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cordeliawhohung · 2 months

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Of Sea Foam and Iron [2]

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Hephaestus!ghost x Aphrodite!reader x Ares!soap

what great news to arrive home to.

wc: 4.4k

warnings: historical au with lots of inaccuracies, mythology!au, blood/gore/violence, arranged marriage, nudity, fear of sex, ancient expectations of women

The churning you felt in your stomach was different from the sensation that plagued you the first time you had seen a man disemboweled.

Fear still seized your diaphragm with an iron grip, yet something else lurked underneath it. Confusion. Our wife? As far as you had been made aware, the only man you had been married to was Simon, yet it seemed he had already found a lover well before you were given to him.

What perplexed you even further was the fact that John not only seemed to understand Simon's claim, he seemed ecstatic. His minor apprehension at your existence melted away into something friendly, adoring even. He no longer looked at you questioningly, which had felt almost like an insult in your own home, and rather he greeted you with a chuffed smile. Your arms crossed over your chest as your mind couldn’t make sense of the odd feeling that ignited along your skin, but when you looked to Simon for answers, you found none.

“What great news to arrive home to,” John said in complete awe.

He took a few steps closer to you, and despite your body urging you to back away, you had been completely frozen in place. Perhaps this is why he was such a good warrior. All it took was a simple look from him and you grew as still as stone; if he had that same effect on the enemy, they would be stuck with his sword before they even saw the glint of his blade. But John seemed to have no such ill intent, and instead of a dagger, he reached an empty and kind hand out to you where he cautiously pulled your arms away from your body.

You had no choice but to follow his lead as he took your hands into his. Much like Simon’s they were rough with work and calluses that would never soften, and his touch sent a tingle along your skin as his thumbs rubbed along your knuckles. Those ocean-blue eyes hadn’t left you for even a moment, and you found your gaze equally captivated by the intimidating presence in front of you being so soft and vulnerable. It was like watching a wolf extend a hand in friendship; certainly he attempted to trick you.

“What is your name, my love?” he asked, still unable to remove the smile from his lips.

Your answer flowed from your lips before you were able to stop it, and the syllables of your name felt odd on your tongue. It had been so long since you had spoken it that it was like you had given it away the day you were married to leave it behind with the parts of you that died that day. But when John repeated it back to you, he smiled as if it was the sweetest word he had ever tasted. He gave your hands a firm squeeze before prompting you back inside of the house, leading you by his own hands.

“Come,” he urged, “we have much to discuss.”

Dazed, you had no choice but to follow him into the dining room, and Simon tagged along hot on your heels. John’s eyes had caught sight of the food still set out from lunch earlier, and you could practically hear his stomach growl. It all felt oddly domestic watching a man as powerful and intimidating as John MacTavish sit at the dining table, and even more so after Simon took a seat next to him. They looked at you expectantly, and you realized you had no choice but to take your own seat. While your husband and John filled their plates, you found that you couldn’t even stomach the thought of eating at that moment, and instead you kept your hands firmly folded in your lap.

“So. How long have we found ourselves in this arrangement?” John questioned with his mouth half full.

“About a month,” Simon replied. You were not ignorant to the way his dark eyes flickered to you upon his answer. “I would have rather waited for your return, but her father was insistent.”

John chuckled something deep and hoarse. The three of you had sat at that table to eat for only a few minutes, and nearly all the food on his plate had been consumed. Gluttony wasn’t a good look on anyone, but your attention was captured by the rigid lines of the muscles in his arms and the deep circles underneath his eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t gluttony as much as starvation. You wondered how much food Ares’s favorite dog needed to eat in order to survive, and if he had ever gotten a good meal during his recent campaign.

“It’s for the best, anyway,” John said after swallowing his food. “A ceremony as sacred as matrimony would have been wasted on a soldier like me. Not that I would be permitted to be there, anyway. Hands bloody and rotten from fighting. Would have hated to soil our wife the moment we were bound to her.”

“We?”

It was the first word you managed to muster — slightly in frustration at the fact they spoke about you as if you had not sat right next to them — yet you wished you had not spoken at all. Having the undivided attention of Simon, with his dark gaze and rugged face, along with John made your throat feel tight. Yet they persisted, keeping their eyes on you as if coaxing you to explain your confusion further. Patient. As if they stared at a skittish animal instead of a grown woman.

“Why… do you keep talking as if I’m married to both of you?” you asked cautiously.

“Because you are, in a manner of speaking,” Simon answered. “It was the deal that was made with your father.”

A cotton-like dryness enveloped your throat, making it difficult to swallow the words he spoke. The deal. He almost made it sound like the marriage had not been a proper one at all with terminology like that, and yet it still sounded correct. There had been no celebration of your matrimony, no going to a temple to make an offering to the gods, no feast in which to honor the intertwining of your lives. There had only been the lifting of your veil, and the promise to keep you safe.

Still, he had to be joking. Polygamy was illegal, and you were certain that extended even to the great John MacTavish himself. Then again, perhaps there was some work around. You had only ever been officially married to Simon, not John, and if your husband wanted to share you with another, you weren’t quite sure if you could deny that demand.

“What deal?” you questioned.

There was a slight pause that settled over the table, either in hesitation or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You quickly glanced at John, who kept himself busy with the food on his plate. Though this was certainly his first time hearing this information, he didn’t appear nearly as confused as you felt. Perhaps it was the soldier in him. Perhaps it was because none of this truly affected him either way; not as a man.

“Your father would have never married you to me if I was the only man on the end of the bargain,” he finally answered. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and in the back of your mind you could hear your late mother gripe about how improper it was. “Johnny is the real reason you’re here. He wanted someone strong, and as I’m sure you know, he’s plenty strong.”

“Oh, don’t let him fool you,” John interrupted. He leaned towards you as he spoke as if he was telling a secret to a good friend, someone he had known his whole life. Maybe that was the charisma that made people not only respect him, but genuinely like him. “You’ve seen the way he works, haven’t you? How he shapes hunks of iron to turn it into something useful. I’ve found no stronger man than him.”

“No father wants to marry their daughter to a cripple,” he retorted with a sharp bite to his words. Simon must not have used that tone frequently, because even John appeared surprised. “But he would have been stupid to turn away the opportunity of marrying her to you, even if it meant being bound to me.”

An obvious question burned the tip of your tongue, but you did your best to hold it in. It was a vile thought, something that you were certain could slice through even the toughest of skin, and you weren’t exactly keen on angering your husband and… your other — supposed — husband. But Simon’s eyes bore right through you, and he appeared as if he would rip the words from your mouth if you didn’t gather the courage to say it yourself. So you swallowed the bile as best as you could while you carefully phrased your next question.

“Then why marry me to you at all? Why not wait for John to return home?” you asked.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

It was John who answered you, and his response came so quick you almost didn’t understand him at first. He spoke with such conviction, you knew it had to be the truth. Still, your brows drew together as you glanced back and forth between the two men before you. There was a type of tension between all of you that you hadn’t felt since your wedding night with Simon, and you didn’t like the taste of it.

“Why not?” you questioned.

His next answer didn’t come as quick as his previous one, but it wasn’t for the lack of words. He drank in the silence of the table as his attention returned to Simon. The two looked at one another for what felt like an eternity, yet the blink of an eye at the same time. John quickly wiped his palms off on his chition before he reached a hand for Simon’s, who cautiously returned the gesture. Though he kept his eyes on Simon, when he spoke it felt like he wasn’t the only one he talked to.

“Because what’s mine is yours.”

That certainly was not the homecoming you knew John deserved as a highly acclaimed warrior, but it was the one he was stuck with. A confused and morose wife who greeted him with nothing but infuriating questions. But didn’t you have the right to be angry? For the last month you had shared a bed with your husband, partook in meals with him, just to be under the impression he wanted nothing to do with you. Suddenly his lover returns home, and then you learn his intention had been to share you all along? That your father had been in on that ruse and you were none the wiser?

What were you to do for the rest of the day besides mope around the house? Not like you had done anything else since you had been given away. Like the caged bird you were, you sat at your perch near one of the windows on the second story as you watched the city bustle around below. Simon’s hammer could be heard pounding away at his forge accompanied by a quiet murmur. While you rotted away inside the house with your festering frustration, your husband — or husbands — caught up on lost time. Or perhaps they discussed what to do with such an unruly wife. Not even your beauty could excuse your sour behavior.

You were long past caring about any sort of punishment. As far as you were concerned, living in that prison of a home was punishment enough for the crime of simply existing. No matter what, it seemed as if you were destined to suffer. If you lived your life as an unmarried woman, you would have been chased after by countless men either to steal you away or ravage you. But as a married woman, you were forever locked away like a criminal. Both options were lives hardly worth living.

It would have been better to be sacrificed and return the god’s gifts back to them. Spilled blood was certainly more comforting than Simon had been, and John MacTavish intimidated you despite his apparent kind nature. You knew better than to trust a dog that still had flesh in its teeth.

When night came, a breeze accompanied it that smelled so much like the ocean you swore you could taste it on your lips. Torches ignited in sparkling waves across the city, and you watched as people took shelter in their homes to escape the darkness that swallowed buildings whole. You had never really been afraid of the dark. Not when it brought out the most dazzling creations in the sky with comforting stars and a moon so bright there was hardly a need for torches at all. It was all so consoling you swore you could have fallen asleep in that windowsill without a care in the world.

“My love?”

John’s voice and his hand on your back was such a surprise to you, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Your body twisted to see him, and you were met with an amused smirk. Your first instinct was to scold him for giving you such a fright, but you opted to give him what felt like a confused glare instead.

“You’re very flighty. Like a bird,” he commented.

Huffing, you attempted to regain what little of your composure you were able to as you stared up at him. He wasn’t quite as tall as Simon, though you were certain that would be a near impossible feat anyway, but his broad stature was certainly something to be reckoned with. You knew you shouldn’t say anything snarky, yet that entertained expression on his face made your shame boil painfully underneath your skin.

“You’re just like Simon,” you breathed. “Both of you are too quiet for your own good.”

“Maybe you’re just tired. Fatigue can wreak havoc on your senses,” he countered, though his look screamed that you were right. “Come, we’re settling in for bed.”

You wanted to deny his request, but you would have no true reason to. None that he would accept, anyway. Would you just continue to stare wistfully out the window like a poet or philosopher, only to crawl into bed later and disturb the two large men you would find underneath the covers? No, you didn’t want any more trouble than you had already caused. They already had reason enough to beat you, or worse, and you didn’t want to give them another.

By the time John led you to your shared chambers, Simon was already naked and standing next to his side of the bed. Strange that he had shamelessly bared his body to you for the last month while keeping the true nature of your marriage to him secret, and it would be a lie to say that you weren’t a bit peeved at that knowledge. Still, oddly enough you had gotten so used to the image of his bare body that you no longer felt embarrassed to look at him in such a state. His eyes studied you carefully, like they always did, but with slight apprehension. As if he prepared for you to chastise him; as if he thought he deserved it.

“Go on, little dove,” John urged.

You quickly glanced back at him, and then to the bed, and your stomach dropped when you realized how the sleeping arrangements were about to change. Whereas you and Simon would sleep on opposite sides of the bed, well away from one another, you were certain you wouldn’t be able to get as much space with John in the midst of it all. Even worse, he gestured to the center, as if he wanted to trap you between them. A sickening dread gripped your chest, and you tried to soothe yourself long enough in order to form the words that plagued your mind.

“I’d feel more comfortable sleeping on the edge,” you admitted.

John laughed as if you told him a joke, and you couldn’t help but feel a little patronized, even with his euphonious tone. “Sorry, love. This side is my spot, I’m afraid.”

He gestured to the area directly next to the bed, and you caught sight of the short sword he had worn earlier, the one you were certain he was going to gut Simon with when he first arrived. You could see the dents in the blade and the raw wood on the handle, discolored from his grip. That weapon was one that he used often, and kept close. Something he had clearly used to take the lives of countless men.

“This side is closer to the door, and the other side is Simon’s. He has a hard time getting around, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he explained further.

Gods. His reasoning was sound, but you still didn’t like it. The thought of being stuck between two men who only felt contempt for you made the bile in your stomach boil. A roaring fear plagued your thoughts as you imagined crawling into that bed. Perhaps the only reason Simon had not taken you the night you were married was because he wanted to wait for John to return. Being trapped between them on the bed would make it impossible for you to fight against them, should they get the urge to have their way with you in the night. You had managed to convince yourself that you would be able to lay there and take it if it were just Simon, but with John? That was just dehumanizing.

Impatient, Simon crawled into his side of the bed where he covered himself with the plethora of blankets. He laid on his back, exhausted from his long day of work, and he looked at you with a heavy sigh. You prevented him from his rest, that much was obvious, and his silent frustration only poked you further.

Seeing as how you had no other option, you timidly scurried into bed next to Simon. There was a special shame that sizzled in your chest as you attempted to get comfortable, and it only got worse as John began to undress himself. Similar to Simon, his body bore countless scars and even some new minor wounds, and there was a heavy ruggedness to it from war. Sinewy muscles, tanned skin; he was the very paragon of vigor. Still, the very moment that his chiton began to fall past his hips, you turned away in favor of facing Simon instead.

At least he was familiar.

Once John extinguished the oil lamp and the room plunged into darkness, you felt the bed shake as he climbed in behind you. Every movement had your muscles constrict like you expected him to scoop you up into his arms, or worse. Though you were not allowed out of the house very often, even before your marriage, you knew the rumors of soldiers and their insatiable lust. So much time spent on the battlefield with adrenaline running high always had a way of turning men into ravenous beasts.

If he did have plans to take you or toy with you in the night, John kept those intentions hidden as he settled into the mattress with a heavy sigh. The bed was large enough that the three of you could lay side by side without touching one another, and you found yourself eternally grateful for it. Though, it suddenly made sense as to why it was so large in the first place; not because Simon was a beast of a man, but because two men shared the bed with one another.

And then there was you, their third.

Sleep did not come easy for you that night. A symphony of breaths filled the still air, and a blazing heat threatened to suffocate you underneath the blankets. You did not dare move as you were terrified to rouse the men from their sleep, and your body began to ache from staying on your side for too long. You felt as if you were a mouse in the den of a lion, forced to stay quiet and still lest you be devoured. But anxiety could not hold you forever, and eventually sleep curled its roots deep into your mind, silencing your rampant thoughts.

Even still, your trepidation followed you into your slumber. That night, you dreamt your feet were comfortably buried into the warm sand that lined the shore of your city. You could wiggle your toes and feel the grains mingle between them playfully. Innumerable boats gently bobbed along the shoreline as fishermen reeled in catches of life to be later sold in markets. Brackish wind pulled at your hair and clothes, urging you towards the singing waves in front of you that danced along the coast. With the sun high in the sky, its rays illuminated the water before you with dazzling, hypnotic beauty; giving you no other choice but to give into your desires.

Your feet began to move on their own accord, trudging through the sand towards the beckoning water. It felt like you were called home by your mother, like someone tried to coax you into a warm embrace. Salty mist cooled your face, yet the closer you got to the water, the further it seemed to recede. No matter how close your feet came to kissing the waves, or how strong the taste of the water grew, it was always just beyond your reach.

As the waves retreated, it revealed the horrors that lurked underneath their pristine beauty. Rotten fish, shattered bones, decaying iron; remnants of an old battlefield laid at your feet with bodies strewn carelessly, left to spoil where they fell. Its acrid scent assaulted your nose, and you found yourself coughing on the foul smell as you attempted to push further, to no avail.

Something sharp caught your foot, and you found yourself on your hands and knees in the sopping wet sand. Though you didn’t dare to turn and look at the wound, you could feel the warm blood seep out of the gash in your skin, and you cried pitifully at the pain. All you wanted was to return to the sea, to feel the grace of its waves welcome you into its grasp. Instead, your tears streamed into the blood stained sand in front of you where the salt of humans mixed with the salt of nature.

