I just wanna say your greek mythology drabbles are simply phenomenal! If you ever have the time, would you consider expanding/writing more on hades yoongi + oc’s relationship? Maybe how oc helps yoongi decompress after a war or just him getting super soft bc she acknowledges his work and how intense it can be?? But please don’t feel obligated! Thank you for sharing your writing with us (:
oh my gods?! here’s some more hades!yoongi + persephone!oc for u bc if i don’t write this now i will go crazy
Yoongi returns after an entire moon cycle.
In the time, you’d finished every single book that he’d placed on those shelves that he built for you previous to his departure. Each page and story contained in the spines of the books he’d chosen were absolutely breathtaking and beautiful, and the room in which you were allowed to read them even more beautiful and wonderful. Stories of dragons and princesses and nations going to war, of odd humans and their practices. The worlds that you were able to visit through the room he’d built you were absolutely amazing. Much like the ones your mother used to read to you.
You’re finishing one of your favorites for the third time when the hairs on your neck stand at attention, and suddenly demons and faeries around the palace begins scurrying about. Setting the book aside, you run, barefoot across the stepping stones to the entrance of the throne room, peeking out to see what the commotion is about.
You frown at the way the demons skitter about, rearranging the displays of pictures on the walls, and the smell of delicious food fills the air. Suddenly the huge double doors of the castle open with a groan, and in walks your husband.
Your lips fall open in surprise as you take in the appearance of the king of the underworld. His face is sunken in, eyes drawn downward in tired bags, hair limp against his skull and shoulders too sharp, without the usual smooth lines of sinewy muscle.
He trudges softly into the main throne room, eyes tiredly cast downward onto the iron black floors, and the doors shut behind him with a loud bang. At the sound, you start a bit, and your hand flies up to your mouth to cover the gasp, but it’s too late. Yoongi’s eyes flicker up to yours, dark irises settling on your face and his chapped lips falling open in a resemblance of your name.
But he never utters the word out loud, the sound dying on his tongue.
You step out behind the doorway of the flower room, which you’d decided to call it, and gingerly pad over to him. The sound of your bare feet on the cold stones seem to echo throughout the throne room, with how quiet it suddenly seems to be.
You stop a few paces away from him, and his fingers twitch like they yearn to reach out to you. But ever the stoic god, he refrains.
“Y-you…you are safe.” You whisper, your voice barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He’s staring, eyes boring into your own gaze as his orbs sweep over every inch of your face. You step, as if in a trance, closer to him, hand raising to rest against his sunken cheek, where dirt and grime and dried blood matte his beautiful pale skin.
Once your cold hand touches his skin, he seems to melt, rigid shoulders relaxing and releasing a breath you didn’t know he was holding, and chin slightly tilting into the warmth of your palm. His eyes close, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he breathes in heavily. With the single action, he steals your breath away, and your heart begins fluttering at the sight.
“Are you hurt?” You ask, and his eyes open again, much darker this close, and gazing down at you with such intensity you need to look away at down at his armor and clothes to distract yourself. Your hand falls from his cheek and down at your side again.
He speaks for the first time, voice hoarse and low. “Not too much,” his eyes are bright, though. “I…I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”
Your eyes widen at the last statement and turn up to meet his in shock, and he smiles, the corner of his lips turning up and the lines on his face softening as he gazes down on you. You blink nervously, unsure of whether you want to step forward and wrap your arms around him, in fear of him leaving again and leaving you all alone, or whether to run because of the onslaught of emotions that he draws forth like he’s sucking the life out of you.
Hoshi’s voice interrupts the moment. “Your highness, welcome back.”
Yoongi turns, greeting the demon with a nod.
“Would you like to eat a meal first, or would you like to take a bath? We’ve prepared both.”
Yoongi answers calmly, “I will bathe,” he says, stepping towards his quarters. “And then I will eat.” Hoshi bows, and retreats.
Yoongi hears you enter the bathing room, silently, bare feet padding over the cold stone as you approach his figure that’s slumped back onto the ledge of the bath. The milky water covers him waist down, but now he understands why you felt so revealed when he’d watched you bathe. It was rather intimate, this way.
