#and of course that would fucking infuriate angel

[invisible-pink-toast]

#to answer my own question: nobody talks about it because it happened in season five of angel#and nobody watched that far

why does nobody ever talk about angel and spike fighting over the shanshu prophecy?

when spike points out that angel views his soul as a curse, as punishment, as being forced to live with the guilt of everything he's done, whereas spike fought for his soul. nearly died for it. the demon with no soul still wanted to do the right thing, to be a good man, so desperately he would destroy himself for the chance.

and then angel says something VERY interesting to spike. spike says he thinks angel hates him because he's a living reminder of his evil. "cause every time you look at me, you see every dirty little thing i've done. all the lives i've taken. because of you. drusilla sired me, but you made me a monster."

and angel, the man who, without his soul, tortures and kills people sadistically for fun and feasting, the man who insists he is not angelus, says, "i didn’t make you, spike. i just opened up the door and let the real you out."

SUCH an interesting thing to say, angel! let's talk about this. no, please—go on. explain how you are better than spike in any way. i'm fascinated. i'd love to hear how you and angelus are different people but the demon who possessed william the poet is somehow the same as the man.

you can't have it both ways, you horrifically catholic man. you aren't a better person just because you've suffered more.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

could we get some gally headcannons please?👀

Whatever you want to write🩷

Thank you ❤️

gally in a relationship headcanons

masterlist

finally some gally love <3 idc what anyone says, his eyebrows are beautiful. NSFW BELOW.

the glade

enemies to lovers type shit. i'm talking y'all would go as far as avoiding meal times just to avoid seeing each other.

he'd always be staring at you—from across the glade, through the bonfire, literally all the time.

sooo many interactions would end with y'all being up in each other's faces and throwing petty insults.

you'd slap him if he says anything that borders on sexism. he eventually learns what's what.

'there's a thin line between love and hate'.

other gladers would get so annoyed by how much he talks about you. his favourite excuse: "she just pisses me off so much".

but there's no excuse for jerking off to the thought of you late at night.

honestly, he would probably realise he likes you when you scull his secret recipe drink in front of him.

he'd ignore his feelings until you're the only thing on his mind and it infuriates him so fucking much.

you would be arguing one time and then suddenly he kisses you. the kiss would be aggressive, heated, and most likely up against a tree or hut.

suprisingly, his confession after would be very vulnerable and tender.

everyone is confused the next day when you're practically glued to each other's sides

gally would be very protective and borderline possessive. he'd hate it whenever other guys stare or talk about you.

would probably end up in a fistfight over it.

he'd be a rough/passionate kisser.

he'd be very into thighs. his hands are big and calloused so he'd enjoy wrapping them around the plush of your thighs, kneading the soft warm skin in his hand.

despite his gruff and harsh demeanour, he would always hold/touch you with utmost delicateness, apart from heated moments.

guards you whenever you shower.

would break so many rules for you. reluctantly, of course.

y'all know the term 'sleeper build'? that's gally. he might not seem extremely muscly at first glance, but once he starts heavy-lifting and building, his arms are legit bulging.

your first time together wouldn't be too great, but once you practice more, it gets good. like, really good.

love love loves receiving but also thoroughly enjoys making you come and knowing only he can do it.

his favourite sex position would be holding you up against a wall. he likes feeling strong.

arguments would almost always end with him taking you into the forest and fucking you against a tree.

when he gets stung, he would probably fight through the changing to tell you he loves you one last time before getting speared. oop.

the last city

when y'all reunite, you'd both collapse to the floor in each other's arms kissing and crying which surprises you. the gally you knew was not a crier or favoured public affection.

gally changed a lot since you last saw him, emotionally and physically. he is taller, more muscular, and has a more level-headed and calmer attitude.

he'd be more emotionally available and willing to be open and vulnerable with you.

the first thing y'all do when you're alone is have sex. and he even fucks differently.

the better wording would be 'make love' instead of 'fuck'.

he is much more gentle and loving and focuses on your needs wayyy more than his own. he couldn't believe how aggressive he previously was with you, how selfish he was.

he would worship your body and show you how much you really mean to him.

you would make him leave his mask on one time while y'all fuck. its hot af.

would always be touching you—an arm wrapped around your waist, holding your hand, your thighs, etc.

the hugs, man. he'd literally pick you up and engulf you in his arms. all the time. this mf had a severe epiphany and realised his love language was touch.

would always be complimenting you. "you're beautiful, you know that?", "god, you're a fucking angel.", etc

wouldn't get mad if other guys talked to or stared at you anymore. he would probably joke about it with them instead.

well, maybe he would be a little aggressive.

"yeah, ha-ha, careful or i'll throw you to the cranks".

trusts you to be able to take care of yourself but is still a major worrier, especially during the war within the city.

after arriving at the safe haven, he would build a house for you. you would enjoy watching him because, well... muscles.

all in all, gally would be an extremely different man compared to the one you first met, making your love for him stronger than it had ever been.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓���� ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

── mdni sexual content ; how the boys would tease you in bed. inclusive of: pet name usage, dirty talk, praise, edging, heavy petting, slight mentions of: vaginal sex, fingering, nipple play, oral (f. receiving) ✨

⁺₊ / an: i am a big supporter of these 4 being absolutely infuriating !! xavier's has references to "pretty little mess" if you've caught it 🤭

caleb was impatient at heart. the way he teased you would never have you begging, but always buckling under the weight of his desires, always hiding your face in embarrassment, at every way he'd elicit sounds from you that you didn't even know you could make. you've known him for practically all your life; the mere thought that he could get you like this, see you like this, made you flush impossibly red with embarrassment... and he knew. he'd call you pipsqueak when he spoke, a testament of the closeness of your relationship, and you would barely retain your sanity. he'd praise you, too—relaying in your ears how good you feel and how pretty you look with his cock buried deep into you, telling you every fantasy he'd had in his head, going on about how he's addicted to your pussy and he'd never be the same without it. every dirty word from his mouth had you whimpering, clenching around his length—you hated it, but you loved it. "Oh, fuck, pipsqueak... Takin' me so well like that... fuck, you're just so, so good—"

rafayel would simply be so aggravating. the two of you are always teasing each other, and he'd always find a way to get on your nerves one way or another. so, in the bedroom... well. he'd be smirking at the way your hips would chase his whenever he pulled out of you, almost laughing at your expense, pure amusement written over every inch of his body. he loved you, yes—but he'd never let you cum. not when he was in control; not when he delighted in your whines and your whimpers, begging him for more. he'd simply rub on your arm, mocking coos into your ear about how needy you are—time and time again, whether it be from his fingers or his tongue or his cock, he would dare to leave you thrashing on his bed, your release slipping away from you slowly, slowly. it would render you sensitive to his every touch. closer and closer, reaching the peak of your high quicker every time he edged you... until just a kiss, just a nip against your skin, and you'd be shaking—coming undone, spilling over his sheets. only then would he proceed to fuck you senseless. "wow, so desperate for me! what a cutie~ you want to cum, don't you?"

xavier? sweet, innocent xavier, like you've always known him to be... not. xavier, the little shit, he's deliberate. he'd have fingers trailing all over your skin, barely-there touches that have your hair raising in response. he'd place light, feathery kisses, from your jawline, to your neck, to your collarbone... and he'd have the audacity to breathe so close to your ear, claiming he just wants to cuddle—he doesn't, obviously he doesn't. but he pretends. he pretends like he doesn't know what he's doing to you. and he'd never touch you any more than that until he got his fill, until you would rub your thighs and his ears would perk at the subtle sounds of your wetness. xavier knows exactly how to get you riled up, weak in his arms, mumbling about the unfairness of it all, whining to him how you just want him to fuck you already and skip all these pointless theatrics... but he won't stop. not until he wants to. it doesn't matter how many times you beg. if he wants to see you get even more desperate for him, then he will. "but, angel, why? i'm barely doing anything to you... are you already so wet...?"

zayne always knows what you want. of course he does, he's easily memorized every one of your expressions, every one of your reactions; what gets you clenching tight around his cock and how exactly to make you throw your head back moaning. but he won't do it. he won't do it unless you tell him to, unless he hears the words directly fall from you lips, dictating to him in detail exactly what you want him to do to you. it was never easy for you to do in the first place, so embarrassed of the filthy words coming from your mouth—but he'd make it even harder. be it the friction of his cock gliding in and out of your pussy, or the way his lips would swirl around your nipples, or maybe even just the way he'd look at you—intense, observant, waiting. you could barely form a coherent thought, let alone try to speak in words he could actually understand. "what's wrong, sweetheart? you know you have to tell me. come on, it's not too hard, is it? open your mouth. speak."

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[hazbinwhoree]

OMG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CAN U DO A

yandere adam x reader x yandere lucifer

like basically durning the last extermination adam sees the sinner and basically fall heads over wings for them

and yk durning the heaven meeting he made a globe to watch angel dust i feel like he makes that globe thing to watch the reader see how there doing and sees that lucifer is too close to them

i feel like he would try to do anything to get them into heaven with him and far away from lucifer be he already took his first wife and maybe his second and he doesn’t want him to take his third wife

(SORRY IF ITS LONG)

The Third Wife

Part 1/2 Part 2

Yandere!Adam x Reader x Yandere!Lucifer

A/N: I had fun writing this but I don’t plan on a part 2 because I don’t know where to take it from here. I hope you enjoy!

Lucifer had taken Lilith, and Eve, and now he was going to take (Name). He met her first, it wasn’t fair Adam was trying to steal her. (Name) was a human on Earth who had summoned Lucifer a few months back to strike a deal. Lucifer found her adorable and endearing and found himself slowly catching feelings. He planned to convince her to join him in Hell.

Adam had Lilith stolen from him by Lucifer. Then Eve. He’d be damned if he lost (Name) too.

He first met (Name) during an extermination, (she had died and reincarnated as a sinner) and to his own surprise, he fell hard. He became obsessive, spending most of his free time in Heaven holed up in his room watching (Name) through his globe. He had to make sure she and Lucifer weren’t getting too close while he tried to figure out how to get (Name) into Heaven.

To Adam’s dismay, (Name) joined the princess’ stupid hotel. That meant more time spent with Lucifer. Adam couldn’t let that happen. The more he watched, the more possessive Lucifer began to act over (Name). It infuriated Adam. He came to the conclusion there was only one way to get (Name) away from Lucifer to be with him.

He was going to approve of Miss Sunshine and Rainbows’ Hazbin Hotel.

Lute was appalled when he told her. “But why, sir?” “None of your fucking business,” Adam snapped. “Tell the bitch princess I want another meeting.”

Adam actually came to Hell to meet with Charlie.

“So…” Charlie looked skeptical. “What’s this about? I thought you were too good to come to Hell outside of the extermination.”

“I’m giving your stupid little hotel the green light.”

“What?” Both Charlie and Vaggie’s jaws dropped.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Don’t shit your panties.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Vaggie asked suspiciously.

“Doesn’t matter. You gonna give me a tour so I know what I’m agreeing to?”

Charlie wasn’t nearly as suspicious as Vaggie. “Of course!” She was practically bouncing with excitement. “Come with us!”

When they entered Hazbin Hotel, all the residents stopped what they were doing to stare. Adam made eye contact with (Name). She was the only one who mattered.

“What is he doing here?” The porn demon asked.

Charlie linked her arm through Adam’s and he tried not to grimace. “Adam has agreed to the Hazbin Hotel! We’re giving him a tour!” The residents looked skeptical. Except for (Name), who smiled and waved at him. His heart fluttered.

Charlie dragged Adam around the hotel, talking his ear off and introducing him to different residents and discussing their progress. When she got to (Name), Adam cut her off. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed. “Good!”

“Charlie–” a voice sounded from down the hallway. Lucifer had rounded the corner, calling his daughter’s name, but he stopped abruptly when he saw Adam. “What the fuck.”

“Dad!” Charlie tugged Adam over to him. “Adam said yes to the hotel!” “Did he now?” Lucifer narrowed his eyes at Adam. Adam narrowed his back. The energy was palpable as they stared one another down. “Your change of heart wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with (Name), would it?”

Adam smirked and answered with silence. Lucifer was fuming. “Alllright… that’s enough of that. I’ll talk to you later, Dad!” Charlie broke them up, leading Adam back to the lobby.

At the door, far enough from any nosey ears, Adam stopped Charlie. “The agreement comes with a stipulation, princess.” Charlie’s face fell. “Relax, sweetie, it’s not a big deal. If sinners are cleansing their souls and coming to Heaven, I want (Name) to be the first.” Charlie looked relieved. “Deal!” They shook on it.

When Adam left, Lucifer approached his daughter. “You can’t trust him, Charlie, he definitely has ulterior motives.” “He only had one stipulation,” Charlie smiled. “(Name) is to be the first sinner redeemed!” “What?”

Lucifer was furious. He knew Adam had been up to something.

“Tell me you didn’t agree, Charlie.”

Charlie looked confused. “I did… why wouldn’t I? (Name) is here to be redeemed, who cares about the order?”

“I care! Because I was going to convince her to stay in Hell!”

Charlie was surprised. “What, why?”

But Lucifer was already storming away. He stormed straight to (Name)’s room and banged on the door. She answered it, and as soon as she did, Lucifer pushed his way into the room and shut the door.

“Well, hello to you too,” (Name) said sarcastically.

“I want you to stay in Hell.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay in Hell,” Lucifer repeated. “Why?” (Name) asked. “Because I’m in love with you!”

(Name)’s mouth fell open, moving as she tried to form words, but nothing came out.

Lucifer took her hands in his. “Please. Say something.”

“Lucifer that’s… that’s a lot. I care about you, a lot, I do, but I want to go to Heaven. My quality of life down here is shit, and you can’t change that.”

“But I can!” Lucifer insisted. “Be mine and I’ll give you everything you could possibly want.”

“I’m sorry,” (Name) said, looking sympathetic. “I want Heaven.”

Lucifer continued to try to get her to change her mind over the next month as she worked to be redeemed, but before he knew it, her soul was cleansed and Heaven was ready to take her.

Adam was of course the first to greet her, a massive grin on his face. “Welcome to Heaven, babe! Congrats on getting out of that shithole. Let me show you around.” He offered her his hand, and his face warmed under his mask when she took it without hesitation. He had won.

Lucifer was scheming, no doubt, but for now, Adam had won.

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Katsuki fumbled as the heavy wooden door of your mansion was nearly slammed in his face, you being the cause. Your infuriated strides didn’t stop as you reached the kitchen.

Katsuki felt his eyes burn and bile rise in his throat as he tried desperately to reach you.

“Baby, please! It was one time, and I didn’t even kiss her-,” he rambles worriedly, taking a step aback as you turn around.

Your eyes held nothing but pure fire and pain.

“Oh my FUCKING GOD Katsuki! You didn’t kiss her?! Oh that’s just wonderful, I totally forgive you for going behind my FUCKING BACK and fucking other women! That makes everything okay now!” You cry? Laugh? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Katsuki winces at your tears, pearly streaks of his own staining his cheeks. He reaches for you, heart breaking when you flinch away from him.

“Baby-,” he starts.

“Don’t you fucking DARE call me that you disloyal bastard,” you sob.

“I gave you my EVERYTHING, you son of a bitch! The nights I spent slaving over that fucking stove so YOU wouldn’t go hungry! I broke my back cleaning this fucking house, I give up my social life so we can be together, I bust my fucking ass doing stuff in bed I don’t want to do, ALL FOR YOU! I gave you EVERYTHING! So don’t you fucking dare try and have some balls now.” You sob through gritted teeth.

Katsuki sinks to his knees, openly sobbing and grabbing your hands. You tried forcing them back, but his grip was relentless. He pressed tearful kisses to your hands, amplifying your pained sobs.

“(Y/N), please! It was the worst mistake of my entire fucking life, of OUR lives. It was an act of stupidity, and if I could go back in time I would kill past me for even looking at her. It’s YOU I love, not her. It’s you, it’s always been you,” he gasped for breath, looking up at you. You paused.

“AAAAAAAND CUT! That was a great take everyone, go grab some lunch and be back in an hour to continue the shoot,” the director shouts, hopping off his pedestal.

You wiped your tears off, cursing the added tear stick as you laughed.

“Jesus Christ, that was a rough scene. How are you, baby?” You look down at him. Your smile was warm, a complete contrast to the character in the series you were acting in. Katsuki made no move to wipe his tears.

He rose slowly, before wrapping his arms around you tightly. He sniffled as he held you as close as possible, kissing the side of your face.

“Baby, are you alright? It was just a scene!” You giggle, kissing him on the forehead.

“If I ever make you sad like that, I need you to kill me. I would rather die than make you cry the way you just did,” he sniffed, wiping his nose and holding your cheeks.

“Aw sweetie. I know you’d never cheat on me. I love you so, so, so much. I guess we just did too good a job acting,” you giggle. You pull him in closer for a kiss, wiping his tears and playing with his baby hairs.

“I love you so much. Never ever forget that,” he says firmly. You nod, before squeezing out of his grip and tapping his ass playfully.

“Of course angel, now let’s get lunch. Sato made enchiladas and I’m craving them so badly,” you kiss him again. Katsuki’s phone beeped, and he checked before grimacing slightly.

“I’ll be right there babe, Eijiro’s complaining about something,” he says, squeezing your sides and sending you off.

You’re so fucking right, baby. He thought. His chest bloomed in pain. Ochaco’s bunched up tits stared right back at him in picture form, taunting him.

I did too good of an acting job.

[soullumii]

carry out | javier peña x f!reader

javier peña x afab!reader

summary: javier’s messy way of dealing with business causes the two of you to work late. he offers to buy you carry out to apologize for making you stay late (and, more reluctantly, for making you miss the date you had planned). then he offers something else to make it up to you.  warnings: 18+ content mdni, smut [oral sex (f receving), unprotected piv], soft!javi, smiley!javi, sassy!reader, praise kink (for both reader and javi), javi likes to please, pet names (chiquita, baby, querida, sweetheart, angel), lots of uses of the word ‘fuck’, might be a little ooc?, no use of y/n. word count: 5k-ish?

inspired by carry out by timbaland

---

The last time you looked out the windows of the U.S. embassy, the sky was fading from blue to a pale orange. Now, when you peek up from the mountain of paperwork in front of you, the stars are the only thing visible, everything else bathed in darkness.

You can't remember the last time you actually went home on time from your job as a secretary. It had to be before Peña and Murphy started working here. With them around, your overtime hours stretched longer and longer. 

It’s for a good cause, you remind yourself. Because, truly, it is. Catching the Narcos is top priority. It’s just hard to remember that when you’re drowning in paperwork and have to cancel the plans you had made a week ago for this shit.

“Look, I’m really sorry again. It’s still crazy over here,” you apologize into the plastic transmitter for the second time this evening, twirling the curly wire around your finger. The first time you called your date was a couple hours ago when you had to relay the unfortunate state of your situation: multiple things to do and not nearly enough hours in the workday to do them. Thus, staying overtime.

“No worries. We can go out tomorrow instead.”

You smile, “Thanks, Michael. That sounds great.”

You hang up the phone and the moment it hits the switch, your expression transforms into a deep frown. You send the most withering glare you can manage to the only man left in the room and the cause of all your problems: Javier fucking Peña. If looks could kill, yours would, but unfortunately, they cannot. And Javier doesn’t even seem to notice, his nose buried in his own respective papers. The hard line of his brow is furrowed over his dark eyes, the skin between his brows pinched in a way that makes you itch to smooth it out. Not for his benefit, but for your own, because it is awfully infuriating.

His normally perfectly coiffed hair is curling over his forehead, ruffled a bit at the edges as if he’s been anxiously running his hands through it, and one hand twirls a pen between his fingers while the other is pushed up against his temple. Seems like the long hours are getting to him, too. 

Good.

“Michael again, huh?” Javier comments, still staring down at his documents. His pen scribbles on a notepad. “He’s… clingy.”

You staple a few papers together, and if the stapler clamps down a bit harder than you mean it to, you can hardly be at fault for that.

“If that’s clingy, I worry about the women you’ve been with. They probably thought you hated them.” You retort, not looking up. 

“Quite the opposite, angel.”

Arrogant bastard, your mind supplies. 

You don’t grant him the satisfaction of a response, focusing instead on the work in front of you. And you want to scream. Or cry maybe. Because this is literally all his fault. 