Among the chaos and the pain, something began to grow in front of you. Delicate green stems unfurled from the mud, and you watched as flowers began to bloom faster than any you had ever seen before. Buds began to form on the end of the stems, and they soon blossomed into a beautiful array of colors. Delicate petals fluttered in the breeze, and their floral scent gave you slight reprieve from the rot that surrounded you. Anemones. Their dark centers made their bright yellows, pinks, and blues pop brightly against the dull sand behind them, and yet even with all that beauty, you couldn’t stop crying. All you could do was lay there and bleed.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pale light of dawn that peeked through the shutters, illuminating the room with a dull glow. Birds quietly chirped in the distance as they woke from their slumber, and if you had been alone you would have stretched your arms out and basked in their melody.

But you were not alone.

Throughout the night, both John and Simon grew closer to you, so much so that their combined heat nearly cooked you from the inside out. As you became more aware of your predicament, you felt your heart almost cease its beating. Simon’s bare chest obscured most of your vision, and you felt his chin rest on the top of your head. His body was not quite pressed against your front, but he was still close enough that you had nowhere to move.

As for John, his body shamelessly pressed against your back. His legs fit snugly against the curve of your own, and his breath tickled the back of your neck with each exhale. To make matters worse, his hand rested on your waist as if it had known no other home, but it wasn’t just him. Simon’s fingers intertwined with John’s where they both held you close, keeping you secure, keeping you safe.

The thundering of your heart in your chest rattled so fiercely you feared it might wake them, yet they did not stir. If anything, they only moved closer, as if their incognizant minds could sense your apprehension and attempted to comfort you. By some miracle, it worked. It had been ages since you last felt the warmth of someone's touch, as not even your own father would offer you such solace. Your senses began to calm as the pounding in your chest subsided, and your body seemed to grow heavy with sleep once more.

Despite their nature, with their rough hands and scarred skin, they were so tender. They held you with care as if you would crumble otherwise, and something within you screamed that you didn’t deserve it. You had been nothing but cold and judgemental towards the both of them with the notion that you deserved better than what you were given, yet they still granted you patience.

Any other man would have put you in your place, or rather put you to work. If your tongue could not be stilled, then the least you could do was provide someone with an heir. There were many women who had been put on display in your city for insubordination. Some were paraded around like animals or freakish beasts to gawk at, while others were thrown to the icy depths of the ocean off the city’s highest cliff. You feared John and Simon would be like any other man, yet for some reason they weren’t.

But there was no time for you to dwell on such dejected thoughts. Not when you were so warmly wrapped in their embrace. For the first time in your life, you found your eyes drawing closed in the arms of another. You couldn’t remember the last time you had ever felt so loved, and you realized that maybe their intentions were more pure than you had feared. Maybe all they truly wanted was to cherish you, and you found yourself silently praying that you could stay like that forever, if not, just a bit longer.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #f!reader

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lightsoutletsgo · 2 months

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i told the stars about you — op.81 (royalty au)

pairing: prince!oscar piastri x lady-in-waiting!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst? heartbreak, slightly inaccurate and semi-confusing greek mythology references, a spot-the-princess-diaries quote just bc i can

I actually wrote this listening to the bridgerton soundtrack... it's not what I usually write so I hope it's okay! please lmk what you think and if you'd like to see more like this. for extra heartbreak, listen to "love is a choice" from the bridgerton soundtrack on repeat while reading happy reading! love mimi 🤍

It was an accident really. Well, less of an accident and more of a cruel twist of fate if you had to summarise it. After all, such a cliche thing to happen. The lady-in-waiting to the Princess falls in love with the visiting Prince her future ruler is tied to in an arranged marriage.

Had any sensible person heard the predicament you were in they may have sympathised but still scoffed at how foolishly the two of you were behaving. Desperately entangling yourselves with one another despite the inevitable heartbreak that was bound to come any day now.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love the stars?” You led on your back on the grass underneath the night’s sky, delicately raising a hand to trace invisible lines between each star above you. Oscar chuckled next to you as his hand slid over yours, joining you in your night sky tracing, “I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice before…” You gave a faint smile as your arm grew tired, choosing to link your hand with his and rest them by your sides. “Have I ever told you why?” Oscar rolled onto his side, facing you as his eyes searched yours, smiling at the way they reflected the moonlight,

“Actually, I don’t think you have told me that.” You sat up quickly, always excited to share the story with someone.

Oscar sat up before he moved to sit behind you, pulling you to lean back into his chest as his arms encircled your body, head gently resting on your shoulder. “See that star up there?” You pointed to almost directly above you, “That’s the North Star isn’t it?” You nodded and turned your head to reward his correct answer with a soft kiss to the cheek. “Mmhmm! When I was a child, my mother used to tell me stories of the stars every night…” You sighed happily at the memories, “There was one story that I loved far more than any others. The story of Perseus and Andromeda.” “I think I learned about that a long time ago… During my classical classes…” “Show off…” You reached one hand up to gently flick his nose. “Well, the story goes that Princess Andromeda was a very beautiful woman. Her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, claimed her daughter was more beautiful than Poseidon’s daughters. As punishment for her vanity, Poseidon sent the sea monster Cetus. Andromeda’s father, King Cepheus, trusted the sea monster to disappear if they were to sacrifice her. Just before she was devoured by the sea monster, Perseus came by on his flying horse Pegasus. He was on his way home after one of his great adventures. Perseus fell in love with the beautiful Andromeda and struck a deal with her parents. Perseus would save their daughter by killing the sea monster and in return he would be allowed to marry her. Andromeda however, was already promised to marry another man, Phineus. A fight arose between the two which Perseus eventually won. And so Perseus and Andromeda lived happily ever after.”

Oscar smiled at the sight of your eyes lighting up as you told the story. He nuzzled his nose into your neck making you giggle as you carried on, “All of the people in the story were placed in the sky by the gods, so their story would never be lost. Perseus and Andromeda are still positioned close together in the sky, where they rotate around the North Star, see?” Oscar’s eyes followed to where you were pointing once more. He kissed your cheek as you gave a happy contented little hum.“Mother always used to say that lovers who needed advice or guidance would talk to the stars… And that those confessions of lovers to the stars meant that their love would last forever, just like Perseus and Andromeda…” You reached for the bouquet of daisies you’d picked earlier that evening.

“You know..." Slowly, you plucked each petal off of the daisies you carefully held. "I told the stars about you." Oscar chuckled, not expecting to hear such words from the lady sitting with him. "What did you tell them?" You turned to look at him and smiled, staring at his brown eyes. "I told them you have your own constellations on your cheeks." Your stare landed on the faint few freckles dotted on his face. He laughed, "What? What does that even mean?"

You showed him a half smile before looking down at the daisies and plucking the petals again. "I told the stars you have more stars in your eyes than there are stars in the sky"

His smile slowly faded, instead he looked almost like he was holding his breath, like he didn’t dare breath incase it ruined the moment, "I told them that you are the moon that shines brightest in my eyes when I'm surrounded by darkness. I told them I always wish for you on a shooting star." You gave him the daisies you had been holding since you’d sat next to him. All petals now plucked. Oscar looked confused as he took the flowers, about to open his mouth.

"Do you want to know why?” You cut him off with a sweet smile before he could even open his mouth to answer, “Because I got tired of asking the flowers if you love me or not." “Y/N…” Oscar’s voice was barely above a whisper. You spoke softly, "Do you know what the stars replied?"

"W-what?" He thought he’d lost his voice for a moment.

You smiled.

"Go after him."

Silence. “So will you…” “I'm in love with the King-to-be, and I'm inquiring if he loves me too…” Oscar’s eyes lit up and in that moment, you felt as if all the air had been taken from you. One of your hands gently cupped his face as your thumb rubbed over his cheekbone, “You really do have stars in your eyes.” “And your eyes hold the whole galaxy, my love.” Oscar pulled you close to him and sighed in contentment as you shyly buried your face into his shoulder, the stars twinkling at you both from above, as if centuries of lovers were sprinkling their blessing on the two of you. In hindsight you supposed it might have been a warning, that heartbreak would ensue no matter how much you loved him 　 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆　　　

“I told the stars about you!” Oscar cried out.

You stopped. “I told the stars about you,” he repeated, trying and failing to hold back tears that were already falling, “I told them that I would never let you become one and end up so far away from me, I told them how you said you would always stay by my side, and...” Oscar looked back at you, where you were now facing him.

“I told them I loved you.” Your eyes widened slightly before your face fell again.

“...We always knew this was going to happen. We cannot change what our fate is, Oscar, I mean…” You looked back down at the ground, clenching your fists tightly before you spoke again. “Your Highness-”

“Don’t call me that, Y/N.” Oscar said immediately, rushing up to you. “Y-you’re not a lady-in-waiting. I'm not a Prince. We’re just Oscar and Y/N, two people who fell in love the instant they saw one another.” He stared at you, not fighting the tears anymore. “Two people who fell in love under the stars… I want that Y/N back.” Your heart broke as his voice cracked, overcome with emotion. “Please my love…”

But still you said nothing

“Where’s the Y/N who would tell me she loved me, the Y/N who vowed to be by my side forever, and… the Y/N who would tell the stars about me?” You finally looked up at him, and Oscar searched your eyes desperately for a shred of his Y/N in you. A lone tear spilt over and fell down your cheek. Sparkling in the moonlight, it almost looked like a shooting star. ‘How ironic.’ He thought to himself bitterly. You wiped the tear away and as quickly as it had appeared it was gone.

Oscar’s eyes darkened, and he wiped his face, his expression hardening, “My apologies, Lady Y/N.” He said, his voice cold. “This has been rather inappropriate. I believe you must have somewhere to be?” “My apologies, your Highness. Permission to leave?” It was time to accept that the old Y/N was gone, leaving a stranger in front of him. And if his Y/N was gone, there was no reason to keep taking up a stranger’s time.

“...Granted.” You began to move before you hesitated, leaned into his side, whispered something, and left. Oscar’s eyes widened once again, and a tear fell down his cheek.

“I never stopped telling the stars about you.”

Oscar quickly turned around to watch you leave. A pained smile slowly spread across his face. He didn’t try to stop you. You wore a similar smile as you forced your feet to walk away. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him once again, but that was a dream you couldn’t have anymore. It was a dream you’d have to tell the stars about.

#mimi.writes #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #f1 angst #f1 fic #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri oneshot #f1 oneshot

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fubu18writes · 1 month

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❧the forbidden tale of a prince and a mermaid are only told in the dark, moonlit waters

♢regular tags: prince!kurokawa izana, mermaid princess!reader, fem!reader, royalty au ♢mature tags: exhibitionism (y'all fuck in a beach), unprotected sex (be responsible!), reader is called "princess", izana is called "master", nipple play, fingering, pussy worship, orgasm denial handjob, cowgirl position (you kinda ride him so...) ♢all characters are 18+ and above unless stated otherwise

a/n: this mostly inspired from an asmr so this isn't really mythology accurate... and yes, this is my first time writing for izana...

A misty night hangs low over the harbor, clouding even the stars from the sky. The ships creak and moan, bobbing slowly in the calm water. It is nearly the midnight hour, and no one could be seen outside.

Except for one, lone prince. Holding up a lantern.

This was Kurokawa Izana's only time to be free of any sort of responsibility. Izana is the youngest prince, and ever since his parents and older brother died, he became heir to the thrown at fourteen.

He was eighteen now. A suitable age to find a bride. But he had no interest in finding anyone as of now. He had to enjoy a little bit of his freedom somehow.

He walks down to the end of the dock, setting his lamp down on one of the posts, easing himself down to sit over the edge. He takes a deep breath. "It's darker than usual," He says to himself. "I'm surprised no one wanted to stay for the night shift... I would enjoy the privacy if I was part of the sailors..."

There was a moment of silence before Izana starts to hear something over in the distance. Someone was humming a tune, and it echoed throughout the harbor. It was an alluring voice, but Izana kept up his guard, sheathing his rapier as he stood up.

There was a few seconds before a woman's head pops out of the water. "What on..." His eyebrows furrow before he puts his rapier on the ground, holding the lantern just to see her more clearly. "Are you alright?" Izana asks as he kneels down on the dock. "You shouldn't be swimming in the midnight hour, something might happen." He reprimanded as he extends his out to you. "Take my hand, come on."

The woman just swims closer, and that's when Izana could make out the faint, iridescent-colored scales in the water. And to top it all off, there was a fin.

A mermaid's fin.

Izana's hand recoils suddenly, his face showing complete shock. This couldn't be real, right? There was no way that a mermaid was there in front of him, right? But there was living proof: You.

"Hmm?" You suddenly say, making Izana widen his eyes more. "I thought you wanted to help me up." You say, tilting your head a little to the side. Izana blinked. Your voice... was alluring, in a way. And you were just talking. He visibly flinches when he sees that you were the one extending your hand to him.

You raise an eyebrow. Maybe you weren't addressing him correctly? You had been peeking up to the surface every now and then, and oftentimes you would hear the other women (and occasionally men) call their partners "master" or anything similar to that. "Master?" You say afterwards and that's when something in Izana snaps a little.

"...you won't lure me to my death or something?" Izana then asks suspsciously.

"You believe in those tales?" You ask and let out a chuckle. "I believe you're referring to a different type of mermaid."

Izana kneels back down, a bit amused. He extends his hand to hold yours, and his skin roams around your own. Your skin was soft, which was surprising. You prop your tail out of the water again, allowing his other hand to look and feel at your iridescent scales. "...what is your name?" He asks after a while, his purple eyes meeting your own.

"y/n". You answer.

"y/n," Izana repeats. As if he was practicing how the name rolls off his tongue. "Such a beautiful name for a beautiful creature... I would say woman but I can't really..."

"Oh, I don't have to be a creature of the water." You say with a smile. Though, Izana couldn't see that your smile was that of... seduction.

Izana raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Why don't you pull me up to find out?" You say with a soft laugh. Izana ponders for a moment, before managing a nod as he helps you up onto the dock.

As you sit there, Izana could see a small light emitting from your tail, and it begins to split. Scales smoothing out into soft skin. In a moment, you sit across from Izana, water glistening from your soft, human legs.

"Oh my god." Izana looks at you, shock returning to his face. He snaps back to reality when he decides to take off his jacket. "Hold on, you should put this on." He says, about to place it on your shoulders but you stop him. "I won't need it, master." You say with a seductive undertone. There was that snapping feeling again.

"What do you mean by this?" He asks again. But your response was to lean forward to catch his lips under your silky soft ones, kissing him gently. This action catches him by surprise, but slowly, he sinks into the kiss. You start to untie his dress shirt and that's when Izana pulls away, panting heavily. "This is... do you want this?" He asks, his eyes looking at you intently. You could only stare back, your hands still on his shirt as you whisper, "I do, master." And you didn't hide the seduction in your voice. "I may not know what you are, but I can sense a heat in you." You say to him. "So... allow me to return the same, master."

That was already an approval, so Izana's arms wrap around your waist as he straddles you, kissing you again. You kiss back eagerly as his hands roam around your naked skin, leaving no crevice untouched. You lay your passion deep in the kiss, tongues slipping in and out of each other's mouths. In a way, the both of you were hoping this would happen.

"I can't keep my hands off you," Izana says through the kiss, before pulling away. "Tell me with your voice, princess." His tone was dominating, and you could feel the heat pool in once again. And who were you to deny this? "Touch me, master..." You moan out, and you moan again when one of Izana's hands go in between your legs to caress your thighs and wet clit. His tongue plays around with your nipple and you could only squirm and moan in pleasure.

"Is this what you need as well, princess?" He asks after playing with your nipple and looks up at you with a smirk. He doesn't wait for your answer though as he continues to play with your clit and devour your other nipple.

Izana decides to test the waters, slipping a finger in your pussy and you let out a loud moan. It was a sound that Izana hadn't heard, especially from a woman such as beautiful as you were. He didn't stop, still his tongue sucking on your nipple and his fingers caressing your wetness.

Once he left his marks on your breasts, still giving you a smirk as he decides to thrust his finger in and out of your pussy. "This is exactly what you wanted, wasn't it?" He asks. "My touch on your body, giving your pussy the attention it deserves..." He chuckles as he sees you squirm. "But I won't make it easy for you, princess. You're going to have to earn it."

Just as your legs begin to shake, Izana stops. The tent in his pants becomes more evident as he sees your wet cunt clenching over nothing. "Fuck me like you mean it, princess." He commanded, and who were you to decline an offer?

You untie his pants, pulling them down to see his hard cock, standing erect. Your eyes widen in awe. "Master, your cock..." You whisper, and Izana only chuckles. "Why so surprised? You haven't seen a cock before?" He asks.

