#petal to the metal baby | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchywithwhiskey · 5 days ago

Note

For the Sweethearts game: Steve Rogers + All Mine 💘😌

more than chocolate

pairing: husband!steve rogers x wife!female reader

summary: after your valentine's day date with your husband, he takes you to a hotel room and you make good use of the bed—but end up heading home to sleep in your own home.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, choking, biting, rough sex, established bdsm dynamic, light bratting/brat taming, pussy spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, husband/wife kink, orgasm control/delay, cockwarming, aftercare, marathon sex, happy ending

word count: 4.5k

a/n: thank you for sending in a prompt, Eva!!! i'm not even the least bit surprised that you chose Steve 🤭 i hope you love this feral, possessive husband version of him, because i had fun writing him. thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

Giddy laughter bubbled up in your chest, tasting like the champagne still lingering on your tongue, which was busy savoring the rich chocolate mousse from the depths of Steve Rogers’ mouth. You dragged his broad body closer, licking the groan from his lips while his arm banded around your waist tightened almost painfully.

The back of his other arm brushed against the soft mounds of your tits while he fumbled for the key card to your hotel room that was stashed in the pocket inside his jacket, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. Your body was suffused in heat and need that grew with every moment, and you finally broke from the kiss to urge Steve on.

“C’mon, captain, your wife’s pussy is feeling so empty and needy,” you purred in his ear, pressing hot kisses along his jaw. The big super soldier shuddered, and you grinned like a cat that got the cream against his cheek. “Don’t you wanna fill me up? Don’t you wanna put a baby in my belly?”

A rough sound wrenched free from Steve’s mouth, his arm tightening around your waist as he caught your lips in a fierce kiss that sent your mind scattering along the ugly rug of the hotel hallway.

Distantly, you heard the rending of metal, but you didn’t pay it much mind since Steve was lifting you up into his arms and carrying you into the room. He kicked the door shut behind the two of you with another screech of metal that sounded wrong, though you couldn’t say why.

Before you could think to pull away and see what damage Steve had done or ask him about it, his hand was cupping the back of your head, holding you close as he kissed the breath from your lungs and strode deeper into the room.

Your chest was burning for air and your body was throbbing with arousal by the time your husband tossed you down on the soft hotel bed. You took only a brief second to glance at the rose petals strewn across the blanket, arranged in the shape of a heart, before you turned back to the glory that was Steve Rogers.

The former Captain America stood at the foot of the bed, his blue eyes blazing with desire as he tore off his dinner jacket and tossed it somewhere in the room. One hand worked open the top buttons of his light blue dress shirt while the other wrapped around your ankle.

“Is this how it’s going to be tonight, wife?” Steve rumbled, a feral smirk on his face as he yanked you down the mattress, manhandling your body even as he took care not to use too much of his super-soldier strength so he didn’t hurt you.

You shrieked with dizzying laughter, your nice dress riding up to your hips as you spread your legs for your husband, giving him a perfect view of the lacy panties you wore beneath. Steve’s gaze dropped immediately to the juncture of your thighs, his big hands skimming up your legs and pushing them wide open so you were on full display for him.

“You think you can tease me into breeding this pretty little pussy?” he asked darkly, palming your hot cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, which were already damp with your desire. “You think you can bat those pretty eyes and kiss me with those pretty lips and I’ll rut you until you’re so full of my cum, there’s no way you’re not knocked up?”

His fingers pushed shallowly into your dripping hole, fucking you in a poor mimicry of what you actually needed. But your panties were still in the way, preventing him from slipping all the way inside your needy pussy, teasing you with the penetration you so desperately needed.

Your head thrashed on the bedspread, rose petals feeling like silk against your skin, and you made the most pathetic sound, partway between a whimper and a whine. Your hips worked hard against Steve’s hand, grinding your greedy pussy against his palm as you tried to take his fingers deeper, to where you needed them.

“Yes, I do, captain,” you huffed, batting your eyes up at your husband, your hands wrapping around Steve’s strong forearm and trying to shove his hand deeper between your thighs.

But Steve was having none of it. He pulled away from your pussy, gathering your wrists in his big hand and pinned them to the bed above your head. The move had his big body covering yours, but he held himself aloft, making sure you had nothing to grind against while his hips held your thighs open.

“Are you sure about that, baby?” Steve asked in a dangerously calm tone.

Despite the need pounding insistently in your bloodstream, you couldn’t help but rile up your husband even more. So you pursed your lips together and blew him a kiss.

Steve’s blue eyes darkened until they were nearly the mean, murky color of the Atlantic Ocean, and he shifted to one side.

That was all the warning you got before Steve’s big hand came down between your thighs, giving your pussy a sharp spank.

The sting wrenched a shrill sound from your throat, but the pain quickly melted into a burning heat that had your hips squirming and your legs flailing. Your calves curled around Steve’s legs in an attempt to draw him back between your thighs.

“Daddy, please,” you cried, a sob of pleasure falling from your lips while Steve rubbed your pussy, making a mess of your slit as you leaked through your panties and into his hand.

“What was that, baby?” Steve asked mockingly, watching you squirm beneath him with a glint in his eye that made it clear you’d pushed him to the point of no return. “Something about you thinking you could brat your way into getting a baby in your belly?”

Steve pulled his hand away from your pussy and pressed down on your stomach, pinning you to the bed and leaving you to only writhe. He held you like that for a long moment, your legs twisting and hips humping the empty air, until you’d nearly worked yourself up to tears.

“Daddy, daddy, please!” Your voice was a pathetic whine, and your eyes were misty as you stared up at your husband. “I’ll be good, I promise,” you begged, your lips pursed in a perfect pout. “Just fill me up—please, please, please, I need it!”

“Ah, there she is,” Steve rumbled, his voice switching to a deep, pleased tone instantly. “My sweet wife, begging so pretty like such a good girl for daddy.” He ducked down and brushed a kiss to your cheek, catching the single tear that had fallen from your eye. “That’s how pretty girls get what they want—by asking nicely.”

You grumbled a little, but couldn’t help but preen under his sweet kisses and sweeter praise, making Steve chuckle against your skin. He pressed one last kiss to your lips and then he was standing up, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach with ease.

Carefully, he pulled down the zipper of your dress, his fingers skimming along your spine and making you shiver as you pressed your face into the rose petals on the bedspread, inhaling their sweet scent as your husband undressed you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Steve lay the dress carefully over the chair in the corner, then he was back, ripping your panties down over your ass and thighs, shoving them in the pocket of his slacks while his other hand curled around your hip.

“On your hands and knees, wife,” Steve ordered in a gruff voice, helping to lift you up into position. His hands made quick work of his belt and fly while you arranged yourself on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed.

Turning your head, you caught Steve’s eye over your shoulder, shooting him a smile while you arched your back and wiggled your hips for him. His blue eyes sparkled with love as he smiled back, but then his gaze dropped to your ass and he bit back a groan.

Your husband ran his hands appreciatively up your thighs, then down your sides, reaching around to your front to grope your tits while he pressed kisses along your spine. You arched into his touch, letting out a needy whine when he plucked and pinched your nipples in just the way you liked.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” Steve murmured into your skin, making you shiver at the depth of emotion in his tone. “Looked so gorgeous dolled up for our Valentine’s date tonight,” he said, sinking his teeth carefully into the curve of your shoulder, making you moan and melt further beneath his talented mouth. “But I’ll always love seeing you naked and begging for my cock.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you said sweetly, pushing your hips back into Steve’s lap and feeling his cock slip between your thighs. Your legs were already a mess with your arousal and you could feel your dripping heat coating the hard length of him as he thrust lazily between your thighs. “May I have your cock now—pretty please?”

The sweetness in your tone made Steve chuckle against your shoulder blade. But he grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip up and down your wet slit, teasing your tight little hole with everything you wanted.

“Look at you,” he cooed teasingly, and you could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his tone. “Such a good, sweet girl when you ask nicely.” He pushed the crown of his cock into your hole before pulling out, making your whole body shiver with need as a whine worked its way up your throat. “Tell daddy how bad you want my cock, baby.”

“Sooo bad, daddy,” you wailed, trying to push back on Steve’s hard length. But he held your hip in a tight grip, making sure you only got the tip of his cock. “I want it so bad—more than chocolate, more than champagne, more than anything, daddy, please!”

“Good girl, such a good girl for your husband,” Steve purred, sliding inside your dripping cunt and filling you up with one firm stroke.

The feeling of him filling you up after teasing you for so long, his thick cock stretching you out so perfectly, wrung a delighted sob from your lips. You buried your face in the rose petals and blankets as you cried at the pleasure rolling through your body in waves.

Steve gave you a long moment to adjust to his cock, and then his hand was wrapping around the front of your neck and he was lifting your body until your back was to his chest. The position forced his cock even deeper inside your pussy and you moaned loudly, your hands grabbing Steve’s thick thighs for something to hold onto.

“Open your eyes, pretty baby,” Steve cooed in your ear.

As soon as you did, your eyes were met with the sight of your body framed by your husband’s larger form and you realized there was a mirror hanging over the head of the bed. It gave you a perfect view of your pussy impaled on your husband’s cock, your tits bouncing as you breathed heavily.

Your entire, naked body was on display, and behind you stood Steve. He still wore the light blue shirt he’d donned for dinner, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his dark slacks were pushed down his thighs only far enough to free his cock. His strong, golden arms were holding you pinned to his chest, one hand curving possessively around your throat while the other banded around your middle beneath your tits.

Your husband’s blue eyes were sparkling with a possessive hunger as he caught your gaze in the mirror.

“All mine.”

Steve’s voice was little more than a growl in your ear, the possessiveness trickling down your spine and settling in your belly only adding to the heat in your core. In the mirror, you could see the place where his cock split you open, where his hand was holding your throat in a dominating grip, and your pussy gushed with even more arousal.

“You’re all mine, wife,” Steve said again, catching your eye in the mirror and letting you see the depth of the devotion burning in his gaze. “Now and forever.”

His words made you sink deeper into his grip, a pleased smile curling your lips as your hands reached for him. One gripped his strong thigh, nails digging into his golden skin hard enough to make his hips stutter with an instinctive thrust. The fingers of your other hand slid into the blond hair at the back of Steve’s head, curling in the strands and yanking on them just enough to make your husband’s eyes flash in the mirror.

“And you’re all mine, husband, now and forever,” you purred in return, echoing his words and enjoying the way Steve’s cock twitched deep in your cunt at the depth of the possessiveness in your tone. It was enough to make you smirk, the brattiness you’d felt earlier in the evening coming back to the surface. “Now, be a good husband and put a baby in your wife’s belly, captain.”

You barely had the chance to shoot your husband a playful wink before his eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide and blotting out the blue of his irises. Steve let out a furious growl, his face contorting with determination as he started bouncing you on his cock, using his firm grip on your throat and body to lift you up and slam you down on his hard length.

“You’re going to regret that, wife,” he snarled in your ear, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat while he fucked you. “I’m going to use your body like my own personal fucktoy, and then maybe you’ll get my cum—if you can show me you can be a good girl and take my cock.”

Your husband looked so fierce in the mirror over the bed, fucking you hard and fast and giving you every inch of his cock over and over and over again. Still, you couldn’t help but be a little menace, torturing both of you so you could get everything you wanted.

“Harder, daddy,” you whined, your nails digging deeper into Steve’s thigh, feeling his muscles working beneath your fingertips as he thrust into you hard enough that the sound of his skin slapping against yours met your ears. “Choke me harder.”

“Bratty, perfect girl,” Steve muttered, choking you harder as he fucked you, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck and making pleasure swim across your vision.

It wasn’t long before you were close to the edge of your release, moans and pleading whimpers spilling freely from your lips. You clung to Steve desperately, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts, but the closer you got, the more he slowed.

Just when you were about to tip over the edge, Steve stopped entirely. He yanked you down on his cock until you were impaled so thoroughly, you swore you could feel him in your guts. Then he dropped the hand not wrapped around your throat to your pussy.

“If you want my seed, baby, you’re gonna cum from getting your clit spanked, d’you hear me?” Steve growled in your ear, his blue eyes glittering and dark in the mirror as you caught his eye.

A whining sound of protest fell from your lips, and Steve waited a beat, but you didn’t voice your safe word. You knew your husband would stop immediately if you said the word you’d established years ago, but you didn’t really want him to stop.

Steve chuckled against your cheek, swatting your clit with the flat of his fingers, making you cry out and squirm in his hold. He adjusted his grip, his hand around your throat pinning you to his chest while he tapped teasingly against your clit.

“You’ll be a good girl for daddy, won’t you, baby?” he cooed mockingly, smacking your clit a little harder and chuckling when your whole body jerked in his hold. But you were no match for his super-soldier strength, so all you could do was sit on his cock and take it, whimpers and moans falling mindlessly from your lips. “Of course you will,” he murmured darkly in your ear. “Because you want daddy to knock you up, don’t you, baby?”

A feral little kitten snarl tore from your mouth at the condescension in his tone, but still you didn’t stop him. Steve was stubborn and you knew you were going to cum from him spanking your pussy simply because he had the sheer determination to make it happen—and because he knew exactly how to work your body, how to walk the line of pleasure and pain until you were seeing stars.

Steve rocked into you with his hips, grinding his cock deep into your cunt, and spanked your clit sharply, making you cry out and convulse in his arms. But that damn super-soldier strength meant you weren’t going anywhere.

After five spanks, you lost count, but thankfully, you came not long after.

Your release rushed over you suddenly, dragging you over the edge kicking and screaming, the stinging pain of Steve’s spanking hand washed away in a deluge of burning, all-consuming pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you screamed your release into the hotel room, your body tightening and your nails digging so hard into Steve’s forearm, you thought you might draw blood.

While you were in the throes of pleasure, you heard Steve grunt and groan behind you. His arms tightened around your body and his hips pressed flush to your ass as he buried himself as deep in you as possible. Then you felt the telltale twitching of his cock, and knew he was spilling his seed deep in your cunt, flooding your womb with his cum.

The two of you rode out your releases together, gasping and clinging to each other as you eked out every ounce of pleasure from your bodies. Before you collapse into a puddle among the rose petals, Steve gathered you up in his arms and climbed into the bed, laying you down in the center with his body behind you, holding you close.

He managed to make sure his cock didn’t pull out of your still fluttering channel and you sighed in relief—you didn’t want him slipping out of you for the rest of the night. You wanted him plugging you full and making sure his seed would take in your womb.

“That was fun,” you murmured, reaching back and tugging on Steve’s hair until your mouth found his for a kiss. It was a little clumsy, but you could feel Steve’s smile against your lips, so it was perfect. “I love it when you get all mean with me,” you whispered against his mouth, unable to stop yourself from grinning.

Steve’s cheeks pinked and he kissed you more tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly, his fingers smoothing gently down either side of your neck, watching your face carefully for any flinches of pain.

“No, I’m ok,” you assured him, waiting patiently while he insisted on kissing every spot where his fingers had dug into your neck when he’d choked you.

“Good,” he said on a relieved sigh, burying his face in your neck. His hand slid down your front, laying possessively over your belly. “Because you’re going to need to take more of my cum if we’re going to make sure you’re knocked up tonight, wife.”

A giggle slipped from your lips and you wiggled your ass back into Steve’s lap, feeling him growing hard again inside you. “Gimme all ya got, captain,” you shot back over your shoulder, catching Steve’s eye and giving him a playful smirk.

For the rest of the evening, you and Steve stayed in that hotel room bed, mussing the blankets and sending rose petals flying as you made love over and over again like you couldn’t get enough of each other—which you couldn’t. You’d never get enough of the feeling of Steve’s cock pumping you full of cum, and he’d never get enough of your sweet sounds while your pussy clenched down greedily on his hard length.

By the time you were too exhausted to move, you’d lost count of how many loads of cum Steve had filled you with, but you were hopeful that his seed would take and your belly would grow with his child. You were cooing deliriously to your cum-filled stomach while Steve carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up.

When the two of you made it back to the bed, slipping beneath the sheets and not caring when you found some rose petals had made it into the bed, you were half asleep. You curled up into Steve’s side and tried to drift off…

But, even though you’d had enough orgasms that it should��ve been easy to fall asleep, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the hotel room bed. The pillows were too lumpy and the sheets were too scratchy, and even with your nose pressed into Steve’s bare skin, the room smelled too different from home.

After a few minutes of your restless body squirming against his, Steve chuckled and brushed a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you wanna go home, baby?” he asked softly, humor and affection thick in his tone. “Sleep in our own bed?”

“Yeah,” you said on a sigh, giving up the fight to fall asleep and lifting your head to look at your husband. Even in the dark of the hotel room, you could see his eyes glittering with love and you felt suddenly guilty, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m sorry—you got us this nice hotel room for the whole night, but I can’t sleep here.”

“That’s alright, baby,” Steve assured you, running his hand soothingly up and down your spine. “We got plenty of use out of it,” he said, laughing softly to himself. Then he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you from the bed, placing you carefully on your feet. “Don’t you think?” he asked playfully.

Steve turned on the light and you looked around at the completely destroyed room. There were rose petals everywhere and the blankets on the bed were mussed beyond recognition, the pillows strewn haphazardly up and down the mattress. It gave you a small flicker of pride to see how thoroughly you’d used the bed with your husband and you grinned at him.

“Yeah, I think we did.”

As quickly as you could manage, you and Steve dressed and made your way to the door. There, Steve had to wrench it open, confirming your suspicions that he’d broken the lock earlier when he couldn’t get the key card out of his jacket pocket.

At the front desk, Steve reported the damage and told the clerk to charge his card for the repairs while you tried to muffle your giggles in the back of his suit jacket.

When he was done checking out, Steve laced his fingers with yours and pulled you toward the parking garage, both of you trying—and failing—to stifle your laughter.

It was late when you leaned against Steve’s side as he unlocked the front door of the brownstone the two of you called home. You toed out of your shoes as soon as you were inside, leaving them by the door as you followed the low, warm light filtering out of the living room.

You padded around to the front of the couch, grabbing the remote for the TV and flicking it off before stopping and taking in the sight in front of you. Steve walked up behind you and slid his arms around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as the two of you stared down at the couch.

“Your friends are terrible babysitters,” you whispered, cutting a look at Steve out of the corner of your eye, which only made him snort softly. The sound tickled your skin and sent a small shiver racing down your spine.

“What can I say, our little sweet pea has them wrapped around her fingers,” he responded easily, brushing a kiss to your cheek before unraveling himself from around your body and moving toward the couch.

Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson were both asleep on the couch, their heads lolling against the back and loud snores spilling from their mouths. Between them, your daughter was snuggled in her favorite blanket, which would’ve been adorable if it wasn’t so many hours past her bedtime.

“Papa?” your daughter murmured sleepily as Steve gathered her up in his arms, blanket and all, tucking her in close to his chest while her little arms wound around his neck. “Wan sleep wif you and mama,” she whispered before burying her little face in your husband’s collarbone.

“She refused to go to bed until you got home,” Sam said gruffly from the couch, where he was waking. He covered his mouth with a fist while he yawned, his other hand pushing at Bucky’s shoulder, but the super-soldier ducked out of the way with a grumpy grunt.

“We all know where she gets that stubbornness from, don’t we?” he grumbled, shooting you a wink and cutting his head toward Steve, who was heading in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second floor of the brownstone.

You muffled a snort into your palm and Steve cut you a look over his shoulder that only made you laugh louder.

“Oh, she definitely gets it from me,” you said innocently, shooting your husband a wink as you turned back to his friends, who were standing and gathering their things. “Thanks for watching her.”

“Anytime,” Sam said, giving you a hug. Bucky echoed his sentiment and hugged you as well before the two of them saw themselves out.

You turned off the lights on the lower level, then followed Steve upstairs to your bedroom. He’d already tucked your daughter into the middle of your bed and was in the closet changing into his pajamas. The two of you shared a few sleepy kisses as you changed, then you slipped into bed, snuggling your daughter together.

Before the three of you fell asleep, Steve whispered sleepily, “How do you feel about having a little brother or sister, sweet pea?”

“Want it, papa,” she huffed softly, and you couldn’t help but kiss her little head as affection and love surged in your heart.

Steve caught your eye over your daughter’s head and he shot you a wink. “More than chocolate?” he asked, but his only answer was your daughter’s light snoring.

You and your husband giggled silently and you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling together as your eyelids drooped. You fell asleep within seconds, a smile on your face as you were surrounded by love, delighted by the idea of adding another person to your little family.

You wanted it more the chocolate, more than champagne, more than anything, to grow your family with your husband, Steve Rogers—and you’d get exactly that. Nine months after Valentine’s Day.

sweethearts game masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers au #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskey's sweethearts #witchywithwhiskeywork #biteofcherry

468 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 1 year ago

Text

Master Posts Links

All the dabbles I have posted on my DC x DP account. Under a read more due to how long it is. Broken into three categories:

Multi-parts - Dabbles that have more than one part written.