If it weren’t for the shit he bothered you with earlier, and the multiple times he interrupted Ambassador Noonan, you wouldn’t be here trying to play catch up—rescheduling all the meetings she had to miss and filing reports for the classified information Javier “stole” from the files room, to which you did not give him permission to take, but still received shit for anyway. 

And, of course, you received shit for “letting” him in. Which you did not do! He had just waltzed in, hours after you had told him multiple times that he was not allowed in and that you were not allowed to let him in. 

You glare at him again, and this time he’s looking at you, a single dark eyebrow raised. 

You’d quite like to strangle him. 

“You gonna tell me what these looks mean or am I just supposed to guess?” He asks, bemused. 

“I’m mad at you,” you grit.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

The papers in your hold crumple as your fingers tighten. You can hear your molars grinding against each other as you try to hold back your anger. This fucking asshole—! 

“Is this about earlier?”

“Yes. It is.”

He sighs, setting his pen down. “Look, we really needed to get that information and I already said—“

You interrupt him again with a barely concealed snarl. “Sure, right. You’re sorry, and you needed it, but I’m always the one that has to deal with the fallout, while you go prance about and fuck whores and get congratulations. And now we’re here late and I had to cancel my date and I’m so behind.” You bury your face into your palms with a groan of exasperation.

You peek through your fingers to glare at Javier again only to notice... is that …guilt reflecting in his brown eyes? Gods above, you didn’t think he was capable of feeling that emotion, or any, for that matter.

(You know he is. There had been a few times at the local bar with Steve, or in the parking lot after a late shift when he had shown the other side of him. When he’d talk about his family, or life back in the States, you saw something other than a flirtatious smirk or a tense look on his face. Something softer. Warmer. It was…disarming. And terribly addicting.) 

Even so, this whole situation is because of him, so you push away the instinctual urge to forgive him just to wipe that look off his face.

Javier stands, straightening his papers and shoving them in a manila folder stamped with the word “CLASSIFIED” on top. You drop your gaze back to your work, trying to drown out the sound of him packing up.

Yeah. Fine. You go home, while I’m stuck here. 

You’re almost able to read the words swimming in front of you when you’re interrupted by Javier leaning over your desk on his elbows, his leather jacket stretching audibly over his broad shoulders. He drops your coat down next to him on the polished mahogany and you tilt your head to regard him with suspicion, a snarky remark on the tip of your tongue.

He beats you to the punch. 

“Are you even getting anything done anymore?” He asks, gesturing to your papers. You’ve reread the same paragraph about five times by now, you think. 

“Actually, yes—“

He rudely interrupts you with a crooked grin. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You’re terrible at it.” He taps your coat with two fingers. “Come on.”

“But I’m not done y—“

“I don’t care.” He interrupts, again. “I want to get out of here and you need to get out of here. Seriously. Let’s get something to eat, I’ll pay for it to make up for my shitty behavior.”

You stare at him in genuine surprise, jaw slack. “Wow, the Javier Peña can actually admit when he fucks up? I’m in shock.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a complete ass.”

“That’s debatable.” 

He frowns. “Do you want food or not?”

“Are you threatening to go back on your word? That’s low even for you, Peña. I’m pretty sure when you’re in debt to someone you’re supposed to be treating them with respect—“

He grumbles and turns for the door. “Never mind about the empanadas, then.”

Your chair audibly screeches over the tile flooring as you jump up, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Wait! I’m coming.”

You try your damn best to ignore the amused smile on his face that, to your chagrin, makes him look rather handsome as you follow him out to his Jeep Cherokee.

“If I had known food won you over so easily I would’ve used that a long time ago.” He jokes as he turns the car on. You buckle yourself in.

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to be so eager next time. I’m only accepting this because I was deprived of my meal tonight.” 

He pulls out onto the road. 

“Sorry you didn’t get to have a date full of awkward pauses and subpar food, sweetheart.” 

You scoff at his audacity. "Goes to show how much you know about enjoying something other than sex with a woman."

"I know how to take a woman out on a date," he insists, glancing at you.

"Don't lie to me sweetheart, you're terrible at it," you echo his words from earlier back at him with a saccharine smile.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

After a moment, he finally speaks again, tone genuinely sincere. “I hope you know I really am sorry for everything and making you stay late."

It takes you by surprise, and you meet his stare. His brown eyes look almost black in the darkness. A shiver travels up your spine. 

His eyes should be illegal.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if I forgive you after my food.” 

He chuckles at that, “Okay.”

Eventually he pulls the Jeep into the parking lot of your favorite local place (how did he know?) and then you’re standing in line to order. It’s ten at night and somehow there is still a line. Well, it is your (and everybody else’s) favorite for a reason. 

Javier manages to convince you to bring your empanadas back to his place. 

“We live right next to each other.”

“All the more reason for me to go home.”

“I have dessert. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

“Ugh, fine.” 

(You really don’t mind it. You just like to give him a hard time.)

So you order carry out.

His keys jangle as he unlocks the door to his apartment, and he sets the containers of carry out on his coffee table. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, and you do the same, trying not to stare at the way the sleeves of his button up stretch tantalizingly over his biceps, nor at the way his strong forearms are on display. 

Listen. He might annoy the fuck out of you, but you can admit that he is quite...attractive.

“Make yourself at home. Want a drink?” He asks, already grabbing two glasses.

“Sure, whiskey is fine. Since I’m assuming that’s all you have.”

“You know me so well.”

You look around his apartment and notice it's sparsely decorated, which makes sense to you, although, it still feels cozy in a way. 

The lamps reflect a gentle warm hue over the barren walls, save for a few government installed abstract paintings. Somehow, compared to your apartment in the same building, his place feels more comfortable. 

There’s a hand-knitted afghan sitting over the back of his couch and you twist the fraying yarn between your fingers as you admire the handiwork. 

“My abuela made that, before she died.” Javier says gently, handing you a glass of whiskey. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Yeah. She was really talented. This was the only thing I wanted to take with me from the States.” He takes a sip from his glass. 

“Did she knit a lot?”

He nods. “All of the time, it felt like. Can’t remember the last time I didn’t see her in a rocking chair, a ball of yarn at her feet.” He muses, and these are the moments with Javier that you crave. You wish you had more of them. The way he softens when he gets that damned smile on his face… the way the crows' feet around his warm brown eyes deepen... It's, as you said before, terribly addicting.

You smile gently. “Where’s all her work now?”

“With my dad. He hardly let me go with this.” 

You chuckle, and then Javier’s gesturing to the couch. 

“Come on.”

You follow him over to the couch and he settles down into the cushions with a sigh, resting an arm lazily across the back. You sit perched awkwardly on the end. All of a sudden, the room feels too small. It smells like him, like tobacco and sage and… man. 

You’re finally realizing how close you’ve been to him this entire evening, and your body is certainly realizing it too. 

See, this is why you had a date tonight. 

“Relax,” he tells you.

“I am.”

“You’re not,” he leans forward, a smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not gonna bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You scoff, but a stubborn flush works its way into your cheeks. “No, ‘course not.”

You grab your container and Javier follows, and soon he’s got the TV on and you’re both enjoying your empanadas with the gentle noise of the Price is Right in the background. You relax into the cushions, your exhaustion encouraging you to do so before your brain can stop you.

It’s nice though. He’s… nice. 

“Hey," Javier eventually mumbles into the space between you. 

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna make sure the guys don’t come after you again for the bad decisions I make."

You roll your head to look at him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s about time I took responsibility for the shitty things I’ve done."

“No truer words have ever been spoken.” You deadpan. It earns you a quiet chuckle, and you smile, turning your attention back to the TV.

You polish off your empanadas, licking the juices and bread crumbs from your fingers, and you think you see Javier watching you raptly out of the corner of your eye, but then you blink and his eyes are on the TV, as if he’d never been looking over at you in the first place. 

Damn, you need to sleep. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “Is this better than the date with Michael would’ve been?” 

You groan dramatically. “Why are you so bothered by him?”

“‘M not.” He says, but it sounds unconvincing even to your ears. “Just curious.”

“Are you jealous, Javi?” You grin into your glass of whiskey, the alcohol pouring warmth into your bloodstream, along with that heady, outlandish, and fleeting thought of him actually being jealous, maybe even possessive over you.

You really need to sleep. 

“‘Course not. Just want to make sure our little secretary is treated right.”

“I’m hardly treated right at work, this guy would probably be a step up from the people that talk to me on a daily basis.”

“I hope you don’t mean me.”

“I especially mean you.”

He sighs heavily, his head falling back against the cushions. He levels you with a pleading look, lips in a pout. “Come on, chiquita. When will you forgive me?”

Chiquita. That’s new. 

You tap your chin, glancing about as if in thought, attempting to ignore the giddy feeling curling in your stomach at the pet name. “I dunno…You still haven’t convinced me that you’re truly sorry.” 

Of course he has. You just like to stir the pot.

“No?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ dramatically, grinning smugly as you tease him.  “You’re missing the whole groveling and begging on your knees, bit.”

It’s a joke. Seriously. You think he'll just laugh, wave it off, and then you’ll actually forgive him. But that’s not what happens at all. 

Because he’s slowly lowering himself to the floor, all while keeping strict eye contact with you. The air rushes out of your lungs in a single, astonished, harsh exhale. 

“What…what are you doing?” You breathe, because seriously, what the hell is he doing? 

“Groveling. Isn't that what you want, chiquita?” 

He places himself in between your legs, and you really should be pushing him away, but instead your legs spread to make room for him. The movement has his eyes darkening significantly. 

Fuck. What are you doing?

“Javi…” You whisper, eyes wide.

A large, warm hand comes up to grip your right calf, massaging your muscles gently with thick, strong fingers while the other kneads at your left ankle. His lips press up against your leg in a soft kiss. 

“Let me show you how truly sorry I am,” he whispers against your calf, chocolate eyes boring into you. Heat licks at your core in white hot flames. 

Okay. Okay, wait, this is actually a really good way for him to repay you. He had deprived you of potential sex, but now is offering it to you on a silver platter. 

Still, you hesitate, remembering his reputation. 

“Javi, I don’t know… I don’t want to be another notch on your belt.”

He shakes his head, brows furrowed, his voice rough with sincerity. “You’re not. You never will be, you’re so much more than that, querida.” He reassures you, laying another soft kiss against your skin, and a shiver rattles your spine. “Wanna make you feel good…wanna make up for what I did..."

You take a shaky breath, warmth fanning out over your body. 

Fuck, this could either be a really good idea, or a really bad idea that could fuck up your already fucked up work relationship. 

But shit, if you aren’t wet right now…and he really does have some apologizing to do…

“Okay…show me.”

He sighs into your skin, his smile in relief edging on a satisfied smirk. “Thank you, chiquita.” 

And then he’s pushing your pencil skirt up your thighs with his big hands, eyes raptly watching the way your skin is revealed to him, like carefully unwrapping a gift. Soon enough your skirt is pooled around your waist, your throbbing cunt trapped behind the lace of your black panties. Javi sucks in an appreciative breath, eyes scanning every inch of you.

He pulls at the elastic hem of your waistband, then releases, letting it slap against your skin, and looks up at you with barely concealed disdain, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. “These for Michael?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way his possessive question sends tingling heat through your core. 

He tsks, squeezing your thigh. Why are his hands so goddamn big? “Now I'm glad I kept you late. He doesn’t deserve to see you like this.”

“Oh like you do?” 

“Chiquita, I know I don’t. Still, who's in between your thighs right now? I bet Michael doesn’t even like to eat pussy.”

“Javi!” You scold, embarrassment traveling up your body. He just smirks.

“That’s certainly not the tone you’re supposed to be using with my name. Let’s fix that.”

He maneuvers his hands to grip your lower back, and he scoots you to the edge of the couch. He inches his fingers beneath your panties and slowly peels them off of you, pupils dilating when he notices the slickness of your cunt.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, “you’re soaked.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been awhile.” You grumble, clenching around nothing at his words. 

“You sure it’s not just because of me?”

“Positive, Peña.”

He leans in, warm breaths puffing over your aching core. “Mm, I love it when you’re mean, baby.” 

And then he’s licking a hot stripe through your folds, and your hands that hold you upright jolt to his dark hair, threading the locks through your fingers. You sink into the couch on a high pitched whimper. “Javi—“

“Yeah, there we go, that’s it,” he hums against you, smiling into your pussy, and the vibrations travel through your spine, sending a wave of pleasure crashing into you. 

His cockiness should make you mad, but all it does is make you crave him more. 

He presses in, licking again, this time into you, and the tip of his curved nose bumps against your aching clit, releasing a wrecked moan from your lips.

“Shit,” you huff, eyes screwed shut as he continues to lap at you. “Remind me next time to ride your face—“

He stops his ministrations to look up at you, pupils blown wide, his glistening mouth curling wickedly. “Next time?”

“We all know men are prone to making mistakes,” you tease. “It’s just a matter of when. And when you do, I'll need another apology."

He goes to respond, but you tug on his soft hair, urging him back into your warmth. Whatever response he has is muffled into your slick, and he’s lapping you up like a man in the desert, moaning graciously. 

You feel him start to pull back, and you open your eyes, glaring down at him. “What are you—“ Your protests fade into a moan when you feel two long, thick fingers slowly slide into you. Your head falls against the back of the couch. 

“I knew you were a brat at work but I didn’t think you’d be the same in bed.” He jokes quietly into your thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. They reach so much farther than yours do, and it feels so fucking good. God, you really needed this. 

“Different from your usual whore, hm?” You quip in between moans. 

“Yeah, I like it though,” he admits. “Could get fuckin’ addicted to your attitude and this pussy.”

You should be embarrassed by the new wave of slick running down his fingers at that, but you’re not. If he claims he could get addicted, you know you already are. You’re craving your next hit and Javi needs to be the one to give it to you. 

He seems to know what you want without you having to say, leaning in to wrap his lips around your clit again. 

You slouch into the couch, hips chasing his warm mouth, scooting you toward the edge. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you upright, and you buck into him. You grip his hair, urging him closer to your heat.

You can feel your orgasm building, ebbing and flowing, like the waves of an ocean. Each lick and suck and prod from Javi paired with the skilled way his fingers thrust in and up and out of you feels like a tug from a rip current, threatening to pull you under. 

God damn, he’s good. 

“Fuck—hng—shit, Javi!”

“Mmhmm, taste so good, chiquita.” He moans against you. 

“Mmngh, fuck, need you—your mouth on me all—all the time. So good.”

He sucks on your clit as if in agreement, and your hips jerk, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen spasming, just on the edge of your orgasm. 

“‘m gonna come—Jav—“

He gently scrapes his teeth over your clit and—oh shit. You’re fucking gone.

Your orgasm punches the air out of you, exploding white hot, tingles zipping through your nerve endings. Warmth spreads across you like a roaring wildfire. You hardly register the moans leaking out of you in an endless stream, your body so overwhelmed with pleasure.

Javi’s moaning too, his other hand palming himself through his jeans as he laps up everything you give him. 

Your legs shake as you ride it out, and he gently strokes them as he licks you through your high.  

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” he mumbles against your heat. “So fuckin’ good for me. Look so pretty when you come.”

He doesn’t stop, continuing to lick you through the aftershocks.

You tug on his hair, pulling him off of you when you’ve had enough. “Okay…that’s enough, Javi.”

Javier laughs as extracts himself from your legs, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You scoot back to sit properly again, though you're practically boneless against the cushions.

Comfortable silence settles over the both of you as you catch your breath. He smiles at you, his dimple showing, and you smile back at him, your heart jumping in your chest. He looks like he thoroughly enjoyed himself, all ruffled and flushed. His dark hair stands up in multiple directions from your tugging, and his mustache glistens with your arousal. 

He looks so cute. Damn it! 

Angry feelings for Javier were normal. But these…lovey dovey-esque feelings simmering beneath the surface are not. 

You just can’t stay mad at him.

“…’Kay maybe I forgive you now.”

He raises a brow. “Just a ‘maybe’?”

You nod, eyes dropping down to where his cock is pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans, just begging to be freed. “Think I remember you mentioning dessert.”

He follows your line of sight and outright laughs, smiling so wide his eyes actually disappear. Fuck, why is he so cute? “I actually meant that—I have tres leches in the fridge but—shit, really?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, you might as well actually fuck me at this point.”

“Jesus Christ—okay.”

He pulls you toward his bedroom, but you both get distracted along the way. 

He finds your lips at the entrance to the hallway, pressing you into the wall and kissing you roughly, hands unbunching your skirt to find the zipper, uttering under his breath about how unprofessional the garment is. Once the metal piece is in his fingers, he tugs it down, pulling away to watch your skirt fall to the floor.

He loses his shirt next, at the door to his bedroom, with you scolding him about how you’ll call HR on the amount of skin he dares to show at work. You only unbutton it enough for him to be able to pull it over his head, and then your hands are on him, squeezing the muscles of his arms and scratching lightly over his tan pectorals. You run your fingers up the long valley of his spine as he kisses you, delighting in the way he shudders against you at your touch.

He tugs yours off next, choosing now to bite your neck with a teasing “Guess I do bite”, and running his warm hands along your waist and breasts appreciatively. 

You finally make it into his room and he’s pushing you onto the bed, climbing over you, still clad in his dark, too-tight jeans. Those need to come off. 

“Fuck,” he swears, watching as you unbutton his jeans, tugging the zipper down. Arousal floods through you as you palm him through his briefs, hot and warm and big in your hands. 

“Been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he says, voice rough. He tugs his jeans and briefs off then reclaims his spot over you, leaning down to mouth at your neck. 

“How long,” you whimper, head tilting to allow him access. You shiver at the feeling of his light five 'o clock shadow scraping your neck as he moves up to your ear. He bites gently down on your earlobe.

“Too fucking long.”

Your hand wraps around his thick, warm length, and he jerks, thrusting into your loose fist. He groans, a sound so wrecked it’s like he’s in pain, and you take that as the sign that you need to get things moving.

You direct the head of his cock to your entrance, your gaze catching his own. Heavy eyes framed by thick lashes watch your face scrunch in pleasure as he slowly sheaths himself in you. God you feel so full as he bottoms out, more than you have with anyone else.

“Been wanting this too,” you admit. 

He smirks, “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You roll your eyes, but then he thrusts into you and they actually roll into the back of your head as he pulses inside you.

“Fuck, Javi.” 

“That’s it, chiquita.” He grips your thigh, pushing it up to gain a new angle. And then he picks up his pace, fucking into you with abandon. It’s like you can feel it in your throat, his cock hitting deep inside you. You jerk against the bed, the headboard slamming into the wall rhythmically. How many times have you heard this through the wall being his neighbor just on the other side? And now it’s you in the place of the multiple women he’s had over. And you think, maybe, that he’s enjoying it more with you than he was with them. 

He’s grunting above you, moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he fucks you with all the skill and expertise he’s gained over the many years of fucking his informants. He’s louder than he was when you heard him with the others. 

And you…you’re louder than the many times you got off by yourself just on the other side of the wall. Moans and praises drop out of your lips unfiltered—you just can’t stop.

“That’s it, Javi–yes. So good. Fucking me so well.”

And he’s fucking…loving it. 

You can feel his dick jumping inside you with each compliment, and it sends a new wave of arousal crashing within you each time. 

He’s getting close, but so are you, everything is tightening, a catapult ready to sling you off the deep end.

"Javi—I'm—“

"Yeah, that's it, baby." His hand gravitates down to circle your clit. "Come for me, being so good—you deserve it after today. Come on—“

You deserve it.

That's what fucking gets you.

Heat and fire and light and everything heavenly bursts within you as you come on Javier's cock, muscles spasming as they rejoice in that fact that you're finally getting laid. You're practically screaming, back arching off the bed as you ride the wave.

And Javi's fucking you through it, trying to hold off. But you don’t want him to.

"Come in me, Javi."

“You sure?”

“Please.”

How is he supposed to deny you?

He comes right on command, releasing inside you, and the feeling is euphoric. He's warm and hot as he coats the inside of you, and...shit...

...how are you supposed to live without this?

He collapses next to you, and you both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

You turn on your side to look at him, but he's already watching you. His hand idly traces the inside of your arm.

You think you could get used to this.

"So," he says, dragging out the syllables, "forgive me now?”

You run a hand down his chest in thought.

“Hmm… I think I might need a little more convincing.”

