#Coils of the Serpent Au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ja3hwa · 26 days ago

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♡ 𝐓𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠 ♡

Day Thirty - Alien Au (Ft. Egg laying and breeding)

【Synopsis】 : You husband is in need of your "person assistance"... unlucky for you, San and Wooyoung want a taste of you also.

『Word count』 : 2.92k

-> Genre: Alien au. Smut. Pwp.

Pairing: Aliens!WooSanSang x MarsBornHuman!Reader

[Warnings] : Multiple tentacles! Jerking off. Fingering in a sense? Multi-coloured cocks (yes... thats a warning). Oral (m rec). Swearing. Mention of mating bonds and claims. A bandaged wound. Photography and videoing. Unprotected sex. Breeding (obviously). Multiple orgasms. Dirty talk. Pet names. Rough sex. Lowkey free use. Wooyoung is possessive as fuck. Illegal stuff. Running from the law. Guns and sirens. Gotta love a good heist.

Networks: @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity

Note: Ahh, I can't believe Halloween is tomorrow!! Are you all as excited as I am. ♡

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You took a deep breath as you adjusted the bust hem of your long black dress. The ballroom was a swirl of glittering gowns and tuxedos, and the air buzzed with mingling laughter and gossip amongst the galactic elite. At your side was Hongjoong, your captain. He scanned the room, his eyes ever vigilant, ready to seize the opportunity to steal the rare cromer crafted by the fabled artisans of the Gilded Realm. This was your crew's mission—a heartbeat away from the legendary artifact that could bend time and realities itself.

Yet something gnawed at your gut, a feeling of unease that coiled like a serpent, distracting you from focusing. And just as you were about to voice your concerns to Hongjoong, your holocom vibrated against your thigh. You glanced down at where the sleek tablet rested, noticing San's user icon. Without causing too much attention, you unclip the small rectangular size screen. But you felt your heart drop upon reading the message. It was a text, saying: “Sugar, Yeosang isn’t well. Meet us in the far bathroom. Hurry.”

“Captain, I—”

“Go,” Hongjoong replied, his voice steady, sensing the urgency in your demeanour. “We’ll hold off until you get back. Just be quick, okay angel.” The loving pet name rolled off his lips like butter, giving you some peace in your anxiousness.

You didn’t need to be told twice as you wove through the throng of elegantly dressed patrons, each step a mix of concern and adrenaline. You quickly reached the far end of the lavishly decorated hall away from most of the party guests. You opened the door to the women's restroom, and the moment you crossed the threshold, your heart ached at the sight before you. You found Yeosang, your darling husband, in a state of distress. His tentacles, usually restrained and hidden, were now wrapping around his body uncontrollably, and his eyes held a frantic darkening look. "I'm sorry, my love," He panted, leaning against the sink, sweat glistening on his brow, his vibrant tentacles tightening with every second that passed. He looked up at you, a weak smile breaking through his evident discomfort. “I—,” he whimpered, his voice strained.

You rushed to his side, your hands reaching for his arms, noticing that his skin was hot to the touch. “What’s wrong?”

"I've gone into my rut early..." His voice held a note of embarrassment, but you could sense the urgency in his words. Usually, when Yeosang's species goes into their mating cycle's they are isolated, and it's prepared meticulously. But since everyone is a different type of alien on the crew, it doesn't surprise you that cycles change and fluctuate to when they are supposed to happen.

San, standing beside Yeosang, added, "I've been trying to calm him down, but nothing seems to be working. I think we need to help him now before it becomes even more difficult to control. Just until we can get him back to the ship." You nodded at your lover, understanding the situation all too well. You knew that when Yeosang goes into heat, his body has the tendency to take over, and his needs become all-consuming. So this was just to calm his body so it could give his mind some room to breathe.

So without wasting anothering moment, knowing Hongjoong told you to be quick, you pulled Yeosang closer to you. Your bodies flush against one another as he held you against the cold, hard sink. You felt his tentacles slither down towards your legs, snaking themselves around your thighs before tightening around you. A mixture of desire and desperation surged through both of you and in one with swift motion, he spun you around, lifting your dress so the fabric could pile around your waist, revealing your already wet panties, a testament to your own growing arousal.

Yeosang could no longer hold back. With a sharp snap, he tore your panties in half, the sound echoing in the bathroom. Letting the ruined material fall to the dirty floor, he used one of his lubricated tentacles to slide between your legs, spreading your limbs apart so he could stand behind you snuggly. Yeosang was already becoming quickly lost in the pleasure, needing to feel you wrap around him. “Y-Yeo quickly…”

Your pants caused Yeosang to growl animalistically. He hated people telling him to hurry up, but deep down, he knew why you said it, knowing Hongjoongs temper all too well. So using his tentacles, two held your glistening folds open while he started to drill one into your pussy, stretching you out to accommodate his size in a moment.

“Fuck…” You let out a sharp gasp, a mixture of pleasure and surprise, moving your hips in time with the tendrils thrusts. San stood by, his eyes fixed on the filthy scene before him. He couldn't help but reach down to palm himself through his pants, already feeling the stirrings of his own needs grow. He watched as Yeosang's tentacle worked its magic, pumping into you with a desperate speed, preparing you nicely.

You felt yourself getting carried away by the pleasure, almost forgetting where you were and why you were there. Yeosang's tentacle knew exactly how to stimulate you, knowing your body better than yourself, curling and twisting in just the right spots. You tried desperately to remain quiet, but as Yeosang's motions became more frantic, your breath quickened and soft moans escaped your lips as you felt yourself creep closer to the edge. “S-sangie pleaseee.”

“I know... Just let me enjoy this. Fuck..” He grunted through gritted teeth. What he would give to take his time with you, slowly pumping you full, eating you, loving on you for hours. But alas time was literally of the essence. So with a hazy mind, you reached out to comfort San... to give him some relief as well. Your fingers fiddled at his belt, and the red alien couldn't help but chuckle at your desperateness. He flipped the belt off in seconds giving enough room for his long cock to slip out of its confinements. The patterning and ridges on his cock made you gulp, never being able to get used to the variety of shapes and sizes your lovers gift you. Your tongue licked a strip up the base until you reached the tip, letting his cock slip into your waiting mouth.

“Fuck that's it, baby…” San groaned his hand gently holding the back of your head. You felt tears welt in the corners of your eyes, most likely ruining your makeup. Yeosang doesn't stop his tentacles having added two more inside you as he picks up speed in his thrusts matching the snap in Sans's hips.

You were almost completely lost in the burn of desire until you could hear your holocom start to ring against your exposed thigh as it sat snug in its holster. You went to reach for it, worried it might be the captain telling you that time was up. But San grabbed it before you could, reading the user icon to see it was none other than Wooyoung. San couldn't help but chuckle at seeing his friend's name given to you. Wooyoung had only recently completed your mating bond when you all travelled to his home planet. His claim on your hip was most likely still red and sore beneath the bandage you put on it.

The poor pup was wondering where you were. His sense of possessiveness was still strong, and he wanted to know your whereabouts every hour. And now, finding you were missing from your post next to your captain, he would have begun to worry. San, thinking quickly, opened your holocom and started recording a video. The sight of Yeosang's tentacles buried deep inside your dripping cunt, the sounds of your moans muffled against his cock, with the image of you sucking him off for dear life was all too enticing to resist not sharing. And with a few quick taps and the quick text saying “busy”, San sent the video to Wooyoung, knowing it would drive him wild.

Throwing the phone onto the sink lazily, you all briefly noticed the vibrations of the com against the sink, announcing Wooyoung's incoming call, but San hit ignore before going back to focusing on the task at hand, fucking your pretty mouth. Yeosang had reached his limit quickly and with a final, powerful thrust he pulled his tentacles out of you before quickly replacing them with his hard cock. He drilled into you with passion, his high-pitched whimpers echoing around the dim restroom. He didn’t take long to start feeling the brew of heat in his gut, indicating his eggs were ready. Just a few more thrusts. He wanted to, needed to, last a bit longer. He was screaming at himself internally for wanting to empty his load so quickly but he couldn’t take it any longer. “Fuck, darling. I need to come. You’re gonna be a good girl and take my eggs huh. Hold them and make them warm for me.”

Yeosang’s ramble caused your cunt to clench tightly around him, sucking his cock in deeper. Your mouth flew off San with a guttural cough. “Sange!! Arghh. Please. I’ll be good. Give them to me.” He came deep inside you quickly after your sweet words, his slicked-up eggs pumping into you in relentless waves. As he emptied himself, one of his tentacles reached around to rub your clit, sending you into your own orgasm, your juices squirting around his cock before splattering all over the floor.

Yeosang pulled out of you slowly, his tentacle still gently caressing your sensitive flesh. But San wasted no time in claiming what was his, spinning you around and pushing you up onto the counter. You had no time to process nor even try to stop him. You were here to help Yeosang, to calm him down, not give San a fucking quickie. But your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist nonetheless as he lined up his large alien cock at your entrance, ready to take his turn with you.

San's eyes rolled back and his jaw went slack as he plunged into your wet ruined pussy, your walls clenching around him, still sensitive from your high with Yeosang. He fucked you with a vigorous pace, his abdomen tightening as the counter creaked under your combined weight. San's hand covered your mouth to muffle your cries as you began to scream out his name, his other hand gripping your hip too tightly to maintain his frantic drilling. He wasn't aiming for a slow climb to his release but instead the quickest route he could possibly take. Yeosang, in his own temporary satisfaction, kissed your shoulder tenderly, lazily, his hazy mind still dancing among the clouds. His tentacle joined San's hand in bringing you to another orgasm, rubbing your little nub in quick short circles. San groaned as he felt your pussy clamp down on his cock, and with a few more thrusts, he spilled his seed into you, his own release mixing with Yeosang’s warm eggs.

The bathroom door swung open just as San was pulling out of your thoroughly fucked hole, and in walked Wooyoung, his face flushed and his cock tenting the front of his pants. The sight before him, the sounds, and the smell of sex filling the room drove him into a frenzy. Wooyoung needed no invitation. He pulled you towards him roughly, bending you over the sink with an audible thud before lifting your dress out of his way. Without preamble, he entered you in one go, his cock sliding easily into your well-prepared hole. You felt full, completely stuffed with his huge cock, given his species was normally well-hung compared to most and your body buzzed with arousal at the forbidden nature of it all. You were definitely going to get an ear full from Hongjoong when you finally get back to the mission at hand. Wooyoung fucked you with wild strength, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass quickly filled the room. The mix of San and Yeosang's seed started to leak out of your pussy with each thrust only serving to heighten Wooyoung's desire to come deep inside you. He was like an animal in heat, even worse than Yeosang, driven by his need to claim what was his. His mate. His his his.

You could do nothing but hold onto the sink as Wooyoung jackhammered into you. Your own needs had been met multiple times over, but the relentless fucking continued, pushing you closer to the edge once more. You drooled onto the counter as your crackled moans played like music to all three men's ears. Wooyoung's grunts filled the room also, as he approached his high, his hands gripping your hips tightly, leaving marks on your soft skin with his sharp nails.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m gonna breed this tight hole, push all Yeosang’s eggs out. Make room for mine. Hmm.” Wooyoung chuckles making Yeosang suddenly chime in his growl deep and primal.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” The red in Yeosang’s eyes was evident that he was ready to fight Wooyoung but the other alien seemed to be more calm about the matter, staggering his hips slightly as he smirked devilishly.

“Try me.” With a final, powerful thrust, Wooyoung unloaded his cum deep into your cunt, his seed joining the mixture of his fellow aliens. Your body trembled as you felt yet another high building rapidly, threatening to overwhelm your whole body. As Wooyoung pulled out, his cum leaked out of you like a waterfall, mingling with the others, a sticky mess on the bathroom floor. But Wooyoung was quick to plug your hole back up with his fingers.

You slumped completely against the sink, your body spent, and thoroughly used. You looked at the three men surrounding you. You went to speak, but just as you opened your mouth, the air grew heavy with sirens blaring throughout the lavish ballroom under the door before entering the bathroom. The stomach-churning sound jolted you all. Then, as if on queue, suddenly, the door slammed open, and Seonghwa burst into the restroom, his face pale with frustration, concern, and a little turned on.

“Mingi got the cromer!...the fucking idiot” he shouted but mumble the last part. “We need to leave now!” Without a second thought, Yeosang hoisted you up into his arms adjusting your dress so you were covered. His strength returned as if sudden adrenaline coursed through his veins. You just clung to his shoulders, laughter bubbling between all four of you as they dashed out of the bathroom, hearts racing along with their feet.

The moment you all emerged, chaos erupted in the lavish ballroom. Guards with laser guns were already fanning out, searching with narrowed eyes, but you and your crew were ready. Darting past tables, ducking under chandeliers of illuminated crystals that might have cut the air above them. With Seonghwa leading the way, all the men twisted and turned through the maze-like corridors of the royal estate, Yeosang still tightly holding onto you, their crazed laughter mingling with frantic footsteps booming behind them. “That’s it! This way!” Seonghwa yelled, pointing towards an emergency exit where the ship docks lie.

As they neared the ship dock, they could hear the relentless footsteps of guards and more sirens blaring in the distance. “Hurry!” Hongjoong's voice echoed through the comm, urging his crew onward. With a final burst of speed, Yeosang propelled himself and you through the narrow closing door leading to your vessel, the Illusion. The sleek design of their ship loomed before you—a sanctuary waiting to be boarded.

“After me!” Hongjoong shouted as he helped Seonghwa aboard, hand in hand. Mingi and Jongho were already at the controls, having set the cloaking device to prepare for your escape, the cromer having been hooked up beautifully─Jongho’s handy work.

You felt your heart race, the thrill of the heist and the quick-not-so-quick fucking session igniting your senses. As you finally all piled into the ship, you caught a glimpse of the guards emerging quickly from the exit but Mingi was quicker. “Initiating launch now!” Mingi’s hands flew over the controls as he pressed the buttons with urgency.

Just as the guards reached them, the mighty engines of the Illusion roared to life. With a final surge, the ship lifted off the ground, and you looked back one last time, meeting the glances of hostile eyes as they faded into the stars. “Fuuuckk! We did it!” Mingi cheered, slapping Yeosang on the back as they flew into the depths of the galaxy, laughing at their narrow escape.

You finally let out the breath you were holding, your nose nuzzling into his scent gland on his neck, calming him and yourself. You beamed at him, who grinned back despite the weariness in his eyes. “Next time, can we skip the chaos?” You teased.

“I make no promises,” he replied with a wink walking you towards his chamber where he could finally get you all to himself for the rest of the night.

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yanderenightmare · 10 months ago

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TW: implied noncon/dubcon, omegaverse/hybrid au, size difference, predator x prey

gn reader

There’s nothing cuter than an Omega that doesn't know their place...

You’re an amusing little thing. Infinitely inferior and still trying to get away even though he’s stronger and faster and smarter in every way – trying ever so desperately anyway, despite knowing it’s pointless – how it will only end up with you tripping on your own tail and falling right back into his claws.

Silly little mate…

He can hear your heart beating. Desperately trying to supply your aching limbs as you sprint like death is on your heels.

He can hear your feet thump against the forest floor – each step clumsier than the former, turning sloppy and ever slower.

He can hear your breaths. Raw lungs burning, panting shallowly, catching in your throat as you choke on your tears.

Scrambling through the pines like prey – hair unruly and getting caught on the passing branches ripping at your face, picking yourself up each time your feet catch in the thick roots that lay coiled and curled like serpents in the dirt – feeling as if even the forest knows to punish you for being an Omega trying to deny and Alpha his rights.

He can tell your muscles are screaming at you now, begging for a break, pleading with you to take your chances and hide instead – even though you know it won’t do you any good when he can sniff out your scent – that though he can applaud the effort, running was already foolish enough on its own.

He’s barely breaking a sweat – right on your tail. His chuckles bounce off the trunks in mocking echoes – haunting you as you drain for energy second after meager second, knowing there’ll only be a short moment left until you hear the last laugh and feel the white pain of his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck.

You still find the energy to fight him, even when he has you pinned into the moss bed with the sky-scratching trees looming above you – the stars like onlookers, like an audience – the full moon too, like a god watching its cruel fate take place.

But you refuse to bow, even as he cuffs your wrists inside his almighty fist, pushing them into the mud – keeping you down and beneath him – your pretty face contorted into a snarl, fangs flashed at him with swivel-eyes livid and bleeding with crazed wilderness.

You sure are a funny little mate.

He looks forward to taming you.

BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Toji

DS – Doma, Sanemi

HxH – Illumi, Uvogin

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shibaraki · 1 year ago

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EXCERPT FROM EDEN ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: the further you delve into the forest the farther you find yourself from your village's good graces—subsequently pushed into the arms of a creature you were warned to stay away from.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, fantasy au, naga aizawa, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of violence (reader has bruises), reader is an outcast, bathing together, nesting, monsterfucking, mating bites (not A/B/O), aphrodisiac venom (so no prep needed), dubcon (for the venom) but v enthusiastic consent, non human genitalia (hemipenes), grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, creampie, aizawa carries reader (he is big n strong)

wc: 7.3K

There are monsters in the night.

Adults would spin tales about them when you were young. You were warned not to go near the forest. To never stray from the path. If a voice calls to you, do not answer. Look at your feet and cover your ears. Thoughts filled with blood-steeped, ugly stories of such creatures: half man half serpent taller than an ogre swallowing impious people up whole. Naga, the true tempter, the harbinger of misfortune.

