hades, so that there are two decent fucking couples in greek mythology, and there were a lot of good comments on said blurb that made those last two braincells in my head run into each other and make an idea. and then i promptly opened a new doc and typed half of this and a vague summary before sleeping for longer than i should have! and i’m always weak for aphrodite jin bc i mean....look at him....man looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo like who am i to deny the gods, y’know? and i figured that since i had olympian!reader in the last one, i’d continue that and have olympian!reader in this one, also i wanted an excuse to write from a hephaestus pov since i’ve loved that dumbass blacksmith since i was ten and wrote a greek history article in school. so here, have this aphrodite retelling!! | title from work song by hozier

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of.

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you.

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks an order out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and everyone works much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade.

You valued your time too much for that.

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit.

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is.

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you.

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says.

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him.

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has.

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed.

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time.

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched.

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened.

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop.

You've got work to do.

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop.

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can.

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other.

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter.

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise."

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them.

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree.

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead, you tighten your grip on it and take a breath.

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth.

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly.

He's taller than you - though, with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

"It's...a pleasure." He looks you up and down, not unlike you did him, but whatever conclusions he makes, he says nothing.

"Your quarters are on the fifth floor," You reply in lieu of an actual greeting. "Delius will show you the way. Be careful, or you're likely to lose your head. Keep a cyclops with you while you learn your way around, they can get anywhere." The god looks surprised, though you aren't sure why, and you turn. "They'll see to your meals and needs, as well, so if you find yourself wanting, just let one know. I'll have a key made soon, so you can come and go as you wish."

Aphrodite starts to say something as you walk away, leg dragging slightly behind you as you go. Jimin seems to cut him off, though, already asking for wine.

"And get that bastard out of my forge!" You yell over your shoulder. "If he's still here when I get to the lift, I'm throwing him to the pit."

There's scrambling behind you as the doors close. You feel a twinge of regret; the love god has done nothing to you, you could have given him even the slightest chance. The memory of his eyes as he looked at you flashes in front of you and you lean against the wall for support. No love god would want to associate with someone like you. He is beauty and elegance, a practiced dance in a moonlit gazebo, and you…

You are a mistake, cast from your home and crippled for all to see exactly what happens when you get in Zeus' way.

You take a breath and let the heat from the stone wall soothe the pain in your hip as much as it will before you set off for your workshop.

Seokjin isn't quite sure what to do with himself that night. His friends - suitors - have all gone, unable to bear the heat of the mountain for more than a brief goodbye, and Jimin was quick to go when the cyclopes started for him. What the story there is, he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, as a matter of fact.

He doesn't know why Hera pushed so hard to have him wed to Hephaestus. He doesn't know why the girl was so cold at their first meeting. He doesn't know why she seemed so normal. Most people he met fell to their knees within moments, desperate to please him and showering him with vain compliments that used to sound like music in his ears. Most were insistent in their offers to him, throwing out their bodies and souls and anything else they thought he might want, just for a single glance from him. He used to laugh as he blew them kisses, delighted by their mindless adoration.

Used to.

He doesn't delight in such things anymore. Centuries have passed, and still, not a single one of the people and creatures that fought to stand in his presence cared about him. All of them saw Aphrodite, god of love and fertility, beauty and passion. They vied for just one night with him, fighting wars to win his hand, throwing whole festivals across Greece for his blessing. It was and would always be an honor. He is beautiful and is thankful for it, but…

Just once, he would like to be beautiful as Seokjin instead of Aphrodite. Would like the people attempting to woo him to hear the words he speaks instead of merely listening to the musicality of his voice. Would like to be believed, trusted, valued for something other than his face. Seokjin has a mind, a creative, capable mind that has - more than once - developed solutions to issues plaguing the mortals, only for him to be brushed to the side while the smart ones figured things out.

He hates it, just like he hates that Hera sprung this on him without so much as a warning. One day he'd been lounging in her garden, the one place he could find some reprieve from the hordes of suitors, and talking to Artemis about her life as a maiden, and the next, Zeus thrust a marriage certificate into his hands and told him to be packed by the end of the week.

And now his wife doesn't even care to look at him. You're not entranced like everyone else. The stories have grossly exaggerated your looks; he was prepared to look upon a monster, not a woman, pained and covered in soot with a limp. Still, there had been no emotion in your gaze, not even an ounce of the hatred or disgust he may have dreaded in his journey to this volcano.

Nor do you care to dine with him, clearly. He's been sat at a scorched rocky table longer than three of him, by himself, for nearly two hours. Olympus has spoiled him, clearly, or perhaps it's that your own manners are lacking. In the skies, everyone dines together, lounging on cushions and waiting until Zeus and Hera arrive before digging into the food presented to them. It's respectful, a way to honor the hosts of the home. Even there, however, he would not be kept waiting for more than ten minutes.

"You, there," He eventually calls to a cyclops in the corner, polishing goblets that likely haven't been touched in centuries. It turns to fix its eye on him, and Seokjin represses the instinctive shudder. "When does Hephaestus intend on dining tonight?"

"Apologies, my lord, but the lady has her dinner served in her workshop." Seokjin frowns at that and the cyclops continues. "She stays there most hours of the day, takes her meals there to ensure she makes the most of each day to create her inventions and improve upon her current ones."

Seokjin huffs and debates with himself for a moment. It would be rude to eat without his hostess present, but if you had your meals delivered elsewhere there was little chance you'd bother to come to the dining hall. He couldn't possibly go to your workshop to dine with you either; the cyclops could show him the way, yes, but he would no doubt be intruding on things he had no business being near, even as your husband.

He spews out a slew of curses that make the cyclops in the corner blush and digs into a roll. He would simply have to eat alone tonight, and perhaps if he catches you tomorrow, he can request your presence at meals.

You don't see Aphrodite again until the next evening.

You've almost forgotten anyone else lives in the mountain you call home, still used to being on your own besides the cyclopes. Roniah had informed you that morning that the god inquired as to your whereabouts the previous night during his supper, and the slightest bit of guilt shoots through you. You should have joined him if only for a moment to be polite, but you'd gotten entranced in your latest designs. Your own food had been taken away in the wee hours of the morning, stale and unwanted. It was commonplace, but you need to at least be polite to your husband.

You sink deeper into the steaming water around you, rubbing away the last bits of soot and grease as you ponder. The hot water is heaven on your aches, the warmth seeping through and relaxing them into painlessness. You don't allow yourself the luxury of bathing often, usually just wiping yourself clean every so often when the remnants of your work become too thick on your skin or the ache in your bones is too much to ignore. It's a nice reprieve, though, one you bask in each time. The water is close to boiling, comfortable and warm for a goddess such as yourself, and the steam makes it difficult to see much of anything.

You've long since come to terms with your life; you aren't beautiful, you won't ever walk without pain again, you won't be the daughter your parents wanted. But it's moments like these that you let yourself pretend, if only for a moment. Pretend you weren't thrown from your home. Pretend your leg isn't covered in scars from where the rocks of Olympus sliced it open. Pretend you're the same woman you were all those years ago, clutching at your mother's skirts as Zeus thundered towards her.

Your head starts to spin and you stand, clumsily making your way out of the pool and to the stone bench where your linen towel waits. You slip your robes over your shoulders and sigh at the softness of them. The black linen you keep here was woven by Ariadne herself, enchanted by Athena and dipped in the fires of your forge to withstand the heat. It allows for a slight breeze as you move into your bedroom, not bothering to tie the material closed completely so it hangs limp on your shoulders, torso exposed. Your skin is overheated from the water and you enjoy the way the air cools you just slightly as you sit on your bed.

You don't think anything of it until a throat clears behind you and you whip your head around to see Aphrodite standing just inside your door.

"Apologies, my lady. Horedon did not mention you were indisposed when I asked him to show me to your quarters." His voice is pleasant, soft and gentle. It matches his image and makes you acutely aware of how loud you always are, always must be in order to be heard over the forges.

"It's an honest mistake," You say eventually, tugging your robes tighter around you. "What do you need? As I said, the cyclopes are more than capable-"

"I wanted to extend my gratitude, actually." You can't even be mad he cut you off, too surprised by his words. "You and your workers have been very kind in the day that I've been here, and I appreciate that. I know that this isn't exactly something we had planned."

You nod in understanding. Pain flares in your leg once more and you massage the muscle out of habit. "Are your quarters to your liking? I did my best to position you high enough that the heat from the magma wouldn't be too overbearing, but not high enough that the forge smoke would choke you. Ah, and your bed also has a screen function built in to help to filter the air, so it may be more like what you're used to."

"Thank you, it's lovely. Delius showed me yesterday, it felt very much like Hera's garden." If he notices your flinch at the words, he doesn't say anything. "Listen, Hephaestus, I know neither of us may have wanted this, but I think we should make the most of this. We can at least be civil. If you would, your company at dinner would be most welcome." You stare at him, a laugh bubbling up in your throat that you can't stop. He looks baffled upon hearing it and it takes you a full minute to calm down enough to speak.

"Thank you for inviting me to dine at my own table, Aphrodite," you say with an amused smile. "I shall do my best to attend, should I find myself near the hall." His ears turn a lovely shade of pink as he inclines his head in a small bow and leaves. You laugh again once he's gone. The entire situation is too hysterical for you.

You, a plain and hobbled smith, are married to a love god who is beauty personified, who has already taken it upon himself to invite you to dine at your dinner table with him. You really should have expected him to pull something like this; already comfortable enough to show up unannounced in your private chambers and issue invitations and probably demands of your workers. You're not sure why Hera has banished him here; he's so much like her, he should be a favorite, and yet she must hate him if she's sentenced him to live here for the rest of existence.

With a sigh you settle back into your bed, pillows supporting the weight of your bad leg and sheets thrown haphazardly around you.

You don't expect to sleep, so when you wake, you're disoriented. You're not sure how long you were out, but it seems to have been a while based on the hunger that gnaws at your stomach. You click your heels and wheel your way to the kitchens, rubbing at your eyes to clear the sleep from them.

You're focused when you enter the kitchen and give a curt wave to the mass of cyclopes situated around the island. It isn't until you're done making your gyro that you turn, deliciousness only a bite away and lock eyes with Aphrodite.

He looks radiant, as always; the pale yellow cloth drapes along his form in a most appealing way, and there's an amused smirk playing over his lips. His hair is still that soft purple, but it's faded some.

"It's nice to see you again, wife," He says with an incline of his head. "It's been a while since anyone's seen you roaming through the halls." You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you lean back against the counter, wheels dig into the stone underneath your feet.

"Yes, well, I was resting. Nothing strange about that, is there?" His lips quirk in a knowing smile and he shares a glance with the cyclops to his right. You notice for the first time how soft his mouth looks, pillowy and full, and you absently wonder how many have felt those lips against their skin.

"Eat up, my lady," Aphrodite says eventually. "After a week-long nap, I expect you need it. Zeus dropped by a few days ago to deliver his wedding gift, it's waiting in your workshop. I've already commissioned a new necklace for Hera as thanks."

You frown, stuffing the gyro in your mouth. It was one thing to learn that you've been asleep for a week - not uncommon, for a god, but useful knowledge - but to know that Zeus stopped by without waking you, and that Aphrodite has been running things in your stead… You glance quickly around, noting the way each cyclops in the room is turned toward the love god as if they had all been deep in conversation before you arrived, and the sprawling mass of gems and stones atop the island in front of them.

"You're commissioning the cyclopes for jewelry now?" You eventually ask. He nods.

"They truly have an eye for detail," He says, a cheeky grin growing on his face. The cyclopes look amused, a couple even laughing outright, and you stifle a sigh at the terrible joke. "And I had no idea that these gems are so common here. The quality is astounding, honestly, I only ever see it in the gems on Olympus."

"That's because the stones on Olympus are from here," you tell him. Your eyes rake over him and he seems...happier than last you saw him. The soft light from the magma tunnels highlights his features beautifully, only enhancing the natural beauty, and there are gems decorating his hands and wound tight around his throat in a choker. More than that, though, he looks peaceful, relaxed. His muscles are relaxed as he sits among the one-eyed giants, a smile never far from his face, and they make conversation with him easily, despite their usual hesitance to be around any of the other gods. It warms you to see them so at ease around someone other than yourself.

"Well, if it's for Hera, it must be the best. Get me the designs, Aphrodite, and if there's anything else-"

"Seokjin."

"Hm?" You turn, already halfway to the door.

"Seokjin is my chosen name. Please, you don't need to keep using my title."

"Oh." Your eyes must be as wide as saucers as you stare at him, but the soft grin on his face doesn't falter in the least. "Alright then, Seokjin."

"We'll get you the designs when we're done, then, Hephaestus." You nod a little at his words and roll yourself away from the kitchens. It isn't until you get to your workshop that you realize you never gave him your own name.

Seokjin is...confused, to say the least.

The stories on Olympus about your mountain forge are varied and extravagant, but they all seem to agree on the basics. The mountain is a terrible place to live, always filled with soot and impossible to navigate and as hideous as its master. The cyclopes are unfriendly and outright rude to everyone, if not openly hostile, likely because they are forced into servitude. The forge goddess that rules over the volcano is as violent and temperamental as the mountain itself, liable to explode at any moment after being cast out of Olympus for her own hubris. You're said to be cold and unfeeling and cruel, whipping any cyclops that doesn't do what you say when you say and beating the others into submission as you forge more and more powerful weapons for Zeus, your punishment for daring to stand against him.

Seokjin was finding more and more that none of those things were true.

Yes, there is soot everywhere, but a simple wash and blessing upon his clothes keep them clean and beautiful. The mountain itself is a bit harsher than what he usually would consider beautiful, but the crystal mines glow with the magma behind them, lighting the walls with a myriad of colors, and the soft light in the palace does wonders for his looks, not to mention the way the ash and charcoal have helped his complexion. The halls are winding and strange, but following the system of bells and strings that he's seen messages shooting along means that even when lost, he can easily find a cyclops to help him to where he's going. Said cyclopes were unfriendly that first day, but now? They were nice beings, each one enthusiastic about the things they create and excited to be there, especially now that there's another person to talk to. They warmed to Seokjin fairly quickly after he asked what they were making; some kind of automaton, apparently, and when he asked what it was supposed to do, how it works, each eye lit up with glee as they began to explain it to him.

