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yonemurishiroku · 1 year

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there're angels landing on the shore

Featuring: Nico as the Elsa I once mentioned. Percy’s POV because Nico’s dead. what else do you expect from me?

Written in a whimp so obviously i dont know if this is couple-y or not. Feel free to interpret it as you’d like.

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Percy didn't know what he had expected when a naiad had come rushing to him in the middle of his and Annabeth's chat, half spluttering and half shouting to him about something in the Lake. Maybe a monster attack, sure - considering how the water nymph had appeared utterly frightened and her water dress, usually so flowy, had looked like a cat had practiced scratching on it. The poor naiad had borderline begged Percy, stuttering words all jumbling together.

So, although fighting monsters wasn't something he enjoyed doing in his rare summer holidays at Camp - now that he managed to escape the University, Percy had followed her without much hesitation, Annabeth hot on his heels. All their nerves were strung up, ready for a threat like usual.

What greeted him at the Canoe Lake was not a monster, though.

The first thing Percy noticed was the chill. It hit him in the face and trickled down his spine like a spider weaving webs of dread. Percy had half a mind to chalk it up to the battle sensors he'd acquired throughout two great wars, now activated with the new alarm.

That was until they burst through the trees and finally set feet down the familiar lake bank.

At first, Percy couldn't believe what he was seeing.

What should have been green grass and blue waves lay in front of him in white and grey - just a shining, glinting pale blue of something transparent that had spilled over the patch of land where they stood and onto the water. Time seemed to still just then.

"How..." Behind Percy, Annabeth gasped quietly.

Percy breathed in the fresh scent of rime, reeling with the freezing sensation it brought. Ice , his mind supplied, utterly confused, in the middle of July .

Far away, in the middle of the lake, the waves were still running, yet there was no lapping ripple where the water met the land that Percy could see. The muddy soil under his feet felt unnaturally cold and rough. The air prickled his skin like thousands of needles. Every breath clawed at his throat and lungs. It didn't feel like July, now, but more like Khione had decided to grace them with her sunless December magic. No wonder the naiad was scared.

Percy watched the sunlight shimmer iridescent across the spiky crystals. The frozen water stared back. Black smears fleeted through the cracks. They looked like lingering shadows, hiding and blinking up at him behind the pieces of mirror-like ice.

And then, Percy saw him.

Lying not far from them, a shade of ebony in the middle of icy diamonds, was one Nico di Angelo.

He lay there, eyes closed and legs disappeared under the now frozen water, reclining against the gentle slope of the lake bank as if merely taking a nap under the blazing sun. Ice surrounded him, blooming from where he lay unmoving and spread across the lake as ink spilled. Its frigid touch turned everything brittle and frigid. Alone in the middle of ice blocks and thorns, the son of Hades looked not that different from an angel in the white clouds - if those clouds were also nails that impaled him on the glass, wings severed and waiting to be hung up.

Blood ran cold in Percy's veins.

"C-Call--" He choked back a guttural cry, "Call Will." He said and sprinted away without a reply from the daughter of Athena.

There was a lot of things

The coldness cut at every step he took. Percy stumbled as he threw himself into ranges of glittering tiny mountains. There was more than one particularly spiky ice thorn that managed to pierce through his shoes and slash at his jeans, drawing blood. His breaths came out in white puffs. Percy barely registered his own reflection mingled with the fleeting shadows behind the frozen walls, those that seemed to be swirling around the son of Hades in a frantic dance. All of his survival instincts were screaming at him to turn back, getting louder the more verglas Percy nearly slipped on, trying to reach Nico.

The son of Hades was so close, and yet the distance between them felt so vast, so impassable.

He tried to use his power. Surely ice was also a form of water, right? Percy focused on the glaciers that trapped Nico's legs, finding the familiar pull in them and pushing them away from the son of Hades with all the determination he could muster. The ice groaned - a hauntingly frail cry - and shook. A piece broke away, and Percy had less than a second of relief before the mass of coldness nearly dragged Nico away with it to the water whereas the rest creaked ominously. He tried to push at them, but Poseidon's reign could do so much to Khione's creations. The rime seemed to swallow Nico.

Percy managed to grab him before it did. He held onto the son of Hades and hauled him up the bank, pushing at the glaciers by his feet. Nico's jeans and shoes came up soaked. The water splashed at Percy and he couldn't help himself from cursing, shuddering. There was something in the coldness that bit at his skin and tugged at his veins. The looming shadows had yet to left. The icicles shattered into million pieces underneath them as Percy dragged Nico and himself up the bank. There was blood smeared on the glassy surface. Percy ignored that.

Instead, he examined the son of Hades. Nico didn't wake up. His eyes remained closed in an oblivious sleep. There was frost on his eyelashes and his dark hair had been nearly bleached white with all the ice stuck in it (Percy tried not to think about how it was similar to his own white streak, and how it made Nico look so much more ethereal. more unreachable ). His lips were bluish. Fractals blossomed on his cheeks.

Nico was cold. Nico had always been cold. Percy couldn't remember touching the kid without at least two layers of fabric between their skin, and yet Nico's touch had always remained chilling in his impression. The Underworld clung to him like another skin. The kid was as close to a corpse as he could get. Now, though, when the only thing Percy could find in whatever patch of skin he managed to touch was a lifeless lack of heat, the fact terrified him more than it should.

Percy heard his heart drop.

Shaking, he pressed his hand on the side of Nico's neck and searched. His senses sent ripples across the small body. Percy called out to the hot flow under the frozen skin and listened.

There was nothing.

The only thing he found was his own searing tears - drop by drop splattering before freezing over on Nico's pale cheeks.

#nico di angelo #percy jackson #Percy's POV #pjo #hoo #toa #yone writing #yone prompt #yone rambling #yone fic #if nico dies #riordanverse #angst #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #percico #platonic percico

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

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(1/2) Heyy, thanks for your reply, and sorry it took me a while to put my request together but here it is: Reader is a shy naiad/nymph who often attends Dionysus' parties, one day he throws a party for Ares, perhaps post-victory celebration. Ares is still in war mode (when is he not lol) and his mood is affecting the other party-goers, so much so that it starts disrupting the party (fights breaking out and what not). Dio wants people to start having fun again so he coaxes reader into helping ares uhhhh 'destress', maybe makes her drink a little ambrosia/wine to loosen up(two birds one stone y'know, he gets reader out of their shell as well). Of course *Dio* joins in the 'festivities' too bc can't be letting ares have all the fun dkkd.

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

I’ve wanted to attempt this request for a while now, but I needed some study into certain parts of it I wasn’t familiar with. I hope y’all enjoy the fic nonetheless and my bits of inexperience in certain portions don’t show overmuch!

(Note: There is no Ares/Dionysus in this fic & this is featuring the characters from the Hades game, if that weren't clear already.)

Summary

During a post-war celebration, the God of War gets a bit out of control, making tempers run hot. With Ares’ bloodlust infecting the party and threatening to ruin it by becoming a brawl, Dionysus enlists Reader’s aid to help his brother wind down. Though he isn’t one to be left out of the fun either.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal S*x, Biting, Blood, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drunk S*x, Hand Jobs, Nymph Reader, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Slight Breathplay, Stomach Bulge, Threesome, Vaginal S*x, Voyeurism

Party Foul (Ares/F! Reader/Dionysus)

