#so it's sort of gender neutral in that way?

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

And I will search for you (in every home I've ever made)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: it's soft, it's sweet, it's about building a home

a/n: pls enjoy this I did not really edit it

Jason wakes, these days, to cracks of sunlight spilling through the edges of his blackout curtains, little beams of brightness twisting into him and covering him in something warm. By the time he rolls over, always, throwing his arm across the empty space in bed next to him, it's cold, the pillows stacked neatly and the blankets pulled up and tucked around him. 

The first time it had happened since he came back to you, it had startled him a bit too much - the realization of someone moving around him in his sleep, the feeling of waking up with things just a little bit different than they'd been when he fell asleep. Like most things these days, it was a slow, gentle process - to accept the kindness that comes with this new life of his.

He'd been awake one morning, just barely, keeping his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Crawling into bed with you in the early, barely-there light of the morning, aching from a night of stalking the streets as Redhood, he only ever gets a few hours of being with you - of feeling you roll over and curl up against him, pressing your palm against his chest to feel his steady, calming heartbeat. And then you wake fully, eventually, pulling yourself away from him slowly to rise for your own day.

But one morning he'd stayed awake, just enough to notice you - just enough to take note of how carefully you eased yourself away from him, afraid of waking him up and disturbing what little sleep he gets. Jason had felt it, then, the way you pulled the sheets and blankets up over his shoulders and the way you smoothed a hand through his hair. He'd noticed it, then, the feather-light kiss that you placed on his forehead before leaving, shutting the door behind you to keep in the quiet - to keep his little halo of peace intact.

He'd found, many hours later, that it didn't startle him so much to wake up alone with the pillows rearranged and the room not quite how he'd left it. He'd found that it felt a bit more like love, and that felt a bit more familiar than he ever realized it could.

So he finds that it's easier, on days like these, to rise slowly and let the sleep leave him in lazy waves, rolling his shoulders as he stands from the bed and tugs the sheets up, smoothing them and fluffing the pillows before pulling open the curtains. The light is jarring, of course - always, the bright shine of the city blowing over him and haloing him in a golden glow. It's abrupt, always, but he finds that it's a bit welcome these days. 

And Jason finds, on days like these, that the only thing he needs to search for is you. He wanders out through the apartment and he finds, in a startlingly comforting sort of way, that he knows you'll be here. You'll be in the kitchen making coffee, or in the living room flitting around idly, or out on the balcony on the phone. He knows that, if by some strange coincidence you're not here when he wakes up, there'll be a note left on the kitchen counter, a message scrawled in your looping, messy handwriting telling him where you are and when you'll be back.

Jason knows that you're here, even when you're out, because there's always something, just one small thing that you've left for him to remind him that he's not alone. Today, there's a box of pastries on the kitchen counter, the logo of your favourite bakery smiling at him like an old comfort, like a new routine. A hand brushes against his back and Jason finds that he doesn't start, doesn't flinch or move away from it. He just leans into it, your palm warm and smooth as it traces over his spine.

"Good morning," you murmur, and when you wrap your arms around him from behind, he lets you easily, sinking into the feeling of your hands now running across his abs as your forehead presses against his back.

"Good afternoon," Jason replies pointedly, but there's a smile that he can't quite stop as he spins in your hold, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head protectively as you press yourself against him.

"Morning for you," you point out easily, the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head a silent reassurance, a quiet comfort. "Have a croissant." Jason huffs out a laugh as you squirm out of his arms and turn toward the coffeemaker, leaving him to flip open the pastry box and poke around. 

"You working from home today?" Jason asks quietly, the coffeemaker whirring on with a gentle hum that fills the space.

"Mhm," you nod, putting a plate in front of him as he picks up a croissant from the box. "Are you… staying in today? You should sleep a bit more."

"Yea, baby, I'm with you today," he confirms, and something warms in his chest at the soft smile that you send his way. You don't respond, but you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, knowing that he'll slouch down so that you can reach - knowing that he'll bend for you. Then you pluck the croissant from his hand, placing it on the plate before disappearing with it in hand, his coffee balanced in your other palm.

And Jason just trails after you to the living room, following the feeling of something soft, of something loving, as you sit back down on the couch, nudging his mug across the coffee table and towards him. 

"You can put some music on if you want," you say easily, and Jason thinks for a moment that maybe you haven't noticed - maybe you haven't caught on to the way he hovers in the doorway, like he's not sure how much of this is real, or how much of it is deserved. But then he blinks at you, and there's something kind and patient in your gaze that makes him want to fall to his knees and pray.

"Sure," he says gruffly, clearing his throat and moving to the record player that's tucked in the corner of the room, brushing his fingers along the spines of the vinyls as he looks through them. Some of them are old, faded and worn by years of loving touches. As he presses his fingers against the grooves, he can almost feel the familiar touch of your hands against his - worn down by your love. He'd asked you once why you don't replace the ones that have begun to tatter, and you'd smiled in a beaming way that only comes out every so often.

"Why would I?" you'd said. "It just shows which ones my faourites are - which ones are the most loved."

Now, Jason can see you from the corner of his eye - watching carefully, softly, something that feels a bit too gentle in your gaze as he reels just a bit too much from it all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you offer as he chooses a record, low music filling the space between the two of you. He hums out something unintelligible in response, dragging himself over to sit next to you on the couch. There's photos on the wall as he passes - pictures of the two of you, of the places you've gone and the things you've seen. Signs of life, it always feels like. Signs of love. 

As Jason eases himself into the spot next to you and you throw a blanket over his lap almost instinctually, he can't help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of home.

"Nothing to talk about," he mutters, and you just hum in understanding at his gruffness. 

"Eat your croissant, then," you respond simply, and he wonders - not for the first time, how easy it is for you to build a home around the two of you. "I bought them because I know you like those ones," you continue, and he thinks, for once - in a jarring, world-tilting sort of way, that maybe he gets it. 

"I love you," he blurts out, and you look at him quizzically for a moment, moving to adjust the blanket that he's tucked under. He reaches for you like he has to, and you let him smooth a wide, warm palm over your cheek.

"I love you, too," you offer freely. "Always."

Always, Jason thinks. And it feels a bit easier, wrapped up in all of this - in something soft and warm and reassuring, to believe it. It feel a bit easier to want it. 

[sincerelyneo]

grow old with you | l.mk

"i want to carry you around when your arthritis is bad"

💿now playing: grow old with you by major league

❯ summary: Mark never really thought much about the future—until he met you. And now, you’re sort of, kind of, changing all of his plans….

❯ pairings: mark x gender neutral!reader

❯ genre: fluff, domestic!au

❯ words: 0.7k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, a marriage proposal, literally just mark having an inner monologue about you being his future.

an: i rewatched the wedding singer today and remembered this song exists…also paige writing fluff??? someone check my temperature…

Mark never really gave much thought about the future—he was a live in the present, focus on the now kind of guy. In his mind, people spent way too much time chasing what could be and ended up missing out on what is.

And yet…

As he watches you from the sofa, your laughter bubbling out at some scene from the movie he let you choose, lips twitching in amusement, he can’t help it—he thinks about the future and what could be. What he could be—for you. 

He’d never thought that way about a partner before. But with you, everything was different. You felt like an extension of him, so effortlessly woven into every corner of his mind that there was this constant pull. The thoughts he never used to entertain, now taking up permanent space in his mind.

He pictures it so clearly sometimes, it almost scares him—soft mornings and quiet evenings. Your head resting on his shoulder, a cluttered house filled with the comfort of a million family photos. You’d still get to choose the movies at night, and he’d still pretend not to mind. Then, like always, you’d fall asleep against him, and he’d carry you to bed, careful and slow, because you’d never quite lose that habit he loves so much.

He can’t help it. Ever since he fell in love with you, he’s spent every living moment thinking about all the ways he could make you smile when you’re sad, all the meals he wants to cook for you, all the quiet, domestic things that come with forever.

And he wouldn’t mind—not one bit. Because he’d do anything to make you happy. Anything to make sure you feel just how deeply he loves you, how much he needs you. He’d give you his coat just to keep you warm, run to the pharmacy if you so much as sniffle. He wants to watch you laugh until your stomach hurts, get tipsy at dinner, and then carry you to bed when you’ve had one too many glasses of wine. He wants to kiss you when you’re grumpy, and kiss you when you’re happy. 

Hell, he’d even promise to do the dishes every night from now until forever, if that’s what it took to keep you.

And maybe it’s that thought—that dizzying, soul-deep want—that has him blurting out: “Marry me.”

Your eyes snap from the screen to him, wide and stunned. Your boyfriend doesn’t look nervous. His lips aren’t twitching, his ears aren’t red—he’s not joking.

“W–what?” you breathe, like the word knocked the air out of you.

“Marry me,” he repeats. 

And Mark knows it’s not the best proposal in the world—not even close to anything you actually deserve. No ring, no speech, no grand romantic gesture. Just him, blurting it out on a random evening with a movie playing in the background. Because that live-in-the-moment personality of his doesn’t come with a filter.

You stare at him, still stunned, your heart thudding and your cheeks flushed. You can’t help but blink once, twice, and then—“Are you serious? You... want me to marry you?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver.

“Yes, Y/N, I want you to marry me.”

Your mouth is dry, and you’re barely breathing as you blink again, heart stumbling in your chest, and ask the only thing your dazed brain can manage: “Why?”

“Why?” he echoes, a little breathless himself, like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He shifts on the couch, eyes locked on yours, and exhales slowly. “Because I can’t imagine a future where you’re not in it.”

You shake your head, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “You don’t think about the future.”

That makes him scoff. Then a crooked smile tugs at his lips. 

“Okay, how about this?” he says, leaning in slightly. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re there. When I try to stop thinking, I can’t—because it’s you. It’s always you, Y/N. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your fucking face is etched into my mind so deep, I swear I see you even when I blink.”