And you.

You are not violent at all. Every time you look at one of your workers, it is with friendship and happiness, and while you are easily distracted and yes, a bit temperamental, you are ultimately kind. He wants for nothing, everything he could ask for is given almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he is free to come and go as he wishes, which is more than can be said for some of the other gods he's met. You have been unfailingly kind in the wake of your marriage to him. Everything he's witnessed, from the way you rushed to stamp out a flare at the bottom of his robes one day to the way you held a cyclops in your arms as he sobbed for a brother who had been lost to the sea, nothing has shown him that you are anything like what the Olympians say. You are frequently absent, locked away in your workshop for days at a time and leaving him to his own devices, but even that is a breath of fresh air. For so long, he's been surrounded by people - gods, nymphs, mortals, anyone and everyone all vying for his attention because he's beautiful and elegant, stealing precious moments of solitude where he can, and now he has as much as he desires. It makes him want to cry, he's so thankful for it.

He's only left a few times, determined to visit Hera and see the few friends he keeps - Dionysus is always glad to see him, odd enough, and loves to hear his tales of life under the mountain. Each time he leaves, however, he's swarmed. Not always immediately, but it's as if the world can sense his return, and they come in droves, all to catch a glimpse of his beauty. It's exhausting and overwhelming now that he's had so much time on his own, which is the exact reason he doesn't leave very often. The worst of them is an especially willful war god, who Seokjin swears has been camping outside the volcano to know the second he leaves to visit a friend because the man is on him in a heartbeat and refuses to leave him alone.

It's irritating and the way the man looks at him leaves him uncomfortable for days after he returns. He has half a mind to ask a cyclops to start accompanying him out, but even Seokjin knows better than to bring one of them to Olympus; Zeus would strike the gentle being down in a heartbeat just for daring to step where the gods live.

He ponders what else he can do as he wanders the halls of the mountain, a habit at this point. He's been here weeks, each day better than the last, and still hasn't explored the entire place. He's on the lowest level now, heat scorching the hair on his arms and sandals blackened with ash. There's been quite a clamor down here somewhere for the past few days, and he's curious to see what project is being hammered out.

He doesn't expect to turn a corner, walk past an open door, and see you, wheeling frantically around a large room, papers tucked in all sorts of pockets on your overalls, hair wild, face covered in soot. He watches, fascinated as you screech to a halt beside a large worktable, rifling through paper after paper before finally finding whatever it is you're looking for, only to push yourself to the other side of the room to pull a steaming piece of celestial bronze out of a pail. You look harried and distracted, not even having noticed him yet, and it…

It's honestly beautiful.

He's always loved seeing beauty like this; the sheer, unfiltered rawness of creativity and passion. The way you and others lost themselves in their work, blind to everything but the vision in their heads, forgoing sleep and food and everything else in favor of making something out of nothing. It's beauty in its most naked form; the naked truth of being real, in the fleeting moments of existence, and Seokjin lives for it. It's his personal favorite of all the beauty in the world, and you encapsulate it better than anyone he's ever met.

It's also beyond fascinating to watch you roll around on the wheels attached to your sandals. He can't help but wonder what it's like, to not have to take step after step and instead just roll through the slightly slanted halls of the mountain.

"Did you make those?" He regrets the words almost immediately, reaching in futility to catch you as you turn and trip over a pail set just too far in your path for you to dodge. "I'm so sorry, I should have announced myself. I don't mean to keep startling you."

"It's fine," you groan, though the hand on your hip is white-knuckled and your teeth are gritted. "I should have been paying more attention." He strides over and helps you to your feet, not missing the way you lean on him for support until you can sit on the now-overturned pail. "What did you need?"

"Oh, nothing, I was just exploring. Those, on your feet, though. You made them?" He smiles at your nod, however hesitant it is, and settles on the ground beside you to get a better look. "They're amazing. This compartment here, are they retractable?" You click your heels together in response, and Seokjin watches with wide eyes as the discs fold themselves up and slide into the soles of your sandals. "Amazing. Can you make me a pair?"

"You...you aren't going to tell Zeus, are you?" Your voice is the most unsure he's heard it, and he frowns.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, I just...he wouldn't really be happy if he knew I made these. Since I'm supposed to be suffering and everything, and they make it...not as terrible."

Seokjin scoffs. "No, I won't tell Zeus. You really do have to make me a pair, though, these are amazing. What else have you made?" Your eyes are wide when he looks back up at you, but you quickly pull papers out of your pockets to hand them over.

"Well, this is my current schematic. I've just got to figure out how to get it to work."

"Is this...is this a person?"

"Kind of. The muses asked for some kind of...enhancement that would let them be heard in more places at once. So I've created this," You point to the left-most figure, which could only be Calliope. "Which is going to essentially absorb whatever the muse is doing, and then these," You run your finger along the other eight figures, each distinct but still matching overall, "Will distribute that to wherever they are. I've got a good basis for the visual representation, I think, and the audio system should be fine, but the issue I've been having is that I can't seem to get it to all...click."

"So you've got the transmitting figured out?"

"Yeah, that part was easy. And I built the miniatures, and they've been working fine, but I can't get the full sized ones to work correctly. I've smelted them down at least five times just to rebuild them." Seokjin stares at the papers in his hands, trying to make sense of the little scratches of handwriting that dart on and off the papers. He shakes his head, and pulls back, squinting.

"This may be a stupid question," He starts, looking at the front and side views you've drawn out, "But did you account for the weight?" You're silent for a long while, and when he looks up, you're gaping at him. "Sorry, of course you did, that was dumb."

"The fucking weight," You mutter. You're off in a flash, pulling the papers out of his hands to throw them down on a workbench and start scrawling again. "Because it wouldn't affect the smaller models since they use less material, but the full-size automatons would have the pressure which would affect the-" You start whispering to yourself, too rushed and quiet for him to make sense of, but he softens as he watches you go. He pulls the pail out of the way and sets it back against the wall before settling in on top of it.

He stays there for what feels like hours, watching as you pour adamantine into the molds and weld parts together and breathe that spark of life into the core of Calliope's automaton counterpart. He doesn't dare to breathe as you watch, hope clear in your eyes. Then the whirring starts and the automaton assumes a very Calliope-like pose, and you actually start to laugh and jump up and down. He can't keep the smile from his face, but he's satisfied now that he knows you're happy, so he moves to leave.

He's stopped by your voice, softer than he expected it over the hissing of the dying forge. He turns and you repeat your name. It sounds awkward on your lips, like you haven't said it in so long that your voice has forgotten what it sounds like, but you're smiling at him and you have soot on your face and he has to resist the urge to wipe it off. He echoes you quietly, and he thinks he's never heard a name more beautiful and fitting for someone like you.

Later, as he sinks into the steaming water of his rooms to wash the soot from his skin, he surprises himself. For the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't a love god not for the unwanted attention, but because now he knows. He knows this feeling blossoming in his chest, and he knows how it mirrors that spark in your own heart. He can sense it, can feel it in the air as if it had actual weight to it, and he just...knows. He knows that you don't know what this is, that you probably will never realize what he feels, that you'll brush off your own feelings as some reluctant fondness while he can feel every step you take further into the magic of love.

And he won't be able to do anything to keep himself from falling in love with you and you won't ever be able to see that.

You've been locked in your workshop for days, putting the finishing touches on the Muses' automatons and adding the decorative bits you know they'll love. You haven't slept in twice as long, food even further from your mind, as it usually is when you get into one of your projects. It's a shock when Seokjin returns to your workshop balancing several trays of food and drink. You hold a strange fondness for him, unable to resist after he'd pointed out something so obvious in your designs. Anyone that could help you with your designs was worth at least knowing a little, you figure, but you never expected him to keep coming back.

And yet here is, directing three cyclopes to set cushions and blankets and all manner of soft, plush bedding on the ground just inside the door of your workshop. You gawk, wondering just how much nerve he has to be doing this and also what possible reason he thinks is good enough to disrupt you.

"You need to eat," He says when he notices you staring at him. "Besides, you're basically finished with them, and you need sustenance and rest if I'm going to get my awesome wheel shoes." You refrain from mentioning that you've already got them made; you don't want to encourage him too much. Pelion gives you a look as he exits the room and you huff. Just because they spend centuries here, they think they can tell you when to take breaks and eat. Typical cyclops.

You grumble as you wheel yourself to the mass of cushions Seokjin has created, but you quiet at the way it does ease the soreness in your leg. As good as you've become at drowning out the pain, the steady onslaught to your nerves has been fraying your attention more than you'll admit.

Seokjin sits after you have and presents the food with a flourish. It all looks delicious, much better than the hasty gyros and wraps you put together, and your mouth waters. He very kindly does not mention how disgusting you must look as you begin to dig in, instead talking about a recent trip he'd taken to see Dionysus.

His tone eventually catches your attention more than his words. "Wait," You stop him, slurping down some ambrosia. "Back up. Someone's stalking you?"

"I...don't think I'd call it stalking, exactly. I don't think he's going to do anything, either, it's all just talk, but...well. It's still frustrating when I'm just trying to visit friends."

"No, if it's bothering you, then it's an issue, then it needs to end. Tell me everything." And Seokjin does. From how the war god waits for him, either outside the mountain or outside Olympus, spends every moment Seokjin is gone following him around and saying some truly crude things. All of it makes your blood boil - Seokjin is kind, to the point that even the cyclopes love him, which is rare, and he gets harassed enough apparently without some god running around hitting on him constantly.

The rumors, though. The rumors are what get you seeing red. It's no secret on Olympus that this was an arranged marriage; they aren't uncommon among gods, and they aren't usually a scandal, but yours apparently is. Seokjin hesitates when he tells you about them, and you nearly break your fork in your effort to keep your rage from him. All sorts of stories, from you abusing him, forcing things he isn't comfortable with, keeping him chained up, feeding him pieces of your cyclopes, that you had bought him from Zeus with promises of gifts from the forge. Each is as terrible as the last, and all of them have your stomach rolling, and Seokjin reluctantly explains that he believes the war god to be the source of most of them.

"Well," You say, violently spearing a grape. "That must be stopped, immediately. I refuse to allow people to think of you like that, it's utterly disrespectful." You wobble to your feet and roll over to the wall of ideas you hadn't managed to get around to yet. "What do you think? Maiming? Or is that too quick? I've got a truly brilliant idea for a bull, it could eat him if I use the right materials. It'd take at least a hundred years for him to get out of that."

"Well," Seokjin eventually says. You turn to look at him, excitement bright in your eyes. The wheels in his brain are turning and he's got a fondness on his face as he lounges on pillows and cushions; it melts your heart. He looks every bit the love god he is, and something in you wants to sob at the thought. "I would say, personally, if he's going to embarrass us in such a public way, then it should only really be fair to embarrass him in such a way." He tosses the knife in his hand and it embeds itself in one of the papers on your wall. You ignore the throb of arousal that runs through you, looking instead at the design he's chosen.

"Oh," You whisper. Ideas are already running rampant in your mind. "Yes, I think this could be a very good plan."

Seokjin is in stitches when he next sees you, clutching at his sides as his laughter echoes through your workshop. The sight of his harasser in your net as he spouted off a variety of kinks that made even Zeus blush, in the middle of the golden city with all of the gods around him isn't one Seokjin is likely to forget.

"I still don't understand how you did it," He says, calming slightly as he wipes tears from his eyes. "How did you weave such a net, and how did you enchant it to make him say such things?"

"It wasn't much," You say. Your smile is beautiful, a treasure rarer than all the gems that he wears and more valuable than anything he's come across. He wants to wear it, wants you to keep smiling like that, with such pride in your work and happiness radiating from you. "...and then Arachne wove it all together." He nods as if he'd heard the rest of what you said. Part of him feels guilty for not listening; it really is fascinating, how you craft such wonderful things out of such pedestrian supplies.

"You're amazing," He says. He doesn't mean to, but it's true. Even now, as you lean against your workbench, fingers digging into the skin of your hip without even realizing you're doing it, smile slowly fading into something else - something more - you are radiant. Soot across your face and wheels on your shoes and the kindest heart he's ever seen in a goddess, and he wants you like no one else. There has always been beauty in creation, always been love in inspiration, and you are the ultimate mix of the two, painted over with enough cunning and determination to keep at your work no matter what.

He steps closer to you, slowly, and brings a hand up to wipe at the soot on your cheek. It smears under his thumb and your breath hitches in the most attractive way.

It's unbearably attractive, honestly, and it makes an ache swell within him that goes deeper than the physical. He wants to keep you smiling like that, wants to watch you work and bring you gyros and cart you to a hot bath on a bad day. He can see it, all of it, splayed in front of him as clear as if he were an Oracle. He'd waltz into your workshop and pepper you with kisses before pulling you out after him. Your wheels would squeak along the stone floor but you wouldn't complain even as he settles you in hot water and makes you forget your pain as he asks about your newest designs and creations. He can see it, and it's beautiful, and he wants it so bad that it hurts.

Almost as much as it hurts when your face falls, expression closing off into the same passive coolness that greeted him when he first arrived. You slide your way around him and turn to face another worktable. It hurts, the way you won't look at him, and moves something deep and primal inside him. It urges him to go on, to trap you against that table and make you open up to him, make sure you know that you can trust him to satisfy you.

He stamps it down with a long breath.

"Well," He says, pointedly ignoring your shaky breathing. "Thank you, again, for helping me. I suppose I'll see you around."

"You don't need to thank me, Seokjin," You say. Your voice is tight and your hands twitch and he wants to kiss you until the pain is gone forever. He doesn't. "You're my husband, I was only doing what was right."

"Still," He says, "It means more to me than you know."