The sound of raised voices and angry snarls sent you fleeing from the area most folks had gathered to celebrate. Though it was a fete held by a local town in honor of some glorious conquest of war, the atmosphere had been light and jovial to start. However, it hadn’t been long until several of the Olympian gods deigned to grace the celebration with their presence, many with small groups of followers of their own. Mostly, the gods only added to the cheerful mood, the victorious soldiers feeling even more invigorated and honored by their presence. Yet the presence of one god stoked a fire in the blood of many present, whether soldier or laborer or homemaker. Already high on the chaos and strife from previous battles laid to rest, Ares, god of war, brought with him a mood that was electric and infectious. His revel in the bloodshed had boosted his mood, working him into something close to a frenzy. A frenzy that seeped out among the crowd, even after he had left the immediate area. It made them quibble and quarrel amongst one another, escalating until those unaffected began to cautiously distance themselves, lest they be caught up in an impromptu fistfight or worse. Arriving in tow with one of the attending gods, as was common among your fellow nymphs, you had been reluctant, but still secretly excited to enjoy the celebration. You were more than willing to enjoy the captivating atmosphere of good humor and greater cheer, even if you weren’t quite so unphased as your brethren. But as the mood of the hour had grown sour and bitter, voices raised, several men had started physical fights. You had quickly balked and ran. Your flight had taken you to one of the small surrounding buildings, breathing a deep sigh of relief once the angry voices and shouts faded to something far more faint. Stopping, listening for a time, you willed your stammering heart to slow, at least until the sound of sandals drew your attention. You cast a wary glance over your shoulder, ready to run again before recognizing the broad figure behind you. Turning to face the god whom you had accompanied to the party, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Ah, perfect timing!” Dionysus’ smooth voice boomed. “C’mere, babe, I could use a little help.” “I-What is it, my Lord?” you asked, thrown off by how laid back he sounded, despite the faint ruckus not far off. You hadn’t spoken to him too much personally, his attention often taken by those more willing to vie for it. “You’re having a good time, yeah? I mean, before all… that,” he trailed off with a lazy gesture of his hand, showing his distaste for the brutish behaviour that had stirred up. “Oh, yes! Before that, absolutely,” you answered, nodding. “Fantastic! What do you say to livening things up a little then?” You couldn’t hold back the furrow of your brow. “Ah, it seems like the city folk have taken it upon themselves to do just that already… Not that I mean to say no, my Lord!” you added quickly. Dionysus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing brawl growing nearby. “That’s.. Not quite the mood I’m looking for. That’s why I need a little help to cool things down,” he continued, the sour look quickly swept away. “Follow me babe; I promise it’ll be a good time.” “Alright,” you agreed with another acknowledging nod, thinking you would rather be further away from the fighting anyhow. “Great, this way then,” Dionysus gestured once more, this time the gesture more welcoming, an insistence for you to follow him. You followed quietly, giving a few idle glances around the building as he led you through it, down a long hall and to a secluded room. It seemed to be some kind of lavishly decorated bedroom or lounge, littered with chaises and sturdy chairs. Several sconces peppered the wall, giving it a warm, golden glow and leaving nary a corner of the room cast into darkness. On several tables sat platters of breads and cheese, eggs, fruit, and even one of various meats, flanked with several chalices and vessels of what you assumed wine and other spirits. Dionysus stopped at the

door, giving you a gentle push into the room while he waited before the doorway. “Wait here for a minute, babe, I’ll be right back,” he assured you with a grin. Uncertain exactly what it was Dionysus required of you - given who you were dealing with, you had ideas, of course, but one could never be completely sure - you did as you were told. You settled yourself on the edge of one chaise, eyeing one of the more impressive looking vessels on the tables. You decided against having a taste from it, deeming it better to just wait until Dionysus returned. After a few minutes that dragged on, the sound of footsteps drew near once more - this time more than just one set, the additional footsteps heavier than the first. Dionysus reappeared in the doorway, stepping into the room, followed by another man who could only be another god, judging by the broad breadth of his shoulders and chest and the fearsome, bloody red eyes that fell on you. You recognized him instantly - the god of chaos and war was hard to forget, after all - and most you knew gave him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he was unpredictable that concerned most people, rather that his fondness for war and violence was exceptionally predictable. You suppressed the urge to rise from your seat and make some hasty excuse to retreat, not fond of the wild-eyed excitement painted on the new god’s face that seemed barely held under control, or the nearly tangible aura around him that made your skin prickle. Despite being dressed in less warlike attire than the armor he often wore and was well known for, Ares was still large and imposing. The addition of several blades remaining strapped or tied here and there did little to dull that impression. You looked to Dionysus, seeking distraction from Ares’ entrance, wondering what business he had that involved you and also required Ares. “What was it you needed my help for again, Lord Dionysus?” you piped up as you watched him coax Ares into reposing on another chaise some distance away. Walking back to you, Dionysus eyed you for a second, and then his eyes flickered back to his brother, who seemed a bit more mild, though still impatient and worked up. “You saw the scuffle outside, yeah, babe?” he asked easily, seeming hardly put off by Ares’ frightening aura. You nodded silently, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done speaking. “Old Ares over there got a bit overexcited, and it’s really killing the mood,” Dionysus complained, tone dipping slightly in annoyance at the idea of a ruined mood, heaving a small sigh. “He could stand to… wind down, if you catch my meaning.” You weren’t dull, and catch his meaning you did quickly, looking to Ares. “Oh,” you said quietly, feeling more apprehension rise. Ares was appealing enough, you couldn’t deny that, but he was also nearly as frightful. “What do you say, babe? Think you can convince him to relax?” As carefree as Dionysus sounded, he still seemed aware of your worry, too. “If you’re feelin’ nervous, I’ve got a little something that might just help you out.” He reached for one of the more ornate vessels on the table before pouring some of the liquid into a goblet. The liquid was a rich, royal purple, some kind of wine that seemed to smoke faintly, though the scent that wafted from it was heady and sweet. “I promised it’d be a good time, right? Just drink this and trust me, babe.” Fickle though most gods were, from your experience Dionysus was trustworthy enough for his words to be reassuring. The wine in the cup would no doubt deal away with any lingering uncertainties as well. You considered the cup for a moment more, giving a second half-nod and reaching to take it from Dionysus’ hold. You drained it quickly, far quicker than you might have under normal circumstances. Now was not the time to sip and recline. You needed whatever aid that wine might offer. For several passing, heavy moments, your nerves remained. But a warm, gentle buzz crept up, drowning your concerns out until they were naught but an indistinct drone in the back of your head. A warmth starting in your

cheeks spread down your neck and chest, leaving you suddenly less stiff, less concerned by Ares’ menace. The prospect of helping him ‘relax’, as Dionysus had so casually suggested, became less frightening by the second. As if he could tell how quickly his special wine had taken effect - you guessed it was more likely he knew how potent it was - Dionysus grinned. He extended a hand to help you to your feet, and you took it without a second thought. In the past, you had heard alcohol referred to as ‘liquid courage’, though you imagined that was regarding mortal drink. You didn’t think any mortal wine could have so put you at ease quite so speedily as what you had just drank. Yet, despite the potency of the alcohol, you were easily able to remain steady on your feet, even without Dionysus’ help. “Well, go on, babe,” Dionysus urged you nonchalantly. “Don’t want this party to go downhill anymore, do we?” With a gentle shake of your head, you released Dionysus’ hand, and swept past him, towards Ares from where he watched with vague interest. The warmth and confidence granted to you spread further, growing strong, whisking away the last tatters of your nerves and leaving a need to please behind. You noted that even though Ares showed some interest, he seemed restless, as if he would much rather be out among the ruckus he had unintentionally - you assumed - incited. “I’ve been told you're in need of some relaxation, my Lord,” you said in a tone you hoped was alluring. Ares scrutinized you for a silent moment from his seat, sipping something from a goblet of his own. Though the scent that drifted from his was far more potent and acrid. “Is that so?” Ares’ speech was much more calm and composed than you had expected, a striking contrast to the roiling expression in his eyes. His sharp gaze flicked to Dionysus where you had left him. He had settled onto another of the many chaises, indulging in his own drink already and looking as if he wasn’t paying you any further mind. “Very well,” Cutting red eyes turned back to you, and a shiver of anxiety you had thought drowned in wine shot through you. But you pushed the feeling away, calling on the courage bestowed on you by that same drink. “But first, off with those,” Ares demanded, gesturing with a nod of his head to your clothing. Quick to obey, your fingers flashed to your belt, undoing it and tossing it aside. Your fingers shook a little, yet you didn’t feel as if fear or worry were the cause now. Next came your tunic, pulled over your head as gracefully as you could manage, left to join your belt. At last, only your breast band remained, and you doubted it was exempt from Ares’ command. So if came off, too, leaving you stark nude in front of him. Were it not for the potency of the draught Dionysus had given you, you were sure your stripping would have been a clumsy mess, but even with your trembling touch, it had felt easy. “Now, come here, then,” the tone of Ares’ voice hardly changed, remaining thunderous and even, as if you had little effect on him. You moved until you were within reach, and Ares closed the rest of the distance between you, grabbing you by the wrist and thigh and pulling you onto his lap. Even in your pleasant haze, the sudden, unsettled motion struck you, and you sat still for a few seconds, trying not to blink owlishly at him. A ghost of a grin curled Ares’ lips, and he waited expectantly. Large, hard hands lingered on your skin. They shifted, and you flinched reflexively, and Ares’ smile showed a slight flash of teeth, as if he was enjoying the tension, however brief. “Don’t keep the man waiting, babe,” drifted Dionysus’ voice from his chaise. Apparently, he was paying more attention it had initially appeared. Shaking yourself out of your surprised stupor, you licked your lips and tried to relax again. You bent forward, planting your hands firmly on the front of Ares’ tunic and crushing your lip to his. The taste of whatever sharp, potent liquid he had been drinking met you head on, mingling with something pleasantly earthy and overwhelming the