“Mark—”

“I’ve never been able to picture the future because I hadn’t met you yet,” he continues. “But now that I have? I want all of it. Everything. Coming home to you. Grocery runs. Bills. Sunday laundry. The quiet. The kisses. The fights. I want the whole damn lot, as long as it’s you I’m doing it with.”

He pauses, breath catching in his throat.

“So yeah... I’m serious. I want to marry you.”

And he means it. Because somewhere along the way, without even realising it, Mark stopped just loving the now and started wanting the always.

He wants to grow old with you.

[galaxy-fleur]

went through your blog and i just wanted to say i love how you characterize death island leon so much 🥹💝 he's so sweet and playful but not in an overbearing way, i love that. i know you don't take fic requests but i'd love to see anything more with him hehe 🌺

Thank you very much anon! You gave me just the motivation to finish up a self-indulgent vignette I wanted to get my hands on for a while... I wrote this with Leon somewhere in his forties in mind, but his personality is very much based on his DI era! And thank you to my bestie @thatpyramidthing for giving me the idea in the first place. Scruffy stubble Leon, my beloved.

~ 3k words, gender-neutral reader (no physical/gendered descriptors used, but there is a mention of hair being brushed!). A tad suggestive, some playfighting and tickling involved!

In your line of work, you two rarely had a true lazy day to indulge in. The type of lazy day to just relax and not worry about a single thing in the whole wide world. There was always something that could happen unannounced. Always something to keep in the back of your mind, just in case it might spring up on you when you least expect it. You had to be ready to leap straight to your feet at any time, at any place.

Nevertheless, today was a really pleasant - and really rare - exception to that pesky rule. Lounging around in bed and napping away like two tired work horses turned out to be far more appealing than a day out or even a fancy date night. Plus, Leon made quite the comfy pillow for you to lay on. To put it bluntly, it was a day of pure recharging for you two.

Sort of.

When you woke up from your third nap of the day, you found Leon lying comfortably on his back, his head resting against the pillow tucked under his arm, eyes fluttered closed, his other hand settled snuggly on your waist, holding you to him. You quickly glanced back at the electronic clock resting on the coffee table nearby, yawning as you gently withdrew from his chest to stretch your arms out a bit. Judging by the setting sun out in the window, time was shifting into evening hours now. Leon was quick to let out a deep sigh at your movement, his eyes blinking open to stare up at you with silent protest. Though, it was immediately interrupted by a yawn as a response to your own. He stretched out his arms slightly, much like a sleepy senior family dog would once it was rudely disturbed from its nap.

Sleepy Leon was a cute sight, one that elicited a small smile from you as you hummed: "Mm, it's 6 pm already..."

He blinked off the last of his drowsiness, staring up at the ceiling for a small while before returning your gaze again.

"Already this late, huh? Time flies," he remarked with a slight smirk pulling on his lips. He reached over and gently stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, a loving gesture. One that you reciprocated by leaning into his palm with a quiet, pleased noise vibrating in your throat. His fingers brushed over the apple of your cheek as he laughed under his breath: "...Seems like you didn't mind using me as a pillow, though. I'm all sore because of you now."

You gave him a playful glare for that. Of course he'd tease you about it. You had no idea why you were even surprised.

"Says the guy who was squishing me like his personal plush toy."

That wasn't necessarily true; he was rather gentle with you - he always was - but that didn't negate his clinginess with you. Of course, you'd never complain about that for real. Well, maybe except for the occasional dilemma of him not allowing you to leave his arms to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Your statement simply made his smirk grow, his blue eyes brimming with those small glints of mischief you knew all too well by now.

"Hey, I'm not blaming you here, I am pretty damn comfortable, after all." His announcement was as smug as they come, making you roll your eyes with a small snort. It was clear that he was enjoying this little back and forth with you. He gestured for you to come closer as he patted the bed next to him: "C'mere. Come back here. I'm cold."

His display of shameless clinginess made you grin a little, shaking your head. It was, of course, adorable. You cherished his openness with his feelings for you very much. With Leon, you never had to doubt whether he enjoyed your company or not. He made his love for you blatantly obvious for the entire world to see. Almost annoyingly so at times. "We've been lazing around the entire day though... Shouldn't we maybe move around a bit?"

You moved to lie back next him and settled to his side in spite of what you had just said. Leon was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer, and tucking you into his side, holding you close. He let out a content sigh, his thumb gently stroking your back in small circles.

"Mmm... Nah. No movement needed," he said, nuzzling his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. Although you two smelled the same right now, considering you shared a bath just a few hours prior. Despite his casual tone, there was still a hint of gruff tiredness in his voice: "This is all the exercise us old folks need."

With your own arm reaching up to encircle his middle and your fingers running over the rough texture of the scars that littered his back, you couldn't help but smile against him. You didn't need to see him to know where each and every one those marks was now. You knew him inside and out, just as he did you. As you hummed contentedly, briefly closing your eyes, his warmth and scent filled all your senses once again. If you were to be poetic for a moment, you would say that it was almost like your head was made to be just the perfect size to be tucked away into the crook of his neck, with his chin resting on it. Nevertheless, you kept that little sweet thought to yourself.

"Oh, so now you're fine with being called old? We're in our forties, not sixties. Old man," you teased, playing into the silly banter.

Leon laughed softly.

"Hey, just because I say it doesn't mean you can. Besides, what's the rush? We've both earned a little R&R." He leaned his head down to press a kiss to your temple, staying there for a lingering moment to enjoy the simple intimacy blooming between you two. "Just let me wallow in my old-timer aches and pains, okay?"

You rubbed his back in return, nails lightly scratching along his skin in the way you knew he liked, eliciting a pleasant shiver or two.

"Hm... A long awaited vacation, and you're spending it napping away in bed... Sure you don't regret it?"

Of course, your question was fully rhetorical in nature. These circumstances didn't bother you in any way. Your leg moving to swing comfortably over his hip was just yet another evidence of it.

Though, your remarks did make Leon laugh again, and that was your goal in the first place.

"Vacation, huh...?" He pretended to think for a moment, even though it was apparent that he was only joking. "Mmm... Now let me see... Spend hours on a plane with crappy food, go to some tourist spots filled with people, and then spend another few hours waiting in line for some good grub... Or spend all day in warm bed, no pants, no shirt, no responsibilities for once, just you and me... That's a tough choice, alright."

Your shoulders shook with repressed laughter as you snickered to yourself. Sometimes he was too dramatic for his own good. "You and me both know we can afford to skip all the annoying parts of vacationing. Sure you wouldn't trade this for a day on the beach?"

He shook his head mockingly, as if disappointed with you for even suggesting such a thing. Tightening his grip on you slightly, he kissed the top of your head this time around. Two kisses in a row, he was spoiling you.

"Eh, I think I'll still take option B. Besides... I happen to prefer the scenery here."

His thumb delicately traced little circles over the skin of your waist as he slowly moved his hand down your back, stopping just above the curve of your ass. You simply swatted at his shoulder in jest at that, giving him a knowing look.

"Perv," you snorted, a smile sneaking its way onto your lips despite your attempts at pretending to be annoyed with him.

With a humorous twinkle in his eyes, Leon winced dramatically as though your playful swat had injured him beyond belief. It was hard to be annoyed when he was being this ridiculous.

"Oh, you wound me." He looked at you with played up outrage and clutched his shoulder, seeming to be in genuine pain. Or, he would be, if you hadn't seen him in actual physical pain before. But that didn't really matter right now. "I thought you were supposed to be nice to the elderly. Aching back and everything, you know. And this is the treatment I get? Name-calling?"

This time, the eye-roll you gave him was a genuine one: "...Don't tell you're going to play the 'old man' card on me for the rest of the day now."

With his palm still lingering over your ass, he gave a quiet little laugh. He drew nearer, his face now inches away from yours, his voice transforming into a subtle, flirtatious whisper: "Well... I must admit, this pervy old man isn't completely against being bossed around by that pretty little mouth of yours..."

You rolled away from him to lie on your back, throwing your head back against the pillows as you broke out into a fit of full laughter. He was obviously having way too much fun with this teasing game of his. Though, as he looked at you lying there, laughing at his antics, there was a hint of genuine affection in his eyes. He loved making you laugh, after all. Even if it was at his expense sometimes.

"Wow. You've got no shame at all, huh?" With a knowing grin, you gave him a light, playful smack on the ass. Two could play this game, after all. "You bet I'll make you remember saying that later."

However, you were currently far too lazy to take any serious action. So he'll have to settle with a preview.

"No shame, no filter, baby." Smirking, he reached back down to your thigh, kneading the soft flesh with his fingers. He locked his eyes onto yours, a subtle hint of desire now brewing within his attentive gaze. "...Keep up with the teasing, and you won't be doing much sleeping tonight."

"-Don't threaten me with a good time," you teased right back, sending a small, flirty wink his way. Nevertheless, his lips were quick to press down to yours in a gentle kiss, stiffening your laughter before it could escape you again. It was a kiss you were more than happy to return, smiling into it as your hand came up to rest on his cheek, cradling it.

You felt him smile against your lips in turn, his hand slipping up your thigh to rest it on your hip again. As he leaned closer to kiss you more properly, he gently pushed you further back onto the bed, his body slowly crawling over yours, a low, pleased noise rumbling deep in his throat. Although he withdrew from you after a while, his gaze briefly straying over your face as he took in your expression. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and loving.

"You keep being so damn cute, and-"

Leaning back in and speaking in a low, sensual tone, he nuzzled against you almost like a very pampered tomcat would. Though, your nose quickly scrunched up at the feeling of his scruffy stubble on your face, and you let out a small whine of protest, pushing on his chest lightly: "No, you're itchy."

With a gentle giggle, Leon pulled back from you again, reaching up to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

"Aww, come on, I know the ladies love the rough look. Gives me that... rugged older man charm, you know?" He quipped with a smirk, clearly enjoying your annoyed reaction. As he pretended to be hurt, you felt his chest rumble with repressed laughter beneath your palms. "You're going to make me feel self-conscious about my facial hair, you know."