"Not like this..." You admitted. Sure, you had seen some... sights, of the humans doing their activities nearby in the caves or on the rocks. And you have seen some of the men's hardened erections. But Izana's? Oh, it was nothing like the others that you've seen.

Izana didn't know if he should be flattered or not, but he'll go for the former rather than the latter. You didn't wait for any response from Izana as you begin to touch his cock. Izana visibly flinches, throwing his head back as he lets out a moan. His control fades away the moment your hands move up and down on his cock. "Oh my... master, it's better than I ever imagined..." You don't hide the fact that you're aching for this, moving your hands faster.

"Oh, fuck-" Izana looks at you now. "That feels good, keep going-" His control visibly fades. Your hands feel like silk on his cock. Your touch feels like a gift from the sea, and he thinks that he can cum just from your hands alone. "Fuck me, please-" He lets out another moan when you squeeze his cock. "I can't take it, please-"

You consider denying him. But that isn't what you came here for.

You move, hovering over him as you slowly slide your pussy onto his cock. Izana inhales a sharp breath, his hands now going to hold your waist. You raise your hips slowly before sinking down back onto his cock, holding onto his shoulders to give yourself leverage. You moan along with him, feeling his cock twitch inside of you.

"This is nothing like the fantasies I've had," You moan out as you move faster, your breasts bouncing and Izana moves his hand to squeeze your breast. "Let me fuck you, let me feel your heat inside me,"

Izana couldn't take this anymore. He could feel the same heat emitting from her. The way your breasts bounce like that as he squeezes one of them, pinching and twisting your nipples with ease. "Are you gonna cum, princess?" He manages to ask as you only nod eagerly. "Cum inside, master," You beg, your eyes pleading for him to do so. "Please, I want to feel master's seed inside..."

"Then take it all," Izana's voice becomes raspy as he finally digs his nails into your hips. You feel your climax reaching and it does, along with Izana's own. But somehow, you don't stop. You only grind on him and he squeezes both of your breasts now. "If this is a dream, then I won't wake up..."

"Who said that it can only be a dream?" You ask him with a smile. "I can be your real princess, master. Just make it happen."

"Then I'll make it happen, just keep fucking me like you mean it." Izana then cups your cheeks as his lips capture yours, the both of your tongues colliding with one another.

That night, the prince had already binded his body and soul with a mermaid, starting the forbidden romance that can only be told under the misty night...

#norrisworks #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev x reader smut #izana #kurokawa izana #izana x reader #izana x reader smut

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doctorprofessorsong · 6 months

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Destiel Fic Recs

Let's all pretend that I didn't just do one of these because I have clearly been consuming fic at an alarming rate.

A Beginner's Guide to Communing with the Dead by suspiciousflashlight @huntingthehaggis (Mature, 77k,)

Listen. I am actually mad at all y'all cause this fic has existed since 2013 and nobody told me to read it until now.

Detective Dean Winchester is haunted (literally) by the murder of a little girl. Unable to move on, he makes the decision to summon an ancient creature, Castiel, using forbidden magic. But the murder is only the beginning and he and Cas find themselves in a race against time to fight an ancient evil.

This fic has everything. Immaculate worldbuilding. Trueform Cas. Impeccable humor. Seriously, I devoured it. I'm shocked it took me this long to find it (probably because it's older), but I'm so happy I did.

The Beginning by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) @valleydean (Explicit, 129k)

A horrorfest Endverse fic, Mallory tackles what happened between the Croatoan infection and Dean and Cas' arrival in Camp Chitaqua. It's canon compliant and it really digs into Dean losing hope and becoming the darker version of himself and Cas falling into addiction and losing his angelic powers.

It's angsty and brutal and gross in the way zombie stories are. It's also got shining moments of love in the face of hopeless odds. Plus there's a character named River so you know it's good.

I also think watching the degradation of these two characters, and the way their love can't be denied even then is just really a good read.

Above & Below by murron (Explicit, 45k)

Speaking of older fics to lose your fucking mind over, this fic is absolutely immaculately done. Steeped in canon and set in S6, Dean, Cas and Soulless Sam embark on a journey through the circles of hell. Their mission is to recover Sam’s soul and their brother Adam from the cage.

It's really beautifully constructed with the vision of Hell pulled from various pieces of lore. This is a horror story for sure, but it's not a hopeless one. It's more like an epic mythological journey. And at its heart is the love story of Dean and Cas, and a lot of healing for Dean and Sam.

It's high concept. It's poetic. It's a top tier story to meltdown over.

Sentinel by Followsthebees (Explicit, 15k) @follows-the-bees

A delightful entry from the monsterfluffer bang, Dean finds himself increasingly enamored with a gargoyle on the roof of his work. What he doesn't know is the gargoyle feels the same way.

This has some absolutely delicious smut. 10/10 magical creature porn. But also Dean is so cute and lonely and full of love and Cas us such a delightful little creature. A fantastic time was had by all (me). Canon is integrated in a really fun way in a few places and the humor is fantastic.

Just a complete romp.

A pun regarding the word "bull" by zation @zationao3 (Explicit, series 41k)

Smutty and fluffy and oh so horny, this fic is a fun AU with light angst, a lot of sexual tension, but ultimately it's just a fun ride with a happy ending.

Castiel doesn't have time for attachments, but his money does afford him all the comforts of wealth and a string of casual lovers. When he spots Dean on the back of a mechanical bull, he decides he's found his next conquest - and a very willing one at that.

But after that night, both men can think of nothing but a repeat performance. Unfortunately, they failed to exchange numbers. Even more unfortunately, Dean just happens to be the new contactor engaged by Cas' company and therefore off limits.

There is some delicious smut in this one. The angst is counteracted with a sweet, soft pining and a profound bond type immediate connection that is a delight to read.

You Better Not Stay by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta (Explicit, 17k)

A fantastic horrorfest thriller, this one delivers jump scares and teen scream delight.

Dean and Cas have been best friends just short of forever and lovers for a year. But now that high school is behind them, Cas wants to leave to find freedom from his fucked up family. Dean can’t bring himself to join him. There’s Sam and the family business.

On the cusp of separation, Dean decides to take Cas on a little date to the abandoned skating rink they used to love when they were kids. Only they aren't alone, and if they're not careful, their last night together could be their last night on earth.

This one is great for the jumps and screams. But it's the soft way they love each other and the vulnerability that make this one memorable. Dean is heartbreakingly earnest trying to impress the man he loves. And Cas is sarcastic and sweet in a perfect balance.

And you're the sky by Desirae (Explicit, 28k)

Quite by accident I have two fics on here following the missed connection/one night stand reappears in your life trope, but they are very different. This one has a lot more roommates to lovers domesticity and some delightful Wings (the show) vibes.

Dean’s best friend, Gabriel, has been grounded due to medical issues. In order to save his small airline, he calls upon his estranged brother, Castiel for assistance. Being a good friend, Dean happily offers up a room in his house to Cas. Only when he shows up, he happens to be the one who got away - a hookup who was going by the name Jimmy.

This fic is soft and sweet. There's a lot of caretaker Dean and domestic vibes. It has the soft vibes of a fic where the two main characters are circling one another and you almost feel like it's inevitable that they will eventually find their way to each other. There is some family trauma, but the angst is largely countered by a lot of intentional healing. Throw in a fantastic cast of characters and this one is definitely worth the read.

Check out my other recs at @riversrecs

#destiel #deancas #fic recs #destiel fic rec #destiel fic recs

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daechwitatamic · 5 months

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Of Ruin: Chapter 2 || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @/sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: language, slicing one’s palm for a magical ritual?, casual beer drinking wc: 5.9k

It’s common for this first class of yours that some of your students arrive before you do, and today is no exception. Something is different today - most of the students are crowded around one girl’s desk, eyes on her phone screen.

You can’t help but peek up at them curiously as you set up your materials at the front of the room, signing into your laptop with one hand and digging in your bag for a stack of hand-outs with the other.

Luckily, your curiosity is short-lived.

“Have you heard about this, Professor?” one of the boys asks you, glancing up from the phone. “There have been a series of Infracti attacks across the continent.”

You feel yourself frown. “That’s news? There have always been Infracti that break the laws… just like there will always be some humans who break laws.”

“It isn’t just random hunters,” someone else tells you, pulling out their own phone to, you assume, pull up the article. “It seems like actual, orchestrated attacks - groups of Infracti at a time, and they leave survivors. They aren’t hunting, just killing. There’s footage.”

“It seems like a pattern,” someone else jumps in, turning their screen towards you. A video plays, but you’re too far away to see much on the dark, grainy video. “The news outlets are reporting there’s reason to believe the Scores are behind it.”

You press your lips together. It’s not the first time in your life you’ve seen a scare like this. Any time the general human public seems to remember that Infracti might hunt them - laws be damned - the news stations fan the flames of a little widespread panic.

“It’s much more likely that one little group of Infracti have forgotten their manners,” you say, trying to sound mild. “They’ll be arrested. Infracticus doesn’t want trouble with us, I assure you. Or with the ruling family. They were at war for centuries - none of them want to return to that.”

The college kids look at their phones again, clearly unconvinced.

“Remember the unit we did last month?” you remind them, starting to head around your desk to pass out the handout you’d located in the depths of your bag. “When the last war between the Scorns and Ruins ended - when the protection laws were put in place - both houses were barely left standing.”

“I don’t know, Professor,” the first girl says, shaking her head. “If we’ve learned anything, it’s that Infracti history is nothing but wars for power and control of the kingdom. These moments of peace, they don’t last.”

“There were never treaties and laws in place,” you point out. “The human world was never a player in the game. Things are different now.”

She shakes her head again. “History repeats itself,” she intones.

You start to call everyone’s attention, ready to move on and into the planned lecture. But even as you speak, your stomach swirls, unsettled. Namjoon’s words in Dr. Kim’s office playback through your head: we may be walking into the start of Infracti civil war.

“Alright, so, today we’re going to be looking at some Infracti mythology,” you tell the class, as the last few stragglers find empty desks near the sides of the room. It’s a relatively small classroom, not a full lecture hall, for which you’re grateful. “You’re all familiar with the story The Hunter and the Highest?”

Most of the class nods, though a few look uncertain.

“Whether you know it by name or not,” you explain, pacing the front of the room slowly, “you know the story. It’s classic - done and redone through the history of pop culture. Can anyone give us a quick summary?”

“A vampire and a witch fall in love, and all their problems go away,” someone in the third row calls dryly.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “Okay, a little less quickly than that, maybe.”

Someone near the front raises his hand. “Isn’t it a fairy tale? Like, for kids?”

You waggle your head around. “It’s certainly been adapted in that way. But the original text predates all of those adaptations by centuries.”

“It’s about how the Infracti became civilized,” someone else offers.

“That’s closer,” you agree, pointing at them appreciatively. “In the story, Infracti were simply monsters called hunters. A magic-wielder, hunted herself by humans, finds an Infracti and gifts him with humanity. So, it is a tale meant to explain how Infracti changed from the beasts of old to the magical being we recognize today.”

You start passing out texts and give directions. “There are three versions of the myth in this packet,” you explain. “I want you to look through and find the differences, and from there we’ll discuss why those changes may have been made in the retelling.”

The college kids read in silence for a few minutes before the girl with the cell phone videos earlier raises her hand. “The second version calls the magic-wielder priestess,” she provides.

You write this on the whiteboard. “Great find. You’ll notice that the magic-wielders are given a few different names. Priestess is one. Highest is most common, which refers to a high priestess. In that version of the myth, the priestess who found the hunter was the leader, the strongest.”

“The last version calls her witch,” someone adds.

You smile, happy that they cottoned on. “And what do you notice about the chronology of that?”

They look at each other, and then at their pages. You wait.

“Witch is more recent?” someone suggests.

“You got it,” you affirm. “As time went on, as the stories got closer to now, the terminology shifted away from the respectful priestess and into a feared witch. Great observation. What else do you notice?”

“They only fall in love in the newest one,” someone points out. “In both of the early versions the priestess offers a trade.”

“That’s right,” you nod, adding this to the whiteboard. “The older versions of the myth show the magic-wielder trading humanity to the hunter in exchange for his protection against the humans who cast her out. Only in the more recent renditions is it simplified into a love story.”

You slide into the history part of the lesson - the truths that led to the folktale. It’s impossible for anyone to really know what happened in these ancient times - how the Infracti and the magic-wielders really came together for the first time. Regardless, it’s indisputable that from some point in history the two beings had a natural alliance, a symbiotic relationship. The Infracti formed the great houses, established the monarchy, and allowed the magic-wielders to live and practice safely on their land.

Of course, as your students know, the monarchy was only peaceful for a short time. It wasn’t long before the newly civilized Infracti did what civilizations always do: let greed lead them to war.

–

You sleepwalk through your last two classes, texting Namjoon as promised as soon as you’re finished and solidifying plans to meet for a meal near campus.

He’s there before you, standing absently on the sidewalk, scrolling on his phone with one hand in his jeans pocket.

“Hi,” you say, approaching. He looks up, clicking the screen on his phone off and sliding it into his pocket before reaching out to shake your hand. “I wanted to introduce myself a little better. I’m -”

“I know who you are,” he says with a smile. “You have a bit of a reputation. Your jaunts around the world with my grandfather are well-documented for the curse-breaking community.”

“Your grandfather?” you echo, and then realize you should have connected those dots. You’d read his business card - Kim Namjoon. “Ah, I should have realized. So, you’re continuing the family business?”

He laughs at this, leading you inside and asking the seating hostess to place you at one of the tables outside.

You each order a drink and settle in before he finally answers you. “In a way, yes,” he admits. “I was just always around that stuff growing up. I thought it was interesting. Following that interest into college seemed natural, and the fact that it pleased Grandfather so much to have me follow in his footsteps… that was a bonus, of course.”

“That must be nice,” you muse, not really meaning to reveal so much as you add, “My family thinks I have a death wish. They don’t think anything I study has real value.”

Namjoon considers this as the waiter places his beer in front of him, the glass covered in heavy condensation. “That’s sad,” he says finally. “Curse-breaking literally saves lives.”

You shrug. “They don’t see it that way. Neither do I, really. Curse-breaking is just… calculations.”

He smiles wryly. “I like to think of it as following a recipe.”

You laugh a little. “Without the wiggle room. Imagine following steps like a pinch when working a counter-curse? We’d blow ourselves up.”

He laughs too. “Okay, so it’s not cooking, it’s baking. The measurements matter.”

You lapse into companionable silence, sipping your drinks, watching the late afternoon slip into evening bit by bit.

“I need to admit,” he says finally, speaking out into the twilight instead of at you, “I’m really not sure about this.”

You nod. “It’s a lot.”

“Grandfather said you have a lot of knowledge on the Infracti,” Namjoon says thoughtfully.

You nod. “I do. But studying something in books and theory is not the same as walking among them. And the stakes are high.” You sigh. “He’s right… it’s dangerous.”

“Great payout though,” Namjoon mutters, as if he didn’t necessarily mean for you to hear it. And he’s right. The living members of the royal family have been around for centuries. You don’t live that long without amassing a fortune. Whatever reward the King of Ruin has promised, you feel sure you’d never have to work again.

Though you know you still would.

“That’s true,” you agree quietly. But you’re thinking about the prince, and the curse. Of course the pay-out speaks to you - you have bills to pay, after all. And you’re only human. But the thing about what you do is… well, you love it.

You love curse-breaking. You love the puzzle, the pieces clicking together just right as you uncover the components of the original curse one at a time. You love the thrill of building your own magic to push back with, love the sizzle of power beneath your undeserving, human fingertips as you cast something meant to strip away someone else’s hatred and leave calm in its place.

You love having something you’re good at, something you can claim as yours, something to enter a room before you do and demand a sliver of respect you’d never experienced before.

Not to mention… you’ve studied the Infracti and their history and culture for your entire adult life. To get to go there and see it all in person, with the promise of protection, is something beyond your wildest dreams. Infracti can come here if they go through the proper channels - for business or for pleasure, as long as that pleasure isn’t hunting.

But humans typically don’t go to Infracticus. It’s simply too dangerous - statistically, there’s bound to be some rule-breakers, and you’d be walking into their home. This is an opportunity that has never come before, for anyone you’ve ever known in the field.