lingering sweetness from the wine Dionysus had plied you with. There was a soft clunk as he set down his drink somewhere nearby, and his reaction was swift, pushing roughly back into the kiss and nipping harshly at your lower lip. One hand tangled in your hair, his grip stinging, preventing you from retreating. The other wasn’t to be left idle, sweeping over your form, grabbing rough handfuls of your ass or thighs or chest as it wandered. A cruel, full bite to your lip made you hiss and gasp, opening the seal of your lips well wide enough for Ares to thrust his tongue between them. When it twined itself with yours, it was as fierce as his kiss, waging a battle rather than taking part in what was for many a sensual dance. The hand roaming your body shifted to the small of your back, pushing your hips down into his, ensuring you felt the fruits of your effort to entice him, already straining beneath his clothes, hard and hot even through them. Ares pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath and taste blood as it trickled from your savaged bottom lip. Your tongue slipped out once more, re-wetting your lips and gathering the stray beads of blood. Something like amusement had overtaken Ares’ wild-eyed gaze. “What an obedient little nymph you have brought, brother,” he said smoothly, clearly addressing Dionysus, though his attention remained fixed on you, taking a more thorough measure of your form spread across his lap. Something you couldn’t quite place flashed through the cutting red for an instant before he spoke again, and you couldn’t contain another shiver. “How much can such a fragile creature handle, I wonder,” he mused, the hand that had captured your head sliding down and lightly skimming over your neck briefly. Another shudder wracked you, less noticeable this time, and your breath caught in your chest. “Come now, nymph, let us see.” Quickly, Ares was on you again, leaning forward in his seat, pressing you more insistently into his lap before the same hand dug into your hair again, pulling and directing until you were bent back at his mercy. As before, Ares didn’t try to be soft or considerate, nipping at your lips again and wrestling your tongue into writhing submission. The warm, encouraging strength of the brew Dionysus had supplied made the lines between arousal and fear bubbling beneath the surface warp and twist, and you weren’t sure which was surging from the less than gentle treatment. Small moans and gasps previously smothered by Ares’ mouth and tongue broke free when he moved away again, licking his lips. He didn’t waste time, though, moving down your throat just as aggressively as he had kissed you. Sharp bites and soon-to-be bruises left a burning path across your jaw and throat. A deep, satisfied hum rolled through Ares when he was met with hisses and groans in response. Though his actions were careless and painful, there was pleasure in them, too, stoking a growing heat in you as if each touch of his lips and teeth and tongue infused you with the excited heat of bloodlust that filled the war god. You rolled your body toward his harsh attentions, bare core grinding against the eager hardness tucked beneath his clothes. A dark laugh tickled your skin, and you cracked your eyes open to spy an amused expression gracing Ares’ face. They snapped shut again to absorb the myriad mix of pain and pleasure as he assaulted your skin all over again. Somehow, his mouth on your skin felt so hot, even though you were sure your entire body was already aflame. So caught up in Ares’ attentions, you paid no mind to what had become of Dionysus. He lay eyeing the entire spectacle while he reclined languidly on his own chaise. Had you realized, it would have come as no surprise that the hedonistic god was fond of watching. And for a time, Dionysus was content to do just that - watch - his eyes glued to your reactions from his brother’s touch. But it wasn’t long before looking alone wasn’t enough, and his hand drifted to his lap, palming an erection of his own and stroking it through the fabric. Ares withdrew

again, allowing another short reprieve from his onslaught of mouth and hand. You followed him, moving your hands from his chest to his lap. A tiny part of you urged you to trace the outline of his erection beneath his clothes, to take your time. Yet another, far louder, more sensible part suggested that Ares wouldn’t likely take too kindly to a light and teasing touch. You abandoned the notion, ignoring the dull sting of the marks Ares had bit and sucked into your skin. You pushed his lappets away instead, and his cock stood free and stiff before you, almost as imposing as its owner. Rather than taking the time to admire him, you wrapped a hand around his thick cock, rewarded with a deep, primal sound. Ares’ head tilted back for a moment, basking in your hand slipping up and down his length. You squeezed a little harder as you stroked him, and Ares groaned; a husky, growling noise that went straight to your cunt. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching closer and closer behind you, nor did you catch the motion sweeping toward you. You only realized Dionysus’ suddenly much closer present when Ares tipped his head forward and cast his eyes past you. A brief glimpse of annoyance flitted across his face, quickly erased as you continued to fondle his cock. “Inviting yourself to join in, brother?” Ares asked, and part of you was almost disappointed to hear how collected and smooth his tone sounded, as if you weren’t touching him at all, nor as if he had set upon you like a wild beast before that. Your pace slowed, but didn’t stop as you twisted as far as you could to look back over your shoulder. You found Dionysus standing in front of Ares’ chaise, his own excitement easily noticeable beneath his flowing tunic. “Can’t very well resist a show like this,” Dionysus excused shamelessly with a shrug. Something told you this was hardly the first time he had intruded on someone else’s carnal moments. Or perhaps his eternally relaxed attitude only gave off that sense. “You’ll just have to learn to share.” Your glance flicked from one to the other, expecting Ares to look more irritated at Dionysus’ casual decree, but he seemed to brush it off with a short, dismissive hum. His focus returned to you, deciding you more worthy of his time. He swiped your hand away from his cock, shifting you in his lap with both hands. You barely registered the sound of rustling of cloth behind you, completely distracted as Ares positioned you properly over him. He didn’t bother taking his time easing himself inside, jerking your hips down and bucking his upward. You stiffened immediately, biting your abused lip at the sudden stretching, aching sting as he filled you completely. You clawed at the fabric of the chaise, taking a deep, quivering breath. Fortunately, the wine and, somehow, Ares’ rough handling had left you limber and wet enough that the stretch of Ares’ cock wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet still, you couldn’t restrain a pained whimper and a shorter, gasping breath when he shifted, lifting you up and forcing you back down. “Aah, Lord Ares, it- I-I can’t--” Your words were cut short by a whine, and your eyes shot down, avoiding Ares’ cruel crimson ones, again attempting to relax, focusing on the pleasure beneath the pain. You swallowed hard, and your cunt constricted, despite the burning ache, at the sight of the bulge in your lower belly. You hadn’t missed Ares’ considerable endowment when you had been touching him beforehand, but the sight of him so noticeably buried in you was a little frightening, and somehow even more arousing. “What troubles you so, nymph?” you tore your gaze away from the lewd sight it was fixed on to meet Ares’ eyes when he spoke. The cut of his voice was derisive, almost cruel, and a leer adorned his lips. “Surely you can handle this,” he added. He lifted and lowered you again, harder, and his smirk grew just a little when you winced and a gasping ‘ah’ burst from your lips. Somehow it was no shock a god entangled in violence and war would enjoy some pain, even in play. Dionysus’ familiar voice