Children spent idle time feigning courage and taunting the so-called beasts in spite of it; playing at the treeline, skittering over the border and rushing back with a surge of adrenaline, as if the creature had been right there awaiting a meal. But above all they liked to frighten you, the runt of the litter. Snakes like to eat mice, they would jeer. Little mouse they would call you. Perfect bait.

It had been dewy that fateful afternoon. You were chased deep into the unknown. Petichor hung thick around the trees after a sun shower. Summer was drawing to a close. Shorter days, darker mornings. Your elders would call the weather ‘temperamental’ and you liked that. As though the Gods were children clinging onto those last dregs of heat, unwilling to let go.

Grass flattened wet under your bare feet, you ran from sharp stones and sharper words. Ran until the only voice left in your head was your own. Lungs tight and spasming for oxygen. You felt eyes on you the moment foliage snapped under another tentative step—but the figure before you did not move. He remained on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head, body stretched long and bare across the narrow clearing to bathe in the sunspot. Lower, right at the base of his spine, pale skin faded seamlessly into black scales that made up the thick, sinuous tail of a snake.

Your knees stung where small open wounds touched the air. A gentle breeze flowed in through the underbrush, took your slight apprehension and whisked it into the thinning redwood canopy. As a child you simply couldn’t connect something so non threatening and lazy to the monsters of old.

You approached the naga with slow, telegraphed movements. Thin pupils drenched in vermillion glow observed behind a half lidded stare. Closer then, trembling hands tugged and stretched the hem of your shirt, popping the old stitching. “Hello,” you said, voice small even to your own ears. “I—I’m not a mouse. Just so you know”.

Something flickered in his expression; a stifled inhale, a brief shift, the naga sighed. It rolled through his body, belly turning toward the sky. Sunlight reflected on the exposed underside and shimmered iridescent, stealing your breath. “That much is obvious,” he replied tiredly.

“Then, you won’t eat me?” before he had the chance to answer, you’d already been emboldened. You tottered toward him with a surge of energy and sureness. “Thank you. Can we be friends?”

“No,” he muttered, retreating into his coils.

A familiar sensation stung behind your eyes and your bottom lip trembled fiercely. It built up in your body and collapsed. Loneliness, shame, the incessant, throbbing ache in your limbs after sprinting so far. You tried again, a quiet warble. “Please?”

But a stern voice rumbled from the layers of muscle, uninterested in your swelling emotions. “Go away kid,” the naga demanded. “It’s not safe out here”.

“M’not a kid,” then you kicked the dirt in a burst of wounded anger. While bigger than you, this naga wasn’t even close to towering an oni, so you bluffed petulantly, “You’re a kid too”.

“While that may be true I am still older than you,” came the disgruntled remark. Then, faster than you could register, an arm shot out from between the dark coils and took you by the throat.

Reflexively, you gripped the naga’s wrist with both hands. But you didn’t flinch. Rather than fight his hold you waited, rabbit-footed heart beating in your chest. Violence was nothing new to a runt like you. The hand slid up to your chin and forced you to keep his gaze. His eyes flickered strangely there in the darkness. Red like fresh blood. The ire in them faltered at your spiritless reaction.

“Annoying human. Your lack of instinct will get you killed,” the creature stated. You said nothing. He continued, “You’re far from home. Follow the river to your settlement. Do not come back here”.

You recall how abruptly your senses sharpened at his mention and latched onto the distant sound of running water. He freed you from his grip, pale limb slinking back into the recesses of his twisted tail. He reminded you of a snail receding into its shell. Boring, lazy and slow moving. Naga were not so frightening, you concluded.

You returned with reluctance, following the riverbank until the end of your new world where it broke into a wishbone shape and wound around the village. Adults frowned at the dry mud caking your feet, ankles and calves. Their calloused fingers squeezed roughly around your wrists and dragged you to the springs to scrub you raw.

“Where on earth have you been?” one asked, mouth set in a frown. Another held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressed into your collarbone with intention to bruise. “Your stupidity is going to curse us all,” they shook you in place and their strength only grew the more you fought. “Do not provoke the naga. Understand?”

Faces twisted in disappointment haunted you all through the night. Eyes sore and puffy. Tears soaked into your shirt; you could taste them in the back of your throat. Oval-shaped bruises adorned your collar yet your throat and your jaw remained unblemished, if not a little tender. You were hurt, but not by the one you were warned against.

Your second excursion into the forest to see the naga was of your own volition. He was not where you first met him but nearby, curled up beneath an ancient tree, right where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. The wind billowed. Branches swayed and bent their spindly fingers, pointed at you, almost accusingly.

He appeared to be sleeping. Again. Arms folded atop his tail, chin rested on the cradle it made. Perhaps there was something wrong with you—as the elders often stated—but you were not entirely stupid. You kept your hands to yourself, letting only your eyes wander as you crept close enough to see the soft curve of his jaw, the sloped nose, the youthful cheeks.

Long dark hair draped loosely over pale shoulders, expression serene while he rested. You thought he was lovely. Not at all beastly. Right down to the dip of his stomach, where skin vanished into bony hips and an obsidian tail.

A guttural hum startled you where you stood. Unmoving, the naga murmured, “Do you have a death wish?”

That voice untied every knot in your body. “N—no,” you held strong. “I told you, I want to be friends”.

“And I told you that’s not happening”.

When he peeked at you through dark curtains into those dim eyes there came a softness, as though atoning for his harsh words. Under that gaze your stomach started to rumble. “You’re hungry,” you shrunk, palms pressed flat as though to snuff out the sound. “Humans need to eat multiple times a day, do they not?”

“…Sometimes,” your agreement was barely a mumble. “If there is enough for me”.

The naga scrutinised you and your answer, displeased by it. After a long silence he unravelled and asked, “Do you want food?”

Hope filled you from root to stem. You bloomed. Stretched for the open sky like a flower seeking sun, bouncing on the tips of your toes. “Food?” you echoed excitedly. You trailed after him and nearly tripped in your haste. He caught you with the end of his tail and sighed. It coiled tightly around your middle and inched you along with him.

Having glanced surreptitiously in his direction, your warm human hand swept across the cool dark scales. They were glossy and smooth, unlike anything you’d ever felt. As he moved you sensed the power in his limb.

“What do naga eat?”

“Anything. Fish, birds, insects,” he told you. The coil around your waist flexed as if to check you were there. Hearing your trepidation his tone lilted as he added, “But what you’re really asking is if I eat humans, aren’t you?”

You rubbed where you thought his belly might be and pondered aloud, “Would you, if they deserved it?”

He scowled over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. “What kind of a question is that, kid?”

You wilted at the sharp verbiage, feeling scolded, though unable to understand his offense. After all, that is exactly what the villagers would say of you if ever he decided to.

That only seemed to fuel his frustration. You worried in the face of it, for a weak moment. Warnings you’ve clamoured in your conscience, soon chased by immediate guilt. Your new friend had offered kindness and there you were, assuming the worst of him.

Sensing your turmoil the naga cautiously brought his hand to your head. Front to back, pausing at a vulnerable, unmarked nape. He attempted to pet you. Wide eyed, you stared ahead until every leaf in the grove coalesced into a green blur. His touch had been deliberate, soft and soothing despite the tension set in his face.

Laid in the palm of his other hand was a pile of plum red berries. The coils relaxed to recline you into a comfortable position and wordlessly, you shared the small treat together. Teeth glinted sharp in the daylight, made to rend flesh from bone. They sank tender into thin skin until it burst and he hummed at the flavour enjoying a simple pleasure like any human boy would.

Their fruity tang clung to your tongue. You took your fill and more. “Thank you…” your voice lost strength, no name to fill the blanks.

“Aizawa,” he muttered. A rough swipe of his thumb across your lips wiped away the citrus. “It’s Aizawa Shouta. And don’t speak with your mouth full”.

The sky darkened on the eventide. Aizawa bid you a flippant farewell, your name at home in his mouth, and you erred on caution, changing course to wash the dirt and foliage from your body. Loud was the pounding of your heart against your ribs, a frantic beat. But nobody batted an eye at your presence, nor the absence of it.

Those short excursions continued for some time. Be it a stroke of boredom, or loneliness, you would find yourself treading back through the banks, to Aizawa’s territory. There was never a discernible path leading to him. Your legs would simply take you there, heart magnetised like the arrow of a compass. Whilst the village raised you with harsh, inattentive hands, he became your North. Years passed together and eyes turned as your insatiable curiosity grew, along with your carelessness.

And with that carelessness came consequences.

Fate is a funny thing. You are sprinting through the forest, feet pounding against the dirt alongside the ghost of your childhood self. The enraged shouts have long since tapered into silence yet you can’t allow yourself to slow. Your limbs ache, a bone deep permafrost, fatigued muscles clenching.

They’d followed you yesterday. Unexpected, given how deliberately people avoided the village border. Everything collapsed in one fell swoop. A single misstep and your life was upturned. You heard their plans to confine you in the shrine and knew—you’d never be able to see Shouta again.

Lost in your muddied stream of consciousness your foot is caught in a bundle of jagged roots. Mossy fingers coil around your ankle. You stumble, taking impact to the knees. The sting is muted as it knocks the air from your burning lungs.

You gasp, a wet and raspy breath; an apocalyptic spring fills your chest. The trees are in bloom. High above the blossoms are pale pink, like branches covered in snow. Ash flowers fell slowly to coat the ground. They get in your hair, your clothes and your eyes.

Shouta finds you there. He has always had the uncanny ability to sense you in his territory, as though the forest were an extension of himself. Your neck strains to lift your head, looking through lashes to see his silhouette. Red eyes flash in the distance, and in a mere blink he is at your side.

“Shouta—”

A low, guttural sound reverberates in the back of his throat. You’re scooped into his embrace. He is gentle with you, always aware of the difference in size and strength, and your heart beats harder for it. “You’re early,” he says. “What happened?”

You exhale through the fresh tenderness searing, “They know”.

Shadows shift above you. A curtain of hair hangs in your periphery. Shouta sinks until your eyes are level. Big. He hit a frightening growth spurt after his juvenile shed. A broad chest, shoulders corded with muscle, his long tail heavy enough to disturb the natural topography of the forest floor. Uneven scars littered across his skin from territorial disputes that you were not privy to. The most recent curves along his right cheekbone, fresh and pink.

Your gaze lingered as you took in his expression. Mouth downturned in obvious discontent but eyes dark, pensive. Beautiful even when he is doing nothing at all.

Shouta’s irises flickered in the softening light of the afternoon sun. Fingers drumming on lacquer scales. “They know?” he repeats. Irritation coated the words, as it often did when speaking of your village. “They should have realised years ago”.

Like him, you had shed your own urgent adolescence. The world became smaller and you preferred it that way. It spun around Shouta as if he were your own axis. When you were with him there was something much bigger than childlike wonder.

“That’s different. I wasn’t anything important. But now I’ve… been slacking on my duties to see you,” embarrassed, you tear up the thinning grass, seated at the foot of his coils. “I’m old enough to be of use, so my absence is noticeable,”

“You were a child. Running off God knows where. You’re lucky an orc didn’t decide to pick his teeth with you,” the snap in his voice almost hurt, but there was no bite nor true anger aimed at you. You’ve had these arguments before.

“I’m lucky because I had you to protect me,” you amended gently, a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth. It took a while for you to realise that he tailed you home each time you visited, just to be sure. His scales shift at your back, carrying the praise through his body. “I know it bothers you, Shouta, but this is just how things are. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on”.

“This is not about you being careful,” Shouta mutters, though you get the sense he has no energy to truly argue. You hesitate in the brief silence. He takes you by the wrist, not the hand, and you pout about it.

He encourages you to come. You tread through the thick, clammy air as the sun beats down on your shoulders. Shouta takes you up the valley. Where the treeline ends the mouth of the river funnels south, surface glittering softly as the currents part around a large rock in the centre; top smoothed down flat for sunning. You watched while he sunk into the water, tail disappearing behind him as it submerged and disturbed the silt.

“Come on,” he coaxes begrudgingly. You dither by the edge, picking at your sleeve.

“I can’t get my clothes wet”.

Shouta reaches the rock, bracing an arm against it. Draped in open sunlight he turns to level you with a flat look. “Then take them off. Don’t bother giving excuses. I already know you’re wounded, I can smell it”.

Shit. You wince, resting a hand over the marks across your ribs and hip. You were so sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

Anticipation churned in your stomach. You’ve never been nude in front of him before—though not for lack of wanting, and you suppose he himself has always been naked in human terms. You swallow down trepidation and lift your shirt over your head, gaze resolutely pointed away from the river, which rippled with every minute shift Shouta’s tail.

The currents are a cool caress against your body as you step into the river, soothing the bruises. Tentative, you wade further, arms folded over your breasts for some semblance of modesty. Once you’re standing in waist high water something hard, smooth—Shouta’s tail wraps around you and pulls you close.

“Deep water,” he mutters softly. You’re pressed skin to skin. His throat bobs and he looks away. “Can’t have you drowning”.

“Right,” you say, left breathless by the proximity. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Sinew and muscle expands. Rigid scales dotted along his navel press against your abdomen as he sprawled around the sunning rock. “Thank you”.

He hums in lieu of a response. Small waves lap up your spine as he adjusts his grip, holding you with one arm around your lower back. Shouta traces his thumb over the large mark on your pelvis, the claw tip catching. “You said they found out. So this is the result?”

You grimace weakly at the subject. It was naïve to hope he would let it go. “It’s my fault. I was careless,” you tried, slumped in his embrace as though filled with wet sand. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand. I should’ve tried to explain years ago—”

“You and your misplaced guilt,” Shouta’s jaw ticks. He inhales deeply, his next words quieter on a long exhale. “Stop rationalising their mistreatment. They’re stuck in their ways”.

“Maybe. But I…”

The truth was that an ugly part of you had never wanted them to change for the better. You wanted Shouta to yourself for as long as he’s willing and their ignorance made it so. Fear kept them away. But it also stoked their anger.

“I can’t help but wonder why they're so against it,” you tuck your chin and smile despite the lump lodged in your throat, suddenly feeling naked in all manner of ways. “They treat me like a curse. And I know it’s natural to fear what you don’t understand, but if they just knew you—!”

“Humans should fear my kind,” Shouta interrupts, a bite to his tone. Your eyes dipped low, and you traced your fingers over the intricate mosaic of scales across his clavicle to avoid his sharp gaze. A short moment passes. “Your association with me doesn’t make you a harbinger of ill omen,” he murmurs, sweeping his hand along the planes of your back in silent apology. “If anything you’ve been protecting them from one”.

You lift your head. His pupils dilate, soften. “I have?”

A broad palm wraps around the nape of your neck, the other resting over your bruised hip. Shouta’s thumb brushes over your pulse. “If not for your insistence and naïve altruism I would have killed them for neglecting you,” Shouta admitted, bringing you tighter to his front. You’re taken deeper, until your feet no longer reach the riverbed and the cold no longer bites.

“When will you prioritise yourself?” he continues. “I’m starting to think you would pull out your own teeth if it could guarantee you’d never hurt anyone”.

You smile, a little dazed by how favourably he regarded you. His skin is cool under your fingertips. “That’s not quite true,” you trace the scar beneath his eye and he slows, turning into your palm. The pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. There you find those monstrous teeth, large and sharp behind his lips. The touch feels momentous, like something only lovers do. “And either way, I’d still have yours to protect me”.

Shouta rumbles at that. The vibrations loosen up the tension in your chest and satisfaction gathers warm in your belly. “Lean back,” he murmurs. Anticipation swoops through your belly as you recline in his arms, cradling you above the ripples to wash your body with his own hands.

“This water has healing properties. Further down the mountain the river splits and forms a hot spring,” Shouta’s claw-tipped fingers brush your nipple, pert under his attention. Your breath hitches. He pays it no mind, palm sliding over each breast and along your shoulders, wiping down the sweat and dirt. The pressure remains delicate around your waist, careful not to agitate the bruises.

Shouta kneads the soft parts of your body even after the filth is gone. You hum, allowing yourself to enjoy his attention. Everything feels heavier. Gravity bears hard on your arms as they lift to brush the wet hair back from his face and you marvel at how his eyelids flutter closed, one after the other. You comb through his roots, scratching lightly over his scalp before working loose the knots at the ends.

Something is beginning to swell beneath you but a quiet contentment overwhelms the reciprocal arousal stirring in your gut. Watching the tension in his face trickle away, eyes falling closed so dark lashes fan over pale cheeks. Your fingertips trace along the smattering of scales by his temple and notice a new vivid sheen to them.

“You look brighter,” you murmur, curious.

Awareness flies over his features. You almost miss it given how swiftly he buries it, taking on that familiar monotonous air. After years spent detailing the subtleties in every fleeting expression and spoken word you’ve become quite accustomed to Shouta concealing his embarrassment.

Turning away from your prying eyes, the line of his jaw becomes sharper as he swallows. “It’ll soon be my seasonal rut,” he tells you, feigning indifference. “My scales are more vibrant for the purpose of attracting a mate”.

“A mate?” you echo uselessly. Dread churns in the pit of your stomach. You knew well what having a ‘mate’ entailed. A white hot sensation prickles at your nape that not even the cool water can quell. In your naivety—and perhaps, selfishness—you’d never considered that he might find somebody else. Somebody suitable. “That’s… really great, Shouta. But who? I thought you chased off the last bed of naga that passed through?”

At this, a frown etched into Shouta’s brow. “You’re making a few unnecessary leaps in that head of yours,” he mutters. “At what point did I say my mate needed to be a naga?”