One-shots- Dabbles with only one part written.

Requests- Dabbles written for the requests of readers. (Note: If a request is for a continuation of the other two categories, they will be filed in Milti-parts)

Master Post 1 Link

Master Post 2 Link

Master Post 3 Link

Completed AUs Master Post Link

NSFW (+18 ) Link

Please read the indexes to determine which master post each au is filed in.

As of 12/25/2024: The newest stuff is inside of Master Post 3.

Updated as of 02/14/2025: Stop on Muli-part: Danny's Grill Part 6

MASTER POST 1 INDEX:

Multi-parts:

The Royal Consort,

Child Support

Phantom's Number 1 fan

Danny and The Fan Blog

Congratulations! It's Triplets!:

Ghost King Summon dare

The Dauntless Matchmaker

Demon and Angel Brat

Single Dad

Jason's Doll

Misplace Baby

One-shots:

The Assistant

The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Legal Compensation

Love Among Fans

Lex Luther's Youngest

The Infinite Realms Hobby Store:

Obsession Runs in the Family

Farm Hand

Vague Threats

Game of Deadly Love

Retired-Rouge

The Real Blood Son

The Kid of Candles

Magic Older Brother

Keep The God Kid Busy!

Dog walker

Clockwork's Cookbook

Respawn and Relive

The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King

Finders Keeper

What's the rule again?

The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Big Fish in Gotham Pond:

Immunity system:

Wrong Number:

Timeline Prevention Squad

Requests

The Masters are Aliens

Ghost Zone Read

Red Hood's Snow

Jason Sees Dead People

Ghost Dad

Wayne Manor Ghost

The Siren of Iceberg Lounge

The Orginal

The Ghost King's Fibs

Red ParentHood

Woo thy Butler, My Lord

Double Vision

Dealeyed Soulmates

Rescue Mission

Danny's Online Persona

Practice makes perfect

MASTER POST 2 INDEX:

Multi-Parts

Cass the Halfa

Danny's Grill

The Audit

Why Ten?

Cluster of Cores

Demon Head Slightly to the left

Danny Fenton's Ex

New Management

Billy's Parents

Phone a friend

Super Robin

Cassandra's Curse in Gotham

The Summoned Demon

Marriage Trap the Office Supplier!

It's all Fun and Games Kids!

The cinnamon roll's son

One-Shots

Red Yummy

Professional Protector of Love

The Backroads

In 30 Minutes or less

One hell of a good bellhop

Corporate Rivals

Rude Kryptonian

Ecto-Specialist

Side Hustle

Love at first (club) meeting

Catnip for heroes

Old Friends

Danny the Nanny

Lights and Camera

Hot Wings

The ones who got away

Vanishing Bookstore

Petal to the metal

Lover Boy

PenPal

Fishbowl Bones

Unwanted House Guest

The Roommate

Missing Half

Danny's Did you Know?

Yeti's orders.

Who's Child is this?

Requests

Batman with a gun's lover

IRS's boogie man

Dear Elder Brother's mistakes

The Undead Florist

Pit's Merman

Dullahan is my roomate

Nightowl Appartement

The one with Sunset Hair

The Cinnamon Roll's son

The lost In-Laws

The Lady and The Dad

Big Brother does not approve

Gotham's star and Shadow

Pride in Gotham

Revenant Prompt

The King and his Not-Knight

Contestant Number 3

The Lost son of the Bat

AroAce Danny

Extended Family

Master Post 3 Index

Mult-parts

Passion for Fashion

Alfred's Boy Friend

Alley Boyfriends

Mr. Flavor

Freelance Inventor

One-shots

You ARE the father

The Good Luck Charm

To be Human Again

Travel Buddy

Shift

A little bit of Home

New Money

Beyond the Grave

Lex Luthor's annoyance

Die with a smile

Cold Case

Online Siren

The End and the Beginning

Damian's (not) real friend

Family Bonding

Gotham Gossip

Request

Access Granted

Skulker's Past

Surviving Babysitting

The Twins

Echo's Dad

The Artifact Repair Man

Flip of A coin

New Neighbors

Over and Over again

The West Wing

Never the Bride

COMPLETED AUS MASTER POST INDEX

The Bakery is a Front!....right?

Cave Boy

The Adoptive Son

#dcxdpdabbles #Master Post Links #Master Post index #Mun speaks

2K notes · View notes

shiny-jr · 2 months ago

Text

▶ damnation [ the praetorian imp ]

– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Ortho Shroud, Idia Shroud.

– Note: Here it is. I got lazy and did not check it after reading it multiple times before posting on Quotev. So hopefully there's no mistakes. At least not a lot of them. Now read. Happy reading.

– Pages: 43

– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!

The Raven Retainer | The Praetorian Imp | ???

Cold metal. There was a slight weight on the top of your skull, like the heft of a circlet. Carefully reaching up, your fingers touched thin cold metal, but as you tried to gingerly remove it, it failed to come off. Gentle tugs become harsh pulls, but that only serves to form an ache in your head as if you were pulling on your hair. Was it some sort of deadly contraption placed on prisoners? Was this how they wanted you to die? By crushing your skull with this thing?

“Wh– Where am I…?”

As you stumbled over your own two feet, you stopped yanking on the metal on top of your cranium. Fear took root as you absorbed your surroundings, dark and unfamiliar, those same qualities as the jail cell but this was unlike any prison. There were high walls with columns of gray and silver and gold, arched ceilings that were mixes of blues and grays and blacks which almost looked like painted murals that had been smeared across the surface. The floor was freezing like cement, but it was a smooth polished dark gray. With at least two floors, the second was accessible by some wide curved stairs which lead to more of the unknown. Your voice echoed in the space, leaving you to believe you were completely alone.

Skull-crushing could still be on the list of possible ways to die. Or would your punishment be isolation? Complete solitude was known to drive people insane. It didn’t even seem like a single soul alive was here, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing in the otherwise unsettling silence. White flowers from large vases wilted, their petals suspended gray and limp like hanged bodies.

On the floors you nearly slip and hit your head, but you manage to grab a nearby column that was as thick and sturdy as an old oak tree. That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in a nearby huge vase coated with a reflective exterior. You were staring wide-eyed at an unfamiliar figure, so odd that it took a moment to register that it was truly you.

A long black cloth with dark blue meander borders acted like a shirt or a robe, wrapping over one shoulder and extending in different directions to act like a small cloak and cover part of your legs. From your hips to your ankles covered by part of the top cloth, were a pair of black pants with more blue meander borders decorating it. They were like modern day sweatpants and an ancient palla all in one outfit, which you might’ve admired if you weren’t currently filled with confusion and dread. That metal object on your head was like a headpiece, with two long thin black protruding pieces slicked back that glowed a slight blue. Like a demon’s horns. Impossible to remove.

You resembled a demon with these horns, a devilish little imp. When your eyes adjusted, the reflective surface of the vase was painted. Painted black and browns, like the famous Athenian ceramic styles with figures of black and brick red. Except, each vase depicted a different scene. A powerful muscled figure standing proudly and holding a bolt of lightning; a baby strangling two large snakes; a young scrawny individual training beside a satyr and a pegasus.

“Get– these off…!”

An imp… you were an imp! Horror spread across your features, and the constant tugging to remove the metallic horn-like objects from your skull served pain stronger than a slap, to let you know that this was no dream. The judges had cast the final verdict, and as soon as you arrived you were destined to live as a miserable little creature to serve a higher being. A god.

A God of the Underworld, that wielded the deadliest of blue flames and kept all souls contained within his land of misery. A being of divinity who envied his family and others who dwelled high in the clouds of Mount Olympus, so he planned meticulously for years to lay siege to the mountain by freeing titans who would wreak havoc across the globe. Just as he sits on the throne where the God of Thunder and King of Gods once dwelled, the human son of that royal god arrived to face the dark god. That gloomy and dreary antagonistic entity had three main underlings, two of which were imps he regularly abused and tormented.

Maiming, wringing their necks, burning them in blue fire, those were just some of the torture those imps faced at the hands of their master. You felt yourself fall to your knees in a heap, like a rag doll, by the overwhelming emotions weighing in your mind and the now new burden of survival on your shoulders. This was hell, literally. So caught up with this newfound revelation, that you didn’t even notice the vases become blank as if by magic, wiping the depicted scenes off their surface. Hallucinations!

These must’ve been hallucinations formed by your unstable mind–– You were especially sure of it when it felt as if the ground vanished beneath your feet and were surrounded by dark mists. The dark and elegant place you had once stood in, was gone, and you plunged into a dark pit. A small plunge, then you fell on rocky uneven earth, leading you to fall flat on your face. There was hardly any light, and the ceiling was low. But, there was a blue flame, a small glow to which you opened your eyes to.

In front of you was a young boy that looked more akin to an android. Surely, another illusion, but your certainty wavered when it blinked at you. It blinked with its wide bright yellow eyes. Its eyes were like a light, as was its hair made of what seemed like real blue flames that was like a torch in this small cave. Its body was dark and metallic, part of those metals extending over the mouth like a mask. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you chickened out. Are you ready to put on a show? Remember, we gotta make it believable, the hero won’t be the only one there! We gotta trick all the humans!”

“W-What…?” You watched as the android-like being opened up a hologram in front of him, and on the screen of light were various shapes and figures of numerous creatures and people alike.

Whatever this thing was, its voice became monotone for a brief few seconds as its pointer finger landed on the image of a normal young boy. “Selecting… Loading… Finalizing appearance.” In an instant, a light flashed over him and he became that little boy in the hologram. “What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh? Now, your turn!”

If you squint, it was like peering through glass, because at some angles you could still see the android. However, you had absolutely no time to question it, or the situation at hand, or what he could’ve possibly meant, because the quiet was shattered by the squeal of what sounded like a horse.

Scrambling onto your feet, you approached the thin tiny opening where light filtered in, far too small to squeeze past but just big enough to peer through. It took a few spare seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light of the outside on this cloudy day, but you could make out high rocky cliffs as gray as the sky. And a white horse with wings, a pegasus, several meters away with two people. A young man in purple who looked quite ruffled and a muscular woman with auburn locks. You blanched upon recognizing the location.

The mighty hero was said to have fought his first life-threatening battle in a gorge, just like this one. It was a battle that nearly cost him his life. The human servant, obliged to serve the dark Lord of the Underworld, lured the hero to the gorge under the guise of an accident requiring urgent attention from a savior. The accident involved two children trapped under rubble where nearby the hydra lurked. And those two children? Were the two imps who also served the God of the Dead. One imp, you were one. And the other? Beside you now, which explained his matching metallic horns on his head. Meaning the hydra was near. Each breath you took increased in pace, on the very verge of hyperventilating––

“Help! Hurry! We can’t breathe!” The android boy cried for help, his little eyes peeking out of the same gap you were peering out of. Even his voice sounded different with whatever magic or technology he used to disguise himself. As the hero was running over and a crowd was forming a good distance away, your fellow imp looked at you and whispered in confusion, “Where’s your disguise? You can’t let her see––”

“Get me out…!! Please! Anyone! Someone!” You gasped, suddenly realizing just how small it was underneath this massive boulder. It was a miracle it hadn’t crashed down yet, killing you instantly like rock squishing an ant. But if the boulder didn’t kill you, then the hydra would. And that was what terrified you, causing you to scream for help.

The young boy’s eyes brightened up, looking a bit taken aback at your volume before he grinned. At least, he must’ve been grinning, judging by the way his eyes lit up. Pausing his very loud pleas, he whispered in amazement, “Wow, you’re really good at this acting!”

You were not acting. Especially not when help arrived in the form of the protagonist.

Instead of a man as depicted in the stories, it was a woman. A woman with innocent blue eyes and a kind voice that attempted to ease the worries of what she must’ve thought were two poor victims trapped beneath debris from a rock slide. Her eyes darted from what she saw as a normal little boy, then over to you. “It’s okay, I promise you’ll be alright.” Those eyes like the bright blue sky, softened with a hint of pity, maybe because you just looked that pitiful and on the verge of tears. Because you knew what monster would come lurking from the gorge just moments after you and the small horned being beside you are supposed to be saved.

Incredibly, with only a minimal amount of struggling, the hero heaved the boulder slowly above her head with her strong arms. Even though the rock was easily ten times her size, she raised it up high above her head, allowing you and the boy to scamper out of the pit. Managing a charming smile despite the tons of weight she was holding, she began, “How are you holding up? Are you injured or––”

Running. You were running. There was no way you would waste even a second here, and become a victim to that three-headed beast. It sounded like the hero had shouted something as you fled, and were followed by the android boy still in disguise as he called for you to wait up. Climbing, climbing, you took what looked like a thin path on a narrow cliff’s edge until you reached a hollow cavity hidden by shadows and boulders. By then you were out of breath, heaving, the ache in the back of your legs screaming from all that climbing and your lungs burning.

It seemed as if your torment was far from over. As your gaze traveled up, you stilled like a deer in the headlights. There, engraved within the very surface of the rugged stone walls, was a mausoleum that appeared to be left abandoned. Its smooth columns held up ledges, and at the very mouth of the entrance was a throne of pure stone occupied by a stranger. A stranger that looked eerily similar to the android that had been your company.

A figure who sat looking quite bored upon witnessing a mortal with inhuman strength. There were no words, but just by appearance alone you knew that this was the divine god that ruled the underworld. Fire, blue fire, ran from the top of his head down his spine and over thin shoulders. He was covered from neck to toe, completely in robes of dark blues and dull grays. Long sleeves with meander patterns extended to his wrist, and even his bony fingers were pitch black either due to the fabric of a glove or it was his actual skin, you couldn’t tell. The himation, the cloth that pooled on the floor at his feet, was pinned by a brooch resembling a skull.

Chilling yellow eyes leered down at you, his blue lips pulled back slightly in a grimace to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth on his pale face. Under his judgemental gaze, you felt like a miserable little roach scuttering about underfoot. “This isn’t a theater, and you’re not Dionysus, tryhard. That was major overkill. You screamed so much I heard you loud and clear from all the way up here, pretty sure all those humans heard you.”

In the blink of an eye, the android’s disguise was gone and he floated beside you. Placing a gentle but cold metallic hand on your back, he eagerly piped up, “I think they did really good, brother!” Brother? The god, the villain of this story, was his brother? Certainly the resemblance was there between the god and the being in the role of the imp. “Did you see the look on the hero’s face, Idia? By my estimations, the act fooled all mortal onlookers!”

Brother. But… that couldn’t be possible. Now that you were high up beside the god, Idia is what your partner in crime had called him, you were no longer so fearful of immediately becoming the hydra’s next meal. That wouldn’t happen, especially when according to the story, the lord of the underworld was the one who controlled the hydra. But now you were currently more concerned and fearful of the literal divine being sitting in front of you. The lord’s brothers were only supposed to be other gods from Mount Olympus, not a being that served him. What else was different about the story? More importantly, what would he do to you once he realized that you did not belong?

“Okay, fine. Stirring performance. Gets five stars from me. Definitely better than that uber cringe Oedipus play that came out a while back. Ortho, nice, you really played the cute little kid you gotta feel for, and you…” Idia directed his attention to you, and you froze in place under his gaze as he sized you up. “You actually weren’t that annoying this time. So congrats, I guess.” He added dismissively, apparently bored with this prelude as the crowd of humans down below continued to clap for the protagonist that had just saved two souls from the boulders in the gorge. Then, his gaze traveled over to the shadows, on a small cliff where a figure you hadn’t even noticed had been standing in silence. “And can’t forget you. A thumbs-up for the leading guy. Even a girl like her can’t resist you, huh, Meg? Talk about pretty privilege. It must be nice.”

Startled slightly by the new presence, you glanced over, spotting a slightly familiar face looking over the cliff. It was that man who had been accompanying the protagonist. A fairly handsome looking man with brown wavy hair, in a purple chiton and baggy loose gray pants. Again, there was that modern style mixed with ancient, making you question what time this took place in. But that question was so insignificant compared to the rest of your worries, that it would be pushed to the very back of your mind.

Looking from Meg to Idia, you compare the two faces. The God of the Underworld certainly wasn’t ugly, per say. In fact, he was ethereal in his own unique way. It was more of an acquired taste to appreciate the slight cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the dim glow his fire blue hair provided in the dark space. He wasn’t exactly the beauty standard that could be compared to a warm summer day, but cold rainy nights could be just as beautiful.

“What are you staring at? Can you not? Seriously, don’t you know that’s rude?” The god muttered in a near sneer, his gaze unable to meet yours. In fact, he appeared to be looking anywhere but at you. Like he was nervous. But what would a god have to be nervous about? “When I leave home, I’d rather not be gawked at like some freak. I don’t need another reminder.”

Embarrassment caused heat to creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you lowered your head swiftly in an apologetic nod. With your eyes now glued to the ground, you didn’t lift your head even an inch. It was a mercy that he didn’t appear to be a wrathful god. Cruel, perhaps, but apparently not quick to violence. If he was the hostile type, the last thing you would probably see was his calming blue fire turn an angry red before your body became nothing but ashes in the wind and your soul joining the countless in the river of the dead. In an effort to appease him so he wouldn’t believe you were staring for the wrong reasons, you began hesitantly, in a nervous tone, “I-I’m sorry–– I was staring because, well, you talk as if y-you didn’t have that specific privilege either.”

Because you kept your head down, you failed to see all three of them, Ortho, Idia, and even Meg whipped his head around to stare with their own forms of shock as you snapped your mouth shut. There was no room to question what was said and done as a tense sort of silence settled in the air.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh. I had no idea the role of jester was just taken up. Last I knew, we still had that position available. Guess I was wrong.” He replied, unamused, and surprisingly not offended. At least he didn’t seem as if he was about to smite you for offending a god. It was jarring how lax he was, but he spoke with bitter sarcasm which actually hurt. “If I wanted a laugh, I’d probably watch you snivel and cry again, but honestly it’s way more pathetic than funny so there’s really no point in it unless I want to remind myself that there’s someone within a ten foot radius who’s giving me a run for my money in the pity department.”

“I don’t think any of you are pathetic or pitiful.” Ortho chimed in, throwing in his two cents on the matter. To which the god only glanced at. “Shall I search our records for the soul of a successful jester? I believe we may have a few that once served kings in past centuries?”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the motion while propping up his elbow on the armrest of the stone throne. “Nah, don’t bother, none of them are that funny anyways. It’s not worth the effort of fishing them out of the river of souls. Once we secure our win, then maybe I’ll consider it when the muses run out of jokes to tell.”

The muses? Did he plan to use those divine beings as servants once he conquered Mount Olympus?

“Uh, you can scram now? I know your soul is probably drawn to the company of other mortals like pretty-boy Meg over there and that schlemiel Heraclea.” Idia scoffed, looking a bit bitter. Although, maybe that was his natural expression along with the constant gloom that seemed to permanently linger around the divine being. He rolled his eyes, murmuring the word so it sounded like an insult, “Mortals.”

“T-Then… I’ll talk to Meg.” You kept your head down both out of respect and out of fear. Even if this supposed god was nowhere near as frightening in appearance as you had originally imagined, he was still a god capable of things you could never imagine. Better safe than sorry.

There was no chance to add anymore, since a hiss and the screams of terrified people filled the gorge. The massive serpent slithering out from its hidden den screeched as a storm brewed. The beast was probably more horrifying than any creature from nightmares you’ve dreamt, and thankfully you weren’t one of the many mortals down in the pit where they were within striking distance.

As all this unfolded multiple levels down in the pit, you cautiously made your way to the edge beside the human who served the god, seeing that the Lord of the Underworld had grown bored of the ridicule and decided watching the death match was worth his attention. Of course you knew how the battle would unfold. The hero would struggle against the massive scaled beast, before beheading it, only to be faced with numerous more heads that resulted from each slice. In the end, the warrior would prevail, beaten and bruised, but alive and hailed as a hero by the townsfolk. However, watching it all transpire in real time right before your very eyes, brought a newfound level of anxiety.

That hero attempted to regain her confidence, but her maneuvers were awkward and unsure when faced with her first real threat. Each movement was just barely enough to save her from the snapping jaws of the currently single-headed hydra. Each swing of her blade met its equally sharp fangs, and clashed like two swords. Watching the scene beside you, was that human, the character that was to be the love interest of the hero.

Meg watched with furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms, looking both anxious and displeased. So quiet that it was easy to miss over the sounds of people in chaos and the snarling of the hydra, he murmured, “I don’t know what your angle is, but it won’t work.”

Averting your attention away from the spectacle below, you slowly turned your head to the man. “I’m sorry…?” What was he talking about? Angle? There was no angle. Right now you were just trying to survive, nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t play stupid, you sleazy imp. Complimenting him? Of all people? Even I’m not desperate enough to sweet-talk him like that. He’d see through the ruse anyways.” He hissed, glaring at you with those odd violet eyes that momentarily stopped at you, then his superior, back to the gorge. “Heraclea should’ve dropped that boulder on you to squish you like the insect you are.”