You don't respond, and he leaves before you can. He doesn't want you to, doesn't want to hear the reluctant rejection spill from your lips when he knows. He's a love god, he knows when someone is in love, can feel in the air and taste it on his tongue. He knows that scent better than his own face and your workroom was suffocating with it.

He has no doubt that some was his own; he knows this fluttering in his chest, the rolling of his stomach, the spark of lightning dancing along his skin. He knows.

But he can smell the hesitation, too. Can see the way you fight the feeling, in every aborted reach for his hand and each averted gaze when he looks at you. You love him, he's so sure of it, but you don't want to be.

And he cannot force you to change your mind about that. He won't. He just isn't sure how long he can last without telling you that he loves you, too.

Curses spill from your lips as you glide cautiously through the hallways. You've grown too complacent, comfortable around your husband. You very nearly slipped the other day, were a hair's breadth from throwing caution to the wind and kissing him; it was a miracle you caught yourself. He'd just looked so happy. The smile, that laugh, everything about him was just glowing in the light of your workshop, and then he'd complimented you.

It's been decades since someone complimented your work like that, and none of them had done so with that look in their eyes. The gentle warmth, the fondness, the glow.

The love.

That was what startled you out of your thoughts, the sheer love that radiated from him. That was what made you push him away. It's what has kept you from seeing him for nearly a week, turning on your heel and going the other direction when you spot him. You can't handle love.

Not just because you've never known such an emotion, not just because you've never had anyone look at you that way, but because...he's a love god. A man like Seokjin surely falls in love every day with each passing stranger that catches his eye, and you...don't. You've never felt this before, you've never had someone love you, you don't know how it works, and worse, you can't figure it out.

You can't take love apart and look at each gear and cog and spring until you can piece it back together into a whole again. You can't observe and tinker and improve on something like love. Clouds and lightning? Simple mediums. Celestial bronze? Malleable as clay under your hands. But love? No, that was something utterly foreign to you.

You drop to your bed and pull your leg up beside you to inspect the wheel. It's cracked, badly, and it's a shock that it survived long enough to get you to your room. You lean closer and flinch at the stabbing pain that rolls through you. It's a stark reminder of yet another reason you don't belong with Seokjin. A god like him has almost definitely lain with the most beautiful in all creation; he surrounds himself with only the finest gems, the softest cloth, the richest wine. He only accepts the best.

You are far from being the best. Mutilated and scarred, left to limp around your mountain in solitude. You're past acceptance of your pain and the scars that mark your skin, you don't really care much that they exist anymore most days. Life could be easier without them, but would you have become the person you are today without them? You wouldn't have been so determined to find an easier way around, you wouldn't have worked for days on the wheeled sandals, you wouldn't have discovered your passion for creating.

You wouldn't be in pain, though. And maybe, just...maybe, Seokjin would find you beautiful. As beautiful as the twinkling stones around his throat and the flowing silks across his chest. Beautiful enough to stay beneath this mountain in the smoke and heat, to press his pillow-soft lips against yours, to love without abandon. Now, though, with your scars and pain and awkward gait, you find yourself doubting what you saw. It could have been love, yes, but how likely is that? A love god forced to live in a suffocating cave, wed to the laughingstock of the pantheon. It's more likely that he's attached himself to the nearest person that shows him any affection, despite how desperately you want him to really feel something for you.

Three succinct knocks on the door of your room jar you away from the thought.

"Come in," You call. You wish you were more surprised to see Seokjin, purple hair prettily faded and matching the soft lavender cloth that drapes from his shoulders.

"Can I have a few minutes of your time, Hephaestus?" He hasn't used your title since you told him your name, and it hurts to hear it now. Cements the fact that you are too different.

You nod, and the pain in your hip keeps you from moving away when he comes to kneel before you.

"I love you," He says matter-of-factly. "I've let you avoid me this past week because it's not my place to force these feelings on you, but the stench of heartbreak is too much now. It just lingers in the halls and it's starting to seep into my clothes and if it keeps up, I might have to double my skincare routine because it soaks into my pores. So I love you. A lot more than I ever expected to, and probably more than I've ever loved anything in my life."

You gape at him. "What...why…what?"

"You are creative and cunning and petty and inventive and intelligent and determined and it's so beautiful," He says. There's not an ounce of hesitation in his face, and it steals the words from your throat. "I love you, and I need you to know that so you stop stinking up the forge with your angst and heartbreak. I understand if you don't want to be with me-"

"What heartbreak, what-"

"Well, I don't actually," Jin continues, ignoring your protests. "I'm really quite the catch and to deny yourself of me when you love me this much would be an entirely new and advanced form of masochism, but nevertheless, I will accept your rejection, however inane and ill-advised it may be, because it is, ultimately, your choice. You can tell me to go, and I will, and you won't ever know I'm here again. But, if you accept this, then…"

He trails off and his eyes soften impossibly as he wraps his hands around yours. You've never believed people could communicate so much with just a single look, but you're proven wrong by the sheer emotion in his gaze. Your name falls from his lips, and it's never sounded so nice to your ears.

"If you accept, then I swear to you, I will spend every hour of every day ensuring you feel loved. I will bring you food when you forget to eat, I will tidy your workshop when you can't find anything, I will carry you wherever you need to go when the pain is too much to bear." One hand moves to rest along your hip, warmth distracting you from the stab of pain that ghosts through it. "I will be everything and anything that you need, always and forever, and I won't let another moment pass with you thinking otherwise."

He looks at you with expectation in his eyes, and you...can't speak. There are no words for what you're feeling; the sureness of his love warring with the anxiety of not being worth it. You open your mouth several times to respond and find that you can't; of all the words flying around in your mind, none of them make it out. He waits, for longer than you would have, before he sighs and nods.

"That's fine. Love is complicated even at the best of times." He stands, and the loss of his hands on you feels like part of you is being ripped away. "If you ever change your mind, let me know."

His smile is sad as he leaves, and the clink of the door behind him is the last nail in the coffin. Something wet and warm hits your hand, and you realize you're crying. When did you start crying? You struggle to your feet, rolling wildly across the room before you gain your balance.

The door swings open as you shove past it, the last bit of his purple robes turning the corner, and you shove off the wall to gain speed. You can't let him go. The knowledge surges through you with surety you've never felt, and it feels like there's a timer above your head, counting down to the moment you lose him forever. His name echoes through the halls, even though you don't remember calling it, and you speed around a corner to him.

He's half turned to face you already, about to head down another hall since this one dead ends, and it's as you go to brake that you remember the cracked wheel. There is no braking, you're lucky you've made it so far, but you're at top speed right now and there's no time.

"Don't-" is all you can get out before you're crashing into him, wincing as he falls down to the hard ground and the wheel splits in half beneath you. The pain comes an instant later, too much weight too suddenly, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you didn't fight them down.

"Wow," Jin says after a second. "You really did fall for me, didn't you?" His laughter drowns out your groan, but it's worth it for the way he's smiling at you.

"I…" You hesitate, unsure of the words. He waits, patient and relaxed even as he adjusts you to sit on his lap instead of the rock. "I do. I want this."

"I know," He says with a grin. "It's nice to hear you say it, though." He doesn't flinch at the smack you give his shoulder, just presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I swear to all the gods, Seokjin, if you don't stop, I'm going to put this discus through your skull."

"Ooh, please do. I hear that's how Athena was born."

"Seriously?"

"You're right, we don't need anyone else like that running around."

You let your tools fall to the table in front of you and spin around to face your husband. He's exactly where he has been for hours, lounging among pillows and silks on the bed he's had installed in your workshop. A bowl of grapes sits nearby and he's been working his way through them for what feels like forever. If you weren't so irritated, you'd be struck dumb by the image he paints, half-naked and glowing as he pops a fruit between his lips.

As it stands, you're just frustrated and horny now, which is never really a good thing, but especially not on bad days. The ache has made it hard to think, and you've been shuffling around all day trying to find a position that made it hurt just a little less but had no such luck. You've made no progress on the designs in front of you, either; between Seokjin's commentary and the fog of pain in your mind, you had no concentration.

"I'm trying to work, Seokjin. We had an agreement, remember? You could have the bed installed, you can hang out here, I don't mind, but you have to let me work."

"You've been trying for hours," Seokjin whines. "Take a break with me, please? You need to rest your hip anyway, or you won't be able to focus." You hate that he's right, and you hate that he knows he's right, and you really hate that he knows you know he's right. You grumble as you wheel over to him and as you slide your shoes off. It's his one rule about the bed, no shoes, and while you can't blame him since they were covered in ash and soot and rock, you still like to complain about it.

His hands are on you in an instant, gliding under your shirt and massaging your hip. You sink into the touch, sighing as the pain lessens slightly.

"Let me help? We've still got some of the lotion that Apollo sent as a wedding favor. I brought it down, just in case." Lips press soft kisses to your shoulder, and you know it's only a matter of time before you give in. You should probably be a little ashamed of how little it takes for your husband to distract you, but you can't bother to care now.

You nod, and you feel him smile against your skin. He's gone and back in a heartbeat and he lays you back against the pillows carefully. You wince when your hip rests flat, instantly adjusting to bear your weight elsewhere.

"Is it bad today?" He mutters as he slides your usual leathers off. Any shyness and embarrassment you once had are long gone, softened by the passage of time and the sheer amount of times he's seen you naked.

"No," You respond quietly. He shoots you a disbelieving look. "It's more annoying than usual, I suppose, but it's not any worse than usual."

"You shouldn't have irritated it by working," Seokjin says as he runs some of Apollo's lotion between his hands to warm it. "You could have stayed right here and gotten more done."

"I can't forge a throne from the bed, Seokjin."

"No, but you can draw designs for it. And for the jewelry I promised Dionysus."

"I still don't know how you talked me into making something for him that isn't a chastity belt or a guillotine." The heat in your words is dulled with every slide of your husband's hands over your hip. The lotion starts working almost immediately, sinking into your skin and dissipating any discomfort it reaches. Seokjin is smiling as he works and pats your thigh lightly. You twist more, laying on your side so he can reach the back of your thigh.

"You can't be mad at him forever, can you?" He asks. You open your mouth to disagree - as a goddess, you quite literally can - but only a squawk comes out when he slaps your ass and watches it jiggle. He laughs as you slap at his shoulder, no real strength behind it.

"That's it, give me my clothes, I have work to do."

"Mm, I don't think so. Apollo said you have to rest for a while after applying, remember?" He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

"What do you expect me to do, just lay here and do nothing? I can't turn my brain off, Seokjin, I'll go mad if I have to lay here without being able to work."

"I actually had other ideas." The smile never leaves his face, and as he leans over you, you can feel the length of him pressing into your thigh. "Still just laying there, but much more enjoyable."

"Scandalous," You whisper, fighting a smile. "What would my husband think?"

"That you look sexier than anything he's ever seen like this and that he wants nothing more than to make you forget about anything but him."

“That doesn’t sound very restful,” You tease as he kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can feel his familiar smile against your skin; he always does love it when you get flustered. “I’m pretty sure Apollo specified ‘no sex’ in his definition of resting. He was pretty clear about it, actually, which makes me wonder what you’ve told him.”

Seokjin nips at your collarbone lightly. “Didn’t I say I want you to forget about anything but me?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to make me?” You retort. It’s a familiar argument, as comfortable and warm as Seokjin’s hands massaging your hip and thigh. His silk-soft hands dip downwards even as he rises, lifting your leg up and hooking your ankle around his neck. The discomfort that hits is overshadowed by the relieving stretch, and heat pools in your belly when you feel his length press against you once more, significantly closer to where you’d like it. He straddles your free leg, pressing against your naked core.

“Seokjin, please,” You mutter. His touch is feather-light now, fingertips ghosting over your skin and marveling at the goosebumps they raise. You wiggle underneath him as he begins to trace your scars. The first time you’d done this, you didn’t let him linger; you were too embarrassed, too ashamed, too aware of the marks that start just above your hip and travel nearly to your knee. He’d insisted on it the next time, but you’d kept the room dark so you wouldn’t have to see his face. Months had passed before you could bear to watch him look at you, and when you did, it shocked you. It still does. It never seems to matter how many times he sees you like this, bare and vulnerable, scars on full display underneath his large hands. He always wears the same expression, the same awe reflecting in his eyes each time, his touch always gentle and careful, like he doesn’t want to make it worse than it already is. There’s no disgust, there’s no carefully crafted neutrality, nothing that you convinced yourself to expect. Just pure, unfiltered love.

It’s there still, radiant as he slides his hands along your skin. The sensation is dulled along the scar tissue, and yet you feel it in your very core. Wetness seeps into the fabric Seokjin is still wearing, and you whimper a little. He shushes you softly, grinding lightly to give you just a taste of the friction you so desire.

“Oh, my beautiful little blacksmith,” He coos. “You are absolutely soaked, did you know that? I haven’t even started yet, and you’re already so ready for me.” You whine as he slides a finger along your folds. You try to buck into his touch, but his other hand holds your hips firmly in place, though he never stops his massage. “Ah-ah, none of that. You’ll make the pain worse.”

You huff slightly under your breath, but you know he’s right. It’s a lesson you’ve learned several times over.

“Seokjin, don’t tease,” You plead. You let your lip pout, knowing he can’t resist the very rare sight. “You said you would distract me. Or should I go back to my designs?”

“If you think you can,” He responds amicably. You turn slightly, your back resting flush against the bed while he moves your leg to wrap around his waist. It’s still twisted to the side, but the position helps with the pain leftover from the ointment. You open your mouth to snark at your husband, but all that comes out is a loud moan as he sinks two fingers deep inside you. His length, pressed into the meat of your ass, twitches at the sound.

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You breathe. The way his fingers fit inside you is like no other feeling, and you could spend centuries trying to recreate it with no luck.