There’s something in his voice that gives weight to what he’s doing. It echoes an unspoken proposition. Unbidden from the recesses of your mind rose the wishful thoughts you’d imagined so often they were practically dogeared. A shiver trickled down your spine, caught in a gauzy yet comfortable silence as Shouta continued to clean your body.

The tip of his tongue peeks out to taste the air once he’s done. You fruitlessly will your body to temper its desire, to feign some semblance of control as you lift your head, no longer denying him the answer written plainly on your face.

“…I want that,” you confess, picking up the thread he left. You rub across his shoulders and bring your palms together in the middle of his chest, folded over his heart. “I can't go back. Take me home with you. Keep me”.

Shouta looks surprised—a microexpression, if anything; imperceptible to anyone but you—as though he hadn't expected you to accept. You’re warmed by the idea that he might’ve been hoping for more without expectation.

That’s all you’ve ever known, failed expectations.

A beat passes. You think he might be giving you a grace period—allowing time for a regret that never comes. When he realises you’ve no intention to take it back he sucks a hiss through his teeth, and you’re close enough to see his thin pupils spill into his irises until they’re inky black.

The river breaks around you, water foaming at the surface as Shouta unwittingly guides your knotted bodies to the shore. “I see you’re still as reckless as you were when we were children,” he says, sounding hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to”.

“I’m saying yes to you, Shouta,” your voice strains, desperation creeping in when you feel his arms loosen and your feet brush the wet bank. “Teach me what I don’t know because I hate leaving. I hate missing you”.

The rough sensation of Shouta’s scales against your inner thighs rippled through your body, core tightening as he retained his grip around your waist. “This is not a conversation we’re having in the open,” he takes you both out of the water and you shy away from the cool air.

He bends over to collect your clothes and drapes them in your naked lap. You clutch the fabric close, “Where are we going?”

“To my den. No questions until then”.

The journey to Shouta’s den is long, deliberately so. Caught in his coils you go, without trepidation—like a willing little mouse, your mind whispers. Only on the third cycle do you realise that he is purposefully traveling in circles to cover his tracks. Aside from the occasional birdsong and cicada you don’t hear anything for miles. It’s so peaceful that you forget that a world exists outside of this vast, sprawling forest.

In time he reaches the den. The sky has darkened to an early dawn, the gloaming orange light casting shadows over Shouta’s face as he leans over you to shield you from the overgrowth to get to the entrance.

Arched tall and gaping, the bumpy outer walls of the cave are fissured with fingerlings of old tree roots. Shrouded in darkness, Shouta slithers around the stalagmites protruding from the floor with ease. Inside the air is thick, humid as he carries you deeper, metres further down, refusing to release you from his coils.

Meandering into a broader section, Shouta spreads out easily in the cavern. You blink around as your vision adjusts and notice narrow streams of light threading through the stalactites hung on the ceiling. Twinkling are various trinkets, tied around and dangling from the spikes. Jewels, chainmail, rusted daggers, cutlery.

When you were a young you’d spend sleepless nights imagining where Shouta lived, conjuring possibilities only a child could. Despite that curiosity you never asked to see his home—you knew, innately, as an avid observer of creatures big and small, that it would be an invasion of his privacy. But of everything you imagined it had been nothing like this.

There’s a wide alcove at the back of the cavern, housing what appears to be a nest near an extinguished fire pit, still carrying the faint scent of smoke. Shouta lowers you into it and slinks away for a moment to discard your clothes. Warmth engulfs you, insulated in the structure. There are branches both large and small intricately woven and padded with an assortment of pelts, lichen and moss. Most notable is the snakeskin used to hold together the joints of the nest.

You pinch a piece delicately between your thumb and forefinger. It’s thick, smoother than expected. “Is this yours?”

Though far off his voice reaches your ears, “Is that your first question?”

Shouta returns holding what looks to be a blanket. His tail drags behind him. The sound ripples around the space. When shaken out and draped over your bare lower half you discover that the blanket is actually the rest of his shed. It’s beautiful, inexplicably silky while being heavy and tough.

You tug the snakeskin higher up your body and note how fervently he tracks the movement. “Yes, it’s mine. It strengthens the nest,” Shouta explains, beginning a languorous dance circling the nest as though he were adding himself to it. Your attention does not stray as his tail coils upon itself, lap after lap until you’re entirely surrounded.

“You’ve been planning this,” you comment. How long had it taken for him to craft it? Did he imagine what you’d think? “It’s beautiful”.

Pleased with the height, Shouta’s upper body slinks down into the centre where you wait. Home. Not simply a place but an extension of his body, like the forest. You’re directly in the heart. A place that you alone have been allowed to see.

Your mind drifts to the feckless creatures and travelers who’ve wandered this way only to be killed. But rather than fear, or sorrow, a distinctive emotion welled up inside you. You felt special.

“It’s mainly instinct. Not much planning,” he says.

You reach to cup his cold face in your hands. Cheeks flush, like all the blood in him had rushed to the surface to greet you. He rumbles as your thumb traces an arc along his newest scar, tucking his chin to nuzzle into your palm. It’s cute, though you wouldn’t dare say that.

A content hum vibrates behind his ribs, “You’re so warm”. Then you feel the tentative press of lips and of fangs underneath. He kisses your heartline. You falter at the uncharacteristic show of affection, clutching his snakeskin tighter. His dark gaze falls to your partially covered chest. Low and supple he asks, “Do you know what it means to wear a naga skin?”

You slowly shake your head.

“Naga gift their sheds to be used in nests or as armour for their mates,” propped onto his arm Shouta presses closer, forcing your thighs to bracket the thick of his tail. “It’s viewed as a public claim,” he stops short a hair's breadth from your wanting mouth, sharing a shallow inhale.

Filled with intrepid awe, your fingertips walk the slope of his throat, hands laying flat to his chest. A hummingbird’s wing, a pulse belying his nerves. You reach for your voice, “Does this make me yours?”

Shouta blinks, pupils dilating. The distant trickle of water dripping from the stalactites echoes throughout the cavern. You feel his stomach clench where your touch slips lower, “Are you sure you want to be?”

“Since you fed me those berries in the east valley”.

“You were a child,” Shouta huffs, doing a poor job at appearing unaffected.

“Children sometimes imagine falling in love, you know,” a small, sad smile comes unbidden to your lips. “I never had anyone to play pretend with,” you tell him softly, meeting his eyes. “You always took care of me. Back then I wondered if that’s what it’d be like to have a husband when I came of age”.

With a furrow in his brow, Shouta cradles your jaw. He tucks his thumb against the corner of your downturned mouth, “A husband?”

“The human equivalent of a mate. A husband or wife,” you say. “Marriage is a promise to be together for the rest of your lives”.

“And you want that. The rest of your life,” Shouta’s words are hoarse, they sound thick in his throat. He brings your foreheads together, almost reverential, and dark tendrils of hair fall around you. “With me?”

You swallow. “Yes. I want…”

Your wandering hand stills at his navel, right in the bend where skin turned to scale. You’re reminded that he isn’t a human man. What you’ve been taught about sex and the parts that go along with the act—that knowledge is mostly worthless here.

Curious, you palm the growing bump where a cock would be, index finger tracing the thin slit along the middle, teasing him as you would tease yourself. Shouta grabs your wrist, arm braced above your head to rock into the touch, a frisson of iridescence rippling through his scales.

The airy groan in his throat quells your anxiety and feeds your longing. Chin tilted, your mouths aligned, a petal-soft brush that shakes him from his reverie and draws him back. You complain and curl your arms around his neck, missing him. He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t retreat any further.

“Careful,” he lifts his upper lip and pushes the tip of his tongue to his left fang. A pinprick of his blood wells there. “You’ll catch yourself”.

“Are you venomous?” and you pout, noticing the mirth flickering across his face. “What?”

“Not in the way you’re imagining. Pay attention,” he answers, and bends to tuck his nose into the hollow of your throat. His jaw unhinges, tasting you with a deep inhale. Oh. Your pulse rockets when he drags his fangs there in suggestion of a bite—breath held as they barely break skin and an abrupt heat tingles around the scratch.

“Wh—what does it do?” you gasp in wonder, poking the blooming mark as Shouta hums, descending to drag his lips over the peaks of your breasts.

“Humans call it a lot of things. An aphrodisiac, drug, relaxant,” he says. Each word is a kiss left everywhere but the one place you need it. Blood rushes to your ears. “A mating bite eases the burden. Makes sure your body ready for me,” you watch on with bated breath while he reaches lower, and jolt, ensnared in his half lidded gaze as he lightly drags his knuckles through your wet folds. His thumb finds your clit, massaging a few light circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch, and Shouta grins at your soft whine, “Though you’re already doing that beautifully on your own”.

Desperate, you grapple at his shoulders. He rises with an indulgent smile and you lean to kiss him. A clumsy thing, open mouthed and needy, receding enough to make room for protest before kissing him again, and again, nipping the seam of his lips. Hair stands on end as the world suddenly tips on its axis and your positions are reversed.

You’ve no chance to mourn the loss. Shouta lay on his back. He sinks into the nest and draws your knee over his hip. A shiver licks up your spine as you sit low on his navel, entirely bare and wet; with him being so sensitive to his surroundings there’s no doubt he can feel the beat of desire between your thighs.

The flesh spills between his fingers as Shouta squeezes your waist. “I can feel you throbbing,” he murmurs. His own heat is swelling between you. Sticky arousal smeared on your inner thighs. Shouta’s vent pulses in time with his heart—and yours. You exhale a shaky breath, relieved and exhilarated that he wants you too. The growing pressure pushes against your clit and your hips twitch, a fleeting stutter to relieve the ache.

Shouta groans. Large hands find purchase at your hips, appreciating how your body yields to his touch, and encourages you to move. “Oh,” comes a soft gasp, feeling his swollen slit flower open beneath your cunt, leaking arousal. The friction, or lack thereof, is incredible, and you repeat the motion, seeking it again.

It’s slick where your bodies meet. The obscene wet sound of you rocking together leaves you dazed. Shouta’s lower half shifts as arousal zips through him and the nest creaks. “Fuck, feels good. More,” you demand breathlessly. Something else nudges against your clit with every pass, two heads budding from the vent, and your eyes screw shut—

Two?

A groan falls from Shouta’s mouth and your frantic realisation dissolves. You can hardly think. He licks the curve of your throat, nuzzling the barely-there-mark he’d left. Infinitesimal and yet it hasn’t stopped throbbing. An ache spreads through your hips, his hands rutting you against the swell with a desperate rhythm.

“Shouta,” you say, overwhelmed. “Do it. Bite me, fuck me, please. Please. I want—I want to—!”

The sharp pain is dulled so quickly you’re not sure it was ever there. Shouta sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck, a hand firm at your nape to keep you still. Vision blurred, your mouth drops open around a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you—the venom close behind, forcing your seized muscles pliant and stoking your arousal until it’s burning from the inside out.

Shouta releases your neck and trails his fingertips along the length of your back. You whine, a helpless and confused little sound, when the heat allays under his affections. Your thighs are trembling, slipping down his hips as you use the last of your inertia to curl into his chest.

He cradles your limp form amongst his coils, creating a protective barrier around you in such a vulnerable state. “I have you,” he says, the shaky baritone of his voice coaxing your eyes open. Half-cognisant, not quite in and not quite outside of yourself.

“…It’s too much,” you pant.

“I know,” Shouta kisses your temple, paving his way to the corner of your mouth, “You’re doing so well”.

You turn lazily into the kiss. Your thighs have fallen open further, and you subconsciously raise yourself up to better the angle. The blunt tip of one of his cocks nudges through your folds and a white hot sensation prickles over your skull. Shouta lowers you onto his cock with care, muscles corded tight in obvious restraint, wanting to ease you into the stretch. He’s thicker than a human, subtle soft ridges lining the sides, caressing you in places your fingers could never reach.

You begin to tremble and the air is pushed from your lungs with a gasping sob as he splits you open. The sensation is hard to decipher through the haze. Your ears ring, the sound high and metallic. It isn’t numbing—no, you can feel everything, every minute shift, pulse and ridge. It’s an intrusive, satisfying ache, an insurmountable pressure. There’s no part of you he isn’t touching. You consider, the thought vague and half-formed, that when Shouta bit you something in your brain must’ve rewired itself. Synapses crossed, addled by venom, convincing you of pleasure where there would otherwise be pain.

Your small world grows ever smaller. Shouta is all encompassing. His dark hair is tickling your face, smooth scales rippling under your cheek. He’s saying something—he must be, because his mouth is moving above you, murmuring what sounds like sweet incantations of your name.

An immaculate red glow pools into his irises as they roll skyward, brow furrowed in concentration. His second cock drools across his belly, where it lay trapped by your bodies. The slick underside of his cock wet and pulsing against your clit, fully sheathed.

“Do you have any idea how you feel—fuck,” Shouta’s jaw clenched as his cock recedes, leaving only the tip kissing your folds, before he fucks into you again. A shudder quakes through his coils. They constrict around the nest and Shouta pins you to his chest, thick arms held firm around your shoulders and back, tightening with every squirm. “Mine. Knew it had to be you,” came his hushed babbles, composure finally fraying at the seams.

With the surety that you’re not in pain, his pace grows, his rhythm earnest. Laved in shared arousal, you’re so wet every ingress is indelibly easy. To call yourself helpless would be to imply that you wanted to escape. You surrender to the unending, overbearing rapture, sprawled over your Shouta’s lap like a pile of loose skeins with a drunken smile. Chest heaving in exertion despite doing so little. The atmosphere is so oppressively humid that it’s hard to catch your breath.

It feels like he’s carving out something irreplaceable inside of you. A space that only he can fill, a craving only he can sate. Your hips stutter uselessly, grinding your clit against his other cock. Rather than building to a climax it feels as if you’ve toppled into one that never ends, only ebbs and flows without ever ceasing.

Shouta pulls you impossibly closer, so close your could feel the long stretch of his torso, every raised scar and curve. He nudges your temple until your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you’re looking at him. “Soft. You’re so—shit. You’re so soft. Human,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, short tendrils of hair sticking to skin. You flutter around the flared head of his cock as it pulls out, “Look. I can feel you sucking me back in. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You follow his gaze, watching the dark, inhuman length of his cock disappear into your folds again and again, strings of moisture stretching between you. “Shouta,” his name feels thick in your mouth. You blink, air cool against your wet cheeks. “I need—I need you to—”

Nodding deliriously, his bruising grasp on you shifts. Shouta fucks into you feverishly, with an intensity that you fear might engulf you.“Fuck—!” a tremor quakes through his coils. Something audibly snaps in the nest. Shouta’s hips stutter, a long, breathy moan pulled loose deep in his chest, drawn out as a wet, sticky heat fills you—so much that it leaks between your thighs—and the immediate relief of his release has you clawing crescent moons into his shoulders.

Tipping over the crest, a final wave crashes over you. The convulsions force your eyes shut, so tight that pinpricks of light pierce the solid darkness, transforming into a kaleidoscope of vivid colour. The world falls away for a fleeting moment and you only feel yourself clamping around his cock, soaking his lap.

You resurface slowly, as does the sensation returning to your limbs. Venom remedied, easing in your system. You inhale, wince at the tenderness making space beside the contentment in your body, and Shouta runs a smoothing hand down your spine. It sweeps back up to your nape to gently trace the bite on your neck. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

You press a kiss to his collar, another under his jaw, “I’m sore and sticky. I’ve never orgasmed that hard in my life. But you didn’t hurt me”. Shouta purrs at that. It’s a noise you’ve only ever heard in the golden hour, when he’s sunning himself. Pure contentment.

You cup his cheek and gently turn him to face you. You kiss him, mouth bruised, fangs peeking through parted lips. Dark eyes soften. He’s no longer inside of you, noted with a weak clench, and his second cock remains half hard between your stomachs. Free to move, you wiggle in his embrace until it lines up, the suggestion kindling to the now twinging emptiness.

Shouta huffs, a loving admonishment, and carefully guides his second cock inside you. You hiss at the sensitivity but it isn’t unpleasant. Satisfaction balloons in your chest and you curl up against him with a pleased hum; no urgency, together for the sake of closeness.

“I’ll feed you and help you wash after I’ve calmed down,” he says. There’s no sign of discomfort or regret in his voice as he stares toward the mouth of the cave. Just a primal need to be alert, to stay vigilant for his mate. “I’ll be a little overbearing for the rest of the night. Be patient with me”.

Your gaze too lingers at the maw, recalling those blood-steeped, ugly stories of monstrous creatures. Indeed there are monsters in the night. But none of them are here.

A wide smile pulls at your lips, “We’ve got all the time in the world”.

#bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #mha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader

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beddybites · 6 months ago

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HIII ❤️ I love your AU ideas! I just wanted to ask ~ how does Kaburamaru handle baby Obanai? Does he get super protective over the baby, even when the other hashira come to take care of him? Does he try to get help from a hashira when Obanai is hungry or thirsty? And when the baby is crying, does he try to calm him down with hugs and cuddles? 🥺 Just the idea of Kaburamaru being super protective and careful and caring towards little Obanai makes my heart bawl 😭 i can imagine the two being inseparable, and if Obanai is separated from Kaburamaru then he's gonna cry his eyes out 😭

hey hi anon!! sorry for the late response ahhh x_x

im so happy to hear you like my silly little au... to answer your question-- you're exactly right!

kaburamaru is extremely protective and helpful with the baby

if obanai is upset he goes to find someone to help. if obanai is hungry he finds someone to feed him

however he also tends to help in ways that may inconvenience the others. if obanai does not want to use his pacifier kaburamaru will hide it somewhere, for instance, under the porch of gyomei's estate

the serpent loves to snuggle up to him. obanai is a bit embarrassed by it but whenever he's in baby mode he just clings onto him. kaburamaru is a huge source of comfort to obanai either way

a lot of the time kaburamaru is able to get obanai to regress INTO baby mode via snuggling up to him and giving him little kisses

the hashira learned not to separate them at risk of an angry and frightened/hurt baby obanai

but kaburamaru is indeed extra careful with him... he tries not to coil around him or open his jaw around him in fear of it either scaring the baby or hurting the baby

it turns out it doesn't do either. the baby loves his serpentine friend

baby mode obanai has a habit of 'blepping' / sticking his tongue out to mimic kabruamaru. it of course makes everyone coo at the two

tengen and mitsuri also collaborated and made him a kaburamaru onesie (seen here) so they can match

it's obanai's favorite outfit

and kaburamaru's

reposting this old gem... ignore how kaburamaru is much smaller than he should be i can never get his scaling right

that baby loves his serpentine friend.... and kaburamaru loves him just as much!!! do not separate them ever

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sinful-lanterns · 6 months ago

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Ok, so I saw the Chelsea pearl cum thirst and for obvious reasons my mind went to oviposition, and then I got the best idea ever.

I present to you...

✨Path to Nowhere Monster AU!✨

Reader a regular, everyday citizen somehow finds herself in the middle of many monsters getting infatuated with her then they proceed to try court reader and make her their mate.

I got a good list of what type of monsters I think the sinners would be, I also wanted to keep a variety of monsters so there aren't any doubles.

Cheif - Witch

Nightingale - Cheif's apprentice or familiar

Uni - Frankenstein Monster

Cinnabar - Centaur

Ninety-Nine - Hellhound

Rahu - Werewolf

Oak Casket - Litch or something else undead/ that affiliates with dead things

Hamel - Puppet or Kraken

NOX - Grim Reapper

Bai Yi - Jinn (I looked it up and jinns move super fast and can phase through solid matter.)

Serpent - Naga

Shalom - Fallen Angel

Lamia - Siren

Chealse - Gorgon (She turns people into gems instaed of stone, she can turn things into gems with physical contact too, oh and her hair can shift between human hair and snake hair.)

Cassia - Vampire

Eirene - Dragon

Stargazer - Geinie

Conquelic - Succubus

Garofano - Drider(Half human, half spider)

Deren - Reality Bending Eldritch Horror (I don't have a name for her monster specifically but she'd be some kind of godly horror.)

This is all I have right now, but feel free to use and change whatever you wish!

This is an old thirst but I’ve been saving it for when I was ready to share my thoughts on it 😌

ANYWAYS HHHHHHH. Monster girls are my obsession rn. Rather than an ordinary citizen though, I imagine Reader could be like a curious researcher who likes to document and explore different territories in which monsters inhabit. As she is wandering aimlessly for her research though, she stumbles upon various different monster women (many of which want to claim Reader for themselves) and it leads to interesting scenarios with them and the poor Researcher.

Researcher! Reader who oftentimes finds herself in the coils of a lamia, trapped in the web of a drider/arachne, or stuck in the middle of a vampire orgy while on her expeditions. Multiple times has she been the object of these monsters’ affection, yet all she wants to do is finish her guidebook on monsters and biology 😅

Oh, poor Reader… unfortunately for her, monster girls are attracted to cute oblivious nerds 😭😭

#⛓️ interrogation complete #monster au #I love all these monster ideas too #thank you for the list

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starrynightmuse · 4 months ago

Text

Sign of the Times 🏛⏳️ I. Broken Dragonfly Wings

Aemond Targaryen x reader, Library of Alexandria AU

(Title inspired by the Harry Styles song)

Blurb: It's summer in Alexandria, Egypt, and the heat has reached sweltering heights. Children dash toward the banks of the Nile, eager to find relief in the cool waters while ladies fan themselves under the shade of palm trees. Thick mud huts keep families cool under the boiling sun. It would be 1,892 years before the first ice cubes would be invented and nearly two millennia until air conditioning. Even Jesus Christ wouldn’t be born until another 48 years. But you have the teachings of Aristotle and the works of Euclid. You're the first and only female scholar at the Library of Alexandria, the first institute of its kind. All your life has been spent in the pursuit of knowledge — until the arrival of a mysterious young scholar named Aemond.

Series warnings: period typical misogyny, ancient academia, teacher x student relationship (but they're the same age), violence, fire, sexual content (18+), reader is loosely based off of Hypatia of Alexandria, Targaryens x Ptolemies crossover, character deaths, inaccurate history for the sake of storytelling, accusations of witchcraft, debates on fictional religions, Plato, Daemon being a menace.

Word count: 5,380

Series Masterlist

Your heart was racing, terror coiling in your stomach like a serpent, but you refused to let it show as you looked out at the mob of angry faces around you in the pavilion.

“Traitor!”

“Death to the witch!”

“Kill her!”

You knew there was no escaping this. This was the end. Yet, even as fear flooded your chest, you refused to let go of your pride. You held your head up high as Prince Daemon approached you where you kneeled. He looked down at you, his cold eyes gleaming in sick satisfaction.

"I'm giving you one last chance, witch," he said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "Renounce your unholy ways and convert to the Faith of the Seven, and you shall walk away unharmed."

You looked up at him, refusing to back down. You hypocrite, you thought. When you spoke, your voice was steady and firm. "I cannot.”

The prince's expression darkened. He stepped closer to you, his lips close to your ear so that no one would overhear.

“There is nothing left for you. It's over. Save yourself and the crown will grant you mercy,” he hissed.

You spat at his face. "If the right to think is treason, then I embrace it proudly. I refuse to remain supplicant to a crown that fears the power of knowledge and labels it treachery."

Daemon's lips formed into a cruel snarl. He stepped back and turned to the crowd, opening his arms in a dramatic display. "The punishment for witchcraft is death!" his voice boomed. The crowd erupted, snarling and roaring like a pack of lions.

Your heart raced as the people closed in with stones in hand, hungry predators circulating their prey. You took a final deep breath, bracing yourself for the onslaught. The first stone hit you, a dull throb of pain that quickly gave way to sharper, intense sensations as more stones followed. You feel your knees collapsing to the hard floor. In reflex, you cover your head with your arms. You shut your eyes, and the last thing you saw was the memory of a single blue eye.

🏛⏳️

6 months earlier.

There's a buzzing in the air, and not just from the hum of people in the atrium outside. Inside your classroom, a large blue dragonfly lazily flies in circles, your students taking turns swatting at it as it zips by. It’s an epaulet skimmer, or an orthetrum chrysostigma, a common dragonfly found around Egypt. Last month, you helped survey them with a fellow scholar who was putting together an account of all the various insects along the Nile River delta. The research project was commissioned by the Princess Helaena Targaryen herself, whom you've heard was quite fond of natural history.

In the midst of your lecturing, the buzz of the insect feels amplified. In front of you sit nearly fifty pupils, all perched on wooden benches. Most of them are in their teens and early twenties, and all of them were young men with restless energy with wandering minds. While a few showed genuine curiosity, you knew that attendance was merely a formality to half of them, who were only present because their parents were wealthy aristocrats. Yet, you knew it was your duty to broaden their minds and instill some semblance of knowledge into their minds before they go on to graduate and become lords who make decisions that impact hundreds of people.

“Whether you believe in the Seven or the old gods, we accept that the divine has created all that we know,” you say, your voice carrying across the room. “Yet, the mechanisms behind how their creations work are a mystery to us mortals.”

There's a blur of blue near your eye when the dragonfly makes a landing on your nose. You swap it away and continue.

“For example, what are the gears that drive a drought? Elders of the past have said that a drought is punishment from an angry sun god. Holy men today say it is the repercussion of having vexed the Seven. But how, precisely, do these divine beings bring this drought upon us?” You pause, pacing around the room. “Like observing the work of a craftsman, we can observe the handiwork of the gods. We can observe that volcanic eruptions are one tool that the gods use to give us droughts. Likewise, miasma from a plague, which spews vaporous acid into the atmosphere, can cause rising temperatures and dry up rivers. (Modern Fact check: Miasma does NOT cause plagues. They are caused by infectious bacteria and viruses.)

“Every natural disaster has forces, or causes, behind them. Although perhaps only the gods may know the truth of the workings behind these events, philosophers and believers of science have theorized why certain disasters come to be. Take earthquakes, for example. Compared to droughts, it is much harder for us to determine how earthquakes are created. Aristotle, for one, suggested that it is caused by winds in subterranean caves.”

One of your pupils seated on the front row raises his hand. Ebony curls, dark eyes that remind you of beetles, his robes a deep plum that only money can buy.

“Perhaps Aristotle failed to consider that earthquakes could just be Atticus's mother walking to the market,” he says, a cocky grin spreading across his face. His friend gives him a hearty slap on the back, nearly doubling over with laughter.

You offer a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Flavius."

Some of your students were more mature than others.

Flavius's jolliness is short-lived, however. The dragonfly suddenly decides to dart into his eye and he lets out a startled shriek. He swats at the insect and tumbles forward off the bench. His friend roars even harder with laughter. Meanwhile, the dragonfly falls onto the floor, its delicate blue wings now broken. A couple students in the back crane their necks in curiosity as Flavius stomps his feet on the insect's body, crushing it mercilessly against the tile floor. Tiny blue limbs smear across the tiles, its wings in pieces like shattered glass. A life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Flavius settles back onto the bench, straightening his toga with an air of nonchalance. "Apologies, miss. Please, continue," he says.

You choose to ignore his interruption, redirecting your attention to the rest of the class.

“When we attempt to unravel the mysteries behind the divine's creations, we begin to understand the natural world,” you say, thinking about the dead bug in front of you, its blue wings, the blue of the Nile, all the species of flora and fauna that have survived for eons thanks to its life-giving waters. “This is why we study the discipline of science.”

“Beyond these walls, I have heard many who deem it to be blasphemy,” a voice interjects.

Your gaze shifts to a young man at the rear of the room. You've never seen him before, not in your classroom nor around the Library. If you've seen him, you would know. With his sharp features, nearly white hair cropped close to his head, and a leather eyepatch covering an angry scar on his left eye — his was not a face you would forget.

“What do they call you?” You ask curiously, piercing blue eye meeting yours. He seemed a bit older than the rest of your students — perhaps in his mid-twenties, around the same age as you. You briefly wondered where he was from. His features stood out in a sea of dark haired Alexandrians.

"I am called Aemond, ma'am," his voice remained composed and respectful. "Just Aemond." There was a refinement in his speech that hinted of a privileged upbringing, yet the absence of a surname intrigued you. Perhaps he was an educated slave, adept at tutoring and managing the finances of the master's household — literate slaves were not uncommon in the Roman Empire.

"And what have you heard, Aemond?" you inquire.

"It is said that scientific inquiry is seen as an offense to the Seven," he responds evenly, referring to the gods. "Questioning their creations is considered sacrilegious." Several students nod in agreement around the room.

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“It is true that outside these walls, the belief that science is sacrilegious is held by many people,” you say slowly. “Perhaps even now, some of you are wrestling with the idea, torn between conventional thinking and what you are learning at this institute. If this is the case, I implore you to consider this —”

You look out at the faces of your pupils. Some are focused and deep in thought, while others are frowning. A lone blue eye is fixed on you.

"—What act of love is greater than seeking to understand the object of your affection? Mathematics, physics, and astronomy are not merely academic pursuits but they are expressions of love. They are avenues through which we seek to comprehend and appreciate the intricate beauty of our world.” You gestured around the room. “I am aware that some of you are followers of the Seven. Some of you are devoted to the old gods. But science does not seek to refute the existence of one God over another, nor does it attempt to debunk the existence of the divine altogether. Science seeks only to understand.” You look in Aemond's direction. He's watching, listening intently. “In attempting to understand the natural world, we may better love the divine and appreciate their creations.”

🏛⏳️

The remainder of the class concluded smoothly, and due to the sweltering heat, you dismissed everyone earlier than usual. Despite the hour not yet reaching midday, the air was thick with humidity, making the classroom feel oppressive. You had no desire to keep your students in the stuffy classroom for longer than necessary.

As the others rush to leave the room, you notice that Aemond was kneeling down and using a handkerchief to clean the dragonfly off the floor.

“Thank you,” you say to him earnestly. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he delicately holds the insect through the thin white cloth. He picks up a broken piece of an iridescent blue wing, the shimmer catching the light.

"It's an epaulet skimmer," you remark softly. But you're not looking at the bug, you're looking at him.

"Orthetrum chrysostigma," Aemond responds, using the scientific name. You regard him with curiosity.

“My sister has a fondness for insects," Aemond explains. "She is extremely gentle with them. She maintains an extensive collection in her room — beetles, caterpillars, dragonflies, and the like. But she only gathers them once they've passed on. Her heart is too big to confine them before they've lived a full life." He gazes at the broken wing in his hand with a hint of sadness. You suspect that he is thinking of more than the fate of the squashed bug.

“Some cultures believe that dragonflies were once dragons who were tricked by a jackal to change shape into insects,” you say, looking at the wing in fascination. “Once they became a dragonfly, they couldn't transform back. As a result, they represented change and illusion.”

You notice that Aemond's gaze is now fixed on you, a blue eye that reminds you of iridescent wings and the shimmering surface of the Nile on sunny days. You think of mirages in the desert, blue lapis lazuli on polished gold rings, the holographic shells of scarab beetles.

“They must've been very grand in their past lives,” he remarks.

There's a short silence as you observe him, unsure of what to make of this strange new addition to your class. As your gaze shifts from his eyepatch to his eye, you notice that he's studying you too. Suddenly, you feel very exposed, as if he was somehow reading your entire life story just by looking at you.

Breaking the tension, you extend your hand. "I realize I haven't properly introduced myself. It's been a pleasure having you in my class," you say, stating your name. He accepts your gesture, clasping your hand in a firm shake.

“You're the daughter of Theon. Your father is the greatest mathematician in all of Alexandria,” Aemond says. “I know who you are.”

“Do you study mathematics?”

“No. History and philosophy,” he replies. “But I've read enough across all the disciplines to know who the greats are.”

“I don't think I've ever seen you around here before,” you note.

"I just started my studies here," he explains. "I arrived last night."

"Where else have you studied?"

“Nowhere else. All my education has been from tutors hired by my family at home.”

"If you don't mind my asking, where do you come from?"

He hesitates. “I've been around,” he says at last.

🏛⏳️

That afternoon, you decided to teach your next class in one of the classrooms overlooking the sea. Arriving early, you unlatch the tall, arched windows, hoping to coax a gentle breath of ocean breeze into the room. As the soft light of the late afternoon filtered through, you arrange your teaching materials as the first of your students trickled in.

The class was on Euclidean geometry. As it happens, this was one of your favorite subjects to teach. You loved to move around the room, using various objects — such as a discus, a sphere, and even a pineapple — to illustrate geometric shapes and their properties. It was more than just memorizing formulas; it was about seeing and understanding the spatial relationships and practical applications of mathematics in the physical world.

Two thousand years from now, Euclidean geometry would be the foundation for computer graphics, radiology, and geographic information systems. Without Euclid, you wouldn't have video games or anime. There would be no x-rays to help doctors treat broken bones. Without Euclid, there would be no Google Maps, nor would you be able to stalk your crush's location on Snapchat.

Abruptly, you are cut off mid-lecture as a series of bold knocks echo off the door. You excuse yourself and open the door cautiously, finding yourself face-to-face with six armored men adorned in gold cloaks. You step out into the atrium.

"What is your business?" you ask, your gaze sharp and guarded.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen wants to speak to Theon of Alexandria. I'm told you're his daughter,” the guard at front says firmly.

“My father is indisposed. Whatever business you have with him, you can discuss with me.”

A sudden laugh rings out across the atrium. Every movement in the hall comes to a standstill as scholars pause their tracks and turn their heads. In front of you, guards quickly part ways for a tall man with long silver hair. His armor clinks as he strides towards you, his eyes mischievous like those of a jackal, reminding you of the ancient depictions of Anubis on temple walls. Adorning his shoulders is the same golden cloak worn by his men.

It was the unmistakable Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother of King Viserys and the consort of the crown princess Rhaenyra. But to the smallfolk, he is known as the merciless commander of the City Watch.

Daemon looks at you like you are the scum on his shoes. “I don't have time for games, girl,” he says mockingly. “Where is your father?”

“Like I've said, he is indisposed,” you repeat, meeting him with a steady gaze.

“I have come a long way from the palace,” he says, offering a false honeyed grin. “You will fetch him for me.”

You give a smile that mirrored his. It was common knowledge that Prince Daemon frequented the company of his mistress in the city more than he did his own wife at the royal palace.

"I speak the truth when I say my father cannot be here right now, and I apologize on his behalf. However, I am willing to assist you,” you assert calmly.

"This does not concern you," Daemon retorts dismissively. "I am here on business concerning your father's governance of this... academic institution."

"I am a professor here and a senior member of the Library of Alexandria," you counter, maintaining your composure. "After my father, you will find no one more knowledgeable about the affairs of this institute than I am."

Daemon scoffs, his tone condescending. "There are matters too serious to discuss with a woman.”

“Then I'm afraid you will have to come back another day, my prince.”

“Where is your father?”

“He is sick. Unless you have a direct order from the king, I would prefer not to disturb him from his much-needed rest."

The unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air — the Library is under the protection of the crown, and Daemon, despite his authority, is not the king. The prince's expression darkens, a sneer painting his features as his knuckles grip around the handle of his sword on his waist. You find yourself locked in a tense staring contest, both unwilling to yield. Moments tick by in silence, each waiting for the other to give in. Then —

“Very well,” he concedes, letting go of his grip on the sword. But you knew from his expression that this was far from over. Daemon casts a disdainful glance around the atrium as if the place offended him before turning and walking away from you. His gold cloaks follow him, their armor clanking all the way to the main doors of the library.

It is only when the last of them exited onto the street that you allow yourself to release the breath you've been holding.

🏛⏳️

“Daemon Targaryen? What was he doing here?” You hear Cregan before you see him.

You're in the far corner of the main reading room, kneeling before a crate with a new shipment of scrolls that came in from Greece. Gently opening the lid, you discover a signed note from the head of the Platonic School of Athens. Ἕν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα. Αὕτη ἡ γνῶσις ἐμοῦ ἐστιν, it reads at the end. One thing I know, that I know nothing. This is the source of my wisdom. It is a quote by Socrates.

Cregan emerges from behind a shelf, his gray eyes wide with exasperation.

“I can't say that I haven't expected this,” you say to him, picking up a scroll and lightly dusting it off. “It is no secret that Daemon puts up with us only because of the pharaoh.”

“Well, yes. But to barge in here and demand for the Professor—” he means your father Theon.

“He's been sending us threats for months.”

Cregan paused. “When did this start?”

“Four moons ago, when King Viserys reinstated him as Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

Daemon had been the commander of the city watch once before, but that had been years ago, and back then he was more interested in dealing with criminals in the worst parts of the city. But after some scandal with the Princess Rhaenyra, Viserys had exiled him to Rome. Now, he was back and had regained both his old post as leader of the city guard and the Princess Rhaenyra, whom he took to wife. However, this time, Daemon was turning his policing to the University of Alexandria, more commonly referred to as simply the Library. Apparently, scholars are the new criminals.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Cregan asked, clearly frustrated.

“I didn't want to burden you with it," you reply honestly. "You've been occupied with your research with Princess Helaena these past four moons.”

Cregan rubs his eyebrows. “What has he been threatening?”

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, making space on the shelf for the new scrolls. Cregan joins you, handing over scrolls from the crate as you arrange them carefully in their designated spots on the shelf.

“He wants to shut down the Library if we don't — and I quote his words — ‘tone down on the science’,” you explain. "He's pushing for censorship, insisting that everything that is taught and published here must be 'safe' for the public. He claims it's about protecting the moral well-being of Alexandrians."

Cregan snorts derisively. "I wonder what his wife thinks of his moral well-being."

"That's an ad hominem attack, Cregan," you chide gently. But you're smiling.

“We're the best scientific research institution in the Mediterranean,” he says. “And, let's face it, we're probably the best in the entire world. We owe it all to King Jaehaerys's proclamation over 50 years ago, protecting our intellectual freedom. Even Daemon Targaryen can't derail something like that.”

“Daemon doesn't like anything he can't control,” you say. “Nor does he like taking no for an answer.”

“He's a cunt,” Cregan muttered angrily. “His word isn't law but he sure does want to act like it. Did you hear he's been trying to ban all Northerners from entering Alexandria? Unless they're slaves, that is. It's utterly absurd. He's a Northerner himself. His entire family hails from the north—well, not the North, but north of the Mediterranean. Valyria is a small city-state in Greece. Still, that's north of us. If he wants only true Alexandrians in the city, maybe he should consider leaving as well." The Targaryens, although originally from Greece, had become the longest-reigning dynasty in Egypt, despite their non-Egyptian origin.

"What does Princess Helaena think?"

"Of Daemon?"

"Of the North."

Cregan blushes slightly. "She's mentioned that we should visit there together someday," he admits. “For research purposes, of course,” he adds quickly.

You grin. Cregan has been your closest friend since childhood, and you swear you've never seen him as happy as he's been the past few months.

"She wants to see the direwolves and the aurora borealis,” says Cregan. “I promised her I'd show her around Winterfell when we go." Winterfell, Cregan's hometown, nestled in a far-off corner of the world where snow and frost dominate most of the year — a large contrast to the sandy dunes of Egypt.

“You like her,” you mused.

“Don't be absurd,” Cregan says, but he's failing miserably in hiding a smile.

There's a rustling among the shelves behind you, and the next thing you know, you're face to face with a single blue eye that reminds you of ocean water and iridescent wings.

"Sorry, I was told that the texts about Plato are in this section?" Aemond asks.

"Oh. Yes. Absolutely," you reply quickly, gesturing around you. "I mean, they're all here. Everything on this wall is Plato. We've just received a new collection of his works from Greece and we just finished cataloging and setting them up. They're on this shelf. Here." Your words stumble out awkwardly, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Perfect,” Aemond says, looking at you. Neither of you move. Cregan eyes the two of you with amusement.

“Well, I was just about to head out,” Cregan says cheerfully, sashaying past you. You turn, widening your eyes and mouthing no to him. Cregan simply grins as he disappears behind the bookshelves, leaving you with Aemond.

“You read Plato?” you ask.

Aemond nods. “I am an admirer of his work,” he says. “You were one of my first introductions to him, actually. I read your thesis on him, An Exploration Into the Metaphysics of Plato, when I was sixteen.”

“I can't imagine there would be many copies of that,” you say with amazement. “I wrote it when I was—”

“Sixteen,” Aemond says. You blink. He clears his throat. “I've been a follower of your work,” he adds shyly.

“Oh. I'm flattered.” You’re blushing.

“Is it true that you started studying at The Academy when you were fourteen?” He means the Platonic School of Athens, founded by Plato himself over 300 years ago. Most scholars called it The Academy. It is the first university to ever open in western civilization.

You nod. “I learned mathematics and astronomy here, but my father wanted me to get a hellenistic education on top of it, so he sent me to Greece. I stayed there for four years before returning to Alexandria.”

“I have a brother who studies there,” Aemond shares, leaning against a bookshelf. “My mother, being an Athenian herself, insisted he be sent there. He writes to me sometimes, telling me about the professors he works with. I had considered studying there myself.”

“What made you choose Alexandria over Athens?”

Aemond smiles. “I'm at the center of the world here. It seemed foolish to want to go anywhere else,” he says, his gaze sweeping the library around him. After a pause, he asks, “What made you want to teach?”

“The fear of oblivion,” you reply. "It's the realization that everything we do, everything we learn, and everything we create could be forgotten someday. Teaching, for me, is a way to combat that inevitability. By sharing knowledge, by shaping young minds, I can hope to leave a lasting impact — a legacy that outlives me."

Aemond nods thoughtfully. "So it's about leaving a mark on the world?"

"In a sense, yes," you affirm. "It's about contributing to something greater than myself, ensuring that knowledge endures beyond individual lives and fleeting moments."

He smiles faintly. "That's a noble pursuit."

"It's what drives me," you conclude. As you look at each other, you feel his gaze tracing over your face with a strange emotion. Awe? Admiration? Before you can decipher his thoughts, a scholar approaches the shelf behind you, prompting you to awkwardly step aside.

"I hope you find the resources on Plato you're looking for," you say to Aemond, refocusing on the moment. You pause. "We're hosting a seminar on Plato's metaphysics tomorrow afternoon in the Rose Hall. You should join us."

Aemond smiles. “I’d be honored to.”

🏛⏳️

Daytime in Alexandrian summers can be hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but when the chill sets in at night, the city transforms into a completely different land. It is under the cloak of darkness that Alexandria truly comes alive.

You’re wrapped in a headscarf, its tail fluttering in the gentle wind from the Mediterranean as you navigate the narrow streets of the night market. Oil lamps and torches cast a soft, flickering glow as shadows danced across buildings decorated with a mix of hieroglyphs and hellenistic art. On the streets, you hear people speaking in both Greek and Egyptian, but also Persian, Moroccan, and other various African and Asiatic dialects. Various aromas filled the air— spices mingled with the savory scents of grilled meats and the sweet notes of baked pastries and delicacies from the far corners of the world. It was the New York City of the ancient world.

Weaving between stalls adorned with colorful fabrics and gleaming trinkets, you spotted one of the gold cloaks from earlier that day. Upon noticing you, he gave you a brief, curt nod before turning his attention sharply towards a group of rowdy children who were blocking the path of a passing wagon.

You make your way to an apothecary stall, securing the medicine your father needs before turning to leave. Suddenly, a hooded figure trips over a wooden crate and crashes into you, causing both of you to tumble to the ground. You fall flat on the cobblestones, his weight on top of you. Your basket with the apothecary vial shatters on the road.

“Ow!” he yelled. You struggle to push him off and get to your feet, then reach down to help him up, steadying him as he sways unsteadily. His hood falls back, revealing a mess of unruly white curls.

Prince Aegon Targaryen. You’ve seen him a few times while going around the city. The eldest son of Queen Alicent, known to frequent the streets of Alexandria often. Aside from Daemon, he was the only royal that most of the smallfolk could recognize by appearance.

"Prince Aegon," you say cautiously, helping him steady himself. "Are you alright?"

He blinks a few times, focusing on you with bleary eyes. "Why, hello," he slurs slightly, attempting a lopsided smile. For a prince, he seemed dirtier than Diogenes and his barrel.

"Let me help you," you insist, guiding him away from the scattered shards of glass. You maneuver him towards a nearby bench, ensuring he sits down safely.

"I’m alright, I’m fine," he murmurs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He groaned and vomited on the ground next to him. You pat him on the back awkwardly as he empties his stomach.

“Did my mother send you?” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“My mother. She sent you, didn’t she? I can’t catch a break these days,” he grumbled. “The woman is a menace. She’s become crazier since my brother got exiled. I can’t even drink in peace now. She’s sending her spies everywhere.”

You frowned. “I’m not a spy, my prince.”

Aegon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits back heavily on the bench. He tilts his head up at you, scrutinizing you, and then he sighs and hungs his head.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m tired of the games. Tired of the scrutiny. I’m tired of the standards that she sets for me, and I’m tired of her disappointment when I fail to meet them. Can’t she see I don’t want any of this? Can’t she just let me be?”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond to the prince's candidness. He was clearly drunk and you’ve only just met him, and you’ve heard unsettling rumors about him. Stories of his frequenting brothels and fighting rings, of fathering illegitimate children and neglecting them. But in this moment, he seemed far from the crooked prince that people whispered about. He seemed like a child in need of comfort.

“Your mother worries about you,” you say gently. “She only wants what’s best for you.”

He scoffs bitterly. “Does she? Tell me, have you ever had a mother who would rather marry you to your own sibling for political gain than let you live your own life?”

You shake your head slowly. “I cannot say I understand fully, but I know you carry a heavy burden.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be free of it.” Aegon leans back, staring up at the night sky with weary resignation. “My brother was lucky. I’d do anything to exchange places with him.”

You recalled hearing news of Queen Alicent’s second son, who had been condemned to work in the mines of Nubia as punishment for the murder of his nephew. The usual penalty for murder was death, and much worse if the victim was a royal, but since the criminal was a prince himself, it changed a few things. The Nubian mines were typically reserved for lesser crimes in Alexandria.

“The one who was exiled to Nubia?” you asked Aegon.

He chuckles bitterly. “My brother didn’t get sent to Nubia. Mother loves him too much for that.”

You stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. You had a feeling that you weren’t supposed to be hearing this piece of information. Yet, Aegon didn’t seem to expect a reply. He’s looking up at the stars, as if he wished to fly off into the heavens and leave his miseries on the ground.

“Thank you,” Aegon finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled between you. Thank you for listening, thank you for not judging, thank you for watching out for my drunken mess. He rose to his feet, a bit unsteady but more composed than before. He took out a pouch of coins. “This is for… what I broke,” he said, gesturing to the remnants of the vial around you, shards of glass glittering under oil lamps. You thought of the broken dragonfly wings from earlier in the day.

You accepted the pouch gingerly. What he gave you was worth much more than the cost of the medicine, but you didn’t want to offend him so you decided not to mention it.

“Should I call the guards to escort you back to the palace?” you asked.

Aegon blinked, his gaze drifting momentarily. “No, no,” he said, waving dismissively. “They’re my uncle’s people. They don’t like me.”

"Will you manage on your own?" you pressed gently.

Aegon straightened his cloak and mustered a tired smile. "I always do," he said.

With that, the prince turned and started to walk away. You watched as he disappeared into the narrow streets, his figure gradually blending with the shadows.

Chapter II: Coming Soon

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x y/n

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rainforestakiie · 2 months ago

Text

@inubaki i really hope you like this! i worked so hard on it for you! i'm not sure if it's good, but i tried something new with our adorable adam.

i'm not sure what to call this AU? maybe the love of hell?

the wonderful inubaki requested an AU where lucifer and lilith are trying to save the hellborn. they brought a booklet of Hellborns for everyone to look at, and adam is the only one interested.

i hope you don't mind me getting creative with this one too!

i tried something new. i hope it worked!

please enjoy!

The corridors of Heaven stretched before them like endless, glowing veins, each pulse of light casting intricate shadows against the walls. The air shimmered, thick with the weight of eternity, and yet Adam felt it heavy in his chest. His fingers fidgeted with the coarse fabric of his tunic, tugging at the loose threads of his oversized work gloves, the same ones he had worn since... well, since as long as he could remember. They felt more cumbersome than usual, each pull of the fabric a distraction from the churning storm inside him.

Beside him, Sera walked with a quiet grace, her wings folded tightly against her back, the golden feathers barely brushing the ground as she moved. Every so often, her gaze would flick to him, concern softening the usual brightness in her eyes.

“Adam,” she whispered, her voice like the soft hum of the wind through a garden of starlight. “I know you're nervous, anxious even. I can feel it. But there is no need to fear. I swear, neither Michael nor I will let anything happen to you.”

Adam's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes avoiding hers as they focused on the ever-stretching horizon ahead. His heart raced, not from her words, but from the truth he couldn’t voice. He swallowed thickly, trying to untangle the knot in his throat.

“I know you’ll protect me,” he said, his voice strained, barely above a murmur. His hands trembled slightly, and his stomach twisted and coiled, like a serpent tightening around his spine.

“But it doesn’t stop… this.” He made a vague gesture to his chest. “I don’t understand why they want me here, why I need to be here.”

Sera sighed softly, a touch of weariness in the sound. “I don’t know either. I tried, Adam. I tried to make them understand that you have no part in the… relations between Heaven and Hell. But Hell was relentless. They demanded your presence repeatedly.”

Adam’s brow furrowed as he halted for a moment, his gaze dropping to the pristine floor beneath his feet. His troubled expression deepened, shadows darkening his usually gentle face.

“But they already have Eve.” His voice wavered, the words pulling at the fraying edges of his composure. “Surely one of us would be enough. Why me too?”

The silence between them thickened like a fog, the echo of his question lingering in the air. Sera paused, her wings ruffling slightly before she placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch warm, reassuring. Her fingers pressed gently; a promise unspoken.

“This meeting will be quick,” she murmured, her voice a balm against the storm raging within him. “I will make sure it doesn’t drag on longer than necessary.”

Adam nodded, though the motion felt sluggish, weighted. He could feel the inevitability of the situation, feel the invisible chains tightening around him, dragging him forward. There was no escape from this, no turning back. With a resigned sigh, he let go of his resistance, his heart still uneasy, but his feet moving forward once again.

Heaven’s light seemed less bright, more distant. And as the doorway to the meeting chamber loomed ahead, Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever waited inside was far darker than anything he had faced before.

As Adam and Sera drew closer to the grand doors that separated light from darkness, his heart pounded with the weight of it all. The towering gates of polished crystal shimmered with a strange, ethereal glow, but to Adam, they seemed more like the bars of a cage. Beyond those doors lay the meeting place—the heart of the divide between Heaven and Hell, purity and sin, light and shadow.

His pulse quickened, each thud in his chest heavy and unrelenting, a silent question echoing in his mind: Why me?

He couldn't understand it. He doubted he ever would.

From the moment he and Eve had arrived in Heaven, life had been a maelstrom—a constant storm of confusion and chaos. Heaven, a place he had thought would be peaceful, had become a battleground of decisions and endless debates. Hardly any souls had reached Heaven anymore, and the reason was as twisted as it was tragic.

The Apple of Knowledge, the birth of Sin itself, had poisoned humanity so deeply that most souls were lost to the darkness. Hell was teeming with sinners, overwhelming its gates, and Heaven’s high angels had called for a desperate council. Both he and Eve were summoned.

Adam remembered how Eve had seethed with fury, her bitterness a powerful force. She carried resentment like a shroud, heavy and thick, her anger not just toward Lucifer and Lilith, but toward all those who had followed them into the abyss. Despite the distance that had grown between them, Adam and Eve had transformed their bond into something more like siblings—two souls forever tethered to one another. In a Heaven that felt more foreign than familiar, they only had each other to hold onto.

Eve was his best friend, and Adam was Eve’s best friend.

Adam had long since forgiven Eve. Her mistakes had once felt like a fracture between them, but now they were scars, healed but not forgotten. Eve had spent every moment since trying to make things right, as if each action was an attempt to cleanse herself of past regrets. Adam had witnessed it firsthand, and when the Archangels—Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, and Sera—had called them to God’s crystalline throne room, it was Eve who had stepped forward. Her voice had been steady yet laced with the weight of her guilt.

“I will take responsibility for this,” she had declared, her gaze unwavering. “Just me. You only need one of us, right? So, I will take responsibility, not Adam.”

Adam had tried to intervene, to remind her that this was their shared burden. They were both part of the same story, both victims of the same fall. But Eve had refused, shaking her head with a sadness that cut deeper than her words.