At that mental image you nearly flinched. When his gaze glanced over at that god and his younger brother, your eyes followed. The android boy was peering down at the gorge, clapping his hands excitedly as if he was spectating some game instead of a deadly match. The god was still on that cold stone throne, grinning as he lounged as if he were at home kicked back on a couch. When those otherworldly yellow eyes met yours and his grin faltered, you tensed up before diverting your attention back to the nail-biting action.

Anxiously you twiddle your thumbs. Heraclea… So that was the protagonist’s name. You shuddered to think of what would become of you should she one day think of you as an enemy and not as an innocent person to be saved. Were you someone to be saved? Yes. Innocent? No, not exactly. Although, if the Lord of the Underworld managed to successfully conquer Mount Olympus, wouldn’t that mean he would bring his servants to that safe haven in the clouds too? All the other gods would be imprisoned, even the mighty God of Thunder who currently ruled over the mountain. Mount Olympus was high in the clouds, it was practically heaven. You would be safe there.

Eventually, Idia would acquire titans, each with astounding elemental powers and then some. Each and every god had fallen in defeat against the titans, all save for the God of Thunder and his son who defeated them, now daughter in this case. And the only reason the hero had regained their strength to defeat the titans, was because his love, Meg, had gotten injured. If Meg was kept safe, then he wouldn’t have ever had his strength returned to him, meaning he never would’ve been able to stop the siege on Mount Olympus. Certainly it would allow you to be safe and alive, perhaps even served by gods and goddesses, so long as you heed Idia’s every word. And a piece of the key to that future, stood right beside you.

Clearing your throat, you nearly felt sick when you watched as Heraclea finally beheaded the beast, and the hydra’s body went limp against the relieved cheers of the townsfolk. The calm before the storm. At that moment, you struggled to find something to say. “Is… Is it because I didn’t compliment you…?” Why was he so harsh towards you? Actually, scratch that. It was obvious there were trust issues there, and he wouldn’t be too fond of one of the two that worked so closely with the god he sold his soul to. “Nevermind, that was stupid thing to ask.”

“Yeah, it was. What a dope.” When he rolled his eyes, that was probably the sign to leave. However, your feet remained firmly planted. Even as he continued his degrading comments, “It seems like every peloponnesian minute, you get more and more pathetic.” With a wave of his hand, he shooed you away with a scowl tugging on his lips. “Why don’t you go join the watch party with them?”

It was quite morbid to see the Lord of the Underworld and his younger brother appear quite enthusiastic when the decapitated beast suddenly started moving and sprouted three heads within a single second. The duo were raving about something you couldn’t hear due to the wind and rain that had picked up. They remained under the hollowed stone, keeping them dry. However, Meg continued to stand beside you on the cliff, getting drenched with each drop.

Part of you considered just extending out your arm and pushing him over the cliff, but there was no use in that. Chances are, Heraclea would save him and Idia might not appreciate the fact that one of his best pawns was gone. And if Meg died from the fall, for what reason would the hero then later have to give up his powers if not to save the love interest? So, refraining, you instead unraveled part of the cloth around yourself to extend over his head like an umbrella.

“... Thanks.” The thank you was hesitant as he eyed you carefully, but at least he had the decency to be grateful. By now, it appeared as if the hydra had been slayed by falling rubble along with the hero, but you knew better. Without even looking at you, Meg repeated, “Like I said before, I don’t know what you're up to, but keep me out of it.”

“I’m just… trying to spare myself is all.” Your response held a much deeper meaning than he, or anyone else in this world, could ever know. To him, it just seemed like you meant standing by him to distance yourself from the god when the hydra lay buried and still while Heraclea emerged bruised but alive to a rapturous applause from the cheering far below.

You swore you saw the god’s blue hair spark red for a moment, the flames appearing to wave a little faster but he didn’t make any motion to grab and burn anything with his bare hands. All he did was stand up and stalk off, and you were in no way tempted to elicit a worser reaction from him. Not when Ortho was unnerving you by how he stood still, his brows furrowed in disappointment with a tilt of his head as he watched the protagonist get showered in praise and thanks. Neither of them would you approach, even as a dark mist surrounding the ledge. When it was gone, you and the others were back in those dark hallowed halls from where you first arrived.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Staring at the ceiling. It felt as if you had barely slept, and you had no sense of the time as it was so dark in the underworld. All you wanted to do was sleep, sleep and never wake up to avoid this endless nightmare but all you could do was disassociate. And yet, you couldn’t even be granted that small mercy of sleep. A coma would be a blessing right about now. However, all you could do was get lost in the painted and carved shapes and swirls, silently staring up blankly.

When you imagined the possibility of perhaps achieving paradise on Mount Olympus by assisting the Lord of Underworld receive an ending of his own, you had not accounted for just how long that would take. How long each venture and battle would add to each hour, how the days began to bleed together and feel like a blur. Especially with each task done, you came no closer to derailing Heraclea off her fast-speed track towards a good ending.

The Erymanthian Boar was a wild and tameless beast that became the main dish of a feast when it was shot by a bow and promptly cooked on a spit. The Nemean Lion was like a kitten compared to the hero’s strength, even its claws famed for breaking the sharpest sword were no match. The Stymphalian Birds were caught and caged like canaries by the protagonist on her pegasus. Nothing, not a single beast or creature alive stood a chance against Heraclea. You witnessed these defeats firsthand, as you and Ortho were often charged with freeing whatever beast was to be the next challenge in a setting like a city waiting to be saved by the famed woman.

And after each loss, you saw the same thing. Idia would remove a piece off a large board. Each piece was placed strategically, carved to reflect the appearance of each monster he controlled and wished to obtain. You watched as he flicked off the Erymanthian Boar, slapped off the Nemean Lion, melted the Stymphalian Bird to a puddle. You feared meeting a fate like that, at the protagonist or antagonist’s hands––

“Hey!! Guess what?”

You hardly even moved, you didn’t even make a squeak, all you did was flinch when the face of the android appeared above you. After the first dozen or so times he spooked you by just magically appearing like a ghostly apparition, it stopped scaring you so much. Especially because Ortho didn’t want you dead. For whatever reason, he seemed strangely fond of you, perhaps because he thought that you were whoever you replaced as the role of his partner in crime. Besides, the one he wanted dead was the hero, he and his brother have made that much clear.

“No––”

“Meg recruited new pawns for Idia to use! Isn’t that exciting? And these three are super strong! There’s the Minotaur, Miss Stheno, and a Griffin! We think that the reason the hero has been winning all this time is because she’s only faced one enemy at a time. This is a game-changer, trust me!” Ortho took your hands in his cold metallic ones, his eyes shining as he whispered hopefully, “We’re so close, I can feel it…! Soon, we’re gonna be able to repay everything Idia ever did for us, by giving him Mount Olympus. I’ll be able to repay him for creating me, and you’ll be able to repay him for reviving you!”

That… was new. In all your time here, you had never once heard anyone mention a creation and revival. There was no way you could just up and ask. You were supposed to know this, and play the part. While Ortho was cheerful and bright, there was this ominous side of him and glint in his eyes. Along with his mechanical parts that pointed to the obvious, what he had just said might’ve confirmed it, that he was in no shape, way, or form, human.

“Yeah… I’m looking forward to it.” By now you knew the drill. Whenever Idia was plotting to use a new pawn, you and Ortho would have to go over details including where to release the enemies in a setting to wreck the most havoc and somewhere accessible to the protagonist. Sitting up slowly from the bed, you slid your hands out of his and used your palms to support yourself on the mattress. These next words, you would have to choose carefully. “Olympus for all that he’s done for us…”

Ortho paused when he held up your bag, and he slowly tilted his head. He did it in a way that creeped you out, with those wide yellow eyes no longer sparkling so brightly. “Oh, I mean, what he’s done for me. You can do this and I’ll forgive you for lying to me.”

You stopped breathing and your limbs froze in place. You were staring down at the young boy for what felt like a prolonged hour in silence as the air became thick with tension, but it was only a few seconds. It took a few more seconds for you to breathe, to swallow the knot caught in your throat which formed a bubbling pit of dread boiling within your stomach about to make you sick. “W-What…?”

“Your heart rate has increased significantly, more so than usual. Ever since the hydra, I’ve noticed your vitals seem off. Of course, you have always been the nervous one, always panicking, but it seems more extreme now. So I’ve conducted some scans without your notice, and I’ve made an interesting discovery. The details within your current profile do not match the previously saved one.” With each word you could only stare in horror. How long has he known? Has he told anyone else? What would he do with this information now? What would Idia do if he knew? Each and every word was like a brick being added to a scale, tipping the balance further until you felt as if your very heart would stop. “It’s the weirdest thing. It’s almost as if you’re a completely different person.”

At that moment you just wanted to vanish, disappear like gray smoke, because you’re certain that even the Lord of the Underworld’s lackey brother can give you a crueler ending than being swallowed whole by the hydra or seen as a foe in the eyes of the hero.

Ortho remained still, his head still tilted. There was no blinking, he didn’t even breathe. The voice that came from him was serious but quiet, “Do you want to be honest to me now? We were supposed to be a team.”

The horns. Those cursed metallic horns, the one on his head and the matching pair on yours, a telltale sign that you were supposed to be a duo. Somehow your hands found their way to your skull, to the base of the horns. No matter what you did, yanking, sawing, thumping them against the hard floors, nothing ever affected them when you attempted to remove them during lonely nights.

“Breathe.” Ortho whispered, his eyes softening and brows furrowing slightly, as if he were looking at a panicked little beast fearfully curled up in a corner. You hadn’t even noticed you were nearly hyperventilating until he said something. You recognized that look, one of pity. Why was it that you were so familiar and used to that look, but the one time you needed it during the trial, you were shown none? “If I wanted you gone, we wouldn’t be talking right now, you know that, right? You aren’t them, and I don’t understand it, but… you do good work. Help me understand you, and I’ll help you understand us. Okay?”

Broken. You broke, like a dam cracking and crumbling, the bricks swept away in a rushing torrent of words and feeble attempts at explanation. It was clear that he had been expecting some resistance of some kind, but he received none. You recounted everything, from your trial to now, the fear you’ve felt, your nightmares, the desperation to avoid a horrible end that you were destined to receive. Not divulging into the details, not mentioning the fact that this was like a story you knew. And finally, after everything was said, you wiped your teary eyes as you breathed the final words. “Please–– don’t tell anyone. N-No one can know. I’ll do what you want, I’ll help you get your brother to Olympus…! Please, all I want is peace too…”

Your fellow imp finally blinked, surprised and utterly taken aback by your rapid explanation and plea for secrecy. For a long moment, Ortho appears to scrutinize you. Who knew what was going on in that mechanical mind of his, what things he was realizing that were unseen by human eyes? Finally, he sat beside you. Well, almost, since he floated in the air in front of you, sitting on nothing but empty space. “He doesn’t want peace. That’s boring.”

Swinging his legs lightly, he removed the metallic mouthpiece that concealed the lower half of his face. You saw… nothing out of the ordinary. He looked so much like a real boy that it was uncanny, save for the pointed teeth that were very much like Idia’s.

Clearing your throat, you proceeded, “I-I don’t care, as long as I’m safe.”

“I like it better when you’re honest.” Placing the metal mouthpiece on his lap, he continued to observe you before he gave you a smile. A real smile. Somberly he proceeded, “Idia created me with his own two hands, because his biological family alienated him. Every other god lives in those high mountains, where they’re so close to the sun’s warmth and have an abundance of treasures! They never work, never worry… but not my brother. They forced him to live alone in this cold realm, to take on the responsibility of lording over the dead for all of eternity. So, eventually he brought me to life in this metal body. Then he chose a human soul to revive just so I wouldn’t be lonely either. That human soul was you, or my friend before you, at least. But I think I like you better.”

“You… You do?”

“Yeah! I think my brother picked a really bad human soul. The one you replaced was scared all the time, like you, but they never got the job done right. I like you, because even when you’re obviously scared, you do what you have to, and you do it right.” His blunt and casual manner of speaking, combined with the fact that he was still swinging his legs as he floated off the floor, reminded you that he really was a child. Or at least, molded to be like a child. “Don’t worry, I won’t speak a word about it to my brother. This doesn’t affect his plans anyways. As long as you pinky promise you won’t lie to me anymore, and you’ll still help!”

When he held out a little pinky, you blinked slowly. Such a childish thing, a pinky promise, but your life would hang on the balance between two small interlocked bones. Your life, on nothing but a promise. Did you really have a choice in the matter? “You swear you won’t tell anyone…??”

“I swear! We Shrouds always uphold our bargain. Imp’s honor!” His beaming smile could light up this entire dreary realm as you slowly wrapped your pinky around his and shook hands.

“But… imps aren’t very honorable––”

“Yeah, we are! I.M.P.– information management praetorians. We have to be honest, especially to each other, or how else will our team work?” Ortho argued, frowning lightly at the thought of being considered a liar. “At least, we have to be honest to our own. When it comes to mortals that are not you or Meg, who cares?” He placed that metallic mouthpiece back on that covered the lower portion of his face, and he stood up from his chair of air. “Come on, let’s start walking. On the way, you can tell me something interesting that I don’t know. I bet your world is so different! Tell me about it, please?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

This was your punishment, not from fate or the very hands that brought down the gavel then declared you were to be banished and die, but by Ortho. Ortho’s cruel little hands, who had tricked you into switching responsibilities for the day. Apparently he was still bitter that you had lied to him in previous encounters. What he hadn’t told you was that his main task for the day was to accompany the Lord of the Underworld across the river of souls and to the mortal realm.

So now here you were, seated so awkwardly and stiffly on the small thin boat, nervously watching the grotesque faces of the dead as their souls were carried by the currents. You could only pray that the boat didn’t tip over, because who knew what would happen to your mortal body if it fell in? It was likely mentioned in the story, but you couldn’t recall exactly what it was.

Idia appeared relatively unbothered, standing at the very edge of the boat as a masked being made of metals and dark robes moved mechanically. The mechanical charon rowed the vessel to the other side of the river, and quickly you grew bored of their slow and repetitive movements. So you turned your gaze to Idia. You couldn’t see his face, since his back was to you. All you could see was his glowing mane of blue flames waving lightly with the cold lifeless air. Abruptly, he turned his head and you saw his side profile. Those chilling unnatural yellow eyes glanced at you with a dull expression on his face, possibly sensing your stare, you quickly averted your gaze away. But it was too late, he had seen it.

“What is your deal? You have a major staring problem, imp.”

“N-Nothing, nothing!” Rapidly shaking your head, you looked for an excuse, any excuse. Anything to save you from this embarrassment, or avoid the risk of angering him. You saw his anger in brief sporadic moments, but you did not want to be the source of those frustrations. Not after you saw how he burned those pawns on that beloved board of his. “I was just wondering… what exactly are we going to do in the mortal realm?” And more importantly, how chaotic would things get?

“Tsk. Just monitor that lamebrain hero. Everyone like that has a weak spot. I mean, Prometheus and Epimetheus messed around with Pandora and the box thing, a bunch of the gods on Olympus got too involved in the Trojan War and in the end the Trojans bet on the wrong horse. All we gotta do is find her Achilles’ heel so to speak.”

It was odd how in the original story, The Lord of the Underworld never quite acknowledged most of the gods. Except for the God of Thunder, who he held a clear distaste for. However, Idia spoke as if he knew all of them personally, which would make sense. But whenever he said their names, he frowned and seemed as if he weren’t fond of any of them.

Seeing him roll his eyes, you glance at the charon who moved like a puppet, then back at the god. The silence was only temporary. Tucking your knees to your chest as you remain seated, you watch him as he continues to gaze out over the gray and lifeless realm that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Idia seemed like the solitary type, and if what Ortho said was true, than Idia would be alone. Clearing your throat, you inquired softly, “The Trojan War… which gods were involved in that?”

Upon hearing the inquiry, he paused but remained still. How many gods and humans and other beings had he known in his long immortal life? Probably too many to count. Idia remained looking away, as if he hadn’t even heard your question, but he answered, “Not that it really matters, but too many. To call the entire ordeal messy would be a major understatement.”

It sounded like one big trashy reality television show, except much more deadlier and the stakes were high. And yet, if his words were the truth, then he may have not had any part in the conflict. “And you didn’t get involved?”

“Why would I? I have zero interest in the stupid pointless affairs of mortals.” Okay, so he was not a fan of mortals waging war or causing conflicts. That was good to know. “Whenever they start fighting, more of them end up down there, and it’s annoying. The only bright side of it is that I don’t have to listen to all their arguing on Olympus.”

Carefully, you proceeded to ask, “So… you don’t like them? The other gods, I mean. Can you stand them…?”

“I can’t stand any of those self-important deadbeats.” A deep frown dug into his lips, clear hatred shining in those tired eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t even blame him. You would be equally bitter about practically being left to rot, to carry a burden for eternity all while everyone else who was supposed to stand beside you went to live lavishly in the clouds without a single care in the world, while their only worries were which mortals to support and pit against another like watching dogfights.

In a way, it felt like how the judges back in your home cast their judgment from aloft, and you were left alone to suffer for it. Unsure of what possessed you, you managed to ask, “What would you change? I mean, if you could punish them for wronging you, what would you do?”

Leaning against the curved end of the boat, he situated his elbow atop the curve and propped up his head on his cheek. For a long moment he was quiet, gazing at you with those striking yellow eyes. Tired, he looked tired. And after centuries, thousands of years doing his work, who wouldn’t be? “Make them suffer for the rest of eternity, just as they damned me to hell. Chains would be a pretty good start, to make them feel a tiny fraction of how it felt to be trapped. They killed that little smidge of hope I had a long long time ago, so I’ll be fair and return the favor by killing their little hero Heraclea.”

Considering his response, you nod slowly. While morbid, his feelings felt justified. Had anyone else been in his position, they likely would’ve gone insane. Maybe Idia wasn’t completely sane in the first place, considering how alone he had been until the creation of Ortho and supposed revival of the person you replaced. What sane person would create a family and a friend for himself, just to try and end their loneliness?

“You just focus your puny efforts on helping me change the world. When the titans are freed, everything will change. You can take that as gospel, or whatever.”

He returned his sights ahead over the river of souls, you suddenly remember what happens if a mortal falls into the murky depths. Their body is quickly drained of life, draining them like a grape dried to a prune, leaving nothing but a wrinkled corpse if the person stays in for too long. It’s how the protagonist nearly met their end, and where the god before you is supposed to become trapped in complete darkness.

You watched, both intimidated and captivated as a wide toothy grin broke out on his face like he thought of something funny. He scoffed, proceeding with his words in quick succession, almost breaking out into a laugh. “Those unsuspecting dolts have spent so much time up in the clouds that the air pressure must’ve literally dimmed their common sense and cut off the oxygen from their brains. They won’t even see us coming! Ah––” Freezing, his smile dropped instantly as he noticed your shock and he realized that he was allowing himself to speak more freely. Instantly he cut himself off, lowering his volume back down a few notches. Seemingly embarrassed, he partially covered his blue lips with the sleeves of his robes. “Uh… That… What I mean to say is… unlike them, I actually take others into account. One god won’t take up space on that mountain, there’s room for Ortho and a mortal too. To live however you want.”

That expression he had made, was it possible he was becoming more accustomed to you? Wait, no, he was just warming up to the role you played. Ortho had mentioned that you naturally acted just like the imp you had replaced. The Lord of the Underworld was just growing accustomed to the presence of the mortal soul of what he thought was the human he picked to become his lackey. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. The god would never care for a mortal, not when he used the two humans closest to him, yourself and Meg, as pawns in a game to defeat the human hero, and the result without that hero would be mass casualties. As long as it wasn’t you being tormented by the beasts Idia controlled or even the titans that would soon be free, you didn’t care. Fate was dangling paradise atop a mountain behind golden gates right in front of you, and you just had to survive long enough to make it there. If only it were that easy…

“However I want…”

“However you want,” Idia repeated, as the boat stopped and the charon froze in place at a rickety old pier. Just ahead on land was a cavern with the slightest bit of sunlight flowing through it. A possible path to the mortal realm? “Cause I don’t really care what you do then. Right now, hurry it up.”

Carefully standing, you immediately jumped off the rocking boat, following the ominous divine being who ruled over the dead. Cautious to keep some distance so as to not be burned by his hair, you trail behind him. “... So… what exactly do I have to do this time…?” You prayed for an easy task, wanting to at least be out of a few mile radius distance from the hero.

“You? Oh, nothing. A wimpy little imp like you wouldn’t survive if you got too close to that hero. And really, I don’t feel like going through the effort of finding another mortal to work for me. Not when you’re useful enough, I suppose. At least you’re better than the last imp.” He practically floated across the ground, the smoke following at his heels with every step he took.