"That's it, love," Seokjin purrs. His eyes are blown wide with desire and focused entirely on where his fingers disappear into you. "You take my fingers so good, sweetheart, like you were made just for me." A whimper escapes and you roll your hips slightly so he hits deeper inside. He grins and quickens his pace, knowing all too well what your body wants at this point. His thumb comes up to rub circles into your clit, gentle but firm; your back arches and your vision goes white with the force of the orgasm that's torn from you, and when you open your eyes, Seokjin is glowing. Literally, because you found out after the first time he made you come that that's a thing that happens to him.

"Please, love. I want you inside." Seokjin chuckles a little at your words, and if you had the energy, you'd kick him, but your legs don't work very well on a good day, so it's unlikely.

"Always so impatient," He tuts, though he does slide his fingers out of you and into his mouth. He moans at the taste of you, and your pussy clenches around nothing, because it's absolute sin to hear, and you wonder idly if maybe those Christians were on to something when they started talking about things being so good it's unholy.

Seokjin grabs your attention with a soft nip to your calf, accustomed to the way your mind wanders. He smiles at you, soft and private and beautiful, and lifts your hips with one hand. He slides a pillow underneath you and stifles a laugh at the way you wiggle into comfort as he settles your legs on either side of his hips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” You huff. Seokjin doesn't respond, but you can see him trying not to smile as he pumps his cock lazily with one hand. "It's not very polite to laugh at your wife. In fact, it's considered fairly rude."

"Oh, is it?" He teases as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. The contact is brief but has your heart jumping in your throat nevertheless.

"Yes," You reply, "It is. You should be nicer to m- fuck, Seokjin." He grins against your lips at your reaction, stilling as he bottoms out inside you. The stretch is perfect, would hurt if it didn't feel so good, and he knows it.

"What was that?" He asks. He nips at your lips when you whine. He drags his cock out, slow and delicious as you tighten around him, before sliding himself just as slowly back in. You'd be embarrassed about the moan that escapes you if you could focus on anything that isn't the way he feels inside you.

From the first time he slid inside, there's always been something so right about the feeling. He fills every part of you, thick and long and harder than the bronze you work with every day. You've never been to the underworld, but you imagine this is what the Isles of the Blessed are like for the mortals, because it's rapturous.

He thrusts gently in the beginning, always, careful to be sure he isn't too rough with your hip. He doesn't stop kissing you, plump lips moving sinuously against your own and breathing in every little moan and whine you make as he moves. He's so slow, so considerate, lets you set the pace each time, and right now? Right now, this is good. The slow, sensual strokes that you can feel against your walls, the steady press of him against your g-spot with every thrust, the warmth of his hand traveling from your thigh up your torso to tweak your nipple as he moves to glide a thumb over your jaw and then retrace his path back down. This is exactly what you want: the two of you moving together, slow and soft and perfect.

You have plenty of time to try some wild new position later, after all.

Your stomach lurches at the thought, heat pooling between your thighs as the band in your tummy steadily stretches. He doesn't change his pace at all, just adds a bit more force as he thrusts inside, and the added force against that spot inside has you seeing stars. Your moans are echoing and loud and with each one, Seokjin's glow just gets brighter and brighter. His hand wanders between your legs, rubbing small circles into your clit in time with his thrusts.

"Show me, love," He mutters in your ear. "Love you so much, show me how it makes you feel. Let go for me." You whimper, blunt nails digging into the skin of his back. He doesn't stop, whispers exactly what he wants to see you do, but it's the way he says your name - quiet and reverent, like you may disappear if he's too loud - that finally has the cord snapping.

It must be too much, because you come to after a few minutes - maybe, time is so strange as a goddess - to find Seokjin rubbing soothing circles into your hips and pressing gentle kisses along the column of your throat. Your pussy contracts around him, and you whimper when you realize he's still hard inside you.

"You didn't…?" You mutter, finding more words are too much work right now.

"No, I don't need to," He assures you. He starts to pull out, but you manage to get a hand on his shoulder.

"Want to," You mumble. Talking is hard, but you manage. "Want to feel you. Inside. Fuck. Please." He asks you if you're sure and you nod, and that's when he kisses you, soft and sweet and completely at odds with his next words.

"Gonna fuck you so good, my little blacksmith," He groans as he begins thrusting once more. He's faster now, hips snapping roughly against yours as he chases his high. "Can't wait to fill you up, wanna see you so full of my cum, want you to swell with it." He grins as you moan, tightening around him as another orgasm approaches. "You like that, love? You want me to fuck you full of my cum? Fill you up so good that it spills out of you for days?" He hisses a curse under his breath as you buck. Your free hand moves downward, rubbing at your clit gently. It's just the right edge of overstimulation, and it sends you off the edge once more, clenching around him. His hips stutter, and the feeling of you milking his cock sends him past the brink as well, and then he's painting your walls with cum.

Later, after he's fucked his cum into you three more times and then eaten it out, he watches you draw a lazy sketch on the little bit of paper that you can reach.

"It looks good," He says softly. You hum, wrinkling your nose.

"I'm worried it's too...understated, I guess."

"No, I think it's perfect for her," Seokjin assures you. "Very Hera. Though, you should put in a secret compartment here, so she can stash her sex toys somewhere he won't look."

"What? No! I'm not building a secret sex toy stash in my mother's throne!"

"Fine." He's quiet for a few more minutes as you sketch. "I'll just get the cyclopes to do it."

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aticklishtem · 4 years

Text

Weakness of Doom

((oh boy here I go bringing my bullshit into a new decade again~ this is dedicated to @ticklishjevil bc she is 100% to blame for my descent into ZADR hell and generally inspiring/encouraging the creation of this...thing!! I hope you’re proud of yourself darling 💖

ALSO I’m very sorry if the spacing/formatting is borked tumblr mobile is terrible but I am doing my best to fix as we speak ;w; ))

***

“Give it up, Zim! You’ll never get away with this!”

Dib had lost count of how many times he’d said that by now. Eight years, countless crazy schemes, a couple near total obliterations of the galaxy as they knew it and an almost equal tally of humiliating defeats and triumphant (if temporary) victories for both sides - somehow, it always seemed to come back to the two of them. Dib, Zim, the doomsday device of the day and this seemingly endless chase that remained as frustrating yet exhilarating as it was the day the green kid first rocked up to class. Would it ever end? That almost didn’t seem to matter at this point - this was the life Dib had chosen. As long as Zim was around, he had a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, a duty to the rest of humankind to keep protecting his planet from impending extraterrestrial invasion...even if most of them remained too dumb to appreciate his efforts.

“You’re too late, Dib-stink!” cried the bug-eyed bane of his existence, waving around some kind of remote with a red button. “Just one press of this button, and every single whiffy signal -“

“...do you mean wi-fi?”

“Zim knows what Zim means!” he barked, an antenna twitching with irritation. “As I was saying, every signal will be scrambled, and without their mind-numbing entertainment, your fellow earthworms will inevitably turn on each other! Leaving the planet defenceless for when I, Zim...figure out how to do whatever it is I need to do to destroy you all!”

“Noooo! That’s…” Dib paused mid-dramatic wail. “Actually a pretty solid plan? I mean, I can see your logic. It’s definitely an improvement on some of your others, like that one with the rubber chickens -“

“Silence!” Zim pointed an accusing claw at him, though Dib could’ve sworn he preened a little at the almost-compliment, puffing up his chest and planting his free hand on his hip. “Of course it is foolproof! And if you imagine for a second that the amazing Zim could ever become so distracted by his own ingeniousness that he could be lured into monologuing until a hypothetical opportunity might arise for someone to take - hey gimme that back!”

Fortunately, some things had changed in all those years; puberty had been at least kind enough to Dib so he could now dangle his superior height - literally and metaphorically - over Zim’s head. “Sorry, what’d you say?” he taunted, holding his prize high out of his enemy’s reach after snatching it from his claws. “I couldn’t hear because of how much taller I am!”

His moment of glory was cut short, however, as Zim launched himself at him with a hiss like a feral cat, sending them both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and antennae. They were still surprisingly evenly matched; Zim was a lot stronger than his size would suggest, but Dib now had the advantage of longer arms and legs to attempt to hold him off as they wrestled for the device. He might even have been winning - right up until Zim grabbed his side, claws digging into the sensitive spot just below his ribs.

Dib yelped, reflexively slamming his arm down to protect himself; before either could do anything, the remote flew out of his hand and across the room until it disappeared under one of Zim’s experiment tanks. Instead of running after it, Zim took advantage of the distraction to seize Dib’s wrist, pinning him to the floor.

“Ha!” Zim loomed over him, now straddling Dib’s waist so his maniacal grin filled his whole vision. “You flesh-bags really are pitiful, cowering in pain from the slightest touch!”

“That’s not what that - was…” Dib froze, heat rising to his cheeks as his nemesis bore down on him, now painfully aware of his compromising position. Zim couldn’t - did he even know what tickling was? Because this would be a really bad time for him to find out.

“...Eh?” Zim narrowed his eyes, curiosity flickering across his face alongside the usual suspicion and irritation. “What are you smiling about? Why is your grotesquely ginormous head so red?!”

“My head’s not bihihig!” Dib bit down on his lip, but he couldn’t stop a few embarrassing giggles from slipping out when Zim jabbed at his ribs again. He struggled to bat his hand away, but with only one arm free and Zim basically sitting on top of him, he wasn’t having much success. “Quihihit ihit!”

A shiver ran down his spine as he could practically see his doom unfold along with Zim’s smile, sadistic delight sparkling in his eyes, and oh god no Dib thought he was prepared for anything but please not this, anything but this, he’ll never live it down…

“Well, well - you really thought you could conceal such a glaring weakness from me?” he demanded, mercilessly prodding and pinching his way up Dib’s side. “I’d...sort of imagined more writhing in excruciating agony, but this is rather amusing too, watching you squirm like the wretched worm you are!”

“Thihis isn’t fahahahair!” Dib spluttered between peals of laughter; he hadn’t been tickled since he was a little kid, but this was so much worse because it was Zim and he hated giving him the satisfaction but was equally powerless to stop his body from reacting as those probing claws dug right into his horribly exposed armpit. “Zihihihim!”

“Yes, yes, I am Zim!” his foe cackled, releasing Dib’s wrist to attack with both hands, one even scuttling under his shirt - which was so far beyond fair - and scratching at the tender skin almost hard enough to hurt, but his gloves dulled the sensation so it just tickled even more. “If I had known you were this easily incapacitated, I could’ve built a device to take care of you long ago! Now, laugh, pathetic Dib-thing - admit your annihilation, or perish in helpless hysteria at the merciless claws of Zim!”

“Nehehehever - !” Dib had not foiled so many of Zim’s plans to let him win this one by tickling him, of all the cruel and unusual methods. There was only one way to fight back, and he had no idea if it’d even work on an alien, but what else did he have to lose, more of his dignity? Arms flailing as he tried desperately to suck in his stomach before those treacherous claws could get to his bellybutton, he eventually managed to grab a handful of Zim’s side and squeeze it repeatedly.

Zim let out a squawk like a bird having its feathers pulled out, letting go of Dib as he scrabbled to slap his hands away. “D-do not touch Zim with your fihilthy meat-sticks!”

Huh - that sounded like a game-changer, and now it was Dib’s turn to grin like a mad scientist as he kneaded Zim’s sides like his life depended on it - which it might - until he had an armful of squirming Irken trapped in an almost-hug, one arm around Zim’s waist with his PAK pressing against Dib’s chest.

“What’s the matter, does it tickle?” he asked, smirking from ear to ear as he savoured the sweetness of revenge - and possibly the most important discovery of his career as a paranormal investigator. “Is the mighty Invader Zim ticklish?”

“Lies! Cease! Ihihi’m gonna destrohohoy yooooou…!”

It wasn’t like he’d never heard Zim laugh before - only like every day since they were at skool - but this was different; less controlled and mocking, more free and almost joyful, even if it was a joy forced upon him as he writhed, kicked and cackled under Dib’s skittering fingers, exploring the surprisingly soft and smooth skin under his shirt. It wasn’t exactly an autopsy, but the thought that he might be the first to hear - the first to make Zim almost squeal when he wiggled his fingers under his arms - that was more deeply, weirdly, sadistically satisfying than anything he’d imagined. “Wow, I think you’re worse than I am! So are all Irkens this ticklish, or is it just you?”

“Zihim is telling you nohothihihihing!” Zim’s laughter seemed to jump an octave when Dib felt around his back; the skin around his PAK was slightly raised where it was embedded, which was interesting, mainly for the way he bucked and squirmed frantically as Dib traced it with his fingers. “GIR! Where are you?! Do something to make this stohohop!”

“Yes, master!”

Dib looked up just in time to see Zim’s robot assistant propelling towards him at alarming speed, his eyes blazing red. Before he could move to shield himself, however, GIR came to an abrupt stop, eyes flickering back to cyan and his metallic mouth stretching into its familiar hyperactive smile. “Ooooh! Tickle fight! I wanna plaaaay!”

“Now, GIR! Fire the - wait, no, what are you doing?! Put that back!” Both Zim’s and Dib’s eyes widened - in horror and intrigue respectively - as GIR plonked himself down on one of Zim’s legs, picked up the other and pulled his boot off. Dib had never actually seen his feet before, he realised; he had three toes, clawed like his fingers but a little shorter. Judging by how he scrunched them up when GIR prodded them, they were also pretty sensitive.

“This li’l piggy went to Foodcourtia,” GIR chirped, wiggling a toe; Zim made a strangled noise of protest and attempted to pull away, but Dib was still holding onto him. “This li’l piggy went home - aw, we outta piggies! And thiiis li’l piggy…”

“GIR - nooo!” Zim begged, and Dib could actually feel him tremble in his arms as his toes curled in anticipation of what was to come. “Don’t do this! You’re supposed to attack the intruder, not -“

“...went weeweeweeweeeeeeeee…!” GIR hugged Zim’s foot and scribbled furiously all over it, his tiny metal hands a blur as his master shrieked with laughter, helpless to escape his ticklish doom.