“This is on me, Adam. I trusted Lucifer. I trusted Lilith. If I hadn’t… our children might have made it here.” She said softly, holding his hand tightly. “It was my fault we were kicked out of Eden. You’ve spent years afterward breaking your back for me and our children. You’ve taken care of me, made sure I can eat and sleep well.”

She looked him in the eye, her amber-gaze teary. “Please, let me take care of you this time.”

From that day, Eve had dedicated herself to a grim task. She trained with the other angels, sharpening her resolve, and spent endless hours sorting through human souls—deciding who was worthy of Heaven and who would be cast into Hell. She became the sword of judgment, her once gentle hands now hardened by the weight of her duty. Adam had tried to be there for her, but Eve kept him at a distance, sharing only fragments of her pain.

The time they spent together will be happy, she had decided.

Heaven had given Adam a different role. While Eve had the likes of Archangel Michael and Sera, God had created a new guardian for him, another Seraphim named Emily. Together, they took on responsibilities far removed from the harsh dealings between Heaven and Hell. Their tasks revolved around the Winners—those rare souls who had ascended—and the Heavenborns, along with the animals that roamed the clouds. While Eve battled the darkness, Adam’s life was filled with nurturing, guiding, and trying to find peace in his new purpose.

But the guilt gnawed at him, relentless. Every time he saw Eve return from another long day, her face drawn; her wings heavy with fatigue, it twisted inside him. She would always smile when she saw him, always pretended she wasn’t tired, wasn’t angry, wasn’t breaking apart beneath the weight of it all. But Adam could see it. He could feel it. She was drowning in a sea of fury and regret, and there was little he could do to help her.

Recently, Eve had been the one attending the delicate meetings between Heaven and Hell, where the fate of the Sinners was debated. Adam knew little of what happened there.

Emily had done her best to keep him distracted, filling his days with tending to the new arrivals in Heaven or caring for the creatures that frolicked through the clouds. It was a quiet life, but a distant one, far removed from the storm that brewed beneath Heaven’s perfect facade.

Now, as the doors to the meeting chamber loomed before him, Adam felt his stomach tighten. This time, he couldn’t escape. This time, Hell had called for him by name. He didn’t know why, didn’t understand what they wanted from him.

Eve had always been the one to handle these matters.

Besides, Adam had never been close to Lilith or Lucifer. Especially after Lilith had left him for Lucifer. Adam had never been favoured by either of them. He once thought he was close to both of them, he once thought Lucifer and Lilith loved him like he loved them. But that wasn't the case when they left him all alone...

When Eve came along, they both only wanted her…they had never asked for him, until now and to be perfectly honest, Adam had been all to happy to never see either of them again.

Why should they need me? His thoughts spun, a whirlwind of confusion and fear, the answers always out of reach. I don’t know a single thing about the Sinners.

Beside him, Sera’s gaze softened as her hand brushed his shoulder, a brief, fleeting touch to pull him from the storm of his thoughts and ground him in the present moment.

“You’re not alone, Adam,” she whispered, her voice warm like sunlight breaking through mist. “But we must face this.”

Adam swallowed, his throat tight, and looked up at her, his stomach twisting like a serpent coiling in on itself.

“Where… where’s Eve?” His voice trembled, barely more than a breath. “I-I thought she… I thought she’d be waiting for me.”

“She’s here,” Sera replied gently, the hint of a smile touching her lips, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.

Adam let out a shaky sigh of relief. For a moment, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest—Eve, his constant, his anchor, was there.

But then, Sera’s tone shifted, becoming cautious.

“Eve is already inside with Michael.” Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “However, she is being a little… explosive.”

Adam blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Explosive?

Eve had always been passionate, fiery even, but that word felt… ominous. His gaze wandered back to the towering doors in front of them, and he shivered. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now, as his ears strained, he swore he heard a low, distant thump from within the room. It was faint but powerful, like the heartbeat of something vast and angry.

“Let’s just say…” Sera continued, her words soft and measured, “Eve is not very pleased that they are dragging you into this mess.”

“O-Oh…”

Adam’s hand instinctively reached for his tunic, his fingers picking at the seams nervously. The fabric seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. He wished Emily was there—her presence always had a way of calming him, of making the world seem a little less daunting. But despite her protests, both Michael and Sera had insisted that Emily remain behind.

His heart sank at the thought, and he shifted uneasily. It felt wrong, being here without her, without the one who had become his silent guardian. The room beyond those doors seemed to pulse with tension, a gathering storm of anger, judgment, and something more—something darker, and much more dangerous. And though he knew Eve was waiting inside, her protective rage directed at whatever forces had pulled him into this ordeal, Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that once they stepped through those doors, everything would change.

For better or worse, he didn’t know. But change was coming, and it was coming for him.

And with that, the grand doors began to part, revealing the shadowy divide between Heaven’s light and Hell’s darkness. Adam steeled himself for whatever awaited him on the other side, but deep down, he knew—nothing could have prepared him for the truth he was about to uncover.

Adam’s entire body trembled as the enormous, towering doors began to creak open, the sound reverberating through the vast, shadowy corridor like the growl of some ancient beast. His golden wings quivered, feathers rustling with a desperate, primal urge to flee—to turn around and escape before it was too late. It had been centuries since he had last seen either Lilith or Lucifer, and the mere thought of facing them again set his insides churning. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to be here.

Sera stepped in front of him, shielding him as the gap between the doors widened, revealing the meeting place. Adam’s knees buckled slightly, his heart pounding so loud in his ears he could barely hear the world around him. His eyes narrowed as he squinted into the dimly lit expanse of the room. It was massive, rivaling the size of God’s throne room—the same room where the Archangels had summoned him and Eve all those years ago.

The room was a masterpiece of contrasts, split perfectly down the middle. One side radiated with an ethereal glow, its soft pillows of pure light glowing in shades of white and serene blue. The other half, however, was cloaked in darkness, its pillars of obsidian towering against the walls like sentinels, the space draped in shadows and rich, blood-red hues. Light and dark, Heaven and Hell, brought together in a strange, unsettling harmony.

In the center of the room was a long, crystalline table that seemed to shimmer in the strange half-light. The table itself was split just like the room, with one half composed of towering blue crystal, its surface adorned with halos that floated gently above the chairs. The other half was carved from red and black crystal, its seats crowned with devil horns that twisted ominously toward the ceiling.

Adam swallowed thickly; his throat dry as his skin prickled with the overwhelming sensation of multiple eyes upon him. He couldn’t bear to look up, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the floor as he followed Sera into the room. At first, the air was thick with the sounds of angry voices—aggressive arguing, insults flying back and forth between the factions, the echoes of bitter sneers and mocking scoffs bouncing off the walls. But the moment Adam crossed the threshold, the bickering ceased. A thick, unnerving silence blanketed the room, and Adam’s wings shifted uncomfortably, struggling to stay still.

He felt exposed. Vulnerable. And all he wanted to do was hide.

Instinctively, he stepped closer to Sera, seeking some form of protection, no matter how futile it felt. Michael’s gaze swept over them, his expression unreadable as he nodded to Sera, who returned the gesture with a troubled glance, her eyes lingering on the shattered crystal in the centre of the table. Something had already gone wrong.

"A-Adam."

The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it made Adam’s entire body seize with a sharp tremor. He forced himself to glance up, only barely lifting his eyes toward the speaker. There, across the room, sat Lucifer.

The fallen Archangel was nearly unrecognizable. Gone were the divine robes of white, blue, and gold that Adam remembered so vividly from their time together in Eden. Instead, Lucifer now donned something far more twisted, more theatrical. A red-and-white striped vest clung to his form, paired with a white jacket and matching pants tucked into sleek black boots. His once glorious golden hair now shimmered beneath a bizarre top hat, a snake coiled around it like a crown, a ruby-red apple resting in the serpent’s grip, and a faintly glimmering golden crown threaded through the coils.

Adam couldn’t stop staring, even though he wanted to. Lucifer was so different, so alien compared to the being he had once known. His face was no longer the smooth, angelic visage of before; his cheeks were now stained a deep, unnatural blood-red, and his eyes—those eyes that had once been a striking, sapphire blue—were now a disturbing blend of molten gold and ruby, like the embers of a dying fire.

What unsettled Adam the most, though, was when Lucifer stood, revealing long, black claws where his hands should have been.

“Adam—”

“Shut up!” Eve’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold as steel. The words echoed across the room like the crack of a whip. “Don’t even look at him!”

Lucifer’s expression twisted into a dark sneer, his eyes narrowing as he shot Eve a look so venomous that Adam recoiled. Was this truly the Archangel he had once admired? The being who had sung with the Heavens in glory? He felt bewildered, disoriented. And yet, despite the chaos of emotions raging inside him, Adam found himself easing just a little at the sight of Eve.

She was seated across from Lucifer, on the side of light, where Heaven’s shimmering blue throne towered next to Michael. Eve sat beside the Archangel, her face a mask of cold fury. Her arms were crossed tightly, fingers tapping aggressively against the armrests of her seat. Her red hair, now pulled back into a severe ponytail, gleamed like fire beneath the soft light, and she wore something Adam had never seen before—a uniform, battle-worn yet sharp, and utterly unlike her usual appearance.

The silver armor clung to her form, a strange fusion of elegance and brutality. A thigh-length dress of shining metal, black tights beneath, with long, silver gloves that reached her upper arms. Her boots rose high above her thighs, matching the cuirass that protected her chest, the plackart at her waist. Every piece of her armor—spauldron, vambrace, gorget—was perfectly placed, ready for war.

Adam paused, his feet faltering as his gaze fell on the helmet resting on the table beside her. It was monstrous, with twisting horns that spiraled out on either side, a grotesque contrast to the purity of Heaven’s light.

Does she… wear that?

The thought chilled him. Eve had changed so much since they’d first arrived. The woman in front of him looked nothing like the gentle soul who had once wandered the Garden of Eden at his side.

The air was thick with tension, and Adam felt utterly out of place, an intruder in this grand hall of angels and devils. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to turn and flee, but he couldn’t shake the sense that something far greater than him was unfolding—and he was caught in the middle of it.

“Come now, Eve,” a voice interjected, its tone airy yet laced with an edge of smugness. It carried the chill of winter’s breath, sharp and penetrating. “We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?” Eve’s voice dripped with contempt as she turned her furious gaze toward the speaker. “Is that what you call the people you backstab?”

Adam blinked, feeling a strange mixture of awkwardness and curiosity as he slowly approached Eve, careful to keep his distance from the imposing figures in the room. He tilted his head slightly, trying to focus on Lilith, whose presence seemed more familiar and grounded compared to Lucifer's nightmarish transformation.

Lilith sat on the side of darkness, but she retained a striking, almost ethereal beauty. Her long golden hair cascaded down her back like a flowing waterfall of sunlight, pushed back elegantly from her face, with curls framing her delicate features. Her face, pointed and regal, was accentuated by long, thick eyelashes that Adam remembered from days long past.

A black rose crown adorned her head, its dark petals contrasting sharply with the blood-red horns that emerged from beneath it. Her figure was both delicate and imposing—a small waist paired with a substantial chest, draped in a deep purple and black dress that shimmered with an otherworldly magic. Around her neck, a strand of pure white pearls gleamed softly, catching the light as if it were a fragment of Heaven itself.

Adam found himself frowning slightly as he took in Lilith’s appearance. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was a coldness in her gaze that mirrored the icy sharpness of her voice. Despite her outward grace, there was a stark, unyielding edge to her presence that set Adam on edge.

“Isn’t it charming,” Lilith continued, her voice dripping with false warmth, “How old friends can come together under such… delightful circumstances?”

Adam’s stomach churned. The air in the room seemed to thicken with each passing second, a palpable tension that pressed against him from all sides. He glanced back at Eve, whose anger was barely contained, and then at Lucifer, whose gaze was fixed on him.

He tried to swallow the rising lump in his throat as he took another hesitant step toward Eve. The room felt like a stage, each figure poised in their roles for some grand, unspoken performance, and Adam was caught during it, struggling to understand his place.

Eve's eyes met Adam’s, her fury momentarily softening as she recognized his troubled gaze. For a moment, her expression seemed to convey a silent apology—an acknowledgment of the chaos that had ensnared him in this grim theatre of light and darkness. But the anger was still there, simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

Adam took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wished desperately for Emily’s comforting presence, but all he had now were his own frazzled thoughts and the looming, unforgiving gaze of those who held the power to determine his fate. He had to face whatever this meeting demanded of him, and he could only hope that the strength he found in his past with Eve would help him navigate the treacherous waters of this new confrontation.

Lilith’s eyes sparkled with malicious amusement as she continued to needle Eve, her voice a cold, serpentine whisper.

“Eve,” she said, her tone dripping with feigned sympathy, “It’s so touching to see you trying so hard. But let’s be honest, you’re nothing more than a replacement. You could never truly fill the shoes of someone as... exceptional as I once was.”

“Replacement?” she snapped, her voice echoing like a thunderclap. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? You’re nothing but the defective prototype. A product used to test and validate design concepts, functionality, and usability. Prototyping helps identify potential issues and make improvements before committing to full-scale production or implementation. This approach is common in fields like engineering, product design, software development, and more.”

“You are nothing but a bootleg version of a real woman. You could never compare to what I’ve become.” Eve added smugly.

Lilith’s lips curved into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting with amusement as if she were watching a child’s tantrum.

“Oh, Eve,” she said mockingly, “How quaint. Your anger is almost endearing. But really, you were never meant to replace me. You’re merely a poor imitation, struggling to keep up with a legacy you can never truly grasp.”

Eve’s face was flushed with rage, her body trembling with the effort to contain her fury. “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? I’ve seen your so-called ‘legacy,’ Lilith. You’re nothing but a pretentious farce, a pale shadow of what true strength and integrity look like. Your power is nothing compared to the strength I’ve earned.”

Lilith’s smile widened, her amusement growing as Eve’s anger boiled over.

“You’re so precious when you’re angry,” she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. “But don’t you understand? You’ll never truly be anything more than a mere stand-in. I was the original, the genuine article. You’re just a cheap imitation, trying too hard to fill a role you were never meant for.”

Eve’s rage reached a fever pitch, her fists clenching at her sides. “You know what, Lilith? You’re just a failed experiment. You were cast aside for a reason. No amount of posturing can change that.”

Adam winced as he watched the exchange, the hostility between the two women escalating with each cutting remark. He could see the toll it was taking on Eve, her anger spiralling out of control, while Lilith seemed to find the entire situation nothing more than a game.

Then, with a swift, venomous glance, Eve delivered a final, cutting comment. “You’re nasty inside and outside. You were never pure enough for Adam. Look at what happened when an Archangel gave you the time of day, you stained him. I can’t imagine what you would have done to Adam.”

“It’s a good thing your poisonous venom didn’t touch Adam. You don’t deserve his love or friendship. You never did.”

The room fell silent, the words hanging heavy in the air. Lilith’s eyes flashed with a pained, hurt expression, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability beneath her icy exterior. It was clear that Eve had struck a nerve.

Adam’s heart pounded as he saw the reaction. He wanted to intervene, to stop the confrontation before it spiralled further, but his voice came out as a barely audible whisper.

“Eve, please… stop.”

Unfortunately, his soft plea did not go unnoticed. Both Lucifer and Lilith’s eyes turned to Adam, their expressions shifting to one of twisted delight. Lucifer’s lips curled into a smirk, while Lilith’s gaze hardened with a mix of surprise and contempt. She seemed even pleased that Adam had stuck up for her.

Eve’s eyes narrowed at Adam’s intervention; her anger now directed at him. She glared at Lilith still fiercely, her grip tightening around his wrist. Without waiting for a response, she tugged him toward the large, ornate chair next to her, forcing him to sit down beside her.

Adam’s heart raced as he sat next to Eve, feeling the weight of Lilith’s and Lucifer’s gaze upon him. He could sense the shift in the room’s dynamics, the undercurrents of tension and hostility that seemed to press in from all sides.

Eve’s grip on his wrist was unyielding, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. Adam tried to catch her eye, hoping to convey a silent plea for calm, but her focus was locked on Lilith and Lucifer, her rage barely contained.

The room was charged with an electric tension, the air thick with the remnants of the argument. Adam knew that whatever came next would be pivotal, and he could only hope that the storm of emotions would pass quickly, leaving them with some semblance of peace—or at least, a path forward.

Michael cleared his throat with an almost comical sense of formality, his wings fluttering with confusion and agitation. His brows furrowed as he glanced between Eve, who was still seething, and Lilith, who appeared to be reveling in the discord. The celestial presence seemed out of place amid the chaos, like a child witnessing a tempest.

Lucifer, ever observant, caught Michael’s disoriented demeanor with evident glee.

“Oh, Michael,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “Still the same old doll, aren’t you? Always caught in a whirlwind of emotions you barely understand.”

Michael’s face flushed with irritation at the insinuation, but he remained silent, his wings flickering in agitation. The jibe from Lucifer had struck a nerve, and his irritation was palpable.

Sera, sensing the tension threatening to boil over into another confrontation, stepped in with a measured tone.

“Enough of this bickering,” she interjected firmly. “We’re here to address the matter at hand. We have conceded to the demands and brought Adam into this meeting.”

Lucifer and Lilith’s attention shifted sharply to Adam, their gazes piercing through him like a spotlight.

Unable to contain his frustration, Adam made a sassy comment. “I still don’t see why I’m needed here. Hell, and the Sinners have never been my responsibility.”