floated to you before you could answer, smooth as honey, and almost soothing. “Easy, babe, you’re doing great.” His words were an intimate whisper, and if Ares could hear, he didn’t care to acknowledge them, only spearing you on his cock all over again, settling into a slow, rough pace. “Gotta relax, let it all go,” Dionysus urged you, and the tickle of his breath sent a pleasant chill down your spine, making your cunt squeeze down on Ares’ length again. Dionysus’ hands splayed across the bare skin of your back, feeling almost cold on your overheated skin. He smoothed around your torso until a breast filled each large palm, his thumbs rubbing lightly over your nipples. The sensation was a welcome contrast to the sting of Ares’ brutal fucking. Though the pain didn’t seem as bad as it had been - whether you were becoming used to it, or the pleasure Dionysus added muted it, you weren’t sure. Ares’ hands, meanwhile, remained steadfast on your hips, content to hold them in a grip tight enough to surely bruise. Each new time you sank down on his dick, your breath escaped in a gasp or breathless groan. The sounds you made morphed into something steadily more erotic, breathier and wanton. Ares’ voice drifted out, too, though in rumbling grunt when he buried himself completely inside you. Coming down on his length again, another hardness met you, from your backside this time, your ass sliding against it as Ares continued to fuck you. A fleeting glance back told you was Dionysus, proudly nude having decided completely discarding his long tunic was the best course of action. Your lapse in attention earned you more punishment from Ares, though, and he took the chance to lean forward and bite down on your neck sharply. Your hands flexed again, digging into whatever it was they had settled on now - you weren’t concerned with what, be it cloth or flesh or anything else. Your head snapped around, meeting entertained, self-satisfied red. Dionysus’ erection drew back and one hand lifted away. After several more thrusts, something hard, but smaller and more pliant prodded at your ass. Coated in something tacky and slick, what you assumed was one of Dionysus’ fingers searched briefly before finding your asshole and rubbing against it in small, gentle circles. An extra hard thrust from Ares made you tense and whimper, though your body clenched around him again. Still near your throat, Ares’ mouth closed over your skin again, biting and sucking greedily. Dionysus’ finger abandoned the lazy circles, pressing lightly against your puckered hole, steadily forward, careful despite Ares’ jarring pace. When the digit finally slipped through the ring of muscle, you hissed, a new discomfort striking you for an instant, in combination with Ares’ harshness. But whatever coated Dionysus’ finger had made the penetration only uncomfortable for a brief moment, and when he eased his finger in and out, the discomfort shifted to the back of your mind, replaced by the increased sense of fullness. Alongside it, a bubbling tension was awakening in your core, spurred on by the treatment of both gods, boiling low and tightening further ever-so-slowly. A second thick finger joined the first, and you became more used to the newest intrusion, taking in the swell of sensations enveloping you. Dionysus’ pace shifted to match Ares’ in speed, but it remained careful and otherwise languid. The hand he had left on your tits though became notably rougher, though, from excitement, rather than pleasure in pain. Ares’ grip on your hips wavered, no longer needing to so forcefully direct you. The ministrations from both had worked you into a wild heat that encouraged you to rock and grind against him and back onto Dionysus’ fingers. You couldn’t decide which your body craved more. All you knew was you needed both. Any remaining tension had been completely sapped away, along with all coherency you had possessed. An unbidden whine broke free when Dionysus withdrew his fingers, turning halfway into a gasp and then a moan when Ares paired a hard thrust with an even harder

bite on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You had little time to protest or miss any of the sensations before the hotter, harder touch of Dionysus’ cock returned, coated in the same thick, slick substance as his fingers. He aligned himself with your ass, as smooth and relaxed as before. “Better take a deep breath, babe,” Dionysus purred in your ear, both of his hands shifting to cut your rear. He pushed forward as you impaled yourself on Ares once more, his entrance mindful and slow; the opposite of his brother’s entirely. You drew a sharp breath, not from Dionysus’ warning, but simply from the way each inch added more and more to what you had already believed to be a fullness that threatened to split you wide. By the time Dionysus, too, was sheathed inside of you, the fullness bordered on overwhelming, and your breathing faltered again, your mind so completely scrambled. Your head fell back and your lips opened in an ‘oh’ of pleasure, dull pain, and a plethora of other intense, mixed feelings. You tried to rock into them both, to meet each thrust, though when their paces aligned, you could do little but writhe and moan, as if all sense had been wrung from you. Dionysus mouthed at your ear playfully, tongue curling across the shell. “Mm, you’re doing great, babe,” he praised in a husky whisper you almost didn’t catch, so caught up in everything. But catch them you did, and they sent another shudder coursing through you, your body squeezing both gods desperately and drawing more erotic sounds from them both. Another growling, low moan from Ares. A breathy, hedonistic groan from Dionysus. They only added to the mounting maelstrom of arousal and heat. Your heart quickened when one of Ares’ hands abandoned your hips and splayed around your throat loosely. His lips brushed your ear, and as he spoke, he squeezed, just enough to make your heart beat even faster and your breath come a bit more shallow. “Enjoying yourself, are you, nymph?” he growled cheekily. “I might have expected as much from one of my dear brother’s little harlots.” Had you been more sober, clear minded, Ares’ words, sounding nearly a slight, might have made you flush hot with humiliation. Instead, they worked only to heighten your desire, flowing into everything else. You had no mind left for embarrassment. All that remained were the mind-numbing sensations surrounding you and filling you. Ares’ voice dropped away, his pace picking up, his hips bucking harder into yours. Even Dionysus behind you thrust a little faster, harder, his own peaking arousal just as plain as Ares’. You weren’t immune to the welling up of pleasure, either, your belly churning and tight with a winding heat that was nigh unbearable. It grew and grew each time you were filled, and you wanted to scream instead of moan, cry instead of gasp. The thick intrusions, the wandering and groping and squeezing hands, and the greedy, hot tongues and teeth. It all came together in the perfect storm of mindless, primal passion. You came before either of them, giving into whatever wanton shout or cry wanted to escape, your muscles clenching frantically. When first the tense coil of heat burst, you were set awash with that heat, searing and intense, as if lightning struck. Your orgasm rose and fell, only to be dragged out by Ares’ and Dionysus’ unceasing pace, thrusting into your heat unrelentingly. The end of one orgasm blended into the beginning of another, and hot, overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes before breaking away. On either side of your face, each god lingered. Dionysus whispered more sultry words of praise and encouragement, placing sloppy kisses on your temple and cheek. Ares nipped your jaw and licked at the salty trail of your tears, as it was an exquisite taste that delighted him. Ares’ hips rolled into you harder than ever before, pace becoming wild and erratic. With a final sharp thrust, Ares’ release filled your cunt, hot and thick, accompanied by a savage bite to your neck that left the warm, sticky feeling of blood in its wake. When he pulled back, a bit of

blood smeared on his lips and teeth, he looked even more warlike and intimidating than to start. But something in his expression seemed sated, calm almost - or at least as calm as a god of such chaos could be. Dionysus, despite joining in later, took little longer to reach his own climax, and with a grinding thrust, he, too, coated your insides with his cum. A drawn-out, erotic moan followed in the wake of his orgasm, and he lay his head on your shoulder, his hair sticking to your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. After a moment of silence, Ares reclined back more comfortably, though didn’t bother to lift you off his length. Dionysus pulled away, withdrawing leisurely with a sound of contentment. Feeling exhausted and sore, you chanced collapsing against Ares’ chest, and to your surprise, the war god allowed it. You ignored the warm, wet feeling seeping down your thighs, too tired to truly care. “There. Don’t we all feel better now?” asked Dionysus cheerily, hardly sounded tired or winded at all. He paused to listen in silence, searching for the previous ruckus. “Certainly sounds a bit quieter out there now.” “Perhaps,” Ares drawled, and he didn’t sound very taxed either. It seemed you were the only one so tired. “I may yet have more use for your nymph before the night is done,” Ares decided, and you jumped reflexively when his fingers curled in your hair and massaged absently, in a gesture that could almost be confused for affectionate. Dionysus hummed acknowledgement. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit then. Try not to have too much more fun while I’m gone.” You heard rather than saw Dionysus redress and depart, too tired to bother looking. Your mind wandered to what other uses Ares might have for you, as he had stated. Did Dionysus have similar intentions in mind for the evening, too? Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be a night you would soon forget.