At least you’re better than the last imp. When you heard those words, you froze in place, your feet stuck to the stairs. It felt as if your very heart had stopped, and your breathing had even come to a halt. There… weren’t any predecessor imps in the story, were there? No–– you would’ve remembered such a crucial detail. So that could only mean that he knew. Somehow he knew––

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice broke the silence, as he saw your foot inch back, as if wanting to escape back towards the river of souls. Maybe if you hijacked the boat, forced the charon to take you somewhere far far away from here. To another portal you could use to escape into the mortal realm, anywhere but here with him. The god that ruled over the dead could see the fear clear in your eyes. His gaze was cold, and he was frowning. “Thinking of ending it all here?”

Staring into his eyes, gazing right at him, was utterly terrifying now that you didn’t know whether he considered you friend or foe. In the stories The Lord of the Underworld practically tortured his imps for sport, what if he did the same to you? You were no brother to him, you weren’t even the original soul he handpicked! You only moved your head slightly, in the subtlest nod. You didn’t want to die, but a quick and painless death by your own hand would be a mercy when compared to the horrors those pale boney hands of him would wrought.

“Pfft––” A toothy grin spread on his blue lips. The Lord of the Underworld actually smiled, and nearly laughed at your blunt response. He shrugged at your notion, and responded, “You’re not special. Get over it. Don’t even try to kill yourself, because I'll drag you straight out of the river and back here in front of me.”

That was… extremely unnerving. As scary as death was and as much as you wished to avoid it at any costs, it didn’t appear as if it would become some sort of sweet release. Not until he found you useless. You couldn’t help but notice that he spoke much more… curtly than usual, as if ticked off by something.

By some miracle you managed to swallow your fear. Perhaps it was because he found you amusing that he allowed you a few more seconds of life, or maybe it was because he really had some kind of plan in mind for you. Which was worse? Spending your last seconds agonizing over how he would end you, or believe he may kill you only to put you through tasks that would make you long for death. Meekly you murmur, “N-Normal people don’t say that––”

“I’m not a normal person, am I?” When he rolled his head to look at you, you’re reminded once again that he wasn’t like you at all. Far from it. Piercing yellow eyes, blue lips, a mane of fire, these were just the physical traits. Idia was a god, older than you could possibly comprehend, and perhaps wiser than he let on. Despite his blunt and modern way of speaking combined with his lax mannerisms, he was still the Lord of the Underworld. And he could snuff you out with a snap of his fingers.

Whenever he looked at you a certain way, like he was studying you, reading your very soul, it made a chill travel down your spine and formed a sensation in your stomach that caused you to feel like hurling. You swallowed again, forcing yourself to avoid getting sick right then and there. You didn’t know what he was seeing when he looked at you, and frankly, it was probably best not to know. “If you think I’m a poor excuse for a god, you can say it, you know.”

Puzzled by the thought that he believed that was your opinion of him, you furrowed your brows, mentally recalling any recent memories that could’ve prompted him to think so. However, none came to mind. You didn’t know whether to reply, or let him continue. Which would bring about punishment. “I never ever thought that…!”

“Huh…” Standing with his hands at his sides, his shoulders slightly hunched as he faced away from you. There were a few spare moments of a tense awkward silence before he continued, “Or… did you think I was stupid? I knew the whole time. You think I wouldn’t recognize my own imp? Even the one I didn’t really give a damn about?”

All you could do was remain still, as still as a statue. Never had you ever been this frightened before, not when coming so close to the overpowered hero with superhuman strength, or when you were underneath a boulder in the hydra’s gorge, or even when you were tasked with freeing multiple creatures of nightmares beside Ortho. Because yes, while all those beings and myths could’ve caused your demise in various horrendous and grotesque ways, Idia was on a different level. If he so wished, he could revive you and kill you again and again, trapping you in a continuous cycle of death and misery for all time.

Lifting one hand where small whirls of weak smoke swirled at his bony fingertip, the small cloud resembled the gray murky depths of the river of souls where the dead were the waves on the surface. He continued, while brooding, “When I plucked the original out of the river and revived them, I did it for one reason and one reason only. For Ortho, to keep him company. I didn’t need anyone trying to annoy me, and the prototype was no particular help, you’re more like deadweight since Ortho can do your tasks all on his own. But he wanted a friend, and who am I to deny it? I chose the original’s soul for flat and basic little traits. A dim, sorry, subservient little mortal. Except…”

When he glanced over his shoulder at you, his yellow eyes glowed dimly and you couldn’t discern his expression due to how the angle concealed the lower half of his face. Those eyes alone made you want to jump right into the river of souls, but you didn’t want to test the theory if he actually forcefully dragged you out of certain doom. What was fairly certain was that the Lord of Underworld could most definitely create fates worse than anything the judges could’ve conjured up just for you. The only thing you could do was pray that he would be merciful. “Please, believe me, I didn’t want to lie to you––!”

“pLeAsE, bELiEvE mE, i DiDn’T wAnT tO LiE tO yOu.” Idia openly mocked you, even copying the way you would anxiously grip your hands together as if in a thoughtful prayer begging for mercy. “But you did! Lucky for you, I didn’t care for the original. And, it’s a hassle getting a new imp so you got stuck with me, just your luck. Poor sorry little imp, I almost feel bad for you. Almost. Not really though.”

He… didn’t care? Was this mercy? Or some odd form of it? He made no movements to end you right then and there, not seeming to be debating it.

“I’m not stupid.” He clarified with a scowl, and that’s what made you realize that he was cross because you underestimated his intellect. Were gods truly so prideful? Maybe. It seemed so. And in the grand scheme of things, maybe he didn’t care because this didn’t affect his plans in the slightest. Why would a powerful immortal who rules over the dead’s domain, care for a human? “I don’t care who you really are, as long as you stick to the script and make Ortho happy. Got it? If you do what you're told, you’ll live.”

“O-Oh…” That wasn’t even half as much as painful of a punishment as you expected it to be. Just don’t underestimate him for his pride’s sake, and keep a solid friendship with Ortho. Noted. Those you could definitely do. “Um, thank you so so so much for sparing me your, uh… your most lugubriousness…?”

His nose crinkled and he frowned at the horrid attempt at a title. “Ew, stop that, don’t be weird. I’m not gonna kill you, that should be obvious even to someone stupid. And don’t even think of calling me Lord, that’s complete overkill. This isn’t the Dark Ages. Just use my name, it’s not like I’m gonna smite you for it. Just Idia Shroud.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was said that there were five stages of grief, and you had experienced all five since arriving. From the tiny voice in the back of your mind denying the reality of the situation, to the current state of acceptance to which you had no choice but to arrive at. With each passing night as you watched the planets in the sky like stars grow closer and closer to aligning, it counted down like the doomsday clock to your demise. If Heraclea didn’t lose by then, you would fail. Idia would never claim Mount Olympus, and you’d meet a terrible end.

As you stared up at the planets, seeing they were so close to a perfect straight line, you became lost in thought. It became common now, where you would stare off into space, wondering if death would come to claim you and fearing in what form it may come, only to be forcefully brought back from that eternal slumber should Idia continue to breathe. Going over constant plans and ideas, that led to deadends. Because the hero was destined to win, she had the smarts and strength to do any feat once thought impossible. The only hope brought you back to the original plan, keep Meg safe once Idia struck a deal with Heraclea in which the love interest’s safety hangs in the balance.

That was the only way.

“Are you even listening?” Ortho inquired, slightly annoyed that you had just ignored everything he was saying. Hovering off the ground, he floated upwards a bit to be in your line of vision as your head remained tilted up to the night sky. The artificially generated blue flames on his hair swayed lightly, casting a gentle blue glow and the shadows outlined his metallic horns. Tilting his head, he stared at your eyes filled with despair just staring off into nothingness. “Helloooo? Come on, there’s no time for mental breakdowns!”

When he waved a hand in front of your nose, you blinked, snapping out of that despondent daze as you slowly turned your attention to the young boy in front of you. Seeing his face that looked similar to Idia was not doing anything to help your current state. “H-Huh…?”

How did he even find you at one of Idia’s temples in the human realm? You had no idea. It was the easiest place to get to, considering all of the Lord of the Underworld’s mortal-made temples were accessible through the doors of his abode. Not that there were many of the temples, and the majority of them were abandoned inside the hollow cavities or caverns they were constructed in.

Ortho furrowed his eyebrows, as he floated back down towards the earth, now only hovering a few spare inches off of the ground. Whatever he was talking about before you began paying attention, was clearly no longer the topic of the conversation as he gazed at you quizzically. “What were you thinking about?”

Was it really worth telling him? Ortho had constantly insisted that you were supposed to be working as a team, and for a while, you had. While he was an android boy, he was incredibly dependable. He possessed abilities and skills you couldn’t even dream of achieving, and if anyone could help you while Idia dealt with leading the titans, it would be Ortho. However, who’s to say that you wouldn’t immediately be tossed to the side once you served this greater purpose as a step to assist the Lord of the Underworld in reaching the peak?

Your fellow imp gazed at you, blinking those wide yellow eyes that appeared so innocent. But you knew what Ortho was capable of, what he was willing to do for his elder brother. Lie, cheat, trick, murder–– and that was only scratching the surface. Well, maybe not outright lying, because he seemed so adamantly against it. “You can tell me. We’re friends, right? I’ve never had a real friend before, besides my brother, but friends are supposed to trust each other, right?” Gravity pulled him down, until he was right beside you, seated on a crumbling fallen column that was sideways on the floor. Small fingers reached for your long sleeve, slowly gripping it.

“Right…” You exhaled, still debating whether this was a good idea or not. Part of you worried if he could even detect if you were lying, and so you decided it better not to risk it. At the worst, you’d be discarded and had to survive in an apocalyptic-like world once the titans were freed, but in the best case scenario, you would actually manage to succeed in assisting the antagonist gain a happy ending. The latter of which would effectively grant you a good ending as well. “T-These plans you’ve been making with Idia haven’t exactly been working, but… I think I know how this’ll play out in the end. Everything that’s happening now is almost exactly like a story I knew from my home.”

“It is?” He brightened up, looking downright giddy as he jumped a few inches on nothing but air. Those wide yellow eyes of his that glowed like headlights, peered at you intensely as he exclaimed, “And you never told me! Well, how does it end? We could use this to our advantage in defeating the hero! With your help, we can’t possibly lose! This came at a perfect time, just as we were running out of pawns to use.”

With your hand so close to your mouth, you were debating whether to bite your nails out of pure anxiety or just clamp your fingers over your lips to shut yourself up. Instead, you opted to dig your nails into your palm and forced yourself to open your mouth. The words came out slow, like the painfully laggard pace of dripping water. “We’re supposed to lose…I’ve t-thought of everything to try and stop this story from dragging on for this long, but we keep underestimating Heraclea. That’s the issue. We forget that even though she’s mortal, she still has part of the strength she would have if she were still a goddess. So there’s no beating her, at least not fairly…”

Ortho leaned closer, hanging onto every single word. His little metal hands continued to cling to your sleeves. A silence lingered for a moment as he processed your words. “Okay… so we have to cheat…? I dunno…”

“Not exactly. We’re just… leveling the playing field. Yeah… That’s all we’re doing.” Nodding slowly, as if trying to convince yourself of this. Despite the Lord of the Underworld’s uncaring demeanor and your fellow imp’s rather cruel ways, they were both honest. Idia kept his word, and Ortho told truths. “Right before the titans will be freed, the Lord of the Underworld discovers that the hero’s weakness isn’t a physical one, it’s an emotional one. That… weakness is Meg. So the Lord of the Underworld pretends to kidnap the love interest, and offers a deal to the hero. I-If the hero agrees to give up their strength for twenty-four hours, Meg will be freed.”

Like a lightbulb going off in his head, his blue fire hair sparked for a moment as he straightened up and exclaimed, “That would work! But, wait a minute, if that’s the real story, then what happens so we lost…?”

“I was just getting to that.” You assured him, your voice remaining quiet as if afraid of being overheard by any living creature in the vicinity. The temple was abandoned, and they were the only two living things for miles. “T-The hero agrees to the deal, under one condition. If their loved one is hurt, then the deal is off.”

It clicked in his mind as he nodded in understanding. “Ohhhhhh…” The cogs turned in his mind, weighing the meaning of your words and what was supposed to happen. “You mean Meg dies…? That’s okay!”

Your jaw dropped at the mirth in the android boy’s tone. Wasn’t he supposed to be upset? Saddened? Did he not care at all for the human they occasionally worked with? It was true, half the time he was away on business trying to persuade other beasts to submit to Idia. “W-What? I thought–– I thought you would care!”

“Not really. It’s not really a secret that Meg doesn’t care about me or Idia! He’s kinda mean to me, actually…” He sighed, averting his gaze as he murmured, “Mortals are so complicated. I can’t understand them, and my brother says they’re all the same! Well, almost all of them. I get you, and Idia actually likes your company. Which is saying something, because he can’t stand any of the mortals he’s ever spoken to. It’s actually kinda concerning because all he talks about is you and how sad and miserable you are, but he doesn’t mean it in a hateful way. He just says it’s annoying how you get stuck in people’s heads. But we’re getting off track.”

Wait, wait, no, go back on that track. Why was Idia tolerating your company? Not that it was a bad thing, as it allowed you to live longer than most folk who had ever encountered him. It was a tad worrisome, and you couldn’t help but visibly grimace.

“All we need to do is make sure Meg lives and remains without a scratch for those twenty-four hours, right? That’s easy enough! We can knock him out cold or have Cerberus watch over him. Either way, with us on watch, it won’t really matter! We’ll be free!”

You watch him yell with glee as he jumps high into the air, until he is several stories in the sky as he laughs. What a sight this would have been to any other mortal nearby, who may have had the misfortune of stumbling across two imps at the abandoned shrine of their master. When he began to plummet back to earth instead of gracefully floating back down, you nearly stumbled on your own two feet with your arms automatically outstretched to try and catch him.

Just before you could trip and fall flat on your face, his hands caught your sleeve and prevented you from taking a nasty fall. He remained hovering off the ground, as per usual. Those brilliant blinding eyes gazed at yours as he exclaimed, “We’ll finally be happy! Idia and me, and now you! We can make history, you’ll be the first mortal to ever live on Mount Olympus! Isn’t that great? Of course, if the air pressure becomes an issue affecting your breathing pattern, I’m sure Idia would be glad to come up with a solution. He really liked your company when you two went to observe our target, you know. He won’t admit it, but I think you being there helped him calm down when Heraclea stopped the eruption at the volcano.”

“Uh, well––”

“Oh! You know what I want to do as soon as we get to Olympus?” Times like these when he jumped from topic to topic so eagerly, and remained so high in spirits is what reminded you that he was supposed to be child-like. It was easy to see him as an innocent youth, if you ignored the disturbing things he said every now and then. “I heard that Hermes has some really cool accessories. We should take them! And don’t forget Ares! I’ve always wanted to see his helmet and hold the legendary sword he wields! There’s so many things we can do once we’re up there, and we’ll have all the time in the world! And––”

All you could think of as your fellow imp blabbered on and on about relics he wished to steal from other gods and how he planned to spend his time having fun with his brother and yourself, was that you really just put your entire existence in his little metal hands. Only one sentence ran through your mind as you stared slack-jawed at him.

I’m going to fucking die…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

They were right on track towards the implosion of destined failure, but all it would take would be one sharp turn, and unexpected change, to send them veering off course. It was surprisingly easy for Ortho to convince Idia to send out Meg on a quest to find Heraclea’s weakness. Although you knew the answer already, and by extension so did Ortho, Idia did not. And you were not about to tell him your whole life story and how you knew details that others should not know of this world and those living in it.

Now it was only a matter of waiting, waiting for the confirmation to arrive that Meg was the key to the hero’s destruction. To occupy the hours, you looked upon a scroll Ortho had brought along to the mortal realm. Seated atop the roofs of grand estates to avoid being seen and questioned, it was the perfect spot as the duo of imps were to await further instruction from the god.

On the scroll you held, were various faces of monstrous beasts. Titans. The ones that stood out the most, were the four at the very bottom, with a fifth not too far behind. Those you recognized, and would be the ones to lay siege on Mount Olympus: Lythos, Hydros, Pyros, Stratos, and Arges. The last of which would be the one to kill the hero while she was in her weakened state.

“This one… This one-eyed freak is the one we send to kill Heraclea.” You point out the image of the cyclops, able to distinguish it from the other titans. Unlike the others composed purely of the four elements, this titan was several tons of pure mass. A creature of unnatural proportions and unrivaled size, which would serve as a worthy opponent to the hero when she didn’t have her superhuman strength to protect her.

Ortho gazed at the scroll, paying no mind to the garden below where Meg was eventually supposed to emerge with knowledge of Heraclea’s weakness. Focusing his optic sensors on the simple painted image of the titan Arges, he was still in thought before nodding in approval. “It’s true that Arges is a worthy titan with the capability of wrecking havoc and killing numerous humans, but why him specifically? If the hero won in the story as you said, wouldn’t we want a different titan? I believe that Pyros would be most effective! His elemental body composed primarily of lava will easily burn through human flesh.”

“Well, yes… That’s a very vivid way of thinking about it.” How in depth was Ortho picturing the death of the hero? It almost seemed as if he wanted to send the most destructive of them all just to cause her more suffering, even if his way of thinking was logical. You shook the image out of your mind as you explained meekly, “Arges comes close to killing the hero. If he had taken things seriously instead of treating it as a game and delaying death, he would’ve won. But he didn’t, because he was toying with his victim… and because the hero’s trainer returned to their aid in those last moments.”

Either way, you were damning a person, a good person, to a horrible death. It wouldn’t be swift or painless, and far from merciful. The titans would have centuries of pent-up rage to release violently, and if miraculously Arges was defeated, Ortho wouldn’t allow the protagonist to slip away with their life. The imp beside you was far from the helpless little devils that appeared in the story, he could be just as lethal as his elder brother. And yet, despite the guilt you could feel slowly building up the more you thought about it, the more often you repeated to yourself: she wasn’t real. If you could fully convince yourself of that, that despite her bright blue eyes and smile as warm as sunshine, she was just a character from a story, then the guilt of her approaching death wouldn’t faze you too much.

The dangers in this world were real, the enemies were real, Ortho was real, Idia was real. She was not. Even if that felt like a lie, it was a lie, it didn’t matter. If you thought of her as a simple pawn in a game, then the burden of your sin wouldn’t be able to permeate throughout your consciousness. It was just like flicking a piece off a board. It was that simple. Because it was either her, or you. The choice was obvious.

As Ortho peered down at you with his big bright eyes, he continued floating in the air as he inquired, “Hey, hey, when we get there, I call dibs on Ares’ helmet and sword. You can have Hermes’ stuff, okay?”

“That’s fine with me…” Frankly, you didn’t care for tinted glasses, legendary swords, or the helmet of a god.

In the midst of their conversation and planning, a swirling cloud of mist like a portal appeared a few feet away. From it, came the familiar voice of the god, “Imps, time’s almost up.”

Going through the cloud was one experience you could never quite get accustomed to. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like a cold dead wind knocked the air out of your lungs as it transported you to a new location each and every time. This time, the destination was a place directly outside of a largely empty colosseum underneath gray skies that was bound to brew a storm.

“Meg is out of commission, he got too soft. But, he’s there to lure his little hero. Humans are so predictable, so naive, no offense.” Idia’s gaze traveled over to you, only offering a half-hearted shrug and a crooked small grin as a weak apology, if it could even be deemed an apology at all.

To which you nodded, not really affected by his choice of words. “None taken.”

“Ortho, you take care of the pegasus and the satyr. Will you?” The immortal lord’s yellow eyes darted over to his brethren, the young imp straightening in attention upon hearing new commands. “Clip its wings, do whatever you have to, I don’t care what it is. I want them out of the way. Join us whenever you’re done.”

“Understood!” Ortho chirped, watching as his elder brother turned away to slowly walk towards the colosseum. Your fellow imp’s eyes met yours and he must’ve remembered your warning of the impact the satyr could have on the plot, because he used his ability to generate a holographic disguise of the satyr over himself. With one swift slicing motion over his neck, his head rolled to the side in a disgustingly almost realistic spillage of blood before the holographic flickered off. The imp winked at you, far too cheerful for someone planning to commit murder in the next upcoming minutes. In the next moment, he was gone through a cloud of black smog.

The gruesome image was stuck in your mind as you were left to follow the Lord of the Underworld, jogging to catch up with him and walk at his side as he approached the coliseum. The closer and closer you got to the towering arena, the more the thought dwelled at the forefront of your mind. You would be responsible for not one death, not just extinguishing the burning bright protagonist, but others. Not just Meg, or the satyr, or the pegasus, but countless other souls. Who knew how many mortals the titans would crush, freeze, burn, shred to bits and pieces? So many lives all to save yours.