You think again of your conversation in Dr. Kim’s office earlier. You’d been chosen not for your talent as much as your anonymity. Success on this case would bring you prestige among the curse-breaking community. You’d make a name for yourself, by yourself - not attached to Dr. Kim, overshadowed and forgotten.

“I think I want to do it,” you murmur, and when Namjoon whips around to look at you, wide-eyed, you realize you’ve spoken out loud.

“You should sleep on it,” he says, repeating his grandfather’s words from earlier. “Y/N, you could be walking to your death.”

“That’s the case every time,” you point out. “Besides, the royal family obviously wants us to succeed - they want the prince to be healed. I’m sure they’ll use their wealth and power to keep us safe. If anything happens to us, he’s screwed, right?”

Namjoon shakes his head, runs his hand down his face. “This is insane,” he intones. “This is insane. We can’t just waltz into Infracticus and pretend we belong there -”

“Again,” you say, more firmly this time, more and more sure of your decision by the second. “They want our success. They’re going to do everything they can to mitigate the risk of our cover being blown, right? They have more to gain from our success than we do. Seriously, think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking,” Namjoon mutters.

“I’m going to tell him yes,” you say decisively. “No pressure. Make the decision that’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon mutters, swirling the last dregs of his beer around the bottom of his glass, voice glum. “Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

–

Your first class the next day is early; you clutch a travel mug of coffee and watch the city pass by outside your window with barely-open eyes. You’re even earlier than normal, because you want to stop by Dr. Kim’s office on your way and give him your answer.

His door is open when you arrive, and you knock, though normally you’d just stroll in.

He looks up, startled by the noise, then softens when he sees it’s you. You feel a rush of affection for the old man; over the last ten years of your life, he’s been more of a father to you than your own family.

“I want to go,” you tell him, proud when your voice comes out sure and steady, when inside you feel uncertain and wobbly.

Dr. Kim takes off his glasses and places them on the desk before him, rubs at his eyes, and replaces them. “I don’t know how to feel,” he finally admits with a chuckle. “I both want you to accept, and don’t. On one hand, I know you’ll handle the situation, and I’ll be so proud… but the danger…”

“I trust the royal family,” you say evenly. “If they say they’ll give us protection, I’ve got to trust that. I can’t not help - not if I’m their best shot at success.”

Dr. Kim shakes his head, looking out his window at the rising sun to the east. “I suppose I trust the royal family, too,” he muses, “or I wouldn’t have even told you about the case.” He turns to look at you again, seems to brace himself, snap into business-mode. “Very well. When do your classes end today? We have many things to debrief before you leave.”

–

You spend almost six hours in Dr. Kim’s office after giving your last lecture of the day - so long, in fact, that he orders delivery and you sneak bites of dinner between textbook pages as he helps you prepare for the trip as best he can.

You review Infracti niceties - greetings, things that are considered polite, habits, mannerisms. You also get a crash course in current affairs, learning everything the human public knows about the current royal family.

“Prince Taehyung was born Infracti, not turned from human,” Dr. Kim explains. “His bloodline - the bloodline of the royal family, of the Ruins - goes back… beyond written history. His powers will be strong, and so will his influence.”

“Did they tell you any details about the curse? What symptoms he’s exhibiting?” you ask curiously, flipping the page of the book you have open on the table.

Dr. Kim nods slowly, thinking as he speaks. “It appears he loses his sense of self between midnight and dawn each day,” he explains. “Becomes… the basest of his kind. They’ve been keeping him quite literally locked up each night to stop him from harming others.”

You ponder this, unable to get Namjoon’s words from yesterday out of your head. “I suppose if you wanted to dethrone a prince… turning him into a murderer might be one way.”

“Our job isn’t to solve who caused it,” Dr. Kim reminds you gently. “Just to cure him.”

You spend the rest of the night poring over brittle texts, taking pages and pages of notes on similar cases, curses that only show up in the afflicted at certain times, curses that cause violence or the desire to do harm, curses that make you lose sight of who you are. You write down the causes, the layers that may be present. You write down how they’ve been busted in the past, tactics that have proven successful.

You write down a list of everything you may need to pack.

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you’re startled by a light knock on the office door. You look up from where you’re scrawling shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, bar soap, to find Namjoon standing in the doorway.

He greets his grandfather warmly and gives you a polite nod hello.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me you want to stay home,” Dr. Kim says dryly, and Namjoon gives him a sheepish smile.

“No,” he admits. “I’m going to go.”

Dr. Kim sighs, nodding like he expected this all along. “Very well,” he says, waving a hand at the papers you have spread across the table. “Come take a picture of the packing list. I’ll escort you two to the Ostium tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

The Ostium is a temple built from sand-colored stone, guarded by carved stone lions, fangs bared in a roar. You’ve been inside twice before, for your studies. You’ve never seen it in action. Right now it’s too dark to see the statues clearly - it’s hours before dawn. You napped more than slept, and it was fitful at best.

You pull a wheeled carry-on size piece of black luggage, and you see a bulging duffle bag hanging across Namjoon’s back. Dr. Kim comes empty-handed and long-faced. You’re surprised that someone is there, now, when it is technically the middle of the night. But, then again, your arrival was scheduled - you are invited, expected.

The woman who stands before the altar at the rear of the small room is obviously an Infracti. She doesn’t hide behind mortal eyes, as she could if she chose to. Instead of whites, her eyes are fathomless pools of black, swimming and shifting like inky ocean depths. There’s an unearthly quickness to the movements her body makes, as if she has to remind herself to move slowly and forgets each time a move is instinctual instead of deliberate.

“Welcome,” she says. There’s a heaviness to her accent, a give-away that whoever she is, she’s old enough to have spoken the Infracti’s original language. “What business?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Kim says, and all three of you give a quick nod hello. “I am Dr. Kim from the university.”

“Yes,” she says, nodding in recognition. “We were expecting you. Welcome. You’ve come with the curse-breakers?”

Dr. Kim opens his hand, indicating both you and Namjoon. He introduces you both by name and she inclines her head in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says to you both. “Do you know how to cross?”

Your pulse sings; you don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous about anything in your life.

“In theory,” you tell her.

She gives you a tight half-smile. “It’s quite straight-forward. In that case, you can say goodbye here and I’ll escort you through.”

You’re surprised when Dr. Kim wraps you in a hug. “Please be careful,” he begs as he releases you and turns his attention to his grandson. “Don’t let your guard down. Do the job, and leave. Watch each other’s backs. Don’t get tangled up in anything besides breaking the curse.”

You exchange an uneasy look with Namjoon over Dr. Kim’s shoulders. In over ten years of your professional relationship, you’ve never seen a display of emotion from him. Not even when you and he were in the thick of the rainforest, faced with a nearly impossible puzzle and never-ending, bone-chilling rain.

The Infracti woman opens a door to the left of the altar, sliding a slab of stone sideways with just the wave of her hand. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was simply a sensor. You step through, Namjoon behind you, and she pauses in the doorway. The door slides shut behind you, leaving you alone.

A smaller altar, made of the same sand-colored stone, sits unassuming in the center of the tiny room. A curved blade, no longer than your own hand, with a bejeweled hilt sits atop the stone.

You give Namjoon a grim, sideway look. “You know what to do?” you ask him.

He nods, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says.

“It’s archaic,” you grumble.

“They didn’t want humans landing there by accident.”

“I get it,” you admit. “But still.”

He lets out a second slow breath between his teeth, shaking his hands a little as if to rid them of nerves. You feel yourself slide into your professional self.

“You want me to do it?” you offer.

He considers this, then nods. You each stand on one side of the altar, and you lift the blade. No sense in delaying it, you slice through the palm of your hand quickly, hissing between your teeth as you do. Namjoon is ready, palm extended.

“Sorry,” you mutter in advance, and then imitate the cut across his large palm. He makes no noise, but clenches his jaw as you set the blade back where it came from.

“Right to left, not left to right,” you remind him quietly. “At the same time. You ready?”

He nods, curt, and then in one motion you each wipe your bloody palms across the stone - the red smears creating parallel arcs, a cave painting, an ancient expression of your will.

To your left, there is no sound or sign of motion. But the stone wall that closed you in is no longer there.

Now you’re the one battling nerves. You feel your hands shake at your sides, and you fumble for the handle of your luggage. Namjoon comes up beside you and places a gentle hand at the top of your back.

“We’ve got this,” he assures you.

You nod, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a lie. “Okay. Let’s go.”

–

You did not go down, and yet you pass through the door and stand in an Ostium close to the grand palace of Infracticus, the underworld inhabited by all of the Infracti - the Ruins, the Scorns, the Leaves, and all the families whose names didn’t earn a spot in history books, but who have been here all along regardless.

You step into the tiny atrium, pulling your little suitcase behind you. An Infracti man greets you, asking to see identification. As if the wrong person could accidentally slice their hand and magically enter.

“There’s transportation waiting just outside,” the Infracti tells you after he verifies that you are indeed the humans he was waiting for. “We ask that you wear these to conceal your identities.” He hands you each a hooded cloak. You bite back a joke that it’s the vampires who are supposed to wear these, not the humans, but the tiny smile plays across your face unchecked.

The Infracti must understand your expression, because he leans in a little and lowers his voice. “Please understand that we were charged with keeping your presence an absolute secret. This is why we’ve scheduled your arrival for the middle of the night, why we are trying to hide your faces from anyone who may be out and about at odd hours. This is for your own safety as much as anything.”

You wonder at the truth of this. What is the priority - protecting you, as a human? Or protecting the prince’s secret?

Outside, as promised, you’re greeted with the sight of a carriage, like it’s dropped straight out of a historical drama. It’s hard to see, as dark as it is, but you glimpse swirling gold patterns along the trim. Two Infracti men jump down from the front and take the luggage right from your hands. Wordlessly, then move around to the back of the carriage and begin placing your bag and Namjoon’s into thick trunks with ornate carvings that seem to match the carriage’s.

“Have we gone back in time?” Namjoon asks you, barely audible.

Of course the Infracti can hear him. One of them turns, black eyes narrowing. “There is no need for your technology here,” he says flatly. “Our command of magic does more than your electricity and internet ever will.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Namjoon says, a little stilted. The Infracti doesn’t reply, face blank and unreadable, and shakes the trunks once to make sure they’re latched properly before walking back towards the front of the carriage. You shoot Namjoon a sympathetic look.

Most humans back home can go their whole lives without really interacting with magic or magical people. Of course it’s there, but people with no relationship to magic tend to not notice - their minds explain away the magical. If you hadn’t been interested in Infracticus, you wouldn’t have learned about their magical abilities, wouldn’t have followed that interest into introductory courses on curses and curse-breaking that would end up shaping your life.

It’s a shame, though. Like you, non-magical people can still use and manipulate the universe’s magic if they learn how. The skill is called borrowing - and while there’s theory and procedure behind it, anyone should be able to borrow once they know how. You’ve never understood why so many of your kind turn away from this possibility. It wasn’t easy for you to learn, necessarily, but it wasn’t impossible either.

“We’ll be at the palace in about twenty minutes,” the remaining Infracti, the shorter of the two, tells you. “You’ll be entering through a lower-level entrance - not the main doors. From there, we’ll take you directly to your chambers.”

“Okay,” you say. “We understand. Then once we’re there - then what? Will we be meeting with the prince?”

“You’ll have some time to unpack and sleep more, if you wish,” he says, tilting his head as he considers this. “I was told that you have an audience with the royal family before the midday meal. You will be escorted there by your guards.”

You and Namjoon both murmur your understanding, and the Infracti reaches to open the carriage’s side door, indicating that you should enter.

As you step closer, you find yourself freezing in place, eyes going wide as you notice what’s pulling the carriage. The hooves of their front two legs paw at the ground restlessly, as they toss their cerulean manes. Their eyes swirl black like the Infracti who domesticated them. Their muscular bodies taper to powerful, curled fishtails that float about a foot above the ground, held aloft by their own magic.

“Are they… sea-goats?” Namjoon asks next to you, inching closer to get a better look.

“They’re called amarisca,” you whisper, so awed you can barely speak. Something else you’d only read about in books, something else that had felt like fairy tales, myths, not something that would ever appear in front of you, so close that you can smell their animal musk, the unpleasant tang of their saliva as they chomp at their bits. “They’re not half goat, they’re half horse - look at the faces.”

You’re mesmerized, eyes scanning the beautiful animals, examining their wild eyes, the hues of blue in their fur, the tough scales of their rippling tails. The Infracti holding the door open clears his throat impatiently.

“Sorry,” you say, and Namjoon moves to the carriage. You stay one more second, entranced, before hurrying to follow him into the carriage. The Infracti closes the door behind you and moments later the carriage jerks into motion, carrying you towards the palace of Infracticus.

–

You don’t speak in the carriage; you’re exhausted, you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated. It’s all too much, and none of it meshes well together. You don’t think you could carry on a rational conversation with Namjoon if your life depended on it. Luckily, he closes his eyes and leans his head back. You don’t know if he sleeps, but by the time the carriage finally comes to a stop, you haven’t spoken at all.

The door is opened by the same man who closed it, and he holds out a hand to help you down, which strikes you as nice.

“Thank you,” you murmur. It’s still very dark, and the taller Infracti hurries you through an opened stone door. The other Infracti follows, carrying the trunk holding yours and Namjoon’s belongings as if it weighs nothing.

To him, it must not.

The two men lead you deeper into the palace, wordlessly stalking down corridors, around corners, down nondescript, stone stairways.

After you’ve walked for what feels like quite a while - long enough that you are thoroughly lost - they stop before two decorated doors. The doors go from floor to ceiling, ornate patterns carved into the thick wood. The golden handles gleam in the low lighting.

Two more Infracti - one a woman, one a man - stand guard, flanking the doorway, their backs ramrod straight, their black eyes fathomless.

“You’ll have security at your doors at all times,” the shorter Infracti tells the two of you quietly. “This is Satuel and Dansoo.” He indicates the woman, then the man respectively as he says their names. “As well as keeping you safe in your quarters, they’ll also be your point of contact should you have any requests.”

“The concierge,” you joke, and you’re cowed into silence when four sets of emotionless black eyes turn to you, silently. Beside you, Namjoon shifts just slightly away, as if to distance himself from the embarrassment. Traitor.

Satuel and Dansoo move to pull the doors open, and you enter, letting them fall closed behind Namjoon, who takes up the rear. The guards stay in the corridor, keeping the monsters out. Or, at least, the bad ones.

You look around the main room. Everything drips in deep jewel tones and gold plating. Even the furniture seems too expensive to be real, too expensive to touch. Two couches and a wingback chair circle a low table, all of which sit beside a large heath with a roaring fire. Behind the couches is a high table with two wooden chairs - an eating area, you think. The far wall sports a water feature - water trickling down the wall and ending in a peaceful fountain, rich with floating plants.

You come back to yourself when Namjoon nudges your elbow, shooting you an apologetic look that seems to say, sorry, but I had to.

“Your personal rooms are this way,” the Infracti is saying, in a tone like perhaps he is repeating himself. “You’ll find space for sleeping and bathing, as well as a small study.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking around. “This is beautiful.”

He bows his head at this, pleased. “If there’s anything you need, just inform one of your guards - they’ll see it done. For meals, if you have any particular preferences, you can tell the staff and it will be prepared for you, going forward.”

This is wild, you think. This must be a fucking dream. It feels like you’re on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, the kind you would never be able to afford in real life. The only catch is that everyone at this destination has the ability and natural instinct to want to eat you.

“Thank you, that’s very considerate,” Namjoon says to your right, and once again you’re flooded with relief that he’s here with you, that one of you can be normal.

The two Infracti start to make their way towards the doors, prepared to leave you alone. “Someone will fetch you before your audience with the royal family,” the spokesperson tells you. He indicates what time you should be ready, and they slip from the doors, leaving you and Namjoon alone.

Your wounded hand drips onto the floor. You’d forgotten about it - in the Ostium, in the carriage, in your new rooms. But now, in the quiet, you remember that you’d paid in blood to enter this dream.

“Do you think it’s hard for them?” Namjoon asks, eyeing his own bloody palm. “To resist?”

