#It'll make sense
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imagine-darksiders Ā· 2 years ago
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The Human Influence.
Samael X Reader.
This is a 10,000 word continuation from this little ask I received a while ago.
Summary: Lilith brings her Prince a 'gift,' all trussed up in a silver chain and collar. To her credit, if anyone were to ask her if she thought Samael had a soft spot, she would never in a million eons dream that the answer might be 'yes.' Unfortunately for the demon queen, Samael's little 'soft spot' just so happens to be attached to the chain she grasps in her sleek, black claws.
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Samael wonā€™t even vaguely pretend that heā€™s pleased to see Lilith when she comes strutting with a purpose through the doors to his throne room, her pretty, painted lips black as night and twisted into that self-assured grin he so detests.
The demon princeā€™s cragged chin sits perched upon his knuckles as he lounges inattentively in the seat of his throne, tracing Lilithā€™s sauntered path towards him over the black, basalt floor.
Neither of them bothers to pretend theyā€™re especially pleased to see the other, even if it has been several months since Lilith set foot in Shadowā€™s Edge. She, however, puts in just slightly more effort than Samael, lifting her lips into a sultry smile when she catches him looking her way.
Just as he begins to wonder what kind of favour she might try to curry from him today, something glints in the light cast by the moat of lava that surrounds the room, and he drops his gaze slightly to find a silver chain clutched between his mistressā€™s talons.
Thick and cumbersome, it disappears behind her inverted wings, pulled ever so taut, doubtlessly locked fast around the neck of her latest little plaything.
Heaving a great sigh through his nostrils, the prince casts a bored glance between Lilithā€™s coiled horns in an idle attempt to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate creature thatā€™s stumbling along in tow.
If he werenā€™t such an expert in maintaining his impenetrable countenance, he might have lurched forwards in his seat and crushed the armrests beneath his claws at what, or rather who he spies at the end of his mistressā€™s chain.
As it is, Samaelā€™s only outward reaction is in the barest twitch of his pointed tail and the quirk of a scaly brow.
Inwardly however, a spark ignites.
ā€˜She didnā€™t,ā€™ he seethes to himself as an ugly, howling rage begins to stir in his belly, whipped up like flames in the wind, ā€˜Not this humanā€¦ Any human but-ļæ½ļæ½ā€™
You.
His little storytellerā€¦
It canā€™t be you. Not so soon after the Horsemen took you back from him the first time.
Questions fly around his skull like rapid, biting gnats. Itā€™s hardly been a full Earth month since you were here last. Heā€™s been keeping close tabs on your movements, not to mention the Four have barely let you out of their sight for a moment ā€“ How could Lilith have sunk her claws into you!?
Mistaking the subtle shift of his attention as a show of interest, the demonessā€™s lips carve upwards into a sharper smile as she blows a lustful breath between her fangs, prowling to a halt at the foot of Samaelā€™s throne with her hips cocked.
ā€œMy Lord,ā€ she all but purrs, dipping into a low bow and very deliberately exposing more of her chest than Samael finds either tasteful or necessary, ā€œIt has been far too long~.ā€
Alluring, golden eyes flick up to peer at him through her lashes, yet her smile wavers ever so slightly when she finds that his attention is fixed elsewhere.
He canā€™t tear his eyes from your face.
Samaelā€™s nostrils flare wide to inhale the tangy scent of iron on the air. Heā€™d know that smell a mile off. After all, heā€™s well acquainted with blood. It rises above the chamberā€™s usual aroma of brimstone and dank moisture, with a source that his well-trained nose can trace directly back to you.
Lilith, it would seem, hasnā€™t brought you to him unscathed.
Even the Prince of Hell himself is taken aback as the anger churning in his guts starts to boil, bubbling up from his stomach like putrid smoke and rising to fill the crevices of his chest.
A trickle of scarlet blood runs a track from your swollen, purpling nose down over quivering lips to gather at the bottom of your chin, where it drips steadily to the ground by your feet with soft, little splats that permeate the silence sitting like a smog between you.
One of your captivating eyes has swelled shut behind a dark bruise, and from your other eye ā€“ the one he tries and fails to meet ā€“ streams a veritable river of tears, cutting a path through the dirt on your cheek and mingling with the blood in the dip of your chin.
Like an ancient building falling to ruin, Samaelā€™s unshakable composure slowly starts to crumble. Lowering his fearsome, yellow eyes to your neck, he locks his sights on the metal collar that Lilith must have fastened tightly around your throat, causing every breath to leave you in tiny, pitiable wheezes.
The delicate skin below it has been rubbed red and rawā€¦
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Samael barely manages to compose himself, ducking his head and attempting to catch your eye again. And yet, your gaze slides away from his, fixing itself resolutely on the ground below your bare feet.
Lilith must have snatched you away in the dead of night, if the white, cotton sleepshirt hanging from your frame is any indication.
She stole you when you were at your most vulnerableā€¦
Coward.
Easing his clenched jaws apart, the prince aims a poisonous glare over at his queen, his lips curling down at their corners. ā€œLilith,ā€ he utters, his voice like tar moving under the earth, low and dangerous, ā€œWhatā€¦ is the meaning of-?ā€
ā€œ- A gift, my Lord,ā€ she interrupts smoothly, proud as a cat with a dove in its jaws, ā€œA present, in part, toā€¦. apologise for the time Iā€™ve spent absent from your sideā€¦ā€
Frankly, he muses, her absence in itself has been gift enough.
Twitching her head sideways to peer over her shoulder at you, Lilithā€™s expression suddenly contorts into a snarl that mars her attractive features as she gives the end of your chain a jarring, vicious yank.
Samaelā€™s spine snaps straight as youā€™re wrenched forwards by the neck with a strangled croak, collapsing onto your knees and throwing your trembling hands up to claw feebly at the collar, but the hateful piece of silver has been cinched so tightly around your throat, you canā€™t even squeeze your fingertips beneath it to relieve some of the pressure.
Curling his enormous hand into a fist, Samael raises his chin and stares down at you, his burning, fire-laden stare aflame with anticipation.
As much as he dreads the thought, he half expects a groan of pleasure to tumble from your lips.
Lilithā€™sā€¦ obscene influence is as powerful as it is repulsive. Itā€™s an ancient, inherent magic that can pervert the mind of even the most pious angel and turn them into just another of the demonessā€™s depraved and lustful thralls.
Sheā€™s tainted the sanity of far more powerful souls than yours, through no effort at all on her part. And yetā€¦
And yet, to the princeā€™s astonishment ā€“ and surprisingly, his relief - there are no needy moans, no adoring looks at his mistress, no grasping hands that stretch out across the space between you and her skin as if you couldnā€™t possibly live for another second without feeling her scales roll beneath your fingertips.
All Samael can see in your eye is a bone deep terror, all he can hear from your lips are quiet, wheezing breaths. Your hands are still your own, still clutching and scrabbling at the collar locked around your throat.
As twisted as it seems, heā€™s glad to see your terror, butā€¦ How are you still in your right mind?
ā€œBow before your betters, Ape!ā€ Lilith spits, hauling on the chain once more so that youā€™re yanked forwards, thrown off balance and landing harshly on your hands and knees beside her with a strangled sob, ā€œOr else I shall feed your legs to the Hell hounds!ā€
Now, Samael is the furthest thing from a saint. His cruelty, depravity and occasional grabs for power might be considered by many to be on par with Lilithā€™s own, craven deeds.
Heā€™s a Prince of Hell, after all. The enemies heā€™s slain could fill all the rivers of Eden with their blood.
Butā€¦ youā€™re not one of Samaelā€™s enemiesā€¦
Youā€™re not even a political target, despite your affiliation with the Four Horsemen.
Youā€™re justā€¦
Youā€™re you.
For what youā€™ve had to endure, during the Apocalypse and your journey alongside the Horseman, Death, to bring your species back from extinction, for being the foremost intermediary between Humanity and the rest of Creation, youā€™re worthy of respect. Notā€¦ this.
Seeing his little storyteller bloodied and broken, bound on your knees in front of him doesnā€™t stir anything in the demon except aā€¦ a heaviness in his chest. Heā€™s never once given his cold, ancient heart much consideration, but he certainly notices it now when it gives a sudden and unexpected twist.