Just remember, it was a story. They were just fictional characters, they didn’t even have any relevance to the plot. Background characters whose faces and voices blurred together, whose names would go unheard. That’s all they were.

“Hey. You nervous or something?”

Immediately you were yanked out of your intense train of thought, as if pulled out from beneath the surface of water. The god seemed to have picked up on the nervous tics and the grimaces on your face.

“You look like you’re gonna puke… Cut it out. I’m the one who should be nervous, seriously.”

Gripping the fabric of your clothing to prevent any unnecessary movement, you swallowed thickly and nodded stiffly. Just walk. All you had to do was walk beside him, act as an escort and keep up with him when approaching the towering open entrances to the largely abandoned coliseum where one could faintly pick up on the sound of clanging metal dumbbells in a steady rhythm.

“Sorry…” You choke out, suppressing any sort of queasy sensation. Think of golden gates and feather-stuffed clouds softer than any tempur-pedic, not the destruction and trail of blood that would lead to paradise at the peak. “Just–– the hero we’re walking towards can probably crush my skull between her biceps without even really trying. And, I kinda prefer my skull intact, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Idia rolled his eyes, seemingly not very much in agreement. Then again, he had little to fear when it came to actually being harmed. Yes, Heraclea could do some damage to him, but he couldn’t die. He was immortal.

The pair stopped at the arching entranceway moments before entering the threshold.

“You know what I do know? Rumors.” Of course he knew things. Ortho constantly kept him up to date on the latest happenings, and of course his pawn that fit in best with other mortals, Meg, had kept him informed about anything important in the mortal lands. “A certain little bird told me something interesting before he turned traitor. That a strapping gal, who, I dunno, rides a pegasus and listens to a satyr, has been on the lookout for a small kinda pathetic-looking mortal with horns. Turns out that your crying face made a crying mark on her from that day in the gorge.”

She knew you. You didn’t know whether to cry or scream. What was worse? The hero with the strength of a thousand suns or the god that reigned over the dead?

The god. The god was easily the most frightening one, you decided as you realized that Idia was staring at you intensely again. It caused your breath to stop, your hairs standing on end. The immortal looked as if he just wanted to smite you right then and there, reducing you to nothing but ash. For something that was beyond your control.

“I have got to say, you have this talent, a curse, and it makes me want to literally just––” Idia tightly clenched his fist, pursing his blue lips as he decided against going into detail. To simply put it, words like crush, tear, destroy, or pulverize into atoms would not be able to adequately put his thoughts into words. “Turns out, it’s not just me that notices. You have this strange agonizing little ability to just… worm your way into someone’s mind, and not stop. It festers like an open wound. Infecting it, making the thoughts grow more and more, worse and worse, increasing every day.”

In your seconds of stunned and petrified silence, Idia peered down at you.

His eyes glowed in the shadows under the stone arches. The smoke at his feet brushing against your legs like tendrils of gray wisps. Abruptly he remarked, “I think I finally realized why I find you so annoying.”

“What––”

“You’re used to death and choose the logical routes that are deemed as heartless. Maybe in your previous life you were seen as odd and somewhat of an outcast, like us.”

Previous life. What exactly did he mean by that? How much exactly did he know, but chose not to explicitly state? Was he assuming you had a previous life here in his plane of existence, this story? Or did he somehow know that you once had a life elsewhere, before being damned into this role by trial?

Slowly your eyes traveled over to him, only to see that he was already glancing down at you with those glowing yellow eyes. The eyes of death himself. Unsmiling, unfeeling, unstable. The breath of life was frozen in your throat as he tilted his head slowly to one side, his gaze never leaving yours, not blinking even once. “Do you blame yourself?”

“H-Huh…?”

“Well, it’s common for you simple mortals in this type of situation you’re in to feel a type of guilt, before and after what has been done.” The number of mortal souls he must’ve seen of the damned were immeasurable. The good, the bad, the worst. All of it he had witnessed. Guilt. Was that what you were feeling now, at the thought of sacrificing others for your own survival as you manipulate the story?

The breath lodged in your throat escaped like a short stifled gasp. “I… I don’t––”

“I see it all the time, you’re no exception.” Idia turned to face you fully. The Lord of the Underworld was looking down at you, the smoke at his feet curling around your legs. It was cold lifeless air, sending a chill from your toes all the way to your neck. Those eyes felt like the worst pair of eyes in the entire world–– no, the entire universe. It felt like he could read you inside out, deciphered every bit of your soul like code. “Mortals will invent blame, trying to shove the burden on others and create an excuse. When in reality…”

Reality. This was reality now, at least for you. A reality you had attempted to shape into your will, into a satisfactory ending where things would be carefree in a heavenly paradise above the clouds. And yet… what did it cost? Lives? What did that matter? But a portion of your sanity.

“It’s completely out of your control.”

The Lord of the Underworld returned his sights ahead, to where he would encounter the beloved daughter of the god who damned him to an eternity of drudgery in the most secluded realm in this plane of existence. As he walked, it felt like his fleeting wisps of smoke lingering after each footstep, compelled her forward.

Just before the shadows of the arching columns ended, they stopped on the edge of darkness where they could watch. Straight ahead was Heraclea, her back turned to them. She was lifting a bar with huge thick metal weight plates that likely each weighed about the same as a house, yet she so effortlessly lifted them up and down with the same hands that strangled the most fearsome beasts to death.

Idia stood close at your side, keeping his fingers folded in front of him as he stood slightly slouched, watching the hero with utter disdain before his gaze traveled to you out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t move his head. Instead of that same type of hateful loathing he felt towards the protagonist, he looked at you with something else, something less evil and more gentler but equally as chilling.

In an instant, he was gone in a puff of smoke, his voice seeming to echo all around you and even within the confines of your skull. Low and quiet, but haunting. “You know you were never in control, right?”

You were never in control.

You could only watch almost lifelessly as Idia appeared in front of the protagonist. Everyone, everything, began to sound so far away. The crackling fire of the torches on the wall, the voice of the suspicious immortal and wary mortal in the distance, the low howling of the wind beginning to pick up, each one fell on deaf ears.

That one parting line, just five words, made you question everything that you had worked for thus far. Again, there was the question: how much Idia know? Have you been played for a fool? For all your days here, you had been through hell and back, quite literally, doing his bidding in the hopes to exploit the situation and create an ending that suited your preferences. Had he known this, or was it his choice of words messing with your unstable mind? Just as he insinuated that your presence was permeating throughout his mind, this god was driving you mad!

The plot appeared to be progressing as intended, the Lord of the Underworld attempting to trick the Hero into a deal they could not refuse. When Idia snapped his dark bony fingers, instead of seeing plum colored garbs and wavy brown locks of Meg, you felt that dreadful sensation of the cold dead wind knocking the air out of your lungs as you suddenly found yourself thrust into the spotlight of the center colosseum.

All eyes, the two pairs in the vicinity, were on you. You felt yourself go pale. There was a reason Idia had mentioned the fact that the hero knew you existed, and this was it. It was a warning, a hint to his plans. Somehow, someway, the hero cared, and it should have never happened. Why wasn’t Meg here instead?

The hero’s bright blue eyes sparked to life with familiarity. Any mild irritation she expressed while interacting with the immortal were quickly dashed and replaced by genuine concern. “It’s you––”

Immediately your gaze traveled to the Lord of the Underworld, who appeared irked by the mere presence of the protagonist that has gotten in the way of his every attempt. Idia hardly even looked at you, even as the words came rushing out past your lips, “This wasn’t––”

Those cold wisps of smoke gathered, materializing into a rope-like object that restricted your movements. It binds your wrists together, covering your mouth to prevent any sort of noise from leaving your throat.

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why was this happening?

Just before you could hit the dirt ground, the hero’s warm hands inches away from your flesh as she extended her arms out to catch you–– snap! The snap of Idia’s fingers caused that dreaded cold lifeless air to hit you like a slap as you were whisked away from strong safe arms.

For a few sparse seconds, you were in complete and utter darkness. It was cold. Just you and your thoughts, with one more prominent than others: Idia had used you. Toying with you like one of the pawns on his board, pinning you against the unbeatable foe he was currently facing. The god utilizing you as if you were the secret ace up his sleeve, but why? What was stopping Heraclea from decimating you just as she had to his other pawns?

Again, you heard the snap, and you were back in the colosseum. Rapidly you scanned your surroundings, growing more and more disorientated with each snap of his fingers that tossed you back and forth from space to space until you couldn’t tell right from left. What you could still detect was the solid surface beneath you, like those uncomfortable rigid stone benches where the audience would spectate the bloody battles.

“–– that’s the trade off. You give up your strength for twenty-four hours, specifically the next twenty-four hours, and the mortal you’ve been looking for is as free as a bird.” Idia prattled on, speaking quite rapidly whether out of habit, out of the jitters, or due to the time-crunch, but it could’ve been all three fueling his fast-talk. “I mean, you do want them safe, don’t you? That’s the mortal you’ve been looking for, isn't it? The one you’ve spotted in multiple cities, right? Sorta small and meek, the distinct horn-things they got going on there, sad little face, kinda hard to miss ‘em.”

Heraclea had been looking for you. The hero had spotted you in cities–– and the only time you were in civilization was when you were tasked to set up the disasters and accidents that the hero would come to face. Were you sloppy and was this accidental, an opportunity the Lord of the Underworld decided to take full advantage of? Or was this always his intention from the very beginning?

How many times had Heraclea spotted you to grow attached, at least enough to the extent that Idia felt he could safely bet on the hero risking her divine strength to spare you? Each moment flashed through your mind, as you dashed through alleyways and backroads, with the help of Ortho, each time setting off a disaster or a beast to challenge the hero. While Ortho had his strange metallic body which levitated and his holograms to disguise himself, you only had your own two legs to run and a cloak to conceal yourself. How many of those times of sneaking past corners, weaving through crowds, disappearing behind buildings, had Heraclea seen? So engrossed in these thoughts, that you practically missed the intense verbal exchange between the two.

While Heraclea was naive, she wasn’t downright stupid, and Idia merely wanted this to hurry along to remain on schedule.

“––What do you owe these mortals, hm? This is the mortal you’ve wanted to save! Them and their sorry eyes.” In one swift movement, Idia was beside you, his thin fingers forcing you to look straight at the protagonist.

You couldn’t scream, you couldn’t yell, you couldn’t cry. How different would this have turned out, if instead, you had risked turning to Heraclea for help in the very beginning?

Those blue eyes, the kindest blue eyes in the world, peered at you from afar. Was that pity in her eyes as she looked at you?

The god pinched your cheeks between your fingers, as he made you look at her. Really look at her, the woman which you were planning to sacrifice to save your own skin. The woman who was currently contemplating on saving you at her own expense, even if she had no idea that you had aided in the countless attempts to kill her thus far. It’s like Idia wanted you to really get a good look of her before she was gone. “Are you for real going to look straight at that miserable little face and say no? I mean, talk about a letdown. I thought you cared for them––”

“Stop it!” Cutting him off, the hero’s soft gaze at you turned to frown once she focused on the pale immortal. It only took one second. Just one second for her to cave, just as what was intended. You feared being labeled as an enemy by her, but apparently, Idia did not feel the same sort of trepidation. “Swear. Swear that they’ll be safe from any harm.”

Finally letting go, Idia shrugged nonchalantly as he slowly approached Heraclea. He didn’t plan on harming them anyways. This worked out even better than what was imagined. Now, there was absolutely no use for Meg, no need to keep him from harm when it was his own imp that had to be shielded. An imp that risked the lives of others to keep themself safe, and an imp that the Lord of the Underworld wouldn’t allow any harm to befall. “Yeah, fine, whatever. This mortal here remains safe, otherwise you get your strength right back. Everyone goes home happy. M’kay, deal?”

As soon as he outstretched his pale hand, his black-tinted fingers reaching forward, Heraclea eyed his appendage with suspicion. As if she half expected the black on his fingertips to be some sort of deadly poison that would infect her as soon as she touched his hand. Her blue eyes glanced at you for a brief moment.

“Hey, you hear me? Look, you wouldn’t get it, but I’m on a schedule. I need an answer, like, now.” For a flash, a quick moment, his normally calm blue mane appeared to spark red and flicker higher and further across his shoulders.

Again, the hero looked at you. For all she knew, you were an innocent soul held hostage by a god. Yet you were far from innocent.

“Going once.”

You were watching the valiant woman practically seal her certain doom.

“Going twice––”

A fate in which you helped form and doing nothing to stop it.

“Alright…!” Heraclea looked at her own calloused hand with apprehension, but thrust it forward before any hesitation could kick in.

As soon as their hands connected, Idia gave an eager toothy grin. You could only watch as the life and energy was practically drained out of the hero as she sank slowly to her knees like being pulled down by intense crushing gravity. As soon as they let go, it was like seeing the color fade from her. Her healthy glowing tan was reduced to an ashy almost-gray hue, her eyes dimmed as they lost their spark of energy, and she could barely even stand on her own two feet.

Idia no longer held any regard for the now simple mortal, not even sparing her so much as a glance as a wave of his fingers caused the hefty weight she had been training with, to float before crashing against her, practically tossing her to the other side of the colosseum.

You had no idea if she were alive or dead, or nearly dead but left just breathing to receive torment from the titans that would be released only momentarily. There wasn’t even any time to ask or to check her pulse, as Idia snapped and suddenly your restraints dissipated into thin air.

“See, didn’t I tell you, you get into people’s heads?” He remarked far too casually. With another snap, there was chariot-like contraption summoned.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the rubble the hero had landed in. You waited, searching, anticipating some sort of movement. A sign of life.

“Don’t look at her anymore.” Upon seeing this, Idia frowned deeply. The tips of his fiery hair sparked warm hues, the flames growing taller and casting longer shadows. “Why are you still looking at her?” A final movement of his hand had his fingers land on your chin, keeping your head in place so his glowing eyes were peering right down at you. The worst eyes in the world. “Don’t wanna be late now, after all our hard work. If there’s anything left of Heraclea, we’ll have the titans handle the remains so there won’t even be bones to bury. You wanted this, didn’t you? Don’t let the guilt eat you alive now, not when you knew what you were getting into. Usually I’m the downer, but I don’t get why you look so shocked. I’m granting you a front row seat to this cosmic takeover biz, my Puny Little Imp.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #ortho shroud #twst ortho #yandere ortho shroud #idia shroud #twst idia #yandere idia shroud #ignihyde #damnation twst au

985 notes · View notes

littlemelaninfics · 11 months ago

Text

Just One More

WARNING: Overstimulation, crying reader, language, fingering

“No, no, no, no!”

There you are, 4 orgasms in and writhing wildly in Bucky’s arms as he continues to rub circles around your clit. You're trembling with tears streaming down your face while you desperately try to get away from the torturous manipulation of his hands. All he could do was smile as he keeps the cold, heavy metal of his left arm tight around you middle.

He kept pulling you back into his chest when you couldn't help but buck your hips and gasps for breath, “Bucky… please… no more, I can’t-”. He puts two fingers in your abused opening,

“Yes, you can,” he says sternly, mouth pressed to your ear. The bass in his voice vibrates the wires in your brain. He's all you crave.

He lets out a deep breath when he slides a third finger into your hole. You were helpless and at his mercy. Your hands are trapped behind your back, between your torsos with a red Christmas ribbon he found. Your legs were trapped between his so when you tried to close them, he just had to spread his wider. There was absolutely nothing you could do to stop him from playing with your sensitive pussy.

“Ohhh, I’m not done yet, Baby. Not yet.” He pulled his fingers out and went back to the same speed on your clit.

“Oh my god, Sir… fuck, please, don’t stop,” you moan loudly, trashing in his grip when the tight coil in your abdomen comes undone. Wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you. You're full on sobbing in blissful agony before going tractable in his arms. All your body could do was tremble from head to toe when he pressed his nose into your slick neck and finally slips his fingers out of you. He loosens his hold on your torso, allowing your legs to close a bit to give you a well deserved moment. You go to close them more when he cups his hand possessively around your pussy. He’s still not done.

You start to cry again; the combination of the tears and your whining making you sound so pathetic and helpless. He just eats it up.

“Noooo… Bucky, please, no more… stop, I- I can’t… please, no…”

“Shhh. You're doing so well for me,” he says, pressing his lips against your temple. "What do you say to get me to stop?"

He laid a light tap to your swollen petals, "tell, y/n. Stay with me."

"Brooklyn," you said in the faintest whisper.

"Why?"

"It's where we met...FUCK!"

He doesn’t wait another moment before slipping two fingers back inside your sopping pussy, making you cry out when they graze your ultra sensitive walls.

“James-FUCKKK!,” You drag out as you sit your head up to watch his attack on you,

"You want me to stop? Say it and I'll stop." He knew you wouldn't and he reveled at the fact that he had complete control over you. The fact that he didn't reprimand you for using his legal name meant that he was having way too much fun in this torture session to even care.

“No! Please don't stop…” His fingers reached the spot that undoes it all and your eyes roll back as you place your head back on him, completely quiet.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bucky watches, mesmerized that it's him who's making you cum like this.

You whimper in his arms, gulping in large breaths that pass right by his ear from where my head is resting on his shoulder. Your entire body is trembling. Your sweaty skin sliding along his own when you try to wiggle away from his touch.

You stay like that for a moment before he presses another kiss to your temple. By this time, your eyes are closed and you're starting to come down. Your breathing stables until you feel a heavy, icy sensation start to travel back to your overused cunt.

"You've been such a good girl for me. I know you can give me another, Baby.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader

1K notes · View notes

meleeyz · 3 months ago

Text

𓆤 . 𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ 𓆤⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

EKKO .ᐟ

Matching Oufits

Metal Petals

Golden Cage P1

Pretty Piltie

Viktor's Apprentice

Another Universe!Ekko Wedding Headcanons

𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 (𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶-𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀):

Time had a cruel way of stretching in moments of longing and compressing in moments of joy.

For you, time was a quiet torment, ticking by as you cradled your baby in the heart of the Firelight hideout, shoulders heavy with the weight of a fractured world. Ekko had promised to return, but months had passed, and his absence gnawed at you like a wound that refused to heal. Between tending to your child and aiding the Firelights’ fight for Zaun’s independence, you told yourself to hold on—for him, for your family, for the people depending on you.

But hope, like time, was slippery.

For Ekko, time was an illusion that teased him with a life he could have had. Trapped in a parallel dimension, he wandered a Undercity untouched by Shimmer, untouched by pain. The air was clean, the streets safe, and the people—alive. Mylo, Claggor, Powder… even himself, surrounded by a family that adored him, a peaceful world where the battles he fought seemed a distant memory. It was a paradise he never dared to dream of, yet it was wrong. The perfection of this world gnawed at him because it wasn’t his. It wasn’t home.

Beyond your struggles and his, the war raged on—a conflict between Zaun, Piltover, and now Noxus, whose hunger for conquest knew no bounds. The fight for Zaun’s independence teetered on the edge of hope and annihilation, with the weight of Runeterra’s future.

In the fractured timelines, scattered responsibilities, and endless war, one thing remained certain: no matter the clock, Ekko would find his way back to you.

Chapter One: Do I look like him?