He just grins. “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

And then he’s reaching his hand up to cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss much more sweeter and tender than before, as if this kiss is the real apology, and everything else before was just him buttering you up to prepare you.

If that’s the case, you accept it anyway, because you deserve it. And so does he. And you know he’ll just keep making mistakes—he’s only human, after all.

But at least he has a method to earning your forgiveness.

Oh, and carry out.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Please expand more on the degrading sex. 👀

This is so funny because our darling sweetheart doesn’t understand that König is trying to degrade her. She just doesn’t get it, she doesn’t know how mad he is and why!

She just thinks he’s passionate and intense. What a man, honestly! Of course he’s a little freaky and rough; she never expected anything less from the odd weird silent boy at the back of the class. And now that they’re finally together, it would almost feel like an insult if he “only” made love to her...

So König can seize her hands and bring them over her head, he can keep her in place and fuck her so deep she’s seeing stars. She just looks like she’s more and more in love. It drives him crazy; so crazy that he fastens his grip and grits his teeth, growling “Is this what you want? Huh??” while she’s just like yes, yes, yes! Eyes shining like stars, she’s about to cum, and can’t even hear the silently spat words of “You fucking little…” when the orgasm hits. (Filthy girl!)

Another thing that König will do is some nasty semi-somno. He’ll wake her up, not with slow kisses and cute fondling, but by gripping her throat from behind, grunting and kissing and biting her to bruises, but what does she do? She only squirms from joy! How annoying!! She’s just smiling, gasping and moaning with her eyes closed as he slips inside to warm his cock. And she’s just warm and happy and wet! Does he have to roll over and fuck her rough again to show her her place?

König tries to show her off at work, and knows exactly what to do when she looks a little too impressed with him and his position at KorTac. Doesn’t even bother to look shocked when he vaguely refers to some things he’s had to do to get people talk – UN would be shook, but his dirty girl just looks at him like she’s about to swoon again from love. What an infuriating little thing, she’s not behaving at all like she’s supposed to…

With any other woman, he’d be gentle and discreet. Oh, he’d fuck his girl to his hearts content, but he’d be nice. He’d be on his knees for her, he’d be her knight in shining armor. That was his dream!

But this one is so… So... He doesn't even have the words for her.

She’s running her fingers over the handle of one of his knives even now, when they’re inside his office, looking at him naughty as if it was his cock she’s stroking. He just told her how he gutted someone with that blade... He's been nothing but stoic ever since she arrived here.

“Someone's coming,” he gruffs. “Under the table with you.”

His silly little sweetheart does what she’s told, only looking excited as she goes. Any other woman, he’d introduce around this place as his future wife and see if she'd get flustered... Any other woman, he’d propose before the month is through if she did. But this one, he orders under his desk, unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, waving it under the table while talking to his subordinates, in cue for her to be a nice, obedient girl and take it in her mouth. That’s what she’s here for, after all... To suck his cock and make his work day a little better. Right?

But the stupidest thing is that he doesn’t feel like winning when her eager lips wrap around his tip. He doesn’t feel like he got the fat end of the stick because she’s clearly enjoying it. Sucking his cock at work like a dirty little–

Fuck, he’s about to explode, in every meaning of the word. And while he’s about to shoot a load during the short briefing, like the pathetic wanker he always was, the thing that really grips him the most is shame.

Is this what he has become? A degrader and defiler of women? He was supposed to treat them like angels, the purest thing on earth!

And she’s not even degraded, his filthy little angel, emerging from under the desk with shining eyes and a loving stare. She swallowed it all like a good girl, and proceeds to follow him around when he tucks himself back into his camos and grunts that he has work to do. Hugs him from behind with her weak little hands, presses her cheek against his back, and sighs from happiness. Tells him that she loves him so much.

He wonders if the meeting rooms are insulated enough for him to go and have a good old roar of despair.

[420technoblazeit]

i just saw a radioapple animatic to a lovely night from la la land and i think it just hit me why i don't ship alastor and lucifer. i think it's infinitely funnier if instead of having the classic enemies to lovers dynamic there really is just hatred between them but all of hell is CONVINCED otherwise

like obviously given that theyre both father figures to charlie there's already rumors circulating but picture this. everyone in the hotel saw how close those two got during their duet so theyre like well maybe there's something there🤨🏳️‍🌈? but lucifer walks into the room after the hotel's been rebuilt and alastor immediately gets up off the couch to leave. but before he can even make it halfway there lucifer trips on nothing and somehow ends up IN his arms. straight out of a romance manga. and it only takes them half a second to get to opposite ends of the room but by that point angel's already taken 12 pictures and posted it on twitter and an hour later it's trending because of course it is. the radio demon and the king of hell are living together and theyve been spotted in such a compromising position? how scandalous! whatever, theyre both public figures so they both hope it brushes over quickly enough

but the worst part is it keeps happening. alastor goes to take a smoke break in the middle of the night and finds lucifer there on the roof. and when he tries to get back inside the door locks behind him and they have to call charlie to let them back in. but by that time a vox drone has already taken a video of the whole thing. they get into a fight at some point and someone walks in right as it was getting heated and thinks they were going to kiss. they were not. alastor just got so pissed that he was about to headbutt lucifer with his antlers. it's like theyre under some kind of romance trope spell and it's absolutely INFURIATING to both of them

all of the tabloids are running stories on this. it's the opening subject of every overlord meeting and alastor has to FIGHT to keep smiling every time as he insists there's nothing there. vox bursts into val's room in tears because he thinks his worst nightmare's come true and alastor's fucking the king of hell. everybody's terrified of what the fallout would be if they ever broke up. half the sinners are convinced that any day the hotel's just going to explode. no one believes in god anymore but it's the one thing that makes them start praying. but there actually is NOTHING there they just can't get anyone to believe otherwise. and neither of them has the heart to yell at charlie for continuously trying to push them together

[anzynai]

Kitty

Husk x Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)

a/n: helloooo, so someone requested a part 2 (and i enjoyed writing huskerdust) so of course, part 2!! this is a sequel to my first fic only you, which you can check out first if you’d like, but this can also be read as a standalone. ignore the fact that i accidentally switched povs about halfway😭😭 hope this isnt ooc LOL and enjoy!!

summary: another night of husk and angel existing together. of course, things are bound to happen.

word count: 1.1k

——

“I swear to fuck, I’m going to die if I have to work another eighteen hour shift again.” Angel moaned, leaning his head back on the headrest of the sofa as he stretched his legs on Husk’s thighs. Husk sat on the sofa beside him.

Angel had come back to the Hotel about an hour ago and as usual, Husk and Angel went to talking. Though, after finishing their drinks, they didn’t simply retire to their rooms for the night. Instead, the conversation had shifted from the barstools to the couches in the living room.

“Sounds like you had it rough today.” Husk sympathizes, because he really does.

“Tell me about it.” Angel rolls his eyes. He shifts his legs again and it becomes increasingly more difficult for Husk to ignore their closeness. Somehow, during their talk, they had gotten closer and closer and if one of the other hotel patrons had walked on them at this moment, Husk was afraid they would think they were.. interrupting something.

The last time they were this close was.. yeah, when Husk tickled Angel. They hadn’t mentioned it since, which Husk was a bit shocked about. He was sure Angel would be all over teasing him about his hands being alllll over him, or even when he discovered that the bartender was also ticklish. But alas, that hadn’t happened. That’s not to say Husk didn’t want to talk about it, don’t get him wrong, but how was he going to say that he enjoyed tickling Angel?!

“How’s it with Al, anyway?” Angel cuts through his thoughts, suddenly. Husk clears his throat.

“Same old. The fucker only calls for me when he needs me to run his errands. Leaves me alone most of the time, though.” Husk grumbled, recalling a time that Alastor had ordered him to fetch some sinner who had apparently tried to run away after their deal with Alastor didn’t work in their favor. What made it all the more infuriating is that Alastor could’ve easily snapped the sinner in front of him in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” Was all Angel said, in response, but he moved closer to the bartender, eyes blinking blearily and yawning.

“Tired?” Husk asked, yawning himself.

“Mmm.. maybe a little.” Angel mumbled. Husk readjusted his hands, his claws grazing slightly against Angel’s legs. The spider giggled sleepily, causing the cat to chuckle.

“Ticklish too.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t either.”

“Not more than you.” Husk grumbled, his face heating up. It wasn’t as though he could deny it— Angel had figured it out when he decided to tickle him back.

“That may be so..” Angel began, sitting up, looking too smug compared to how exhausted he seemed seconds earlier. “But I’m sure I can still make a kitty purr~”

Suddenly, Husk didn’t like where this was going.

Talk about a cringy line. Purr? “Don’t even think about it.”

“Whaaaat? I’ll be gentle~” Angel traced his finger under Husk’s chin. It was slow and light and unbearingly evil.

“Hhmmp..!” Husk pursed his lips. Angel took this as a sign to keep going as he crept closer to the bartender.

“Sensitive, are we?” Angel smiled, amused. One of his hands went to Husk’s shoulder, almost as though he was interrogating him.

“Shut it, Legs.” Husk grumbled, embarrassed.

“Not denying it, huh?” Angel muttered, chuckling to himself. One of his arms reached over to Husk’s sides, squeezing lightly as the soft fur spread between his fingers. Husk turned away, a crooked smile on his lips, yet no sound came out. Feeling a bit bolder, Angel sat over Husk, so that the bartender’s legs were between his knees. Husk didn’t say anything, though it was likely because he was too busy concealing his reactions.

Angel smirked.

“You are a tough cookie to crack, Kitty. Good thing I like a challenge.” Angel teased, taking his other hand to Husk’s other side, kneading softly. Only a few muffled giggles made it past Husk’s lips. Angel used his third arm, determined to make Husk break, and traced along his neck. He couldn’t deny that the way Husk’s neck clamped down on his fingers was adorable. Husk would probably die if he told him that. So he did. And while he didn’t die, the blush on Husk’s face was more than enough to make up for it.

“S-stohop talking..” Husk groaned, eyes squeezed shut.

“Hm.” Was all Angel said in response, scanning for Husk’s body. It was true Husk seemed pretty sensitive, considering how hard it looked for him to resist laughing, but nowhere he had tried had been enough to break his defenses. So where…

And then, he looked up at Husk’s ears, an idea popping into his head. No way. It couldn’t be.

He took his arms away from Husk’s sides, which had still been methodically tickling him, offering Husk a small chance at relief. Not that it lasted long because a second later, his hands were scritching on Husk’s ears.. similar to how one would pet a cat.

“Hhk!” Was the beginning of it as Husk gave one last effort to resist. Futile, of course. Then, a moment later: “SHIHIHIT!”

“No fuckin’ way! Your ears!?” Angel exclaimed, laughing at the irony and reeling over the fact his idea had worked so much better than he had thought.

“FUHUHUCK OHOFF!” Husk shrieked, flustered out of his mind.

“Just like a kitten! So adorable~ Our one and only bartender taken down by just a few ear scratches.” Angel beamed, very invested in this display. Angel, still scratching his ears, scratched at his tummy. Did cats like belly rubs? One way to find out, he supposed.

Apparently, they do? If Husk’s laughter increasing tenfold was anything to go by. It was sounding a little hysterical, though, and Angel wanted to treat him with the same gentleness that he had received a few nights ago. He eased up on the tickling, only scribbling on one of Husk’s ears. Husk was still ticklish there, but at least he could breathe.

“Ahahangel..”

“Yes~?”

“Youhuhu suhuhuck..” Angel laughed.

“You bet I do.” It was then that Husk realized his words and even while being tickled, the disappointment on his face was clear.

“Nohoho mohohore!” Husk giggled, minutes later, his exhaustion at its peak. The moment he said that, Angel relented, but not before giving him a quick poke to the side. Angel snickered when he jolted.

“Been waiting for this, have you?” Husk grumbled. Angel got off of him, but sat close to him. Their legs were touching.

“Yep. Since you were oh-so kind to grace me with some tickling, shouldn’t you have a taste of it, too?” Angel said, easily.

“Not at all.” Husk rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look nearly as annoyed as he tried to act like. “Next time, it’s going to be you. Again.”

“Next time?” Angel covered his mouth with his hand, chuckling. He assumed Husk was going to backtrack his words because he had just indirectly told him that he was expecting there to be a next time.

Instead, Husk smirked, a sneaky look in his eyes. “Yep. Next time.”

[ninjatrashpanda]

Of Freezing Cold and Cozy Warmth

Written for @bucktommywinterfest (It's a bit late, sorryyyy x.x)

Prompt: "I've actually never seen snow before."

Rated: G

Tags: established relationship, fluff, light h/c, AU canon divergence

Read on AO3 here.

“Fuck me, why is it so cold?!”

This was insane. Completely unacceptable. How did people choose to live in temperatures like this?!

Logically, Tommy had known that he should be prepared for this. He’d known that Los Angeles was significantly warmer than a lot of places in the country. And he’d taken it seriously and prepared himself mentally. He’d figured that he had been ready when he and Evan had boarded the plane back home.

Now, standing outside the airport and waiting for Evan’s parents to pick them up, it became more than obvious that he wasn’t prepared. Nothing ever could’ve possibly prepared him for the wind to give him the worst hug of all time, or the icicles it drew down his spine. It felt like Winter itself was attacking him with countless tiny daggers to his face and especially his ears. Evan had told him to buy a beanie or a pair of ear warmers, but he hadn’t taken him seriously.

Oh, what a terrible mistake that was.

“Uh, because it’s December and we’re in Pennsylvania?” Evan answered with a raised eyebrow and barely concealed smile, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Tommy shot Evan a glare so venomous it could have melted the frost off his eyelashes...if his eyelashes had actually been frozen. They weren’t, but it felt like they might be any second now.

“This is not December. This is the Arctic tundra, and I didn’t sign up for this kind of abuse,” Tommy retorted, pulling his hoodie tighter around his head. It was useless against the gusts of wind that seemed hell-bent on cutting through every layer of clothing he had.

Evan, of course, looked unfazed. If anything, he looked amused. Dressed in a thick winter jacket and wearing the very beanie Tommy had mocked in the store just last week, he seemed utterly immune to the cold. It was infuriating. “I told you it was going to be cold, Tommy,” Evan said with a chuckle, his breath visible in the air. “You can’t blame me for your stubbornness.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Tommy said through chattering teeth. “I’m blaming this state. How do people live here?!”

Evan rolled his eyes, but Tommy could clearly see the onset of a fond smile at the corners of his mouth. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not even that cold.”

“Not that cold?!” Tommy exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch. He waved his hands around like a madman, a feeble attempt at warming himself up. “This is frostbite weather! My toes are going to fall off! I can’t feel my nose! This is how I die!”

“Relax. My parents will be here in, like, five minutes,” Evan said, checking his phone. “You’ll survive.”

And that sent a completely different sort of shiver down Tommy’s spine. Margaret and Phillip Buckley were a…complicated subject, and even after two years of dating Evan and meeting his biological parents several times, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of them. They’d been…awkward at first, but Tommy had expected that. It wasn’t every day that your 33-year-old, previously thought-to-be-straight son showed up at your daughter’s wedding with his newly minted boyfriend. There was no script for a situation like that. Over time though, they’d gotten around, and Tommy figured they at least were able to tolerate him, considering that he was invited whenever they came to Los Angeles. (Though even if they didn’t, Evan, Maddie and Chimney probably would probably make sure he was included anyway.)

Of course, Tommy was also acutely aware of the rather…tumultuous past of the Buckley family.

The story about Daniel Buckley and his tragic, untimely death had come out of Evan in bits and pieces over their time together. Tommy had first heard Daniel’s name around a week after Maddie and Chimney’s wedding, when Evan had mentioned that they had originally planned to leave two empty seats at their table at the reception. One for Kevin, of course, and the other for someone named Daniel. Tommy hadn’t known who exactly Daniel had been, but clearly he must’ve been a big deal when a space at the bride and groom’s table was kept empty for him.

He had first learned that Daniel had been Maddie and Evan’s brother about a week after that. It was at the first of a few double dates with Eddie and Marisol (and boy, did he still kind of cringe whenever he thought about her and the way her and Eddie’s relationship had ended), when she had mentioned a petty squabble she’d recently gotten into with her own brother. Both Evan and Eddie had shared anecdotes about their sisters, and Evan had openly wondered what his relationship with Daniel might’ve been like. Marisol had been visibly confused (Tommy had very much seen the discreet head shake Eddie had sent her), but Tommy had obviously connected the dots.

He hadn’t learned that Evan had been a savior baby until a few months later, when, on their frequent journey of making Evan watch movies, Tommy had decided to put on My Sister’s Keeper. The choice had been an innocent one. He had thought it was a tearjerker that Evan, with his endless compassion, would appreciate. He hadn’t expected his boyfriend to sit frozen through most of it, his face pale and jaw tight. At first, Tommy had thought that it was just the movie getting to Evan like it did to most people, but by the climax of the film, Evan had abruptly stood up and muttered something about needing air.

The aftermath of that night, from Evan explaining the circumstances of his birth, to Tommy profoundly apologizing for his movie pick (Evan had assured him it was okay. There was no way Tommy could’ve known), to the revelation of just what Margaret and Phillip had actually done to both Evan and Maddie, had stuck with Tommy in ways only his father and his past in the military had otherwise. A cold, seething rage at the Buckley parents had filled him to the brim, a sense of anger so harsh that he hadn’t fully been able to let go of it even now, a year and a half later.

Tommy shook his head. Evan and Maddie had forgiven their parents. They had gone to therapy together and mended their relationship as well as they could. They were on good terms, which was why he was in the middle of what felt like the Antarctic’s asscrack right now anyway. And besides, after all the shit he had pulled back during his Closet Era™, who was he to judge anyone anyway? It would be more than hypocritical.

“Hey, Earth to Tommy,” Evan said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re starting to look like a puppy that got lost in the snow. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Tommy startled, his head snapping over to Evan, his eyes wide as dishes. He recovered quickly, though, and shot Evan a sheepish look. “Just thinking about what your parents are gonna have to say about you popping the question.”

Evan froze, his easy grin faltering for the briefest of moments. Then his expression softened into something warm, almost shy, as a blush crept up his cheeks, and not from the cold this time. “You think they’ll be surprised?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as if he was scared Margaret and Phillip could be hiding behind the next corner.

With an exaggerated hum, Tommy tilted his head, pretending to think hard about it. “I mean, on one hand, you are incredibly handsome, with a heart of gold and a massive dick that makes angels sing, while I’m just, y’know, me.” He gestured to himself dramatically, as if he was the most repulsive being on the planet. “But on the other hand, everyone back home knew. Hell, I knew for about a month before you proposed. You’re not subtle.”

An incredulous, awkward laugh escaped Evan’s mouth, the blush on his cheeks turning a shade brighter. “Excuse me, but I am absolutely subtle. And you had no idea. None. Nada. Zilch. Zero.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I had no clue!” Tommy shot back, raising his hands in surrender. A move he instantly regretted when the Pennsylvania Winter air crept through his pores directly into his bones. With another shiver, he quickly brought his palms up to his mouth and breathed into them, the warmth of his breath a temporary, but welcome relief. “But seriously, do you think they’ll be weird about it? I mean, it’s one thing for me to just be the boyfriend you have when they expected a girlfriend, but it’s another thing entirely to, you know… potentially be the son-in-law.”

Evan’s gaze held his own for a beat, steady and warm, in spite of the icy wind that Tommy was sure was going to turn his skin blue any moment now. “They’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “They’ve come a long way. We all have. And if they’re not, well...” His face turned harder suddenly, almost determined, even. “It wouldn’t be the first time I picked somebody I love over them.”

Tommy stared at Evan, his breath coming out as a plume of fog in the cold air. He couldn’t decide if the warmth in his chest was from Evan’s unwavering confidence or from the sheer force his heart was currently beating with. He couldn’t fight the tears that shot into his eyes.

“That’s… probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he sniffed, rubbing his eyes. “Also kind of terrifying? In a way? But mostly sweet.”

Evan’s face broke into a soft smile again, the kind that always made Tommy wonder how he ever got this lucky. He’d been a horrible human being in his youth, from the way he’d kept quiet under Gerrard’s captainship, to how he’d strung Abby along for years in an attempt to “fix” himself.

Not for the first time in the last few years, Tommy thought about just how little he actually deserved the life he had. He didn’t deserve a job he loved. He didn’t deserve for the man of his dreams to love him back. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to get married to said guy, or to get chosen by him over his literal family.