He can only think to attribute such a sensation to the rage swelling behind his ribs.
Fire ignites beneath his scales and burns a path through his veins until heā€™s contemplating simply tearing Lilith to pieces for laying her vile claws on you. Butā€¦ that would be showing his handā€¦
And Samael hasnā€™t been on the throne this long by showing his handā€¦
If Lilith catches the slightest whiff of a weakness in him, sheā€™ll try to exploit that weakness to her own advantage.
She could kill you if she thought for a moment that your death would get to him.
As much as heā€™s loathe to admit it, it would.
Unfortunately for her, Samael was always better at playing high-stakes games than she ever wasā€¦
Plastering a sultry grin on her lips, she watches as her Prince leans himself forwards in the throne, balancing his chin atop steepled fingertips.
She must think him a foolā€¦
You were never intended to be a gift for him.
This isnā€™t her attempting to win her way between his sheets after several months spent away from his fortress.
All this is, is Lilith drawing the Four Horsemen right to his doorstep.
When he brought you here the first time and the Horsemen arrived to rescue you, the only reason he came out unscathed was because you yourself were unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched. Heā€™d kept his word to you, and never once laid a finger on you in malice.
Youā€™d even vouched for him when War exploded into his all-powerful Chaos Form and charged hell-for-leather at the demon.
ā€œWar! Donā€™t!ā€ youā€™d pleaded shrilly, hurling yourself between the charging behemoth and a bemused Samael, ā€œHe didnā€™t hurt me! Look at me! Iā€™m fine! Please, justā€¦ just take me homeā€¦ā€
You knew the demon wielded powers that could easily match those of the Horsemen, and you werenā€™t willing to risk the safety of your friends.
Samael had been counting on your intervention. Without it, heā€™s sure his fortress wouldnā€™t have been left standing in once piece after an all-out battle between himself and the Four.
But if the Horsemen were to turn up now to find you in this stateā€¦? And they surely will, because Death wonā€™t neglect to investigate the princeā€™s involvement for a second time.
Wellā€¦ Samael is sure to come out of it losing something, even if not his life.
The tenuous reinstatement of peace between Hell and the other realms would no doubt be ripped up.
The Horsemen would declare war on him in your name. Youā€™re one of theirs, after all.
And Lilith knows that.
ā€œLet me see if I understand your intentions here,ā€ Samael rumbles, planting his massive palms on each of the throneā€™s armrests and curling his black claws into the stone, ā€œYou have brought me.. this humanā€¦ā€œ
He has to bite his tongue before he almost says your name, though Lilith gives no indication that sheā€™s noticed the near miss.
Sweat has begun to bead between her scales, and the stench of it drifts into his nose.
Sheā€™s nervous.
ā€œNot just any human,ā€ she rushes to assure him, twisting her fist into the chain and hauling you -hacking and spluttering ā€“ back up onto your feet, ā€œAllow me to introduce you to the little pest that belongs to those treacherous Horsemen.ā€
Samaelā€™s fangs grind together as she extends a sleek, ebony claw and slides its point beneath your chin, pushing your head back, and for the first time since she brought you before him, your eyes finally lock with his.
He almost wishes they hadnā€™t.
Samael must favour you more than he assumed, because the look youā€™re sending him empties the fury in his chest until it merely feels hollow and cold.
Even with one eye wedged shut and blood painting your lips crimson, he can easily make out the betrayal pinching your expression. Itā€™s an expression heā€™s well-accustomed to.
But on you, itā€™s hard to look at. Predominantly because there was a moment, however briefly, where you seemed to trust him, if only a little ā€“ which was a damn sight more than anyone ever has before.
It wasnā€™tā€¦ an unwelcome feeling, to have someone believe him at his word. Not even his own troops would trust him. Lilith ā€“ the very demoness who used to share his bed ā€“ knows better than to trust him. And, yes, while it was terribly naĆÆve of you, Samael had ended up proving you right, in some small way.
You trusted him when he said he wouldnā€™t hurt you, and he hadnā€™t.
Until now, evidently.
He can understand why heā€™s getting this look from you now.
He once swore youā€™d never come to harm within his walls, not by his hand nor any of his ilkā€™s.
Of course, it would be Lilith who shattered what fragile and hesitant faith youā€™ve granted him. In your eyes, by mere affiliation, Samael is responsible for his former mistressā€™s actions.
ā€œYouā€™ve brought the Horsemenā€™s human right to my doorstep?ā€ he growls heavily, pushing himself up onto his taloned feet.
His chest gives an unexpected twinge when you take a step back, though heā€™ll admit itā€™s gratifying to see the confidence drain from Lilithā€™s face as he rises to his full, imposing height.
ā€œAnd what do you suppose theyā€™ll do, Lilith,ā€ he adds, ā€œWhen they find their precious friend in this condition, hm?ā€
A heavy, thundering step carries him down the stone staircase towards her.
The demonessā€™s forked tongue darts out to moisten her lips. She matches his advancement with a backwards step that brings her up alongside you. ā€œThis,ā€ she starts apprehensively, ā€œThis is your chanceā€¦ to take revenge on-!ā€
ā€œ-Revenge!?ā€ Samaelā€™s thunderclap of an interruption stifles the last remnants of cockiness in her tone and she hastily retreats as he draws closer, letting a few links of the chain slip through her slender fingers.
As soon as it goes slack, you take the opportunity to stagger sideways, putting as much distance between yourself and the two, massive demons as the chain will allow, your wary eye affixed on Samael, as if heā€™s the greater threat.
ā€œAnd what offence have the Horsemen cause me that would warrant revenge?ā€ the demon prince demands, endeavouring to keep his gaze trained on Lilith.
Her slitted pupils shrink as badly concealed irritation flashes across her face and her lips twitch with the beginnings of a snarl. It must have occurred to her, at last, that she isnā€™t fooling anyone.
This was never about Samaelā€™s tenuous alliance with the Horsemen. Itā€™s only ever been about Lilith, as always. Once again, her desire for vengeance for what the Four did to her Nephilim children has superseded her common sense.
Even thousands of years after the massacre at Eden, she still seeks retribution.
She always has been a master of manipulation - Pit the Horsemen against the Prince of Darkness, and no matter which of them emerges the victor, itā€™s Lilith who ends up reaping the spoils.
If Samael succeeds, sheā€™ll have finally had her revenge on the Horsemen, but if the Four succeed, sheā€™ll be free to move in and take the princeā€™s throne.
She certainly knows how to play the game.
Itā€™s just unfortunate for her that heā€™s been playing it a whole Hell of a lot longer, and he always has so hated to lose.
Her first mistake was taking him for a fool.
Her second, and far more grievous, was taking you at all.
Sheā€™ll face retribution, for that heā€™ll make certain, though her punishment wonā€™t necessarily be for the reason she expects.
Lilithā€™s mouth twists. He can already hear the venomous words curdling on her tongue, no doubt readying a jab at his cowardice for being unwilling to face the Horsemenā€™s wrath. She never gets the chance to voice whatever cruel sentiment rises behind her gorge.
Without warning, Samaelā€™s hand snaps out, his fingers curled over and aimed straight at his former mistress. Before she can even utter a squawk of alarm, a dark, festering tendril of magic slithers into existence, ripped from between the fabrics of space itself and sent to coil around her neck like a serpent, crushing in on her throat with a pressure that only increases with every flex of Samaelā€™s fingers.
At once, and as heā€™d hoped, Lilith drops your chain to throw her hands up and scrabble uselessly at the magic strangling her. But magic, by nature, is intangible. Her claws canā€™t make purchase.
ā€œWhat say you, Lilith?ā€ he growls, a vindictive smirk revealing two rows of gleaming, wicked fangs, ā€œIs this still as gratifying as you remember?ā€
The demonessā€™s mouth hangs agape as she collapses heavily onto her knees. ā€˜There,ā€™ he muses, letting a wave of sick satisfaction roll over him, ā€˜At last.ā€™
Poetic justice if heā€™s ever seen it.