With a sigh, you plopped back on the bed, lifting a finger up to interject.

"First of all, I am not your lady," you announced, before continuing. "And secondly, I have no problem with your facial hair. When it's not rubbing up against my face."

His lower lip protruded in an exaggerated pout as he mock-frowned at you: "I thought you liked me scruffy and unshaven. Or do you only like me when I'm all 'handsome and pretty' with a smooth jaw?"

He leaned in again before you could correct him, pressing his face to your cheek and purposefully rubbing his stubble across your skin. He obviously was well aware that it was itchy and mildly annoying for you, but he couldn't help but find your protests endearing. He thoroughly enjoyed playing around with you like this. You cursed under your breath as the prickly feeling made your nose wrinkle once more.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, c'mon, you're doing it on purpose now!" You complained, shutting your eyes as he rubbed himself on you. "What are you, a cat!?"

Leon chuckled, simply continuing to nuzzle you while his scruff scratched at your poor cheek with no signs of stopping.

"Mmm... maybe I am. A big, cuddly cat. Grrrr." He put some of his body weight on you now, basically smothering you beneath himself with his weight alone as his hand grasped your hip, drawing you in closer. Feeling your squirming under him just made him even more mischievous, it seems. To your own horror, of course. "And maybe you're my new favorite scratching post."

At that, you weren't sure whether to roll your eyes, or groan, or laugh. Maybe all three? Sometimes his silly behavior was frustrating to deal with. However, his goofiness was also a testament to his good mental state, and you would certainly take him being annoying over him being all broody and depressed.

"You did not just seriously growl at me, my God," you groaned, unable to hide the ghost of a smile from your lips despite wanting to sound frustrated. "-Okay, enough!"

He grunted in surprise, as you kicked him hard enough to push him away, causing him to roll off the bed and hit the floor with an unflattering thud. Of course, that wasn't really your intention. But it was funny. After a moment of stunned silence between you, it was his turn to start laughing uncontrollably. The baffled look on your face was just too priceless to be ignored, so he couldn't help it.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," he finally managed to gasp out between wheezes of laughter. Though, the glare he gave you was anything but angry as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You better run now, because I'm coming for you."

You were all too familiar with that gleam in his eyes. And what it entailed for you. "Don't you dare..."

With a playful menace to his eyes, he lifted himself up from the floor, quirking a brow at you expectedly. He stalked closer to you, his movements purposefully exaggerated: "You think you can just kick me off and get away with it? Wrong, sunshine."

With a growing grin you knew too well, he lunged towards you, his hands reaching out to seize you by the sides with the intention of tickling you mercilessly. You erupted in a series of squeals and high-pitched laughter as you pushed at his chest in vain, squirming under him like a worm trying to bury in its muddy hole for safety. If only you had a hole to burrow into for some sweet escape.

"Nooo! Goddamnit Leon, that wasn't even on purpose-!" You exclaimed through your fits of laughter, trying to tackle him off, hands and feet kicking and pushing at him from all directions. This was clearly not a legitimate hand-to-hand combat performance from you; rather, it resembled awkward child play. Only with two grown-ass adults well in their mid-forties.

Leon just cackled, his laughter blending with yours to create a deafening cacophony that likely made all your neighbors curse you to all the gods above. Wouldn't be the first time this happened, either.

"Doesn't matter if it was on purpose or not, you're getting the punishment you deserve! Now say uncle!" He bent down, his face now hovering near yours as he continued to tickle you nonstop with no indication that he would quit anytime soon. He was clearly enjoying this all too much, all the previous laid back laziness now long forgotten. Your laughter was like music to his ears. "C'mon, surrender! You can't win this one, sweetheart."

"-You're an asshole!" Your insult was obviously lacking any genuine heat behind it. Eventually, the tickle fight devolved into outright playfighting as you rolled around on the bed, messing up the sheets and flinging weak punches and kicks at each other like two kids getting rowdy on a playground.

"Ah, but I'm your favorite assho- Hey!" As you both rolled around the bed in a flurry of limbs and laughter, your lighthearted wrestling turned into a grappling match, stopping Leon in the middle of his gloating. Though, he was able to pin you to the bed at some point, hovering over your body with his arms on either side of your head as you both took a minute to catch your breath, the previous loud noise of laughter replaced by the brief pause of shaky breaths filling the quiet instead.

He straddled you, his look more playful than dominant now, his eyes a mixture of affection and faux victory. As he looked down at you, his eyes exploring your face, he couldn't help but laugh to himself again. Your disheveled state, messy hair, and slight flushness on your cheeks didn't stop him from finding you utterly adorable.

"-Looks like I've got you now, sweetheart. Any last words before I claim my prize?"

As you caught your breath, you looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Despite your frustration, you were happy to see him be so lighthearted for once. Even if it meant putting up with his terrible attitude.

"Just one: you better make me your blueberry pancakes tomorrow for having to deal with your insufferable ass," you huffed. However, your gesture of cupping his cheek was far from furious.

At that, Leon's smirk turned into a real smile. He leaned into your touch, his head tilting slightly to nuzzle against your palm.

"Blueberry pancakes, hm? That's all it takes to buy out your forgiveness?" He drew closer, his eyes fixed on yours as he chuckle softly, the playful atmosphere between you two still very much alive and well. "Alright, deal. You have my word. Blueberry pancakes in the morning, courtesy of yours truly."

As a kind of climactic touch to your previous little match, he moved closer and closer until your mouths inevitably met in a gentle kiss that gradually turned more passionate. He lingered there for a moment, savoring the sensation of your lips against his, before pulling away, his eyes half-lidded.

"Though... In my books, you are better than any pancakes."

[randomnonsensedragonage]

Sharing one last playlist! The one I made for Emmrich, who I went back and romanced with my same initial Rook XD

Emmrich Romance (and general vibes)

Link: here

Featuring: "Did we just become best friends? Yes," Goth friends-to-lovers, obligatory Manfred song, obligatory Hezenkoss song, songs about bones, songs about death, songs about ghosts, fancy lad songs, starts sillier and gets more romantic

Track list under the cut

"William Fitzwilliam," The Decemberists

"Beautiful Mind," Tom Cardy, Brian David Gilbert

"My Life is Better With You," Montaigne

"Ghost Duet," Louie Zong

"Breezy Slide," Louie Zong, Brian David Gilbert

"You Are My Son," Brian David Gibert

"L.I.C.H.," Ginny Di

"You Probably Get That a Lot," They Might Be Giants

"Guilty As Sin?," Taylor Swift

"Overkill," Colin Hay

"When He Sees Me," Sara Bareilles (from Waitress)

"St. Peter's Bones," Girlyman

"Tango De Amor," Orchestra (from The Addams Family musical)

"For Me... Formidable," Charles Aznavour

"Everything in You," Half Shy (from Fionna and Cake)

"La Vie en Rose," Con O'Neill (from Our Flag Means Death)

"When You're in Love," Jung Wook Jin, Hong Ji Hee (from Maybe Happy Ending, English here if you're curious!)

"When the River Meets the Sea," Paul Williams (from Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas)

"invisible string," Taylor Swift

"In My Life," The Beatles

"BIRDS OF A FEATHER," Billie Eilish

"One Fine Day," David Byrne

[amusl02]

Son of Ogre

[marblemoovt]

Waterfall - Guts/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, AFAB Reader, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V Sex, Edging, Aftercare (Let me know if I'm missing any)

Summary:

Months after the eclipse, you're still grappling with it all. But at least you're not alone. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

------

“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away. 

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall. 

Note:

Hello! I know I disappeared for like, almost a year. No freak accidents or anything of the like. Life has just been busy and I have poor time management. But I missed writing, even though it did not miss me ;-; The writing gods did not bless me with inspiration for a long while, not to mention I have a stubborn habit of only having one wip at a time (I have multiple ideas, but I only work on one fic at a time).

In any case, I hope this brings joy to somebody. I am frankly tired from editing this monstrosity so I'll leave you to enjoy :)

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Note: This does take place in the same universe as Love Triangle but this can be read as a stand-alone.

Water cascades down your body, beating into your skin. The temperature was freezing earlier, but now it’s numbed into a slight chill. You stare at the rock wall, trailing along the cracks and crevices that crater the surface. Sprinkles of minerals sparkle throughout, reflecting rainbows when the moonlight hits them just right. 

The cold bite of metal stings into your shoulder, and you jerk away from the contact. Whirling around, you come face to face with Guts. He stares at his hand, clenching it into a fist before it drops to his side. 

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” he says. You notice the gray towel peeking out behind his arm. 

You drag your fingers through your hair, shaking off the water droplets. A few stray drops trickle down your chin, and Guts watches them drip along your collarbone. “I’ll be done soon,” you say. The phantom blood still sticks to your raw skin, the scent of iron lingering while your body becomes a collage of self-inflicted wounds. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but it’s not enough. Not even an entire ocean can wash away the atrocities you witnessed. But maybe that’s the burden of surviving the eclipse, for living when you were marked for death. 

“You looked done 20 minutes ago. Skin’s gonna start peeling if you don’t stop,” he says. You look away from Guts and pick at the dead skin underneath your nails, grimacing at your wrinkled fingertips.

“I don’t feel done. I don’t think I ever will,” you admit in a hushed whisper. Guts doesn’t say anything, offering his hand for you to take. Accepting the gesture, you’re tugged into his chest. The soft towel gently pats your skin dry and tousles your wet hair. He pauses, eyes scanning your face. “I’m okay, as okay as one can be in our situation.” Your lips twitch into a small smile, but this seems to only frustrate him more. 

Guts growls, his jaw clenched shut. “I’ll kill him.” There’s no room for questioning who ‘he’ is. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, and his posture relaxes. Your thumb traces the bags underneath his eyes. 

“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away. 

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall. 

“I’m not…. ”He sighs and finally meets your gaze. “I’m not angry at you.” Guts fiddles with the towel in his hand. “I wasn’t strong enough to save you.” His touch drifts towards the bandages wrapping his torso. 