#ares #dionysus #hades game #ao3 #writing #fanfiction #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #finally another fic upload #tw: alcohol #tw: blood

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rosemaidenvixen · 3 years

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Both Sides of the Sky

Chapter 5: Calling

Ao3

The doors to the front entrance loomed ahead of them. Thick mahogany of solid build, richly carved by very skilled hands. It was clear whoever had first commissioned them must have paid a great deal. But as Claire stepped closer, she was able to notice the countless pockmarks and scars pitting the wood, how they had been so badly warped by the wind and rain that they no longer would hang quite straight.

Not a good harbinger for what lay beyond.

Keeping that thought, among others, to herself, Claire watched as the doors, warped wood catching ever so slightly in the frame, were pulled open. Revealing a grimm faced butler behind them who silently took the card from her father and ushered the three of them inside.

Without turning her head, it wouldn’t do to appear too curious, Claire glanced around at her surroundings. Avalon hall was massive, she had been able to see that much from the outside. But it soon became clear that the state of the front doors was not a unique feature.

Silk curtains that were faded and stained at the edges. Scuff Marks upon scuff marks on the floor from centuries of feet traipsing up and down the corridors. Tarnish creeping around the edges of the candlesticks, giving the silver a rotten appearance. And due to the building’s esteemed age, all the windows were small and far between, the dim light making the hallway feel claustrophobic.

The overall effect was that Avalon hall didn’t feel like a house where living people resided, rather more like an abandoned, decaying ruin from a bygone era that she and her parents were trespassing in.

Fighting very hard to suppress a shudder, Claire followed her parents deeper into the house.

It looked as though the rumors were true, this family may have a lofty and noble history, but they had fallen far indeed. Claire kept her gaze straight ahead and pointedly ignored the peeling wallpaper as they walked further in. Straight into debt by the looks of it.

The butler led them up the main stairs and down a hall on their right, to where someone was waiting for them, before swiftly turning and heading off to complete some other task. Claire had expected Strickler to greet them, as he had on her walks with Jim, but instead they were greeted by his uncle, the venerable Lord Merlin, who was so old Claire half expected him to have powder in his hair.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Master and Mistress Nuñez,” he politely shook hands with her father before gesturing for them to follow “My nephew is waiting for us in the parlor, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

As they walked he turned and looked Claire straight in the eye, flashing her a grin.

Startled, Claire quickly recovered and managed to return the smile with one of her own.

They’d only gone a short ways when Merlin stepped to the side, opening a door into a smaller small room.

“Please, after you,” the words were intended for all of them, but his gaze was once again locked on Claire. While she supposed most people would be flattered, Claire couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the attention, although why she couldn’t say.

Forcing down the cold fluttering in her belly, Claire followed her parents into the room, blinking at the sudden brightness within.

The curtains had been thrown open, filling the room with sunlight and allowing her to see that, mercifully, this space was in much better shape than the rest of the house. Immaculate blue and gold wallpaper, spotless china dishes and sparking silver on oak tables. Couches that looked comfortable and lived in, even if they were a little threadbare.

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Strickler was here, and so was Jim, right by his side, both of them standing by a small table holding several teacups filled with steaming brown liquid, two of which he handed over to her father and mother before picking one up himself “So glad you all could make it today, please take a seat. James and I are so happy to have you here,”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively “He was quite looking forward to this,”

All the adults in the room tittered at that while Claire blushed crimson, across the room she could see Jim’s face turn a similar hue.

Still flushing, she sank into a chair, everyone else following suit. The adults quickly fell into banal conversation concerning the weather and current events. Leaving Claire and James to stare at each other in awkward silence.

She wanted to talk to him. There were half a dozen questions perched on the tip of her tongue. Had he recovered from his tumble in the woods and fall in the river? Who was his mother and why did no one ever speak of her? Did the stone bridge still haunt his dreams the way it did hers?

But despite how much she burned for answers, Claire couldn’t bring herself to speak of those things, not in front of their parents.

It was too….private, personal; and the last thing she wanted was her parents pouncing on those thoughts and picking them apart piece by piece.

Of course there was a chance that Jim felt differently about his family, but the way he also kept his silence made Claire think not.

So here they were. Sitting there mute and bored to tears. Tuning out their families' blathering, Claire allowed her eyes to unfocus, gaze rolling around the room before landing on a sword hanging on the far wall. The blade was dull and the hilt simple, but it was clear that the sword’s true value was in its truly ancient age. She could easily imagine Strickler plucking it from foreign shores during one of his many expeditions.

Unfortunately by now their mutual silence had been noticed.

“James, why don’t you show the young Miss Nuñez our collection,” Claire jolted slightly upon hearing Strickler mention her name “I’m sure she’d find it fascinating,”

James stood from his chair and extend a hand towards her, flashing a smile that was almost convincing “Of course,”

Claire lifted herself up and returned his smile “That sounds delightful,” at least it would be better than sitting in silence. She allowed Jim to lay a hand over her forearm and lead her to the other side of the room.

“This sword is a viking artefact, along with that shield,” he inclined his head to the right “The vase and teapot are from the far east,”

“Very impressive…” Claire nodded along politely, when her attention was captured by a large painting hanging near the corner, a woman wrapped in silver gossamer reclining in a pond. A simple image, but captured in breathtaking detail “What about the painting, right next to the shield?”

“I...don’t know,” Jim glanced back towards the seated adults.

“Nothing much interesting about that one I’m afraid,” Strickler said with a shake of his head “Merely a gift from an old acquaintance,”

Claire’s eyes darted over the ripples and waves captured in shades of blue paint “It’s very lovely, is it an Undine?”

Strickler let out a chuckle, that sounded more than a little patronizing “A naiad actually,”

Despite her best efforts, Claire felt herself flushing at his thinly veiled condescension “What’s the difference?”

“Naiads live exclusively in fresh water whereas Undines aren’t bound to any one form of water. Oceanids live in open seas and nereids live along saltwater shores,”

For a moment the entire room was silent as everyone turned and stared at Jim. He flushed, clearly feeling the weight of their gazes.

Claire felt a grin, the first entirely genuine one of the day, spreading over her face “I didn’t know you were so well versed in mythology,”

“I...um....” Jim glanced over at his father and uncle for help, face a deep red.

Merlin let out a loud laugh, giving his knee a hearty slap “My dear nephew you’re too shy,” he glanced towards her parents “James has always had an avid interest in mythology, we had trouble getting him to put the books down,”

Jim, clearly embarrassed, was blushing a bright scarlet, and couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting under the attention. Meanwhile, even while she sympathized with the scrutiny, Claire was absolutely brimming with delight. Finally something that she and Jim could talk about, at least while they were in mixed company.

Still chortling, Merlin got to his feet “How about I show you two youngsters the library,” he glanced towards her parents “With Master and Mistress Nuñezs’ permission of course,”

Moving so subtly Claire was sure that she was the only one who saw, Ophelia and Javier shared a sly look with each other before turning towards him “We think that sounds delightful,” Javier said, both him and Ophelia positively beaming.

“What do you think of the classical myths?”

“They form the bedrock of literature as we know it and have persevered to the modern age due to their highly advanced themes and ideas,”

Jim’s gaze briefly flickered toward Merlin, sitting in a leather chair in the corner of the library holding a book whose pages he hadn’t turned for nearly an hour, the older man giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Claire pretended not to notice.

She thumbed through the thick book on the table in front of them “One of my favorites is the myth of Tantalus. He tried to trick the gods by feeding them his own son, but they weren’t fooled. They restored his son to life and condemned him to the underworld, with food and water forever just beyond his reach,”

“Oh yes,” he nodded “That is a classic, did you know that’s where the word tantalize comes from?”

Claire did, but she smiled and nodded as if she didn’t, keenly aware of Merlin’s eyes on the two of them.

Like the rest of Avalon hall, the library was old to the point of being ancient, but rather in a cosy sort of way. Mahogany shelves and angled windows giving the room a feeling of warmth. Walls completely lined with books from end to end, supplemented by the occasional freestanding shelf. Most impressive was the collection itself, the largest collection of books Claire had ever seen in her fifteen years. Some published as recently as a year ago, some centuries old; all filling the room with the sweet scents of paper and leather.