The feeblest sound twitches his ear, and he stills, flicking his gaze down to the human in their midst.
A single, undamaged eye shines back up at him, sparkling in the firelight that glints off the tears rolling down sodden cheeks. In a lone blink, Samaelā€™s dark magic falters and the snarl on his lips withers as he studies your face.
Youā€™re still cryingā€¦ A sight that should have gladdened and satisfied him only renders the demon unpleasantly hollow. Perturbed, Samael tries to shake off the unexpected weight of your distress piling up on his shouldersā€¦ He soon finds, however, that he canā€™t.
Lilithā€™s wheezing gargle that sounds a little too much laughter snaps his attention back onto her and he growls, his fingers quivering with the pressure of closing the magic coil even more firmly around her throat to cut off any other, sinful sound she tries to make.
Sudden movement to his right draws his scorching glare down to the spot youā€™d been hunching in mere seconds ago, only to find it empty.
Inverted, leathery wings stiffen as he whips his gaze up and finds you stumbling away from him as fast as your wobbly legs can carry you, heading in a backwards run for the exit of his throne room to the corridors beyond. The silver chain rattles along in your wake.
Itā€™s only by a fraction... just a fractionā€¦ but Samaelā€™s wild and wrathful gaze starts to soften.
Heaving a sigh, he turns his focus back to Lilith once more.
Sheā€™s still on her knees, still choking on the magic locked tight around her throat, but her eyes are fixed coldly on the princeā€™s, her pupils narrowed to thin, catlike slits.
He knows then that she saw it. She saw the malice fade from his snarl as he looked at youā€¦
Bristling, Samael peels his lips back and bares his teeth down at her. He can tell sheā€™s trying to do the same, throwing as much hatred into her glare as she can, despite the agony that no longer seems to bring her any semblance of sick pleasure.
Right now though, he has more important matters to attend to.
ā€œBegone from my sight,ā€ he hisses. And with a final, dismissive flick of his wrist, he disperses the band around her neck.
Lilithā€™s gasp is loud enough to echo through the cavernous chamber.
Crumpling forwards onto her hands and knees ā€“ just as you had only moments ago ā€“ she greedily sucks down several lungfuls of air as Samael sweeps past her, his nostrils flaring, hoping heā€™ll catch your scent before you can run too far.
He barely makes it to the entrance before a cold, breathless chuckle reaches his ears.
ā€œOh~ā€ she rasps in a haggard voice, ā€œOh, isnā€™t that preciousā€¦..ā€
Like a dark moonrise, Lilith picks her head up and spins it over a shoulder, glaring maniacally after his retreating back.
Samael doesnā€™t linger to hear what else she has to say, but the fortress rings with the shrillness of her cackles, her voice chasing his shadow as he in turn follows after the trail of blood droplets youā€™ve left to seep into the cracks of the basalt floor.
ā€œThe Horsemen will hear of this, my love! They will know! Who would have guessed that a human will be your doom!?ā€
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If nothing else, at least the stench of blood is easy enough to track.
Samael is not the kind of demon to hurry, but heā€™s well aware that his fellow demonic hordes can sniff out a wounded human from a mile away. So, if his thundering footsteps fall a little more hastily that usualā€¦ well, thatā€™s his business.
For someone so injured, youā€™ve made good ground.
Unrelenting in his pursuit, the prince follows your scent up a winding, spiralling staircase and along a vast corridor all the way to a room that had seen much use just last month.
ā€œAh,ā€ he muses aloud. Of course, it would make sense youā€™d come back here.
He finds himself standing outside the doors to your old prison.
The bed chambers heā€™d kept you in after he stole you from Earth.
His fortress is large and labyrinthian. Itā€™s likely you fled along the only path you could recognise.
The moment he ducks his horns through the entrance and steps into the dimly lit room, heā€™s struck by an acrid concoction of blood and terror.
The bed to his left sits innocuous and innocent, perfectly unassuming.
But heā€™s the one who had it put there, so he knows of the small space between the springs and the floor, just enough of a gap for a human to squeeze themselves into, should they be so inclined.
Turning towards it, he carefully lowers himself onto a knee, breathing a sigh as he reaches for the silken, burgundy sheets that hang over the side and drape all the way to the ground.
ā€œI wish I could tell you Iā€™m not glad to see you again so soon, little one,ā€ he rumbles, pinching the sheets between his thumb and forefinger and raising them slowly off the ground, ā€œBut in truth, Iā€™ve been hoping our paths would cross again, though perhaps not under these circumstancesā€¦ā€
Stooping low, his burning gaze illuminates the dark, dusty space between the mattress and the ground, and there, in the shadows, he finds you.
ā€œThere you areā€¦ā€
Curled into a tiny ball, you peer up at the demonā€™s colossal face, your pretty eyes blown wide with horror. That wretched, silver chain is still digging like teeth into your neck, rendering each breath that passes your lips small and lacking.
The princeā€™s browbones dip into a frown. ā€œCome hereā€¦ā€ he utters, neither commanding, nor passive. Just a request.
Yet still, you flinch at it despite its gentleness.
The smell of liquid iron ā€“ once so tantalising ā€“ now itches at the insides of his nostrils. Youā€™re still bleeding freely, butā€¦
That isnā€™t all that troubles Samael.
He doesnā€™t know how long Lilith has held you, and you havenā€™t yet said a single word to him.
He doesnā€™t like this silence, not from you.
A sudden urgency strikes him in the chest, though he mistakes it for impatience, and he emits a low growl from his throat, a sound of frustration, not anger.
Without giving you a moment to prepare, he promptly slides one, enormous paw beneath the bed frame and simply tips the entire thing up onto two of its legs, exposing you completely to his searching glare.
Recoiling in shock, you immediately heave yourself off your stomach and try to get your feet underneath you, only to find the escape attempt thwarted by a gigantic, leathery hand that closes swiftly, yet gingerly around your torso, plucking you up off the cold ground.
Samaelā€™s shoulders drain of tension once he has you safe in his clutches. Swallowing back a throaty rumble, he raises you towards his chest and stoops to lower the bed once again, all the while subjecting you to his unflinching scrutiny.
The demonā€™s lips peel back to reveal his teeth as he takes a closer look at the swelling around your eye and the crookedness of your bleeding nose. At the sight of his fangs lingering dangerously close to your face, you utter a pitiable whimper and clutch frantically at the fingers circling your waist, making a valiant, yet futile attempt to shove them away from your night shirt.
You may as well be trying to bend steel beams.
ā€œDid she touch you?ā€ he suddenly urges, his voice strangely thin and ragged.
He needs to knowā€¦ He needs to confirm for himself that Lilith hasnā€™t spoiled his little storytellerā€™s soul.
Your struggling pauses briefly as you tip your head back and fix him with an incredulous, pinched look, your bruised eyelid twitching as if to say, ā€˜What the Hell do you think?ā€™
ā€˜Ahā€¦ā€™ he realises, ā€˜You misunderstand.ā€™
ā€œI can see she has hurt you,ā€ he elaborates with an uncharacteristic patience, lowering his gaze to that intimate place thatā€™s safely hidden behind his fingers, just below your naval, ā€œI need to know if she touched youā€¦ā€
Perhaps the angle of his stare is a little crass, but at least you catch on swiftly, and begin to squirm unhappily in his grip.
The fact that the fierce shake of your head is delayed does little to ease his flaring temper.
ā€œI need to hear your words, little storyteller,ā€ he murmurs in his low, resonant timbre.
Your good eye grows wide as he raises the forefinger of his free hand and brushes it over the silver collar wound around your neck.
The anticipation screws your face up tight and you flinch back, eye squeezing shut. Yet rather than pain, youā€™re instead hit with shocking and blessed relief.
At the demonā€™s touch, the collar comes apart with a jarring snap and the whole thing slides from your throat, rattling down to the ground below your dangling feet.
A gasping breath is sucked down into your lungs too quickly, causing you to lurch forwards over his thumb with a grating cough, lifting your hands up and stroking at the tender, red flesh left behind with trembling fingers.
Without the chain obscuring them, Samael is given an uninterrupted view of the dark band of bruises that have been burned like a brand around the circumference of your throat.