“How’s it feel, Zim, betrayed by your own minion?” Dib snickered along with him as it occurred to him he should probably be recording or taking photos of possibly the greatest moment of his life to date, but holding Zim captive and laughing helplessly was way too satisfying, tickling under his arms while GIR happily went to town on his foot. “Maybe I’ll just keep you like this - you’re not much of a threat to the Earth when you’re just a cute little giggly alien puddle…”

“Wh-whahahahahaaaaa?!”

The sheer incredulous outrage in Zim’s voice tore through the air, and Dib couldn’t help but wince, recoiling as the ear-splitting screech assaulted his eardrums. As his grip loosened, Zim wriggled free and kicked GIR off of him, scrambling back to his feet, and the chaos was replaced by an unusual and equally uncomfortable silence. (Apart from GIR eating popcorn out of his head as he watched them, and that was the most normal thing about this situation.)

“I - uh...“

“He thinks you cuuuute!” GIR giggled, grabbing Zim’s cheeks and squishing them together comically.

“No I don’t!” Dib felt his face flush under the spotlight of both GIR’s carefree smile and Zim’s laser-beam glare, the protest coming out just a little too quickly. “I was teasing you - it’s just a thing people say when they…”

He trailed off, because man, things had gotten weird, even by their standards. But this was still Zim, and he was still a jerk and evil and the total opposite of cute, even a little breathless with his clothes all rumpled and one foot still bare, antennae lowered and quivering and what looked suspiciously like an olive-coloured blush staining his cheeks. That warm feeling was just Dib enjoying the sight of his enemy humiliated in defeat, like anyone would. Right? That made sense.

“Give me my boot, GIR.”

“Go long!”

Zim caught the offending item without looking, but instead of putting it back on he hurled it at Dib, who dodged just before it smacked him in the face, bouncing off his shoulder instead.

“Ow - hey, that’s sharp!”

“Good! Suffer! That’s what you get for trying to taint the mighty name of Zim with your disgusting lies like…” He screwed up his face as if he could barely bring himself to spit out the word, making dramatic finger-quotes, “cute!”

“Okay, geez! It’s not like I meant it…” Dib rubbed his shoulder, shifting awkwardly - he wished they’d stop repeating the word like that. But even this momentary weirdness couldn’t change the fact that he’d just uncovered a significant weakness in his nemesis, even if he inconveniently shared it. He’d be an idiot not to exploit this for all it was worth, a smug grin tugging at his lips again as he picked up Zim’s boot. “But thanks for this. I bet I can get all kinds of useful evidence from a genuine article of alien clothing…”

“You…!” Zim’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he let out an indignant splutter - only to break into a dangerously familiar smile before activating his PAK legs, towering over Dib with a renewed gleam of vengeance in his eye. “Enjoy your last few seconds of freedom, Dib-worm - we shall soon settle who is cute!”

“I’d like to see you - wait, what?!”

Dib didn’t have time to figure out what Zim meant by that as he darted for an escape route, still clutching Zim’s boot - but when he was quickly seized and hoisted into the air by a pair of metal spider legs, he was pretty sure things were only about to get a whole lot weirder.

But this was the life he’d chosen - and would he really want it any other way?

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faemytho · 5 years

Text

ds // onebizarrekai

so uh. tobin has some really nice headcanons.

tags: transphobia, homophobia, implied sexual assault, implied murder, coming out story, internal misgendering, unintentional misgendering

this is also very unedited bc im Tired, gay, and pls look at these trans boys i love them

-------------

The seed of a thought first planted itself when Dream had talked about her to the villagers. He'd been gesturing gently, spine ramrod straight and poised into the perfect picture of composure. A particularly nasty one yelled loud enough for Nightmare to hear.

"She's a witch, and she protects nothing but trouble!"

Nightmare had hidden under the covers the whole day after that, squishing her chest uncomfortably against the mattress and feeling sick to her stomach.

Dream didn't bother her.

----

She cursed, stumbling over the uneven pavement, her cape flying out behind her. Stupid fucking guards. Stupid fucking justice initiative. Where was her justice, huh?

"Did you think of that, Dream?" She muttered, slipping around a corner and inside the building she'd just rounded. She didn't stay long, fleeing out the back. She hated her voice, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. She didn't exactly have time to either. You didn't have time to sit and dawdle when your best fucking friend was trying to hunt you down with his freaky ass wings and new glowing eyes and spouting off the same nonsense she'd heard from the villagers her whole life. She figured it was something that would happen, Dream turning against her, but she never thought he would go this far, to this degree. And it hurt.

Holding her breath, she pressed herself against the wall, peeking around the corner. Clear.

She'd live another day.

----

"Oh, Margaret, did you hear what happened at the Stonewall Inn?"

"Of course I did, everyone's heard of it by now."

Nightmare paused, listening in. She wasn't exactly sure why. But the two women sitting at the outside café said nothing else about it, and eventually went on their ways. Nightmare watched one of them reach out to squeeze the other's hand, gently, before they left. Lesbians, then. Not that Nightmare had a problem with them, but it was dangerous to be affectionate in public if you were queer.

She meant to forget about it, but Stonewall Inn nagged at her mind, and she went to go find it herself.

She learned a lot about herself that day.

----

Nightmare felt comfortable, for once. That was saying something. He hadn't felt very comfortable in his own body since that day in the village. At least the name 'Nightmare' wasn't gendered. He didn't want to change it.

He kept his hair long at first, only binding when he went out. He was proud of himself for even going this far in his presentation.

The first time it happened, the person was drunk and handsy, and Nightmare had frozen up, his skin crawling and no longer feeling like his own.

He cut his hair after that.

But it kept happening, more people, different places.

He didn't keep count.

----

How his skin prickled. Dream had caught him, but there were alarms going off, and for once it wasn't his fault. When all the guards left, he fled the cell, and ran right into a face he only just barely recognized.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from JR!" He snapped, grabbing them by the hand and dragging them with him.

He'd met Cross that day. Cross didn't ask him questions. Cross was useful.

Most importantly, Cross was a friend, and when Nightmare came out to him, he understood.

Most of it.

Error was the same way.

----

"Yo, Night, your binder's clean."

"Thank fucking god, you're a lifesaver Error, my lifeblood," Nightmare declared, his voice still light and floaty, and in his opinion, undermining his very important announcement.

Error muttered obscenely under his breath, tossing the fabric at him haphazardly from where he sat buried on the couch in blankets. Cross sat on the floor in front of him, mashing the buttons on his controller and hardly paying attention. Error sat down next to him, and Nightmare took the opportunity to shuck his top off and slip the binder over his head.

"You really shouldn't wear it at home," Error muttered, not looking at him while he pulled his top back on.

"Where the fuck else am I gonna wear it? Running for my life? Can barely breathe correctly after that, y'know," Nightmare snarked back, reaching out to gently flick the back of Error's head. His friend gave a little start, before turning his head back to face him.

"Well," Error started, unsure of himself now. He crossed his arms, huffing. "Still."

Nightmare snorted, burrowing back underneath the blankets. Life was good.

----

"You are going to come quietly, and you will not make a fuss."

Dream looked strangely cruel in that moment, and Nightmare hated it, his aura flaring lowly. The guards behind him held his wrists behind his back, and the guards beside him gripped his forearms tightly. He'd given up on struggling, figuring that it'd just be easier go and break out later. Error and Cross had gotten away, after all. They'd come back for him.

Dream turned away from him, calling back to the guards.

"Make sure she's properly restrained."

Nightmare felt as though he'd been dunked in ice cold water. He hadn't been called 'she' for a long time. It sunk down his chest like a stone, growing heavier and heavier, and he was suddenly very aware of his binder around his chest.

Ink, by Dream's side, watched him. Not that he noticed.

----

"I'm not sure why you thought changing your appearance so drastically would keep me from finding you."

Nightmare huffed, glaring at Dream from behind the bars on the door. He sat on the bed provided, his knees pulled up to his chest. He'd never hated his body so much before.

"I'm not sure why how I choose to appear is any of your freaking business, Your Highness," he snarked, and Dream's stoic expression twitched momentarily into irritation.

"It hardly matters much now, Nightmare. You've always been this way," Dream sighed, turning away from the cell.

Nightmare put his head down, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

"Guard her cell."

Dream's footsteps faded, and he was left alone with his thoughts, hoping Error and Cross would come soon.

They did.

They always did.

----

"You're trans, right?"

Nightmare stopped in his tracks. He knew it was dangerous to keep his back turned to Justice Reigns's top mercenary, but he was too shocked to do anything but freeze up.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he whacked it off, turning to look up into Ink's eyes.

"Why do you want to know?" He snapped, his voice that light and reedy tone he hated. Feminine. Not what he was.

"Figured it was worth asking." Ink shrugged, sliding his paint brush into the holder across his back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and Nightmare took a step back, tensing up. He didn't like how relaxed Ink was, half expecting an ambush from Justice Reigns guards.

"... Yes, I am. What's it to you?" He snapped, and he cringed silently, hating how high his voice was.

"Same hat. What pronouns?"

Nightmare stopped, blinking stupidly. "He, him. Why."

Ink shrugged again, a ghost of a smile twitching against his mouth. "You on hormones?"

"Uh, no? Nowhere to get them. Nowhere safe, at least." He gripped his staff tighter, knuckles turning white.

"I can fix that."

"You're not safe."

"You think Justice Reigns isn't safe?" Ink paused. "Don't answer that. My point is, I can get you hormones. I already get my own testosterone, nobody'll suspect if I'm the one to smuggle you some."

Nightmare breathed out slowly, hating the feeling of hope bubbling in his chest.

"I literally meant you, shitwit. Why would you help me anyways?"

"Not being able to pass isn't fun. It's free at Justice Reigns, you know. Binders, hormones, surgeries. All that shit. Not very 'just' to exclude you."

It didn't make sense to him, why Ink wanted to help. Maybe somewhere in there, Ink had made some alternate connection that Nightmare couldn't understand, because Ink had actually shown up the next week, handed him the case he said he would, and left. No ambush, no Justice Reigns guards, no Dream.

Life was great.

----

Life was, decidedly, not so great.

Dream stared down at him, eyes wide.

Calloused hands cupped his face, and Nightmare couldn't breathe, couldn't move as Dream's eyes flickered over his features, confused and uncertain. It was almost unbearable, seeing Dream without the spark of recognition in his eyes for him.

Nightmare coughed, and the sound came out deeper than it ever had before. His voice had changed, finally, thanks to the testosterone shots Ink was supplying him with. He didn't actually care who they were from, as long as he had them in the first place. Ink had been trustworthy in one regard.

"... Nightmare?" Dream started, and Nightmare took a step back, away from Dream's hands, reaching up to rub nervously at the stubble that had started to grow. Dream's gaze hardened.

"Nightmare-"

He fled.

Dream didn't chase him.

----

"Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"He."

"Why wouldn't he tell me?"

Ink shrugged, flopping on one of the couches in Dream's office and pulling out his phone.

"I mean, not like he could just waltz up to you and say 'hey Dream, guess what I'm trans', you know?"

Dream let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And just how long have you been meeting up with her- him, to supply her- him, with these hormones?"

Ink snorted, looking vaguely amused at Dream's furious attempts to correct himself.

"A while now. I mean, dude's on the run, where else is he gonna get hormones he knows are safe?"

Dream sighed and dropped his head in his hands, slumping in his chair.

"I need to go through all his paperwork," he muttered, sounding vaguely horrified. Ink snickered, looking up from his phone.

"See? You're getting it."

----

"Stop him!"

Nightmare skidded around the corner, laughing gleefully and dodging a swipe from Ink's brush. Black paint splattered the wall beside him, and he hooked his staff into the building ahead of him and vaulted on top of it.

"Do not let him and his accomplices get away, Nightmare must be detained now."

From the rooftops, he could see Dream, giving orders in a voice that easily carried over the buildings. Dream caught his eye, and he grinned. He hadn't ever felt so euphoric before.

Dream raised a brow at his smile, a smile of his own rising from sheer disbelief. It made Nightmare cackle and continue running.

Error was just below, and Cross was fighting off the guards nearby.

"Nightmare man, c'mon!" Error shouted, ripping open a portal. Cackling still, Nightmare tumbled down from the roof, kicking against the wall and rolling to the ground. He knocked the last two guards over the heads and rushed for the portal.

"Nightmare, stop!"

"Shit," Cross swore, raising his knife and backing up slowly. Nightmare turned, and Dream stood there in the mouth of the alley.

"You can all come quietly, or we can take you back by force."

Nightmare snorted, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Sorry, got plans and my boyfriends said I can't. Maybe you can take me out another time, though. Dinner and a movie?"

Error snorted and Cross burst out laughing, and Dream, to their surprise, huffed and sheathed his sword.

"Insufferable. Very well then," Dream spoke, his face carefully blank. "Though I am choosing the movie."

Nightmare sputtered, and Cross immediately hooked his arms underneath Nightmare's, proceeding to haul him back through the portal.

Dream let them go.

#ds

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hrina · 6 years

Text

Four Hours

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: S for smut WORD COUNT: 2.2k REQUESTED: nope

i literally feel like i need to bathe in holy water after writing this. it’s just porn w/o plot lol, and i am SWEATING bc i was in a mood 🙈 if u like this one shot, please leave me some feedback here ! and if u wanna see the rest of my harry writing, here’s my masterlist :-) enjoy!!!

~*~

The sound of the lock clicking open might as well be a starter gunshot.

Your head snaps to the side, and you watch with wide eyes as the door creaks open. Harry takes his time, sliding his key card into the pocket of his dress pants as he steps into the hotel room. You squirm uncomfortably, hyperaware of the fact that he’s not even trying to be discreet. Anyone could walk by, and with a quick glance inside, they would see you naked with your wrists bound to the headboard of the bed.

Thankfully, he’d been merciful when he’d tied you up, opting for the silk binds instead of a harsher material. He’d also left your legs free, which had allowed you to somewhat sate the heat in your stomach as you clenched your thighs together. There’s only a faint light coming from a lamp on the bedside table. The duvet is soft beneath your body, and Harry had left a record playing faintly in the corner of the room, deep basslines and sensual beats wafting quietly through the air.