You walk up to Guts, enveloping him in a hug. “Can we pretend for once that everything is ok? That spirits aren’t hunting us, and a bunch of Apostles won’t fuck up the world?” When he doesn’t respond, you look to see him staring at the ceiling. “Guts?”

“Clothes,” he stutters. “You’re not wearin’ any.” You look down at your naked body pressed against his. 

“You weren’t shy earlier when you were drying me.” Leaning in further has the desired effect when you feel a bulge against your lower abdomen. “Looks like someone has no complaints,” you say with a smirk. 

Guts groans and shudders when you roll your hips. He wraps an arm around your waist, palm splayed against the curve of your back. His hand slides to squeeze your ass, and he whispers into your ear, “Don’t provoke me.” It’s a similar tone to when he shouts orders on the battlefield. You take it as an invitation to tease him further. He notices the glint in your eyes and clicks his tongue. “Brat.”

You know he’s soft beneath that tough exterior. You can see it in how he brings you something warm to drink when it’s cold, how his hands naturally gravitate to your waist or the small of your back. Guts doesn’t like saying it, but you just know. Currently, he’s scolding you for being in the water too long. You won’t point it out, but he grabbed the softest towel to dry you. 

“I love you,” you say. His hands freeze, and the lines on his face soften. 

Guts sighs, “How can you be so lovely and infuriating at the same time?” He cups your cheek but quickly recoils upon noticing the gleam of metal contrasting against your skin. 

You grab his wrist and press a kiss onto the palm of his prosthetic hand. “It’s one of my many talents,” you reply, pressing another kiss to his lips to prevent him from biting them. 

“It’s strange,” Guts mumbles. Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing along his abs to the waistline of his pants. His breath hitches, and he nips your earlobe in retaliation. “Sometimes I still feel it when you touch that hand,” he says. 

“Do you feel this?” You trace the outline of his growing erection, eventually rubbing your hand against the bulge in his trousers. He bucks his hips into your touch, and a low groan escapes from his lips. “Or what about this?” Slipping your hand beneath the fabric, you’re surprised by the lack of an additional layer. “Expecting something, are we?” You grin impishly at him, inching your fingers closer to his cock. Your skin is still cold from the water, and Guts is blazing beneath your touch. 

“Not at”—you firmly grip his shaft and begin stroking languidly—”all,” he forces through gritted teeth. You can almost hear the creak of his jaw as it strains under pressure.

“So you weren’t expecting to find me still naked at the waterfall and indulge in some intimate acts?” You stop stroking to tease the head of his cock, running your thumb over the frenulum. Thick precum coats your hand, and you reluctantly pull away, but only to see the frustration grow on Guts’s face. “Then I guess there’s no need for me to continue.” You wade through the pool and use the waterfall to rinse your hand. 

As you’re flicking off water droplets, a broad chest presses against your back, and thick arms wrap around your waist. The sudden force pushes you into the rock wall, your hands flying up out of instinct to lessen the impact. You turn your head to see Guts, completely bare, his clothes lying in a forgotten heap by the pool. That explains what’s twitching against your lower back. You grind slow, lazy circles against his stiff cock, grinning at how he trembles with the slightest rock of your hips.

“Stop,” he pleads, squeezing his arms to constrain your movements. It’s cute; he’s pretending to stop you, but his hold is too lax. 

You hum and redirect one of his hands to your breasts, sighing at the contact. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be enthusiastically rutting like a dog in heat,” you say. As if to prove your point, a low whine pitches in the back of his throat when you press against him to hinder his movements. 

“So maybe I don’t want to stop,” he admits. “Maybe I want to rough you up against the wall until you can’t walk the next day.” The imagery sends a gush of slickness between your thighs, and you rub them together to ease the ache. 

“Then why don’t you?” You spin around to face him and hook one leg around his thigh, tugging his hips closer. The sharp exhale followed by a groan is music to your ears. Your arms drape over his shoulders, sinking your nails into his broad back. You have him trapped. Or is it the other way around? He could effortlessly pry you off, but his dark eyes hold no intention of letting you go. “I don’t break easily, you know,” you whisper against his lips, his breath fanning your face. 

Guts bites his lips, fingers bruising your hips, marks he’ll kiss in the morning when you’re bedridden. “I—“

You cut him off, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Let me make myself clear, Guts. I want you to fuck me.” His breath hitches, the click of his throat silenced by the rush of water. “Fuck me so damn hard I don’t remember a thing about this shitty world we live in.” You want to spend at least an hour free from the waking nightmare that plagues your daily life. Maybe this isn’t the best way, but it is the most pleasant. 

You know you’ll go to bed and dream of crimson skies and shrill screams. A world where the tang of metal never leaves your mouth. Where rot and decay fester in your lungs, smothering you alongside the scent of burning flesh. And then you’ll wake up, touch your face to feel the wet streaks streaming down your cheeks. Guts will be sleeping beside you, faring no better in his dreams, relaxing only when you hold his hand and lay on his chest.

Yeah, the world is fucked up, and so is your mental state. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

But enough about later. What’s happening right now is important. And what’s happening right now is Guts pleading with his eyes to please you. He has one arm hooked underneath your leg to support it, the other still wrapped around your waist, hand dipping to cup your ass. He grinds his erection against your clit, and you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

Guts kisses behind your ear, sucking on the spot. Your blood thrums through your veins, buzzing with electricity. “Guess the waterfall will be useful,” he says.

“How so?” you hum, closing your eyes as he trails his lips along your jawline. You tilt your head back, and he peppers your exposed throat with kisses, playfully nipping but careful to avoid breaking the skin. A tingle shoots up from the base of your spine when his teeth scrape over your pulse, tongue laving over your racing heartbeat.

“Others won’t hear any of your screams.” He hoists you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “I get to have you all to myself.” Your back thuds against the wall, the rough rock leaving a light sting on your skin. There’s a hunger in his eyes that threatens to devour you. He always gets that look when he’s determined to spoil you rotten.

You ignore the throbbing heat in your core, focusing on the slanted curve of his lips. “Ooh, confident are we?” you tease, dragging your nails across his back, grinning at the shudder it elicits. 

“I’ve always been skillful with my hands,” he says, lowering your feet. At the shallow end of the pool, water laps at your knees. The chill heightens the burn of your skin, and the slickness between your thighs becomes impossible to ignore. Guts sinks down, kneeling in front of you, hands parting your legs gently. He tuts and gazes at you with mock scorn. “You cleaned up earlier, but now you’ve made a mess again.”

“And whose fault is that?” you reply, inhaling sharply when his fingers rub circles into your thighs. 

He hums and plants a kiss on your kneecap, lips skirting up closer to the source of your dripping cunt. “A man should always take responsibility for his actions.” His warm breath is like a spark of flint on kindling. It starts a blazing heat that crawls up and pools in your stomach, spreading throughout your veins until your entire body is engulfed in flames. 

A thin veil of fog blankets your mind. For a second, you almost forget how to breathe. He looks up at you from between your legs, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He looks eager to taste you; it causes you to clench tightly, gripping around nothing but air. And you want him to fill you up, to replace the void the eclipse left behind after it tore almost everything from you. 

Your body seizes up. A cool jet of air against your clit catches you off guard. Guts looks you in the eyes, trapping you in their dark depths. “If—at any time—you want me to stop, tell me,” he commands. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he holds your gaze. He won’t continue unless you agree. 

You wrack your brain together, drumming your fingers on the wall behind you to form a coherent thought. But all you can focus on is his warm breath against your skin, the burning ache in your core that beckons for his attention.

Guts sighs, drinking in your scent deeply. He licks his lips, and his fingers dig into your flesh. “I don’t want this to be like the other times,” he admits. 

You stare at him quietly, observing the clarity in his eyes. This isn’t the first time you’ve sought each other’s company. After all, who better to seek comfort from than someone who’s been through the same traumatizing event? Overcome with grief and guilt, you found solace in the warmth of his body and vice versa. It wasn’t always sexual, but sometimes you crave the shelter of having no other thoughts besides pleasure. To know nothing else but pure bliss for a brief respite.

Guts mistakes your silence for rejection. “Let me cherish you,” he pleads. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.” And you recall dark nights of clashing teeth and tongues, scratches and bruises made just to feel something—anything. There’s still a tinge of purple around his collarbone, the imprint of your teeth long faded. The harsh lines on his face are nonexistent. His touch is light, revering. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this important. Guts doesn’t treat you like glass. He looks like he would raze the entire world in flames for you, and all you need to do is ask. Cupping his chin in one hand, you stare into his earnest eyes. Guts pulls away to plant kisses along your knuckles. The corners of his mouth curl up at your sigh when he nips at your fingertips. It’s hard to describe this feeling. All the tension and worry in your body building up like a brick wall suddenly crumbles to dust. 

And how can you say no when he looks so eager to please—to love you? A brief taste of copper coats your tongue, and you ignore the phantom claws dragging down your lower abdomen. You focus instead on Guts’s soft touches, the steady gurgle of water, and the moonlight filtering through the pockets of sky in the ceiling. 

You are safe. 

“Ok,” you whisper. Slowly, you spread your legs apart and cool your burning cheeks with the back of your hand. “Please touch me.”

Guts plants a kiss on your inner thigh, trailing upwards. He wants to drag this out and tease you until the anticipation has you dripping with need. With one calloused hand resting on your pubic mound, he licks a long stripe through your folds, groaning at your intoxicating taste. A jolt of pleasure crawls up your back before slamming into your core. 

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when he eats you out messily. Obscene slurps and groans bounce off the rock walls. Guts slings one of your legs over his shoulder and focuses on your clit, inserting two fingers into your dripping cunt. Spots of light dance across your vision when he crooks his fingers to stroke your sweet spot. It’s a wonder how you’re still standing. 

Just as the band in your stomach goes taut, Guts pulls away. The pleasure building in your body drops and transforms into a sharp ache that has your body screaming for release. 