Sparks of white-hot fire burst from his lips as he spits a curse in the demonic tongue.
Youā€™re still breathing raggedly, choking on each grateful sip of the tepid air.
Samaelā€™s tail coils and lashes as he waits for you to catch your breath before his patience runs thin and he bites out, ā€œDo not make me ask you a third timeā€¦ā€ Raising you up to dangle in front of his fiery eyes, he makes sure you meet them. ā€œDid she touch you?ā€
ā€œN-No!ā€ you finally manage to gasp, watery and weak, thumping at your sternum, ā€œJesus, notā€¦ not like that.ā€
You shrink as best you can within his fingers as a hot breath washes across your face, averting your attention to the ground beneath him when he spins himself about and sinks down on his haunches, lowering you both onto the bed. The demonā€™s tail drapes across the silken sheets and a tension he hadnā€™t yet acknowledged drops from his mighty shoulders.
Mortified at the relief your words lend him, he furrows his brows into a scowl, his eyes fixed on your neck.
ā€œYouā€¦ liedā€¦ā€
He blinks at your words, flicking his gaze to your face as a sardonic laugh, devoid of humour, bubbles up and falls out of your mouth. ā€œOf courseā€¦ you did,ā€ you continue, shaking your head, ā€œPrince of Lies, right? Canā€™t believe I trusted youā€¦ā€
Itā€™s an expected remark, but it still hits the demon like a hammer to the chest.
Heā€™d worked damn hard to maintain that tiny little flicker of innocence. To have lost it feels like a devastating blow.
A prince of Hell never apologises, not even to the object of hisā€¦ concern. But he will at least try to explain himself.
ā€œIf I had known what she planned,ā€ Samael begins, carefully lowering you down to his bent knee and settling you onto it as gently as a brute like him ever could, keeping his fingers coiled securely around you lest you try to wriggle free, ā€œI would have tried to stop her.ā€
You snort sceptically, though you soon cut yourself off with a gasp as the motion sends a shock of burning agony shooting through your nose bone. ā€œAh! Shit,ā€ you hiss, tugging an arm out from the cage of his fingers and dabbing your own underneath your nostrils, feeling about tentatively for fresh blood.
The most abnormal urge nearly seizes him then, an impulse to bend down and brush his lips tenderly against the skin below your broken nose, using his coarse tongue to wash you clean of blood as he might have done when he first begun courting Lilith, aiming to show her that sheā€™d be well-taken care of should she choose him.
That was, of course, before he discovered how much she abhorred a gentle lover.
Which was a pity. For all his strength and power, Samael rather prides himself on his ability and inclination to remain gentle between the sheets.
Still, he canā€™t imagine youā€™ll appreciate the gesture of a cleaning, regardless of his benign intentions.
As swiftly as the urge arrives, heā€™s beaten it back and sealed it behind a wall of stoic self-restraint.
Perhaps he ought to be less concerned with how youā€™d react to his courtship, and more concerned with why heā€™s considering courting a human at all.
A conundrum, he decides, that can wait for another day.
Right now, thereā€™s damage to be undone, not least that which afflicts your nose, eye and neck.
Samael would rather not have you despise him, not after heā€™s had the fleeting taste of what a cordial rapport with you could feel likeā€¦
He begrudgingly finds himself shying away from the term ā€˜friendshipā€™ because demon lords donā€™t have friends, especially a lord with his grim and destructive duties.
Absently, he lifts his unoccupied hand up and aims to crook a long, warm finger beneath your chin. His movements pause however, once you catch sight of the claw in your peripheral vision and throw your hands up, catching the tip of his approaching finger before it can come anywhere near your throat.
ā€œDonā€™t!ā€ you snap, aiming for stern but landing on squeaky.
Samaelā€™s pupils expand to soft, round pits of darkness in a sea of gold as he takes in the miracle of your comparatively tiny hands pushing back against just one of his fingers. A wayward rumble sputters to life in his chest and threatens to travel up his throat where youā€™re sure to hear it, but with a hard swallow, he smothers the sound of contentment before it can gain traction.
That could have been embarrassing.
He presses his finger closer.
ā€œDonā€™t touch me!ā€ you reiterate with a particularly hard shove that gets you nowhere.
Itā€™s almost a relief to see the spark of fire behind your eyes. Thereā€™s still fight in you. Lilith hadnā€™t managed to snuff that out either.
ā€œYou think I mean to hurt you?ā€ he hums curiously.
Quick as a flash, you retort, ā€œI wouldnā€™t put it past you.ā€
Hm. He supposes that would be fairā€¦ if it were anyone other than yourself.
Scolding eyes flare with dangerous luminosity as they scan across your face, and the damage his former bed mate has left behind like cruel reminders of his failure.
ā€œContrary to popular belief, I hold very little sway over Lilithā€™s actions,ā€ he points out, ā€œI did not orchestrate what sheā€™s done to you.ā€
With a resentful huff, your arms sag and heā€™s allowed to freely bring his fingertip to your chin, tilting your head back to take some of the pressure off your nose. Youā€™ve been hurt ā€“ badly ā€“ because of him, which isā€¦ā€¦
ā€¦ disquieting.
ā€œPerhaps,ā€ he begins slowly in that bone deep murmur, ā€œYou would allow me to amend her transgressions against you.ā€
Suddenly, you grow very still between his fingers, sitting rigidly as suspicion creeps into your brows. Squinting up at him dubiously, you ask, ā€œWhyā€¦ would you do that?ā€
Honesty has never been Samaelā€™s favourite policy, and even now, he avoids answering you directly, instead opting to tell you just a fraction of the truth.
ā€œYou were not hers to take,ā€ he growls, the undertones of a possessive prince almost broiling up to the surface. He can see your brow furrow even further as you no doubt try to read his expression in that way humans are so adept at, but Samael wonā€™t allow you to ponder too long.
ā€œDo you know any healers?ā€
Blinking, you fling your eyebrows up at his unexpected query. ā€œDo Iā€¦. Iā€™m sorry? What?ā€
By way of an explanation, the demon flexes his hand on the bed sheet and flicks his tail, grumbling, ā€œI imagine it wonā€™t surprise you to learn that Iā€™m not well-versed in healing magicā€¦ So, if you can think of someone who is, Iā€™llā€¦ā€
His statement remains unfinished, hanging like a hushed confession, bright and glaring in the air between you.
Heā€™ll take you where you want to go. All you need to do is ask.
What you canā€™t figure out is why.
Thereā€™s a reason the Horsemen are so wary of Samael, why they were all so agitated when they got you back from him the first time. Heā€™s dangerous. You knew that when he took you, and you still know it now.
What does he have to gain by letting you go?
Peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you decide to ask him as much. ā€œYouā€™reā€¦ gonna let me leave?ā€ Though you tremble in his grasp, you manage to jut your chin out at him in what little defiance you dare to show.
Samael has always privately commended you for your courage, or at least, your ability to pretend that youā€™re brave. He knows youā€™re afraid of him.
Wise. And yet, ironically, youā€™re perhaps the sole human in existence who has the least reason to fear him.
His great, horned head dips slightly and you donā€™t miss the throaty hum that sounds far too much like a purr to suit such a brute.
ā€œIf that is your wish,ā€ he breathes across your face, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.
His gargantuan face looms even closer, unblinking, yellow eyes peering into your own with unnerving scrutiny that renders you suddenly and painfully shy, enough that you drop your gaze to the massive expanse of scarred flesh that stretches over his chest.
ā€œIā€¦ donā€™t need a healer,ā€ you mutter, ā€œI just want to go home. Please?ā€
ā€˜Please.ā€™
How could he refuse you when you continue to be so genial with him, despite your pain, despite being back here in this dreary place? Heā€™s never been granted kindness so freely before - kindness without an ulterior motive hidden behind it like the blade beneath a matadorā€™s cape.
You areā€¦ an interesting change to the monotony of his gloomy existence.
It isnā€™t a change he doesnā€™t intend to lose.