Almost as if he read his mind, Evan stepped closer and pulled Tommy into a kiss. Evan’s mouth was surprisingly warm on Tommy’s own, as if it was completely immune to the air around them.

The gentle softness made Tommy’s lips tingle, a sensation that traveled across his cheeks, which turned a soft pink almost instantly, to his ears and then down his neck and into every fiber of his body. Almost instinctively, Tommy wrapped his arms around Evan, pulling him ever closer against him, as if any remaining inch of space between them was an affront to reality itself.

The moment stayed frozen between them for a second, filled with nothing but the howl of the wind and the crunch of snow under a passing car’s tires. For once, Tommy didn’t mind the cold as much. Not with Evan looking at him like that, his blue eyes lit up like a pair of sapphires hanging in the night sky.

He felt it then, the weight of his past slowly lifting off of his heart. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He had gone out of his way to be someone better, someone he could be proud of being. Someone who did deserve the love and happiness he experienced day after day with his fiancé.

“Alright, loverboy, if we stand here any longer, I’m going to turn into a human popsicle,” Tommy said as he pulled away, his teeth beginning to clatter almost instantly as a shiver went down his spine as a particularly cold gust swept over them.

Evan laughed, pulling him closer as if to shield him from the biting wind. “Good thing that they’re here, then, huh?”

Tommy followed Evan’s gaze to see a familiar SUV slowing to a stop just a few feet away. His stomach did an immediate flip, the butterflies waking from their momentary hibernation. He tried not to let his nerves show as Margaret and Phillip stepped out of the car.

Margaret was the first to approach, bundled in a sleek wool coat that somehow managed to make her look as effortlessly composed as ever. Phillip trailed behind her, his face lined with age but still kind in a way that always threw Tommy off balance.

“Buck!” Margaret called, her voice cutting through the wind like it had never learned to be anything but commanding. Her arms opened wide, and Evan stepped into them without hesitation, his beanie brushing against her neatly coiffed hair as he bent over (Tommy honestly had to wonder where the hell Evan’s size had come from, because it definitely wasn’t from either of his parents). “You’re freezing!” she scolded, pulling back just enough to fuss over him.

There was a part of Tommy that wanted to be bitchy and crack a joke about who was actually freezing here, but he held himself back. No need to piss off his future in-laws over the temperature. (Also, it was Tommy’s own fault that he was cold. But he wasn’t ready to acknowledge that yet.) So, he hung back, trying not to feel awkward as he hovered near the luggage. Then, while Margaret continued to fuss over Evan, Phillip came up to him, offering a small smile.

“Tommy,” he greeted, extending a hand. “Good to see you again.”

Tommy took it, shaking firmly despite the numbness creeping into his fingers. “Good to see you too, Mr. Buckley.”

“Please,” Phillip said, waving a hand as if to shoo away the formality. “It’s Phillip.”

“Right. Phillip,” Tommy tried the name out, and it felt just as strange as it always did. He could never quite figure out if he was crossing some invisible line by addressing them so casually or if the line had ever even existed in the first place.

With that, Margaret finally let go of Evan and turned to him, her sharp eyes a tad softer than the last time he’d seen her. “Tommy,” she said with a nod, her tone cordial and vaguely friendly, but far from the warmth you’d hope your Partner’s parents would show you. She walked a few steps over to him and regarded his…less than adequate wardrobe. “I hope the flight wasn’t too bad. You look…unprepared.”

“No, it was fine. Thanks for asking,” Tommy replied, keeping his voice polite but neutral. He wasn’t about to dive into the six-hour battle he’d waged against turbulence, hectic layovers and airplane coffee. “And yeah, uh, I didn’t take Evan seriously when he told me about how cold it is. You know, I’ve never actually seen snow before, so I figured…”

Margaret’s eyebrow slowly climbed up her face, her expression turning more and more incredulous. Tommy bit his tongue. This is going swimmingly, he thought. Great impression to make on your fiancé’s parents, really.

Out of the corners of his eyes, Tommy saw Evan and his father share a look, though he wasn’t sure what kind of look it was. For a fraction of a second, Tommy wondered if Evan was about to ask for his engagement ring back, and he wasn’t sure if he could do that. The ring was simple, a bronze band with a celtic weave design, but Tommy had fallen in love with it almost instantly. If Evan would now ask for it back…No, he wouldn’t. He already said so. Tommy couldn’t think like this. He couldn’t doubt his and Evan’s relationship like that.

Eventually, Evan cleared his throat, quickly gaining his mother’s and Tommy’s attention. With a large, almost blinding smile, he stepped in, grabbing the nearest suitcase and gesturing toward the SUV. “Alright, let’s get everything loaded up before Tommy loses his toes. And we should probably stop at a clothing store when we get to Hershey, you know, for reasons.”

Phillip chuckled, taking the hint and grabbing another bag. “Welcome to Pennsylvania in December, Tommy,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Get in the car before you turn into a smurf. Evan and I got the luggage.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice. Without hesitation, he climbed into the SUV, immediately basking in the warmth that enveloped him. It was like stepping into heaven, if heaven smelled faintly of peppermint and pine air fresheners. He let out a small groan of relief, his fingers tingling as they began to thaw. He could already feel life returning to his toes, though they were still mad at him for subjecting them to such a brutal ordeal.

A minute later, Evan climbed into the seat beside him, shaking snowflakes off his jacket as he leaned over to press a quick kiss to Tommy’s temple. “Feeling better already?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern.

“Not quite,” Tommy muttered, sticking his hands in front of the vents to warm them faster. “I think my soul is still somewhere out there, frozen on the curb. But at least the rest of me is starting to defrost.”

Evan laughed, the sound soft and fond, before reaching over to grab Tommy’s hands and rub them between his own. “Well, we’ll get you some gloves and a decent jacket before you have to face the cold again. Or maybe I’ll just have to keep holding your hands like this everywhere we go.”

“Now, that’s a solution I can get behind,” Tommy quipped, leaning into Evan’s touch. “But I’m holding you to that.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Margaret glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Her expression was unreadable, but she didn’t say anything about the way Evan’s hands lingered on Tommy’s. It made him gulp a little, his earlier fear of her rejecting him coming back. But then Evan pulled his hands up and kissed his knuckles, and he looked at him with such huge amounts of love that Tommy couldn’t help but relax. Evan chose him. Was choosing him. Would always choose him. Margaret and Phillip might not ever be his biggest fans, but Evan’s words echoed in his mind: They’ll be fine. And if they’re not…

Tommy reached up to wrap an arm around Evan’s shoulders, and he melted into the embrace and rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder, his hand moving to rest on Tommy’s knee. With a sigh, Tommy looked out of the window, admiring the Pennsylvania Winter Landscape, the last of his worries giving way to a sense of content. Marge and Phil would be fine. And if they weren’t fine? Well, Evan had already made it clear where his loyalty lay.

And for now, that was enough.

[viivenn]

drunken stupor. (lucifer morningstar x named!reader)

in which the lightbringer and a very inebriated jophiel converse solemnly about their melancholic tumbles from grace.

content and warnings: excessive alcohol consumption, swearing, angst of course. the reader in this is named jophiel and lucifer’s fall is not lore accurate because i wanted them to be able to empathize with the reader at least a bit. just sad lesbians being sad lesbians guys !❤️❤️

word count: about 2,963 give or take.

✨special thanks to @agathaandgwenslesbian , my biggest inspiration.

— “ walk with me, little lamb…

𖤐

your fall from grace was less than justified.

scrubbing the Morning Star’s quartz floors with fury, you reminisced about your time in heaven, your once beautiful wings, plumed and well groomed with beautiful white feathers and a holy glow that you wore so, so well. now you had no wings, just stubs that once were soft appendages that signified your sacred position in the gates of heaven. how you missed the bright light of the heavens, the smell of chrysanthemums and what you could only describe as purity that filled your senses. the heavenly experience was truly something you longed for again.

but you were being punished. you were being punished because you had feelings, feelings for a mortal and you acted upon them with great sin. you felt stupid. you cursed yourself. stupid, stupid, stupid. every day you spent in Lucifer’s kingdom you dreaded, and the longer you were there the more you longed for your mortal companion whom you assumed had moved on by now as all mortals do. that thought pained you.

and that Morning Star, the Lord of Lies, the Lightbringer - to you, the light-take-away-er. if the scent of sulfur and rotting wood and burning flesh in the air wasn’t enough, you had Lucifer over your shoulder almost constantly, their piercing blue eyes observing, watching, all-seeing and all-knowing of every thought you had about the place. and they absolutely relished in your suffering, which made you all the more infuriated.

what seemed to make you the angriest though was why Lucifer bothered to pester you about how you fell. after all, they didn’t give two fucks about you, your position, your job, how you felt. you constantly refused to tell them, which made them ask more, and more, and more, and more, until they made you snap like a weak tether. until you would scream at them to stop asking, beg them to stop being so fucking nosy so you could wallow in self pity without being mocked and bothered by your fall. and yet they did not care, and carried on anyways.

today was different. you finished your duties, setting the scrub brush back into your bucket and dusting off your white robe that the lightbringer picked for you - and specifically for you, you noticed, because everyone else dressed in a darker solid color. you sighed and lifted the heavy bucket of suds, straining your arms to some extent before a gentle hand laid itself on your shoulder. well, speak of the devil.

“wonderful to see you working so hard, sweetling. i take it you’ve finished your chores, hm?” their voice rang like a gong against your eardrums. you grumbled, turning slowly on your heels to face them.

“yes, my lord.” you answered plainly, gazing down at the dirty soapy liquid in your bucket.

“well… you know, Jophiel, i never thought i would find myself commending you for your hard work, but you’ve polished my floors wonderfully. they’re so pretty, aren’t they? pure quartz tiles. white and angelic.” they wore a small grin, eyes examining you and your figure. that comment seemed to have struck a nerve with you as your brows furrowed, which only made them chuckle in response.

“is there anything else you plan to assign to me, my lord…” you asked with a clenched jaw, feeling like you would’ve blown a gasket then and there.

“why, yes, there is. walk with me, little lamb.” Lucifer held out their hand for you to take, which you did not. their smile faded as they lowered their hand. you set the bucket down, staying close to them, refusing to look at them.

you and Lucifer walked in silence, treading to their chambers. they did not typically allow servants such as yourself in their space, as they seemed to be extremely anxious about it being kept private, but seeing as how they only took interest in you, you knew you were an exception to their peculiar rule of ‘my eyes only’. entering the room bombarded you with… pleasantry, which surprised you, and you gave lucifer a short glance, perking a brow as you looked around and took in the scenery and new scent.

for the first time since you fell you smelled something sweeter than sulfur, something less putrid than rot and death. this was comforting, a sultry vanilla and spice. of course you had never been in here before, why would you be? the newness of it all was almost overwhelming. lucifer took a seat in the sofa nearest the fireplace, leaning forward to pat the chair across from them in which you assumed you were supposed to sit in. as you plopped down into the seat you felt nearly swallowed by the comfortable cushion of the chair, the soft texture of the arms. you gazed around the room again, admiring the carved marble of their fireplace, and their neatly made bed, which they probably made themselves. you didn’t blame them for that.

as much as you hate to admit it, they had quite the sense of decoration and knew what sort of furniture belonged where. it reminded you of your mortal companion’s home… how you missed her.

“my lord,” you cleared your throat, but you dared not make eye contact with them, knowing your place after it was beaten into you by Mazikeen, “why have you called me here… are you going to make a fool of me again? ask me about how i fell?”

the Lightbringer chuckled, reaching for the bottle of wine and two conveniently placed glasses from the small side table next to them, pouring you a glass and one for themself. “no, sweet Jophiel. i think i’ve been going about it all wrong, we are strangers after all, hm? tell me about yourself.”

no. you weren’t strangers. you knew who they were and they knew well who you were by now. you just… did not know enough about them, and they didn’t know much about you besides what they could force out of you.

“i was heaven’s messenger.” you muttered, cautiously taking the glass of crimson liquid they handed to you. “i was one of the elite, the favored, the most beautiful divine.”

“tell me something i haven’t already heard.” they took a small sip from their own glass, side eyeing the fireplace for a moment. “i hear that all the time, what makes you special?”

you were at a loss of words, truly, nearly angered again as they uttered that sentence. you would dare call them blasphemous, but not to their face, or to anyone else. you grumbled as you chose your next words carefully. “i’m special because i nearly had a chance to return.”

Lucifer’s color drained from their face, as if their porcelain skin could get any lighter. for a moment they glared at you with a fire that burned like a thousand furious suns. that was their dream. that’s what they’ve been longing for this whole time and their fucking servant gets the chance? “and, how did you manage to accomplish that feat?”

“i was simply close with the messenger angels. we were all tight knit and spent most of our time together.” you shrugged, finishing off your glass of wine as your eyes slowly met Lucifer’s exasperated gaze.

their look suddenly softened, and a gentle smile pursed their lips. “i’m happy you received that chance. i’m sure you were beyond disappointed with the idea that you were ineligible in the end?”

“i was.” you nodded slowly, watching curiously as Lucifer leaned forward to fill your glass again. this time there was more, as they seemed to no longer care how much you consumed, their sudden pang of hatred towards you creating thick tension.

“what a shame.” they handed you the bottle, not feeling up to another glass as they set theirs to the side. you watched them tap two long fingers against their knee, thinking carefully about their next words. what would they say to you? their eyes occasionally flicked to the bottle of wine in your hands as you poured glass after glass in awkward silence, the silence slowly becoming comfortable silence as you felt warmth rise in your chest, your cheeks flushing, the world around you appearing as though you had astigmatism.

finally breaking the silence you spoke up, drunken thoughts becoming drunken confessions as your soft sigh caught the Lightbringer’s attention. “i miss her.”

“miss whom?” Lucifer asked, perplexed by the randomness of that statement, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

“my mortal…” your speech didn’t slur yet. your mortal? Lucifer was interested now, their attention focused on nothing but you.

“you… loved a mortal?” they blinked, crossing one leg over the other, piecing two and two together.

“yes, loved her so deep, so pure, s’one of the purest mortals…” you looked into the bottom of the bottle, hoping to drown your confessions with more of the red liquor, but the bottle was empty.

“what was her name?” Lucifer asked quietly, hoping they hadn’t overstepped.

“s’was uh…mmm. Destiny.” her name rolled off your tongue like you had spat up the acid from your stomach - with how drunk you were, you probably had by accident. who knew angels were light drinkers. the author certainly knew.

“Destiny…” the name echoed from the Lightbringer’s lips, the way they spoke her name with respect, and not ridicule, as the other angels had done, was relieving. “you fell because you felt for Destiny, little lamb?”

“yes, n’she’s probably looooong gone by now. she was so… she was so beautiful…” you whined. “she had pretty green eyes that brought stained glass to sh-shame, and her sk-kin was beautiful too, was dark n’speckled with porcelain patches…”

— standing before your maker, you could not pray yourself out of this situation. you were guilty and caught red handed before the angelic court, not even necessary to stand trial for your sin. all of your memories played back in your mind like a cassette tape…

…the first time you saw her you were scouting souls, routine work for you, reporting back how many were to come in and how many were to go out. you decided one day to take a break - after all you chose to use a human form, to get closer to the mortals, and you could always return to your work, since you worked at a calm pace. you were fascinated by them, so you decided to be them temporarily whenever you had the chance - and you chose a library to enjoy mortal splendor, in other words, books. the librarian was her, your sweet destiny, helping you choose books, helping you read, helping you, only you in that moment…

…the last moments you spent together, you knew you had to return to heaven. she already knew your secret, already knew what you were and why you were here, and accepted it. parting ways was never easy even if you were doing simple things for her like market runs or even helping with her chores. this was no different, your last hug spent shortly, much to your dismay. you kissed her tenderly and promised her that you would return. you promised her you would come back for her. you promised you would make all of this up to her the next opportunity you got.

but that opportunity never came to you.

now as you uttered no words for your case, your fate set in stone, you gazed into the eyes of your father, who else but God to make this sort of decision, who else but he who judges the harshest in the grand scheme of all things. your eyes flicked back to your fellow angels, their eyes averted from yours, disappointment heavy in their hearts.

you closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever punishment you were to receive, unexpected that it was to be sent to hell, banished from the heavens. you dropped to your knees and begged for forgiveness and mercy, but you were denied despite your higher status amongst the ranks. a harsh breeze enveloped you, and before you knew it you had tumbled into the gates of hell, your wings burning, nostrils on fire from the scents that filled the air and the smoke that polluted your lungs. —

Lucifer nodded as you explained, listening, as if they were a therapist holding a notepad. “im sorry, Jophiel. truly. i can’t imagine how it feels to fall from the heavens because of your adoration for a mortal with an expiration date… i only know what it’s like to fall and fall from love.”

before you drunkenly scolded them for that comment on the living, you were intrigued by that last bit. you knew Lucifer had fallen, and now that you finally gave in and told Lucifer about yours, it was only fair lucifer told you about their own, every last goddamn detail to make up for their pestering.

“tell me about your fall. i want to know. i want to know everything about it.” you narrowed your eyes on them, watching them think of something to say, before their expression softened and their smile faded.

“i don’t know if that’s wise of me to talk about little lamb.” they focused their gaze on something that wasn’t you. this made you upset.

“you don’t get ta do that to me, Lucifer Morningstar. you done nothing but pester me about how i tumbled down here, jus’ for you to not tell me what happened to you too? boooooooo.” you taunted them, but silenced yourself as they raised their hand to quiet you down.

“fine. i will tell you how the great samael fell.” they sighed and grumbled, looking pained. their fall was a heavy subject, something they had not spoken about in eons, something that they preferred not to speak about. but they supposed it was only fair.

— rebellion.

rebellion and war and love and sin, truly a long, painful battle for the Morning Star, their love for another angel, their pride and their desire for self rule. they did not like being told what to do nor when to do it, especially by God, who made them the angriest. they were the most powerful, bested only by God himself, their abilities unmatched by other angels.

this did not stray them from their love for another angel, Nephele, a soft and kind and tender soul, the only being strong enough to ground and calm the lightbringer when they began their prideful quips and spats with God, or when their tantrums grew worse because of the severity of their punishments.

their last straw came about after having been caught with nephele, tossing peony petals into the fountains and holding hands and quietly admitting their scandalous affections. they had plans to run, to escape, cast themselves out of heaven and make peace with each other’s presence for eternity, how lucifer longed deeply for such, but it never came to fruition.

pleading for forgiveness, Nephele received mercy; Lucifer would not lower themself to that degree, they chose instead to rebel and conquer and destroy. wars were fought, battles were consequential and the consequences in question were severe. heaven became a battlefield and Lucifer was at the forefront before archangel Michael struck them down with force and fear.

Lucifer feared nothing.

but on that day they feared for the life of Nephele.

worried that she would suffer more, Lucifer surrendered. archangel Michael claimed his victory and moved forward on their decision to cast Lucifer out of heaven, banishing them to a hellscape of their own fate, a product of their immense power and strength that kept them locked in for eternity.

and so, the Lord of Lies lost their spirit and their love, their new role to punish and destroy and contain their power to the best of their ability. they have never been happy since losing their faith in the divine. —

you blinked, taking in the story as best you could while being past the point of inebriation. “wow.”

“we are not all that different, you and i.” Lucifer spoke softly, easing the tension between the two of you and earning a giggle from you.

“i s’pose we aren’t, Lucifer.” you raised an empty glass as if you were toasting to that statement, leaning back into the cushions of your seat.

“thank you for telling me your story, Jophiel.” they gave a subtle nod, rising to their feet and gazing down shortly at you.

you met their eyes on you, confused, dazed, seeing two of them, your eyes darting back and forth between the two figures. the Lightbringer’s hands reached for you, their grip gentle as they lifted you under your arms and allowed you to relax in their hold as they carried you to your chambers.

“why are you bein’nice to me?” your speech slurred, and you felt like you were flying, despite Lucifer not moving fast enough to make even sober you feel such a way.

“it would be cruel of me to be unkind to you in this state.”

“but you’re the- the bloody devil, aren’t you s’posed to be evil?” you hiccuped.

“not to drunken fools.” they sighed.

“ohh.”

“mhm.”