At first she’d been excited to discuss literature and folklore with Jim. Both of which were things she very much enjoyed, and hoped that they would be able to build upon a mutual interest. But what Claire hadn’t accounted for was Merlin hovering and ever so subtly correcting Jim when he strayed from what he deemed to be the proper responses. Most of which Claire already knew from her own studies. Making the entire conversation feel dull and rehearsed. Exchanging repetitive answers may be better than silence, but not by much.

Maybe if they wandered off the beaten path a little she could get Jim to tell her his own opinion and not the one his uncle approved of. There was a copy of Bluebeard just across from her, but that didn’t feel quite appropriate right now. She reached over to the far end of the table and pulled a new book with a dusty blue cover towards them “Have you read the Poetic Edda?”

“Yes I have,”

She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t.

“Thrymskvida is my favorite portion, what do you think of it?”

“Truly a classic piece of Norse myth, although there is debate on whether its origins are Christian or Pagan,”

Well this clearly wasn’t working, time for a different approach.

“What is your favorite Arthurian legend?” she said abruptly, setting the blue book to the side without preamble.

Jim started, clearly caught off guard. He stammered for a few seconds before coming up with an answer “Oh, uh...Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,”

A solid classic, one that she could easily see Lords Strickler and Merlin lecturing him on how it was the best.

“That’s a good one, although I’ve always thought Gawain got away pretty easily considering he broke his word,”

Jim’s amiable expression slipped, sliding into a soft frown “Gawain did keep the scarf the lady gave him, but he could have easily given it to the lord after he let the green knight chop off his head. He wouldn’t have been breaking his word, just stretching it,”

Claire paused, mulling over his words “I suppose that’s true, but Gawain gave his word to give the lord whatever he gained during the day once he got home, not whenever he felt like it. He broke his word, and for that he deserves to be punished,”

“But--”

From the corner of the room Merlin rustled the papers of the book in his lap just loudly enough that it was clearly intentional. Jim shut his jaw with a click.

Claire had to bite her lip, quite hard in fact, to keep from groaning out loud. Just when their conversation was finally starting to get interesting, apparently disagreeing with her trumped what his uncle considered ‘correct’ as far as polite discussion went.

But what was the point of having a conversation if the other person agreed with whatever she said?

Claire had entertained the company of more than a few boys who had agreed with everything she said. Quite frankly she would sooner jump in the river again.

Time for another subject change “My favorite is the Quest for the White Hart,”

Jim nodded slowly, cowed back into meekness by his uncle’s interference “That is a really good one,”

“I enjoyed Pellinore’s quest for Nimue the most, especially at the end when he ends up cursing himself by not helping his daughter and the knight,”

“Really? I always thought that was pretty grim, he was told to let nothing distract him from his quest, he was only following instructions,”

“Doesn’t matter, he could have helped them but he didn’t,”

Jim paused for a bit “Wouldn’t that parallel Gawain’s story then? It’s not about what would be considered fair, it’s about keeping your word,”

Claire felt a smile tugging on her lips, very clever, it looked as though they could have a half decent discussion after all “I guess you have me there,” she pulled the green leather bound tome closer “But while we’re discussing the Green knight, you know how the old woman was really--”

The clock against the wall abruptly started to chime, signaling Merlin to sit up from his chair with a creak “I’m afraid our time together today must come to an end, feel free to keep the book Miss Nuñez, young James can collect it at a later time,”

And by that he was surely referring to when he and Strickler would come to their house with Jim to visit her in one weeks time. Which she knew her parents were no doubt arranging at this moment.

But still, she was disappointed that her time with Jim, however awkward and supervised, was coming to an end...which was not something Claire was accustomed to feeling .

She swallowed the confusing knot of emotion as the two of them followed Merlin out the library and back down towards the parlor, having to force the words out past it “Thank you, I will be sure to keep them in good condition,”

Claire thought that she and Jim would be able to get to know each other better when they weren’t slopping through the wilderness, but as it turned out their families' supervision wasn’t much of an improvement.

And unlike any of the other boys her parents had set her up with Claire wanted to know Jim better. He was genuinely sincere, and while Jim played the role of a nobleman well enough, Claire could sense something more beneath the surface. Like watching the surface of the sea and seeing the shadow of a hidden beast moving deep within.

She eyed the back of his head as they headed down through the gloomy hall.

If Claire wanted to get to know Jim, the real Jim, then she was going to have to get a little more creative.

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #fanfic #both sides of the sky #rmvwrites #claire nuñez #ophelia nuñez #javier nuñez #merlin #walter strickler #jim lake jr #Regency AU

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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 2: He Becomes a Trespasser

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4402

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 1: Her Morning Takes a Turn

The sun was golden against his skin, shining on the tan color he had come to acquire after so many hours out in the light. It beat down on the flesh, warming it and relaxing him. His arms were folded behind his head as he reclined on the grass. It was soft and cool on his skin; Crete always did have the best grass for lying on. His eyes were closed against the bright light, the rays illuminating his eyelids and highlighting the veins that ran through them. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. If one didn’t know any better, they’d say he was asleep.

But he wasn’t. The young god was just lounging about, listening in on the conversation that was being held not five feet away from him.

The two voices were of young men, one angry, agitated, and fidgeting, and the other slightly exasperated and amused.

Steve, a naiad, was talking with quick, jerky gestures. He was riled up, clearly upset, but not quite enraged. His fists were balled up tightly, almost as if he wanted to punch something. “...the bastard said I couldn’t do it,” he ranted and raved. “He thinks that because I’m a water spirit, I can’t get jewels like that.”

Sam, a dryad, was watching his friend skeptically. He tended to be the more level-headed of the three, always the mediator to calm Steve’s need to prove himself and Bucky’s somewhat erratic tendencies. He was the one to stop the two before they got themselves killed. “Steve,” he started in an attempt to reason, “it’s not worth your time. So what if you can’t get a ruby to prove him wrong? You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Like what?” Steve asked with scalding agitation in his voice. “Like guarding Bucky?”

The young god’s eyes opened at the sound of his nickname and he sat up to look over at the two.

“No offense Buck, but really, you can protect yourself most of the time.” Steve turned back to Sam, his gaze hardening once more. “I want to do more than just be a bodyguard.”

“Like what? Like getting a ruby to prove some stupid nereid wrong?”

“Exactly!”

Bucky’s eyes danced with amusement, catching the sunlight up above and shining. He was always finding humor in his friend’s need to prove himself. Steve has always wanted to be the bigger man, be the one who’s worthy, be the one who can be more than he is. Ever since they were little, when Steve was small and scrawny, he’d been taking on dangerous and daring exploits, fights, and anything else he could get his hands on to prove himself. And even now that Steve was an adult with body mass, muscle, and strength to rival the gods, nothing had changed.

Steve frowned as he began to plot. “Now where can I find a ruby?”

“At a mortal jewelry store, probably,” Sam quipped. “But you know we’re not allowed to go there. Winnifred would have our heads. Besides, we don’t have any money to buy them.”

Steve’s lips turned down in a pout. “Dammit.” He scrunched up his face as he thought. “There’s gotta be some other place we can find them.”

“I’ve heard they’re usually in caves,” Bucky chimed in.

“Caves…” Steve repeated when suddenly his eyes lit up. “I’ve got it!” His whole body turned to Bucky, his eyes wide, his lips parted, his body straight and ready for action. “There’s a ton of caves down under. And the queen is literally the goddess of wealth. If anyone anywhere were to have a ruby, it’d be down there. Now, Bucky…” His voice quieted and his eyebrows knitted together, silently begging Bucky to do something.

Bucky simply chuckled, knowing full well what his best friend was asking of him. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t be giving me those puppy dog eyes. You know my mom would kill me if I went down there.”

“But Hades is dangerous and you’re a god, man,” Steve moaned. “You can’t die down there, I can. Your mother will never need to know about this. C’mon, do a brother a solid?” He tilted his head to the side. “I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t do it, Buck,” Sam piped up. “Your mom will find out some way or another and we’ll all be screwed. Steve doesn’t need to get a ruby to prove himself. He’s just asking for trouble.”