While heā€™d much prefer to keep you in his fortress a little longer and let your laughter and stories chase away the lonely shadows, Samaelā€™s pragmatic side reminds him resolutely that it would be far more beneficial in the long run to return you to your true home on Earth before the Horseman come kicking his door down.
The demonā€™s nostrils widen and close as he draws in a long, lazy breath, inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo that sits just below the smell of bloodā€¦ You must have bathed only a few hours before Lilith took you...
If home is where you want to be, then thatā€™s where heā€™ll take you.
ā€œVery well,ā€ he announces, raising his unoccupied hand and turning his palm to face the wall nearby.
He doesnā€™t need to look at your face to know itā€™s fallen slack with shock. Apparently, his easy acquiescence wasnā€™t expected.
Smirking to himself, he concentrates on pulling the threads of the Universe apart at their seams to create a hole ā€“ a doorway.
Deep in the depths of his mind, an image of your house emerges ā€“ your second house, the one the Horsemen had hurriedly moved you into because they thought the old one was compromised with his knowledge of it.
He latches onto the image fast, feeding powerful and ancient magics into the tips of his fingers, sensing the air around him grow hot and charged with energy.
After another moment of letting his magic build, he finally releases it in a rush.
The portal swirls into life right in front of him. One moment, there was nothing, and the next, a large, glassy surface ripples and hums gently on the opposite side of the room, beyond it, the unmoving image of your den beckons.
The change in you is immediate.
ā€œThat- thatā€™s my house!ā€ you exclaim in disbelief, leaning forwards over the demonā€™s thumb to stare gobsmacked at the view beyond the portal.
Flicking his gaze down at you, Samael grants himself the luxury of a rare, genuine smile.
By the time you twist around in his grasp to peer up at him, his usual frown is back in place.
ā€œShall we?ā€ he asks.
-----------
ā€œSamael?ā€
ā€œMm?ā€
ā€œHowā€™d you know they moved me here?ā€
All at once, the demonā€™s long tail ceases to drag itself back and forth across the plush carpet of your bedroom, plunging everything into a heavy silence.
He doesnā€™t turn to face you, though he can feel your eyes drilling a hole into the back of his skull.
Samaelā€™s own gaze stays adhered to the little bookcase that sits proudly in the corner of your room, its shelves filled to bursting with dog-eared tomes and well-loved stories you couldnā€™t part with for all the world.
He should have known you wouldnā€™t miss such a glaringly obvious detail.
The Horsemen had moved you to a new house a little further out from Havenā€™s suburbs after they got you back from Shadowā€™s Edge last month. It was laughably easy for your former captor to track you down again ā€“ solely for the purpose of keeping a watchful eye on you, of courseā€¦. Though look at the good that had done, in the endā€¦
Still, for once, he doesnā€™t think itā€™ll make much difference if you know the truth.
ā€œIā€™ve been watching you,ā€ he hums casually, swinging his clawed hands behind his back, clasping them together just below the juncture of his wings. As he starts to haul his body around to face you, the tips of his spiralling horns scape the ceiling, forcing him to duck his head a little to spare the plaster.
Heā€™d asked, upon setting foot inside for the first time, why it seemed a place more adequately suited to accommodate a maker than a human. It came as little surprise for him to learn that it was, in fact, makers who built the place, and it had been at your own request that they fashioned a home that could easily fit all manner of guests, regardless of their size or species. All of your usual amenities ā€“ your bed, your kitchen, are perfectly suited for human use. But the ceilings, doorways and even the windows are grand enough that even Samael can move almost entirely freely inside without having to bend-double to avoid piercing the ceiling with his horns and leathery wings.
Once heā€™s turned towards the sound of your voice, he has to suppress a smirk at what he sees.
Youā€™ve just emerged from your adjoining washroom, face clean of blood and dressed in a new set of fluffy, blue sleep clothes. In addition to your fresh ensemble, youā€™ve slapped a bag of frozen vegetables over your bad eye, apparently to relieve the swelling, or so you claim.
And yet, despite the amusing state of dress, you somehow still find it in you to look downright affronted.
ā€œYouā€™ve been watching me?ā€ you echo accusingly, taking a bold step across the room towards him before you seem to think better of squaring up to a prince of Hell and halting in your tracks, ā€œWhat, it isnā€™t bad enough you kidnapped me, now youā€™re keeping tabs on me too?ā€
A look of abject horror passes across your visible eye and you hasten to glance at each corner of your room as if youā€™re going to find something heinous lurking in the shadows. ā€œOh god, have you bugged the whole place?ā€
Samael hasnā€™t heard the term, but he can connect the dots.
ā€œI can assure you,ā€ he says, ā€œI have only caught the occasional glimpse of your home from the outsideā€¦ā€
A half-truth. Those ā€˜occasional glimpsesā€™ had turned into hours of lounging on his throne whilst gazing through a window into your world as you pottered around it. When the weather was fair, heā€™d see you in the allotment beside the house.
He found it restful to watch you go about your tasks, digging your trowel into the soil, gasping in delight if a bird were to land on the fence nearby.
Youā€™re his own little taste of nepenthe.
ā€œIs that supposed to make me feel better?ā€ you huff, pulling the bag of vegetables away with a grimace, ā€œGodā€¦ why are you evenā€¦ Why are you doing this?ā€
ā€œDoing what?ā€
ā€œWatching me!ā€ you wheeze, throwing a hand up in exasperation.
You may have gulped down a couple of painkillers the moment you got back, but straining your voice still twinges your damaged neck. ā€œWhy bother!? Iā€™m not a threat to you! Or are you just keeping an eye on me because you plan to steal me again?ā€
Admittedly, heā€™s been tempted to do just that several times, but each time, heā€™s refrained, if not to spare himself from the Horsemenā€™s wrath, then to keep himself as endeared to you as possible.
ā€œYou have nothing to fear from me,ā€ he hums.
ā€œThatā€™s not what I asked.ā€
You stare him down for several seconds through one, narrowed eye, when all of a sudden, your face breaks apart into a wide yawn that seems to catch you wildly off guard.
Throwing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth from view, you half turn from the demon, fighting off the uninvited wave of fatigue.
With the grace of a predator but not the intent of one, Samael pads towards you over the carpeted floor. ā€œYouā€™re exhausted,ā€ he remarks coolly.
Giving your head a rough shake, you sigh and grumble, ā€œYeah, wellā€¦ Itā€™s been a long nightā€¦ā€
His encompassing shadow falls across you, blocking out the light from the fixture overhead. Whipping your head around, you glance up and blanch upon realising heā€™s crept close enough to snatch you.
However, rather than make a move to sweep you off your feet, Samael only flicks a pointed glance down at your cozy, inviting bed. ā€œYou should rest.ā€
ā€œIā€™ll rest when youā€™re gone,ā€ you retort, crossing your arms.
ā€˜Fine,ā€™ he snorts to himself. And thatā€™s when he finally makes a move.
All at once, youā€™re sent stumbling backwards towards the bed as he drops onto his large hands with a thud and begins to prowl towards you like a wolf stalking a doe.
ā€œWoah! Hey!ā€ you bleat, all bravado vanishing in an instant, ā€œWhatā€™re you doing!? Stop that!ā€
The backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumble backwards onto it, dropping the vegetable bag in the process as you scramble to pull yourself upright again, raising your legs off the ground and retreating towards the headboard.
ā€œPerhapsā€¦ā€ Samael growls ā€“ or does he purr? ā€œā€¦ I am not yet ready to leaveā€¦ā€
He lays one, colossal paw on top of the mattress.
The bed groans suddenly under his weight as he pulls his upper body onto it and begins to settle down amongst the crumpled duvet. Letting out a rumble of contentment, he folds his arms beneath his chin and slumps heavily onto the mattress, causing the springs below you to buckle and screech in protest while he merely gives you a lazy blink.
The sight is so strikingly familiar, you feel the fear drain out of you with a whoosh.
ā€˜Son of a bitchā€¦ā€™ you gripe to yourself, ā€˜The overgrown lizardā€™s just getting comfortable for story timeā€¦ā€™
Slowly, your brows ease into a flat, unimpressed frown. ā€œAre you serious? Right now?ā€
Samael only offers a warm chuff and sticks his nose into your heaped duvet, drawing a massive lungful of your smell into his airways.