Chapter two: In Every Universe

Chapter Three: A Place That Doesn't Feel Like Home

Chapter Four: Aunt Powder

Chapter Five: Things to Fix

Chapter Six: All for Us [coming soon]

Chapter Seven: A Glimpse of Us [coming soon]

Chapter Eight: Not a Lot, Just Forever [coming soon]

VI .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

JINX .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

SEVIKA .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

SCAR .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

VANDER .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

CAITLYN .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

VIKTOR .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

OTHERS .ᐟ

Nothing yet…

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ 𓆤⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

#arcane x reader #ekko x reader #vi x reader #jinx x reader #sevika x reader #scar arcane x reader #vander x reader #caitlyn x reader #viktor x reader

308 notes · View notes

recareels · 8 months ago

Text

take it slow just as fast as i can

character: boothill notes: i just rly, genuinely think boothill would be obsessed with feeling every fucking inch of you, that’s all c: | title credit: body like a back road by sam hunt warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, thinly veiled body worship, mentions of scars + implied stretch marks and cellulite, marking (biting and bruising), implied multiple orgasms, tiny bit of angst right at the end words: 830

boothill knows your body better than he knows anything else in the cosmos.

boothill knows your body better than he knows his own—better than he knows his scorched, excavated homeland, better than he knows the smooth metal ripples and ridges, cold curves and contours of his own so called ‘body’, better than he knows his cherished 9mm revolver—the ivory grip, pretty pearlescent nacre shimmering up at him delicately from between the gaps of mechanized fingers, stamped with that gilded eagle sigil; the artfully notched cylinder, embossed with decorative arrows—six, one for each chamber—and the angular hammer, piped with shimmering aureate; the golden barrel, intricate inclinations carved to sharp, exquisite perfection.

boothill knows every curve, every dip, every edge of your form—all of your lines and dimples and scars, and could map them out with his eyes closed and recite each corresponding story: a single metallic fingertip tracing along the jagged strikes of silver etched into your skin; his hard thumbprint pressing into the dents peppering your thighs, a cool knuckle skimming over that scar on your knee.

and boothill loves appreciating them, appreciating you, appreciating how it all comes together to create one of the most magnificent masterpieces he’s ever had the pleasure of touching, the privilege of loving.

it’s become somewhat of a ritual now to take his sweet time admiring your figure before he fucks it, feeling every part of you plush and pliant beneath his grooved palms, revelling in the soft gasps that stutter your chest and dainty shivers that ripple your flesh as he kneads it.

he fills his touch with it, grabs healthy handfuls and squeezes—so soft, so supple—alternating between harsh groping, iron fingers sinking into your thighs, your hips, your tits, and gentle caressing, bullseye gaze watching with sheer wonderment as his palms glide over your silhouette, slick lips parted and damp with panted breath.

sometimes he’ll just let his hand rest on your ribs, observing the way it rises and falls with each of your quiet breaths, feeling oxygen expand your lungs as it flows in, then feeling your chest depress with every exhale pushed up your throat.

he loves to experience the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips—nothing more than a faint fluttering pressure against his receptors, but present nonetheless—an undeniable confirmation that you are indeed here, alive, his.

so beautiful, he murmurs from between your thighs, one large hand pressed flush against your heart, his chin resting on your stomach. a work of fudgin’ art, baby, I swear to the stars.

it all gets him going so goddamn easily, instils a hunger in him so ferocious that it chews on his wires, zipping through the cables in sparks of desire until it devours his brain, gorges every thought and notion until all he can conceive, all he needs, is you.

he can’t help but lick and kiss and bite and suck, desperate to leave his own impermanent marks on this gorgeous canvas. bruises blossom in the shapes of his fingerprints, sprouted in clusters of five across your form. engravings of razored teeth litter your thighs and hips, his gnawing just a hint shy of too strong, leaving behind wide crescents of thirty-two little crimson pinpricks. petals of thick saliva dry hard and stiff on your stomach and neck and collarbone, planted into your skin by puckered lips and chaste kisses.

it’s customary that he murmur sweet nothings into every claim he creates, knowing that his words will seep into your tissues in the form of gentle vibrations, knowing that they will stay, even after his marks fade.

your body is art, too, you tell him softly, after he’s made you cum several times on his cock, iron shimmering with a thick coat of your arousal, slick he refuses to clean off. a tender finger traces along the tears laden across his torso, rough and saw-toothed—scars he refuses to let heal.

no, he murmurs, rubbing his mouth into your shoulder as he speaks, eyes closing briefly with a slow, deep inhale. not the way yours is.

your body is a storybook of your life, inscribed with tales and memories—the way your body developed as you entered womanhood, too quick for your delicate skin to keep up with, procuring shimmering streaks across your breasts and bum; the time you flipped your childhood bicycle, kneecaps scraping concrete, bloody and raw; that dark dash seared along your inner arm, a constant reminder of an earnest mistake, when you accidentally nudged the rim of a pot filled with boiling water.

his body was carved in a lab, too precise to be real, too perfect to be human, constantly torn apart and put back together; rearranged, scrambled, chock full of modifications he never asked for, never agreed to. a true horror story—a weapon of death and destruction, a film of inevitable demise clinging to the metal.

he fears that’s all it ever will be.

#boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill smut #boothill angst #boothill x y/n #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #if you saw me post this to my main blog just a second ago no u didn't #inky.boothill

527 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 1 month ago

Text

oh, baby!

pairing: husband!seungcheol x fem!reader, bestfriend!jeonghan x fem!reader wc: 5.4k genre: fluff, crack | au: non-idol!au | rating: pg warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol consumption a/n: based on an ask by an anon! i love writing miscommunication LMAO. i'm not the best with stuff regarding pregnancy though, so if this reads bad...im sorry // big thanks to @tusswrites for beta-ing and giving me ideas for the scenes! and thank yoj to @wongyuseokie for the lovely banner!

summary: in which jeonghan knows he's the bestest of friends, so why can't you tell him your secret? read as: jeonghan knows you're pregnant. you have to be, right?

Jeonghan prides himself on being a really good friend. The best, even, if you asked him. He’s the kind of friend who remembers everyone’s favorite coffee order, who diffuses arguments with that easy smile (just ask Seungkwan and Seokmin about the infamous Jeju incident), and who somehow manages to be exactly where you need him, exactly when you need him.

He’s the one who introduced you to Seungcheol, and later, he turned down Seungcheol’s offer of being best man just so he could stand by your side during the wedding. He held back tears as he watched his two best friends exchange vows, hands trembling with how much he cared for both of you. Jeonghan even caught the bouquet afterward— everyone relentlessly teases him about it—and he keeps some of the petals in his wallet, pressed flat like they’re part of his heart.

So, yeah. Jeonghan considers himself the ultimate best friend—which is why he’s feeling a little miffed that you didn’t tell him. You’re pregnant, and he had to overhear it like some nosy bystander. Granted, it’s not like you’re obligated to share every detail right away, but he can’t help the small sting of hurt, the sense that he’s been left out of something monumental. And if there’s one thing Jeonghan’s always wanted, it’s to be the cool uncle— the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

Jeonghan knows he shouldn’t have eavesdropped (he knows, truly), but he couldn’t resist when he saw the two of you murmuring in a corner outside the bar, expressions far too serious for a simple night out. He presses himself against the door of his car, praying he’s hidden in the shadow, and watches as you drop your head against Seungcheol’s shoulder, your hand gripping his tightly.

“It’s okay, baby,” Seungcheol’s voice is soft, his hand gently circling your back. The quiet reassurance sounds so intimate, so tender, it tugs at something in Jeonghan’s chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you whisper, your words muffled as you press your nose into Seungcheol’s neck.

Jeonghan holds his breath as he watches Seungcheol pull back, his hands moving to your hips, fingers splayed protectively. His thumbs start tracing soothing circles at the bottom of your stomach, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity Jeonghan has rarely seen. “We’ll do whatever you want, my love,” Seungcheol says, voice steady. “It’s your choice.”

And that’s when it hits Jeonghan, right there in the cold. His heart skips a beat. Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

A thrill courses through him, excitement mingling with nerves. You’re going to be parents—something he’d always imagined would happen one day, but he never expected it to feel this real, this soon. He’s already picturing himself as the “cool uncle,” the one your kid would adore, the one they could go to for all kinds of secrets and stories.

But why hadn’t you told him? The sting of hurt starts to creep in, subtle yet unshakable. He’s your best friend—shouldn’t he have been one of the first to know? He sighs, leaning back against the car, the chilly metal pressing into his back, anchoring him. Maybe it’s early; maybe you’re waiting to process this as a couple. The thought soothes him slightly. And while he’d love nothing more than to rush over and demand answers, he knows he’ll have to wait until you’re ready.

His phone buzzes, startling him. Joshua.

joshuji: u coming in or what

joshuji: we want alc hurry UP

Jeonghan glances up, heart still racing, as he spots you and Seungcheol walking toward the bar’s entrance. He straightens his jacket, quickly pasting on his most nonchalant smile. Nothing happened, he tells himself. Just a regular night out.

Inside, the bar is alive with the hum of laughter and music, dim lights casting warm shadows across the wooden tables. Usually, Jeonghan would soak in the energy, but tonight he’s got a mission. He spots Joshua waving him over to the booth, where you, Seungcheol, and the rest of the group are already seated, laughter spilling out as Seungkwan finishes a story. Jeonghan can see the happiness on your face, the ease in the way you lean against Seungcheol—and it grounds him, if only a little.

Sliding into the booth, Jeonghan flashes a quick grin. “Alright, what did I miss?”

“Just in time!” you say brightly, reaching for the menu with a casualness that Jeonghan can’t help but find a little too… normal. “We haven’t ordered yet, but I’m thinking something fruity. Maybe a cocktail?”

His heart skips a beat. Cocktail? Oh, absolutely not. The protective instinct kicks in faster than his thoughts.

“Actually…” He reaches across the table, plucking the menu from your hands before he can even think twice. “Maybe tonight’s not a cocktail night for you?”

You blink, confused. “Huh? Since when are you my personal bartender?”

His laugh is quick, covering his nervousness. “Oh, I just… well, you’ve been looking kind of tired lately. Right, Seungcheol?” He tosses a hopeful glance in Seungcheol’s direction.

Seungcheol, clearly not expecting the cue, fumbles slightly before nodding. “Uh, yeah, babe, now that he mentions it… maybe.”

Your gaze sharpens, suspicion creeping in as you study Jeonghan’s face. “Tired? I’m not tired. I’m fine!”

Jeonghan quickly backpedals, his mind racing. “Of course you are! It’s just, well, you know, the cocktails here are pretty strong. Maybe a soda or a nice glass of water, just to keep things… chill?”

Joshua’s eyebrow arches in amusement. “Since when do you care about people drinking, Jeonghan?”

“Just looking out for my friends!” Jeonghan insists, pulling you close and throwing his arm around your shoulders in a playful half-hug. “Only the best for you, buddy! Besides, wouldn’t want you, uh… getting woozy on us.”

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “I think I can handle one cocktail, Jeonghan.”

He glances around, desperate. “Right, right, but you know, Seungkwan was just saying how amazing the mocktails are here. No… risks. All the flavor. Right, Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan’s mouth opens, clearly taken by surprise, but he gives a quick nod. “Yeah! Mocktails. They’re, uh… very safe. Delicious, too.”

You fold your arms, your amusement turning into a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “What’s going on with you tonight, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan stammers, adjusting his posture but keeping his smile intact, though his face flushes under the dim lights. “Nothing! Just… just looking out for you. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Your expression softens, the suspicion melting into exasperated affection. With a sigh, you shrug. “Fine. I’ll try the mocktail, I guess.”

Relief washes over him, his shoulders relaxing as he shoots a quick grin at Seungcheol, who shakes his head, clearly amused but in on the act. For the rest of the evening, Jeonghan doesn’t let his guard down for a second. Every time the waiter brings over a drink, he discreetly “taste-tests” yours with an exaggerated nod before passing it along.

“Just making sure it’s up to your high standards,” he says with a smirk each time you raise an eyebrow at him.

You laugh, shaking your head, your hand instinctively slipping into Seungcheol’s under the table, your thumb stroking his knuckles. “You’re acting so weird tonight, Jeonghan.”

If only you knew.

Jeonghan wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He swears. He’s just standing by the kitchen counter, the crinkling bag of chips in his hand an innocent alibi, while scanning the room for something—or someone—interesting. The dinner is in full swing, music humming softly in the background, conversations buzzing like white noise, and he’s basking in the satisfying quiet of being a wallflower in a room full of social butterflies.

He pops another chip into his mouth, savoring the salty crunch, when Mingyu’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a spotlight snapping on.

“Seungcheol, man, we’re so proud of you!” Mingyu says, loud enough to turn heads.

Jeonghan tilts his own head slightly, his chip midair. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Yeah, seriously,” Seungkwan pipes up, clapping Seungcheol on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “It’s about time!”

Jeonghan’s hand hovers, chip forgotten as he shifts his attention. A small crowd is forming around Seungcheol now, congratulatory pats and cheers echoing through the room. Seungcheol, as always, wears the kind of bashful grin that makes it clear he’s soaking in the attention, even if he pretends he doesn’t like it.

“It really did take years,” Seungcheol admits, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always does when he’s being humble.

And there you are, standing right beside him, smiling so warmly that Jeonghan swears the room tilts a little. “But he didn’t give up. I’ve seen him work so hard, day and night,” you say, the pride in your voice impossible to miss.

Jeonghan’s brow furrows as he slowly lowers the chip to the bag. Pride. Hard work. Years. What’s this about?

The murmurs of approval spread through the group like wildfire. Jeonghan catches Mingyu and Seungkwan clinking their beers in silent celebration.

“It’s not easy breaking into this industry,” Mingyu says sagely, though Jeonghan knows for a fact the most Mingyu’s ever ‘broken into’ is a tub of ice cream after a long day.

Jeonghan frowns. Industry? His mind races as he flicks his gaze between you and Seungcheol. What industry?

“Man,” Seungcheol begins, shaking his head with a small, nostalgic laugh, “those years in the bedroom and basements—”

Jeonghan chokes on his chip.

Heads whip around to look at him. He coughs, hand over his mouth, scrambling to recover.

“Bedroom?” Jeonghan croaks, louder than he intended.

A few people snicker, but Seungcheol looks more confused than anything, one brow arching as he crosses his arms. “Uh… yeah?”

Jeonghan blinks rapidly, his mind running laps. Years in the bedroom? With you? And basements? What does that even mean?

“That’s where I started making music,” Seungcheol continues, his voice steady but tinged with the slightest bit of defensiveness.

“Oh,” Jeonghan mutters, the word barely audible over the thudding of his pulse. “Music.” He forces his face to remain neutral, though his brain is screaming. He takes another chip, if only to have something to do with his hands.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop, his voice gaining momentum like a runaway train. “It was rough, honestly. I spent hours in there, pouring everything into it, over and over again—”

Jeonghan’s hand freezes in the bag, his eyes going wide as unbidden images flicker through his mind. Images that have nothing to do with music. He fights the urge to slap himself.

“And you supported me through all of it,” Seungcheol says, his voice softening as he turns to you. His eyes practically glow with sincerity.

You smile at him, your expression so warm, so open, that Jeonghan feels a twinge of secondhand emotion. There’s something private in the way you look at Seungcheol, something that feels too big for a moment like this.

And yet, Jeonghan can’t help but tighten his grip on the chip bag.

Mingyu breaks the moment with a hearty clap on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “It’s inspiring, really. You just kept going, even when it got hard.”

Jeonghan’s chip crumbles in his hand. Did no one else hear that?

“Well,” you say with a laugh that’s just shy of teasing, “he never does things halfway. When he’s passionate, he’s all in.”

Jeonghan presses his lips together tightly, his shoulders shaking as he stifles a laugh. He risks a glance around the room, but no one else seems fazed.

Seungcheol chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck again. “What can I say? It’s worth it when it’s something you love.”

Jeonghan is two seconds away from either bursting into laughter or leaving this dinner altogether. He doesn’t know which option will save his sanity faster.

“Man,” Seungkwan says, grinning broadly, “and now you’re a producer at that studio! You really made it, Cheol.”

Jeonghan freezes mid-breath. Producer?

“Oh,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “Music.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows as he turns toward Jeonghan. “Yeah? What else would it be?”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan replies quickly, brushing off the crumbs from his hands as nonchalantly as possible. “Congrats, man. Really proud of you.”

Seungcheol eyes him for a beat longer before Mingyu distracts him with another round of enthusiastic pats.

As the conversation flows back to lighter topics, Jeonghan sneaks another glance at you and Seungcheol. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand swatting his arm playfully, and Seungcheol leans down to whisper something in your ear. The way you nudge him back, your smile soft, makes Jeonghan’s chest feel oddly heavy.

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet laugh to himself. I’m definitely overthinking this.

But no matter how many chips he eats, the phrase “years in the bedroom and basements” echoes in his mind, refusing to leave.

Sunday brunch has been a sacred tradition ever since you and Jeonghan were broke, hungover, and shamelessly nosy college kids. It used to be a chance to pick apart every terrible decision from the night before—who ended up with who, which of your friends was blacklisted from your favorite bar this time, and whether that one prof actually knew how to teach or was just winging it. Now it’s all slightly more respectable, though the core vibe is the same: hungover, nosy, a little too loud for public, and still hung up on the drama of the week.

When Jeonghan strolls in, spotting you at your usual table with an iced Americano in hand, he stops short. For a second, he feels a wave of pride—he’s got his act together, and you’re clueless as ever—but it’s quickly followed by a flash of concern. So he switches gears, zeroes in on your coffee cup, and slides into the booth with what he hopes looks like an easy grin.

He prides himself on subtlety, Jeonghan does. He’s sure he can manage this without causing alarm, without making you feel pressured or spied on. Just a small adjustment to the routine. Easy.

“Hey, what’s that you’re drinking?” he asks as he slides into the seat across from you, keeping his tone light but shooting you a grin that’s maybe a little too tight. He plucks the coffee cup from your hand before you can react, inspecting it like he’s never seen iced coffee before.

“Uh… an iced Americano?” You raise an eyebrow, more amused than anything, but he can already tell you’re getting suspicious. You take in his tight smile and his sudden interest in your drink. “Why?”

He takes a quick sip and barely stifles a grimace. “Iced Americano. Really? You drink this every Sunday?”

You shrug. “Yeah, since forever. What’s your deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, shrugging it off as he slides the coffee back. “Just thought you’d want something herbal, maybe? Like… chamomile? Peppermint?” he offers, trying to sound casual. “Soothing stuff, you know? Maybe something decaf?”

“Herbal?” You narrow your eyes. “When did you get all wholesome on me? Since when do you care about herbal tea?”

You stare at him, an eyebrow quirking, skepticism starting to creep into your eyes. “Herbal? Are you okay? Since when do you care about, like, chamomile tea?”

He gives a quick shrug, faking his usual breeziness. “I’m just saying! Caffeine’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know? All the jitters, the heartburn…” He trails off, flashing a strained smile. He’s proud of how smoothly he’s handling this, trying to steer you away from the iced coffee without raising any red flags.

You give him a look, deadpan. “Han, I have one coffee, once a week. And half of it’s in your stomach now, so don’t lecture me.”

He barks out a laugh, forcing himself to look casual as hell as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. My bad. But you should try water instead—hydration is key, y’know.” Without giving you a chance to argue, he pops out of the booth and heads to the counter for a bottle of water.

He keeps an eye on you from the counter, grinning to himself like he’s just scored a major win. This is step one, and he figures if he plays his cards right, you won’t even notice his sudden caffeine-sabotage campaign. He grabs a bottle, quickly sidling back over to the booth.

He plunks it down in front of you with a wide smile, as if he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “Stay hydrated. That shit is better than any iced Americano.”

You just stare at him, bewildered. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Nothing!” Jeonghan insists, a bit too enthusiastically. But then, maybe he overplays his hand. The next thing he knows, he’s sliding the bottle over to you and muttering, “Gotta stay hydrated, buddy.”

“Buddy?” You shoot him a look that could drill holes. You’re not buying it, not even a little. Jeonghan practically flinches because, yeah, he never calls you “buddy.” Normally, it’s just your name—or a well-timed “ho” when he’s feeling especially feisty. He can tell the second he says it that he’s tipped you off, just a bit.

And now, you’re watching him, that too-sharp glint in your eyes. “Since when am I your buddy?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion.

Jeonghan keeps his grin intact, waving it off like he’s got nothing to hide. “What? Aren’t we buddies?” He goes for his water glass and takes a long, slow sip, playing up the nonchalance. “Just looking out for you. You need a buddy to make sure you stay hydrated, that’s all.”

But he’s starting to see it in your eyes—that look you get when you know he’s up to something. He can feel his casual act slipping, so he pulls back, deciding to ease up on the hints. “Anyway,” he says, tone lightening, “I’m just messing with you,” He leans back, stretching with a lazy grin that he hopes comes off as relaxed, not calculated. “So, anyway. Tell me about what that idiot boss of yours pulled this week.”

You’re still squinting at him, but he can see you filing his “buddy” slip-up away for later. Probably already figuring out ways to make him squirm next time he tries to pull something over on you. The thought almost makes him laugh.

Despite the coffee swiping, you settle back, leaning into the usual rhythm of your weekly debrief, losing yourself in the vent session as you pick at your food and Jeonghan eggs you on. He throws in his own commentary—“I swear, that guy’s one bad review from a lawsuit”—while giving you sideways glances, watching to make sure you’re sipping the water. And every now and then, he slides your plate a little closer, pushing you to take another bite.

But in between the jokes, he’s already plotting his next move. Subtlety is the name of the game, after all. He just has to keep you guessing long enough to make sure you’re taking care of yourself… without letting on that he’s keeping watch over two of you now.

Seungkwan has chosen a sports park for the monthly hangout, a classic Seungkwan move—something energetic, competitive, and likely to end in some hilarious disaster. Everyone’s in high spirits as they gather under the bright sun, ready to kick off the day with some casual sports. It's the perfect opportunity for some fun, but as usual, Jeonghan’s on a different wavelength.

Jeonghan prides himself on being subtle—too subtle, probably. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to make you feel pressured, but his instincts are... well, Jeonghan instincts. And right now, they’re telling him something’s off.

There’s been too much of you skipping out on things, and while he would normally chalk it up to your “weird habits” or just you being you, today it’s starting to feel... different. You’ve been playing it off, pretending everything’s normal, but he can feel the change. And he's not about to let this slip by.