You leave your suitcase in the middle of the open room and start poking around for a bathroom. “It might not be hard,” you call over your shoulder to him. “If they’ve followed the protection laws, then they may have never hunted a human in their entire lives. But I’m sure they notice. I think it’d be like walking past a bakery and being like, damn, those rolls smell good, but you don’t break the window and murder the rolls, you know?”

Namjoon laughs. “I guess that’s true. If you want one bad enough, you go in and buy it.”

“Exactly,” you say, a bit of triumph in your voice as you find a bathroom. You wash your hand, letting the blood rinse down the drain, and then return to the main room, kicking over your suitcase and unzipping it, rummaging for a t-shirt you can use as a bandage.

“Go wash that,” you instruct. “I’ll rip this and we can share it.”

“My hero,” he says dryly, and disappears into what you assume is a mirror-image of your own bedroom and bathroom.

The Infracti who’d brought you here had recommended that you get some more sleep, and you know it’s a good idea after the barely-three-hours you’d logged last night. But you’re too anxious and keyed up to even hold still, let alone rest. Instead, you spend some time unpacking - putting your clothing and toiletries away, and then setting up books and paper in the small office. By the time it occurs to you that you might want to clean yourself up before being presented to the royal family, it’s too late.

This time, your guards escort you. You walk in silence, full of nerves. You want to try to chat with the guards, pepper them with questions, but you get the idea that they aren’t meant to be too friendly with you.

When you reach the throne room, the guards that are already in place move over, making room for yours. They stand, straight-backed and stoic, and the woman - Satuel - lifts a hand to show that you should enter.

You take a shuddering breath and look sideways at Namjoon. His face has gone a funny color, and his jaw juts slightly as he clenches it.

“We’ll be fine,” you tell him quietly. “Shake off the nerves. Let’s go be professionals.”

He looks at you like you’re a little crazy. Maybe you are. “No one’s ever done this,” he says a bit hollowly. “You know that, right?”

“Which part?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

He laughs under his breath and starts to move forward through the decorated doorway and into the empty, echoing throne room.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i promise taehyung is IN the next chapter lmaooo :') i hope you liked this one and you can expect things to start moving very soon!!

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hornyhornyhimbos · 1 year

Text

"Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: Reader strikes up a conversation with Steve, who unbeknownst to her, is the best bull rider in all of Indiana. When the two strike up a conversation, it turns out this cowboy has plans for Reader.

Pairing: Bull Rider!Steve Harrington x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 5,353

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) PROTECTED piv sex, cowgirl AND missionary activities hehehe, maybe dubcon bc they were lowkey under the influence, one night stand, oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, overstimulation, multiple orgasms for reader, explicit language, steve def has a power kink, alcohol consumption, blasphemy toward the Greek Gods (sorry), nicknames (sweetheart, princess, baby; cowboy, god), maybe modern!au idrk, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: mayhaps i am a wh0re

Based On: some thots™️ that me and Georgia had (also slightly inspired by this reel i watched recently)

Originally Written: 03/12/2023 through 03/14/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (literal bestie, love u so much for working on this fic with me)

stranger things masterlist can be found here!

hornyhornyhimbos ask box can be found here!

The air smelled of freshly poured booze and a hundred sweaty bodies as you walked into "The Lucky Shot."

You spotted the bar across the giant room, marveling at the glimmering and flashing of the lights as you made your way through the crowd. Your heart pounded in time with the country song that blared through the speakers.

You weren't really sure what possessed you to go to a random bar in a strange city during the middle of your work trip. Maybe it was your constant craving for a difference in your somewhat boring career. Maybe it was the secret wanderlust that often sat in the back of your mind. Maybe it was just because you wanted a really good margarita. Whatever the case, you sure as hell weren't regretting your decision when your eyes locked on him.

He was beautiful, the kind of beautiful only talked about in Greek mythology. From the brown strands that perfectly framed his chiseled face, to the hazel that swirled around his pupils, to the beige Stetson that sat upon his head, everything about this man was simply beautiful. If Apollo wore a cowboy hat, you were sure this would be him.

Your stomach did a somersault when you sat down on the only stool left, which conveniently happened to be next to this country god.

A couple moments later, your cocktail arrived, and you caught another glimpse of the room as you started drinking. Your eyes darted toward the dance floor, and when you spotted the mechanical bull on one side of the room, you felt mesmerized by it. Specifically, the thought of him on top of it. His hips swaying to the loud music, one hand holding onto his hat. There was no way it wouldn't be the prettiest sight imaginable.

"It's all in the hips, you know."

You turned to face the voice. It was thick like molasses, the perfect mixture of sweet and rough to your ears. "What?" you asked, your eyebrows furrowed together as you finally made eye contact with him.

"It's all in the hips," he repeated, pointing his chin toward the mechanical bull.

You fidgeted with your straw, positive that if you didn't keep your hands preoccupied, you'd tear his clothes off right there. "Uh-huh," you simply said, unsure if you could get anything else out.

"Really. You just have to know how to… angle them correctly."

Your mind raced with dirty thoughts at the emphasis he'd used. You managed to take a sip of your drink, trying your hardest to wash them away. "You seem pretty certain."

One of his eyebrows cocked upward almost as if to confirm your statement. "That, I am, ma'am," he said with a nod and a tip of his hat towards you.

"Hmm," you hummed, taking a long swig of your cocktail in hopes of wetting down the dryness of your throat. "Alright, Tom? Dick? Harry?"

"Steve," he clarified. No other name would do this cowboy justice.

"Steve," you repeated, and the word felt like honey to your lips, "why don't you show me?"

His arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, the tee shirt that covered his skin becoming extra taut. "What's in it for me?"

You shrugged, sipping down the last of your drink. "I suppose… whatever you want, cowboy."

"Hmm," he hummed, taking the last swig of his beer. "How 'bout this? If you can stay on longer, you get my number. If I stay on longer, I get yours."

You scoffed, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. "You're lucky you're cute," you chirped. "OK, cowboy, you're on."

He stood first, holding out a hand to help you down from the barstool. "After you, pretty lady."

You felt a rush of blood shoot through your body as he led you to the bull, and you'd be lying if you said you weren’t anxious.

"Ladies first," he smiled, lifting you up onto the mechanical bull. His hands felt rough and big on your hips, and you nearly fell off the bull before it even started up.

The operator counted you down from three, but even that wasn't enough to brace you. You held onto the handle for dear life, moving your pelvis to the best of your ability. What felt like an eternity later, you fell onto the blue mat, your heart nearly falling through the floor as you landed.

"Five seconds," he said with your back still flat on the cushiony floor. "Impressive."

He held out his hand once again, and you gladly took it. Suddenly, you were pulled up close to him. His eyes shot through you and it was then that you noticed the musky scent of his cologne. You had to collect yourself for a moment, excusing the clear sexual tension for pure competition."Let's see you do better, cowboy."

He slung his leg over the machine, gripping the handle and lifting his left hand into the air. You couldn't help but notice how thick the muscles on his biceps were. Get it together, you thought, but he just looked so natural on the bull. Like he belonged up there. You couldn't help the feeling that settled in your chest.

"Sound me off!" he shouted over the crowd.

You and the operator counted down in sync, and his hips practically assaulted the bull as the machine started up again. You were mesmerized by the movements. Now you definitely weren't regretting taking him up on his offer.

His hips twisted against the fake saddle, and you could just barely see the outline of his cock behind his giant belt buckle and those tight jeans. You watched the way he winded on the bull, wishing it was you he was humping like that.

Even as he fell off the bull, he looked beautiful. He landed flat on his back, letting out a triumphant, "WOOOOOP!" followed by a chuckle. "I believe I hit twenty seconds."

"No fucking way," you argued, turning toward the bull operator, who just answered with a confirming nod.

"How'd you do that?" you challenged.

"I told you, it's all in the hips, sweetheart."

Your arms crossed defensively, your eyes narrowing in on him. You chose to ignore the pleasant feeling building in your stomach with his new nickname for you. "Do you hustle all the women around here for their phone number?"

He folded his arms in front of his broad chest, almost mocking your stance. A stupid, taunting smile was plastered across his face too. "Hey, it's not on me if you don't know you're talking to Indiana's bull riding state champ."

Your mouth fell open in pure shock at his words. If any one person was made for that career, you thought, it would be him.

His eyebrows raised. "You seem surprised."

You gulped down the lump of disbelief in the back of your throat. "A little."

"Should've just read my belt buckle, sweetheart."

You had to fight the urge to look down at his crotch, which was unsurprisingly not the first time you'd had to fight that urge. It had definitely been one hell of a night so far.

"Go on," he instructed. "You know as well as I do that you're curious."

You exhaled a deep breath you'd been holding, eyes locked on the giant buckle as you forced them not to wander lower. Pain is temporary, victory lasts forever, it read, with the date of the championship engraved below.

You had to force yourself to meet his gaze again. "So what do they call you?"

"The Hawk," he replied nonchalantly. "What about you? What do they call you, sweetheart?"

"Y/N," you answered, not even trying to force your mouth closed. He spoke, and you answered, and somehow, you didn't care in the slightest.

You shook your thoughts away, willing yourself to focus on what had just gone down. "You know what? Not important," you blurted, shaking your head. "I want a rematch, Mr. The Hawk," you mocked.

You looped your arms in front of you once again. You wanted to challenge this man to anything you could find. Eventually your eyes landed on the dartboard. Jackpot.

After all, if Steve could hide the fact that he was a professional bull rider, you could hide the fact that you'd been playing darts with your father since you were old enough to hold one. "Darts."

He smirked, walking toward the dartboard. "Alright, sweetheart, you name the stakes this time."

"Fine," you rebutted with a smirk of your own, "whoever gets closer to the bullseye gets to ask the other a question. If they don't wanna answer, they have to take a shot."

He seemed pleased, giving you a crooked smile. "How 'bout this? We each get a Jack and Coke and take a nice big swig of it every time we don't answer."

Your eyebrows ruffled in confusion. "Why does it matter what we drink?"

He leaned in close to your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "I want you as close to sober as possible if things go in the direction I'm hoping for."

Your airway felt tight as you processed his words. You felt lightheaded when you answered, "Understandable."

He shot you another smile before heading back to the bar for a couple drinks. Your legs wobbled as you gathered the darts. You watched his hips sway in time to the music while he waited for the drinks, and all but drooled over the way his ass looked in those tight blue jeans. And I thought the front looked good, you smirked internally.

Soon enough, he came back with the drinks, placing them on the table next to the darts. "Two Jack and Cokes," he confirmed. "Like I said earlier, ladies first."

You tossed the dart, landing almost directly in the middle of the board. He threw next, landing a little above where yours was.

Your mind raced, carefully considering every question you could ever ask him. Truth be told, you wanted to keep winning, not only for the sake of being better than him at something, but also because you wanted to find out every little detail you could about this Country Apollo.

"Hmmm. How long have you been riding bulls?"

"Since freshman year of college," he explained. "I rode horses a lot of the time while I was growing up, did the whole bucking bronco thing, so I thought I'd test the waters. See if it was something for me. Guess it was, all things considered." He gestured to the belt again, almost like a taunt, but your eyes stayed on his, cold and steely.

You threw again, the dart sticking to the single area, prompting you to groan at how bad your aim suddenly was. It had to be the drawl of his voice distracting you.

His dart stuck in the single area as well, slightly closer to the middle of the board. "I believe that makes it my turn."

You nodded. "That it does, cowboy."

"What's your story? You here for business or pleasure?"

You planned on answering anyway, but still took a small sip of the cocktail to wet your lips. "This city? Business. This bar? Pleasure."

About a half hour passed of you spitting questions back and forth. Your drinks were both about halfway finished, mostly from sipping. You had both been pretty bold with your answers, and questions for that matter.

Your arm felt tired from all the dart throwing, and if you had to be honest, the more you found out about him, the more you wanted to jump his bones. "Alright, I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to get out of this place."

He chuckled at the hint of eagerness in your voice. "Me too."

"I say we throw one last dart."

His expression read one of confusion and curiosity. "What're the stakes this time, sweetheart?"

A rush of heat pooled in your stomach as you carefully thought about how to word your answer. Confidence came over you as you finally figured out what you wanted. "OK, cowboy. If you win, I take you back to my place," you started, stealing the Stetson right off his head and placing it on your own, "But if I win, and I will, you take me back to yours."

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, eyes dark as he said, "Well, princess, I think someone needs to remind you of the cowboy hat rule."

You nearly snorted. "What the hell is that?" Your heart fluttered at the nickname, secretly hoping he'd continue using it.

"You wear the hat," he said, taking his hat back, "you ride the cowboy it belongs to."

Your thighs closed together as discreetly as possible while you picked up the darts. You placed one in his hand, your fingers shaky as you released it.

Even in your desperate state, you managed to toss the dart at the board, the dart sticking almost directly in the middle of the bullseye. "Hmm, lucky shot."

Steve's face was one of confidence, even when he threw the dart and it landed in the single area. "Huh," he said plainly, "Guess we're going back to my place."

You were quite positive he'd fucked up on purpose, but chose to ignore for the sake of not staying in your bleak, boring hotel room again.

The ride to his place was absolute hell. His hand on your thigh, his muscles tight in the flannel he'd thrown on, the sultry country music playing quietly on his radio.

The comments Steve made the whole way certainly didn't help you either. He was "sweetheart" this and "princess" that, and he certainly didn't shy away from telling you every little thing he wanted to do to you, making sure you were still okay every once in a while. He even offered to drive you back to your hotel at any point, but you reassured him you wanted this. Probably even more than he did. Hell, if the vehicle hadn't been moving, you would've taken him right there in the front seat of his truck.

From the moment he unlocked the door, he couldn't keep his hands off you. His fingertips slipped through your belt loops immediately upon entering his house. He barely succeeded in kicking the front door closed behind him as his lips met your neck.

"Aren't you gonna give me a tour?" you teased, your hands slipping into his back pockets. Damn, the fit was tight.

He snickered into your shoulder. The vibration was absolutely intoxicating against your skin. "Well, this is the living room. And I fully plan on laying you back on that couch before the night is over."

You easily kicked off your sneakers, Steve letting out an aggravated groan as he remembered his boots. "But first I'm gonna have to sit on it to take off these goddamn boots of mine," he complained, plopping onto the couch in frustration.

You giggled as he started to pry one of them off. "I don't know," you sang. "Next time, you could just leave 'em on. It's kinda sexy."

His head shook in disbelief. "You keep saying things like that and you're gonna be the damn death of me, sweetheart."

You sat down on his lap, your ass winding down on his leg as your lips made contact with his. He struggled to hold you up and take his boot off at the same time. He decided on putting his focus solely on you, choosing to worry about his boots later.

You clutched his shoulders, maneuvering him to lie back on the couch. Your hips ground onto his thigh, and you let out a whimper against his lips. The friction was absolute heaven to your cunt, feeling your heat make contact with his even fully clothed.

His hands clung to your waist, guiding you along the fabric of his jeans. "Mmm," he hummed against your lips, "You're so good at this."

You let out an amused huff, moving from his lips to his jaw. You placed a hard kiss on the stubble. "Bet you're even better. You should teach me sometime. How to angle my hips correctly, that is."

His head fell back in pleasure. A soft moan fell from his lips, and you felt quite proud of the way he was falling apart beneath you.

His grip tightened on your hips as he pulled the two of you up from the couch. You whimpered in protest, but he just said, "Gotta finish the rest of the tour, princess."

He finished kicking his boot off before heading toward the next room. His lips made contact with your skin again as he began leading you through the rest of the house. His fingers returned to your belt hoops, tugging you ever so close. "This is the kitchen. Definitely planning on bending you over that table while we wait for breakfast to finish cooking in the morning."

He led you down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom. "Gonna pound you against those tiles after we get done in my favorite room of the house," he said, cocking his head towards the shower.

Finally, he ushered you into the bedroom. His hands parted from your waist to flick on the lamp. "And this is my favorite room. The bedroom. The room where you're gonna ride me into the sunset. Or sunrise, all things considered."

His room was quite different from what you'd imagined. He had white walls, which you were sure would only enhance the sunlight in the morning when you woke up beside him. His white bedsheets and deep brown quilt looked so welcoming that you wouldn't even fight if he asked you to stay for the rest of your trip. Maybe even the rest of your life if he wanted.