ā€˜Ahā€¦. There you areā€¦ā€™ he muses.
It seems youā€™re the only one to have slept here, which heā€™s glad for. The sheets donā€™t stink of anotherā€™s flesh, nor can he detect the scent of sexā€¦
The princeā€™s pleased hum is powerful enough to rattle the bed knobs against the wall.
ā€œDonā€™t you dare start getting comfortable,ā€ your voice pipes up warningly, and he drags a half-lidded eye up to meet your defiant glare.
ā€œIā€™d like to go to bed,ā€ you forge on, ā€œAnd Iā€™m not your prisoner anymore. I donā€™t have to tell you another story for as long as I live.ā€
You know this routine of his all too well.
When heā€™d held you captive, heā€™d often crawl up onto that gigantic bed and drape himself across it whilst you lay in your little corner beneath the silk sheets with his chin resting near your feet. For hours, heā€™d laze there like a massive, deadly lion, his tail flicking idly as he listened to the stories youā€™d spin for him, those you could remember from books you read and retained as a child.
You never thought, for one minute, that heā€™d want to continue that practice outside of his fortress walls.
ā€œI mean it,ā€ you hiss, shoving your legs under the covers and prodding his heavy arm with your toes, as if you might be able to nudge him off the bed, ā€œThank you for bringing me back, but I am still in a lot of pain, and Iā€™m not in the mood to entertain you tonight.ā€
Blinking his luminous eyes at you slowly, Samael disregards your protests and utters, ā€œYou never finished your tale of the little monarchs by the creekā€¦ā€
Something in your expression shifts at that, a mote of surprise soothing the wrinkle of your brows.
ā€œYouā€¦ you remember the Bridge to Terebithia?ā€
It was the last story you tried to tell him, recounted from memory on the night the Horsemen finally tore the doors down to save you.
ā€œI remember every one of your stories,ā€ he thrums deeply.
ā€œWellā€¦ Theyā€™re not mine,ā€ you point out, ā€œI just told you what I could remember of the books I used to readā€¦ā€
ā€œWill you indulge me, little storyteller?ā€ he presses, cocking his horned head sideways until his cheekbone rests upon a broad, scaly forearm, ā€œThe tale intrigued me. Iā€™d like to hear how it ends.ā€
Itā€™s selfish of him to do this, to stay when youā€™re in dire need of restā€¦ but once the Horsemen see your injuries and inevitably convince you to tell them what happened to you, he anticipates that he wonā€™t be seeing hide nor hair of you for a long, long time. If Death is sensible, heā€™ll take you off-world and stash you somewhere even Samael canā€™t reach you. Maybe to that family of makers youā€™re always gabbing on about.
This moment here and now may well be the last chance he has to speak with you until you persuade the Four to return you to your home on Earth.
ā€œTell you what,ā€ you grumble, taking him off guard by kicking away the covers and sliding your legs over the side of the bed, ā€œYou can read what happens for yourself. Iā€™ve got the book right here.ā€
The demon raises his head, watching as you cross the room to your bookcase. Drawing to a halt in front of it, you run a finger delicately along the collection of spines before you eventually stop and dig out a book thatā€™s nestled snugly between a pair of thick, glossy tomes.
Flicking this pointed ears forwards, the prince chuffs softly in his throat - a sound born of instinct intended to call you back to the nest. He barely even registers having uttered it.
Soon enough, youā€™re slipping back underneath your duvet and retrieving the bag of not-so-frozen vegetables, pressing them tenderly to your eye once again.
As Samael lays his head back down, you toss the book across the bed where it lands with a dull thwack beside his chin.
ā€œThere,ā€ you huff, sagging backwards into the pillows, ā€œHappy?ā€
You nearly let out a loud groan when the book is promptly nudged back towards you with the tip of his forefinger.
ā€œOh, come on, big guy,ā€ you complain, oblivious to how the impromptu nickname sends a spark of interest shooting up the demonā€™s spine.
ā€œI want you to read to me,ā€ he sighs and settles down again, allowing his eyelids to droop halfway shut, his pupils blown wide like black holes in a thin ring of gold.
ā€œUgh!ā€ Exasperated, yet more than aware that the prince isnā€™t one to take no for an answer, you snatch the book off the duvet and start thumbing irritably through its pages. ā€œWhy do I have to be the one to read it?ā€
Your fingers pause briefly, however, when Samael shifts and a warm, solid knuckle suddenly alights upon your arm.
The breath catches in your throat. You hardly dare move. Frozen, you dart a glance down to see his colossal, red hand hovering beside you, the back of his forefinger stroking a gentle line down the bare skin of your shoulder.
His voice reverberates up through the bed, deeper than the purr of a motorcar.
ā€œI like the sound of your voice,ā€ he utters.
The words fall softly, like a prayer sliding off a sinnerā€™s lips.
Hesitant, your gaze moves up to his cragged face and you have to swallow a gasp, admittedly startled by the look youā€™re receiving.
Why is he staring at me like that?
The demonā€™s knuckle rolls up to the top of your shoulder again, sending the hairs along your arms standing to attention.
Heā€™s watching you closely through hooded eyes, his smile lopsided and his pupils abnormally large and round and...
Oh dear.
Oh dear, thisā€¦ could be bad.
Perhaps itā€™s just your imagination, butā€¦ It might explain the gentle looks, the lingering stares, the rage in his eyes when he took in your bloodied face in the throne roomā€¦ It would definitely explain why heā€™s still here in your room, and the slow stroke of his knuckle up and down your arm.
You donā€™t want to even entertain such a foolish notion.
ā€˜I like the sound of your voice.ā€™
Your stomach twists itself into anxious knots as you start to wonder if Samael likes more than just your voiceā€¦
Wetting your dry lips, you try to give your arm a slight shrug under the guise of opening the book, conveniently shifting backwards closer to the wall and pulling away from his tender strokes.
ā€œUm, in that case, youā€™ll have to remind me where I left offā€¦ā€ you manage to eke out, clearing your throat.
If the prince of Hell is stung by your subtle rejection, he makes no mention of it, though his pupils shrink by a fraction as he lays his palm down on the mattress beside you, exhaling warmly across your face.
ā€œThe young humanā€¦ Jess,ā€ he mumbles into the scales on his arm, ā€œHe had just returned from the gallery with his tutorā€¦ā€
Good memory.
ā€œYes,ā€ you reply quietly, ā€œYes, thatā€™s right.ā€
Trying desperately to ignore how suddenly suffocating the demonā€™s proximity has become, you prop the book up in your lap and start to read.
-------
ā€œThe boy was right.ā€
You startle awake from a light doze, jerking upright on your pillows with an undignified grunt.
ā€˜Did I fall asleep?ā€™
The book sits open in your lap, held loosely between limp fingers.
And Samael is-
You have to resist the urge to kick out your legs when you raise your eyes to find his colossal face resting peacefully between your parted knees. Youā€™ve never been more thankful that youā€™d put your legs under the covers earlier, though suddenly the duvet doesnā€™t feel like such an adequate barrier against monsters as it used to be when you were young.
ā€œHuh?ā€ you blurt eloquently, still in the clutches of sleepiness.
Two walls of flesh shift on either side of you, and itā€™s only then that you realise youā€™ve been more or less surrounded on all fronts.
A pair of thick, muscle-bound arms are curled loosely on the bed to your left and right, close enough that you can feel the demonā€™s preternatural heat radiating off his skin. To your back is the bedroom wall, while ahead of you lays Samaelā€™s red, rough-hewn face. The black horns jutting from his chin create deep divots in the mattress where theyā€™re pressed.
ā€œThe boy,ā€ he repeats, prying an eyelid apart and casting a yellow glow over your face, ā€œHe was right. She should not have trusted that rope.ā€
Ohā€¦ Right. The storyā€¦
Raising your hand, you nearly pinch the bridge of your nose before a painful throb reminds you not to do that. Youā€™ll have to take some more painkillers soonā€¦
Emitting a sleepy hum, you flop back down amongst the pillows and give a rough exhale. ā€œWasnā€™t the ropeā€™s fault it snapped.ā€
ā€œā€¦ Her caretakers did not blame him.ā€
Ugh. If this is going to turn into another long-winded discussion like the Rainbow Fishā€¦.