First, there was the iced Americano incident. The way you looked at him when he tried to take it away—it wasn’t just you rolling your eyes. You were trying to hide something. Then last night, at dinner, you hardly touched your drink, instead opting for water—water, for god’s sake. And now... here you are, standing way too still in the middle of a busy sports park, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. Jeonghan is practically scanning your every move.

Seungkwan’s already yapping about his plan for a “friendly” soccer match, while the others are warming up on the sidelines. You’re laughing with the girls, joking about who’s going to be the first to get a goal past Seungkwan’s notoriously awful defense. It’s all very chill, very normal, but Jeonghan’s eyes keep darting to you. It’s subtle—he’ll give you that—but there’s a difference in the way you’re standing.

Yeah. This is definitely it. You’re pregnant.

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say it out loud. He knows. He knows in his gut. You're keeping it from him. The way you’ve been acting—it's obvious. You’re pregnant, and you’re hiding it. But he’s not about to make a scene. No. He’ll be subtle about this. He’ll protect you without you knowing he’s doing it. He’s not going to make you feel uncomfortable or pressured. He’ll just... look out for you.

He watches you take a sip from your water bottle, and the sight of you not reaching for something more exciting (like your usual iced Americano or even a bloody beer) sends alarm bells ringing in his head. No way. You’ve been on a healthy streak all day. Something’s wrong.

Slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage, he leans on the edge of the table, giving you his most easygoing smile. "Hey, buddy," he says, eyes flicking to yours, a little too sharp.

Shit. There it is. “Buddy”—again. He’s almost positive you’ve caught him red-handed. His instincts are getting worse, and it’s almost like he can feel the sweat forming at the back of his neck.

You blink, confused, and he feels a little too caught off guard. Shit. Did he just say that out loud?

“What?”

“Just checking in,” Jeonghan continues smoothly, his tone dropping an octave. “You sure you’re alright to just... watch today? You know, I’ve been thinking, soccer is a little intense, don’t you think? It could be a lot on your body...”

You look at him, a little puzzled, probably trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. "It’s just a game, Jeonghan."

“Yeah,” he shrugs, trying to mask the panic that’s bubbling up. He needs to keep this light, keep it casual. "But still, with your... situation.” He trails off, forcing himself to look like he’s just making a suggestion.

You frown now, clearly starting to get suspicious.

Without waiting for you to question him further, he quickly slides into a new tactic. “You know, hydration’s important,” he says, snatching the water bottle from your hands and taking it upon himself to force it into your grip. "I think you should drink more water. It’s the best thing for you right now." He gives you an exaggerated smile, all teeth. “You’ll be just fine if you stay hydrated.”

You’re about to protest—he knows you are—but before you can get the words out, he quickly walks off, telling himself it’s fine, just fine. Keep it cool, Jeonghan. You’re fine.

But his mind is still working overtime, running through all the signs he’s seen—skipping drinks, staying still, not participating. And every single one of them is screaming the same thing.

You’re pregnant.

He glances back over his shoulder to check on you—thankfully, you’re still sitting, still sipping the water like the good little soldier he’s turning you into.

Suddenly, Seungcheol appears out of nowhere, grinning like a fool, pulling you away from the picnic table. “C’mon, babe, time to stretch those legs. Don’t tell me you’re already done being the cheerleader?”

Relief washes over Jeonghan, and he feels a knot in his chest loosen. There you go, Seungcheol, swooping in to save the day—taking you away from all the chaos he’s cooked up in his head. You’re in good hands. For now, at least.

Jeonghan watches as Seungcheol sweeps you into the crowd, joining the others on the field. He’s grateful—so grateful—that you haven’t caught on yet. Not yet.

The party is buzzing, the clinking of glasses and laughter filling the room as Seungcheol’s birthday kicks into high gear. It’s the usual mix of their close-knit friend group—Seungkwan, Mingyu, Vernon, Jihoon, and all the others—each in their own little bubble of conversation, but you? You’re standing off to the side with that damn glass of champagne in your hand, eyes glancing around, and there’s something about the way you’re holding it that has Jeonghan’s mind spinning.

You’re standing there like you belong to no one, not even yourself, but something about the way you keep looking at your glass makes him uneasy. Maybe it’s the way your fingers are wrapped around it too carefully, almost like you’re avoiding drinking. Or maybe it’s the way you keep glancing at Seungcheol, who’s busy chatting away with Mingyu and Vernon, like he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s hard to tell, but Jeonghan can’t shake the feeling something’s off.

Then it happens. The moment he’s been waiting for.

You raise the glass, like you’re about to toast. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses grows louder, and it’s like the whole room pauses. Jeonghan’s mind clicks into overdrive, his instincts kicking in, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hand is moving.

One smooth motion, and the champagne is in his hand, your glass no longer where it was just a second ago.

He doesn’t look at you when he does it. He doesn’t need to. He just takes it, like it’s nothing. Because, in his mind, it’s something. He’s doing you a favor, right? He’s looking out for you, protecting you from something—something you don’t even realize you need protection from.

Your frown is immediate. Your eyes narrow, and you turn to face him, the glass now mysteriously missing from your grasp.

“Jeonghan, what the hell?” Your voice is sharp, confused, but there’s an undertone of concern. And for a split second, Jeonghan feels his stomach tighten. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or guilt, but damn if it doesn’t feel like something.

He keeps his cool, though. It’s Jeonghan, after all. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t falter. He smiles, giving a shrug like this is no big deal. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he says, voice light, playful, even though there’s a certain tension in his shoulders that he can’t quite shake.

“Protect me?” You stare at him, eyes widening in disbelief. “From what?”

His heart beats a little faster now, because this—this is the moment. He knows he’s been right. He’s sure he’s been right. It’s been building up, the signs have been obvious, and if he doesn’t stop you now, he could be too late.

“Pregnant people can’t have alcohol,” Jeonghan says, his tone turning a little more serious, but he’s still keeping it light. Too light. He barely catches the way your brow furrows as you process his words.

You blink at him, the confusion settling into something far more incredulous. “Okay, thank you for that little factoid,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Who’s pregnant?”

Jeonghan can feel his pulse picking up, his gaze darting nervously from you to the champagne in his hand. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but you look like you know. You’ve caught him. You’ve noticed the signs, and this is it. He’s been caught red-handed.

“You are?” Jeonghan’s voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them. He doesn’t even recognize the tone of his own voice—he just knows that this is the moment he’s been dreading and, somehow, waiting for.

And then you start laughing. Laughing.

It’s loud, it’s spontaneous, and it fills the entire room. Your shoulders shake with it, your face turning pink with the force of your amusement. And for the first time since he walked in, Jeonghan feels like a damn idiot. A total idiot.

“WHAT?” Jeonghan can barely get the word out before he realizes what he’s said, and now, you’re laughing even harder, clutching your stomach like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you.

Seungcheol’s head whips around from where he’s talking to Mingyu and Vernon, his curiosity piqued by the sound of your laughter. You’re still giggling, though, and Jeonghan watches in utter confusion as Seungcheol’s grin slowly spreads across his face.

“What are we laughing about?” Seungcheol asks, his voice thick with amusement, his arm sliding around your waist as he walks over to you.

Your laughter is still uncontrollable, and you’re leaning into Seungcheol as if this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. “Jeonghan over here thinks I’m pregnant,” you say between laughs, and Jeonghan feels a lump form in his throat.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.

Seungcheol starts laughing too, looking from you to Jeonghan like he’s just stumbled across some inside joke. His arm around your waist tightens, and he pulls you onto his lap with that effortless strength of his. You’re still giggling, though now, you’re half sitting on Seungcheol’s lap, your face buried in his neck, clearly enjoying the chaos you’ve unleashed.

Jeonghan is standing there like he’s been hit by a truck. His brain’s scrambling to catch up. Wait, this isn’t what he thought was happening, is it?

“You’re not...?” Jeonghan stammers. His voice is a little too high, like he’s a kid who just learned that Santa isn’t real. You're not pregnant?

You wipe the tears from your eyes, finally able to speak. “Pregnant? No, Jeonghan, why would you think that?”

Jeonghan’s hand tightens around the champagne glass, his mind replaying every little thing he’d witnessed over the last week. The water at dinner, the soccer game, the way you were avoiding alcohol— it all clicks into place, and he can feel the weight of his mistake crushing down on him. “But at the bar—the whole ‘it’s your choice, you can do whatever you want’ thing?” Jeonghan’s voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going. “And the drinking water at dinner last week instead of wine? And the not playing soccer?”

You just stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief, but this time, there’s a trace of sympathy in them. “Jeonghan,” you say, a little quieter now, “our lease is up. We were stressed about finding a new place to live. That’s why I didn’t drink, and the whole soccer thing? I had a cold that day.”

Seungcheol, still holding you on his lap, leans in with a grin. “Dude, she had to drive us home,” he adds, voice full of playful exasperation. “And she was sick that day. You seriously thought she was pregnant?”

Jeonghan blinks a couple of times, like the whole world has just shifted. The understanding starts to dawn on him, slow and painful. Oh. He almost wants to bury his face in his hands. “Right. Oh.”

“Yeah, OH,” you say, still chuckling. “Now, give me back my drink so I can drink to my beautiful, spectacular husband, whose baby I am NOT carrying.”

Seungcheol laughs and presses a quick kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as he looks over at Jeonghan with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Jeonghan. She’s not pregnant. But I’ll take the champagne now. You can go ahead and get her some water, though. She might still need it after all that laughing.”

Jeonghan lets out a long breath, his face a mix of embarrassment and relief, and finally hands your champagne back to you, though he looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Right. Right. You’re welcome. No baby. Got it.”

You raise your glass toward Seungcheol with a grin, finally able to focus on the toast you’ve been trying to make all evening. “To my incredible, perfect husband—who, I assure you, I’m not pregnant with.”

Jeonghan, though, is standing off to the side, looking like he just got hit with a truck. He rubs his temples, muttering to himself. He’s definitely not going to live this one down. Not today, not ever.

322 notes · View notes

littlemelanintales · 10 months ago

Text

Just One More

WARNING: Overstimulation, crying reader, language, fingering

“No, no, no, no!”

There you are, 4 orgasms in and writhing wildly in Bucky’s arms as he continues to rub circles around your clit. You’re trembling with tears streaming down your face while you desperately try to get away from the torturous manipulation of his hands. All he could do was smile as he keeps the cold, heavy metal of his left arm tight around you middle.

He kept pulling you back into his chest when you couldn’t help but buck your hips and gasps for breath, “Bucky… please… no more, I can’t-”. He puts two fingers in your abused opening,

“Yes, you can,” he says sternly, mouth pressed to your ear. The bass in his voice vibrates the wires in your brain. He’s all you crave.

“Ohhh, I’m not done yet, Baby. Not yet.” He pulled his fingers out and went back to the same speed on your clit.

“Oh my god, Sir… fuck, please, don’t stop,” you moan loudly, trashing in his grip when the tight coil in your abdomen comes undone. Wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you. You’re full on sobbing in blissful agony before going tractable in his arms. All your body could do was tremble from head to toe when he pressed his nose into your slick neck and finally slips his fingers out of you. He loosens his hold on your torso, allowing your legs to close a bit to give you a well deserved moment. You go to close them more when he cups his hand possessively around your pussy. He’s still not done.

You start to cry again; the combination of the tears and your whining making you sound so pathetic and helpless. He just eats it up.

“Noooo… Bucky, please, no more… stop, I- I can’t… please, no…”

“Shhh. You’re doing so well for me,” he says, pressing his lips against your temple. “What do you say to get me to stop?”

He laid a light tap to your swollen petals, “tell, y/n. Stay with me.”

“Brooklyn,” you said in the faintest whisper.

“Why?”

“It’s where we met…FUCK!”

He doesn’t wait another moment before slipping two fingers back inside your sopping pussy, making you cry out when they graze your ultra sensitive walls.

“James-FUCKKK!,” You drag out as you sit your head up to watch his attack on you,

“You want me to stop? Say it and I’ll stop.” He knew you wouldn’t and he reveled at the fact that he had complete control over you. The fact that he didn’t reprimand you for using his legal name meant that he was having way too much fun in this torture session to even care.

“No! Please don’t stop…” His fingers reached the spot that undoes it all and your eyes roll back as you place your head back on him, completely quiet.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky watches, mesmerized that it’s him who’s making you cum like this.

You stay like that for a moment before he presses another kiss to your temple. By this time, your eyes are closed and you’re starting to come down. Your breathing stables until you feel a heavy, icy sensation start to travel back to your overused cunt.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me. I know you can give me another, Baby.”

seen this before? tumblr deleted my other account so i have to rebuild :/

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x black!reader #winter soldier #captain america #steve rogers #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader

686 notes · View notes

lamentationsofalonelypotato · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 9: Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual jokes, sexual tension, Nightmare, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Drowning, Mention of Vomiting, SUPER GROSS SUPERPOWER, Reader is really oblivious, and I mean REALLY oblivious. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just really fluffy and I didn't want to keep it to myself, because it makes me so happy. Well, after the first part at least.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Rain glazed all the sharp edges of the world outside the car, smearing the drops against the windows with a heavy hand. The humid air breathed and iced the glass, but did not disrupt the droplets that raced quickly by, catching and sparkling in the sporadic streetlights along the twisting road.

Your mother was singing softly along to "Nights In White Satin", the haunting melody building with every note, your father's deep baritone weaving with hers to make a wonderful melody in the silence of the night. The smell of rain seeped through the ancient air conditioning, the heady scent of wet earth and clean water filling the cab of your family's car.

You smile to yourself in the backseat, sleepy and content, tracing a single finger against the smudged glass to watch each raindrop race against the fogged glass. You could still taste the chocolate ice cream on the tip of your tongue from the cone your parents have bought you on the way home, your hands and cheeks sticky with the remains. The leather seats of your family car are worn in and soft beneath you from years of family trips all over the United States. There was still a loose marble rolling around back and forth with every gentle rock of the car as it moved smoothly over the wet roads, a comfort when you were a baby and you couldn't sleep and your parents drove around the block to send you into the sweet abyss.

The sharp plunk of rain against the windshield is heavy, but your father reaches to turn up the song on the radio, flicking his eyes to smile at your mother one final time. And as he glances back up he shouts something.

You can't hear what it is, only that when you look out the windshield you see a brilliant flash of white light coming straight for the car and feel the car jerk to the right as your father yanks on the wheel. There's an awful sound of concrete against metal, a high pitched screech that you can't forget followed by the almost inhuman scream of terror that comes from your mother's mouth, as the car breaks through the concrete side of the bridge and goes off the road.

There's an awful moment of weightlessness and when the car hits the water everything goes black.

You jolt upwards out of bed, screaming at the top of your lungs, chest heaving and gasping for air as the memory of water filling your lungs floors your senses. You shudder involuntarily, rocking back and forth as you try to shake off the memory of your parent's death.

No one really knew what happened that night, what the bright light was that you saw or where it came from. The detective said that it had to be lightning, but it hadn't looked like lightning to you. Your parents had drowned inside, but you survived. When the police arrived on the scene of the crash they found you on the bank of the river with the branches of the trees forming a protective cage around you. The back windshield of the car had been completely destroyed, blown inward when the trees along the bank had reached in to pull you out.

You always thought it was funny that somewhere deep down your powers took over, you weren’t sure if it was when you blacked out or if you somehow forgot what happened in your parent's final moments, but all you knew was that you were alive because you called out for help and the trees answered.

A part of you still felt guilty. It had been your fault that you were out. There was a music recital at school, they'd come to support you, Darren had stayed home too busy doing homework to care. He was taking courses at the local community college, too involved in his own life to pay any attention to yours, except when he needed you. You weren't sure why the trees hadn't saved them too, why you were the only survivor.

You reach for your bedside table, scrambling in the darkness to find the inhaler that usually helps, before finally putting it to your lips and taking in a long puff. It helps for a moment. Your heart was still beating fast, a cold sweat making your sleep shirt stick to your back, as another involuntary shudder works through your body, the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears.

You press your face into your knees trying to calm your breathing when your bedroom door snaps in half. Pieces of the door shoot through the air like shrapnel as Ben appears in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants holding one of the lamps from your living room.

"Ben what the fuck?" You scream, heart already feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

"What happened? What's going on? Why did you scream?" He shouts back, eyes darting around the room as if looking for invisible intruders.

"Get out of my room!" You shout.

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Ben's eyes fall on you once more and you watch the tension in his shoulders drop an inch. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You lie taking in a deep breath, hoping that you can calm down your heart beat and that he's not paying attention to that.

He was.

"No, you’re not."

"Yes I am." You didn’t feel like doing this with him, didn’t feel like telling him exactly why you'd just woken up screaming or deal with him teasing you.

It had been a few days since the party and you had been trying your best to make things as normal between the two of you as you could, especially after you'd yelled at him. It had been more awkward the day after, not because of what you said to him, but because of what he yelled at you after the supe got away. He hadn't come back to the apartment until after you'd gone to bed and when you woke up on Sunday morning, Ben had gotten you coffee again when he went out to get a newspaper.

You figured that was his way of apologizing for yelling at you. That and he had insisted on walking to "Please Don't Die" with you on Monday and Tuesday morning, as if he thought that you were incapable of doing it yourself and then showed up when you got out of work at 5 to walk you back home. You didn't know how he figured out what time you got off of work, only that when he showed up to get you on Monday, he glared at Jake who was debating with you about which of Rory Gilmore's love interests was the best.

Jake had watched a few episodes with his younger sister when she visited him a few weeks ago to tour some of the colleges in New York, and she'd gotten him hooked. Annie and you had watched Gilmore Girls forever ago, but you'd started watching a few episodes now that it was fall and that meant you were being reminded of how much you obsessed over the show when you were younger.

Ben had stood there watching the two of you, noticing how close Jake was standing to you and how Jake seemed to smile even wider and how Jake spoke animatedly to you over the display of cactus all the while frowning and glaring daggers in the back of Jake's head.

You'd be lying if you said that you weren't reconsidering dating Jake. Ben had made it clear what he wanted and despite how much you were attracted to him, you knew that he didn't want to be what you wanted, and you didn't want to force Ben into something or try to turn him into something he wasn't. So you were trying to think about what it would be like dating Jake. He definitely had the kind of qualities you were looking for, he was one for relationships, he had the same sense of humor you did, he liked plants almost as much as you, he was kind and compassionate, and he had a warm smile.

The problem was you couldn't imagine what it would be like to date him and for some reason the thought of dating Jake didn't bring you as much joy as it would have a few weeks ago, and you had no idea why that was.

You also didn't know why Ben came to pick you up or forced himself to walk with you to work, especially if he hated Jake so much and hated being around Jake, but Ben did, and then bought you a cup of pineapple iced tea from your favorite shop around the corner from your apartment on the way home even though you insisted on paying for yourself. He thought that pineapple iced tea sounded disgusting, but because you liked proving him wrong, you'd let him have a sip and he'd grudgingly agreed that it wasn't "that bad," but then took another sip of it when you put it down on the kitchen counter for a second to pet Bean when he thought you weren't looking.

Honestly you didn't understand why he was so eager to walk with you to work or why he wanted to walk you back to the apartment. Not when Ben seemed to fill his life and all his time endless dates with the women of New York City, something that you noticed he hadn't done in the past three days since the party. You always figured he had better things to do than walk with you, and yet he had making somewhat pleasant conversation, well, pleasant for Ben which was not the same as pleasant for other people. But it wasn't terrible. He did occasionally tease you because you couldn't walk past a wilting plant without perking it up, but that was to be expected.

"No, you're not." Ben put the lamp down on the floor by your door. It didn’t have it's shade on it anymore and you figured that Ben had ripped it from the living room table when he heard you scream, throwing the shade to the floor when he kicked down your bedroom door.

The same door that was lying in pieces on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

How am I going to explain that to the super?

"Yes-" You gasp for air and shove the inhaler in your mouth again to take another puff and this time it takes. "I am." You finish, swiping your free hand over your face to rid yourself of the tears, but for some reason they won't stop. "Please, Ben just go-" Your voice breaks for a moment and you bury your face into your knees again.

You really wanted him to go, didn't want to talk to him about this, didn't feel like putting up with his teasing or with his disgusting jokes, and didn't want him to make fun of you for using an inhaler, the same one you'd had prescribed by your doctor when he told you that your nightmares were causing panic attacks. You didn’t have to use it all the time, just when you had the dreams.

You feel the end of your bed dip and you glance up from your knees at Ben. He's sitting there, not quite looking at you, instead he's petting Bean where he was guarding over you as you slept.

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I don't want to leave you when you're like this Petals." He says it more to the cat than to you, barely audible. Bean was leaning into Ben's hand as if Ben being in your bedroom, sitting on your bed was normal.

You suddenly feel like you’ve been struck by lightning. What he said was so honest so caring so completely unlike the Ben you knew that all you could do was stare at him. If anything the shock of what he said seemed to help you regulate your breathing and calm down from the images you had just seen in your nightmare.