Your stomach fluttered with pure want as he tossed off his flannel, followed by his shirt. All you could do was stand and watch him strip. His abs were nothing short of glorious, glowing in the pale bedroom light. You wanted to leave scratches and bites and bruises down them. You wanted to memorize every divot and ridge of his body.

His lips met yours again, and his hands were back on your body. They roamed down your torso, meeting the hem of your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

"Uh-huh," you breathed out, trying your hardest not to moan already.

His face fell teasingly. "Aw, you're gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart."

Your cunt clenched around nothing at his dominance. "Yes, Stevie. You can do whatever you want to me tonight."

His hips bucked into yours when you called him Stevie, persuading you to add it to your vocabulary for the night. He lifted the shirt from your body, his eyes going glassy as they fell on your boobs. "I'll take you up on that offer, princess."

His hand moved to his hat, tossing it onto the bed lightly. You took a second to admire his curls and waves, sure that you would get lost in them if he allowed you to. As he laid back on the bed, he held your hips and guided you to straddle his waist. With a soft movement of his fingers, he undid the clasp of your bra and slid it agonizingly slow off your body. His mouth made contact with one of your tits while he occupied the other with one of his coarse hands.

Your hands grasped at his jeans but struggled to undo the giant buckle. He chuckled, eliciting a mewl from you as the vibration rumbled against your body. He lifted your hips out of the way before undoing his jeans and kicking them off, his mouth not leaving yours. After finally getting out of his own pants, he moved onto yours.

He flipped the two of you over, your back arching away from the mattress. He sucked on your nipple as he slowly helped you out of your jeans and underwear. You kicked them away, nearly shivering as you heard them hit the floor. As his hands led you further up the bed, your head crashed into his pillows. They smelled like him and it made you smile.

"Ah-ah," he tutted as he moved down your body towards the foot of the bed. His lips met your mound for a second, leaving a soft kiss right above where you needed him most. "Don't get too comfortable laying down. You'll only be like this until I'm satisfied, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah," you answered, your nipples feeling neglected since he parted from them. You let your own hands wander towards your breasts, giving your nipples a tug, still desperate for friction there. Pure shock exploded in your body though as his lips met your thigh, inching toward your entrance.

Your hands flew to his hair on instinct, tugging on the soft strands as he licked a stripe up your cunt. "Stevie," you sighed, your grip tightening.

His mouth moved up to your clit, suckling on your sensitive bud. "Mmm," he praised against you, letting you know he was tasting the most delicious thing on the planet. The rumble of his voice egged your orgasm on and your legs began to shake already.

He left a trail of kitten licks from your clit to your hole, his tongue thrusting in the exact rhythm you needed it. Your legs tightened around him, and you found yourself struggling not to push him away.

"Hey," he stopped you, pulling your legs apart with his rough hands. "You remember what my belt says?"

You looked down at him between your legs to refocus yourself, meeting his beautiful eyes. Your senses were in absolute overdrive at his words. "Pain is t-temporary, victory lasts f-forever."

"I want that to be your mantra tonight, because I've still got a while with you yet."

You moaned pornographically as he met your core again, and this time his mouth was accompanied by his fingers. "Oh, god."

His lips parted from you, his fingers still working fast at your hole. "What was that? Couldn't hear you."

"Oh, my god." Your head fell back and eyes rolled as the digits brushed against your g-spot.

"That's right, princess," he said, licking another line up your puffy cunt. "I'm your god tonight."

Your first orgasm of the night rushed through your body, your essence gushing on his tongue. Apollo had nothing on this man, you were sure of it.

He didn't give up though and continued sucking hard on your clit. Your body convulsed at the stimulation. Your hands clung to his hair, struggling to push him away. "Oh, god, Steve!"

He removed his lips for a split second. "You tell me to stop and I’ll stop," he said, his tone of genuine concern.

"No, god, please don't stop!" you cried out. Your grip was becoming even tighter on his hair.

"Then I need you to remember the words, baby." His mouth absolutely assaulted your pussy, but you were sure you didn't want anything else at that moment.

"Pain is temporary, victory lasts forever," you repeated, your feet digging into his shoulders where they dangled. "Pain is temporary, victory lasts forever."

You could tell that hearing the phrase fall from your lips was affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. You watched his hips roll against the mattress below, desperately searching for any friction he could find. Still, he was dedicated to pulling one more orgasm out of you with just his mouth and hands.

He stayed like that until you came again, and a string of profanities was all you could manage to say. "Fuckfuckfuck," you muttered, your walls pulsing around his tongue.

"Oh, god, please!" you begged, his mouth licking up every last bit of your taste.

His mouth moved up to yours as he hovered above your body, and to say that your taste on his tongue was anything less than sexy would've been a lie. "I think I got you good and loosened up for me, princess. You ready for the fun part?"

You mewled, your hips bucking at nothing as your hands met his skin. One of your hands slipped into his boxers, and already you could tell that he was big.

He hovered over you, his legs straddling your hips, as he reached toward the nightstand. You had only just realized how long his limbs were. He pulled out a condom and slipped it into your hand. "OK," he instructed, "Go ahead. Open it."

You eagerly complied with his simple command. He made quick work of pulling his boxers off and tossing them into the pile with the rest of the discarded clothing as you made an effort to tear open the foil. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, thinking about what it must be like to take all of him down your throat. He was just so big, and you knew one taste would be all it took to have you utterly addicted.

As he settled above you again, you finally pulled the rubber out of the packet. "Now put it on me," he demanded.

Before you managed to inch forward and take him between your lips, he moved your hands to his cock, helping you roll the rubber on. I guess I’ll just have to wait until morning, you thought to yourself.

Rolling the condom onto his length was definitely not an easy task. Between the thickness of his dick and the shakiness of your hands, it seemed impossible. After what felt like an eternity, you finally managed to get it on him, completely captivated at the way his length felt in your palms. You gave it a few experimental strokes and the groans you dragged from his lips were beautiful.

While you finished up with the condom, Steve reached into the nightstand again, grabbing a bottle of lube. He squeezed some onto his fingers, slipping them inside you once more. You moaned loud enough that it echoed off his walls and a chuckle fell from his lips. "You think that feels good. Just wait for what I've got planned for you."

He moved to lie flat beside you, squeezing a couple drops of lube onto your fingers. "Lube me up?" he asked.

There was no way you could ever say no to that. Your hand met his dick, massaging the liquid down the shaft. A groan tumbled from his lips, and you wanted to play it on repeat for the rest of your life.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you on top again, forcing you to face him. His hands squeezed at your love handles as he cooed, "Come here, baby."

Your mouth felt like it had been sewn shut as he guided you into his lap. He grabbed the previously abandoned Stetson, now setting it on your head and looking you over like he could absolutely devour you. "Go ahead, cowgirl. Giddy up."

You keened as you sunk down onto him, barely getting the tip inside you before your head fell back. "Oh, my god."

"That's it, princess, you got it," he cooed, lowering you down his length. You whined as he slowly reached the hilt, his cock surely hitting your cervix.

His hands carried you, rocking your hips in the perfect rhythm he needed. His mouth fell into an open 'o' as you rutted against him. "Just like that."

His cock was made for splitting you open, you were convinced. The only word for the sensual, blissful feeling he brought you was heaven. You'd died and gone to heaven, and this was Apollo you were looking at.

He pounded into you, but the stimulation was becoming just too much. Your body felt heavy as your movements stilled, leaving Steve to do all the work.

The thrusts of his hips slowed as he noticed the absolutely exhausted expression on your face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Too much," you pouted. "Feel worn out."

His hands moved up to your cheeks before pulling you down for a long kiss. He smelled of sweat and what was left of his cologne, and the aroma did nothing to aid your senses.

"Do you need to stop? It's fine if you do, Promise," he reassured you. "I put you through a lot, huh, sweetheart?"

You shook your head. "Uh-uh. Jus' need a little help. Please?"

He pulled away, pushing some stray hairs behind your ear. "Want me to take care of the rest, baby?"

You managed to nod before he flipped you both over, a whimper falling from your lips at the friction. His hips resumed their previous tempo, his eyes screwing shut as you involuntarily squeezed around him. You smiled up at him from your new position. You were happy to keep going but even happier that you didn't have to hold yourself up any longer. Steve had it, had you.

"You poor little thing," he taunted after one particularly rough thrust. "Needed me to take the reins for you, huh?"

Your head bobbed in something close to the answer he was looking for. Your hands fell above your head, and Steve moved to hold them both in one of his large palms.

"Should've known you wouldn't last long," he teased, fucking into you harder. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head from the stimulation. "Considering that sad bull riding attempt."

His lips met yours again as he continued pounding into your core. He controlled the kiss too, his lips rough against your trembling mouth. His tongue searched your mouth, giving you everything you didn't know you needed.

He moved from your lips to your ear, leaving a ghost of a kiss on the lobe. "Just needed Stevie to take over for a bit, yeah?"

"Mhm," you murmured, willing your hips to roll toward his once more. You tried so hard, but this time, you were sure you didn't have the strength left in you. You nipped at his neck, your way of letting him know you were still with him.

"Shhh, you're OK, princess," Steve cooed, "I got you."

His next statement was quite the juxtaposition from his previously quiet voice. This time, his voice was rough, and he couldn't help himself from babbling out, "Shit, I'm close!"

Eager to help him finish, you tried to meet his movements with a couple sloppy thrusts of your own. After all, you were supposed to be riding him. You felt bad for not holding up on your end of the cowboy hat rule. However, Steve moved a hand to your hips to still your movements. He left a distracting bite on your collarbone before kissing over the spot. "Told you I'd take care of the rest, baby. I promise I've got you, but you just gotta trust me.”

You managed to nod again, and your body jerked as you fell apart beneath him. "Oh, Stevie," you gasped. "Thank you."

"Oh, you feel so good," he rasped, his cock twitching inside of you. "Shiiiiittt!" Chasing down his own pleasure, his hips canted as he guided yours, desperately riding out both of your highs.

He fell limp on top of you, and his now softening cock left you feeling full and thankful. You still weren't sure what possessed you to go to a random bar in a strange city in the middle of your work trip, but you definitely weren't regretting it when this god of a man had been there seemingly waiting just for you.

He flipped the two of you over one last time, his hands settling on the small of your back as you rested on top of him.

"I guess the song was right," he sighed. His chest rose and fell in a heavy rhythm as he pecked your scalp, his fingers drawing soft circles on your skin.

"Hmm?" you managed to hum against his pec, his torso warm and inviting.

He left another soft kiss on your head. The feeling of his lips was to die for. "You really should save a horse and ride a cowboy."

OK I KNOW I DON'T USUALLY LEAVE LIL MESSAGES LIKE THIS ON THIS BLOG BUT THERE'S NO WAY I CAN'T THIS TIME

This fic... yawl. Me and Georgia stayed up til 5 am two nights in a row editing this for y'all. When I tell y'all... this might be my favorite fic I've ever written!!! Gosh, this was so much fun and I wish I could experience writing it all over again, even if it has only been like 3 days.

Again, huge thank you to Georgia for working this fic to its fullest potential. I am so obsessed with how this turned out and I am so thankful you helped me with it!!

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 months

Note

I had the most dumb yet sensible thought when it comes to your Pretender AU. Megatron discovering ways to deal with Optimus accidentally through human media. Particularly horror media like The Thing, Among Us, Bloodborne, Alien, SCP and such.

A thing that Soundwave would stumble upon by accident before realizing this could come in handy and share with it the other Decepticons. It's kinda ironic in a way. Organics having what could be the key to handling this entire mess through their entertainment based media.

Plus they probably look to YouTube for channels like Roanoke Gaming who discusses the various intricacies like mythology, biology and such on media creatures such as Xenomorphs.

Oh goodness this is FUNNY.

Previous part here.

This is kinda crack so honestly its up in the ether plot relevance wise.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The Pretenders tried to flee Cybertron as soon as they deemed the planet unsuitable. Megatron wanted to scoff when he caught wind of the Pretend Prime and his entourage fleeing the sector. He had every intention of ruling Cybertron and left more than enough soldiers behind to tend to the planet in his absence, but he simply could not allow the Pretenders to go. If they got any ground anywhere, they would spread and be back.

The Pretender Prime had long since proven to be capable of holding a grudge, and Megatron was in no mood to shove the issue under the rug until it came back to bite him. As such, he collected his inner circle, Jazz included, and boarded the Nemesis. He set course for the planet the Pretenders were headed toward with grim determination, and upon landing, he almost wanted to scream due to the sheer amount of organic everything. It reminded him of the Pretenders and he despised being on the ground.

Thus, while his subordinates did everything in their power to root out the Pretenders wherever they were rooted on the planet of Earth, Megatron delved into the human datanet with Soundwave at his side. Jazz joined them on occasion, and through this shared effort, they discovered possible methods to combat their foes that they never would have expected. The ideas were... a tad outlandish. But having tried just about everything else under the sun to kill their enemies, the Decepticons were willing to make an attempt to follow the potential solutions provided.

Having watched "Earnest Scared Stupid" one time, the Vehicons attempted to deal with the Pretenders through the use of milk. It was a one time effort, and the Pretenders were more dumbfounded than actually upset at the milk that was tossed all over them. Seeing as they didn't melt into goo, the Vehicons ran screaming.

Jazz made a valiant attempt to use voodoo magic a handful of times, which ended up resulting in a small storage closet being filled to the brim with collections of dolls stuffed with needles. He also tried a few banishing rituals just for the kick of it. And surprisingly, after one of his attempts which involved an offering the some demon Jazz never bothered to remember, Arcee ended up stepping into a hole and breaking her leg. Since then Jazz has occasionally repeated the ritual just to see if anything else happens.

Starscream saw several movies and decided that water might be a possible way to combat the Pretenders. Being the most reliable flier, he took to the air and decided that Arcee would be the best target. He picked her up, and making sure to wear gloves so as to not actually touch her, he threw her into the nearest body of water and waited above. Arcee for her part flailed and got out with a hiss of indignation, her plating flaring and her extra limbs extending so that she could shake off the liquid. The most Starscream got for his efforts was a dirty look, but his work was applauded when he returned to the Nemesis. Touching a Pretender was always a dangerous risk to take.

Megatron opted for a slightly more... violent solution. He had attempted chemical warfare, bombing, outright attacks, poison, and even manufactured diseases to fight back against his foes. None of his efforts so much as gave him a reasonable weakness to use against them. While young, Pretenders were easy to kill. But after that all he really had to target was their familial connections. There were no physical defects to attack or use against them. They adapted, and as much as he was loath to admit it, they were disgustingly superior when it came to most physical activities. They were resistant to just about everything too. So really there were only two options in his mind.

The Pretenders operated similarly to organics. And according to what he saw, two things that killed organics most often were freezing cold and fire. Thus, his vehicons were given flamethrowers for a time and when the opportunity arose, Optimus was thrown into the arctic for observation. The vehicons for their part managed to make the Pretenders scatter, but fire did nothing against them that it didn't do for a normal Cybertronian. The freezing on the other hand? Freezing could kill a bot, at least in a moist environment. But against the odds, as soon as Optimus found he couldn't escape on his own, the Prime dug a hole into the ground and curled up into a ball, his frame stilling. For a moment Megatron thought he might have won, but then as soon as the other Pretenders came to get him, they dragged the Prime out and back to their base. Within a week he was up and moving again.

The monsters could hibernate it seemed. And that terrified Megatron more than he cared to admit.

The Decepticons only true success came when Soundwave decided to attempt using sound to their advantage. The Pretenders were incredibly sensitive, their optics, audials, and olfactory systems all primed for hunting. Seeing "The Quiet Place", Soundwave noted the similarities between the Pretenders and the Angels and opted to make an attempt at using the same attack against their foes. To the surprise of everyone, he...

Succeeded.

When Soundwave played music on just the right frequency on the battlefield, the Pretenders began to scream. Their frames shifted, their disguises falling away and simultaneously being forced back into place. Unable to control their frames fully, they could only thrash and fight like wild animals as their senses were assaulted from all sides. It was not enough to kill them, but the weakness was swiftly acknowledged and abused.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Another step closer to victory.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #arcee #optimus prime #megatron #alternate universe #soundwave #starscream #vehicons #pretender au

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cherrycola27 · 6 months

Text

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warnings: Mentions of relationship trauma, mental abuse, grooming, use of the word "rape," manipulation

...........................................