“Your legs are trembling,” Guts points out. 

You press harder against the wall and try to remember how to stand. “No, I’m not,” you say. 

Guts hums and plants a kiss on your clit, the kind that fills your veins with lava and sets off the butterflies in your stomach. “You can be so damn stubborn.” He stands and carries you with ease, wading towards the edge. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Some underwater training,” Guts replies, refusing to elaborate further. He stops and sets you on the ground. The water reaches just below your chest in this position; the sudden coldness shocks your skin. It makes you hyper-aware of your sensitivity. 

Gus parts your legs, and you lean back slightly, using your arms to support yourself from behind. His touch radiates familiarity, hands caressing all the spots that work you up. You lick your lips and part then to ask another question. “Wha—“ 

“Always wanted to see how long I could hold my breath,” Guts cuts you off, petting your clit gently. He gazes at you through hooded lids, a grin ghosting his lips. “They say the average is 3-5 minutes. Let’s set a new record.” His words send tingles throughout your body, and you clench at the thought. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, distracted by the circles he’s drawing with his thumb. If you time it just right, you can buck your hips and have him stroke your swollen clit. 

“Don’t worry about it.” And the next thing you know, his head’s underwater and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. Your fingers immediately thread his hair, tugging his scalp when his nose brushes against your clit.

The water and walls blur into blobs of colour, your heartbeat thundering in your eardrums. The throbbing between your thighs quickens, and that band in your stomach threatens to snap and give you whiplash. Guts brings a hand up close to your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, dangling on the precipice of an orgasm. 

He surfaces from the water. His shit-eating grin only widens when you vocalize your discontentment. A flick to your clit shortcircuits your brain with a jolt of pleasure, eliciting a scream from your lips. One of your hands slips, and suddenly the world is careening backwards—or is it forwards? 

Strong arms wrap around your body, and suddenly you’re face to face with Guts instead of the ceiling. Water splashes and drenches both of you in the crossfire. You try to stand up, but Guts digs his fingers into your hips. Something warm brushes against your bare cunt. 

This new position has you straddling Guts. Even the most minuscule movements cause some degree of friction. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s barely restraining himself. Since his hands hold your hips in place, you lean forward and attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Guts hisses and immediately stands up, hoisting you with him. 

“Let’s move to land. Wouldn’t want you to drown,” he rasps, shuddering when you lick over his racing pulse. 

“I can think of other ways to leave me breathless,” you whisper, lifting your head and baring your neck. The perfect place for his hands to wrap around. 

“Another time. Right now, I want you to sit on my face,” he says, setting you on the ground. Your cunt throbs in response, and you crawl—a little too eagerly—into position. You stop mere centimetres from his face, hovering in your hesitation. Inklings of doubt blot your thoughts. What if you’re too heavy? What if you smother— “Too long,” he grunts, interrupting your inner monologue. Guts grips your thighs and pulls you down, wasting no time ravaging you with his tongue,

You suck in a breath, hips rocking at a steady rhythm. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when his mouth latches around your clit and sucks greedily. He pulls away with a pop, the bottom half of his face glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips and groans, “Fuck, you taste amazing.” 

“Less talking, more licking,” you say.

“What, no please?”

You don’t humour him with a response and take matters into your own hands. You lift your hips and grind against the ridge of his nose.

Guts swears under his breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent. “What am I going to do with you?” he groans. 

You huff in frustration at the loss of stimulation. “What you should have done ages ago. Now shut up before I make you.”

Guts doesn’t move. “Not until you say please,” he says.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you moan, wriggling your hips to no avail since his hands have barred you from moving any lower.

“I just want to hear you beg for it.” He spreads your lips and admires how wet you are. When you remain silent, he massages the area surrounding your clit. “No? Not gonna cave in?”

You narrow your eyes and scrape your nails against his broad chest. “Fuck, you.” It comes out through gritted teeth. 

Guts chuckles. A low sound filled with mirth. “Oh, love. You wish.” His thumb probes your entrance, pulling out to slide along your slit. “I do have to praise you for holding out this long. It must feel unbearable.” And it does. Your skin is about to burst at the seams as the pleasure threatens to drive you mad. Never given enough to bring you over the edge, but just enough to stimulate the ache in your core—the desire to be filled. 

“Not. At. All.”

Guts clucks his tongue, drawing circles around your swollen clit. “Liar.” He slowly pushes a finger into your cunt, adding another when he feels how wet you are. It doesn’t take long before the squelches reach your burning ears. His fingers curl and stroke that sensitive area on your walls. The pace is agonizingly slow, and it only deepens the ache. You bite down on your bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. 

Your body trembles when he plants a kiss on your clit. Ah, to hell with playing hard to get. You might die if he doesn’t give you an orgasm right now. 

“Guts?” you groan, clenching when he pets your clit in response. 

“Yes, my love?” He sounds so smug. You don’t even need to look to see the smirk on his face. 

“…Please,” you whisper, hissing when he stops his ministrations. 

“Didn’t catch what you said. Gonna need you to repeat that.” He slowly resumes his movements, rubbing his fingertips against your walls. 

You grunt and try to focus, blinking to clear the fog in your brain. “Please. Fuck. Me.” You punctuate each word with a thrust of your hips. Guts’s fingers immediately retract, and you whine at the loss, only to throw your head back when he eats you out like a man starved. 

His hands hold you in place, only allowing enough freedom to ride his face, which you do—greedily. He runs the flat of his tongue across your slit. Every so often he comments on how good you taste, normally ending with how he can never get enough. You don’t know. You don’t really care.  He’s drawing patterns on your clit, each stroke bringing you closer to climax. 

And you’re so close. You can almost feel it. Guts must sense it, too, because he focuses on your clit, hands locking you snugly against his face. With his unrelenting tongue, you cum with a scream. Your entire body buzzes with electricity, clit throbbing in time with your clenches. Guts doesn’t stop, and soon the pleasure borders on pain. It’s too much. You jerk away, but he keeps you trapped in his hold. 

You can’t think anymore. You can only incoherently babble for him to let you go. And then it creeps up on you. The aftershocks of your last orgasm, combined with the continued stimulation, tighten that band in your stomach again. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision. It’s too much. You want it to stop. 

But it feels so fucking good. 

Guts swaps his tongue for his fingers, filling you up once more. Your back arches when he brushes over your g-spot. You mewl and beg him to do it again. 

“One more time. Cum for me one more time,” he orders. And how can you say no when he uses that tone? Guts pays special attention to your previous request, fingers curling with practiced precision. “I want even the gods to hear you scream my name.” 

He doesn’t need to convince you. Liquid heat pools in your stomach, bubbling like a pot about to boil over. His name is the first sound to leave your lips when you come undone. Guts is gentler this time; he draws out your orgasm slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your vision burns with tears as your body curls up before sagging bonelessly. 

You heave a sigh and crawl to the side, shuddering when the cold air hits your sensitive skin With a content smile, you stare at Guts in a daze, fuzzy warmth blanketing your mind. 

“Good?” he asks.

“Mhmm.” Your eyes drift to his erection; it twitches under your attention. Suddenly you’re aware of the heady scent of musk in the air. Licking your lips, you look back at Guts. He doesn’t say anything, but his pupils are blown. “Can I?” You inch closer to him, and he nods. You spread the precum leaking from the tip with your thumb. On an impulse, you lick the remainder off your finger, smirking when you hear his sharp intake of breath. 

A bitter saltiness greets your tastebuds, but it’s milder than you anticipated. You well up some saliva in your mouth and use it to lubricate your hand to begin stroking. Slow, firm pumps have him twitching against your palm. 

“Faster, please,” he groans, jerking his hips upwards to match your strokes. 

“Ooh, so you do know how to be polite,” you say as you tighten your grip and increase the pace. Guts’s chest rises and falls faster than before.

His face distorts in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure. “Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, nose scrunching. 

You laugh and rub his thighs soothingly. “Just this once,” and you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can manage. Running your tongue across the underside of his cock, you widen your jaw to avoid scraping him with your teeth. Anything you can’t fit gets stroked by your hands. Glancing up, you notice him watching you with a tenderness that’s been rare as of late. 

He’s been worrying and training almost to the point of obsession. You want to ease that ache in his chest and have him forget momentarily about all you’ve gone through together. Although, judging from how his eyes are starting to glaze over, your objective doesn’t seem that far away. 

It started out small, but now the walls echo with his moans and breathy whines. Each sound is like a lightning bolt between your thighs, burning you with strikes of pleasure. You bring a hand down to play with your clit, hoping to ease the ache. 

His cock pulsates in your mouth. His entire body starts shuddering, and you know he’s close. So you slow to a halt and chortle at his frustration. The look he gives you could wither the low-level spirits that hang around. Taking a breath, you inch slowly down to take more of his cock, chest brimming with pride at how his body immediately tenses. 

“You’re going to kill me here, my love,” he groans, hips stuttering between pulling away and pushing further in. 

You slide your mouth off his cock and lick your lips, massaging his balls with your hand. “I want to milk as much of your cum as I can and drink it all,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the tip. You feel a twitch against your fingers and smirk. “Seems like you’re on board with my plan.”

One of his large, warm hands is placed against your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Not the only place I’d like to fill you up,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his tone. 

“Are you sure you can last that long?” you ask, and his fingers cheekily tug on your hair. The gesture draws a chuckle from you. You open your eyes to see him full of amusement. 

“You’re underestimating the stamina of a great swordsman,” he boasts.

You raise a brow. That’s a big claim. “Hm? Then why don’t you show me what your sword can do?” You straddle his hips, your drenched cunt seated against the shaft of his cock. It twitches against you, and you bring a hand down to tease the leaking tip.

“Change of plans?” Guts asks, tone wavering as you slowly pump his cock.

You hum, “I’m feeling a little impatient today.”

“What happened to milking me for all I’m worth?” The cockiness in his tone returns. “Going back now on those big claims?”