“Hey, love,” Harry finally speaks up, his voice low and hoarse. “Didn’t see you there.”

You bite your lip to keep from whining. He’s baiting you, and though you want to counter with a snappy remark, you know it’s not wise. If you protest, he won’t give you what you want.

You watch attentively as he pulls his suit jacket from his shoulders, kicking the door shut with the heel of his foot. He’s left in only a white tank top, the words Treat People with Kindness stitched in black over his ribs. Your breath hitches in your throat when he turns around to lay his jacket over the back of a plush armchair—you get a wonderfully full view of the way his pinstriped trousers cling to the curve of his bum.

“Been good for me?” Harry questions, though it’s clear he’s not expecting an answer. He faces you, slowly making his way over to the bed. You suddenly feel much more vulnerable, especially when he removes his loafers and hikes one knee up onto the mattress.

“Didn’t struggle too much, right?” he asks, reaching out and trailing his nimble fingers against where the silk is tied tightly around your wrists. “Y’know if you move around a lot, your skin gets irritated.”

“I know,” you whisper, and then you purse your lips tightly. The words had just slipped out.

Harry doesn’t seem bothered, though. He merely hums, reaching for the button on his pants and flicking it open. You watch eagerly as he wrestles his trousers down his thick thighs, leaving him in only a pair of black boxers. The material had ridden up slightly (you understand why), and he straightens himself out before focussing his attention back on you.

“’S too bad you missed the show,” he rasps, his hungry eyes trailing down your body. His gaze lingers on your erect nipples for a few seconds before sweeping down to where your thighs are pressed firmly together. “But you understand, right? Understand why I had to punish you?”

“Yes.” The affirmation is breathless.

Harry nods. “Tell me,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I wanna make sure you know.”

“I touched myself,” you whisper. Your voice is scratchy from having kept silent for the past four hours. “Without your permission,” you add, just for good measure.

Harry hums again, and your shoulders relax a bit. He seems to be satisfied with your answer, and with your behaviour in general. He’s had time to cool off, after all. Plus, the successful execution of a concert always delights him.

“You’re pretty,” Harry mumbles. He climbs up onto the bed, swinging one leg over your stomach so that he can straddle your torso. You swallow heavily, toes curling with anticipation. Harry brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, and you almost want to cry in relief—one particular strand had been tickling your nose for at least an hour, and you hadn’t been able to shake it away.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Harry looks down at you expectantly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you correct yourself, and he smirks.

“Being so polite,” he notes, his voice lilted with mockery. “Know what you’re doing, pet. Hoping I’ll go easy on you, hmm?”

“I’ve been good.” The words are garbled as they fall from your mouth. “I promise, I’ve been good.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Harry sighs, running his thumb along the bruised flesh of your bottom lip. You’d taken the skin between your teeth probably dozens of times, chewing down until it was swollen and plump. Harry can tell how much the situation has affected you. Your arms are tense, your nostrils are flaring, and an anxious anticipation brews in your irises.

You’re usually very good for him. Patient and cooperative, and you’re always eager to drop to your knees wherever he sees fit. When you do misbehave, he understands that you’ve usually got a reason for it. And he’ll admit that he has been quite busy these past few days. It makes sense as to why you would feel neglected.

“Love you so much, y’know that?” Harry flashes you a small, sincere smile, momentarily breaking character. You return the gesture, your fingers twitching with excitement. He’s gone soft (figuratively), which means that you’re making progress.

“Love you too,” you shoot back breathlessly, “So much.”

Harry chuckles, tilting your chin up with his index finger so that he can stare you squarely in the face.

“Think you deserve to be fucked,” he says, trying not to smirk when your back arches subconsciously at his words, “Been very patient, haven’t you? Waiting here for me and keeping yourself in check.”

“Yes, yes,” you nod frantically, trying to keep in your enthusiastic whimpers. Harry shuffles down your body, his large palms dipping in between your thighs so that he can spread your legs. He groans when he sees your cunt, your folds shiny and soaked—all for him.

“Made a mess,” he tuts, but he can’t hide his smug grin, “Thinking about me got you this wet?”

You moan in affirmation, a shocked gasp flying from your lips when he runs a single finger along your slit. Your thighs twitch reflexively, but Harry places one hand on your hips, shooting you a stern glare. “Keep ’em open,” he orders, “C’mon, pet. Been doing so well.”

“Sorry,” you say, swallowing down the itchy lump in your throat. You gnaw harshly on your bottom lip when Harry slides his index finger into your cunt, stopping only once the band of his ring catches at your entrance. A breathy curse escapes his mouth when he feels your walls clench down around the digit.

“Nice and tight,” he muses, “Just how I like it.”

And then he’s withdrawing his finger from your heat, wiping his hand against the bedsheets and straightening up onto his knees. You bite back a whine, feeling your walls flutter around nothing. He’s cruel, he’s so fucking cruel, but he’s…

He’s yanking his boxers down his legs, just enough to bare himself to you. Your lips part in awe when his cock bobs out, hard and firm and enticing. The tip is blushed a faint shade of purple, and there’s already precum leaking from his slit. It looks nearly agonizing, and you want nothing more than to ease his pain.

“C’mere,” Harry mumbles, and you lift your hips eagerly. He glides his prick against your folds, snickering when you whine. You’re about to start begging, but then he finally takes pity on you, placing his tip at your entrance and sinking in inch by inch.

And it’s a lot.

You’re not sure why you’re this desperate for it, why your eyes roll up into your head when he finally bottoms out, why you try to wrap your legs around his waist to bring him in closer. Harry merely grunts and shakes his head, grabbing your thighs and pressing them down so that they’re snug against your abdomen. He’s got you practically folded in half, your knees to your chest and your arms still bound by the silk tie.

“Fuckin’ t-tight,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. You can’t say anything, unable to put a coherent sentence together. Your mind is hazy, taken over completely by the satisfaction of having been completely and utterly stuffed.

“How is it, pet?” Harry asks, his words strained, “Tell me how it feels.”

“Full,” you breathe out—you can’t muster up a pitch any louder, “I’m s-so full, Daddy.”

“Fuckin’ shit,” Harry’s chin drops to his chest, and his cock twitches inside of you. He looks up at you with stern eyes, but there’s also a hint of sorrow melded into the stare. “Not gonna last long, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—,” you whimper when he pulls back, “Don’t be, please, just—God!”

The last word escapes as a squeak, because that’s when Harry decides to drive back into you. He gives you no warning, instead choosing to pick up a brutal pace. It’s one that has your bodies slanting up the mattress, his hips slapping crudely against yours as his fingertips kiss welts into the underside of your thighs.

“’S mine,” Harry grits out, sucking his lips past his teeth, “It’s my fuckin’ cunt, isn’t it? Belongs to me.”

“Yes!” you sob, tears pooling in your eyes as his thrusts grow—impossibly—more vicious. “Yours, Daddy, it’s yours! Please, please, please—!”

“That’s right,” Harry grunts, his muscles aching with the amount of force that he packs behind each drive into your body, “I’m the only one who gets to have you like this. Only one who gets to see how fucking slutty you are.”

“Harry, please,” you weep. The tears are now streaming freely down your face, tracing tracks along your cheeks and your temples. You can’t feel your arms, and your fingers are lost to you as well, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Harry’s plowing into you so deep, so fast, so fucking good.

“Cum.” His order reaches your ears, though it sounds like you’re underwater. His voice is muffled and thick, and you’re so lost in your own head you don’t even know if you’ve heard him right.

“Cum,” he repeats, the command barely audible over the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. “Been so bloody good for me, pet, so you can cum.”

Moments later, you’re falling apart beneath him. He’s able to hold out for only a few more seconds, but the way your cunt pulses around his cock is enough to finally do him in. His back stiffens, and his mouth pops open cutely, a long, guttural groan soaring from his lips. The low, scratchy noise makes you tremble, and your eyes fly open when you feel him cram his load deep inside of you. He doubles over with the force of his orgasm, catching himself at the last moment so that he doesn’t crush you.

It’s silent after that, save for the heavy breaths that rock the both of you. You gulp forcefully, your thighs burning from having been held up so long. Harry slowly withdraws from your heat, his eyes trained intently on where the first stream of his cum trickles out of your hole, dripping down onto the duvet and staining the fabric.

“Shit,” he rasps, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “That’s so fuckin’ hot.”

You giggle quietly, still trying to catch your breath. Harry smiles at you, clambering up your body. His tank top is soaked with sweat, the faint sheen making his skin glisten in the gentle light provided by the lamp. Harry sighs, his gaze falling subconsciously to your mouth, and something clicks in his brain.

“Haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, almost like he’s berating himself.

You tilt your head up eagerly, and with a low chuckle, he seals his lips to yours. A soft sigh echoes in the back of your throat, but you have to break apart sooner than you’d like, seeing as you’re still finding it difficult to breathe.

“Lemme—,” Harry breaks off, reaching for the silk binding your wrists together. After a few long seconds, the tie is falling onto the pillows in a crumpled heap. You flex your fingers and twist your hands, hoping that the movements will bring some sensation back to your arms. You hum when you feel a faint tingling beginning at your elbows, and Harry lifts his eyebrows.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before clearing his throat. “Gotta get up. Need to shower, unless you want my cum dripping out of you for the next twelve hours.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?” you tease, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Harry chuckles and shakes his head, his green eyes alight with a vulgar kind of mischief.

“Came a lot, love. You really don’t know what you do to me.”

~*~

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#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry writing #I FEEL FILTHY WOW

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mic-and-cheese · 5 years

Note

Please info dump about your husband...I wish to know more about him!

AAAAA OK I DIDN’T THINK I’D GET THIS FAR

Idk where to start so I’m just gonna ramble?? I guess??? Puttin it under a readmore bc it’s long as FUCK