Ben doesn’t say anything, just continues to rub Bean under his chin, sitting on the end of your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and as if he hasn’t said anything at all.

You stare at him for longer than you should, tracing the dips of his broad shoulders, the gentle freckles that graces his skin, and muscles as the taper down his back. You’d seen him shirtless before, but every time you’re unprepared for how good he looks.

Right now he looks, different. He looks softer.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the yellowed light from your bedside table lamp or if it’s because he’s petting Bean, but there's something about him that feels more open, as if he genuinely cares, and it makes you want to talk to him. You sit there for another few minutes calming your breathing, still holding on to your knees, but you prop your chin on your knee so you can look at him.

Why won't he leave? Why does he care so much that he wants to stay here?

Bean stands and saunters up the bed to press his head into your shin as if he's checking up on you. "Hey buddy." You whisper hoarsely, rubbing him behind his ears.

Ben turns his body, folding one of his legs under him and the other hangs off your bed so that his bare foot is sitting on the hardwood floor of your bedroom. He's watching you with an unreadable expression, eyes following the trail of your hand on Bean's back, but Ben does not break the silence.

"I have nightmares sometimes." You whisper. Bean's thick gray fur was falling through your fingertips in a comforting way, his luminous amber colored eyes looking up at you. "But I'm okay."

Ben still doesn't say anything.

The high pitched ring of the metal of the car on concrete makes you wince and he doesn't miss it. You watch his hand twitch as if he wants to touch you, but instead he lays it on the bed between the two of you, sinking into the soft comforter.

"I've never heard you scream like that before." Ben murmurs under his breath. "I thought that-"

You glance up at him, eyes wide.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, as if he's uncomfortable continuing the conversation. "I thought that the supe was in here with you."

"The electric guy?"

Ben nods once.

"No I don't think he's in here. Unless he's hiding under the bed or something." You smile weakly at the joke, but you can still feel the jolt of the car hitting the water and the sharp snap of the seatbelt cutting into your chest. This time you successfully fight the shudder.

Ben doesn't smile. "The nightmares aren't about him are they? Or when I-" He stops mid sentence eyes flicking away from you, ashamed.

You understood what he was asking. Ben and you, like any modern day meet cute, had met mid-fight, the night that Butcher took him to Vought to take down Homelander. Back then you hadn't been working for Butcher, you'd showed up with Annie, and when Ben advanced on her you'd shoved Annie out of the way from his outstretched hands.

You hadn't been fast enough to escape yourself and he had hauled you up into the air by your throat, his chest glowing a dangerous orange spreading up through his skin until it turned his eyes a molten gold. Your hands had held on to his wrists so tight that you felt like your skin was burning and you were desperately trying to think of a way out of this. But just as you thought he was going to explode, his eyes had locked on yours and you watched something move through them that wasn’t rage. Ben had thrown you across the room and gone after Butcher instead.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move in?" Ben's gaze is on you, something deep buried in his eyes that looks a lot like regret. "Because you're afraid of me? Because I hurt you?”

“Ben, no. I’m not afraid of you.” You touch his hand where it rests on the bed gently. He had hurt you. The bruising around your neck for the few weeks that followed was ugly and had to be covered up with turtlenecks and foundation to avoid people on the street asking you if you needed help.

But it hurt you more to know that he thought that you were afraid of him and that he worried about that. Because you weren’t afraid of Ben. Yes he lost his temper and would yell very loudly and always felt the need to scream his opinion to the world, but you didn’t think that he was a bad guy despite what he had done. If you had been afraid of him then you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment, let alone live with your cat.

He looks relieved when you say it. “Then what are they about?”

“I-“ You swallow, before dropping your gaze back to your knees. You retract your hand, but Ben turns his over, palm up and gently holds yours, not quite squeezing it, just laying beneath yours.

What in the actual fuck is happening?

You glance down at where he’s holding your hand, the warmth from his body comforting like the first day of summer, seeping through your body as it does to take away the chill the nightmare left behind. It seemed a little awkward for him, as if he wasn't sure what to do now that your hand was laying on top of his. He wasn't even entwining your fingertips together, but your fingers just barely curved over the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. His hand was bigger than yours, rough and worn in just the right places.

“It’s about my parents.” The words feel like cotton in your mouth. “The night they died.”

"Oh."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You weren't sure that you wanted to talk to him about this. You'd never wanted to talk to anyone about it. The only person you'd ever spoken about it with outside of your family was Annie. But he was here, and he was looking at you differently, and he was actually holding your hand, sort of, and he was acting so different than any time you'd spent together.

"I was twelve. It was raining and we were coming home from a music recital." You couldn't remember what it was you sang, just remember the people coming up to congratulate you and the large bundle of gardenias that your parents had bought you. "My dad was driving and they were singing in the front seat together."

You felt the tears begin to build behind your eyes, throat closing. You can't really look up at him now, all you do is stare at where his hand sits under yours. " We were crossing over a bridge and there was this brilliant flash of light, my dad swerved and the car went off the road."

Ben's hand finally curls around yours. "You were in the car?" His voice is lower now, emotion lacing his words.

You nod once. "In the backseat." You whisper. "I can't really remember what happened after we hit the water, all I know is that the trees saved me."

"What?"

"I don't know if I somehow called to them as I was drowning, but they broke through the back windshield and pulled me out of the car, but my parents-" Your voice breaks and you don't try to finish the sentence.

Why am I telling him this? He doesn't care. All he wants is-

"I'm sorry." Ben murmurs, interrupting your chain of thought, sounding sincere.

You shrug. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Ben raises his free hand to tilt your chin up to face him, and you quickly get lost in the greenish glow that draws you in each time he looks at you. "Don't be sorry for that y/n. I'd rather be wrong and you be okay, than sleep through you screaming like that." Ben swallows. "I didn't like it." You watch the ends of his lips twitch for a second and he smiles. "And we both know how much I like to hear women scream my name.”

Despite the conversation you'd have previously, you snort and smile faintly. "Have you always been like this? Or is it a recent development?"

Ben shrugs, thumb rubbing just barely over your cheekbone. "I like to think of myself as charming."

"Of course you do."

"You don't think I'm charming Petals?"

"Nope."

"Still a bad liar." He laughs releasing your jaw to gently touch the scrunched skin between your eyebrows that gave away your lie.

"I don't really think you're that great at lying either." You roll your eyes, swatting away his hand. "At least I can pretend to like people."

"I can pretend to like people-"

"Oh really? Then what about Jake."

At the mention of Jake's name, Ben frowns.

"See!" You smile wide. "I don't understand why you don't like him."

"He's annoying. No one is that happy Petals. He’s probably been drinking the Koolaid for too long and is trying to get you to join a cult. The pussy is practically part golden retriever." Ben rolls his eyes, but then notices you yawn. "I should go." He stands, letting go of your hand as he does. "You need your beauty sleep."

You fight the disappointment that blooms in your chest as he lets go and the immediate loss that comes when he lets go of you scares you. You're afraid of how you seem to be so attached to him, to someone who has told you countless times he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't believe that you need a strong emotional connection with someone else, and someone who said that the only thing he wanted from a woman was to fuck them. That last part stung a bit. You remember when he said it to you, when you were looking over the map at the other apartment last week.

But why would he say something like that and act like this with me? Why did he come in here to save me from the supe?

"I think you could use some beauty sleep too Gramps. Without it, you look your age. Can't hide all those wrinkles under make-up." You half-smile when Ben sighs, before you pull your hands into your lap and cross your legs beneath you. "But, thanks for-well- making sure that no one was murdering me."

"It's what roommates are for." Ben pauses in the doorway before he leaves, the light from the hallway reflecting off the strong muscles of his upper back. His body sways, considering if he should say what he's about to. "I -uh- I get them too." He whispers it.

"What?"

"Nightmares." You see the tension in his shoulders, the word muttered almost like a curse, as if he doesn't really want to admit that.

Your body freezes. "About the lab?"

He looks down and you take that as a yes.

You could only imagine what that was like for him, to be trapped in another country, thinking every day that someone he thought he loved would come find him, but then never did. Again the idea of what Countess did to him, burns hot in your chest. It broke you to think that Ben spent all that time wishing and hoping that she would come for him. You would have. You would have fought tooth and nail to find the man you loved, even if it meant you getting trapped in the process. Not trying wasn't an option in your mind.

Honestly, it was difficult not to come up behind him and hug him, to hold him close and let him know that it was okay to break, that it was okay for him to admit those things with you, and that it didn't make you see him as less than a man. But of course that seemed more like a relationship thing than a friendship thing, not to mention you thought if you tried to do that, Ben would probably somehow get you in the same position you were three days ago when he pinned you against the car with his warm body pressed against you in all the right places and his beard tickling against the sensitive skin of your neck. And that would only send the two of you reeling back to square one, and you thought that in the past three days things seemed to be better between the two of you, more casual and more friendly.

You didn't want to ruin that when you'd practically embarrassed yourself at the party by yelling at Ben outside. So you stay in your bed, your legs still underneath your comforter, your heart no longer pounding in your chest, and your breathing even.

"Well," You say slowly. "If you have one, you know where to find me."

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes a little wider than usual and you think that he almost looks surprised. Ben nods once and vanishes down the dark hallway going back out to your living room.

You lie back in your bed, placing your inhaler on your bedside before you do, eyes focused on the ceiling and trying not to think about how good it felt to finally talk like two normal people with Ben and trying not to think about how he let you hold on to his hand.

You drag yourself through the front door of your apartment, exhausted, sweaty, and feeling like you'd swum through a dumpster that had been sitting in the sun for a week. You knew for a fact that you smelled, you didn't need super senses for that. The look of the people that lined the sidewalks of New York while you squished down the sidewalk and up into your apartment building was enough of a clue. Everyone had given you a wide berth and you didn’t blame them. MM even rolled down the window of his car when he drove you back. And he’d made you change your clothes into a set of gym shorts and a t-shirt that reached your knees and proudly proclaimed “I love you daddy” on it.

Yeah. It was that kind of day.

MM also made you sit with a plastic bag over your head to avoid smearing the remnants of the supe that was matted in your hair onto his seats.

When you woke up to answer your phone this morning, that was blasting the UK's national anthem aka. Butcher's ringtone, you knew that your day was going to suck. He had proclaimed over the phone loudly, because Mike had already started to screech Beyonce's "Love On Top,” that he needed you to deal with a supe. You thought that he was going to send you after the electric supe, but no, he and MM had caught a whiff of a supe that was robbing banks with his ability to liquify and turn his body into an tomato colored gelatinous mass.

I know, lovely right?

But of course, Butcher had decided that you were the one for the job and so he sent MM and you, while Ben was assigned to something else on the other side of town. The mission had gone wrong in the worst way, when the supe decided that the only way to fight you was to try and drown you in his liquified flesh, bone, and sinew.

When you'd finally scattered his body in the Hudson, you'd vomited for ten minutes, trying to expel as much of the supe as you could, but you still felt disgusting. MM had tried to be supportive, but the sight of you vomiting sent him hurtling to the nearest trashcan while his own stomach heaved. Not to mention Butcher had chewed out the both of you good for technically "killing the supe."

But you'd rather the supe died than have to go through that ordeal all over again.

You'd tried to get as much of the orangey-red goo off of your body as possible, but it stained your clothes, so you had to walk through New York city looking like a giant bucket of paint was dropped on you and feeling sticky.

You turn around and lean your forehead against the front door with a loud sigh, trying to catch your bearings before you attempt to make it to the bathroom. You were happy that Mike hadn’t come out of his apartment. You didn’t want to have to explain to him why you looked like you’d taken a bath in tomato soup. Every few minutes you'd get a whiff of yourself and feel the urge to throw up all over again, living in the moment of the supe trying to shove his liquified body down your throat.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben asks from the charcoal couch, a blunt perched between his lips.

The living room had already started to look like his bedroom back at the other apartment, pieces of his dirty clothing were spread over your hardwood floors, old beer bottles were sitting on your coffee table, and there was a collection of half-smoked blunts in a large ceramic pot that you were letting Ben use as an ashtray. The room was still yours though. The plants on the walls and in pots around the space had not been harmed by Ben's habitation of your apartment. You wondered if that was because Ben actually was trying to respect your rules or if he was afraid you would throw him out.

I'm going to buy him a hamper. The last thing I want is to step on his dirty underwear on my way into the kitchen.

"The next time Butcher calls, tell him I died." You groan moving into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

He turns his head to stare at you. "Is that paint?"

"Nope." You shudder taking a sip from the water bottle, swishing it around your mouth to wash out the taste.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the supe. He was disgusting." You shudder and take another sip of water. It was helping a little bit, but you eat a handful of raspberries to try and get rid of the aftertaste. "I can still taste him."

Ben smirks. "You can still taste him? What part of him did you put in your mouth?"

"Don't be disgusting." You groan. "His power was liquification, okay, he could liquify his entire body-"

"Did you swallow?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"This is why we don't talk." You narrow your eyes at Ben. "He liquified himself and tried to drown me by shoving himself down my throat."

"Drown you?" Ben sits up straighter. "Are you okay?" You watch something shift through his gaze that looks a lot like worry.

Why is he worried?

"I'm fine." You hold up a hand and watch him relax and take a hit from the blunt. "But worst superpower ever."

"I don't know, kinda sounds like a fun way to get to know someone-"

"He was an idiot. He thought that whatever he lost would replenish."

"Wait what?"

"Whatever he 'drowned' me with didn't reform on his body. So he shoved himself down my esophagus and then he couldn't figure out why he was missing a hand, didn't think about stomach acid. Idiot." You roll your eyes. "But we couldn't contain him and the only thing that I could think of was to dump him in the Hudson. He wasn't strong enough to keep himself together in the current of the bay, it’s gonna take him centuries to piece himself back together." You shake your head. "What have you been doing? I thought you had a hot Tinder date or whatever."

He'd mentioned it this morning when you saw him briefly and grabbed a granola bar on the way out of the apartment. You hadn't spoke much since last night or really had time to talk about what happened, if anything did happen. All he did was let you hold his hand and -well- kick down your mother fucking door.

You weren't looking forward to sleeping without a door, it was the only thing that separated Ben and you, the only thing that gave you a little privacy. You figured that you could just hang one of the crocheted blankets over the doorway, but you were exhausted.

Ben shrugs, letting out a lungful of smoke. "Thought I'd just relax tonight. Didn't feel like going out."

"You didn't feel like going out? Mr. Casual-?" You begin to say, eyes sweeping through the apartment and looking down the dark hallway, stopping on your bedroom doorway.

Instead of the broken mess it was this morning, a new door has replaced it. It's a beautiful dark red wood that matches the floors that run through your apartment, different than the white one that had been there previously.

"Mr. Casual?" Ben asks while raising an eyebrow, clearly confused.

You were going to call him 'Mr. Casual Sex' but you couldn't finish the thought. "Did you fix my door?"

"Huh?"

"My door." You point down the hallway, eyes shifting back to Ben, who looks suddenly uncomfortable. "The one you broke in half."

"Yeah- uh- I know how much you like your privacy." Ben grunts looking back at the flat screen tv. There was a baseball game on, but the T.V was on mute, the blue light flickering around the small room.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry. You figured that it was everything from today crashing down on you, the frustration you had with the supe, the smell, and now Ben was actually doing something nice for you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He still doesn’t look at you and you wonder if he's embarrassed that you pointed it out.

“Well I think I’m going to try to scrub whatever the hell this is off of me.” You say as you begin to walk down the dark hallway and Ben continues to watch the game.

“Wait Petals I’ve got something important to ask you.”

You look up at him expectantly.

“How much do you love your daddy?” His smile slips into a suggestive smirk. “Would you be willing to do anything to keep him happy?”

“Shut up Gramps.” You flip him off and squish down the hallway to the bathroom.

When you get out of the shower you're missing several layers of skin. You'd scrubbed and scrubbed until you felt red and raw, but it was better than feeling the sticky remains of the supe all over your body. The clothes you wore were ruined and there was no saving them, but at least now you felt better.

You walk back out into the kitchen wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. Ben was still sitting on the couch, but the blunt was gone. You hadn’t noticed before that his dark hair was wet, as if he had taken a shower before you got to the apartment, the smell of his shampoo was strong.

"There's pizza in the fridge." Ben glances over the back of the couch. "Much better Petals, orange is not your color. But I will say I miss the t-shirt.”

"I'm just happy that it didn't permanently stain my skin." You make your way to the fridge to pull out a slice of pizza, eating it slowly. "And very happy I didn't wear my favorite pair of jeans. I'm going to have to burn my clothes I think."

"I'm just happy you smell better." He wrinkles his nose. "Before you smelled like unwashed gym clothes and a fucking yeast infection."

"Thank you for that lovely comparison."

"You're welcome Petals." Ben presses his lips together. "Did you want to-" He pauses. "Watch a movie or something?"

"Oh, um-" You glance down the hallway. You really wanted to curl up with your newest romance novel under your covers and relax, possibly with a cup of calming blueberry tea.

Ben shakes his head. "Just fucking forget it-" He almost seemed angry with himself for suggesting something like that.

"Ben no. I do want to watch a movie with you, I just-" Your eyes flick to the t.v watching one of the baseball players hits a home run. "I kinda wanted to relax with some tea and read. I just got a new book and I haven't been able to start it yet. Annie and I are reading the same one and on Friday we're gonna have book club and I really need to decompress from everything that happened today." You say it gently, trying to let him understand that you wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching something with him.

"Oh." Ben sits there for a moment considering what you said. "Well, do you want to sit out here? I know you don't exactly-" He clears his throat. "Have a place to sit in your bedroom."

If Ben wasn’t living with you, you would be reading on the couch. Sitting in your living room surrounded by all of you plants always helped you relax. You hadn’t been able to do that since Ben moved in, not to mention you didn't want to encroach on his space.

“I mean if you’re watching T.V I don’t want to disturb you or anything-“ As soon as you say it, Ben hits the off button on the remote.

“I didn’t get to read the paper this morning and I’ve been trying to find the time all day.” He says, pulling the folded newspaper out from where it was folded and pushed up against the arm of the couch on his right side.

“Oh. Well. Um-“ You didn’t see anything wrong with sitting out here and reading with Ben. “Okay. I’ll just grab my book then.”

“Okay.” Ben breezes, before he glances at the left side of the couch where you would be sitting. The couch was in its upright position, which means it was more couch than bed, but Ben had stacked his blankets and pillows on the other side. “I’ll move my stuff.”

“Okay.” You say again because you weren’t really sure what to say.

You go back and grab the book from your bedside table, but stop just short of the door.

This is weird.

You think to yourself, holding the book tightly by its spine. You weren’t sure what was happening only that Ben and you were going to sit together on the couch in your living room quietly with no tv. And weirder still it was him that suggested you two do it.

He turned off the tv. He asked me to sit with him and suggested something non-sexual. You pause shifting from foot to foot. Because again Ben was confusing you. He was acting like the person you'd occasionally see when it was just the two of you, and it made you anxious. You didn’t want him to do this, to pretend to be someone you wanted just to get into your pants. It was like whiplash. Not to mention you didn't want Ben to force himself to change just for you.

Maybe… Maybe I can just go out there and pretend that this is normal and that he doesn’t just use women for sex like he told me. I will not overthink this. I will sit and read just like I planned.

You come out of your bedroom armed with your favorite crocheted granny-square blanket and the new book. Ben had cleared the left side of the sofa for you as he said he would and was now sitting with his newspaper spread out in front of him, one leg crossed over the other.

“Do you want some tea?” You ask him. You were just being polite, you knew that he would probably say no.

“Pineapple?” He actually kind of perked up as if he would have some if you made it.

“No it’s blueberry.”

Ben shakes his head. “Why do you like so many fruit teas?”

“Because they’re good and they enrich my life.” You snort before placing the book and the blanket on the couch next to Ben and go through the motions of making the tea. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You’d be right. But could you pour me a glass of scotch?”

“Sure.”

When you’re finally hunkered down with your book and blanket, legs bent at the knee between the two of you, the book propped up on them, facing Ben with the right side of your head laying against the back of the couch, you feel yourself begin to relax. Bean is sleeping in a ball between the two of you. His soft breathing and the sound of pages being turned fills your apartment. The subtle thrum of the plants in the room soaks into your bones and you feel yourself begin to slip into the soft prose and for the first time in a long time you feel at peace.

A/N: Annnnnddddd we're just gonna keep the Sky High References coming. Maybe the next supe they meet will glow… or turn into a guinea pig? 😅 Is it wrong that it's kinda making me want to do a Superhero High School AU with the Boys characters? That would be so crazy! I already have several other series fic ideas for Soldier Boy, but that idea is definitely going on the list to be considered.

As always thank you so much for reading and all the love and support! If you would like to be added to my taglist please let me know! 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78