“Oh come on, it can’t be hard to sneak in and grab one small ruby,” Steve whined.

“Or it could be extremely difficult and get Bucky in trouble.”

“He’s in, he grabs a ruby, he’s out. Easy!”

“No! Not easy. He’s gonna—”

“I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll what?”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll do it. I’ll run down and grab Steve a ruby.”

Both Sam and Steve were shocked. Neither of them thought the young god would actually agree to this crazy plan. But Steve just beamed at him. “You are the freaking best.”

“I know.” Bucky barked a laugh and rose to his feet, the grass wedging in between his bare toes. “But how the Hades am I going to get down there? I don’t think the Underworld is on a map and has a giant sign saying ‘Congratulations, you’ve reached the Underworld.’”

“Well duh.” Steve rolled his eyes and looked around at their surroundings.

They were in a clearing on the island of Crete. It was a quaint little place separated from the mortals and their cities. Sitting at the base of Mount Ida, the clearing was directly below the Dikteon Cave where the Olympian queen had been hidden as a baby. The whole area was coated in her magic, especially that cave, and her magic did some weird things to the rift between worlds.

Steve pointed up at the cave’s mouth. “See that up there?”

Bucky had to squint, but he could see it. “Yeah.”

“When Hades was finishing up the Underworld and securing it, she wasn’t able to close the rift between the Mortal World and the Underworld in that cave. The familiar energy from her sister was too strong and it’s been open ever since. That’s your in and out. It should deposit you right next to a cave if you’re lucky.”

“Please, I was born lucky!” Bucky brushed off his jeans and started walking towards the mountain. “I’ll be back!” he called to his friends before pushing on to find a path up to the cave.

The mortals had tried to pave paths to the cave, but none of them got very far. The residue from Queen Carol’s aura kept them far away from the cave. No mortal could get within a hundred yards of the mouth of the cave. Luckily for Bucky, he was a god.

He marched right up the side of the mountain to the mouth of the cave and stepped inside. He could feel the temperature drop about ten degrees as soon as got an inch inside and the hairs on his arms bristled. A shiver ran down his spine to the tips of his toes, setting an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn’t have been there. He was a god of spring and new life; he had no business being among the dead.

If his mother saw him now, she’d be furious. Winnifred, the goddess of the harvest and agriculture, may have seemed kind and gentle, but she was strict and her wrath was untamable and wild. If she were to be disobeyed, she would guarantee that those that opposed her direct orders would pay for it.

Bucky loved his mother to death, but even he had to admit that she could be way too strict sometimes. She insisted that Bucky always dress properly and in a modest outfit, never permitting him nor his friends to dress in anything less than a pair of nice jeans and a pristine shirt. She required them to have limited access to the Mortal World, stating that they should only go if it was absolutely necessary. She didn’t like them frolicking among the mortals because they were Olympians, and above the humans.

She didn’t have many rules, but she did have one that was absolute: never have any contact with the Underworld or the dead. They were too dangerous for a young god like him.

Bucky couldn’t believe that he was breaking his mother’s most important rule, but at the same time, he was exhilarated. He’d never dared to do something so bold and it was showing. His palms were sweating despite the freezing chill in the air and his heart was racing fast in his chest. He was nervous. He shouldn’t have been there, but it was too late to go back now.

He pushed on, going deeper and deeper into the cave. The air changed around him, growing cold and unforgiving. It was dark and empty and lifeless. He was not in the Mortal World anymore. Bucky took a breath and took a final step, coming out of the cave and entering a chasm.

His breath got stuck in his throat.

He’d heard stories of the Underworld before, he’d heard descriptions of it, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what it actually was.

It was magnificent, regal, and impressive. With towering mountains in the distance on which a large mansion stood on top of, expansive fields of flowers, and hundreds of thousands of people milling about, Bucky was in awe. He couldn’t believe how organized and calm the realm was; he’d always thought that the Underworld would be savage and ugly, but here it was calm and silent.

He could’ve stood there for hours staring at everything around him and taking it all in, but he was on a mission. He had to find the ruby.

He put his head on a swivel, looking from side to side as he searched for a cave. Rubies formed in caves; they had to be there. It wasn’t long before his eyes landed on a single cave carved into the side of a wall, a single river flowing into the mouth of it. Granted, that river was made of fire, but Bucky didn’t think anything of it. He assumed that most rivers in the Underworld had some quirk about them and that this one was that it was on fire.

He slid along the side of the Underworld, getting closer and closer to the cave. He wanted to be in and out before he could be caught. He slipped into the mouth of the cave he saw and turned to face it.

The place was colder than the main part of the Underworld. His hairs were standing on end and he had a dreadful weight sitting in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right about this place. It felt bad; it felt evil.

The young god clenched up on himself, his shoulders rolling in as he attempted to shake the feelings but they refused to disappear. Yet, he pushed on.

It was dark in there, he had to give his eyes some time to adjust to the absence of light. When he could finally see again, he scanned the walls of the cave, his eyes peeled for anything shiny and red. It couldn’t be too hard to find a red jewel, right?

Wrong.

Upon further inspection, he noticed that there didn’t seem to be a single sparkly object in this godforsaken cave. Every rock was bleak and dull, only clothed in greys and blacks. There was absolutely no color in the cave. Bucky was starting to wonder if he’d ever find a ruby here. Maybe they just weren’t in this cave. Maybe he was in the wrong place. But he didn’t have much time to ponder that. The sinking feeling in his gut was growing heavier and heavier with every step he took in. He shouldn’t have been there. There was something massively wrong with that place. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But it put its finger on him.

Bucky jumped when he felt something thin, hard, and bumpy touch his skin and latch onto his ankle. A scream tore out of his throat as he snapped his head down and kicked wildly.

A hand, skeletal and white, had grabbed him and was holding on for dear life. It didn’t want to let him go and it pulled him closer to the body that was attached to it.

Bucky had been too preoccupied with searching the walls to notice the mass of bodies that were starting to pile up around him. There were dozens, maybe more, of skeletons and spirits crawling their way to him. They almost seemed drawn to the life that oozed from him. And, surely, as soon as they touched him, he could feel them trying to steal the life from him. He felt listless and drained when they touched him, and he could tell that they were nothing but evil.

How had he gotten so far in without noticing? Was he that much of a fool?

Apparently so.

The spirits around him collected around his feet and reached up, clawing onto his pants and dragging him down.

He struggled in their grasps, doing his best to fight them off, but every time he shook one off, two more would take its place. They were slowly overpowering him, pulling him closer to the ground where more of them could absorb the life from him. He could feel the toll they were taking on him, and he hated himself for feeling so weak. He’d never been so powerless before, and it scared him. For the first time in his relatively young life, he was truly afraid.

With his mother around, he’d never had anything to fear. But his mother wasn’t here now and he was alone. And this was the end.

The spirits dragged him down to the cave’s floor and swarmed him, clamoring on top of him to maximize their hold.

“I don’t want to die” was the only thought running through his head, but Bucky simply closed his eyes, too afraid to do anything else, so he could wait it out. It’d be over sooner or later, and he was too tired to do anything to stop them. His energy had been drained. Maybe a nap would be nice and when he’d wake up, this would be all over. Yes… A nap sounded delight—

“Hey!” an angry and powerful voice boomed, the sound filling the cave and drowning out everything else.

The hands-on his body stopped dead in their tracks. It shouldn’t have been possible, but now Bucky felt their fear instead of his own.

“Get your hands off of him!” the woman yelled again, her voice filled with more power than Bucky could’ve ever imagined hearing.

The spirits obeyed, at once letting go and scurrying away from something—or someone—behind him.

Footsteps slammed against the rock beneath them, growing louder and louder as the mystery woman marched to Bucky. A hand latched onto the collar of Bucky’s shirt and yanked him back away from the spirits. A two-pronged bident took his place, swinging at the spirits menacingly and driving them away. It glowed the faintest blue in the darkness, illuminating the faces of the damned.

The ghosts and skeletons shied away, curling up on themselves and scrambling to get away as they hissed. They were obviously afraid of the person it belonged to.

Said person tightened their grip on Bucky and began to drag him out of the cave, the bident staying in front of him as they aimed to protect him.