Lucifer carefully opened the door to your room, that you had decorated to your liking, which they admired. they set you down against your mattress, watching as your eyes fluttered open and shut and open again, your brain indecisive on whether or not you were to fall asleep.

“rest your head, little lamb. you’ll forget all about this at dawn, i'm sure.” Lucifer’s voice was tempting. your eyes finally settled shut, and you succumbed to your drunken stupor, having drank yourself into unconsciousness.

they watched you fall asleep slowly, staying for some time to ensure you were okay before they let you sleep and rest off the drunken buzz.

perhaps the devil did care after all.

— 🦇🩸

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

(I didn’t finish my last ask because i got a text and didn’t get to copy paste it either aaa! let me just drop the rest of it here :3)

Horus began to take your “serf” title quite seriously despite the clear (and fast fading) concern from your sons. They would understand in due time, they would give you the same cold and heartless look that he did after chaos began to consume him. Bruises and small cuts littered your body from arguments you had recently had with Horus, things you would never imagine him doing. For now though, you were still his wife. Your small and fragile form, once strong and courageous, was still by his side at everything from peace negotiations to meetings with other primarchs, and today was no different.

It wasn’t your first or second encounter with the great angel of baal, you’d seen him many times before, Horus’ favorite brother. It seemed that the ship had grown darker and more grey over the past few months, but the angel was no less radiant than he always was. Sanguinius seemed to eye the injuries dealt to your body by his brother, but paid them no mind, some people are just into that he guessed. The look in your eyes however, the way you looked terrified next to your once beloved husband, the bags under your eyes and the way your once full skin had paled… something was wrong.

Sanguinius, however, was not the only being who recognized wrongdoing. Horus saw the way you eyed his brother, reaching out to touch him with your gaze. It infuriated him more than it had in the past. He noticed the look of terror in your eyes too and chuckled to himself thinking it was because you now knew the truth about Sanguinius, never giving a second thought to the fact that he was the cause of your terror.

The brothers argued, and you sat with your head bowed, knowing Horus would take his frustrations out on you later. There was no love left for you in this legion. You were by his side, of course, but Horus had left you long ago.

Days, Weeks, Months passed before the chaos had fully taken over and you lay still in a dungeon-like cage at the bottom of Horus’ ship. He had no need for you anymore, besides the occasional hate-fucking, which he opted to do in your cage instead of the bed you once shared. You would die here within your shackles while the sons you lovingly put in his care would die within the brutal grasp of war. The bars were cold and the floor was as well, you slept with your warm cheek pressed against the freezing metal floor, shackles bound your arms and legs to the walls, ensuring you couldn’t come too close to the bars like Horus’ little pet.

But then the reaping came.

You were not in the hull or commons to see the red thirst in person, but you could hear the soldiers you once mothered and nurtured be crushed, broken, and ground to a pulp for every ounce of blood they had left. You held your face in your hands and sobbed, the ship feeling colder than it usually had.

The screams, the crunching, and the sound of rain above you continued until it did no more. Horus was away on a mission, and his ship had fallen under siege to the blood angels.

You hadn’t expected their primarch to be with them as golden light made its way into the area you were kept, it shined its way through the bars of your cage, and into your eyes. You opened your mouth to plead for the mercy of the great angel, to grovel at his feet and worship him like you’d always secretly wished you could, but your voice had been taken from you just as everything else had.

You made yourself as small as possible when presented with his glory, your lips trembling with fear and your shackles keeping you locked in place, but he stood and stared.

“my lord.-“ you called out to him with what little voice you had, a hushed whisper.

“i can’t hear you, sorry.-“ He gently laughed, sweet as honey. he was teasing you, taunting you. You bowed your head in response, pulling up all of the vocal strength you possibly could.

“the great angel, oh brightest one, my lord sanguinius.-“

He smiled as if he had consumed the sweetest blood in the galaxy. He broke the bars of your enclosure with little to no effort, kneeling down in front of you and lifting your chin with a mere finger. His touch was gentle and sent chills down your spine.

“wife of Horus…” he spoke to you with such softness that you forgot you were shackled as badly as you wished to reach out and touch the primarch. “i think you would look better in gold, yes?”

You seemed to melt into his touch as he used his other hand to break your shackles, which allowed you to melt into him further. Without a second thought, you nearly lunged into his arms, your craving for warmth and love insatiable as if you had been deprived (you had). He wrapped his wings around you like a cocoon, protecting you from the outside world and allowing you to be somewhere peaceful. He gazed down at you with his bright red eyes, full of admiration.

“I don’t know how my dear brother did it.-“ he laughed, his voice the greatest comfort you’d heard in what felt like years. “Rest now, little angel.-“ he caressed your face as you finally obtained your fantasy from the first time you encountered the angel, only now you would have to mourn the loss of your husband and learn to introduce yourself as Sanguinius’ wife. “From now on, may the pain you feel never be unwanted, little angel.-“

(it’s bad ahaha! I haven’t written in 4 years but angel boy awakens something within me”

You haven’t written for 4 years, and I haven’t written for 3 years. Not far from each other :) And I like the role of Sanguinius in this whole story. I couldn't think through his story, but you did it just fine. It seems like he is a savior, but on the other hand it’s still scary. Especially since Angel gets a broken reader. Good soup, thank you ❤️

[meowmeow-motherfucker]

Covenant- Chapter 12

Summary: With the five year anniversary of the attack on New York approaching, Odin and Fury come to the agreement that an arranged marriage between Asgard and Earth would show good faith toward all future interactions. When Odin refuses Jane’s candidacy, Agent Coulson is tasked with finding a suitable wife for the prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x OFC Claire Fisher

Word count: 9.4k (prepare drinks and snackies as always)

Chapter warnings: misunderstandings, mutual pining, Claire and Loki both being stubborn idiots in love, angst, hurt w/o comfort

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @icytrickster17 @mysteriouslyfriedjellyfish @lokislilkitten @justjoanne242 @amlocked @ddmariegirl @mags-04-blog @sharris8 @meepycheep @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @the-fantasy-loving-angel @jaidenhawke @smolvenger @ladymischief11

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Thanks for coming along on this journey with me!

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51197938/chapters/129363727

The sitting room was silent apart from the faint sound of brush strokes on canvas.

          Two weeks had passed since they’d returned from their honeymoon, two weeks since they’d spoken. This was the first time they’d even been in the same room. News of her ousting had spread through the court, and Claire had spent her time hiding in her chambers because she was too embarrassed to show her face. It was like middle school all over again. How was this her life?

          A wave of emotions rose in her, making her tense in her seat. She clenched her fist in her lap, tamping it down as best she could. The painter had already chastised her twice to ‘soften’ her face, whatever the fuck that meant.

          How was she supposed to look meek and mild-mannered when she wanted to stab the owner of the hand on her shoulder? It wouldn’t be hard, just a flick of her wrist to pull her knife and just over a foot’s reach to stab his hand- accounting for the inches he’d pull back, it should only take 2.3 seconds.

          Maybe stabbing her husband through the hand wasn’t the smartest idea, but what was a girl to do when he’d treated her like he did? She was embarrassed, hurt, furious…

          Somehow, some way, she’d done something to piss Loki off. Instead of settling into post-honeymoon bliss as expected, he’d kicked her out on her ass. Despite turning over every possibility in her mind, Claire couldn’t figure out why. The workaholic in her demanded she update her file with Loki's latest BS, but of course the damn thing was missing.

         Of course, they’d had to explain everything to Odin and Frigga (separately, of course), which was just...mortifying. Claire would have preferred to type up an incident report, instead of dealing with the weighty, disapproving gazes of her in-laws. It’s not like she wanted Loki to lose his shit. She was as much in the dark as they were! Half the things he’d said didn’t make any sense.

          If he was so immature he couldn’t talk to her like an adult, that shouldn’t bother her. After all, their marriage had started as a political alliance, not some grand love affair, so was it really expected for them to have some whirlwind romance? They’d burned bright and fast and now the flame was reduced to smoking embers because he decided to be an enigmatic twat.

          Men were stupid. Feelings were stupid and she shouldn’t be surprised. Yet she was, and that infuriated her. She’d thought he was different. She’d let her walls down, left her heart unguarded and waved it off happily as Loki stole it right from under her nose.

          Then he gets drunk, throws half-cocked accusations in her face and kicks her out?

          So yes, he deserved to be stabbed for humiliating her. Claire hated that he could see her but she couldn’t see him. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

          “Relax,” Loki had the nerve to tell her, his hand on her shoulder annoying and heavy. “I can feel you tensing up.”

          “Oh, he speaks,” Claire sneered, eyes burning into the artist’s canvas in front of them. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

          “You wouldn’t want to ruin our wedding portrait, would you?”

          “Like you care,” Claire snarled, pulling out from under his grasp as she turned her angry stare at him at last. “Fuck this. And fuck you.”

          “Fuck me?” Loki laughed smugly. “I had no idea you were still amenable-”

          “Don’t be cute, you know what I mean,” Claire grabbed handfuls of the annoying puffy skirt she’d been forced into, readying to dart off into the proverbial night. “You show up here and your first words to me after two weeks of nothing are ‘relax’?” she elongated the word with a sneer. “Get bent. I’m Audi.”

         “Get back here!” Loki shouted at her retreating form.

         “You’re not the boss of me!” Claire sang over her shoulder, the tension bleeding out of her body as she exited the room and left him and the dumb portrait behind.

~~~~

         “Dear girl,” Frigga sighed over tea later that afternoon. Claire had learned that when Frigga started a sentence with ‘dear girl’, she’d done something royally stupid. “One is meant to sit for the duration of their wedding portrait.” Claire groaned internally. Of course she knew. Picking at the obnoxious flowery design on her teacup with her thumbnail, Claire sighed and lifted the flawless porcelain to her mouth.

         “Everything was fine until Loki opened his fat mouth,” she grumbled behind her tea cup. It hadn’t been, but Frigga didn’t need to know about Claire’s desire to stab her son. The first pow-wow had been bad enough. “He was a jerk.”

         “Be that as it may…” Frigga paused, her wise eyes looking aside as she reconsidered her next words. “It is imperative that outward appearances are kept. Despite your...living arrangement, it is best if you and Loki appear united.”

         “You want us to pretend.”

         “Seeing as your marriage is the primary vehicle for the alliance between this realm and Midgard, it would be unwise for your relationship to seem tumultuous. It might give others the idea that by extension, the alliance itself is unsteady.”

         “Hey, don’t look at me,” Claire balked. “I’m not the one who threw a tantrum. I was blindsided-”

         “I realize this, but-”

         “Do you?” Claire asked frankly, slamming her teacup into its matching saucer. “Because I’m not sure why it’s my job to suck up to the asshole who pulled a Brad Pitt.” Frigga pulled a face, clearly uncertain of what she meant. Instead of explaining the reference, Claire stopped short.

         He had, hadn’t he? He’d spent their honeymoon being cute and adorable and domestic with Claire, then decided he didn’t want her, and dumped her back at home to chase Angelina Jolie.

         Yrsa’s name joined Loki’s on the ‘to-be-stabbed’ list.

         Frigga, realizing that Claire was clearly going through something, put a lemon cake on her daughter-in-law’s plate.

         “Shall we discuss the latest palace gossip?” she asked as she straightened the napkin on her lap. Grateful for the change in topic, Claire shoved thoughts of Loki and Yrsa aside.

         “Yes, spill the tea!” Claire rubbed her hands together gleefully as she scooted to the edge of her seat. She would absolutely love to hear about someone else’s problems.

         “Pardon?” Frigga looked so confused Claire had to laugh.

         “It means to tell me everything.”

         “Ah,” Frigga chuckled. “I will of course share, but keep in mind darling that tea stains, so one ought to be careful where they spill it.”

~~~~

The next day

         “Finally gracing us with your presence again, Your Majesty?” Yrsa’s voice popped Claire’s anti-social bubble. The sound of her voice grated against Claire’s very soul, like ten thousand nails on a chalkboard or a children’s choir. Claire had hoped her re-entry would slip by uneventfully in the bustle of the afternoon tea, but thank Odin Yrsa was there to point her out. She’d just wanted a break from the hundreds of thank you notes she was slogging through. All hopes for a quick snack and a hasty exit were dashed as she turned to face her frenemy.

         “Yes, I thought I’d try for some decent company today,” she replied airily, as though she didn’t want to stab Yrsa in her beady eyes. “Have you seen any?” Their bickering had gained the attention of one of the other young ladies, whose name escaped Claire’s memory.

         “Perhaps your husband can keep you entertained,” Yrsa suggested, plastering on a false smile. “That is, if he isn’t bored to death of you already.”

         “I can’t speak to his boredom, but I do know he prefers my company to yours. That is saying something, don’t you think?” Claire mimicked Yrsa’s smile before plucking a delectable looking pastry from the annoying woman’s plate. She considered the pastry, her warm fingers seeping into the colorful sticky glaze.

         “I can fetch you a plate if you desire, Your Highness.” the other young lady offered, as Claire pinched off a morsel. It was quite delicious- apple and cinnamon and sugar warring for dominance on her tongue.

         “That’s very kind, but I’ve lost my appetite. Here, Yrsa, why don’t you finish this instead, since you’re so hungry for my sloppy seconds.”

         The joke was most likely lost on the sheltered ladies of Asgard, but it pleased Claire to make it, so she considered it a win. She pilfered a pastry from the ornate table display and trudged back to her room to finish writing the thank you notes.

~~~~

         Just over an hour (and a severe hand cramp) later, Claire ventured out again to deliver the box of completed thank you notes to Frigga’s salon.

         “Claire!” Frigga actually sounded happy to see her, which was a welcome change. “How do you fare today?”

         “I’m fine, just recovering from a headache. Here are all the thank you notes,” Claire tilted the box to show the stuffed envelopes. “Where would you like them?”

         “Anywhere is fine dear, come, have a seat,” Frigga patted the open space beside her. “Would you like some tea?”

         Claire was about to answer when the double doors were opened to reveal Loki.

         “And what do you know, my headache is back,” Claire shot to her feet as Loki stepped inside. “I’d love to stay, but I don’t want to.”

         “You don’t have to leave on my account.”

         “Oh no, I’m not doing it to be nice, I’m doing it because I don’t want to be in the same room as you,” Claire said sweetly. “Sorry if that’s confusing, but I don’t have the time or the crayons to spell it out for you.”

         “Can you be more of a child?”

         “Can you be a bigger twat?”

         “I beg your pardon?!”

         “I’m not exactly in a forgiving mood today. Do you think you could muster up enough of your precious time to sign your name on these?” she shoved the box into his chest, delighting in the slight ‘oof!’ it caused. Loki’s eyes scanned the stuffed envelopes with distrust.

         “What are these?”

         “They’re thank you notes to our wedding guests,” Claire said. “Remember, that thing we did just a little while ago? With the parade and the hundreds of people-”

         “Yes, thank you, I recall.” Loki hissed, pulling the box from her hands forcefully.

         “Great! I did literally everything else, so all you have to do is scribble your name. Okay? I’m out.”

         “You could stay for tea!” Frigga called after her.

         “No thanks!” Loki set the box aside, taking a heavy seat across from his mother.

         “I can feel your judgment from here,” he sighed. “Say it.”

         “No judgment,” Frigga replied breezily as she poured him a cup of tea. “Though I did feel a sudden chill in the air.” Loki sagged against the seat.

         “Mother please-”

         “I am simply confused as to what happened between you,” Frigga chided. “You were so enamored with each other, from all accounts your honeymoon was-”

         “Mother-”

         “Eventful,” Frigga sipped at her tea primly. “Yet now you can barely stand to be in a room together! What has happened?”

         “Nothing.” Loki hissed.

         “You are not the only one who can sense lies, dear boy. And do mind your tone, you may be grown but I am still your mother,” Frigga said sternly, setting her cup down with a heavy clink. “The poor girl is isolated. She barely leaves her chambers, and she does not mingle with the other ladies of court. People are talking.”

         “That is what they do-”

         “Something happened. I have minded my business and given you time to address it, but clearly you cannot or will not. Whatever the case may be, it cannot continue. The alliance is far too important. Am I understood?”

         Loki sighed heavily, resignation already weighing on his shoulders.

         “Yes, Mother.”

~~~~

          Not to be outdone, Frigga forced them to act like a normal, loving couple by planning outings for them to see and be seen. Their social calendars ripened like spring fruit trees overnight, full to bursting with events.

          Under the guise of introducing Claire to the more banal aspects of their way of life, Loki and Claire toured the city together, exploring production warehouses and workshops of various industries, granaries, farms and even slaughterhouses. They attended plays, cut ribbons for new buildings, visited academic workshops; any and every event Frigga could find for them to attend.

          Though both of them were guarded and polite, it was nice to spend time together again. Not that either of them would admit it. Claire still refused to eat meals in the great hall or socialize with anyone apart from Ragna, Sif and Frigga.

          They’d been at it for weeks, and the constant pretending was taking a toll on both of them.

          Claire’s only respite was during the mornings while Loki was in meetings, and though she longed to work out her anger on the training field, she was conveniently accosted by the dress maker, or Frigga, or someone else.

          Claire was half-tempted to light the bat signal and get the fuck out of dodge, but she was convinced any plea for help she sent out would be intercepted before it left the palace.

          Their destination for the day was the boat docks, where the harbor master had docked some of his finest boats for Claire to view.

          They passed through the busy marketplace, Claire’s attention laser focused on the path ahead. Instead of stopping to gander at the wares as she had during previous visits, Claire seemed dedicated to remaining out of his reach, and therefore out of range to speak to him.

          “We are meant to appear-”

          “I heard your mom. Doesn’t mean I want to walk next to you.”

          “Be that as it may-” Claire wheeled around, glare already in place.

          “Are you displeased with my performance, Your Highness?” she asked heatedly. “Are my acting skills not up to your standard?”

          “I said nothing of the sort.”

          “Great! Then let me continue my angry walk in peace. I promise to be on my best behavior when we get there.” Before he could say another word, she’d whirled around and stomped off, leaving him just as angry as he was a moment ago.

          True to her word, Claire was all charm and smiles when they met the harbor master. She was polite and asked engaging questions as they toured an older fishing vessel and newer models with updated engines.

          The last vessel was one meant for battle. Designed for warfare on both water and in the air, it was smaller and more sleek in body.

          “This particular vessel has just been docked for repairs,” the harbor master was explaining as Loki joined them on deck. The engine lay scattered in pieces, the bulkhead exposed to the salty air. “The pilot reported he believes there is a connection issue of some kind between the battery and the engine. It will start, but the engine stalls when we try to pilot it.”

          “So it turns on but dies when you put it in gear?” Claire asked.

          “Exactly, Your Highness. Do you have experience with sailing?”

          “No, not at all,” Claire shook her head. “But I do know a few things about jet engine repair. Do you mind if I take a closer look?” Claire asked, stepping closer to Loki to reach for a socket wrench.

          “I would be honored, Your Highness.”

          Loki half expected her to swing at him with the wrench, but she surprised him by climbing below the manifest to get a closer view of the engine. It was an interesting image, her lithe form folded in half, her full skirts billowing out from beneath the grimy manifest.

          “Is there a light?”

          “Of course,” the harbor master offered a lantern, holding it aloft to allow her to see better. “Did you work on engines often on Midgard?” he asked politely.

          “Not extremely often, but I was required to learn how to complete small repairs,” Claire replied. “This looks like it belongs in a plane.”

          “This vessel works in the water as well as the air, Your Highness,” the harbor master said with pride. “She is a war vessel.”

          “Wait, it sails and flies?”

         “Yes, of course.”

         “That’s so cool. I’d love to see it in action,” Claire smiled, the first genuine smile Loki had seen on her face since their honeymoon. The sight warmed him, making him long for simpler days. “I have an idea what the issue could be.”

         “How?” Loki asked before he could stop himself.

         “An engine is an engine,” Claire replied. “Cutting out when you shift it into gear makes me think there’s a corroded cable. It’s only when switching into gear, right?”

         “Yes, Your Highness.”

         “How could that possibly tell you it’s a cable?” Loki asked skeptically.

         “If it’s like the engines I’ve seen, there’s a switch lever that should only activate when you take the engine out of gear, and it should only take maybe a fraction of a second. But if the engine cuts out going into gear, there’s something stopping that lever from doing what it’s supposed to. The engine is connected to the transom via cables, so I bet if we open it up to the transom we’ll see the problem.” The harbor master opened a hidden panel in the deck, exposing a tangle of wires.