Chapter 15: Would've, Could've, Should've

The first thing you notice as you stir from your slumber is how cold it is in your room. Even with the warmth of Bradley's torso pressing against your back and his strong arm wrapped around your waist, you still feel frozen.

You carefully extract yourself from his grasp and slide out of bed. Maybe a hot shower will make you feel better. You step into the en suite and slide back the door, and turn on the water. Within a few minutes, steam fills the room. You grab a couple of fluffy towels before stepping into the hot water.

You let it cascade over your skin, warming you down to your bones. You breathe in the steam and allow your body to relax. You've been tense ever since you woke up, and you can't put your finger on why.

A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door open and felt a rush of cool air when the frosted glass of your shower slid open. Goosebumps covered your skin, but were quickly soothed away when you felt the strong arms of your husband wrapped around you.

"You left me alone." Bradley mumbled into your skin as he kissed the juncture between your neck and shoulders.

"Sorry. It was cold and wanted to take a hot shower. Didn't want to wake you." You reply, twisting in his arms and standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. "I will never turn down a shower with you." Bradley says as he kisses you again, lifting you off the ground for just a moment. You squeal, and he puts you back down before reaching for your shampoo.

He pours out a generous amount before lathering it in your hair. He takes his time working his fingers through your strands and rinsing it away. When he finished with that, he grabs your fancy soap and carefully runs it over your body.

Bradley takes his time, kneading your skin and soothing the tension from your muscles. You sigh and lean back against him as his hands explore your skin while his lips trace kisses over your back and shoulders.

Once you're thoroughly relaxed, he turns off the water and steps out before you. He quickly dries himself off before grabbing another towel and wrapping in around you.

Bradley quickly picks you up and sets you on the counter between the sinks. He reaches behind you and grabs your favorite lotion. He scoops a good amount out of the jar and warms it between his palms before rubbing it down your shoulders and arms. He repeats the same action for your thighs and legs before standing up and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"What was all that for?" You ask him as you loop your arms around his neck to keep him in place. "Just wanted to take care of my girl." He shrugs before helping you off the counter. Both of you go back to the bedroom to get dressed in some comfy clothes. You have to go to the grocery store later, but right now, you just want to enjoy the morning with each other.

You leave the bedroom before Bradley does. On a mission to go to the kitchen and start some fresh coffee. As you make your way through your living room, a sense of dread falls over you. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You pause, ears perked up for the sound of a disturbance, but you hear nothing.

You let out a breath and shake your head. Your hand finds the wall, the kitchen is still shrouded in darkness, and you flick the light switch. Bright light fills the room. You turn back towards your kitchen island, and your heart drops.

You let out a blood curdling scream that echoes through your apartment.

Moments later, you can hear Bradley's heavy footsteps as he bounds through your home. "Angel—Angel. What's wrong?" Bradley asks as he searches your face. You're frozen in corner, tears staining your cheeks, and your shaking.

"I—it—" you stutter, unable to form words. Instead, you raise a hand and point towards the island. Bradley's eyes follow your arm, and that's when he sees them.

Sitting there on your counter was a fresh bunch of bright yellow narcissus flowers and a folded card.

Bradley goes to grab them, but you stop him. You pick up the small paper, and the words make your blood run cold. "Happy first day of spring. —P"

Your hands begin to tremble as you drop the paper and choke out a sob. "She was here." You choke out in a voice just above a whisper. Bradley comes to your side to steady you. Your knees are shaking and he is afraid you're going to collapse.

"She was here. She was in our kitchen. She was in our home!" You shout at Bradley. Your body is shaking so hard as you frantically try to draw in a breath. It feels like a elephant is sitting on your chest.

"Who? Who was here?" Bradley asks you. But he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it to be sure.

"Persephone. She was here. In our home, while we slept." You weep against Bradley's chest. He holds you close to him, wrapping his arms protectively around your body. Anger floods his system. How dare Persephone come back, after all these years, to try and hurt you again. Bradley knows he may be just a mortal man, but he would do anything to keep you safe from her.

You pull back from Bradley's chest as you try to take in some air, but no matter how hard you try, it's not enough. Black spots cloud your vision. The thought that your home, your sanctuary had be desecrated by her made you sick.

You pull out of Bradley's grasp and run to your bathroom. You heave over the toilet until your stomach is empty. Bradley comes in to hold your hair and rub soothing circles on your back.

"What can I do?" He asks you, feeling helpless in the situation.

"Take the flowers and get them out of here. Take them far away and throw them into the sea." You tell him as you lean against the counter. "I'll work on a protection charm for the home. In case she tries to come back." You tell him.

"Take Cerberus with you. You bear my mark, so she can't hurt you if she tried to attack you, but Persephone is afraid of dogs, too." You tell him.

Bradley nods his head and goes to get Cerberus and those offending flowers.

Once he is gone, you lock the door behind him. You quickly go into your kitchen and start tearing open cabinets and drawers, looking for all the herbs that you will need. While you knew some about charms and hexes, Hecate taught you more advanced ones.

You needed to protect your home

You needed to protect Bradley

You quickly gathered everything you needed and started assembling it on the counter. Hyrda hopped up on a stool beside you to watch you work.

Faster—you needed to work faster

Your hands were shaking with each movement. Knowing you had to be quick in case she came back. You were almost finished when you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Hydra tensed up and hissed beside you.

You inhaled sharply as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You froze as the icy words filled your ears. "Hello,darling. Did you miss me?"

No—it can't be

The mortar and pestle that you were grinding herbs in falls from your hands and shatters against the floor. The sound echos through the room.

"Sorry darling, I didn't mean to frighten you." She says. You can hear the clack of the heels of her shoes tap against the tile of your floor.

"Well? Aren't you going to say hello?" She asks you. "You—you need to leave." You stutter out, trying to gather your strength. "What? You don't want me here? Hades, you wound me." You can hear the condescending tone in her voice.

Be strong

Don't let her see you falter

"I said you need to leave! Get out! You aren't welcome here!" You turn around and shout, facing her for the first time. You flare your nostrils as you take her in. "Careful now. Watch your temper. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened, would we?" She taunts you.

She still knows what buttons to press

Persephone hasn't changed much since the last time you saw her. She still has her long auburn hair, deep green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. But you notice that her face, it isn't scared anymore. They're gone.

She's sitting at your breakfast nook, legs crossed, sizing you up. You notice she's brought a small pomegranate cake. It's sitting on your counter like some kind of piece offering, taunting you.

She stands up and crosses the kitchen towards you. You want to run—fight—something, but you're frozen.

Breathe

"Hades, don't be like that. I came here to make amends with you; to apologize." Persephone tells you in a sickly sweet voice. She reaches out her palm and cups your face. You jerk away from her. "Don't touch me!" You seethe. She holds her hands up in mock surrender.

Don't listen to her

She's lying

Little did you know, that small touch was all she needed to plant some pollen that she had created on you. Once it took affect, it would lower your inhibitions just enough for her to manipulate you into doing what she really needed you to do.

"I'm sorry for intruding like this. I've just missed you so much, darling, and I wanted to come see you. To talk to you. Please, can I have just a few moments of your time?" She almost begs you.

"You wouldn't have to miss me if you hadn't gotten me banished." You tell her gruffly.

"Hades, that was never my intention. I was trying to protect you!" Persephone tells you.

"Protect me? You called me a monster! A child! You said I scarred you on purpose because I was selfish! How is that protecting me?!" You scream at her.

Calm down

Control yourself

"Darling, you have to understand, I was afraid after what happened. You hurt me. I wasn't thinking straight. When Zeus summoned me and saw the scars, he made me say those things about you. I tried to argue with him and tell him I didn't want to be his wife, but he said he would kill you if I didn't say those things about you. He needed to make you the reason our union didn't happen because he didn't want to be seen as a failure." Persephone explains to you.

That—that does sound like Zeus

"After Zeus and the others banished you to the Underworld, I felt so awful for what I had said and done. It made me sick. I begged him to let me go and stay there with you. He agreed, but my mother told him that if he sent me there that she would cause a great famine. Zeus couldn't risk the wrath of Demeter. If there was no food, there would be no mortals. And if there were no mortals, who would worship him?" She continued.

What if she was telling the truth?

"If you were so sorry, why didn't you try to come to me sooner?" You ask her, you don't know why, but you can feel your guard slipping. "My mother used a charm to keep me bound to her side. It's taken me centuries to break it." Persephone tells you.

Maybe you had it wrong

"And your scars?" You question her. "I healed them with some herbs." She says. Persephone watched you closely. She can tell her pollen is starting to work.

"I'm beautiful again. And I'm here now. Ready for a fresh start." She smiles at you. "I always thought you were beautiful. Even with your scars." You tell her.

"Well, now I am even more so." She breaths out as she watches your eyes glass over. Perfect. Exactly what she needed.

"Hades, darling, why don't you come sit down, have some cake? It's made from the first pomegranate of the spring, just like I used to make for you." She gestures to the seat across from her.

What could it hurt?

Suddenly, your feet begin moving. It's like you don't have control over your own body. Then, a wide grin breaks out across your face as you sit down across from her. Hyrda is going crazy, swatting at your legs, trying to get your attention.

Persephone smiles at you. But it's not a smile. It's a wicked grin. You vaugly register that the twisted look on her face isn't a smile because you know what one should look like, and that's not it. But you ignore it in favor of picking up the fork that she handed you.

You always did love this cake

You cut into a cake, and sweet aroma fills your nostrils, bringing back the other times she has made it for you, and something doesn't feel right.

You're frozen again, mentally battling yourself. You scoop some of it up on your fork, but you don't bring it to your mouth. Something is telling you not to.

Persephone sees the hesitation in your eyes.

"C'mon darling, just take a bite. You'll love it. Don't you trust me?" She encourages you as she places a hand on your arm to sooth your worries.

"Don't you trust me?"

Her words echo in your brain over and over. Running through your memories and shining light on thoughts that were long hidden in the darkness. You had heard her speak them before. She had touched your hand just like this before. Two times to be exact.

Don't trust her

Suddenly, you feel like you've been struck by lightning as some of the missing pieces of your memory flash before your eyes.

You throw the fork down and push away from the table. Persephone gasps as she watches the haze vanish from your face.

"No." You speak deeply and forcefully.

"No? Hades, you're being ridiculous. I worked so hard on this for you. Please just take a bite." Persephone says, trying to push it towards you.

"No. I will not." You say again, standing up to you full height. "Darling. Eat. The. Cake." She punctuates each word. "You take a bite first, and then I will." You demand.

Persephone swallows thickly. She looks between you and the cake. She knows that her ruse is up. She inhales sharply. You watch her face contort from happy and sympathetic to one of anger and menace.

"Oh, Hades, it would have been so much easier for both of us if you had just eaten the cake." She sighs just before she lunges for you.

You don't have time to think, just react. You jump back and pull the Soul Sword from its home on your arm, aiming it directly for her.

Persephone freezes. The tip of your blade just a few inches from her throat. Hydra crouches at your feet, ready to attack her. Your chest heaves aa you tighten your grip.

"You lied to me. For years. I see that now. Everything time you gave me that cake, I lost part of my memory. It all makes sense now. You know, for centuries, I tried to defend you, us. I thought I knew what we were, but the more I think about it now, the less I know. So I want the truth. No more lies, Persephone." You grit out.

"You want the truth. Fine. I'll tell you the truth." She says as she narrows her eyes at you.

"I never wanted to marry Zeus. I never wanted to marry, period. But I especially didn't want to marry someone who would parade me around like a show pony. I needed a way to get out of it. I thought if I could trick someone into marrying me—someone who wasn't held in high regard—someone I could dump later, I would be able to get out of it." Persephone begins.

"I wasn't sure who I would use—who would be naïve enough to fall for my plan. That is, until you came along, darling. You were young and bright-eyed and eager to be accepted. But the other Gods looked down on you, treated you as a lesser being. So, when I saw your spirit was broken, I swooped in. I told you all the things you wanted to hear. I made you feel important, valued, loved. I moulded you into the minion that I needed you to be." She tells you in an unforgiving tone.

"You used me." You breathe out. Tears gathering in your eyes.

"Hades, it's your own fault—really. You made it too easy. You were so desperate for someone to show you the tiniest amount of attention. And when I did, you practically threw yourself at me. You bent over backward to keep my favor. You did this to yourself. I mean, did you really think someone like me could ever love someone like you?" Persephone laughs in your face as the first stray tear slides down your cheek.

You swallow thickly. "How could you? I loved you. I cared about you. I gave you my heart! And you trampled it beneath your foot!" You shout at her. Sadness thick in your voice.

"You were a means to an end for me. But I will say you weren't as bidable as I thought you would be. I knew that I would have to find a way to keep myself in the Underworld. I also knew that Zeus was extremely vain. So I worked out that if I could somehow disfigure myself just enough, I'd be in the clear. So, I had to get you to burn me." Persephone tells you. She shifts to the side, but you counter and hold your sword closer to her throat.

"However, you had a great mastery of your powers. So, I knew I wouldn't be able to have you accidentally do it. I knew I would have to weaken your mind—your will—just enough, so I made a pollen that would make you open to suggestion. Just like earlier." Persephone wiggles her fingers, and you think back to how after she'd touched you, your mind didn't feel like your own.

"But that still wasn't enough. So I researched and found out that if you crossed hemlock with pomegranate, it made a sort of neurotoxin. It inhibited decision-making as well as blocked memory forming synapses in the brain. Effectively, it made you a mindless cog and gave you temporary amnesia. A two for one, really!" She practically cheered.

"I knew I needed to test it before I wanted to put my plan into action. So I made you a cake with my creation. You ate it, and I thought it had worked. I was able to lead you to my bed and convince you to let me take your maiden-hood. But I didn't make it strong enough because you tried to fight back. I had to hold you down for you to finally submit to me." Persephone smirks.

"You took my maiden-hood against my will. You lied to me about it. You said the pain was normal. You—you raped me, Persephone." You choke out, appalled at her words.

"That's such a strong word. You came to my bed willingly." She tilts her head and clicks her tongue. "Because you poisoned me!" You scream at her, taking a step forward.

"I did what I needed to do. After I found out that my concoction worked, I waited until the first day of spring. I fed it to you again, and this time, you didn't fight me. I got you to burn me just so. Unfortunately, I may have given you too much because right after, you passed out. I had intended to go to Olympus and spin a story to Zeus about how you had accidentally burned me and that to punish you, I should have to stay in the Underworld so you could live with what you had done everyday. I didn't want him to kill you because I'm not a monster." She tries to reason with you.

"Zeus agreed, but my mother, well, she did not. The part about her threatening to cause a famine was true, and Zeus' need to be worshiped outweighed everything else. So, I told him what he wanted to hear. That you tried to steal me away from him and burned me to keep me for yourself. I called you a monster and a demon and a child because, well, you were. In the end, I got what I wanted and didn't have to marry him." Persephone smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"You did all of that because you didn't want to wed? You ruined my life! I was banished to the Underworld because of you! I lost my seat on Olympus because of you! I hated myself for centuries because of you!" You scream at her.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I'm not. I did what I had to do to survive. I mean, for God's sake, I was thirty-two, and you were nineteen. Were you really that ignorant to think what we had was real? Hades, my love for you was about as real as your marriage to that mortal is." Persephone throws her head back and laughs at you.

You feel your heart drop, and the last bit of sanity you have snap. Rage floods your body and consumes every ounce of your being. It was one thing to hear her say all of the terrible things she had done to you, but to compare herself to Bradley, that was the final straw.

You drop the Soul Sword down to its dagger form and charge at her. "You bitch!" You shout as your body collides with her and you pin her against your kitchen counter, with the silver blade of your dagger pressed to her neck.

.................

Bradley had been dutifully following your instructions. He and Cerberus had also stopped by the flower shop to get some poppies in hopes of cheering you up. They had just pulled into his parking place with he felt a pain in his chest, and Cerberus' ears perked up. Bradley knew nothing was wrong with him, and his mind immediately went to you.