I think one of the most interesting things about Buddy is his backstory? Like he used to love supers but now hates them because his idol rejected him? I’ve seen a lot of different interpretations of his past, and I apologize for starting off on this note but Buddy comes off to me as someone who was neglected as a child, so he has trouble with empathy, other social skills, and doesn’t really have a way to healthily deal with stress, which lead him to go down the path he did. I think he was born in a small southern town, but moved to Metroville and became enamored with superheroes because he’s now living somewhere where he can see and meet them personally. He views Mr. Incredible as a father figure because of a lack of a father or other male role model in his life and he probably feels like maybe his life would be better or that he’d be more loved if he had powers, and he’s been constantly told and lead to believe that he can’t be a hero without powers, so telling him that is a sore spot for him.He started messing with machines and learning how to fix them because his family didn’t have enough money to fix or replace things around the house when they broke and he found that he really had a passion for building and creating. Of course, he’s a really smart kid, he loves to read and loves math and science and did well in school, but some adults kinda thought he was a nightmare to be around cuz he’s a lil bit bratty and tries to get attention, but he got along well with teachers and other adults who recognized that he was talented and gave him the attention he needed. Buddy is really used to having to cause a lot of trouble to get what he wants or to be listened to, which is a trait he still kept into adulthood. His first real invention that wasn’t just him tinkering around with whatever he could find was his rocket boots, and he made them with spare parts he found or bought. He’s met Mr. Incredible a few times before, but he was hoping that being able to show off his talent would impress him enough to let him be his sidekick.Ever since he was young he’s always been an entrepreneur, making money by fixing stuff for neighbors and taking other odd jobs.Even after he was rejected he still loves superheroes, or at least the idea of them, even though he doesn’t really like them as people anymore but I’ll get to that later.The interesting thing about him really is just how much I can estimate about him just from what little info we know about him in canon, and how many ways there are to interpret him. I’ve seen him be interpreted as a kid who was spoiled and didn’t know how to deal with rejection, and while I can’t say I like that interpretation, but it is possible. Even though his backstory is interesting, his personality is just…??? Lovely??? I mean it’s really not but I think it is. He’s just??? so geeky and adorable and I love seeing him get so excited over superheroes even though he has a love-hate relationship with them, and he’s just fearless and probably a bit of a dare devil? He really seems like the sort of person who would try anything at least once and doesn’t get embarrassed easily. I mean it’s just so amazing how he’s an evil mastermind but like, he’s still Buddy ya know? Like he still has his excitable, nerdy, funny personality, but he can also be downright terrifying? It’s interesting from a character writing standpoint of course but like, just? On a personal level??? I mean his personality alone flusters me because everything about him (save for uh, the murder) is something I find obviously given the subject of the blog, really attractive. Like he’s not afraid to be himself or play around and he embraces self-insert esqe enjoyment so like??? How cool is it to have an f/o who may also have f/os or at least be supportive of self inserting!!Of course even though theres a lot about his personality that’s cute, there are a lot of things that aren’t, so he’s not really the best with empathy, and he can be pretty cruel, petty, selfish, and he has difficulty opening up to people but I do think that he’s open to learning and changing with someone he trusts, and can be really sweet when he wants to, even if it is a little awkward.One thing I really love about him is how you can tell that he’s got a life and interests outside of Kronos. Like yeah he’s really focused on his plan obviously, but his personality is just so strong in the things around him and the things he does and says that make him feel so much more dimensional. For example, a lot of his tech is integrated with or inspired by nature, so I really think he likes biomimicry, probably because he’s learning how to one up nature, aka basically what his entire motivation is. I love that he’s obviously just got cute little tics like how his eye twitches in the lego games or how much he likes to gesture and hum and whistle. (also his humming is so cute oh my god)And I’m just constantly in awe of how smart and resourceful he is. I mean my love of tropical islands aside, Nomanisan is just… impressive. Like its so ingenious to build his base literally into the island in a way that makes use of its natural features, such as the underwater landing pad, secret exits, underground passageways, and of course the lava wall, and I just can’t help but wonder how he came up with all of that and how long and how much money it took? And thats just taking about the things on the island that are canon. I mean, from my own speculations I figure that the island not only has that amazing lava wall, but is built to redirect the flow of lava to prevent any volcanic activity on the island, keep lava and ash away from expensive tech (the rocket and mantajet for example) and provide power to the island via geothermal energy. Maybe even a little use of wave energy too if necessary since it’s a pretty good option for a place surrounded by water. I assume Buddy chose the island for its resources, (namely a metal alloy that one of the books mentioned) considering he’s made it pretty self sustaining with what it already has after implementing all his tech. The location, being far from any other place, really, and outside of any governmental jurisdiction is good too, so when you really think about it, he probably could have gotten away with a lot of the things that he did, which is, uh, pretty impressive to say the least, not to mention the real world location of Nomanisan (Easter Island) doesn’t face the sorts of hurricanes and harsh weather you’d expect for a small island in the middle of no where.And I mean??? He’s a genius inventor villain who is still extremely in tune with nature to the point that it inspires some of his inventions??? How cool and unique is that??? I’m sure the island must be an amazing place to be, I mean the beaches and caves, rivers, waterfalls… it must be such a joy to explore. And I dunno, I’ve always imagined that working for Syndrome could be kinda fun sometimes. I mean, he is a pretty funny guy with a good sense or humor, and surely guarding and what not all day must get boring, so I’m sure he’s not opposed to having some fun every now and then.And he’s certainly not ashamed of what he considers fun either! I have a feeling he’d like scale models and collectibles and would go to the ends of the earth for a rare one that he particularly likes, especially if they’re ones he gets to build himself. I’m sure he’s a huge fandom geek as well, like name any 50’s-60’s sci fi movie and he knows it by heart. And with all his animal inspired inventions, I’m sure he loves going out in nature and watching the unique wildlife of Nomanisan. Given Easter Island’s own wildlife, I’m sure sharks and whales, and even some really interesting lizards would be pretty common around there. (And given how much forest it has in comparison to Easter Island, I’m sure there’s A LOT more than that. Maybe even rare species only native to the island.) I also really see Buddy as the sort of guy who just loves new and exciting experiences, no matter what it is. Like if it’s something he’s never done before, he’s on board!With all that in mind it’s just so wonderful just how much of a well rounded character he is. I mean he’s happy, nerdy, childish, and excitable, but he’s also bitter, revenge driven, and unempathetic. That being said, his relationships with other people all have such an interesting dynamic to them. He adores Bob for his ingenuity while still hating him enough to try to kill him and his family, and he cares for Mirage but doesn’t really know how to show it. Like I said earlier, I think he was neglected as a kid, so he never really learned how to properly regulate his emotions, so a lot of the time he’s pretty conflicted. He’s an extrovert who wants to be loved and adored, yet he’s too scared to trust after being betrayed. He has a hard time relating to people and thus doesn’t understand how his actions can hurt them when he means well, for example, betting Mirage’s life or saving people from his own robot without proper regard to his surroundings that a truly well meaning hero would have (aka, throwing a tanker truck just to make a spectacle out of saving a mother and child with no regard to what damage the truck could have done).Of course, while his scenes with Mirage can be interpreted as him not really caring for her, I think it’s the opposite. I think he knew that betting her life was the only way he could have saved her (he couldn’t have pulled her away from Bob, shocking Bob could have shocked her, and if he had shown any weakness for her, Bob could have used that as leverage against him, whereas if he shows no remorse, if Bob had killed her he’d just have a dead lady on his hands for pretty much no reason). Granted as well meaning as he was, I don’t think he understands how that hurt Mirage. He sees that he saved her, and doesn’t expect her to be mad about it, but the reality is that she honestly does have a right to be mad about her life being risked, especially when he never clearly communicated that his intent was to save her.Somehow I’ve gone this far without even talking about why I like him??? I mean I don’t even think I’ve ever fully explained why I like him. I’ve tried, sure, but I don’t even think it’s something I can actually convey in words? But I’ll try??? Anyway, he’s literally everything to me, and I don’t just mean that in a sappy romantic way. I’ve always been fascinated with him since I was 6 years old and saw the movie for the first time. He reminds me of happy memories with my dad who passed away some years ago because I saw the movie with him and I remember how much it confused little 6 year old me. Like the fact that the movie started with interviews was the wildest thing to me, and I don’t even think I could even comprehend the plot until much later on. But during that first experience, I don’t know what it was but something about him always stuck with me. Funnily enough one of the things that stuck with me was his joke from Jack Jack Attack and that was the first joke that I knew I didn’t understand but knew I would someday and I literally made a mental note back then telling myself that I knew I’d understand it, and well, thanks for remembering that 6 year old me, because I get the joke now and it’s still funny to me. (I also never actually realized that the guy silhouetted in front of the lava was supposed to be Syndrome until like last summer and I always just thought that was something that was never explained haha.) Anyway after seeing the movie with my dad, he asked me who my favorite character was. I said Violet since I thought saying otherwise would have been weird at the time, but in reality it’s always been Syndrome and that’s just an important memory to me.And now he’s that memory and so many other things to me. He’s what finally helped me recover from a rough couple of years by showing me that people could still create wonderful and impressive things despite being cast away by someone that they once adored and that my success wasn’t based on their approval, which finally helped me shut them out of my life and become so much happier. He helps me manage my anxiety because all the things that make me scared would be nothing to the guy who still wore a cape and rocket boots even after they nearly got him killed. And of course, I love him because he’s nerdy, excitable, brave, and smart, and even because I feel like I can understand his lack of empathy. He’s just such a well rounded, multifaceted character that it’s almost hard to believe he’s fictional haha. With all that combined, he’s one of my my special interests too! I mean it’s hard not to want to know everything about such an interesting guy right?But even if you can’t see the appeal in his personality, it’s no question that he’s just amazing in terms of his accomplishments alone. I mean he can’t be any older than like, 28 max (I consider him 25 though, since the closest we ever get to a canon age is mid 20’s) and yet he’s a billionaire with his own private island, at least one successful company, and groundbreaking tech that makes today’s tech look simple, but he did all in the EARLY SIXTIES.The mantajet in particular is just awe inspiring to me, mostly because I love planes, but I mean, most planes take 15 years just to be conceptualized. Buddy created a completely automated, uniquely shaped, supersonic, semi-aquatic jet with the ability to hover in under that time. It’s like if the SR-71 Blackbird were a luxury all-terrain vehicle! And I am just so endlessly impressed that it can go underwater, like I’m sure its entire design was based around that ability, since the engines would have to be strong enough to withstand literal tons of water going through them, which is why I suspect they’re placed in those cavities above the wings, to direct air and water to go through them in the right way while also keeping them intact in the impact! (they may be waterproof but they are unfortunately not (or maybe fortunately, depending on how you look at it) uh,,,, Syndrome proof) And the “manta feelers” probably help the plane hover and also serve as the landing gear??? UGH IT’S GENIUS, SUCH RESOURCEFUL GENIUS.Of course I’ve gotta talk about the design of his aero boots too!! He’s come such a long way since the rocket boots!!! I’m so proud of him!!! The new boots are just as genius as the mantajet, really. They have vents in the sole, probably to either keep them from overheating or to draw in oxygen to use for combustion. I love how the metal strip is implemented into the heel and up the back of the boots, that’s probably where the fuel and engines are housed, and man, I can’t imagine how much power they’d both have to generate, those tiny little engines. I’m sure they run on some pretty efficient stuff. And how the soles of the boots look like they can come off of the main boot itself, I’m sure that makes for easy maintenance! I also love how the animators added the detail of the screw in the arch of the boot so that it articulates properly, rather than just saying “yeah whatever he can walk fine somehow with these half-metal boots.”And then there’s Zero Point Energy??? I mean, ZPE is actually based off a real scientific concept that would essentially harness infinite energy. I think about this on the daily and I still can’t comprehend it. He harnessed infinite energy. In the 60’s. And made a device small and powerful enough to literally generate it in the palm of his hand. Since all of that energy is generated in his gauntlets, it’d have to pass through his hands to reach his fingertips, so not only can he generate it, but he created a suit that can conduct infinite energy around him so that it doesn’t hurt him. Like no wonder he’s so protective of ZPE. (On that note, this is exactly why I think he designed his suit and not Edna or Galbaki. He’d never trust anyone else to design a suit with his most valuable tech built into it)Not to mention, how interesting is it that a ruthless serial killer villain like him chooses a technology that doesn’t harm his target and instead just freezes them in place!Also also can I talk about just how amazing the other features of the gauntlets are? I mean they hold a small bomb that can produce a big enough blast to in theory kill the nearly invincible Mr. Incredible. He’s got a laser powerful enough to make a clean hole through the roof of a house, and those gauntlets can take a hell of a beating too, considering it was thrown all over the city during the final Omnidroid fight with minimal damage. Oh also the little sliding cover over the buttons is cute.Ok ok, next there’s the energy prisons. I assume they work on ZPE since they’re able to suspend victims in mid-air? I literally shouldn’t be so excited about this thing but I can’t even get over how ingeniously HORRIBLE they are. I mean I don’t want to get into any details, cuz if I do I’ll go into scarily gruesome territory but those things are terrifying. They work with almost any sort of super he could possibly be keeping prisoner with such a pretty simple idea really, just by suspending them against their own weight. The only fault in them really is that Violet can get through them, but he may not have necessarily known that beforehand since I doubt he had any force fields to test them on (or at least any “organic” ones).Implementing the monorail system is such a perfect idea too!! It makes it easy to get around, keeps guards from getting lost, works on all terrain, and keeps supers from seeing things they don’t need to see, so long as they stay on the tracks they’re supposed to be on.And speaking of hiding, while not technically tech related, I don’t know if he knows about the KRONOS carved in the cave, but I bet you he does know about that cave and all the other hard to reach areas of the island, since there’s an I2 deleted scene that shows he knows how Gazerbeam died, and the guards know to split up to catch Dash in one of the caves. Also related to Kronos, I like to make fun of his computer room for it’s impractical at best, dangerous at worse design, but listen. The security system. It’s brilliant. He’d have to engineer some sort of substance that stays compact and non-sticky while not in use, but that can quickly expand and maintain its strength to capture intruders. And the victim would still have to be able to breathe through them too?? And like how do they come off?? I’m sure that’s an interesting process too. The “fire randomly” approach is also interesting, since it pretty much leaves no escape. And what about under the walkway??? Like what’s way down there??? I don’t even have a theory for that, really. And and and how does the security system for that room work? Does it recognize unfamiliar noises perhaps, since it was triggered by Bob’s suit tracker, cuz if it were triggered by just random noise, I’m sure Syndrome or Mirage would have accidentally triggered it before. Oh, also also also x3 the computer screen automatically shuts off once the security system is activated, which is a nice touch, so that the enemy can’t get any more info as soon as the system is notified. Having only one way in and out of the room is clever too.I JUST WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT NOMANISAN’S SECURITY PROTOCAL OKI wish we had seen more of the technology that he used for Mirage’s message too. Like, he obviously uses the voice matching and scanning technology on the island (the security bird and life probe) but what about that illusion effect on the tablet?Also I mean, I’m sure being an arms dealer during the Cold War in itself has got to be extremely lucrative, but that doesn’t even account for how high tech his other weapons that weren’t mentioned must be.Ok, ok I think that covers all of his other inventions. I haven’t talked about the Omnidroid yet because hooo boy do I have some things to say about that beautifully terrifying piece of tech. I love that he used an iterative process on it to build upon its design (also the idea that he respects the strength his self-proclaimed nemesis enough to build up the robot to prepare to fight him), and I’ve actually gone back and tried to figure out the reason behind the changes he made in each iteration. And listen. How long do you think it took him to build and test all those robots? A few years maybe? Nah son, using the movie’s timeline, I’ve calculated that if he were working at a consistent pace throughout the project, it’d take FOUR MONTHS. 10 highly advanced ai robots. Fully drafted, programmed, built, and tested in 4 months. Oh and did I mention HE CREATED AI. LIKE ACTUAL AI.And his control over the Omnidroid (at least Omnidroid 9 anyway) is brilliant too. He’s got perfect control over it, and the reason I bring that up is because Omnidroid 10 tried to kill him. I’ve spent a long time wondering why he had perfect control over 9 but 10 disobeyed him, and my conclusion is that he implemented some new code in 10 that would make it act more destructively, thus making it more difficult to control but he never actually expected it not to listen to him because he didn’t actually test it on the island since, uh, having a 10 story tall rampaging robot on the loose near your base isn’t a good idea. I also headcanon that 10 was built to self destruct when defeated so that no one could trace its origins back to Syndrome had he won and been considered a hero.With that long ass section out of the way I’d finally like to bring up that if Syndrome did indeed create all of these inventions, that’d made him a computer programmer, aerospace engineer, possibly a civil engineer, a chemist, the inventor of harnessing infinite energy and ai, and thats only what I can think of off the top of my head.Another one of my favorite things about Buddy is that I love how easy it is to imagine him as a way more fleshed out character than he really is. On multiple occasions I’ve heard other people say that he seems like someone who would love conventions, or probably be an internet troll, and other things of that nature that relate more to his interests and personal life. I mean sure, anyone can headcanon anything for any character, but the way people headcanon Buddy just feels very… natural? Very fitting? Like, he’s a character that’s very easy to imagine having a life and hobbies outside of his evil schemes.Another little interesting thing is how he’s pretty much his own downfall. I mean sure a lot of his losses can be attributed to the Parrs defeating him in some way, but his most glaring faults are usually things that he could have prevented had he acted a little differently or planned a little differently. I dunno I just think that’s interesting for no particular reason.And one more thing I haven’t really discussed/seen discussed as much as I really think it should because it’s an interesting part of his character is does he see himself as a hero or a villain? And There are some interesting interpretations to that question as well. For example, if he views himself as a hero it’s probably because he doesn’t believe that superheroes are actually good people at heart, and that they just put up a facade of being kind and helpful to the public, which he uses to justify his atrocities. Or perhaps he legitimately does see himself as a hero for wanting to give normal people the opportunity to be super, or maybe he thinks that he’s doing a service to the world by killing off the people who are simply putting up that facade of good, or perhaps he sees himself as a victim deserving of a “redemption.” And if he sees himself as a villain, maybe he doesn’t understand or want to acknowledge the full weight of his actions, because it’s all a game to him, or maybe he does see himself as a bad person beyond redemption, so he decided that being a supervillain was fated or required of him. Regardless of which idea he believes, it’s obvious that Syndrome very much so lives (and has always lived) in his own fantasy world where things do play out exactly like how comic books do, and that his actions have no real weight to him (except when he feels like he’s been wronged, because he views himself as the protagonist or antagonist of the “story” aka making his own emotions relevant “plot points,” even if no one elses’ emotions (except maybe Bob’s) have any importance to him) because it’s all a comic book in his mind.Anyway there’s my nonsense rant

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mvrnic · 5 years

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*please be aware serious topics are talked about so tw for; miscarriage, substance abuse, relapse, mental health. please look after yourselves.