ā€œOf course they didnā€™t,ā€ you sigh, tilting your chin down to meet his gaze, ā€œIt wasnā€™t Jessā€™s fault either.ā€
ā€œBut he could have prevented her death.ā€
Samaelā€™s probing insistence drags you a little further into the waking world and you start to sit up, propping your weight on your elbows to squint at him.
The demonā€™s face is like stone, hard and cold. ā€œHe could have asked her to accompany him,ā€ he adds in a growl, ā€œBut his selfish infatuation with the older human kept him from doing so.ā€
A gentle frown tugs at your brows. ā€œJess wasnā€™t to know what would happen,ā€ you point out, wondering why Samael seems so fixated on the matter.
Lifting his chin off the bed, his nostrils flare and his eyes flick down to the bruises on your neck, staring at them unblinkingly as he retorts, ā€œHe knew the rope was untrustworthy. He could have kept her away from it.ā€
ā€œWellā€¦ Sure butā€¦ then it wouldnā€™t have been such an effective story.ā€
ā€œMph,ā€ he grumbles, scowling at the wall behind your head, ā€œI seem to recall telling you that I prefer stories with happy endingsā€¦ā€
You chew on that for a minute before closing your eye and offering him a drowsy shrug. ā€œGood stories donā€™t always have to have a happy ending,ā€ you tell him, your voice thick with fatigue, ā€œHappy endings are nice, but itā€™s important that weā€™re told stories thatā€¦ you know, like, challenge our morals and stuff.ā€
ā€œā€¦ Go on,ā€ he nudges when you fall silent.
Heaving a sigh, you whine, ā€œI donā€™t know. I am way too tired to be having in-depth discussions like this at the crack of dawn.ā€
ā€œWhy read stories of tragedy and death? The tale only upset you.ā€
ā€œOh my god,ā€ you whisper in exasperation, resigning yourself to the conversation, ā€œI guess, becauseā€¦ if all weā€™re consuming is clean and good and happy, then when bad stuff does inevitably happen to us, I donā€™t think weā€™re ever really prepared for it. If that even makes sense.ā€
Samaelā€™s lips quirk up at their corners, and he slides his gaze down to you again. ā€œThe way your mind works never fails to intrigue me.ā€
ā€œPft, itā€™s not working much at all at the moment,ā€ you huff.
He hadnā€™t realised before meeting you, that this is what his relationships had always lacked. This is what heā€™s been missing.
Dialogue.
Nothing more than that. The simplest thing of all.
This sleepy conversation with you is ten thousand times more preferable to the cold, empty silences that would stretch across the massive void of bedsheets between he and Lilith.
His smile fades slowly as he finds himself drawn, as ever, to the band of bruises around your neck.
He knew not to trust Lilith. He should have kept you away from her. But he didnā€™t.
ā€œThe boy,ā€ he murmurs deeply into the quiet of your room, ā€œDo you suppose he was right to blame himself for what happened to her?ā€
ā€œRight?ā€ Humming, you lean back on one arm and exhale a slow breath. ā€œNoā€¦ Not right. Normal, though? Yeah. I reckon itā€™s normal that heā€™d blame himself. I think most people would do the same in his shoes.ā€
ā€œDoes that not then make them right?ā€ he puts, ā€œIf that is the general consensus? To blame oneself?ā€
After a longer pause, you eventually shake your head and reply, ā€œNo.ā€ Then, parting your jaw in another wide and toothy yawn, you add, ā€œIt just makes them human.ā€
Humanā€¦
How can blaming himself for what Lilith did to you make him like a human?
Hmmā€¦ While not the feel-good ending heā€™d been hoping for, it wasnā€™t necessarily a bad one either, and once again, whether knowingly or not, youā€™ve given him much to ponder over. He plans to do just that while you sleep. Already, those dainty eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks as your head droops, exhaustion proving a fierce adversary on this long night.
Perhaps itā€™s time he let you rest. Of course, that doesnā€™t mean heā€™ll be leaving your side just yet.
Tyrants are seldom granted solace. Most would argue that they donā€™t deserve it.
Ironic, that it almost feels sacrilegious for Samael to be laying here on your bed with his mouth resting a mere foot from the most confidential part of you, and doing nothing but talking to you in soft, dulcet tones. Talkingā€¦ itā€™s more intimate than the depravities heā€™s performed with his former mistress.
How laughable.
Itā€™s inevitable, then, that the princeā€™s wonderous moment of peace should be so rudely shattered by the dull thud of a door closing downstairs.
Samaelā€™s head shoots off the mattress with a snarl so quickly that it startles a yelp out of you.
Heavy footfalls ā€“ too heavy to belong to any human ā€“ pause in the room directly below your own. Then, all at once, thereā€™s the unsettling sound of them starting up again at a far more urgent pace.
Your yelp hadnā€™t gone unnoticed.
The demonā€™s tail twitches irritably as he glares hard at the door.
ā€¦ Just when he was really getting comfortableā€¦
ā€œWarā€¦ā€
The name whispered breathlessly from your lips draws Samaelā€™s focus back down to you, silencing the growl in his throat. Youā€™re staring at the bedroom door, brows screwed together in worry.
For the Horseman? Or for him?
Somewhere a few rooms away, metal boots begin to thunder up a flight of stairs.
Samael parts his lips and flicks a hot, red tongue over his canine, lowering his gaze to your exposed neck. He knows he has to leave. He isnā€™t about to let your night be ruined by a brawl in the middle of your bedroom. Butā€¦ thereā€™s one last thing heā€™s compelled to do.
Demons donā€™t apologise.
Not aloud, anyway.
Trapped below his bulk by enormous arms, you tear your eyes from the door and shakily raise them to his, swallowing a thick lump of apprehension that sends a dull ache through your bruises.
You donā€™t like the way heā€™s suddenly staring at your throat, the points of his fangs gleaming out from behind barely parted lips.
He looks agitated.
He looks hungry.
Your heartbeat steadily begins to reascend the mountain it had worked so hard to climb down from.
ā€œSamael?ā€ you peep.
The footsteps are on your landing now, shaking the foundations of your home with their weight.
Towering high above you, the demonā€™s fiery eyes flash with intent, like a predator tensing to pounce.
You arenā€™t even given a second to admonish yourself for letting your guard down before that mouthful of wicked, sharp teeth lunges for your neck, stealing a final cry of alarm.
Itā€™s instinctive when you throw your head up and to the side so as to avoid having to see the enormous fangs flying in your direction.
You brace for agony.
However, what you feel instead is the furthest thing from it.
ā€¦ The gentlest press of rough, warm lips lands upon the column of your throat, directly over the purpling bruises stained into the flesh.
Your good eye wrenches itself open like a shot.
Youā€™re too stunned to turn your head, and your chest feels tight with the breath youā€™re keeping trapped inside it, afraid of what the slightest exhale might provoke.
The corner of your vision is almost entirely swallowed up by Samaelā€™s head and horns. His flared nostrils glow with internal fire as he puffs swathes of hot air across your jaw, whilst the scratch of his lips tickles your skin when they seal together into a tender kiss just below your bobbing gorge - far too tender and painless to be given by a demon, let alone one of his size and reputation.
Up until now, you might have been able to convince yourself that the princeā€™s attentions had been born of mere curiosity.
Now though? The hope that youā€™ve just been misinterpreting his advances flies out of the proverbial window.
Samael, prince of Hell, Head of Satans and Chief of Devilsā€¦ is placing a kiss on your bruised throat so gently that the only coherent thought flashing through your brain is that you must still be dreaming.
A resounding ā€˜boomā€™ alerts you to your bedroom door being kicked viciously off its hinges and the clank of metal announces Warā€™s entrance.
The unswollen eye in your head swivels away from Samael and for one, damning moment, your fearful gaze locks onto the wild, infuriated blue shining out from beneath your Horsemanā€™s crimson hood.
"Something to remember me by..."