He grabbed the flowers and Cerberus' lead, and the two of them took off towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. As soon as they reached your floor, Cerberus started barking, an angry protective bark, one Bradley had never heard before. Cerberus broke free of Bradley's grasp and charged down the hall to your door. Bradley sprinted behind him, fumbling for his keys.

The minute he got there, he heard you scream, and Cerberus was pawing at the door, shaking it on its hinges.

Bradley got the key in the lock and threw it open before following Cerberus inside.

Cerberus paused at the kitchen, growling on high alert. When Bradley rushed in, he was met with a concerning sight. You, had a women, who he knew had to be Persephone, pinned against the counter with your dagger pressed against her neck. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and angry Greek words left your mouth as she tried to push you off of her.

"Angel—Angel—Angel!" Bradley called out to you before you finally snapped your head to see he was there.

"Angel, what's going on?" Bradley asked you. He tried to take a step closer, but Hydra and Cerberus blocked his way.

"She used me, Bradley. She preyed on me. She groomed me and used me and threw me away like trash." You sobbed as you pressed the blade harder into Persephone's neck.

"She poisoned me and manipulated me to do what she wanted, and when it didn't work out, she lied about me and turned me into a monster!" You screamed through the tears.

Bradley freezes. He doesn't know what to do. But he does know that he can't let you kill Persephone. He won't let her turn you into something you're not. Bradley knows he needs to talk you down.

"Angel, I'm so sorry that happened to you. But killing her, that won't fix. It won't make it right. I know you're hurting, but her death won't undo what she did to you." Bradley tries to reason with you. He can only imagine how much pain you're in or what Persephone had said and done to you to bring you to this state of distress.

"She deserves it, though. She stole my girlhood. She stole my youth, my life, my freedom. She took it all from me!" You sob, and your hand begins to tremble.

"You're right. She does deserve it. But Angel, this isn't you. Don't be the person she tried to paint you out to be. You're so much better than that. Please, Angel. Put the dagger down." Bradley pleads with you.

He only knows what you've told him about Persephone and your past, and he knows that she doesn't deserve your mercy, but Bradley knows how much you would regret it if you did kill her.

You meet his eyes, the look down at Persephone, who is wide-eyed with fear. You squeeze your hand around the handle of your dagger and look back at Bradley before dropping it and sinking to the ground and sobbing.

Persephone pushes away from the counter and tries to run, but before she can, Hydra and Cerberus corner her.

Bradley wraps his arms around you to comfort you, shielding you from Persephone's view.

"Well, isn't this sweet. Enjoy it while it lasts, Hades. One day, he is going to get tired of you and throw you away just like I did. You aren't the kind of person that gets to be loved forever. You're just a pawn for us to use." She looks at Bradley and crinkles her nose. "You know I'm right." And with that comment, something snaps in Bradley.

He picks your dagger up from the floor and grabs Persephone by the arm and holds it in front of her face.

"Now I won't let you turn her into a monster. She's better than that. But I have no problem being one. I swore to protect this woman and love her until the end of my days, and I plan on doing just that. I don't care who the hell you are. Goddess, mortal, it doesn't matter. If I ever see you again or find out that you have come near my wife, I will send you to the Underworld myself. Now, get out of our home before I change my mind!" Bradley grits out before roughly shoving Persephone towards the door.

She doesn't protest. She knows that Bradley is serious. Persephone looks between Bradley and you before turning on her heels and vanishing.

Bradley turns back to you. Hydra and Cerberus have come to your side. Hydra is curled in your lap purring while Cerberus is sitting in front of you. You have your arms wrapped around his broad body and your face buried in his fur. It does little to muffle the sobs that pour out of you. Bradley kneels down on the floor and gently touches your shoulder. You flinch at his touch.

"Baby." He speaks to you softly. "It's okay. She's gone, and she's never going to hurt you again. Everything's okay now. I'm right here." He tries to calm you, but you can't stop the tears.

"Angel. Can you look at me? Please?" Bradley asks you as he rubs soothing circles on your back. You pull yourself away from Cerberus and Hydra and spin on the floor to look at him. Bradley's face softens as he takes in your red eyes and puffy cheeks. There is so much he wants to say to you, and at the same time, he isn't sure what to say. So he settles for propping himself up against the kitchen cabinets and opening his arms wide. "C'mere, Angel." He beckons you.

You wipe your eyes and nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt before sliding closer to Bradley. He carefully pulls you onto his lap. You bury your face in his chest as one of his hands rubs your back while the other tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

The wail that you let out as you sob against him breaks Bradley's heart and brings tears to his own eyes. He so badly wants to ask you what Persephone said to you— what she did to you. But he doesn't want to pry, and if he did know, he's sure that he'd regret letting her go.

It hurts him to see you like this. Sad, angry, confused—broken.

Bradley wishes he could take your pain and put it on his heart so you wouldn't have to feel this way. He would be strong enough to take it.

He knows there isn't a lot he can do right now, so he stays there, content to hold you and sing to you and whisper words of love and affirmation on the kitchen floor until you're ready to get up. Until you're ready to talk to him. Even if it takes all day.

Bradley isn't sure how much time has passed, but eventually, your sobs turn into hiccuping whimpers. He looks down and you and pushes your hair back just enough to see that you've fallen asleep. Exhausted from the events that transpired.

Bradley pulls you closer to his chest and carefully lifts the two of you up from the floor. He cradles you against his body as he walks you to the bedroom. It's tricky, but he gets the covers pulled back enough to lay you down and tuck you in. You bury your face into his pillow as he quietly backs out of the room.

He finds his phone and calls Maverick, telling him that both of you need a few days, maybe the whole week off. Maverick can hear the concern in Bradley's voice and doesn't pry. He simply says okay and moves on.

Once he is off the phone, Bradley goes back into the kitchen to clean up the glass and mess that was left behind. He scowls at the cake that was left on the counter. He quickly grabs it and throws it in the bag along with everything else before taking it and tossing it into the dumpster behind your building.

Once he's back inside and has everything clean and wiped down, Bradley picks up the poppies he haphazardly tossed to the ground. He gathers them up and places them in a vase with some water.

After that's finished, he turns off the light and walks into the bedroom. You're curled up into a tight ball in the middle of the bed. Bradley peels back the covers and slides in beside you. You shutter in your sleep when he touches you. But even asleep, your brain knows that it's him and that you're safe now. Instinctively, you curl against his side.

Bradley doesn't sleep that night. Instead, he spends the night watching you, holding you, keeping you safe from anything or anyone that might be lurking.

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock @princess76179 @supernaturalvikingwhore @schoollover @cheyrenee @briseisgone @angelbabyange @callsign-minx

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #lt. bradley bradshaw #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #top gun 2 #false god #Spotify

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shippy-pjo-shipper · 2 years

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Preyna ~ Repeating Mythology [Aeneas and Dido]

Give then take. The motto of Fate.

She was a queen with a city to rule and he was a hero with one to build.

Their love was impossible by fate's own design.

But that didn't make it hurt less.

@them-awesome-rarepairs

#pjorarepairs2022 #preyna #pereyna #percy x reyna #percy jackson #reyna avila ramirez arellano #repeating mythology!au #repeating mythology #repeating #au #edit #aesthetic #moodboard #my edit #shippys

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comfortless · 2 months

Note

I think you may have already answered someone about this a little while back, so sorry if this is a repeat, but do you have any recommendations for other fanfic writers to support that also write historical/mythological fics?

no worries, anon! i think that one was just for fantasy!

heed the warnings, but

i have to suggest kneelingshadowsalome of course of course!!

i could gush about Salome’s work for an eternity… all of it feels like reading a fairytale, even the pieces that aren’t based on myth. but.. if you have not read it already, please please please read FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT. it’s such a masterpiece, truly the holy grail of König in a historical setting. <3 The Bull and The Maiden is also phenomenal. also by Salome: barbarian! König & Ghost, knight! König, and the entire Satyr! König tag!!

suimon has a super cute knight! König!! very charming au of this poor guy who treats his horse like a baby and is making his attempt at courting a lady. if you want a softer Kö he is the cutest!

gremlingottoosilly also has a lot of (dark) historical and myth works!! i would recommend any of them!

also!! wordsbyvani is currently writing a fic based on a Greek myth that i can confirm will be excellent. <3

not König but soap-ify’s Aim at My Heart is very good, too. <3 Eros!Soap!!

if you have something in mind feel free to slither into my inbox, too. requests being closed does not apply to that - writing these is so fun. ^^

#asks!

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effervescentdragon · 7 months

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My lil contribution to @1016week Day 2 - social media. This is the snippet of my SF Admin AU which I started writing a long time ago for @welightitup (and @mssr-monagato which is a given). I hope you enjoy it! 😘

" - and this is why I think I would be a good fit for this job."

She isn't looking away from him, and he doesn't let himself show how much he is intimidated by that glare, even though he really, really is. He did everything right, said everything right, showed her his best work. He knows he did. There is nothing more he can do. They will either hire him or not.

God please, let them hire me. I need this fucking job. This is my last chance, and if I blow it, it's corporate hell with dear Dad, and I will die. I will literally die.

Her long, red nails tap on the glass table twice. He thinks this may be what doom sounds like. It sure feels that way.

"Mr. Gasly. You have an impressive portfolio, and your CV is one of the best I've seen. What I want to know is, what will you bring to this job? What is the thing that distinguishes you from all the other candidates for this job?"

Her eyes bear into his, and he swallows. Goddamn she is intense. Pierre knows the question, it is a standard question everyone asks in job interviews, and he knows the answer he's expected to give. He opens his mouth to say the prepared, standard spiel, but in that moment his eyes stop on the pictures hung on the wall behind her. They are all the same. Same poses, same settings, same camera angle. A whole wall filled with the same picture over and over again.

Fuck this.

"You're wasting opportunities here."

She raises an eyebrow, and her eyes regain some of the focus they've lost during the rest of the interview, as she was listening to his pitch, probably the twentieth one and identical to every other one she's heard during the day.

"Oh?" She says, and it sounds like a challenge.

Fuck it. Full send.

"Yes. You are sitting on a goldmine, and you are doing nothing about it." Pierre takes a deep breath. You can do this. He looks her straight in the eyes.

"You have the most beautiful and the most attractive driver on the grid driving for you, bar Lewis Hamilton, who is, you will agree, in a league of his own. Your driver is very easy on the eyes, he is kind, he is extremely good at what he does. And you are doing nothing to capitalize on that and attract more fans, when you could literally have your social media engagement, and with it the revenue, go through the roof."

She says nothing. He plows on.

"He has the looks, and he has the brains, and he has the mythological-like background and appeal. Hell, the Italian media calls him Il Predestinato! He is a Ferrari child through and through, he lives and breathes for this team, which is an angle that can be explored so well, and yet you do nothing. He is even willing to speak about the hardships of his life, although I personally believe he should be left alone about that." He clenches his fist. "And again, I reiterate - there is not a bad angle for the kind of face he has. And you need something new; something fresh. You know what I've found out as I did research on the perception of Ferrari in the public, in the target groups?"

"Enlighten me," she says, and Pierre forces his hands not to shake as he shuffles through his papers and pulls out printed-out screenshots. He points to the highlighted words repeating themselves on the pages.

"Outdated. Old-fashioned. Uptight. And a million other synonyms, all meaning one and the same thing." He looks back at her. She isn't looking away, and her expression is stone-like, but her eyes are flashing. He swallows the bile rising in his throat, because he can't believe he's about to say it.

"Boring. People think Ferrari is boring. Ferrari." He laughs incredulously. "The oldest team on the grid, the team that is synonymous with motor racing. The mythological team. The red cars. All of that, and it comes down to one thing. Boring."

He can't help but scoff, too deep in his spiel to care whether or not he is crossing the line. "Which is unimaginable to me, especially when you have the history," he points around the room at the pictures of very inportant people with the drivers and Ferrari personell, "the glory", he points to the trophys in the room, a mere dozen of what he knows are hunderds more, "and the beauty." He steels himself and shuffles the paper, pulling out a printed picture of Charles Leclerc, who is smiling at the camera bashfully.

He taps on the picture. His finger lands on Charles' dimple, and stays there.

"You need to utilize this, and even if you don't hire me, please, make whoever you hire use this - use him. Because otherwise, you're going to end up like Red Bull, after Daniel Ricciardo left." She twitches visibly. "Utterly unlikeable."

Pierre feels like he's just run a marathon. His breathing is irregular, and he makes himself calm down, repeating those meditation techniques his brother insisted on him knowing. The silence in the office is deafening suddenly, and he swallows around the lump in his throat.

"I see." Her voice is calm. "Thank you for your presentation, Mr. Gasly, and for this interview. We will be in touch."

Fuck. I completely blew it. Fuck.

"Thank you for the opportunity," he manages to say.

He goes to gather his papers, but she hums.

"Leave your research here, if you don't mind?"

It's not a question; not really. It's an order, given with an icy smile. He makes himself smile back even though his stomach seems to be turning like he's on a roller-coaster ride.

"Of course," he says, and removes his hand from the picture of Charles Leclerc's face. "Have a nice day, and thank you again."

She says nothing more, only inclines her head in a silent dismissal as he leaves the room. He passes the security in a daze, moving on auto-pilot right up to the moment when he's sitting in his car.

"Fuck," he says out loud. "Fuck, Pierre, you absolute fucking idiot."

He crosses his arms over the steering wheel, and then after a second, he lets his head fall forward too.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He groans. "I am so stupid!"

"Excuse me, sir, are you - Are you okay?"

Pierre groans again, because he is nothing if not dramatic, and turns to look at the person interrupting his mental breakdown through his driver's side window.

"Fuck," he says, eyes widening, because right next to his car, crouching in what looks to be a very awkward manner and looking at him through his window is nobody else but Charles Leclerc.

Charles Leclerc, the Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari and the one everyone is convinced will be a World Champion someday. Charles Leclerc, who is a thousand times more beautiful in person than he looks in any of the pictures online. (And Pierre would know, because - because he did research. For the Ferrari interview. And not anything else.) Charles Leclerc, whose voice is kind, and whose French carries the lilt of the Principality. Charles Leclerc, whose eyes are wide in an emotion Pierre cannot recognize in his shocked state. Charles Leclerc, who is - frowning.

"Excuse me, I saw you were in - in distress. And I - I wanted to ask if you maybe needed some help?"

"With what?" Pierre asks, then wants to kick himself, because his tongue was always quicker than his brain, and his brain is currently screaming Oh my God that is Leclerc that is Charles Leclerc oh my GOD on a loop.

"With.. with whatever you are distressed about?" Charles says, and Pierre thinks the way he scrunches his face, half-confused, half-deternined, is absolutely fucking adorable.

Then again, Pierre thinks Charles Leclerc is adorable all the time, so that's not a revelation.

"No, no, ah, thank you," he laughs, because he can't help it. The irony is painfully laughable and laughably painful simultaneously. "You are very kind, but my problem is," he grins, "myself."

Charles laughs with him, and there is something knowing and sad hiding behind that smile. It makes Pierre want to smooth out the curve of it. It makes him want to bite it.

"Ah, I know that feeling well, my friend." He grins, and his eyes are sparkling green, perfectly offset by the dark purple of his shirt. "I hope your problem becomes more manageable."

There is sincerity in Charles' voice, and a whole weight of knowing, of understanding. Pierre can feel his hands relax on the steering wheel, and his utter desperation fade away a little.

"Thank you," he replies. "I hope so too."

Charles just nods at him, and they look at each other in commiseration brought on by shared diapazon of feelings.

"I should be going," Pierre says, then thinks Oh hell, I fucked up one thing already today. Full send. "Unless you want to give me your number?"

Charles' eyes widen and he looks - unrealistically good. Nobody should be that good-looking, nobody can, because Charles is just unreal. This close, Pierre can see him clearly, and the little tiny imperfections - the bitten corner of his lip, the little patch of hair he missed while shaving, the red spot on his cheek - they all make him even more beautiful.

"I -" Charles starts to say, cheeks red and face surprised, then seems to steel himself. "I could do that." He smiles sweetly. "But only if you tell me your name."

Pierre's heart feels like bursting out of his chest, a thousand and one emotions flaring as he replies "Pierre Gasly. At your service, cheri."

#1016 week 2023 #f1 rpf #piarles #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing

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