He doesn’t turn, but just humors you to let you believe that your presence is unknown. Your steps falter a few feet away from the bathe, and you clear your throat and then Yoongi lets himself turn his face towards you.
You’re wearing the white dress, he notices, the lacey, flowy one that he’d chosen for you a month ago. His favorite. It flowed down from your shoulders, bunching around your waist and tapering off your hips. How he yearned to take that waist in his hands and run his palms over your hips, you would never know.
“Yes?” His voice sounds out, echoing through the empty stone bath room. You look nervous, biting your lip as you cradle a small jug and a basket of linens in your hand. “I…I heard you were hurt.” You whisper, and Yoongi silently curses the damn Hoshi in the back of his mind. The meddling demon.
Yoongi watches you approach the edge of the tub. “M-may I?” You stammer. He takes a look at the linens and realizes that the jug you have is ambrosia. In a sort of daze, he nods, standing and turning so that his back is facing you, and he grins a bit at the sight of you turning your head away at the motions, eyes flitting everywhere but his naked torso.
“Proceed,” he offers, and he hears you shuffling behind him as you ready the linens and the ambrosia. When your cold hand touches his naked skin, he tenses a bit, and he hears your heart rate spike as you hold your breath too. But in fear of scaring you, he relaxes and lets you dress his wound.
Ares had gotten a bit aggressive during the last moments of the war, and Yoongi had gotten the brunt of his anger. The evidence was slashed across the expanse of his back, a deep gash that crossed from his spine over his shoulder. He hears you take a breath at the sight of the nasty cut.
“H-how…” you breathe, and he closes his eyes at the feeling of your small dainty fingers touch tenderly at the festering wound. He can’t even feel the pain anymore.
“Gods will sometimes fight petulantly.” He offers, tensing a little at the feeling of your hands pouring the ambrosia directly onto the cut. “And our human forms will usually get the worst of it.”
You don’t respond, just quietly dressing the wound, cleaning it with some water and making sure the ambrosia is flowed directly into every bit of the wound before you begin wrapping it in clean bandages. You accidentally pass a hand over the deeper part of the wound, and Yoongi distinctly tenses and hisses at the twinge of pain.
“Gods,” you mutter, surprised, “I’m so sorry…”
“No,” he grits, “It’s fine. Distract me,” he says, and rolls his neck. You watch from behind him, watching the way the muscles beneath the smooth skin roll and jump at the movement. “Did you finish the books?”
He can hear the warmth of your smile in your voice. “Yes,” you whisper, and tuck your arms around his torso to wrap it around his stomach. Yoongi sort of wants to die. “I finished them all, and some more than once.”
“Tell me about them.” He says.
It’s a command, but it doesn’t feel like one. You oblige, still focused on bandaging him. “Stories of dragons,” you breathe out, and Yoongi can almost touch the excitement brimming in your tone. “And castles and princesses. Princes would defeat the monsters to save the princesses from the castles. It would break the curse, and the prince and princess would live happily ever after.”
“Or of human families, where a man and woman fall in love, and live together for the rest of their lives. They have children, and share many many meals together. It’s wonderful.”
Yoongi smiles a bit, although you can’t see. You continue talking, your velvety voice flowing like honey throughout the room, although he’s the only one who can hear it. Your hands are small and dainty and careful, flowing over his skin and tenderly caressing the wound like almost, he imagines, a lover would pass her hands over his skin. He imagines, that it would take a second, at most, to turn around and take your face in his hands and pull you to him and press his lips against yours in passion that he can attempt to muster. He would speak his own stories, of the weeks of dreading the war as he missed you, tell you about how much he desired to return to you, and how every single moment of his time in the human world was spent hoping that he could see you one more time, in his kiss.
He would be able to offer you the passion that you deserved, that you clearly romanticized and fantasized about. He would do it a thousand times and then lay you down and worship you like you deserved. He would take you to Mount Olympus and back and be wounded a thousand times over and over again if it meant that he could return like this into your embrace and your arms.
But he just clenches his fist in his lap, smiling bitterly at the sound of your voice anchoring him into his world, his reality.
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