         Amid the seemingly endless tangle of wires, one stood out.

         “Called it!” Claire cried. “Corroded,” she said to Loki, pointing at the eroded bulkheads holding the wire in place. “Super corroded. Just needs replaced and you’ll be flying-er...sailing...again in no time.”

         “Well done, Your Highness!” the harbor master praised. “Perhaps you’d consider joining the fleet?”

         “Sure, why not?” Claire laughed as the harbor master helped her to her feet. “I’m sure you could have fixed the problem without me.”

         “All the same, I am truly grateful for the help! We’re very fortunate to have you here in Asgard.”

         “I’m glad someone feels that way,” Claire shook the mans hand. “Thank you again for the excellent tour, and the chance to get my hands dirty.”

         “It was my honor! Feel free to come back at any time.” the harbor master saw them to the entrance to the marina, offering them both a warm farewell.

         “I feel a little bad about getting my dress dirty, but this was fun,” Claire said, her face falling as she met Loki’s gaze. “Sort of. See you around.”

         “Let me escort you back at least,” Loki offered his arm, his mood souring even further when she didn’t accept the gesture. “For appearances sake.”

         “Fine.”

         They walked in silence for the entire way back to the palace. Each time he spied her drawn expression, all of Loki’s attempts to form any praise weighed on his tongue like lead.

The next day

          Loki’s morning was consumed by meetings, but the afternoon found him and Claire in a menagerie, surrounded by exotic creatures from various realms. Claire’s sour attitude melted away into pure fascination as she gawked at hulking howler monkey-like animals with fur such a dark ruby red it looked like congealed blood.

          Birds like peacocks with terrifying, razor-sharp beaks drew her attention from the plush, fuzzy sheep with wool that cast sparks when they bleated.

          “That’s a capybara!” Claire squealed with childlike delight, giggling when the familiar looking creature looked at her. She knelt by the enclosure eagerly. “How in the hell is there a capybara here?”

          “The first female of this creature was brought to Asgard by Prince Thor in 1162 AD,” a nearby attendant stated. “The first male arrived shortly after- they are pack animals, you see. The creature you see today is a product of their offspring.”

          “Wicked.” Claire cooed, wiggling her fingers at the capybara as she stood upright. She wandered from the group, ending up inside a cool, shaded building at a display of extravagantly colored fish in small, glass bowls. Fiery reds, iridescent greens and blues and purples...each more beautiful than the last. Claire was awestruck by the beauty of the small fish, content to simply stand and stare as the light played off the colorful scales with each flick of a fish fin.

          As Claire watched, a small child raced over to the display, shrieking with glee as it tapped on several of the bowls in quick succession, clearly disturbing the fish but not caring a bit.

          “Don’t do that,” she scolded the child. “You’re scaring them.”

          “I want to see the colors!” the child whined, stomping his foot impatiently.

          “You will, just be-” the child hit the glass bowl in front of him harder, knocking it into another and setting off a cascade of glass hitting glass, bowl hitting bowl. A kaleidoscope of fish fell to the floor, their exquisite fins useless in the piles of pulverized glass and puddles of water. “Patient,” Claire said in horror. “Shit!”

          “Fear not, Your Majesty,” the closest attendant was at her elbow in an instant, dismissing her concern. “We have other fish.” The attendant snapped her fingers twice, gesturing for someone to come clean the mess.

          “But-” Claire watched the beautiful fish writhe in the air, their short lives coming to a swift and sad end as the child screamed and cried and stomped his feet. The injustice of it burned her- the fish, in their miserable little bowls, condemned to die for a spoiled child’s entertainment. And when the people left, and there was no one around to see them, the fish became nothing but a distant memory to be revisited when it was convenient.

          She was just like the fish. Trapped in her own little bubble, just waiting to be trotted out for the entertainment of others. Even the harbor master, who’d been so grateful for her help just the day before, likely would not spare a thought to what her life was like when she was not around.

          “Claire?” Loki’s touch at her elbow made her flinch, and she turned to hide the horrified look on her face.

          “I need to leave.” she croaked, shoving past him to flee the building. Her surroundings blurred as she fought back tears, desperate to make her escape. Outside, Claire was assaulted by the loud noises of the people around her and turned down a narrow path alongside the building. Her frantic steps brought her to a hidden area by the back entrance, likely a place for workers to hide from the demands of their job. She sank onto a bench near the closed door, grateful for a place to cry without being seen.

          Claire buried her face in her trembling hands and let her tears fall. Hot tears brought little relief to the burning in her face or the ache behind her ribs.

          Movement to her right made her stiffen. It could only be one person.

          “God, why are you here?!” she cried angrily. Loki looked infuriatingly calm as he sat on the bench beside her.

          “You are upset.”

          “Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Claire sniffled.

          “Why?”

          “Why do you care?”

          “Why are you upset?” Loki repeated, ignoring her question.

          “Because apparently, I have more in common with zoo animals than I’m comfortable realizing,” Claire spat. “All the people we met on these outings were only nice to me because I’m Asgard’s first princess in an age. I’m a point of fascination! I’m an abstract concept! I don’t matter to these people! They only appreciate me when they can see me, or-or tap on the glass of my enclosure to make me do tricks!”

          “It is a hard lesson to learn.”

          “How do you deal with this?”

          “Practice,” Loki replied gently. “Come, we should go.”

          “I’m not going back in there.” Claire pulled away from his reach.

          “We’re not,” Loki replied. “We’re going to get you something to eat.”

          “Can you stop?” Claire pleaded. “For one second, just stop acting like you give a shit about me! Please.”

         “As you wish.” Loki said quietly. He waited as Claire pulled herself together enough to leave the secluded bench.

         Claire felt hollow inside. She walked on autopilot, letting Loki lead her to a restaurant. Someone else ordered her meal, someone else tasted the fried sausage and potatoes on her plate. The meal passed in silence.

         “I can’t do this anymore,” she announced as they were about to leave the table. “I’m done pretending.”

         “Fine,” Loki thankfully agreed. They weren’t accomplishing anything with the outings anyway, except to make each other more miserable. “My mother was right about you appearing withdrawn. You must at least make an effort.”

         “Fine.” She’d find something to occupy the rest of her very long life.

~~~~

          The crowds parted easily as Loki made his way to the fighting arenas. Tucked away in a seedy part of the town, the open-air fighting arenas were a popular form of entertainment for the lower class as well as the nobles. Brawlers and gamblers ran amok there, running a dark underground where down-of-their-luck folks could either enrich their lives or ruin them. It was no place for a princess.

Unfortunately, it was precisely where the princess of Asgard was.

Loki had heard the rumors of his wife spending her days drinking, cheering on the brawlers, and betting money from his coffers. He was on his way there now to catch her in the act. He could already hear the roar of the crowds cheering for the day’s fighters. Loki pushed his way through the throngs of people, forcing his way toward the wooden stands. The arenas were simple grass fields with wooden seating built up around them for the nobles to use. The lower class viewers crowded into the spaces they could- in between the seating, in front of it; some enterprising people climbed to the top of the seating and sat upon it. Vendors trawled through the crowds, flogging their respective wares.

It was loud, crowded, and hot, as the fields lay in direct sun. Loki finally reached the stands, scanning the crowd for his wife. He spotted Volstagg and Thor in the seats, sitting side by side and red-faced from the heat and the beer they’d already consumed in the early morning.

Another bout began and the crowd erupted into loud cheers. Loki finally spotted Claire, a few rows in front of Thor and Volstagg at the front of their stand. The Midgardian woman held a tankard in her hand and was cheering on the fighters as they circled each other in the ring.

He made his way over to her, rage building as he walked through the crowd. People made way for him as best they could, but it was so crowded he was unable to make a clear path. At last he reached her, cheering obnoxiously for the brawlers inside the arena.

“What in Hel's name are you doing here?”

“I was having fun.” Claire said bitterly.

“You’re drunk.” Loki’s fingers wrapped around her bicep as he pulled her toward him.

“And you’re annoying,” Claire hissed, ripping her arm from his grasp. “Is there a reason for your visit?” Loki said nothing, merely clenching his jaw in anger. “Fine,” Claire seethed. “You have your business, and I have mine. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Yrsa and her smug fucking face or the gossip that you’re already bored of me and only want me around long enough to knock me up. You promised me it wouldn’t be like this,” Bitter tears stung her eyes and she looked away angrily. “Yet here we are. Ever since we got back from our honeymoon, you’ve pulled a one-eighty. You couldn’t keep your hands off me and now you barely even look at me. But now all of a sudden you care what I'm up to?” she scoffed. “This is what I’m up to. When I’m not trussed up to be gawked at, I while my days away drinking and gambling. Hold on, I can’t pass this opportunity up-” she turned back to the fight, fists beating on the ramparts as she cheered. “KICK HIM IN THE BALLS!” She shouted, cheering when her chosen favorite knocked his opponent to the ground.

“Charming.”

“Eat me,” Claire hissed. “You told me to make an effort so here I am. This is my best effort.”

“If this is your best effort...” Loki said with a forced smile as the members of the crowd closest to them began to stare. “This is hardly an appropriate venue.”

“This is the fight you wanna have? Okay fine- Thor's here. Oh look, so is Volstagg. Why is it okay for them but not for me?”

“I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Okay great! Now go away and stop bothering me.” Claire turned away from him. Loki couldn't decide if he was appalled or amused by her outlandish behavior. His new wife was vivacious and animated, that much was clear as she shouted encouragements and pounded on the ramparts with her fists. Yet it was obvious a deep sadness resided in her as well. The tears that sparkled on her eyelashes were not the tears of someone who’d sought to use him. She was genuinely distraught that he’d forsaken her. Loki watched as she cheered the victor, wine sloshing from her goblet as she celebrated, and decided he had perhaps reacted too harshly. But he was not quick to forgive- whatever the reason, she had chosen to keep the folder secret from him. Leaving her to her drunken distraction, Loki slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

~~~~

Claire sighed, taking another sip of wine as she stared up at the stars. The Asgardians were having yet another feast but she was in no mood to party. She’d eaten her fill and excused herself to the courtyard, resigning herself to wandering outside until enough time had passed she could make an exit unnoticed.

Potted palm trees had been brought in for decoration, lining the open air hallways between the columns and lending a sense of privacy to the courtyard within. Whoever was inside the courtyard was clearly drunk, their chatter and laughter far too loud to suggest sobriety.

          “Brother, you must control your wife,” she heard Thor say playfully. “The nobles are starting to complain she is stealing all their money at the fighting pits.” He guffawed. Inside the courtyard, Loki rolled his eyes.

          “Controlling Claire would be as easy as putting a leading rein on a bilgeshnipe,” Claire heard him reply. “I have no desire to do either. Besides, she isn’t harming anyone-”

          “No but she is odd, and people think she does not respect our ways.” Volstagg shrugged.

          “Definitely odd.” Hogun agreed.

          “Personally I think she’s quite lovely,” Volstagg added. “Very bold, that one.”

          “Being unorthodox is not a crime,” Loki replied shortly. “I like her that way.” Thor gasped loudly.

          “Did Loki just admit to liking his wife?!” He asked theatrically. “Loki! I'm so proud of you!”

          “Shut up, you great oaf,” Loki pushed his brothers hands away. “She'll hear you and I shall never live it down.”

          “Too late,” Claire finally announced her presence and joined the group on the terrace. “Hi honey.” She cast a wink in Loki's direction.

          “Hello.” Loki had the good sense to look flustered by her arrival.

          “So who's complaining about me?” she asked as she sat beside Loki on one of the stone benches in their circle.

          “No one of import,” Loki replied. “Do not worry on it.” Thor and his friends were drinking and carrying on, and paid her little mind while she and Loki sat in stony silence.

“How does married life suit you, sister? Are you and Loki getting along?” Thor suddenly cackled, thinking his joke clever. Everyone in the palace knew they were not. They’d not spoken in days, not since their argument amid the crowd at the fighting pits.

“That would require him to spend more than five seconds with me.” Claire said sourly, sipping her wine as she glared at Loki.

“Lasting longer than usual, brother?” Thor teased, slapping Loki on the shoulder as he laughed uproariously. Claire rolled her eyes as Loki sighed angrily.

“Our marriage bed is none of your concern, Thor,” the dark prince said heatedly. “Must you be so crass?”

“Tis only a jest-”

“A disgusting one. Apologize at once.” Loki demanded. Thor held up his hands in apology, beer spilling from his tankard onto the stones underfoot.

“Apologies, sister, I was out of line.” Claire sighed, her happy mood soured.

“It’s whatever, man,” she replied, letting her glass thunk on the bench loudly before getting to her feet. “I’m out.”

“Whatever you’ve done brother, you should fix it.” Thor tried to be quiet, but he was far too drunk to be inconspicuous.

“There’s nothing to fix, Thor,” Claire corrected him. “Loki wants nothing to do with me, and the feeling is mutual. Unless something has changed in the last 24 hours?” her blue eyes pierced Loki as she looked directly at him. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Good night.” she got up to leave, and Loki’s stomach sank.

“Claire-” Loki caught her by the wrist.

“I said good night!” She snapped at him, pulling away from him roughly. Dejected, Loki let her stomp away from the courtyard.

~~~~

Loki spent the next day searching for her, but she eluded him. Either everyone in the castle deigned to keep her concealed from him or she was more clever than he gave her credit for. She failed to make an appearance at all three of the daily meals, yet her chambers were empty each time he sought her out there. He returned to his study, furiously cutting through the mountain of work on his desk. He emerged hours later, near midnight, for a snack and made his way to the kitchens.

“What is this?” Loki asked loudly as he discovered Hogun, Volstagg and Fandral in a far corner of the great hall. Claire was hopping from chair to chair, table to table, giggling madly as she went. Fandral was passed out (or dead- which seemed better in Loki’s mind), his head upon the table and his arm hanging loose, his tankard barely touching the floor as it hung from his loose grip. Hogun and Volstagg looked on, both laughing bawdily as Claire floundered for balance.

“Another!” Claire yelled as she finished her drink, throwing her tankard to the floor in true Asgardian style.

“No-DO NOT give her another!” Loki yelled at the nearest servant before turning his ire on the drunken warriors. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing she didn’t do to herself,” Volstagg assured the prince. “She asked to try it.”

“Try what?” Loki hissed as Claire noticed him. She waved cheerfully from her table before hopping to another, landing precariously near the edge and laughing as she regained her balance.

“Asgardian mead…” Volstagg admitted nervously, wilting under Loki’s murderous gaze.

“WHAT?!” he thundered. “Are you mad?! She’s mortal!”

“Loki!” Claire chirped, making her way toward him with a beaming smile on her face. “Hi!” she giggled loudly as she tried to keep her balance amidst the various sized dishes she was stepping around.

“Hello,” Loki replied gently, lunging forward to catch her when she tripped and fell. Somehow Claire managed to land on her back between stacks of dishes with her head hanging over the edge of the table. “Are you alright?” he asked over Claire’s laughter.

“How are you alive right now?!” she giggled exuberantly, summarily disregarding both his question and concern, as well as the fact that she was now upside down.

“What?” Loki looked to Hogun and Volstagg for help, who both shrugged.

“The floor is lava, apparently.” Hogun supplied stoically.

“She wanted to play a game, and when we asked her what she wanted to play she just jumped up there and started yelling about it.” Volstagg laughed.

“She’s drunk! Complete and utter idiots, the both of you! Giving a mortal Asgardian mead,” Loki scoffed. “Let’s get you to bed.” He said to Claire, setting her upright so she could stand.

“No I can’t, I’ll melt!” she objected, shaking her head as she bent her knees to keep her legs from touching the floor.

“I’ll carry you then, come on.” Loki urged, scooping her into his arms bridal style.

“But it’s not safe for you either. Lava is really hot and melts everything, especially Frost Giants! I don’t want you to melt.” Claire warned him, her eyes earnest and unfocused in her inebriated state.

“I’ll be careful,” Loki assuaged her. “How much did you give her?!” he growled at Volstagg.

“Not much, just…um…” Volstagg stuttered.

“Three pints.” Hogun replied sheepishly.

“Oh, no wonder she’s raving like a lunatic!” Loki cried, hefting Claire higher in his arms.

“Loki. Loki!” the small woman tugged on his shirt, trying to get his attention.

“What?” Loki asked, trying to keep his patience with her.

“You’re standing in lava.”

“Oh for-!” Loki gave a long-suffering sigh, stepping onto a different color of stone to appease her. “Better?”

“Yes!” Claire smiled happily. “That color is safe.”

“Fine, I shall stay on that color,” Loki promised. “Anything else I should know?” he asked as Claire snuggled into his shoulder.

“Hhmhh.” She mumbled, her eyes falling closed as Loki carried her from the hall.

~~~~

“Claire. Claire wake up, just for a minute.” Loki urged his sleeping wife after he’d placed her on their bed.

“Don’t wanna.” She replied obstinately, her eyes squinted angrily.

“You need to get changed. You can’t sleep in that,” Loki rummaged through his armoire for something suitable for her to sleep in, only to find that she’d fallen back asleep when he turned around. “This is ridiculous,” he groaned. What could possibly have possessed her to drink so much? And Asgardian mead, no less. She’d be lucky to be functioning again by next week. But his wife-turned-toddler was incapable of caring for herself at the present, thus leaving him to do the work. Sighing, he decided just to take her clothes off himself and let the little fool sleep.

He gingerly peeled her dress and slip from her form, carefully setting them aside to be laundered. He was able to partially turn down the sheets for her, so that her legs rested on top of the quilt while the rest of her lay on the mattress. He’d just begun to wrangle her lower half into a pair of pajama bottoms when she started to wriggle and make nonsensical words. “Figures you wake up now,” He sighed. “Get under the blankets if you’re cold.” He suggested as she tossed and turned.

“Not cold, hoooot,” she replied, pushing away the proffered clothing and curling up into a ball. “Loki?” she raised her head to look at him as he started pulling off his own clothing; any thought of dressing her for bed abandoned.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any chocolaaaate?” Claire asked with a laugh. Loki rolled his eyes and turned away from her to fetch his own night clothes. “I wanna play the chocolate game.” Claire giggled flirtatiously.

“The chocolate game?” Loki wanted nothing more than to lose himself in delectable debauchery, but Claire was in no state for such fun and he still didn’t trust her. “Claire, we’re not playing the chocolate game right now.”

“Why not?” Claire pouted. “Don’t you want to play the chocolate game with me?”

“Claire, you’re drunk. We’re not playing the chocolate game. Maybe once you’ve had some sleep.”

“You’re no fun. Come on, just once!”

“I’m quite fun, thank you very much,” Loki replied. Claire scoffed, and Loki rolled his eyes. “Fine, one round of the chocolate game. But if you get sick I won’t feel sorry for you.”

“Yes you will.” Claire giggled as he summoned a brick of chocolate he’d stored in his pocket dimension. She was still flushed, and feeling oppressed by the heat. She sat up (and instantly regretted it) and clumsily pulled her bra over her head and tossed it at her husband. He gave a soft grunt of surprise as it struck the back of his head, and Claire giggled madly, flopping back down onto her pillow.

“Claire…” Loki sighed as he walked to his side of the bed, trying not to stare at her as she lay there with only her panties on. Her full breasts were staring him right in the face and Norns, were they lovely. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in.” his chivalrous side took over before he let himself get distracted and he was somehow able to reach over her and pull the blankets fully up to her chin without so much as peeking at her pert, pierced nipples. He laid down himself, the cool sheets soothing him instantly. Loki was reminded that drunk or not, Claire was surprisingly fast (and strong) for a mortal. He had barely settled in when she pounced on him, tangling her fingers in his hair and claiming his mouth with hers. His body responded before his brain did- his arms wound themselves around her; his long fingers tracing down her spine to the scrap of material she wore around her hips. She was so small compared to him, so unlike the other women he’d known. Here, in his bed and in his grasp, she seemed almost…delicate. His hand slid down her body easily; her skin was so soft. Gods, the feel of her! Claire nibbled his lower lip, drawing a growl from him and she moaned into his mouth.

“Loki…”

“Gods, I wish I could have you.” Loki sighed as Claire hitched her leg over his hip, his hands flexing unconsciously with want when she ground herself against him. He gave a choked noise of surprise at the pleasure of it; his brain scrambling to reconcile this wanton woman with the unruly one who shouted and threw things at him.

