#angel fiction

[yutzen]

Where No One Calls Your Name

Ever since the Reevaluation of the Virtues and the upheaval of their respective Spheres, ever since the Seven of us were requested and established in our positions, it’s become clear how little we knew. We may be the Almighty’s own, but we were still fragments, meant to converse and join in order to paint – and thus form – the bigger picture. In this, mortaldom has taught us plenty – the Seven were chosen for their understanding of themselves, but were ordered to listen. And so we have…

The Sphere I represent has been, perhaps, better understood than most. Diligence is universal, something mortaldom practiced and admired even before they knew of the Almighty. The understanding of the toil, the joy of a job well done, of the tasks that kept them and those around them alive and well, and the simple happiness of having something done by one’s own hands, something that would leave a mark. The carving of a better world.

But my predecessors failed to account for those Diligent souls that stepped up because they had to. Because no one else could, or would. Those that saw the world threatening to cave in upon them and those they loved, and held it up on their shoulders, a pillar to those around them. Those that would’ve preferred for a world that wouldn’t crumble, but wouldn’t let it fall. Wouldn’t wait for another to take the burden. No one made them do it but themselves, and yet they stepped up, in the full belief they had to.

There were so many, from the beginning until now. And they continue to arrive to this day. Even those who find satisfaction in work well done often have such stories as well, and the needs that come with it. Those who would sacrifice the work that satisfied them to complete that which needed to be done… And it’s those who arrived most recently that truly need some of our latest constructions. It may have been late for some, but in Heaven, it’s never too late. Not truly…

The matter is, Diligent souls often needed respite, as many do. To be away from the toil that defined their lives. And for many of them, all that was needed was something else to work with, something to put their energy towards that they would enjoy doing, and freely walk away from once they believed they were done. Choice is what defines Heaven, after all. Many of these souls wanted to busy themselves with something that they could call theirs, projects of their own, collaborative or otherwise. And with their relentless energy, we’ve ended with the great towers, and castles, and palaces that one can immediately see upon crossing the thresholds between Spheres. And the endless halls within, stretching beyond space to fit all the wondrous things they have made…

But these uncovered cases, these souls that had to take reins no one else would take, they often didn’t want to be busy. They wanted nothing to do with any projects. And the sight of these toils only served to put them off, and sometimes distress them. And it baffled those before me, as it baffles some now…

I understood. They needed a different respite. And I toiled to make something that would bring them peace. It was one of the first works of Reevaluation, and thus one of the first that were questioned for intruding in another’s Sphere. But ours is complicated work that often cannot be so neatly subdivided. Far too many of my predecessors refused to understand that, and the strain that’s brought to the Choirs has been… I would not say regrettable. Tragic, perhaps. Our charges never needed to put up with such incompetence. But I have gotten sidetracked, and I apologize for it.

I set out to make something that would let them rest. To find them the respite they needed. And I found, as I spoke to them and delved into their stories, what I needed to know, even if it took me some time to understand it. I found that I would need to set apart a place for them, and weave it both into newer ground within Heaven and – curiously enough, I thought at the time – throughout existing lands and rewards, even grazing the surface of other Spheres as I went. Threads of it passing through others’ rewards, yet utterly unseen, never truly touching them. An endless, unseen observatory that would perturb no one… Especially not those inside.

I quickly figured these souls wanted to be undisturbed… Some of them were perfectly comfortable with the edge of a cloud, somewhere in the far reaches, where no one would find them, but others had a certain draw towards busier places. Busy, yet peaceful, some would say oxymoronically. I pondered how and why someone would seek respite in the heart of a grand metropolis, even in the midst of the busiest of parks, let alone the common avenues. I went on, threading together places until they could sit undisturbed and unseen, unacknowledged rather, whether sitting at the edge of the sky or in the midst of a raucous crowd, and obtaining their feedback as I went. I swore I’d listen, and so I did… They wanted peace, and in a way, quiet. They wanted to be alone, they said, but it took me some time to understand the very specific kind of isolation they wanted.

Even those that wished to be away from every other soul still wanted to watch the world go by. They wished to witness, yet not participate, to know it was moving on, yet not be the ones pushing it along, like passengers looking out their window. And most of all, whether high and far out in the edges of the Spheres, or lost within the populous depths…

One of them put it very succinctly. They said, and I quote… “I need to be somewhere where I won’t hear my own name”.

What followed was far easier for me to understand. These souls, they saw their world, the world of those around them, threaten to stop turning if they didn’t do something. Often, it was requested, if not demanded of them, but not always; the end result was just the same, with them taking up the weight of the world upon their shoulders. What else could I give them but a chance to let it go, and watch life go on without needing them at all times? Without anything or anyone calling for them to take up the burden once more?

What else would soothe their souls, but the knowledge the world would keep turning without their help? What else could a lifelong helper, exhausted after all those years, wish for?