You chuckle and flick the head of his cock, watching Guts writhe in response. “You’re trying to rile me up, but it’s not working,” you say.

“Can you blame me? You’re irresistible when you get all fired up,” he says, 

You line up the tip of his cock with your entrance, slowly sinking down until his entire length is inside you. “Sorry to disappoint, but the only one losing their cool today is you.”

You start bouncing your hips, finding a steady rhythm to keep. Angling your body, his cock drags against your walls in all the right places. Guts begins aiming his thrusts when he notices how you cry out each time he hits the mark. 

Guts groans, face screwed tight in concentration. “You’re gonna squeeze me to death,” he moans.

You smirk, running your hands across his chest. “It took you this long to realize my intentions?”

He responds with an airy laugh. “You always were a damn good strategist.”

“And you’re living up to your title, General,” you say, feeling a twitch inside you. “Oh? You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” 

Guts looks at you with a sheepish grin. “If I say I do, will you call me that more often?” he asks. 

You hum, tracing his abs with your fingertips. “I’ll consider it, but it would have to be sparingly. Don’t want to inflate your ego too much,” you tease. A spank smarts your ass. The sting is quickly soothed by a gentle massage. You retaliate with slow, deep thrusts, grinning when Guts curses and loses his ability to form sentences. 

His cock throbs inside you, swelling up in preparation for his release. Guts’s fingers are bruising your hips, and he’s rutting into you. Slamming yourself down, you remain seated.

“Fuck, I was so close,” he groans, cock twitching in your warm cunt. 

“I know. That’s why I stopped,” you say. 

Guts looks at you with betrayal. “You, my dear, are a cruel lover.”

You tsk and clench tightly around him. “I may be a bit mean, but never cruel.”

“If this isn’t cruelty, then wha—“

You cut him off with a roll of your hips, successfully speech-jamming him. “You’ll see,” you say. 

You continue drawing out his release, bringing Guts near the edge only to wrench him away. You’ve lost count—not that you were even counting in the first place—of how many potential orgasms you’ve robbed him of. But from the sour gleam in his eyes, a few too many.

Any of his attempts to take over the pace are thwarted when you turn into an immovable object. The loss of friction is not deemed a worthwhile risk because Guts soon lets you have your way after only a few attempts.  

“Good boy,” you purr, a chuckle tickling the back of your throat. “Look at you, getting turned on when so much as a compliment is awarded.” You drag your fingers down his chest, sloping along the defined ridges of his muscles. “It’s kind of cute,” you admit. 

Guts watches you through hooded lids, mouth parting as incoherent pleas spill between his lips. You tsk and twist your lips into a mock frown. “Oh no. Did I wear you down already?” You cradle his face in your hand, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I can feel you throbbing inside me. Do you want to cum?” you ask, receiving a shudder in response when you roll your hips. 

“Mhmm,” he grunts, nodding in fervour. Guts runs his hands along your thighs, gently squeezing the soft flesh. “Please,” he adds politely. 

You hum and slow your movements. “Do you deserve to?”

It’s borderline hilarious to watch the gears in his head turn. The vacant look in his eyes shifts as they widen. “I do,” he says, but the slight wobble in his tone is tinged with nerves. 

You can’t stop the grin forming on your face and opt to kiss his damp forehead to hide it. “Relax,” you hush, “I’ll let you cum……

“…eventually.”

Guts groans and slides a hand between your thighs, fingers searching for your clit. You clench tightly around him when he taps it gently with his thumb. “Looks like the blood’s starting to rush back into the right head”—Guts slams his hips upwards, nearly winding you—“Ow, fuck! Ok, ok. No more jokes during sex.” You wince from your sore abdomen. “I’ll cut you a deal,” you pause to gain his attention. “If you make me orgasm within the next ten minutes, I’ll let you cum.”

“You can’t take back your word,” he grunts through gritted teeth. You squeal, arms flailing to wrap around his neck when he flips you onto the ground. There’s a pregnant pause as you stare into each other's eyes. Warm. There’s so much warmth in his gaze for you. “Beautiful,” he says, running his fingers along your face.  

Your chest squeezes tight. You turn your head, feeling the cool stone floor press against your burning cheeks. “9 minutes,” you say. Guts clicks his tongue and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He angles his thrusts, ramming into the deepest parts of you. The inferno consuming your body melts your bones to liquid.

“With the sounds you’re making, it won’t be long,” he grunts. You clench tightly around him like a vice. Every well-aimed thrust sends your walls pulsating around his cock. The familiar tightening in your stomach takes hold and threatens to tear you asunder. “Fuck you look so good like this, I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

You feel calloused fingers brush against your clit, and a bolt of electricity strikes the base of your spine. He chuckles at the way your body curls open like a flower, eager to meet the sun’s rays. When your hips raise to meet him halfway, who is he to deny you of more pleasure?

He brings a finger to his mouth, groaning at your lingering taste on his skin. Before you know it, the building pleasure threatens to burst. He rolls your clit between his fingers, applying constant pressure. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. 

How much time was left? Gods, you don’t remember anymore. All you can think about is how you’re a second away from release. 

The intensity drops. Guts’s thrusts remain deep; his cock drags along your walls in a sweet, slow torture. The flames licking your body from the inside are dying, but the embers are stoked just enough to keep the fire going. “You wouldn’t dare,” you seethe between clenched teeth. The muscles in your jaw are almost as tense as the knot in your stomach.

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Guts remarks calmly. A slight chill creeps up your spine, and you begin to sweat for reasons other than physical exertion. 

“But then you don’t get to cum,” you say, trying to build a counterargument to sway him. You were so close;  you needed just a little more to get there. In all honesty, both of you knew that if he really wanted to, Guts could easily ignore the bet. But that would mean destroying the mutual trust you spent years building. And you know both of you would rather die than betray the other.

“You said within the next ten minutes, I still have two left.” He slaps your pubic mound lightly, fingers resting above your swollen clit. “It’s not like you specified a time, only a period. So it doesn’t matter if there’s only a second left as long as you cum before it’s over.” 

You shudder. What have you done?

Guts begins mumbling to himself. Between the grunts and groans, you can just barely make out a decreasing string of numbers. He’s seriously counting down the seconds he has left before the bet is over??

You arch your back, fingers fisting the stone floor with nothing to ground you. “Fuck me,” you sigh, lifting your hips to feel his cock brush against that sensitive spot. 

“Already am,” Guts rasps, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Any other requests?”

“Yeah, fuck me harder.”

He leans down to plant a kiss on your damp forehead. “As you wish.”

And fuck you harder he does. You swear you must be above the clouds with all the stars you see. The slap of flesh echoes in your ears, filled with strained grunts and moans. You like it when Guts is vocal; it makes you feel like you’re doing a good job. One of the quickest ways he can turn you on is by moaning your name, which he’s doing right now. His breathy sighs as your name slips out of his mouth repeatedly like a prayer… it drives you crazy.

There’s only one thought in your mind; it overtakes all the others. You’re on the brink of an orgasm, standing at the edge of a cliff as you wait for the final push. “M’ close,” you say. Your clit throbs, and you feel a tug in your navel as the pressure builds.

“Then let’s bring you closer.” He slowly increases the pace, and your nails claw his back, leaving scratches in their wake. “I want you to look at me when you come undone. Can you do that for me?” You nod, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he rubs your clit. “Good.” His fingers maintain pace, and he consistently rams his cock against your g-spot.

Your body thrums with pleasure, ready to come undone at his command. Guts wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes gently. He wasn’t affecting your oxygen supply, but fuck did it do things to you. His thrusts become deeper, pounding into you at a steady rhythm. 

That was all it took to shove you off the edge. Your walls spasm around his cock in a toe-curling orgasm. All you can focus on is the waves of mind-numbing pleasure crashing into you, the force of the undertow sweeping you away. 

Guts continues to thrust, helping you ride out your orgasm. As you come down from your high, dizzy and lightheaded, you feel his cock swell inside you. He pulls out, pumping his cock as his warm seed spills onto your stomach.

You laugh a breathy chuckle, staring at the mess he made. “I think I need another bath,” you say.

Guts kisses the top of your head and says, “Then let’s get cleaned up.” He scoops an arm underneath your knees and wraps the other around your back.

“Guts!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” he says, walking towards the pool. Wading in, he brings you to the stream of water. Already, the spray of droplets is freezing against your skin. You shudder and cling closer to Guts and the heat he radiates. “I’ll help you wash up,” and he lowers your legs, a hand still resting on the small of your back. 

“I am capable of washing myself,” you say. Hopefully, the rising sun made the water at least slightly more tolerable. But from how it feels like your feet are encased in ice, you don’t have much hope. 

Guts cups some water in his hands and pours it onto your shoulders. “I know you can, but I want to,” he says, kissing the side of your temple. “So stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t kn—“ Guts flicks water at your face with a smirk. You pause, your brain struggling to process what happened. “You!” Your eyes narrow into a glare. 

Guts bolts, his laughter reverberating the cave walls. You run after him, but it’s difficult despite the water reaching only your calves. Guts is somehow brute forcing his way, but you adapt a weird mixture of hopping and running to catch up. 

Once you’re within arm's length of Guts, you kick up the water, successfully splashing him. The smug grin on your face falters when he turns around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He moves only a single step before your flight instincts take over. 

Your heart is thumping against your chest, thundering in your ears. His fingertips brush against your spine, and you squeal, dodging to the side. Large splashes grow closer and closer. But they suddenly stop. And amid your confusion, you stop running.

Looking over your shoulder, you see no sign of Guts except a few ripples in the water where you expected him to be.

“Got ya!” Big, strong hands wrap around your waist, and the ground disappears beneath your feet. The world spins in a whirlwind of lights and cool shades of blue and purple. As your surroundings grind to a halt, warm arms pull you into an embrace. Your laughter is dampened by his hug, and you blink to quell the dizziness. 