The single lap of a scorching tongue coaxes a gasp from you when it eases over your bruised neck, and then, in a flash of fire that sends you screwing your eye shut against the intruding light, the pressure on your throat, and the weight on top of your bed vanishes, as if a demon prince had never been there at all.
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thelunarsystemwrites Ā· 9 months ago
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My fav animals!
I think probably Axolotls, and bats!
Why bring this up?
Welll....
(TW for an OC with faded Top surgery and s/h scars!)
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Its a Baxolotl! This one here specifically is named Dreamal! They can both fly and breath under water, regenerate, nocturnal, and uses they/them!
They're part of my Nonhuman OC line up!
Also, they're a regressor!
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indie-queer-movie-tournament Ā· 11 months ago
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OK we're shaping up to have a Lot of ties so I'm thinking instead of the previous plan of having both proceed to round two in a poll of three options instead of two, we instead have a bonus round before starting round 2 where I put all the tied movies against different tied movies, so it's sort of just a repeat of round 1 but giving them a chance to have a different outcome from the original ties of round 1 and then they are placed differently in the bracket. I expect there would still be some ties and in that case I'd let them go forward in the original three-way poll plan of before, but just to decrease the number of movies doing that, I think this will help. So far it's about a third of polls that are tying, that's why I'm rethinking this. It's also pretty possible that later rounds will have a lot of ties so I might do this again if it's a really large number where it happens but at least for now I'll plan on continuing with this plan for round 1 and then as normal for the following rounds.
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bear-cubs-art-things Ā· 2 years ago
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(same anon)
"Wait till December" you mean you want us to wait till December for Cemila and Lily meeting? /nm /gen
Maaaaybeee heeheehee
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searchingforshinies Ā· 2 years ago
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This is an advertisement :>
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lightasthesun Ā· 11 months ago
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thinking about Obi-Wan and Cody's last scene together in revenge of the sith but specifically the NOVELIZATION and how Cody flirted with Obi-Wan in a way that made Obi-Wan Kenobi 'Master of Sass and Trolling', the FAMED Negotiator blush and duck his head!!! and wondering if perhaps the fact that this was potentially their last battle and that Obi-Wan had just killed Grievous and they all could practically FEEL the end of the war brushing against their fingertips had given Cody that spike of courage, hope, peace that had made him pursue the drumming of maybe maybe maybe to his heartbeat that led to Obi-Wan blushing so profoundly he tried to fucking laugh it off and then zoooooomed tf out of there on bogas back.
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tee-dohrnii Ā· 7 months ago
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"You're already everything I need you to be."
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ingoodjesst Ā· 9 months ago
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have you put the pieces together yet, detective
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a-scary-lack-of-common-sense Ā· 4 months ago
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your "Hey What If Nothing Ever Bad Happened And Bill Was Nice And Just Chill And Hung Out With Everyone Else As That One Weird Eldritch Uncle Being" au is totally living up to the name !! absolutely nothing bad ever happened at all šŸ‘/silly
but for reals i am loving this au sososooo much !!!! it's genuinely such a cool and interesting concept and i am adoring every new piece of art or writing that you post about it:) very interested to see what happened with stanley and i love seeing the twins interact with uncle bill so much !!!! theyre so silly!!<3
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HONESTLY, THE AU WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BIG. At first it was just like a random, silly AU without any deeper lore than "haha triangle uncle funne" šŸ’€šŸ’€ I just wanted him and the twins to have goofy fun adventures, but my darn NEED to make LORE...... ... it EATS at me... like Stanley is being eaten rn! (Sorry that was foul :)
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knockknockitsnickels Ā· 3 months ago
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I think this is one of my favorite lines from the Wraith route because of (imo) how much the meaning changes depending on if you got there via Spectre or Nightmare. For Spectre, it honestly strikes me as a genuine question. Why are you doing this to her? If you're on the Spectre route, you presumably already know the Narrator can't really be trusted, since you had to reject his reward to get here. What are you hoping to gain from continuing to hurt her? For Nightmare, it honestly just makes me sad. As the Shifting Mound describes her, "She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt." This line feels like a plea from someone who genuinely doesn't understand why you keep rejecting her. She wants to be with you, but she just can't understand how to do that in a way which doesn't hurt you.
#at the risk of getting put on a list there is something tragic & relatable in nightmare#someone who desperately wants to make connections but just can't understand how#anyway wraith is one of my favorite princesses for stuff like this (and bc tragedy aside her route is a riot)#also im sorry if she doesn't say that line if you got there via nightmare#that's how i got her and i could've sworn she did? But i only found footage of her saying it in spectre#slay the princess#stp#stp wraith#the wraith#stp spectre#stp nightmare#side note archetypal/heart#(slash so i don't accidentally tag them)#pointed out on another post of mine that you get wraith via nightmare by killing her and via spectre by leaving her in the basement#in both cases its a rejection of her (rejection being one of wraith's main themes)#which makes me speculate on spectre's ch 3 (which i think we currently have very little info on?)#Trying to run from Nightmare should technically be a 'rejection' as well#but you get MOC from that (and from choosing to stay with her)#imo bc you're just repeating the same inaction which got you into this situation in the first place#you don't want to slay her. you don't want to set her free. So you just leave her there (again)#and so you get MOC where things have only gotten worse and you have no choice left. Because you chose *not* to take action again#So I wonder if spectre 3 will be a similar 'repeating your past mistakes' type of deal#i was skeptical about it coming from stabbing yourself while she possesses you or trying to crush her bones#but it does make sense with that in mind#im curious if it'll parallel MOC#except instead of having no choice but to free the princess you have no choice but to obey the narrator again#maybe you both end up stuck in the cabin forever again?#idk#sorry i probably should've put all of that tag in the post lmao
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nordickies Ā· 1 month ago
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Please draw Finland...doing anything...I just want to see my guy...
I'm working on a bigger (sillier) project again, so you can have this little sneak peek
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kacievvbbbb Ā· 3 months ago
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I think that swords definitely talk to Mihawk and Zoro like not even just their sword but any sword of worth but especially the "cursed" ones. Like I mean full-sentences talking that only they can hear. And not the general hum of power or bloodlust that people like shanks hear -
And Shanks does not realize that Mihawk means he is having full conversations with his sword when he says Yoru talks to him. Until Mihawk translates something Gryphon says and Shanks is just like 'I'm sorry.....what???"
Shanks: What do you mean you can talk to swords Mihawk: I told you this šŸ™„ Shanks: I thought you meant like the general humming, Not that they were conversationalists! Mihawk: So did you think all this time I was just talking to myself? Shanks:....I thought it was a symptom of your lonely childhood.....
I think Zoro has to hold the sword to hear it speak but will eventually grow to be like Mihawk where he just has to be in the area to hear it.
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souenkun Ā· 12 days ago
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Takashi living the warm, full-of-love life that reiko couldn't have (as far as we know in the current canon) feels very much like the grief that dawns for children when they finally realized how much sacrifice their parents didn't always tell them just to give birth and raise them.
Like, technically speaking, reiko only gave takashi a world of problems by passing down the sight and the book of friends decades after her death, but takashi also grasped the wholesome and the awful parts of interacting with both humans and youkai from the memories she had left behind, scattered among all these eternal monsters she had defeated, leaving in them unintentional, but important life lessons for him to find later on in the future. If it weren't for all those societal rejections that reiko received from humans and the hardships from youkai that led her to start the book of friends, takashi wouldn't be able to avoid repeating her mistakes (and, consequently, could be just as comfortable with isolation like reiko was), let alone make the precious balance we now see him have in the present time, where he can make genuine connections with humans and youkai while also maintaining a balance to them. Do you get what I'm saying šŸ’”
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iguana-braces Ā· 1 month ago
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Seducing my partner by jumping on his back, using my legs to restrict his arms, and roughly tilting his head back towards me--
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catboycafe Ā· 4 months ago
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little bit of fanart for a rarepair i've been obsessed with lately!! inspired by the short lesbian/tall lesbian trend on twitter
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lilpuffyart Ā· 6 months ago
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More roommate AU (ig that name will do for now lmao) doodles while working on this AU's comic (hopefully it'll be out by next month yippiee)
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