“Why can’t you?” said woman asked breathlessly, nipping at his jaw as he began to extract himself from her grip. Her hips ground against him, pulling a groan from his lips. She was making Loki forget himself and it frightened him. “I want you.”

“For one, you’re drunk,” he reached for her hands, meaning to pull them from his hair. “Claire, stop,” he said calmly when she whined in protest. “Go to sleep.” His unease leapt to the forefront of his mind, taking command of his actions as he cast a sleeping spell; desperate for a chance to calm himself.

“I like playing the chocolate game with you.” Claire muttered dreamily as she rolled away, leaving Loki frustrated and wide awake. He wasn’t sure what troubled him more: the fact that his wife was a lustful drunk or his response to her attentions. He was supposed to be avoiding exactly this type of situation, not playing into them. With a huff, Loki turned away from his wife and stared dejectedly at the wall until sleep claimed him. On the bedside table, the bar of chocolate lay forgotten.

~~~~

Claire woke up in the middle of the night, groaning as her head swam. It was stifling in the room and the heavy blanket wasn’t helping. She kicked off the blanket and sighed. It was still too hot. She looked to the side, barely able to discern Loki’s sleeping form from the darkness. She rolled onto her side and took deep breaths as her stomach lurched. Loki lay unmoving still, unperturbed by her movements. His back was to her, his ebony hair splayed out on the pillow. She reached out to touch his bare skin, finding it cool to the touch. A soft sigh of relief escaped her; he could cool her down! She inched closer to him, trying to avoid waking him. Within a few movements she was close enough to press her chest against his back. She draped an arm over him and pulled his coolness closer.

“Can I help you?” his velvety voice startled her.

“I’m really hot Loki. Touch me please.” Claire pleaded, pressing herself against him more firmly. Loki’s eyes shot open in surprise. Not again. He groaned internally. She’s going to drive me mad.

“You’re already touching me. Why is my involvement required?”

“Because you can use magic and make it colder…” Claire mumbled, pressing her scorching cheek to his shoulder blade. She groaned as his cool marble skin took the edge off. She nuzzled into him farther, flattening her palm against his chest and sighing contentedly as she closed her eyes.

“Did it occur to you that I am sleeping and therefore unwilling to cast a spell for your pleasure?”

“If you were sleeping you wouldn’t be talking to me.” Claire mumbled into his back.

“People talk in their sleep.” Loki argued, straining his neck to try to see her.

“Not coherently,” One of her slim fingers poked him gingerly in the chest, pointing out his flawed argument. “Pleeeease Loki, I’m burning up.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have thrown you into that lava.” Loki grouched.

“Not funny,” Claire grunted. “Make with the coldness hubby.” She commanded sleepily.

“I am not your manservant, woman. You’ll have to find comfort elsewhere.” He pulled away from her, settling onto his stomach.

“But you’re cold and I’m not,” Claire hummed petulantly, following his body with her own. She offered a sleepy grin when he turned and glared at her before she could lay herself over him. “Please Loki?”

“No,” Loki said sharply. “Go to sleep.”

“What if…I gave you the rest of the chocolate?” Claire had no idea what to use as a bargaining chip with him, but she had to try. She was positive she’d burst into flame if he didn’t help her.

“I thankfully do not suffer the same dependency on chocolate that you do,” Loki shot her down. “You have nothing that I want.” He mumbled into his pillow.

“Well you do, so…what’s your price?” Claire asked groggily. Loki chuckled.

“You really are desperate aren’t you?” he asked.

“Sure am. I’m sweating like a whore in church over here.” Loki let out a sharp laugh at Claire’s response.

“I’m not familiar with that phrase, but I assume you’re trying to convince me to help you.” He said.

“Bingo. Is it working?” Claire peeped an eye open at his impassive face. Loki sighed wearily, pushing his hair back from his face before settling onto his back.

“Until you fall asleep; no longer.” He held an arm out in invitation, growling as Claire clumsily situated her drunken self beside him.

“You love me and you know it,” Claire sassed him as she settled against him with a yawn. “You just won’t admit it.” Her hair tickled his neck as she fidgeted, her breath breezing over his nipple as her head came to rest on his chest. Her arm folded lackadaisically atop his torso and her leg hooked over his. Loki said nothing, her words settling deep into his brain. He didn’t love her…did he? She was clingy and annoying, always wanting to be around him. A nuisance, to be sure, but was it really a bad thing that she truly wanted to spend time in his presence? He was trying so hard to keep distance between them, but he couldn’t deny he still felt the same intense pull toward her. He would do this one thing for her, just so she would go back to sleep and leave him alone. He carefully redacted his glamour, allowing his natural coldness to seep through his Asgardian visage just enough to cool her off but not enough to cause her harm. Odin would probably make certain he’d never see daylight again if any harm should come to his precious new daughter. Claire sighed contentedly and squeezed him against herself, her hand drifting lazily up and down his chest.

“Happy?” he asked pointedly as he wrapped his cold arm around her bare back. Claire hummed happily in response, kneading his skin gently like a cat. The repeated motion of her hand on his chest relaxed Loki, making his eyelids droop sleepily. He kept jerking awake, stubbornly trying to fight against his fatigue and her soothing movements.

~~~~

Loki was startled awake when the sun’s hellishly bright rays hit his face. He blearily opened his eyes to see Astrid, pulling open the curtains of his bedroom windows.

“Norns Astrid, what are you doing?” he grunted in sleepy frustration. “What time is it?”

“Opening the curtains, Your Highness. It’s approaching midday and Prince Thor sent me to fetch you,” Astrid replied dryly, taking in Loki and Claire’s sleeping arrangement with a bemused look. “Should I inform him you are otherwise occupied?”

“Not funny, Astrid,” Loki snapped, trying to escape from beneath Claire without waking her. In her drunken state, she’d latched onto him like an octopus. “Tell Thor I will join him shortly, but I require a bath first.”

“Yes Your Highness.” Astrid gave a curtsy and disappeared from the room to start his bath. Loki sighed, knowing the gossip that would surely come from this.

Slowly, he managed to wiggle out from under Claire, replacing his body with his pillow as he went. He hoped that would mollify her, and that she would sleep until he was gone. When she woke, it would be to a massive hangover and Loki was in no mood to deal with it. Then again, he knew she would not be easy to deal with if she was nursing said hangover.

Astrid called him to the bath just as he whispered the spell to take away Claire’s hangover and he quickly pulled away from his wife to get cleaned up.

His plan to flee before she woke up was foiled when Claire opened the bathroom door, disheveled and furious and breathtakingly beautiful in his clothes.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked as she leaned against the doorway.

“You were drunk.” Loki supplied pathetically.

“I would have been fine in my own room. Severely hungover, but fine. So again, why am I here and not hungover in the slightest?”

“You were acting like a lunatic and I thought it best to keep an eye on you.” Loki shrugged.

“Uh huh,” Claire huffed. “You always make out with people you’re babysitting?”

“You took me by surprise.” Loki argued. Claire laughed harshly.

“And here I thought you were a god. Far superior and smarter than little ol’ me,” she scoffed. “You’re so full of shit.”

“You ask too much of me.” Loki scowled.

“I ask too much?! I wasn’t asking you to profess your undying love; all I wanted was some kind of confirmation that you don’t hate me, and that was too much for you?”

“You ask for far more than that and we both know it,” Loki said curtly. “Just as we both know I am incapable of giving you what you want.”

“That’s a lie-”

“If you don’t like what I have to say, then don’t be around to hear it!” Loki thundered. “Stop asking for what I cannot give.” Claire huffed angrily, straightening to her full height.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” She challenged, daring him to lie to her face again. She didn’t recognize this Loki. This was not the Loki she’d fallen for.

“Get out!” Loki slapped the surface of the water with his palms, punctuating his angry shout with a spray of water. Resolved green met burning blue as the room fell silent. Astrid observed the scene from her place in the middle, from the trembling of the prince's hands to the unshed tears in the princesses eyes.

“Fine,” Claire spat. “I’ll have Ragna collect my things.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” Claire slammed the bathroom door shut, drowning out Loki’s echoing shout. Loki sank down into the water, rage simmering as he created a wave that flooded the bathroom. He sat below the water, replaying the conversation over and over in his mind. Why could they never get things right? He stayed underwater for so long his lungs began to burn, and Astrid begged him to come up. He resurfaced as clumsily as a newborn calf, startling when Astrid put a hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, Prince Loki. Are you alright?”