You stare into his eyes, watching black swallow brown. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “Shower?” you whisper, unwilling to break the stillness. If the universe would let you, you would spend every day like this with him. To wake and sleep together, sharing the mundane moments of life and experiencing the little pockets of joy as they occur. But that’s not the kind of world you live in— not if Griffith has anything to say about it.

Guts leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, let’s get cleaned up.” He guides you back to the waterfall, fingers intertwined. You follow him without resistance. All the running around has warmed you up, but that only makes the water feel colder. Guts is careful as he washes you. “I know it’s cold, but you’re being so good for me,” he coos. His hands firmly glide across your skin. You feel him pause to trace the scars on your body, gently tracing the thin lines on your lower abdomen. His touch dips down between your thighs, and you part them. 

He does nothing more than clean up the mess he made, but you’re still sensitive. Little tremors run through your body, the aftershocks of your ground-shaking orgasm. Guts surprises you with a kiss on your neck. You swear this man is trying to kill you with his affection. With the uncomfortable slickness gone, you lean against Guts and relish in him pampering you. If only you had brought more soap. You could have asked him to wash your hair.

“Done?” he asks, to which you nod. Guts picks you up again and carries you to dry land, where he dries you off with the towel again. “Arms up,” he commands. And before you know it, a shirt is pulled over your head. The fabric still smells like him. Smoke from a fire pit and the medicinal scent of herbs from his ointment. You glance over and watch him put on his pants. Your eyes trail along the scars on his body. Most of them have healed nicely, but they’ll always remain to remind you how close to death you were that night.

Your fingers absentmindedly rest against the area of your brand. Before you can slip into a spiral, Guts calls out your name. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are focused on where your hand is. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. You’re unsure if he believes you, but he nods and doesn’t pry further.

Your eyes begin to droop, and a big yawn escapes your mouth. “I think it’s time to rest,” Guts says. Luckily, your sleeping arrangements aren’t too far. With Rickert’s help, Erica was able to find a larger bedroll for you and Guts to share. You never voiced the thought out loud, but you liked the closeness it forced. Something about sleeping in his arms brought you a sense of peace and security.

When he holds you at night, the nightmares leave you in peace. The screams quiet, and the stench of iron is replaced with cedar and smoke. The arms around your waist are tender. Guts is like a kiln; you’re dry clay—fragile at first but robust after exposure to his warmth. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Guts asks, petting your hair. You’re lying in bed, limbs tangled like vines wrapped around a tree. 

The corners of your lips curl up. “Like what?” 

Guts leans his forehead against yours. “Like I’m everything to you. That’s my job,” he says. 

You’re smiling so much your cheeks ache. “I love you.”

Guts mirrors your smile. His hand slides down to cup your face. You can feel his breath tickle your skin. His eyes dart to your parted lips before closing the gap. 

The kiss is slow and tender. Soft, pliable lips that leave you panting for air. Guts trails his mouth along your jawline, leaving a path of fire as he moves to the hollow of your throat. 

You can’t help but let out a content sigh when he pays attention to the sensitive area. Your cheeks tingle at the thought of waking up and being greeted with a new mark. Guts plants one last kiss on your collarbone before drawing you closer to him. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin. You snuggle into him, wanting his scent to envelop you. His next words are so quiet you almost miss them. “Promise me you won’t leave, too.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You look into his eyes and see a reflection of what you’ve become. His dark circles fare no better than yours, and that vengeful spark has dulled, having been weathered over time by grief. 

You lost your friends and family, but so did he.

With the brand carved into your skin and the spirits waiting around every corner to devour you…. “You know I can’t promise you that,” you say, and you hate how your words feel like a punch to your own gut.

“Then lie to me and promise anyway,” he whispers, staring at you through glossy eyes.

You bite your lip but refuse to look away. Raising a hand to wipe his tears, you say, “I promise to stay for as long as I’m able.”

Guts nods, soothed by your response. “Rest. I’ll keep us safe.”

Us. The word sends your heart a flutter. You shift into a comfortable position and drift into darkness, dreaming of campfires and starry skies for once. 

End Note:

It's like I can't decide whether I want the fic to be sad, happy, or horny. So why not all three?

I also decided to bite the bullet and get image dividers, because trying to get center formatting and having it stay consistent across platforms is tiring. Do they look ok? I got them from a Tumblr post by @/saradika if anyone wanted to know.

I have no idea when my next work will come out. I already have some fics queued up and knowing myself, I'll either speed right through them, or drag them out too long and lose interest lol

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

[janamensch]

Ilmera knight OC!!! This is Ser Valerie, she’s a knight errant from the Suncrest Isles!

[byanyan]

SPEECH PATTERNS

complexity of vocabulary : ◼◼◻◻◻ emotion : ◼◼◼◼◼ sentence structure : ◼◼◻◻◻ profanity frequency : ◼◼◼◼◼ creativity : ◼◼◼◼◻ watchfulness : ◼◼◻◻◻

( bold all that apply ) ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. fuckshit. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. chicken shit. son of a bitch. son of a whore. twat. wanker. ( given proper religious context ) christ on a bike. christ on a cracker. damn. goddamn. godsdamn. hell. holy shit. jesus. jesus christ. jesus, mary and joseph. sweet jesus.

( this or that )

contractions or enunciation? straightforward or cryptic? jargon or toned? complexity or simplicity? finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? masculinity, neutrality, or femininity? formalities or abrasiveness? insult or injury? praise or equivocation? frankness or lies? excessive or minimal hand gestures? name-calling or magnanimity? friendly or blunt nicknames?

( important questions )

do people have a hard time understanding or hearing your character ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never does your character’s point come across easily when they speak ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character initiate conversations ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character be the one to end conversations ? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never would your character use ‘whom’ in a sentence ? yes / no / only ironically your character wants to make a counterpoint. what word do they use ? but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps how would your character pick up the phone ? hello / hey / hi / yellow / yo / yeah / [name]. / what’s up / who is this / what do you want / can i help you? how does your character end conversations ? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they’re done here / remain quiet / they don’t how does your character address others ? titles / first names / surnames / full names / nicknames what social class would others assume your character belongs to, hearing them speak ? upper / middle / lower in what ways does the way your character speak stand out to others ? accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn’t

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[gaypirate420]

Kaleidoscope // Viktor

S2!Viktor x gender neutral!reader.

Summary: You're staring at his eyes.

Fluff. Spoilers!!!!

Viktor stares at his hand, that purple flowing and metallic skin. He just healed? Cured? an addict from the undercity, his mismatched pupils look up.

At you.

You followed behind when he left Jayce's lab, you were too determined and he didn't fight as hard as he wanted, in other times he would tell you to stay with Jayce, stay safe. He didn't keep you away from the Hexcore without reason, but he couldn't fight, as much as his mind was screaming at him, he just nodded monotonously after a couple of pleas.

Your eyes meet his, you sit down in front of him, whimpering slightly, after the explosion of the Council left you with an injured leg.

His eyes dart back down, he could just reach out and you wouldn't be in pain anymore but he closes his fingers and lowers his hand to his lap. He needs to understand a little more about this new... identity of his before he even attempts to touch you in any sort of way, he doesn't want to risk it. Sky disappeared in front of him like dust in the wind, he can't do that to you.

You smiled softly. His furrowed eyebrows soften.

"How are you feeling?" You asked with a soft whisper. He sighs, his eyes don't leave yours, in one hand he isn't feeling pain, that ache, that little needle-like sensation that infested his leg and back since he had memory. But on the other hand, he doesn't feel much, he isn't scared but also not happy, he isn't completely aware of what is happening but he is not mindless.

You keep looking at him, that smile doesn't falter and that is comforting. You're not scared of him not even after what you just saw.

"I don't know." He answers, there's a small shiver down your back, his speech pattern has changed, it's slow and monotone but there's some sparkles of emotions in it, it's not like he has talked much for you to completely understand yet.

You nod at his words, God you were so patient with him, always have been.

Your eyes don't leave his, the amber eyes he held are nowhere to be found, now a duller color replaces them but there's this drop of cyan, maybe crimson at times that moves around the two irises.

"Is there something wrong?" He asks, you shake your head.

"Nothing wrong, Vitya. I'm just looking at your eyes." You speak softly, scooting a little closer towards him.

Vitya.

His lips twitch ever so slightly, yes he is your Vitya, at least he thinks he is and you don't seem to look at him any differently, there's still that deep affection in your eyes, of course there is worry in your gaze, but the devoted love remains.

"What's with them?" He speaks again.

"They're different..." You whispered as you leaned your face closer. He doesn't move, he remembers the feeling, after years of being with you his heart still went wild when you approached, but now it's dull, but it's there. He knows it is, it's just a little distant, just in the tip of his fingers.

"Like- copper...but...there's this- bleeding of color.." You whispered as your eyes fixated on his, you were so close. Your breath against his face, lips near that beauty mark you loved to kiss.

"Like a kaleidoscope." You whispered, you didn't pull away, you missed having him so close. Viktor nods at your words, he hasn't seen himself fully yet.

You two stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Your hand hesitantly reaches up and cups his face, muscle memory is a hell of a thing, he immediately nuzzles his face against your hand. It's familiar yet he feels like this is the first time touching you.

He feels you. Not just your gentle hand or soft skin, you. It's a different kind of touch, like he's touching your soul, your very being.

You contain your excitement. He is still there. You smiled softly. His eyes flutter as he feels a faint sensation of your lips against his beauty mark.

He stays silent. It was dull, like a ghost touched him yet like every star in the sky placed a kiss upon his face.

"Will you do that again, please?" He whispers, meeting your eyes once more.

A/N: (Divider) Hiiii, hope you like this, I wasn't sure about writing something so fast, but I needed to get rid of the feeling. I loved Act 1, it was worth staying up til 5 am, Viktor has bewitched my soul completely, I don't have a lot of opinions, just questions, I'm going to wait until the whole season is over to talk about it and the characters. Enjoy the fic! Send requests please.