DISCLAIMER/PSA/IDK; THIS ALL TECHNICALLY HAPPENS AFTER CHRISTMAS BUT DANI IS ON A WEEK HIATUS BEFORE THE CHANCE/MIA WEDDING AND ITS THAT WEIRD PERIOD WHERE EVERYONES A LITTLE BUSY SO I PRESENT TO YOU

THE TEGAN AND DANI FUCKS SHIT UP AGAIN SHOW. okay so previously on “some fuckery we pulled” marnie and angel lost their second child in a miscarriage, first trimester so it was pretty early but a horrible experience for them both. obviously. in the events of this marnie stopped taking her BPD medication and went down into a really bad mental health period and angel has relapsed into his alcoholism and substance abuse. (please be aware the breakup is intense but they will get back together bc mum and dad) so after angel gets into some car crash and totals his car marnie has to come and pick him up from the police station, the following is a recount of their breakup that we wrote last night bc we’re headasses.

guilty. that was definitely a good way to sum up how he was feeling right now, nervously pacing around the holding cell of the station, absentmindedly fumbling with the rings on his fingers. drunk was another way to describe him too, but he was doing his best to mask that fact. it wasn’t too hard to tell though. his eyes were bloodshot and he already looked like a broken shell of himself. he let out a sigh of... relief? but also panic? as marnie walked in. he avoided eye contact until it seemed nearly impossible, a tired, half-assed smile upturning the corners of his lips. “hey.” he didn’t really feel like explaining himself, but he knew he wasn’t going to have much of a choice. not when it came to marnie. marnie didn't let shit slide, that's why she was good for angel, she called him out but she stayed by his side to help work on things. she wanted him to grow, she knew life was hard and healing wasn't easy --he did the same to her. they helped each other. it was a last minute rush to mia and chances house asking to mind xander just for an hour or two, she knew she could count on them for these last minute things especially at such a stupid hour but there wasn't a chance in hell she was bringing xander to the fucking police station this late at night to see his father in a state. she walked in with exhausted looking eyes, licking over her lips as she looked at him looking like a caged puppy who had done something wrong. "hi," she responded in a near whisper looking to the cop as they unlocked the cell. there was something sickening about seeing him behind bars, "...okay...well...lets get you home i guess." angel hates being this person. especially in front of her. he couldn’t even imagine being anything like this in front of xander. in fact, the thought made him sick to his stomach. he’d done such a good job at separating his current self from the person he used to be in the past, but now, having to be led out of a jail cell, it felt an awful lot like stagnancy. he’d never really changed, had he? his head hangs low as he exits the cell, and he keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, not making a move to grab her hand or her waist. he didn’t want to touch her— to hurt her. because that’s all he ever did to people. it was almost laughable at this point. he’d been doing so well, and he’d went and fucked it all up in the blink of an eye. “im sorry.” he muttered under his breath. he was on such a good road, he had been doing so well and she had been so proud but the second something in their personal bubble seemed a little hard he freaked out. but that was what a relationship had to deal with, there would be hardships and he couldn't do this every single time, it wasn't about him getting 'fixed' it was about him healing and they were two very different things but until angel realised he didn't need 'fixing' he needed HEALING there wasn't going to be a change. but weirdly enough the blank i'm sorry and lack of effort to physically or emotionally reach out to her was what got her. "i know." every time something went wrong, he snapped right in two, and marnie had to be there to pick up the pieces and stick him back together. he’d voiced his concern before about her being a crutch for the rest of her life, and although she insisted that that wasn’t the case, it sure felt like it was. god, he felt so stupid right now. she deserved so much more than him— so much more than he could give her. she was way more mature than him most of the time. he couldn’t fathom why she insisted on staying with him. maybe he’d just played her right... played her like every other person he’d let into his life. he’d went and sucked the soul right out of her because he didn’t have one for himself. just the thought disgusted him. he didn’t want to be a shit person— not to her— but he didn’t know how to fix this. he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, reaching to hold open the door for her, and gesturing for her to exit. he couldn’t even think of anything to say. he didn’t want to talk to her. he didn’t want to be around her. not like this. her eyes were glued to his hand as he opened the door, she was going to be there for him that wasn't even a question in her head, when she said yes to his proposal she has said yes to a lifetime with him. she'd said yes to the ups and the downs and weathering out the storm together. but she had just lost their baby not long before and she was going through it herself, this time she didn't have the strength or the energy. this time she needed him and he wasn't being her crutch. the silence between them was awkward, which was a bad sign because their silences were almost never awkward. over the past week the mood of their house had dropped, which she had expected considering losing a child when you wanted them on this earth more than anything was the hardest thing to go through. what she didn't expect was losing angel too. "how much have you had to drink?" she knew, it would've been stupid for angel to think marnie didn't know him like the back of her hand at this point. his features twitched in annoyance at her questioning, and he stayed silent for a moment, waiting for her to step out of the building so he could follow suit. “i don’t want to talk about it.” he finally retorted, his words a bit snappish in tone. if marnie knew him, she’d know he was bound to get hot headed right about now. it almost never failed. he just felt an overwhelming need to defend himself against... well, he didn’t really know what. he just felt the need to argue and make stabbing remarks at the first person he saw. hating on other people was better than hating himself. “—- let’s just get in the car and go back to the house, yea?” he’s growing impatient, as evidenced by the way he’s toying with the chain around his neck. he couldn’t even call it home at this point. that’s not what it felt like. all it did was make him feel anxious and small. wrong time to snap angel, that'd be the only advice anyone could give him. she was tired, she had to beg a friend to mind THEIR child while she picked up her grown ass FIANCE from the police station, after going through what may have been one of the worst moments in her life. "you don't wanna talk about it, okay," she scoffed turning on her heels. "no we're not getting in to the car, answer my fucking question, how fucking drunk are you angelos?" her brooklyn accent always got thicker when she was angry, livid might be a better word. "you're not going anywhere near xander when you're like this." he was an asshole. he knew it; now he just had to accept it. maybe it’d be better to be just that. it was his most authentic self. it was who he always jumped back into being the moment something got the slightest bit tough. that’s who he was. an asshole. a scoff escapes him as she uses his full name, his eyes involuntary rolling along with his words, “who the fuck cares?” he hisses out, “can’t stop me now. get the fuck over it.” maybe it would’ve been different had he actually reacted to his own words slipping past his lips— had their been any hesitance... but there was nothing. every last syllable escaped him easily, and his expression remained stoic. “i don’t want to be around him.” not like this, “—- fuck this. im calling a cab. whatever. see if i care!” she didn't believe it at all, she knew who angel was when he was comfortable and content what he needed to work on was his coping mechanisms. hurting people wasn't how you cope. but marnie grew up on the wrong side of town, you just didn't fuck with her and her fire was as lit now as it was when she was younger. this was dangerous. "roll your eyes at me one more time i'll slap your fucking face," she threatened before her nails started to dig into her palms, a habit angel had to know too well, he had mended the bleeding and pierced palms before. "i fucking care you absolute moron," she hissed in return . god she was angry, she didn't have the chance to even be hurt by his words because every ounce of pain she had been feeling over the last week was being lashed out on angel. this bitter, disgusting laugh coming from her lips at his words. "you don't wanna be around your son," she said slowly, but her words were full of venom. she was vicious at this point, you could see her seething. "you call a fucking cab and you don't take it to the house." angel had grown up having everything he could ever possibly want handed to him on a silver platter. that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to be cruel though. it made him an expert. you didn’t make it in high society if you couldn’t fight back. searing comments were all he’d ever known. he’d only ever received backhanded compliments from his parents. lashing out like this felt mundane. he met her gaze, holding it for a moment to make sure that she was paying attention to him before he gave another roll of his eyes. she could slap him. it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s felt today. he already had a huge bruise on his cheekbone from smacking his head against the window as his car crashed. he almost has to laugh at her demand, a cocky, shit-eating grin taking over his features as he looked down at her, taking full advantage of his tall stature to loom over her menacingly. “i’ll do whatever the fuck i want to.” he begins, “that’s my house. i bought it. and your fucking lambo? that’s my car. you...” he begins, gesturing towards her. “... you don’t get to tell me anything.” and that was the first time he’d ever alluded to being above her in any way. he’d never wanted to dehumanize her before, but he was just shooting for the lowest possible blows now. she wasn't sneaky, marnie had never been conniving or backstabbing, she was just straight up and straight forward to your face. if it came across rude, that's your problem. but marnie wasn't nice, that was just fact. but angel knew she kept her word, she wasn't empty that was one thing that was both good and bad. and almost as if on queue at his eye roll she brought her hand back and swung it right across his face. she was tiny but boy did the girl have a strong hand. he was scary, he was tall and broad but marnie had dealt with worse men. "okay take the fucking house, take the fucking car...your money and your purchases don't mean shit to me angel," she retorted. now she was starting to feel hurt, he was acting in a way he'd never done before and suddenly she hated who was in front of her. this wasn't angel, this wasn't the man she was going to marry and she refused to believe it. a low hiss of pain escaped through gritted teeth as her hand made contact with his skin. he brings his own hand up to his cheek, unable to stop himself from wincing as his fingertips met the tender spot on his face. he was still human, after all. no matter how much of a god complex he could have. he was human. and he hated it. he hated being vulnerable like that. his arm falls back down to his side, and his hands are balling into fists as he stares her down. “take your fucking kid and all your shit and get the fuck out of my house then.” almost as soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them, but he wasn’t letting that on. his glare remained icy. “ask me if i fucking care.” he pauses, shaking his head slightly. “—- i don’t.” she flinched at those words 'your fucking kid' and her gaze upon him lost any and all love in that split moment. he was her soulmate, she was still sure of it, but those words made her cold and suddenly she was the marnie she was to absolutely every man that had ever hurt. and she simply stared at him, there was literal disgust in her eyes. she dangled the keys and dropped them at his feet, "there's the keys to your fucking kid" she said harshly, "drive yourself home...maybe you'll crash again and finally feel something in that cold fucking heart of yours." that hurt. he couldn’t deny it. all he’d ever wanted was to be a good father, but he couldn’t do this when he was so susceptible to breaking like this. to his drunk mind, the logic made sense: leave marnie, leave xander, hurt her so she’d never come back... it would just be less pain in the long road. and he’d get to happily waste his life away on drugs and parties and hookups and not have to worry about hurting anyone. that would just be his brand. “fuck you.” he shot back, bending down to pick up the keys from the floor, squeezing them in his hand with an iron grip. “you’re so fucking stupid.” he growls, pointing a finger at her. “im drunk, and im still smarter than you. good fucking luck taking care of your kid.” he lets out a bitter laugh, refusing to call xander by his name or even refer to him as his son. that would hurt him too much. he’s not trying to be hurt. now she was deathly scared, she didn't know how to be a mother by herself. she didn't know how to do this when every time she looked down at xander she was looking at angel. if he thought pushing her out of his life was good for her he was fucked in the head because now she had a constant reminder of everything he tore away from her. a partner, a best friend, a father to their child....home. "i'm stupid?" she retorted, that might have been his lowest blow yet, that was something she was so desperately insecure about and really angel was one of the only ones that had ever made her feel a little more comfortable about it. but crying wasn't something she could do right now, he didn't deserve her tears. "you're the one who pushes the good things out of his life only to blame everyone else for leaving," she said stepping into him, "you're the one that isn't smart enough to stay sober," if he wanted low blows, marnie could throw low blows. "you're the one thats losing something here...i'm the best fucking thing that has happened to you," she gets closer, "i'm the best fucking thing you'll ever have....and you're dumb enough to lose me," if he knew her, which he did, the look in her eyes wasn't hatred it was pain. it was the angry pain she held when she knew she was going to cry because hated crying. "and i'm smart enough to walk away." his eyes lacked any and all emotion; his features were hard as stone. the worst part was that he couldn’t even deny it. she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. she was the best thing that ever would happen to him. he knew, looking down at her now, that he would never find anyone that could replace her. never. but he couldn’t be with her. because she was right. he wasn’t smart enough to stay sober, and he couldn’t risk being this version of himself around xander or around her anymore. “—- then go.” he states firmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to push her away from him. he still couldn’t touch her with anything less than softness, though his eyes read something completely different. “we are fucking done.” she hated how he was standing there lacking anything and yet she still couldn't hate him. she was sure she'd never be able to hate him, she could act cold, fuck, she could feel cold towards him in that moment but unlike everyone else that has come and gone she couldn't hate him. he was, would always be, her person. it might have been gentle but it was the meaning behind it. her own touch to smack his hand away harsh. "don't fucking touch me, you piece of shit," she hissed. "you don't get to ever fucking touch me." but fuck he had a hold on her. "yeah, we are, and i hope when you wake up in the morning you realise what the fuck you've done," she said backing away from him but then as it hit her she couldn't control the single tear that escaped. marnie instantly wiping it away, pulling out her phone to order an uber. oh and there he was with xander as her screen background, she closed her eyes and stood still for a moment. but she wasn't going to talk him through this time, beg him to see her side, she just ran her fingers through her hair and actually walked away down the street. @ofangelos

#( marnie x angelos. )#HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR TRIP WITH US #WE'RE SORRY WE'RE LIKE THIS

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