Lucifer and Lilith exchanged a look, their eyes communicating silently in a way that left everyone else feeling excluded. The moment of telepathic conversation was both irritating and intriguing to those who observed it.

Lucifer turned his attention back to Michael and Sera, his tone laced with a sense of bemused superiority. “Is Adam even aware of what you’ve decided to do?”

Michael frowned; his confusion evident. “Like Adam has mentioned, he doesn’t have any duties with Hell.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he scoffed. “Of course, neither of you told him. You knew he would oppose it, so why not keep him in the dark?”

Sera, her anxiety becoming more pronounced, intervened again. “That’s enough, Lucifer. What exactly do you want, and why is it so important for Adam to be here?”

Eve, unable to hold back her bitterness, interjected sharply. “It’s no a secret that you both abandoned Adam in Eden, leaving him alone, breaking your promises. Now, you want to drag him into your little game?”

Lilith’s eyes flashed with anger as she glared at Eve. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Eve. It would do you well to keep your mouth shut.”

Eve’s laugh was bitter, a sharp, mocking sound that cut through the tension. “Oh, the truth hurts, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, while you both left, Adam was made a better companion than either of you ever were.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, his disdain apparent. “More of a step down, actually.”

Eve’s growl was low and dangerous. Before she could rise from her seat to confront Lucifer, Adam’s hand shot out, grasping her wrist firmly. The gesture was both a plea for calm and an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Lucifer and Lilith’s expressions shifted to one of surprise and displeasure at Adam’s intervention. Eve, however, grinned with a mixture of satisfaction and delight, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this new development.

Adam drew a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of past betrayals and heartbreak pressing down on him as he finally turned his gaze toward Lucifer and Lilith. The pain of old wounds resurfaced, bringing with it a rush of memories that he had buried deep within.

In the beginning, there had been just the two of them: Adam and Lucifer. Lucifer had been more than an Archangel to Adam; he had been a guardian, a friend, a constant presence in his life. Their bond had been unbreakable, a companionship so profound that Adam had felt invincible in its embrace. They had shared countless moments, their bond seemingly unshakeable, until Lilith had been introduced to the Garden.

Adam remembered the day Lilith had come into their lives. It had been a confusing but exhilarating change—he now had two friends, two beings who cared for him. They had all been so close, a trio united in the innocence of their existence. Adam, though he lacked understanding of complex concepts like husband and wife or breeding, was simply overjoyed to be in their company. He felt complete, surrounded by the warmth and companionship of his two dearest friends.

But then, one fateful morning, Adam had awakened to an unbearable silence. Lucifer and Lilith were gone. The emptiness that enveloped him was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had spent countless days and sleepless nights searching for them, his heart aching with a pain he had no words for. They had vanished without a trace, leaving him alone in the Garden, grappling with an anguish that seemed to rend his very soul.

The arrival of Sera from Heaven had marked the beginning of a tumultuous period. Heaven had learned the truth of Lucifer and Lilith's departure—how they had left Eden to be together, abandoning Adam without a word. The revelation had thrown everything into chaos. Adam had been bewildered, struggling to understand why his friends had betrayed him so profoundly.

When Lucifer and Lilith had returned to Eden, their attempts to reconcile only deepened the wound. Adam, unable to bear the sight of them, had fled time and again, overwhelmed by the pain of their betrayal. The Angels, witnessing the turmoil, had intervened, and Lucifer and Lilith were ultimately banished from the Garden. In their absence, Eve was created as Adam’s new companion.

But even then, peace had been elusive. Lucifer and Lilith, defiant and unrepentant, had sneaked back into the Garden, this time targeting Eve. They had tricked her into eating the forbidden apple, setting off a chain of events that would forever alter the course of history. The betrayal had been complete, their actions leaving a scar that Adam would carry with him forever.

Swallowing thickly, Adam’s golden gaze fixed upon the crystalline table, its multifaceted surface reflecting fragments of his troubled thoughts. His heart pounded so fiercely that it seemed to reverberate through his skull, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety and confusion. Slowly, he gathered the courage to look up at his old friends once more.

“What…what do you want?” Adam’s voice trembled, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of fear and frustration. “Why did you ask to see me?”

Lilith’s gaze softened for the first time since Adam had entered the grand hall. Her eyes, once sharp and mocking, now held a glimmer of something akin to regret. It was as if she were struggling to reconcile the figure before her with the person she once knew. She took a tentative step forward, her expression laden with a hint of vulnerability.

“Adam,” she began, her voice carrying a note of earnestness that seemed foreign coming from her. “We’ve honestly been requesting your presence from the very first meeting.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by her admission. “What? Why? I-I don’t know what you expect me to do…but I’m telling you now; I can’t help with anything.”

Lilith’s eyes softened as she stepped forward, her gaze filled with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in the grand hall. Her voice, usually sharp and commanding, took on a gentler tone. “Adam, it’s not about what you can or cannot do. It’s about addressing what was left unresolved between us. There are things we need to settle, and it goes beyond mere duties.”

Lucifer, leaning back in his throne with a more approachable air than before, looked at Adam with a soft, almost paternal smile. “You see, Adam, it’s not just about asking for your help. It’s about closure and reconciliation, and perhaps a bit of… introspection. We’ve been carrying this weight for too long, and it’s something we want to resolve with you.”

Adam’s confusion deepened, mingling with a growing sense of anger. “Closure? Reconciliation?”

Lilith’s expression grew earnest, her eyes reflecting a mixture of remorse and hope. “We made mistakes, Adam. Terrible ones. But we’ve come to realize that there’s something that needs to be settled. It’s not just about what happened in the past, but what we might be able to do moving forward. We want to make amends.”

Eve, who had been watching with simmering rage, scoffed derisively. “Oh, so now you think a few sweet words will make up for abandoning Adam and all the chaos that followed. Don’t be naïve.”

Lilith’s gaze hardened as she shot a sharp look towards Eve, her patience wearing thin. “Eve, you’re quick to judge from the sidelines. We’re here to address what’s unresolved, not to engage in petty arguments.”

Lucifer, his tone slightly mocking but with a hint of warmth towards Adam, interjected. “Let’s not get too carried away with sentiments and accusations. The fact remains that Adam’s presence was deemed necessary. His role in this situation is far from over.”

Adam’s frustration flared. “My role? I’ve had nothing to do with Hell or its sinners. I’ve tried to move on, to build something new. I don’t see why I should be dragged back into this.”

Lucifer and Lilith exchanged a knowing glance, their silent communication fraught with meaning. It was clear to everyone that there was more to their intentions than met the eye, and their cryptic expressions left the room’s atmosphere thick with unresolved tension.

Sera, sensing the rising storm, stepped forward with a voice that cut through the murmur of discontent. “Enough of this. We need to address the matter at hand. Lucifer, Lilith—what exactly do you want from Adam? What is this about?”

Lucifer’s smirk softened, his eyes shimmering with a mix of sincerity and mischief. “What we seek is to resolve the past and perhaps find a way to move forward. It’s about understanding the full scope of what has transpired and finding a path to healing.”

Lilith, her gaze unwaveringly on Adam, added with a touch of earnestness, “We want to make amends and see if there’s any way to repair the damage that was done. It’s a complex task, but one we believe is necessary.”

Adam’s heart sank as the gravity of their request settled in. “I...I don’t know if that’s even possible.”

Eve, still seething, let out a harsh laugh. “Repairing damage? That’s rich. After everything you two did, Adam deserves more than empty words. He deserves something real.”

The room seemed to close in on Adam as he grappled with the weight of their request. The past's betrayals and the present's uncertainties pressed heavily on him. He clung to Eve’s hand, seeking solace in her presence amidst the unfolding chaos.

Lucifer’s golden eyes darkened, not liking how Adam reached for Eve. However, he sucked up and spoke as calmly and gently as possible. "Tell me, Adam, do you know what Heaven has decided to do about Hell's... overcrowding problem?"

Adam blinked, his brow furrowing. "No. I don’t."

His confusion was clear, and he looked toward Eve and Sera, as if expecting some clarification.

Lilith’s lips curved into a bitter smile. "Of course you don’t. They thought it best to keep you in the dark, too."

Her eyes flicked to Sera, who looked like she wanted to intervene, her wings rustling in nervousness.

Sera’s voice tightened as she stepped forward. "That’s not true—"

But Lilith ignored her, her focus on Adam. "Do you know why Eve is dressed like that?"

Adam’s gaze shifted to Eve, his confusion deepening. He looked at the glinting armour she wore, his eyebrows knitting together as he finally asked, "Why does it look like you’re... going to war?"

Eve flushed, her eyes darting away. She couldn’t find the words, and Lucifer, noticing her discomfort, let out a low snort.

"What’s wrong, Eve? Cat got your tongue?" His tone was mocking but still laced with amusement.

Eve shot him a furious glare, but before she could snap back, Adam held up a hand, turning back to Lucifer. "Explain it to me. What’s going on?"

Lucifer’s expression softened, his voice taking on a more tender tone as he began, “Heaven has—”

“No,” Michael interrupted sharply, stepping forward, his face hard and his wings flickering with agitation. "Lucifer has no right to explain anything to you, Adam. Not anymore."

Lucifer's eyes darkened with annoyance, but there was a touch of a smile lingering at the corners of his lips as he responded.

"Like it or not, Michael, I am and always will be Adam’s guardian angel. That was God’s decision, not yours." The weight of his words hung in the air; a challenge Michael couldn’t easily dispute. "If he wants me to explain anything to him, I have the right to furfill that request."

Michael’s expression soured, but he said nothing more, only a frown creasing his usually stoic face. Adam, feeling the tension between them, grew more confused. He glanced back at Lucifer, waiting for an answer.

Lucifer’s gaze softened even further as he returned his attention to Adam. "Heaven has decided to exterminate the Sinners once a year. A purge, if you will."

Adam’s eyes widened in shock. "What?" His gaze darted to Eve, his voice trembling. "Is that why you're dressed like this?"

Eve looked pained; her face flushed with guilt. "Adam, Hell is growing more dangerous. Lilith was caught planning a rebellion—"

Lilith scoffed; her voice sharp as she cut in. "I was only doing what was necessary to protect my people."

Eve whirled on her, her eyes flashing with anger. "Your people? The Sinners aren’t your people, Lilith. They’re our people—mine and Adam’s. They are our children. You and Lucifer have no right to speak on how we’ve decided to deal with the rotten eggs."

Adam flinched at the term “rotten eggs,” disgust twisting in his stomach.

"How can you say that, Eve?" He shook his head, struggling to process what he was hearing. "I... I don’t see what any of you expect me to do about it."

Lucifer’s gaze never left Adam, his voice gentle but firm. "It’s not about the Sinners, Adam. That’s not why we asked you to be here."

Adam’s eyes flicked back to Lucifer; his curiosity piqued. "Then what is it about?"

Lucifer smiled warmly; the kind of smile that once made Adam feel protected, safe. He extended his hand, and a golden portal opened beside him, from which he retrieved a small booklet. As he stood up, Michael shot him a disapproving look, his wings twitching in frustration.

Lucifer rolled his eyes dramatically. "It’s just paper, Michael. Calm down."

Michael huffed but didn’t stop him, watching warily as Lucifer slid the booklet across the crystal table toward Adam. Adam glanced at the cover, his heart pounding as he reached for it.

"What is this?" Adam asked, his voice shaky as his fingers touched the edge of the booklet.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed as he sat back down, a mixture of satisfaction and something far more tender in his expression. "The truth, Adam. Something Heaven has been keeping from you... and something you deserve to know."

The paper was colourful. It demanded his attention, sort of colour. He barely was able to look at it before Sera tried to take it away.

“You don’t have to entertain them, Adam.” She stated.

“No, but I want to see.” Adam said, taking hold of the paper before she could it from him. He didn’t see the way Sera and Michael looked one another, how Eve looked concerned and Lucifer and Lilith released soft breathes of relief.

Adam’s fingers curled around the paper, pulling it off the table. His ears became numb as soon another insulting fight broke out between Heaven and Hell. Nobody could ever stay quiet for long, Adam didn’t know who spoke first, but soon insults were bouncing between Eve and Lilith again, Lucifer and Michael, even Sera at times. But Adam kept quietly, reading over the booklet.

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest as he clutched the booklet, tuning out the escalating argument around him. The moment his fingers touched the paper, something deep inside him stirred—a mixture of dread and curiosity. He could hear Eve’s voice in the background, sharp and biting as she snapped at Lilith, and the smug retorts from Lucifer as he goaded Michael. The entire room was filled with clashing words, like weapons being thrown from one side to the other. Yet, it all felt distant, like white noise.

He had to know what was in that booklet.

Eve’s voice cut through the chaos for a brief second. “Adam, you don’t have give them the time of day. Really, you don't.”

Adam’s grip tightened around the paper, his golden eyes fixed on the words. “No, but I want to see.”

He heard her inhale sharply, as if she wanted to say more, but Adam didn’t look up. He missed the shared glance between Sera and Michael, the tension in Eve’s posture, and the way both Lucifer and Lilith seemed to relax the moment he held the booklet in his hands.

The paper felt heavier than it should have, the weight of untold secrets pressing down on him. As his eyes scanned the first few lines, the world around him began to fade even more. His ears grew numb, and the fight around him became a dull roar. He couldn’t pinpoint who had started it—Eve or Lilith, Michael or Lucifer—but it no longer mattered. All that mattered was the truth in his hands.

It was like peeling back a wound that had long since scarred over, only to find fresh pain beneath. The words on the page blurred at first, but as his focus sharpened, so did the meaning. This wasn’t just a collection of information. It was a revelation—a crack in the foundation of everything he thought he understood.

Suddenly, the noise around him broke through, Eve’s voice cutting sharp and harsh through the silence he had built in his mind.

“Don’t you dare act like you care about him now, Lilith! You had your chance, and you threw it away. You both did! He doesn't need either of you when he has me now!”

Eve’s fury was strong, and Adam glanced up just in time to see her glaring daggers at Lilith, her face flushed with anger.

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, but there was an almost amused glint in them. “Oh please, Eve. You’ve always been a replacement. A poor one at that.”

The booklet trembled slightly in Adam’s hands, but he forced himself to keep reading, even as the barbs flew around him. Lucifer’s voice dripped with condescension as he shot at Michael, “Still Heaven’s perfect little soldier, huh? Must be exhausting being so... wooden.”

Michael’s wings flickered in irritation, his jaw clenching as he tried to ignore the provocation. “I’m not engaging with you.”

Sera’s voice, tight with anxiety, tried to interject. “Can we all focus on the matter at hand? This bickering isn’t helping anything.”

Adam’s fingers traced the edges of the booklet, his curiosity slowly overtaking the growing tension in the room. As he flipped through the pages, he was greeted by a riot of colour and life—beautifully and skilfully painted creatures unlike anything he had ever seen. He had always adored nature, his duties in Heaven centred around animals and plants. He loved naming the creatures God had crafted, feeling a deep connection to each one. But what he saw here was unlike anything from Eden or Heaven.

His golden eyes burned with curiosity as they moved over the images: creatures that were a bizarre fusion of familiar and foreign. Some looked like twisted versions of animals he remembered from Eden—others were entirely alien. There were plants that shimmered with ethereal light, their forms strange and intricate. Flowers with petals like flames, animals with wings that shifted colors, beasts with eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. None of this was from the world he knew, and yet... they were breathtaking.

“What… what are these?” Adam’s voice finally broke through the argument happening around him, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The room quieted for a moment. Eve's scowl softened as she glanced at Adam, though concern lingered in her eyes. Lilith and Lucifer exchanged a quick glance, but it was Lucifer who broke into a wide, relieved smile.

“These,” Lucifer said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “Are the Hellborns.”

Adam blinked, looking up from the booklet, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Hellborns? Like… the Heavenborns?”

Eve opened her mouth, her hand tightening slightly on the armrest. “No, Adam, it’s not—”

“Yes,” Lilith interjected, her voice firm but gentle, cutting Eve off. “They are the same.”

Adam’s gaze flicked between them, confusion deepening. “But… I thought Hell was only for Sinners.”

Lilith’s expression softened as she leaned forward slightly. “That’s what they want you to believe. Hell is a land of the forgotten, Adam. It’s where beings without purpose or hope are thrown. Yes, it is home to the Sinners… but it is also home to the Hellborns. Beings born from the very fabric of the underworld, creatures that no one remembers or cares about. Creatures that didn’t ask to be here.”

Lucifer leaned in, his voice taking on a softer, more intimate tone. “We’ve done everything we can to save them, Adam. To give them a chance to thrive. But…”

He paused, his expression darkening for the briefest moment, “They keep fading away.”

Adam’s heart stirred. There was a tug deep inside him, one he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. It was the same pull he had felt when he first woke up in Eden, when God had told him to name every plant and animal in the garden. To give them purpose and meaning. That same feeling was creeping back into his chest, a quiet whisper urging him forward.

Lilith’s words washed over him, her tone both sorrowful and urgent. “We tried everything, Adam. But Hell is a harsh place. They need more than what we can give. They need someone who understands… someone like you.”

Adam’s fingers tightened on the booklet as his gaze travelled across the painted images of these forgotten creatures. He could see the pain in Lilith’s eyes, the desperation in Lucifer’s smile.

But before Adam could speak, Michael interrupted, his patience evidently thinning. “Enough, Lilith. This has nothing to do with Heaven or Adam’s responsibilities. The Hellborns are not our concern. They were never meant to be.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his usual smugness fading as he shot a sharp look across the table. “Oh, don’t be so short-sighted, Michael. You’re not the only one who can decide what’s important here.”