Bucky tried to turn his head back to see his savior, but he couldn’t turn his head very far without being stopped by the hand on the back of his neck.

She pulled him out of the cave, past the river of fire, and threw him on the dead grass outside.

He landed flat on his ass with a satisfying “oof”. His hands shot back to catch him before he could fall on his back and he looked down at his body.

His once white shirt was now a dark shade of grey and torn and his jeans were torn nearly to shreds. There were scratches, scrapes, and bruises covering his legs. Little rivers of ichor ran down from the cuts, coating his skin with gold. He looked like a war-torn battlefield. His mother was going to kill him. If those spirits hadn’t finished the job, she sure would. He was dead meat. Steve and Sam better start planning his funer—

“Just what in the Hades were you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” the same voice from the cave demanded, only this time, she seemed more pissed than powerful. Her voice had lost the booming effect it had previously, but it was still sharp enough to send shivers down his spine.

Slowly Bucky lifted his eyes. The first thing he saw was a pair of black flats below black pleated pants. Looking further up he saw a black blazer covering a dark grey shirt, and further up still, he saw the face of a woman. She was quite beautiful in the way that something cold and hard like a statue was beautiful. He would’ve admired her features but he was too afraid of, and yet so enchanted by, her eyes. Her eyes, unlike most, weren’t a brown, blue, or green; no, they were red—a bright and fiery shade of scarlet that seemed to glow in the darkness of the Underworld. They held him trapped, hypnotized by the brilliant color.

He felt so small beneath her gaze, even though he was comparatively larger than she was.

She radiated power as she glowered down at him, the bident by her side making her even more intimidating. Her lips curled back in a snarl. “I asked you a question; answer me!”

Bucky flinched and started to stammer out, “I-I...”

She seemed exasperated by his loss of words and bent down to him.

He shied away, afraid that she was going to attack him, but she simply grabbed onto his wrist and pulled. Her skin was shockingly cold against his flesh and he inhaled sharply.

She dragged him to his feet and began to pull him after her as she walked away from the cave. She was beyond angry and that made her scary. The only saving grace was that her bident had seemingly melted into thin air, probably stored in some magical pocket somewhere. She was trembling with rage as she began to rant and rave, her grip never once loosening. “Of all the idiocy I have seen in my life, I have never seen someone as stupid as you. What kind of imbecile walks into the pit willingly? Do you have a death wish? Gods, it is not my fucking job to save daredevils from the edge of the pit.”

Bucky only stared at her, filled with confusion. His mind was racing a million miles an hour and he asked, “The pit?”

“Tartarus, you insolent fool!” she snapped, quickening her pace as she pulled him towards the place he’d come in. How she knew about the exit, Bucky didn’t know, but she continued speaking, “The prison of the worst souls known to man, the titans, and any monster you could dream of. How could you possibly—” She froze in her steps as if it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t know who Bucky was. Rigidly, she looked over her shoulder, her red eyes glaring at him. “Who are you?”

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you!”

Bucky blanked. Who was he again? He could barely remember under her intense gaze. “I’m, uh… I’m Bu— James. I’m James, god of spring, son of—”

“Demeter,” she spat out, her voice dripping heavily with venom and contempt. “Great. Just fucking great. You’re a new god. And not just a new god, the fucking son of Demeter.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in between her thumb and forefinger and heaved a great sigh.

He stared at her, even more confused than before. “H-Her name is Winnifred,” he stuttered out, his voice cracking.

She rolled her eyes. “Same fucking difference. It’s the same woman.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But wait! You know my mother?”

"Of course I know your goddamn mother. She hates my guts and I'm not too fond of her either.” The woman squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall back with an even louder groan. “Gods, she's probably going to think I kidnapped you or something! Do you realize what you being down here means?"

“I—”

“Of course you don’t! How could you? You’re just some young, stupid, idiotic god who thinks he can go anywhere he pleases. Well, news flash, you’re not allowed to roam my domain without my permission. This is not a place for the living, and you’re lucky you escaped with only minor wounds.”

“Your domain?” Bucky furrowed his brows, his steps faltering. “Wait… Then, you’re—”

“Hades,” she confirmed. “But that’s just what the mortals call me. You need not know my name, you only need know that you have to leave. You were never supposed to be here in the first place and you will never get in again.” She dragged him towards the cave he’d entered the Underworld through and yanked him in.

Crossing the threshold, he could feel the immediate change in the air. He could feel life surging back to him as they entered the Mortal World. He could also feel Hades stumble as if the sudden rush of life was startling to her.

She pulled him through the Dikteon Cave and out into the sun at the mouth of the cave. “Where did you come from?” she demanded, her voice low and cold as her hands.

Bucky pointed down towards the clearing where he could just barely make out the figures of Sam and Steve.

She let go of his wrist and grabbed his upper arm instead. “Hold on.”

He didn’t get a chance to ask her what she meant, because she leaped up into the air and off the side of the mountain, pulling him with her. The wind whistled past his ears as they fell, and he had to trap the scream that was rising in his throat.

They landed on the edge of the clearing, the ground trembling beneath them. She released Bucky, throwing him forward a bit before straightening up and glaring at Steve and Sam who had started running over.

With her shoulders rolled back and her body completely in the light, Bucky could now observe her fully. The red had faded from her eyes, revealing a wonderful shade of (e/c) that had red-rimmed around the iris. Her skin was devoid of life and she had deep, dark circles covering the skin beneath her eyes. Bucky hated to admit it, but she almost looked dead. She was unsettling but in a gorgeous, powerful kind of way.

Steve ran over to Bucky’s side, his face panicked. “Buck,” he breathed out, “are you alright? What happened?”

“He went where he had no business going,” Hades answered, her voice agitated and disgruntled. “You two are his watchers, no?”

“U-Um, yes, Ma’am?” Steve responded, thoroughly anxious.

“Then fucking watch him,” she snapped, her voice suddenly growing in volume. “The Underworld is no place for fledgling gods who have no experience in the real world.”

Sam turned to Bucky, his eyes wide with alarm. He probably wanted to say something in their defense, but the only thing he asked was, “Did you get the ruby?”

Bucky could’ve smacked him.

Hades glowered at Sam. “What ruby? Explain yourselves.”

Bucky gulped. “It’s the reason I went down. My friend wanted a ruby and I thought I could find one in the Underworld and I…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, realizing how stupid it was under her incredulous look.

“You mean to tell me you went to fucking Tartarus for a ruby? A single ruby that’s worth hardly anything to a god?”

“...Yes.”

She barked a bitter laugh, doubling over and placing her hands on her knees to steady herself. “I can’t believe this.” She held out her fingers, maintaining a small gap in between her thumb and forefinger, and a single, raw ruby, red as blood and the size of a large pebble, formed out of thin air. “Here. Take your damn ruby.” She chucked it at the ground at Bucky’s feet before narrowing her eyes at him. “You got what you came for, and now you have no reason to return. If I ever, and I mean ever, catch you in my realm again, I will teach you why the mortals call it Hell.” She spared the men one last snarl before taking a step away from them, digging something out of her pocket, and dropping the minuscule item on the ground.

At once, the ground trembled and shook and a hole opened up at her feet. The ground swallowed her, pulling her into the depths before closing up again like nothing ever happened. In her place stood a single flower with an elongated stem and a spike of white blossoms: an Asphodel.

Bucky’s gaze switched between the flower and the ruby until it finally settled on the jewel. Slowly he reached for the ruby and picked it up to examine it. It was heavy in his hand, beautiful and clear. It filtered the light that passed through it and cast odd shapes that mimicked its raw cut in red on his palm. But it wasn’t the ruby itself that mesmerized him, it was the color; the same color of her eyes. Bucky was certain that that shade of red would be burned into his memory for all eternity, and as he stood there with Sam and Steve fawning over him making sure he was okay and talking about getting him cleaned off and changed into new clothes because he “reeked of death”, he couldn’t help but think of her: Hades, the woman whose name he did not fully know, but whose face had suddenly washed over his mind and infiltrated every nook and cranny of his thoughts. His grip tightened over the ruby and he smiled to himself softly.

Next 3: Her Head Aches

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