[butterflyeffectiooon]

Something that is so appealing to me about giuk is that he’s cute and he owns this like he leans SO FAR into it and doesn’t claim to be sexy in spite of it lmao. He also (as far as I’ve found) doesn’t write suggestive lyrics, I’ve just seen they’ve covered my first kiss a lot and that’s 👀 but he didn’t write it lmao. He did write a rap verse for it but I cannot find a translation so idk about it but I’m really curious to see the tl!!! Anyway, even when he’s not being overtly adorable he’s just cool like I appreciate this so much!!!! Love that for him!!!!!

[pomefioredove]

can I request house wardens + leech twins with a reader who doesn't eat enough bc Crowley doesn't give them enough for food, and they end up really ill and collapsing or something. I'm cravin some fluffy comfort rn, pls and thank you 🙏

I got you🫡🫡 as someone who's been through an eerily similar situation, I really liked this request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ another crowley moment™️

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, floyd, jade, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, mentions of food and not eating

Riddle wouldn't even have to like you to rush to your side. but he does like you, which makes it all the worse

after checking your vitals, you're in the infirmary. he's got doctors for parents, after all, and he knows that malnutrition is bad

he should have seen the signs...

with exams coming, he's been so busy, and he assumed that you were just tired from studying

but he can feel guilty later. right now, he needs to focus on you getting well again, and not killing Crowley

(then, of course, he'll look for some legal statute or clause that he can threaten Crowley with so you're fed properly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona noticed you'd been acting a little weird lately, but watching you collapse still puts him in shock

luckily, Ruggie and Jack are nearby to help you to the infirmary, so Leona can focus on hunting Crowley down like an animal

there are very few times where Leona is particularly grateful for his status, but this is one of them. just one word on how his family will be hearing about Crowley's neglect, and the old bastard is begging him for forgiveness

even after that, Leona still sends Ruggie with snacks and drinks to Ramshackle

and if you ever scare him like that again, you'll regret it (lovingly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the news of you collapsing during flight lessons reaches Octavinelle rather fast. no one is particularly surprised, since Floyd had mentioned how easily you'd been bruising lately just the night before, but everyone is certainly worried

Azul is the first at your side, asking you all sorts of questions, worried sick. Jade has to remind him to give you space to rest, since you look exhausted (had you always had those dark circles? how could Azul have not noticed?)

now, Azul and the tweels could easily find a way to pressure Crowley, but they know better than to trust him

from now on, you'll be eating in the Mostro Lounge, free of charge

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

perhaps Kalim was just oblivious, because he really didn't think anything was wrong until you were suddenly on the floor in front of him

sure, you'd been a little moody lately, but he figured it was just a thing you were going through. and besides, you know that you can talk to him about anything... right?

Jamil hurries to check your pulse, and shouts for him to get the school nurse- which is jarring, because Jamil never shouts

when you explain everything to Kalim later, he feels... terrible. he should've known- no, he should've asked

Kalim insists you stay at Scarabia while you're recovering, and makes sure you have the most enriching, delicious meals money can buy

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil knew it was bad, but not this bad. if he had known you were on the verge of collapsing, he would've taken a firmer approach to getting you to eat

you're going to worry him to death someday, you know that?

after he's done verbally eviscerating Crowley, he'll insist on joining you at every meal. he'll eat at Ramshackle, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if that's what it takes

he's subtle about it, at least

if he notices that your plate feels empty, he'll just take some food from his and put it on yours. gracefully, elegantly, without a word

you'll come home one day to see your kitchen stocked with vitamins, supplements, and apples (courtesy of Epel)

<3 and a note that says he'll treat you to dinner whenever you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

never scare Idia like that ever again. he wasn't even with you when you collapsed, and he STILL nearly had a heart attack

listen, he knows he's not a great role model when it comes to nutritional eating, but you have got to tell him these things. he would've had Ortho go get takeout! or something!

typical Crowley behavior, SMH. what does he think you are? a rabbit? even the school horses get treated better...

no way that Idia is going to even bother with that old fart, anyway. you want something? he'll get it for you. you don't even have to ask, he'll just send food to your place (and have Ortho check your vitals more often but shhh)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I would not want to be in the room when Malleus finds out about this

not even the building. you know what? I'd steer clear of the whole island, because it will not be pretty

when you collapse in front of him, it feels like he's dying, too. the panic sets in, and he sends Lilia to look after you, and Silver and Sebek to escort you to the infirmary, and then he casually threatens to smite Crowley. obviously

if the students and staff of NRC thought Malleus was scary just being Malleus, he's terrifying when he's mad

(rest assured that you will be getting ten times the amount of food from now on)

it's thunderstorms for days after, but he never leaves your side

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[kittenintheden]

When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You���re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

 You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor. 

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

[gilverrwrites]

Oops

AN: Answer to an Anon regarding the Batboys reactions to finding their partner (during the early days of their relationship) sleeping with nothing on their lower half, or finding out they're not wearing underwear beneath their comfy bottoms. Gender Neutral!Reader Ft. Jason, Tim, Bruce, & Dick. In that order. No smut, but suggestive content below.

Jason is so dog-tired, too drained to make it back to his own place when he climbs through your window in the middle of the night. Normally he’d text or call ahead to ask if it was okay. But he’s done this a million times, and you’ve always told him that he doesn’t need to ask; he’s always welcome.

He’s already half asleep as he sluggishly kicks off his boots. He doesn’t notice your naked leg hanging out of the covers as he strips down to nothing but his vest and boxers. There’s a half moment of clarity as he stands above your sleeping form where he wonders if he should wake you, if only to alert you to his presence, but you look so peaceful, he doesn’t want to disturb you. He just wants to sleep.

So, he crawls into bed beside you and quickly dozes off. It’s not until hours later, as the sun peeps in between the curtains and he starts to wake that he realises something is off. Somehow, you’ve managed to become entangled during your sleep, which isn’t uncommon. Your back is to his chest, his arm draped around your waist, rough fingers under your oversized shirt and rested on your soft lower stomach. You mumble something dozily, rolling your hips in your sleep and his hands incidentally sink lower, and lower, before they touch something that he should certainly not be touching without permission.

“J-Jason? What’s going on.” You mumble, half-opened eyes staring at him blearily, having been marginally awakened by the ferocity of Jason ripping his hand away from you and jumping out of the bed.

“Nothing! Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

Thanks to the low rise of your joggers, Tim's eyes are already glued to your hips as you lean over him to patch up a wound on his shoulder. It’s late, and quiet. You’re weary after he disturbed you in the middle of the night. He’s still feeling a little woozy from a knock to the head, and the way your lower body sways has him hypnotised, at least until you turn away from him, bending over to find something in your med kit. He’s distracted immediately by the garment label which is hanging out of your waistband at the back.

Without a second thought, he leans over to tuck it back in for you but as his fingers slip below the band you stand, having already started the motion to move back over to him. The sequence of mis-timed events results in your bottoms being pulled just low enough to bare your ass.

Perhaps if he was feeling 100% himself, Tim would have had the graciousness to look even a little bit guilty about it. You doubt it very much though. Instead, he bites his lips, eyes roving the curve of your backside before following the arc of your body right up to your face where he greets you with a lopsided but decisively provocative smile before whispering; “Oopssss.”

“If Punchline hadn’t already done it, I’d smack you upside the head.” You chide, brushing his hand away and pulling your pants back up much to Tim’s disappointment.

“Awh, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” He’s still smiling as you push him back into place so you can continue to see to his injuries. “Was just a happy accident.”   

There's a chill in your bones, one so sudden and biting that it jolts you awake. The first thing you notice is the imposing shadow at the end of your bed. Instinctively you shoot up into a seated position, pushing your body backwards and against your headboard until you start to recognise features of the silhouette before you; the lean shoulders, and stiff posture. The glaringly blankness of his chiselled lower face, and the emblem on his chest.

"Bru- Batman?" You exclaim irritated but relieved. “You scared me!”

Your sort-of-but-we-haven’t-quite-defined-it-yet-boyfriend doesn’t reply, and you start to worry again, inclining toward him unconsciously until he deliberately clears his throat. Between the mask and the darkness of the room, you’ve no idea what he’d been looking at exactly, but the polite, intentional turn of his head has it dawning on you quickly.

In an instant you snap your legs closed, embarrassed to have been so exposed but one panic fades to another as Bruce begins to rummage in your wardrobe, informing you that he has reason to believe you’re in danger and that he’s taking you to a safe house for your own protection as he hurtles underwear and pair of trousers at you.

Your nerves begin to calm as you sit in the passenger seat of The Batmobile listening carefully as he brings you up to speed with everything that’s happened and how he plans to fix it.

At least until he begins speaking in a voice that feels intentionally a little smoother than his vigilante persona would typically use. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to take your pants back off when we get there.” And again, you can’t tell where he’s looking, but the coy smile on his lips tells you all you need to know about what he’s thinking.  

Dicks always had a habit of hooking his fingers into the waist of your pants to get your attention by pulling you closer or to direct you around busy areas. Even before you’d started dating.

You’d woken before him, but he’d followed not long after, sensing your missing presence from the bed and following the smell of breakfast. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to grab you by the drawstring band of your joggers as a greeting, planning on pulling you away from the sink so he can accost you with morning-breath-laced kisses.

There is a solid 10-second interval in which he stands, staring at you, stock still and silent as he registers the lack of barrier between his skin and yours, and a further 10 more as he examines your face, searching for signs of distress. When he finds nothing but bashful excitement he grins at you, devilish, sinking his fingers further down so he can graze the space just above your stirring sex before fisting the fabric to pull you closer.

“For me?” He quizzes with a quirked brow as he leans in close to you, still watching every micromovement of your face.

“For comfort.” You correct him with a playful grin, lacing your fingers in his shirt regardless.  

Feigning disappointment, he sucks on his teeth for a second, rolling his eyes and head back before turning to you with a pout. “An’ here I thought I was special.” Despite his ‘dismay’ you feel his free hand decisively press into the small of your back, holding you in place as the other begins to explore beneath your joggers.

[shiny-jr]

▶ 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.”