Michael crossed his arms, his wings twitching slightly in irritation. “Adam has no business getting involved in this.”

Lucifer’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, his eyes glinting with defiance. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze never leaving Michael’s. “Maybe… but Adam wants to know, doesn’t he?”

He turned his head toward Adam, his expression softening again, and this time it wasn’t an act. His smile was gentle, familiar in a way that tugged at Adam’s heart. “Isn’t that right, Adam?”

Adam hesitated, his eyes darting between Michael’s stern face and Lucifer’s warm gaze. Slowly, his head dipped in a small nod. “I… I want to know more.”

His attention shifted back to the booklet, captivated by the creatures painted there.

“Did… did you paint these?” he asked quietly, glancing up at Lucifer and Lilith.

Lilith smiled softly. “We did.”

Adam stared down at the paintings again, his mind racing.

“They’re… really good,” he admitted, his voice a little hesitant but sincere.

“I’m glad you think so.” Lucifer beamed, a proud and almost childish grin spreading across his face. His eyes sparkled, his usual arrogance fading into something softer, more genuine.

Adam's heart tightened in his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself curious—genuinely interested in something beyond the chaos and the anger that had surrounded them for so long. He looked up at Lilith and Lucifer, both of whom were watching him with hopeful eyes, and for a moment, the weight of their past seemed to lift, if only a little.

But the silence didn’t last long.

Eve, her voice laced with unease, leaned forward. “Adam, you don’t owe them anything. They’re just trying to manipulate you—again.”

Adam frowned; the booklet still clutched in his hands. “I’m not being manipulated. I just want to understand.”

Lilith’s smile grew a little wider, but there was something almost sad in her eyes. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed almost giddy, as if finally—finally—Adam was starting to see things from their perspective.

Adam's fingers traced the delicate lines of the painting—a bird-like creature with brilliant, iridescent feathers and eyes that seemed to follow him from the page. His touch was almost reverent, as if through the art, he could feel the life of the creature beneath his fingertips. His gaze slowly lifted, moving across the room, first to Lilith and Lucifer, then toward Eve, Michael, and finally Sera. He swallowed thickly, his thoughts swimming in the tension that hung thick in the air.

“Why show me this?” he asked quietly, his voice cutting through the silence that had briefly settled after their latest spat.

Lucifer let out a quiet sigh, as if the weight of the question bore heavily on him. He leaned forward, his expression more solemn than before. “Because we know we can’t save the Sinners anymore, Adam. Heaven has already decided. The exterminations will go ahead, no matter what we think or do.”

Adam tilted his head, curiosity burning in his golden eyes. “Then… why? Why call for me at all?”

Lilith and Lucifer exchanged a long, meaningful glance, something passing between them unspoken. Lilith finally leaned in, her voice soft, almost tender. “We want to save the Hellborns from the exterminations, Adam.”

Adam’s brows furrowed, still struggling to understand. “The Hellborns… but why? Why does that matter to you?”

Lilith’s eyes softened, and for a moment, her vulnerability shone through. “Because we wish to have a child someday.”

Adam blinked in surprise. “A child?”

Eve scoffed, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Lilith can’t have children. God never gave her the ability too.”

Lilith’s eyes blazed with anger, but she held her tongue, glaring daggers at Eve. “I’m aware of that.”

Lucifer muttered under his breath, “This is why we didn’t want Eve involved in the meeting.”

Michael, growing impatient, crossed his arms. “I’m growing tired of this game.”

Lucifer’s temper flared as he snapped, “Then leave if you want. No one's forcing you to stay."

Michael’s glare was sharp and unyielding, but Lucifer ignored him, his focus shifting back to Adam. Adam, caught in the middle, chewed his bottom lip, feeling the weight of their gazes pressing on him. His thoughts spun, trying to piece together why he was even here, what they were really asking of him.

“So…” Adam started, his voice quiet but firm, “what does this have to do with me? What do the Hellborns have to do with me?”

Lucifer’s gaze softened, and for a moment, all the arrogance and smugness seemed to vanish. “We want you to come to Hell.”

Eve’s reaction was immediate. Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood, her face a mask of outrage.

“Why would you ever think that would happen?!” she demanded.

Lilith remained calm; her voice steady but pointed as she looked Eve in the eye. “You know full well the power Lucifer and I hold. The Sinners can’t touch the extermination angels, but we can. You know that.”

Sera, her brow furrowed in concern, asked cautiously, “Are you suggesting you’d stand in the way of Heaven’s extermination?”

Lucifer shrugged, his expression unreadable. “We’re not saying we will, just that we could.”

Michael straightened, his body tense, arms crossed tightly. “So, what, are you implying that Heaven should hand Adam over to you to make sure you don’t interfere?”

Lucifer’s gaze flickered with a moment of worry as it landed back on Adam, but his voice was calm. “We’re not asking for Adam to stay with us forever. Just for a few months… maybe a year at most.”

Eve’s voice shook with restrained fury. “Why? Why would you even suggest that?”

Lucifer’s eyes were steady as he explained. “The Hellborns have no purpose. They fade away, forgotten. Adam’s power, his gift, has always been to give purpose. He names God's creations, defines them. The Hellborns are God’s creations too, whether you accept that or not.”

Michael scoffed, shaking his head. “The Hellborns are not our concern.”

Sera, ever the mediator, stepped in again. “If it’s the Hellborns you want to protect, we could arrange for the extermination angels to leave them untouched. Adam doesn’t need to go to Hell for that.”

Lilith shook her head, her frustration clear. “That’s not enough. We wish to have a child someday, and our child will be a Hellborn. Hellborns fade without purpose, and our child would too. We need Adam to give them—give our child—a future.”

Eve shook her head vehemently. “You can’t have children. You can’t carry a child, Lilith.”

Lilith’s gaze narrowed, but she didn’t rise to the bait this time. Michael and Sera, however, exchanged thoughtful glances.

After a tense silence, Michael spoke slowly, weighing his words carefully. “If we were to agree… if we allowed you to ‘borrow’ Adam for a year, even if this plan of yours fails, you’d stay out of the exterminations?”

Lucifer’s expression softened as he nodded. “We would. That’s our promise.”

Eve gasped, her disbelief clear. “Are you seriously considering sending Adam to Hell?”

Sera looked at Eve with pained eyes. She was clearly conflicted, her gaze shifting to Adam, who looked frozen in shock and disbelief, the weight of the conversation bearing down on him.

Michael’s voice was hard as he addressed Lucifer. “If we agree to this, there will be no harm to Adam. You don’t touch him. Not once.”

Lucifer looked insulted; his voice sharp. “You really think so little of us?”

Lilith’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Don’t answer that,” she muttered. “It’s obvious what they think of us.”

She turned to Adam then, her gaze soft and full of something that resembled the warmth they once shared. “We would never hurt you again, Adam. You know that.”

Adam’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion and emotion. His fingers trembled slightly as he looked at the booklet in his hands, the Hellborn creatures staring back at him, pulling at something deep inside his soul. He felt the familiar tug, the pull of purpose. But the weight of everything—the betrayals, the pain, the love, and the loss—clouded his mind. Could he really trust them again? Could he do this for them? For the Hellborns?

He wasn’t sure. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t entirely certain he could say no.

"Can... can I think about it? At least?" Adam’s voice, barely above a whisper, pierced through the soft murmur of the hall, instantly quieting the room.

Lilith’s lips curled into a gentle smile, a wave of relief washing over her. He hadn’t dismissed them. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Adam hesitated, his eyes flickering between them, his voice even softer now.

“And... could I keep this too?” He glanced at the booklet in his hands, almost shy in his request.

Lucifer’s heart swelled with joy, his face lighting up with pure delight. Adam wanted to keep what they had made!

He nodded eagerly, his voice bubbling with excitement. “Yes! Yes! Of course, you can keep it! We’d love for you to keep it!”

Blushing deeply, Adam’s fingers tightened around the delicate pages, feeling the warmth rise all the way to the tips of his ears. He nodded again, his voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

His thoughts whirled. Go to Hell for a full year? With just Lucifer and Lilith? Could he really do that? Be with the two people he loved more than anything, yet who had caused him such pain, leaving his heart shattered? It felt overwhelming... but then there was that familiar tug deep inside him. The pull of his power, his purpose. The need to face those Hellborns, to name them, to grant them the right to exist—even if their home was Hell itself.

“The meeting is adjourned,” Michael announced abruptly, rising from his seat. “We’ll return in a week with our decision.”

Lucifer, still riding the wave of joy from Adam’s request, barely noticed the stern look his brother was giving him. He grinned wide, almost giddy. “Perfect! We’ll see you in a week!”

“Adam,” Lilith’s voice was as soft and tender as a lullaby, echoing with the same sweetness she’d spoken with in Eden. “Thank you for hearing us out.”

Adam blinked in surprise, her words gently wrapping around him. Slowly, he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a breath.

“...No problem...”

~#~

As they left the meeting, Eve fell into step beside Adam, her voice soft but insistent. "Adam... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn’t tell you about the exterminations sooner." Her eyes flickered with regret, though her tone remained firm. "I was trying to protect you, protect Heaven. It's... it's what’s best for everyone."

Adam remained silent, his steps slow and deliberate as he listened. Eve didn’t notice his quietness, too caught up in her own words. She rambled on, her words coming in waves.

“Sinners aren’t like us, Adam. They’ve fallen, they’ve failed. Their punishment is necessary. We can’t let them spoil what we’ve built here. They’re… they’re the bad ones, the rotten eggs among our children.”

Her voice softened as she reached for his hand, but her words were still sharp. “It’s mercy, Adam. True mercy. To let them live in Hell, knowing they could never be like us… it’s cruel. This is kinder.”

Adam’s mind wandered as she spoke. Could it really be mercy? Could it be fair for the damned to suffer in Hell only to be killed again, stripped of even that painful existence? His heart ached with doubt. He didn’t agree—not fully—but he couldn’t find the words to say it. Not now.

Eve squeezed his hand and led him through the familiar path to their shared home, her voice still echoing the same justifications. Their garden awaited them, blooming with all the vibrant life Adam adored. The air was fragrant with the scent of roses, bluebells, sunflowers, and daisies. Each plant was a testament to his love for beauty and growth, their colors bright and warm beneath the soft light of Heaven.

Adam’s gaze lingered on the flowers, but for the first time, his thoughts drifted to something else.

What did the flowers in Hell look like? Did they bloom like these, or were they twisted, dark reflections of the beauty he cherished here?

He turned his eyes to the Heavenborn tiger that lazed in the grass nearby, its golden and white fur shimmering in the glow of their garden. Without a word, Adam slipped away from Eve’s side and moved to the tiger, lowering himself into its soft, warm fur. The creature purred gently as Adam nestled into its embrace, finding a quiet comfort there. His fingers sank into the thick fur as his thoughts drifted once more.

What were Hell’s Hellborns like? Did they glow like this tiger, or were they something else entirely?

Eve, standing with her hands on her hips, watched him with growing frustration. Her voice sharpened as she asked, “Adam, are you seriously considering this? Entertaining Lucifer and Lilith? Going to Hell for a whole year?”

But Adam didn’t respond. His fingers traced the edge of the booklet Lucifer had given him, its weight heavy in his hands. He stared at it, the delicate pages filled with hope and promises of something different, something unknown. Something that tugged at him, even as he lay surrounded by the familiar comfort of his garden.

Eve’s voice grew softer, but it didn’t reach him. He was already lost in thought, torn between the world he knew and the one that waited below.

~#~

Meanwhile, in the depths of Hell, Lucifer and Lilith let out synchronized sighs of relief as they left the meeting. The tension that had gripped them throughout the entire exchange with Heaven finally began to ease.

"That... could have gone better," Lucifer muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. His usual confident demeanor was tinged with frustration.

Lilith hummed softly in agreement, her arms crossed as she glanced back toward where the meeting had been held. "It would've been better if we could have spoken to Adam alone," she said, her voice carrying the weight of her disappointment.

Lucifer nodded, the corners of his mouth pulling into a tight line. "True, but you know Heaven would never allow that. Not after everything."

They both sighed again, this time in sadness, the unspoken ache shared between them. It had been so long, too long, since they’d seen Adam. And despite the tensions that lingered, it had been good—heartachingly good—to see him again.

"I missed him so much," Lilith admitted quietly, her voice almost breaking. "It was... comforting to see him, to know he’s healthy."

"Yeah... he's doing well. But..." Lucifer gave a small, weak smile but then it faltered as he met her gaze, knowing they both felt the same unspoken concern. "I don’t like how close he is to Eve."

Lilith's lips pressed into a thin line; her displeasure evident. "Neither do I. There's something about her... it feels wrong. I don’t like how she talks, how she looks at him."

Her gaze softened with a hint of sorrow. "But at least Adam still seems... himself. Still sweet, like he was in Eden."

Lucifer’s smile returned, though faintly. "We should be thankful that Eve’s bitterness hasn’t completely rubbed off on him. He hasn’t changed as much as I feared."

He looked off into the distance, a softness in his eyes. "He’s still so innocent, in a way."

Lilith nodded, her own small smile returning. The idea that Adam had held on to pieces of his old self, despite everything, filled her with a fragile sense of relief. "He really is. It’s... it’s nice to see that."

A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken regrets, before Lilith finally broke the silence, her voice trembling slightly. "I regret how we left things in Eden."

“I regret it too," he admitted, his tone heavy. Lucifer’s eyes darkened, the familiar weight of guilt pressing down on his shoulders. "But... I wasn’t expecting him to run from us when we came back for him. That hurt more than I can even say."

Lilith’s gaze dropped, pained. "I can never forget the look he gave me," she whispered, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "The fear in his eyes. I hate that he was so scared of me... of us."

Her voice cracked. "He ran away from me, Lucifer. And he cried. I made him cry."

Lucifer stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I know. I hated it too."

His voice was thick with emotion, his usual confident facade breaking. "I never wanted to make him cry. Never. It broke me seeing him like that... but we didn’t have a choice. We had to make sure it was safe for him before we could take him with us."

"I know," she murmured. Lilith nodded slowly, though the pain in her eyes didn’t ease. "If we’d taken him with us back then... he could’ve gotten sick, maybe even died. I just wish I could tell him that. I wish he knew that he was always meant to be with us."

Lucifer’s grip on her shoulder tightened in reassurance. "We’ll be able to tell him someday. He’ll understand. He has to."

Lilith looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Do you really think Heaven will let him come to Hell for a year? Do you think they’ll let him be with us?"

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice low. Lucifer’s expression darkened slightly. "But Michael seemed to take our threat seriously when we mentioned interfering with the extermination."

Lilith frowned at the mention of the exterminations, her distaste clear. "I hate those. The idea of killing the Sinners again and again... it feels so wrong. How can they call it mercy?"

Lucifer nodded grimly. "It’s horrible. And it was clear Adam didn’t like it either."

"That’s the one thing that gives me hope," Lilith said softly, her eyes distant. "Adam still has that empathy. That tenderness. Maybe... maybe that means we have a chance."

Lilith’s brow furrowed as she turned to Lucifer, a hint of worry lingering in her eyes. “Do you really think this plan will work?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Lucifer’s expression softened, his smile returning, though it carried the weight of years of effort.

“It has to, Lilith,” he murmured. “We’ve been working on this for so long. Too long to fail now.”

Lilith nodded, though her frustration bubbled to the surface. “You’re right. It’s been so long,” she said, her voice rising with simmering anger.

“Do you know how many centuries we’ve spent just trying to get Heaven to let us see Adam? Just to be in the same room as him? And they still treat us like we’re—like we’re nothing to him.”

Her words came out sharper than she intended, and she clenched her fists, her body tense with the weight of their shared struggle. But before the anger could take root any deeper, Lucifer gently took her hand, squeezing it in quiet reassurance.

“Lilith,” he said softly, his golden eyes steady as they met hers. “It’ll work out. Adam will be ours again.”

For a moment, Lilith’s anger faded, replaced by a soft smile. She let out a long, tired sigh, her shoulders easing as she rested against Lucifer’s.

“If Adam comes to save the Hellborn, that is,” she whispered, her tone quieter, tinged with hope.

A grin slowly spread across Lucifer’s face, his confidence returning. “Of course he will,” he said, almost playfully. “He’s soft. Tender. That’s who he is.” His smile grew warmer as he leaned closer, his voice dipping into a familiar, soothing cadence. “We have to be gentle with him. Tender. Patient. We can’t rush things with Adam—not if we want him to stay.”

Lilith chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I know, I know.”

“We can’t frighten him. The last thing we want is for him to pull away again.” Her voice softened as she thought of how much had already been lost, of Adam’s fear, his tears. They couldn’t let that happen again.

Lucifer nodded; his expression firm yet gentle. “Exactly. We’ll be patient. Adam will come to Hell, and he’ll give the Hellborn a purpose. And in doing so…”

He smiled, the weight of their plan settling into place. “He’ll save our future child.”

Lilith’s eyes gleamed at the mention of it, the future they had dreamed of for so long.

“Once Adam’s pregnant with our baby,” she said softly, the word ours filling the air like a promise, “He won’t be able to leave Hell, no matter what.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something possessive in his smile. “One year will never be enough, Lilith. You and I both know that. Once Adam’s with us, there won’t be any going back.”

Lilith’s smile deepened, her heart lightened by the thought.

“No,” she agreed. “There won’t be.”

They loved Adam so much. It was a shame Adam misunderstood their intentions in Eden. But they weren't about to make the same mistake twice.

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #fanficiton #au #lilith #lilith x Adam x Lucifer #Threesome?#Eve

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