“No.” Loki said as he spat the water out of his mouth like an uncouth child. He wiped the water rushing down his face out of his eyes angrily.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“What would be the point, Astrid? You would simply have to come back,” Loki said resignedly, slumping down into the water again. He threw up his hands in defeat, making more water splash outside the tub. “My work will not wait. Do what you must.”

~~~~

Claire made her way down the halls, a gloomy cloud trailing behind her. Loki made her so angry she could spit fire. Maybe one day she’d burn him to death and make s’mores. She couldn’t make sense of him- first they fucked like rabbits on their honeymoon, then he kicked her out the second they got back, so she avoided him (like she thought he wanted), but then he took her back to his room and put her to bed! What followed next was a little fuzzy, but she had faint impressions of needy kisses, desperate touches and soft cuddles. She remembered waking up with a raging beast of a hangover, and falling asleep in his arms. Claire had a sneaking suspicion that Loki had done some kind of voodoo to get rid of her hangover. Apart from her bruised feelings, she felt right as rain. Claire rubbed at her lips as she lingered on the memory of Loki’s fervent kisses, Loki’s voice floating back to her:

“Gods, I wish I could have you.”

That fucking liar. He totally wanted a piece of Claire pie! Why else would he take such good care of her and kiss her so sweetly? Claire’s toes curled as she remembered those kisses. Those were definitely not the kind of kisses you gave someone you didn’t care about. So why would he lie?

She was too hurt and angry to care at the moment. It felt like everyone she passed knew she was unwanted and unwelcome in her husband’s rooms. Hell, if the servants had overheard, they probably did know.

She kept it together long enough to make it to her apartment. Ragna was tidying up as she was let in, looking up from her work to greet Claire. Her cheery face fell when she saw the tears gathering in Claire’s eyes.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” she asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Claire managed, her chin quivering as tears finally began to fall. Ragna dropped her work and embraced her, letting the princess fall apart. “Why is he such a di-i-i-i-ck?” Claire sobbed, embarrassment and heartache oozing from every pore of her body.

“Who?”

“���Who’,” Claire parroted, angrily wiping tears and snot from her face with her sleeve. “The snow miser, the-not-so-jolly-blue-giant, Jackass Frost.” she added bitterly. Ragna looked conflicted about whether she should answer.

“The prince?” she guessed quietly. Eyes closed against more tears, Claire shot unenthusiastic finger guns in Ragna’s direction.

“Bingo,” she confirmed, cringing when she hiccupped. “I hate crying.”

“Can I do anything for you?” Ragna asked, thankfully following Claire’s you-only-get-one-’Your-Highness-per-private-conversation rule.

“I um...I stole Loki’s clothes...I left my dress in his room so if you could grab the rest of my things at some point, that would be great,” Claire said. “Do you have any tissues?” Ragna produced a hanky from her dress, sitting in companionable silence as Claire cried and hiccupped and snotted all over the square of fabric.

“Can I do anything else?” Ragna asked. “Maybe bring you some water?”

“I don’t suppose there’s ice cream in the kitchens?” Claire asked hopefully. Ragna shook her head apologetically, and Claire sighed. “Oh well. I’ll just…go to bed I guess.”

“I’ll bring you a tray of desserts,” Ragna said, getting to her feet. “And water.”

“You’re amazing!” Claire called after Ragna’s retreating figure, schlepping her way to the bedroom to collapse on the empty bed. Being married was awesome.

Claire woke some time later, still sprawled over the top of the bedding. Her back screamed in protest as she got up, spotting the silver tray and cloche Ragna had left on the corner table. Surrounded by fluffy pillows, soft blankets, and crushing loneliness, Claire ate until she felt sick.

[vampymaddy]

Part Three - black,no sugar

All of us began running towards John B as Kiara instantly fell to her knees next to him. I crouched down along with Pope and watched him try to get himself up.

"Don't move! You could've broken something man" Pope said with a shake in his voice as he saw the medics come rushing as well,my eyes trying to search the place where he got wounded. 

"I'm fine" John B mumbled but the wince on his face told me otherwise. His hands slightly trembled as he wiped some dirt smeared on his face.

"That bastard, I swear if I could-" JJ began saying but got cut off by the medics telling us to move away to check John B's wound. He must've broken something at least.

"He's not getting away with this" Kiara's voice was laced with pure hatred and I could tell where she was coming from. I couldn't take it anymore either.

I stood back up and looked at the distant screen showing the race, everyone cheering for Rafe at the finish line. Of course they didn't care about the "accident". I took a deep shaky breath as I began making my way towards the figure, Kiara yelling from behind something but I couldn't tell what she was saying. My ears were muffled.

Rafe's grin only grew wider as he saw me approach him, turning around to hear him talk with that disgusting bitter tone. "What? Couldn't handle a little competition?" 

That was it for me. I furrowed my brows in frustration as I yelled out at him. "You're such a fucking loser for having to resort to nasty sabotages only to win. We have done literally nothing to you and you keep being an asshole to us!"

Rafe blinked as the crowd around us went a bit quieter, most laughing and I just knew I looked dumb. For the first time I didn't catch him commenting anything back as he tried reading my face and set his eyes on something behind me.

Or someone.

I couldn't even process the moment John B bumped into me and walked past me towards Rafe. 

"Hey man I-"

And the whole crowd gasped and screamed as John B's fist found it's home in Rafe's nose, the rest of the group instantly pulling him away. Blood trickled down Rafe's left nostril as he shook his head and his smirk now faltered.

How much is he trying to keep that smile on his face?

"Okay this is definetly enough JB!" Pope and JJ had the most strength to pull him away to stop him from doing anything more, feeling Kiara's hands grabbing my own arm and pulling me away from.the crowd.

I kept my head turned to look past my shoulders just to enjoy the face of Rafe in a little pain. That was my satisfaction for the day. He fully deserved it. But a look of a small shame showed in his eyes before he turned his gaze away from me.

The whole ride to John B's place was quiet. I sat behind with Kiara and John B to make sure he wasn't straining his left arm. The dried blood was on his right hand's knuckles and telepathically I was thanking him for punching Rafe.

                                          -

Rafe's face still haunted me after a week and a half, wondering about too many things. The business at the café had been steady,though.

Work was definetly the place I would hope to take my mind off things, but apperently making lattes and cappuccinos didn't really help. 

Speak of the devil.

The bell above the door jingled as I glanced towards it and my stomach dropped at seeing Rafe Cameron. He strolled in like he owned the place, a pair of designer sunglasses perched on his head. That infuriating smirk too. Was it an accessory?

Of course, he looked straight at me and took his time walking towards the counter as I pretended to have work to do. 

"What are you doing here?" I said in a sharp tone as my hands were busy wiping the coffee machines.

"Nice place you got here. Didn't know you were working at a café" Rafe began speaking as he looked around before leaning against the counter. The audacity to talk to me like we were friends.

"Yeah, well now you know. So if you're here to cause trouble you can leave" I muttered as I kept my gaze fixed on the machines.

Rafe chuckled,the sound grating on my nerves. "Relax,just here for a coffee. Not a crime is it?" 

I inhaled through my nose before clearing my throat "Fine, what's it gonna be?"

"Black. No sugar"

[fcknstar]

,, need you here "

harryosborn x fem!reader

a.n : hi uhm yes ill be posting more the next day since my hand have been itching.

warnings : nsfw MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

**lowercase intended**

it wasnt long till harry fucked himself so hard into obliviation. watching himself in the mirror twitching, harry had it coming. he saw the way you looked into his friends eyes, the way youd talk so angelic, the way youd hit his shoulder whenever hed tease you. of course it infuriated him when he realizes that its peter you are talking to. he couldnt help but imagine the things youd do with peter. 

harry didnt just want you, he needed you, but he hardly admits that. he felt the way his heart yearned for you, the way his dick yearned for you, how his dick wanted to fill you. and you, you in that darn filthy black dress you had on during tonights party made him feel more needy and whiny for you. he wanted to pull his heart out of his body and gift it to you if he could. show him his beating heart that gives him the chance to watch you, to be here breathing with you.

hurried knocks erupted from the other side of the door, releasing harry from his thoughts. 

"hey man, i really need to take a piss. " whoever it was from the other side clearly wanted a death wish. harry wasnt even able to cum peacefully and had to hold that uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, with his dick twitching at such small contact. 

" yea, yea hold on. " harry quickly zipped up his pants, washing his hands and cleaning the counter for any remains he might have left. 

walking out of the bathroom, the guy from the other side rushed in and slammed the door shut. harry heard a content sigh, and started walking towards the homemade bar that the host made, wanting to drown the feeling in his shots.

there, he saw you and peter still talking. annoying, he thought. harry couldnt even get to talk to you, and here is peter, stealing harrys only shot to talk to you. peter just wanted to show harry who you liked more and harry wanted to kill peter so badly that hed serve peters head on a silver platter on your doorstep. 

" come on dude, tonights the party and shes going. go and talk to her - just like the way you talk to every girl you see. able to sweep her up with your charms. " peter had been trying to convince harry, hoping itd change his mind about the party. 

" okay, but will you be there, with me? i dont know. i just turn all fuzzy for her man. " harry hid his face in his hands, sighing as his options began closing in on him.

“ of course, id be there. now what do you plan on wearing? “ 

harry felt like shit, seeing his best friend go for the same girl he liked. i mean, who was harry to assume but it seemed liked it and it had destroyed him internally. it was like having your eye on a target anyone barely knew and telling someone about it, but the same person has its eye on it the same as you after entrusting him with a secret. 

walking up to you two, he saw how close your faces were, as if peter was going to tell you a dirty secret. placing his hand onto your shoulder, he had interrupted your conversation. peter now understanding what harry wanted, backed away and beckoned goodbye to you. 

“ hey harry, whats up? “ your voice was mellifluous . if he could, he would want to spend his whole lifetime just to listen to your voice. even if you were to be angry with him, he would do anything to listen to you, to please you.

“ i just want to see if you are alright? “ it sounded more like a question to himself. with you, he didnt know how to cleanly start a conversation, but with other girls, he just blurt out whatever he had on his mind. he was afraid that you would judge him, scared to lose his nonexistent chance with you. 

“ yea i was fine until you came..all jokes. “ you laughed. the number one rule of talking to you is that to prepare yourself for some sarcastic remarks, you thought were funny. maybe thats why he was afraid despite harry himself throwing sarcastic comments left and right. 

“ oh right.. you and peter..? “ the scene of your faces being close together really irks him knowing that you were breathing the same air peter was breathing. 

“ oh, we were just talking. he was telling me about something rather…private? “ private? what could be so private that you needed to bring your faces so close. jealousy bubbled in his stomach, not realizing that his jealousy  reflected on how easy angry hed get. you had nearly let out peters secret but covered it up quickly. 

“  private? whats so private that looked like you were going to kiss him? “ harry had let that slip out. harry hadnt noticed that you were quite sober, being able to down alcohol without getting drunk immediately. sensing harrys tone, you were confused as to why he acted like that.

“ its just private alright? why are you being so - i dont know. its just really complicated. “ your eyes darted towards peter who were currently socializing with others. peter had previously shared with you about his newly developed web shooters, you being one of the people he told about his newly found secret life hes been multitasking with his school life. 

“ yea, well. everythings complicated with peter. i dont do complicated. “ harry flashed a smile before downing his left over alcohol. 

watching him with content, you noticed how you never really paid attention to him. if you could, you would spend hours watching him if it didnt appear creepy.

harry noticed your staring and couldnt help but blush lightly at the thought that you might feel the same way. the way your eyes got all big and doe excited him. it was as if you were a test paper he couldnt wait to solve ; you are such an openbook yet mysterious. he couldnt get enough of you and didnt know what to do. 

“ youre so pretty. “ you whispered, thinking that it was your thoughts that spoke and not you actually saying it outloud. it was when harry laughed when you took in what had happened. 

it was now harrys turn to look at you. when you met his gaze, you quickly looked away with how intensive his gaze was. filling yourself up another cup, you saw harry put his empty cup down and felt his hand snake around your waist. of course youd start to tense up, who wouldnt. 

moving your hips against his towards the soft music playing in the background, you cant help but stay stiff. harry soon felt himself get hard again.

“ do i make you nervous, (name)? “ he whispered. his face dangerously close to your neck and you felt his breath against your sensitive spot. oh how dearly did you want him.

inhaling to gather up courage, you turn towards him and crushed your lips onto his. fuck, harry thought. he was so dizzy that it felt like he died and his wishes were playing, dying on him. but no, there you were, taking in his air as if you were going to die and depended on him to supply you air. 

wrapping your arms around his neck, you pushed him against the counter that was behind him. and with that, he allowed you to take control of him, of his body. he almost felt like a porcelain doll with the way you handled him. it was soft and gentle, yet rough and needy. smiling into the kiss, he dipped his head lower to taste every depth of your mouth, wanting to taste how sweet you made the alcohol. 

pulling away, harrys lips followed yours like a pet. looking behind you, harry spotted peter watching with a content smile, bringing his hands into a gesture of a thumbs up. harry was confused. why would he be so supportive and proud when he was previously trying to get you? maybe it was up to peters plan, knowing how harry can be a wussy if it really meant to him, peter wanting harry to probably quicken the process. or maybe peter wanted to prove harry that he too can have anything in his life if he worked hard for it. 

[artificial-transmutations]

Closer Than Flesh - Catharsis

The sensation is both new and familiar to Skyler. Infusing himself with the essence of the angelic magic of Seraphisar has changed how Skyler experiences the change. The powerful demonic magic still resonates within his being, but this time, Skyler is not permeated by it. The divine power within him is like a force field, allowing him to observe the unfolding vision without losing himself in it.

That is, however, not the only thing that is different. Skyler has gotten so used to experiencing the life of Baelnath, the demon, that he is more than surprised to find himself watching a scene in his personal past.

No, not his own past, Skyler has to correct himself. Although his seven year old self is in the scene, the focus is clearly on the new kid that is brought to the playground, feeling insecure and curious.

"Why don't you play with that boy over there while I finish up things?" asks his mother and leaves the small boy with Skyler in the sandbox. Skyler regards him with big eyes before asking: "What's your name?"

"Jake." answers Jake.

Skyler smiles brightly. "I think I like you, Jake!"

The scene changes and Skyler watches Jake grow up. Elementary school, high school, birthdays, that time in hospital when Jake broke his leg. Jake being sad and crying his heart out, Jake being so happy he sheds tears of joy.

In most of the scenes, Skyler himself is present. He and Jake really have been best friends, for almost their entire life.

Of course, there are also private moments that Skyler witnesses that he hasn't been part of. Jake's first girlfriend, his first kiss, his first time, his first breakup. Private breakdowns over having to manage an adults life, quiet evenings in front of the TV. Finally, Skyler re-experienced the start of their unlikely adventure through the eyes of Jake. Skyler coming into the apartment with the magic stone, changing into Jake's cock, then a wild goose chase through all the bodies they had to change into, right up to the final confrontation with Baelnath and, subsequently the fight they had in Norway.

Skyler doesn't experience Jake's emotions as he has with Baelnath’s in the previous visions, but it is clear to him that the Jake who leaves Norway in the end is a far way from the funny and caring Jake who started this journey with Skyler.

***

Jake is furious. To think that he has called this traitor Skyler his friend is infuriating. If he wasn't a part of Jake's own body, he would have given him a beating right there and then. He would have fucking killed him!

What was that asshole thinking? It is certainly not a little dick's decision what to do with a weapon like that. But it is clear to Jake now that Skyler just wanted that power for himself, from the beginning.

It matters little. Jake has used the magic stone with ease. He is going to Baelnath now to strike a new deal, a better one with him. The demon will surely know how to remove that traitor from his body.

Jake watches impatiently as the burly Norwegian sailors body changes. It always feels good, but this time, it's especially arousing.

His overall build slims down somewhat. It's still impressive and muscular, but in a chiseled way rather than the massive form he had just a few moments ago. His height also reduces somewhat until he measures below two meters now.

All these changes are shadowed by the more drastic transformations happening to him. His skin darkens considerably, first like a deep tan, then like a dark skinned person. It doesn't stop there, however, but it continues to darken until it is pitch black with a hint of purple to it. It looks unnatural, but Jake somehow loves the way his muscles are pronounced under the black, leathery skin. His hands and feet’s nails grow into claws with a hint of purple as well, and a broad, muscular tail grows in behind him, helping him balance and giving him a menacing look.

That is underlined by the next change as well: dark purple spikes erupt from his shoulders and his tail making him look even more dangerous. His obscenely large erection also changes. The length of his cock which is covered in the same pitch black skin as the rest of him grows purple headed barbs on the downside. Perfect for bringing him pleasure - and anyone he fucks with that tool pain and pleasure beyond their imagination.

Finally, his head changes: His face grows brutish and horned, while his mouth grows into a menacing muzzle, filled with sharp and bloody teeth. It is the face of a predator. A cruel and horned predator.

Jake snorts. His body has the size and stature of a fully grown human male, but he looks like a demon, as he should be. As he was meant to be. He is no longer Jake, the human, but Jake, the demon.

Jake makes a fist and flexes his powerful muscles. He feels powerful and superior in more than one way. It is as all his previous bodies were just a road leading here, to his final and perfect form. Even without using the sigil stone, he is able to conjure swirling purple energy around his fist with ease. The magic feels different, though - it's not the magic of the demon Baelnath anymore that he commands, it is his own. He has power of his own, and it makes Jake smile an evil and superior smile, as he looks down to his large erection.

"Seems like the tables have turned, traitor!" he says with his new voice. Smooth and masculine, a stark contrast to his brutish face, but with a commanding tone in it.

"I am the one with the power now. Say goodbye, little cock!"

Skyler is still processing what he has just seen and what has become of his friend Jake as the latter evokes dark purple swirling energy around his hands and directs it down to Skyler's cock body.

"Die, traitor!" Jake shouts with satisfaction as his magic envelopes his cock, hopefully freeing him from the pestering presence of Skyler once and for all.

However, as the purple clears, Jake can still feel the consciousness as clearly as before. With an angry snort, he conjures even more power, when a nearby clearing of a throat interrupts him.

"That won't work." A voice states. It's not a big and booming voice, but a somewhat meek and calm one.

Only now Jake looks around. He is in some kind of palace, in a big room. A throne room obviously. On the second gaze, this palace is clearly *wrong* in more than one way. Out of the large windows, Jake can see a hellish landscape with fire and brimstone. However, it's neither hot nor stinks of sulfur in here. There are other concerning features of the building he is in, though. Everything around him seems to be made of the living transformed bodies of men. Some barely recognizable anymore, and some almost unchanged.

The voice however did not come from any of the men the palace is made of, but a small humanoid figure standing next to one pillar, who is watching Jake through his big yellow eyes. He is clearly a demon, too: His eyes are bright yellow, and his entire cloaked figure is covered in black raven feathers. It's hard to judge, but he seems to be small, and Jake doesn't feel very frightened by his appearance, at least compared to himself.

"What won't work? My demon magic will end him!" Jake snorts.

The smaller demon sighs and shakes his head. "It's not that easy. The name is Mog'Tol by the way." Mog'Tol says.

"What do you mean it's not that easy?! I have seen what magic can do! Why can't I get rid of him?"

"Well, yes." Mog'Tol says in a friendly tone while walking around the hall, feeling the living walls and pillars occasionally. "Magic sure is powerful, and from what I can tell, you have become quite the powerful demon yourself. However, there are actually three reasons why you can't just 'get rid of him' like that. This information comes free, by the way."

Jake feels a bit of rage at the didactic voice but restrains himself. Something about the smaller demon is off, his instincts tell him.

"First, while you are certainly a powerful demon now, you have your own kind of magic, your personal power if you so will. You will have to discover the specifics of that power yet, but it most certainly is different in what it can do from Baelnath's power. His magic is one of transformation of the male body. Yours... I have a hunch it might be related to dominating men, but ultimately, you will have to discover that yourself. It might or might not be capable of removing... him."

Jake nodded reluctantly. That made some sense to him.

"Second, he is protected by the angelic power he acquired..."

"Stole!", interjects Jake, growing angry over the situation again.

"Apologies. The angelic power he *stole*. It is not easily possible to circumvent this protection." Mog'Tol added.

"And third, there are rules to magic, even and especially the magic of a demon. One, perhaps the most important rule, is that the magic of a demon can only ever be undone by the same power that cast it - or a miracle from above. A demon cannot undo another demon's magic, and that's final."

"So, since it was Baelnath's stone, I'll have to use the same stone to get rid of him?" Jake asks.

Mog'Tol has now reached the throne, made of the twisted body of multiple men and looks at it for a moment before turning back to Jake.

"That won't work either. You are a demon now, and while you could probably absorb the power of Baelnath if you manage to get it out of the stone, you cannot just use another demon's magic the way you could as a human. Sorry about that."

"But Baelnath could do it! Where is he? Are you one of his servants?" Jake asks, slowly losing his patience.

"I am not. I am independent if you like to see it that way. However, I do know that Baelnath is not home right now - this is where we are, by the way. He will surely return at some point, but even in his weakened state I do not know if you are much of a match for him, as inexperienced as you are..."

Jake snorts again and begins to answer, as he feels his mind being overwhelmed by the treacherous *other* consciousness in his body, quickly gaining control.

"Sorry for interrupting." Skyler says, controlling Jake's demon body again. "You seem to know a lot, and I know that you trade with secrets. Jake is not a real demon, you know that. How can I turn him back?"

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise." Mog'Tol says with a thin smile and sits down on the large throne, letting his legs dangle since they don't reach the ground. "I was wondering if we get to talk. Not even Baelnath even knows that you're there, do you know that? You did a good job protecting your little friend here, from what I heard."

"Please, Mog'Tol!" Skyler begs. "I can't do this for long. Just answer my questions, please."

Mog'Tol leans back and smiles a bit broader. "As you have said, I trade with secrets. What secrets do you have in exchange?"

Skyler should have expected that. He frantically searches his memory, but nothing comes to mind. That damn sly demon already seems to know everything.

"How about... the name of the angel?" Skyler tries his best.

Mog'Tol laughs. "What would I need that for?" Before Skyler can answer further, Mog'Tol interjects. "But I really want to see how this whole story ends, and I have my own reasons, too. So, I'll give you a credit."

Mog'Tol readjusts his seating and leans forward.

"Jake is a real demon by all means. Demons are not born, they are made. Creatures come to hell all the time: Dead people, spirits, even angels. Some very rare cases leave this place again, mostly angels. But the majority of those who come to hell stay in hell. Most perish and their souls fuel the inferno. But in some very rare cases, the individuals who come here are strong enough to resist, yet not strong enough to leave. Those transform into demons, by their own power."

That information hits. His glimmer of hope had been that Jake wasn't a 'real' demon, so he could still save him. Skyler's thoughts are racing.

"'By their own power' - that means I can't use the stone to reverse this, since it was Jake's own magic that did it?"

Mog'Tol looks surprised for the first time in the conversation. "Very good! You did pay attention! There might still be hope for you after all."

The demon pauses for a moment before speaking again: "Now, excuse me as I vacate the area. I certainly don't want to be present when the original owner of the body is back in control."

"Wait!" Skyler shouts. "That's it? That's all? You tell me he is a demon now and then just leave?! You know a way to revert this, but won't help me?"

Mog'Tol, who had already turned to leave looks at Skyler in Jake's body one last time.

"I believe you know everything you need to know. What you make of it is up to you."

The demon vanishes in black feathers and leaves Skyler in the throne room with Jake's demonic body. Not a moment too soon. Skyler feels himself being pushed out of control again by Jake's mind. A very powerful, angry mind indeed.

Jake makes a fist and punches his own dick full force, making both Skyler and Jake writhe in agony.

"You fucking traitor! You are not going to 'save' me or stop me, you hear that? I'd rather cut off my own dick than have you interfere!" As if to emphasize his words, Jake punches into Skyler's demonic cock body again.

Skyler is certain that Jake has snapped for good now. He has little doubt that he will actually mutilate himself like that if it means defeating Skyler. Whatever Skyler is going to do about it, it has to be now! But how? Even if he could wrestle control of Jake's body again - which is more than doubtful - the smaller demon has made clear that the stone cannot turn Jake back, since this last transformation was fueled by his own awakening demonic power. It would only make things worse, too. Every use of the stone had only brought them deeper into this whole mess. No, the stone was no use here. But there was something else Mog'Tol said.

'The magic of a demon can only ever be undone by the same power that cast it - or a miracle from above'... If Skyler still had eyes, they would have gone big. Of course. A miracle from above. The silent but ever-present power of the angel Seraphisar is still inside him. It is not much, Skyler knows that perfectly well. A small spark of divine might only, and Skyler had planned to use it against Baelnath.

But if a miracle from above is what it takes...

Skyler has never been a religious person. But that doesn't matter right now. They have passed the border of 'believing' long ago. It is an undeniable fact that there is something divine infused within his being. And it doesn't take more than a single determined though to awaken that power, letting it blossom into a warm yellow glow emanating from the barbed demonic cock.

Jake, who just wants to throw another punch at his organ, fuming in agony and rage, hisses and closes his eyes to shield them from the hard to tolerate brightness. When he opens his eyes again, he is not in the palace of flesh anymore. All around him is darkness, and the surface he is standing on feels like a gigantic, bottomless, still ocean.

In front of him, however, is another figure, one it takes the rage fueled mind of Jake a few seconds to recognize. Standing in front of him, surrounded by swirling bands of light stands the naked body of Skyler. Not the different forms of cock meat Jake has gotten used to, but Skyler, the human, looking at him sadly.

Immediately, Jake charges forward to claw through Skyler's thin flesh, but finds no resistance as he rushes right through him.

"I'm not really there, Jake." says Skyler in a calm and quiet voice. It sounds sad and vulnerable, but at the same time, there is an unknown force behind it as well.

"I think this is just your mind." Skyler continues. "Your body is probably still in the same place, punching your groin in."

"Stop that crap! Quit messing with my mind." Jake growls lowly.

Skyler shakes his head slowly. "I'm not doing anything, Jake. It's your mind. Your brain, your psyche. All of it, as twisted and wrong as it is, it is you. Look at yourself, look at what you have become."

Skyler points to Jake's feet where he can see his own reflection in the still ocean. His demonic body, the horns, the tail, the muzzle and all, but not only that. On the other side of him, in the water, is another image. The image of Jake's human body. A man with dark hair and dark eyes, with a pleasant smile on his face.

"It's the power of the demon, Jake", Skyler says softly. "We thought we escaped it so many times, but we didn't notice how it took control. This isn't you!"

Jake looks up to the illuminated form of Skyler and says bitterly: "Bullshit. Don't you see it? See how powerful I have become? I'm so much more than any mortal man, so much more than *that*!"

His clawed finger points at the reflection of his human body.

"I don't care that it was Baelnath's power who brought us here, now *I* have the power - and you are just jealous."

"Yes, you do have power now, Jake", says Skyler, who seems to be unphased by Jake's anger. "You have the power to change your body as you want, to dominate and enslave people, to have anyone you want. But what for? For yourself? For a mere moment of pleasure? Or maybe for revenge?"

"Yes!" Jake hisses angrily. "That is what a demon does! It's what I always wanted!"

Skyler looks down.

"No..." he says sadly. You weren't always like that. Try to remember yourself. Look."

Between the two of them, under the surface of the ocean, images form, unfocused at first, but getting clearer by the second. They are the same scenes Skyler has seen while Jake was changing into the demon, but in reverse. From the burly Norwegian backwards through the life of Jake. Scenes from his past, key memories of his, running like a silent movie under the surface. Finally, the sandbox, the first time Jake and Skyler met. The scene unfolds in absolute silence up until the point where the younger version of Skyler asks "What's your name?"

Jake looks up to see Skyler, the current Skyler lip-syncing the words to his younger self.

"Jake" says Jake automatically, the masculine demon voice matching the movement of young Jake's lips.

A short pause follows, the young Skyler smiles brightly.

"I think I love you, Jake." Is what Skyler says, with a trembling voice. The images in the ocean fade and silence falls between the demon and the man.

Every instinct in Jake's new demonic body tells him to ridicule the confession Skyler has made, to exploit his opponents weakness or to seize the moment. He even starts to say something, something mean, but it feels like he has a lump in his throat. His Adam’s apple bounces up and down as Jake swallows his words without having said them.

Jake stands in front of Skyler and tries to form a thought that makes sense. After a while, he speaks: "Why did you have to say that?"

"I had to", Skyler says, in a voice that is both sad, afraid and hopeful. "Because it's true."

"Skyler, I..." Jake begins to say, but again, his mind feels empty of things to say.

The images below the surface of the water appear again. They are different now. Young Skyler and Jake walk through the streets of an old town, going on a trip. Jake is wearing his favorite t-shirt and has his arm around Skyler's shoulders, laughing. It is clear that these are not Jake's memories, but Skyler's. Jake can't help to watch these images, situations that he remembers as well, now with the all-enveloping additional piece of information:

During all that time, in every second they were together, Skyler loved him. He loved him and was afraid to tell him, for years now.

The weight of the thought is overwhelming. Overwhelmingly sad, and bitter, and tragic, but also overwhelmingly happy.

A drop of liquid hits the still ocean surface and creates ripples that momentarily distort the images below. Looking for the source of it, Jake's clawed hand feels his face, his distorted demonic face and is surprised to feel tears running down its length.

It's true. Everything Skyler has said is true.

He has been a terrible human being for too long now, so much so that he had completely forgotten who he used to be, or at least he thought so. He had forgotten how to be the one that made Skyler say 'I love you'.

All his powerful muscles don't seem strong enough all of a sudden to support his weight anymore and he collapses to his knees, distorting the ocean surface with more ripples.

Now that the flood gates have opened, there is no stopping anymore. Jake, the big and powerful demon, is crying uglily like a little child. The salty tears that mix with the ocean below are not only for Skyler. All of a sudden Jake feels so sad about the humanity he has lost, about the misery he has inflicted on everyone he ever knew, and most of all, about his own stupidity. And, of course, he feels sorry about the living hell he has caused for Skyler, Skyler whom he had known for so long, who was with him all along and who was his best friend in the whole world. Minutes ago, all his mind was set on was to get rid of Skyler, to destroy him. Now he wants nothing more than to find a way to make it right. He wants to apologize, but he does not even know where to start.

Suddenly, he feels a light and gentle touch on his leathery demon skin. When he raises his head, he looks into the smiling face of Skyler, who has bent down and has closed his arms around Jake in a warm and comforting hug. It feels good, a touch Jake has never known he needed, more than anything else. He buries his face in Skyler's chest and doesn't hold back anymore. His tears run down his face and both their bodies and glitter in the warm yellow light emanating from Skyler.

No words are needed by the two of them and they just stay there for a while. Miraculously, each tear running down Jake's body takes away a little bit of his demonic form. With each drop, horns recede, his skin grows softer, becomes lighter or his unnatural muscles deflate a tiny bit.

Finally, as his tears have run out, Jake, the human, looks up to Skyler.

"Thank you." he says quietly. "I love you, too, Skyler."

The light emanating from Skyler washes over the two of them, as the ocean of Jake's mind gives way to the palace of twisted flesh again. Jake wraps his arms around himself, now utterly alone. Jake is human again, naked and vulnerable.

"Skyler, are you... still there?" he asks into the empty room.

"I'm here Jake, I'm with you again." replies Skyler from Jake's groin. Right. The miracle has reverted Jake to his original body and has freed his mind - but Skyler is still his dick.

"What are we going to do now?" Jake asks cautiously.

"We're going after Baelnath. Let's end this now, once and for all."

Jake collects the magic stone from the ground and watches as the last sparks of light change it, purifying the magic and purging the demonic influence out of it.

"Alright. Together?" Jake asks, and feels Skyler agree. "Together."

The magic of the stone wakes at Jake's demand and whisks away the human and his dick from the seventh hell.

The series slowly comes to an end. Only one more episode, one more confrontation with the demon Baelnath remains. What's going to happen?

If you want to read the previous episode, just click here. This magic link brings you to the very beginning. And this one takes you to the realm of wonder that is my riot page where you can support my writing if you like!

This link brings you to the big finale.