And so, that’s what I weaved together for them. This reward is weaved far and wide, a singular strand with many loops and turns across the realms. Always close, almost touching, but never a true part of what it passes. And those outside it will pass this by without noticing anything but another face in the crowd, silent and peaceful where they sit. Another person on a park bench, or right off the edge of a cloud in the distance, or even just on the subway seat in front of them, there when they arrived and there when they walked off…

And the Diligent would get to see the winds and clouds of Heaven pass them by, with nothing but blessed breeze in their ears. Or they would get to see others live their new lives, in their instants between Rewards, or simply enjoying the afterlives they earned. Hundreds and hundreds passing them by whose names they would never know, nor need to. And the divine wheels would keep turning right before their eyes, without needing their hand. Life after life would go on, and they needn’t do anything to make sure there’d be a tomorrow. Not anymore.

Of course, it would be easy for them to walk away. To breach the thin walls of this weave and enter their witnessed scene, or simply return to the Sphere and find something to do. Something that’s theirs, at last. And eventually, they all do. Eventually being a key word in the process, of course, since some remain for quite a while to pull themselves together at last. Some never found a moment to do so in their lifetimes, after all, and only came to realize it once it was over… But in time, they all find their bearings, and move on.

As intended. This was never meant to be a permanent settlement – nothing is, up here, but my work here even less so. It’s an ephemeral stay, a place between places, little more than a breather. And yet, it is necessary, perhaps even more so than those places meant to last far longer. For these moments of transition, these rests between undertakings, these pauses that last so very little in comparison to all the rest? They are vital for them. The most ephemeral moments of all can be the most important for mortal souls… And this is something my predecessors, and even I, often struggle to understand.

But we understood this time, at last. And it will serve us well as the Reevaluation continues. Much of it has been to understand those we are working with, and for, to bridge those gaps we did not know existed. I know those that toil in Patience and Humility have found such knowledge useful, so far. And perhaps they will discover something that will help us in turn, thanks to it. Something to bridge another gap, correct another of our mistakes, and inch towards Perfection on our part… No matter how unreachable it is.

Our work is never done.

--Shoruel, Angel of Diligence and Fourth member of the Council for the Reevaluation of Virtues

[bigboobyhalo]

the anger inside of me

[tessydockery]

[jonathantaylor]

I have a distinct impression these last two books were the best of the year

[zavianglorywrites]

In honor of the fact that I am finally on the last round of edits for this book and it will be available at the end of the month, here is part of the first chapter of my debut paranormal/supernatural romance, Mortal Protection.

It was the piercing ring of a phone that drew the being back into the present, back to the plain apartment bedroom and the comfortable-yet-unused queen-sized mattress and its wonderfully cozy, though equally unused sheets. The sheets and the bed didn't need to be used because there was no mortal in the apartment who needed to be protected from the sleeping being and its incomprehensible true form. As it awoke, it began to orient itself, wondering how many days had passed since it had returned to the apartment after its most recent job. If it turned out the being had been sleeping longer than usual, it would soon be time to return to the other place to rest, where it couldn't endanger the fragile mortal minds surrounding it.

The phone rang again, this time with a very distinct tone that told the being just who was calling.

Everything snapped into place. The bed hit the wall with the sudden addition of a human body falling from the ceiling onto it. The human grunted and wondered why he never thought his first waking transformation through when it happened. Of course, the change was almost instinctual, considering how much time he'd spent in that particular form over the last century and a half. He climbed from the bed, unconcerned by the nakedness of his chosen human form.

He grabbed the phone off its charger and swiped the screen. "Hello, Lisa."

"Oh good, Aamun!" She sounded relieved to hear the voice he used with that particular form. "I was starting to think you'd gone down to hibernate."

He sighed in a very human way. "It's not called 'going down to hibernate'," he said for probably the millionth time. "Most of us call it 'recharging' nowadays. And it's not 'down.' I know you know this by now."

"Where's your charging cable plug in? And Hell definitely isn't up, so where is it?"

This time he snorted, another thing he had learned from mortals. "Well, since you're mortal I can't tell you about the charging port. It would break all the rules. Of course, you could ask Lewiel about it. I'm sure he has no concerns about bending rules for you. And I don't know where Hell is, I just think about going there and there I am. Just like I don't know where Earth is, either. I just think about coming back and here I am. If I was going to go recharge I would notify the office."

She completely ignored the reference to her partner when she replied, "That was why I was worried. I didn't want to tell the boss you'd become an AWOL Fallen."

"I've been fending for myself for thousands of years," he told her, which was only a bit of an exaggeration. He'd always been around his brethren in one form or another since the day he had been created. "I'm only working for the office because eternity is boring without something consistent to do. If I get equally bored with it I'll be sure to formally quit, not vanish on you. So what's the new job?"

She cleared her throat. "Right. So there's a warehouse store not too far from where you're at. It's called Smith's. There have been eight different safety complaints in the last two weeks, and you know that where there are that many safety complaints being reported to a government agency, there are other kinds of issues going on. I bet it's an HR nightmare."

"And HR nightmares are often orchestrated by demons, real or mortal."

"Precisely. If you're interested, I'll get the details ready and you can go be handsome, charming, unassuming Aamun."

He nodded to himself. "I'll do it."

Getting hired at Smith's was as easy as usual with the false identity the office had provided for him and with the active white-man form he was currently wearing. It was why he chose that particular form for most of his jobs, now that he was more interested in taking down abusive corporations than corrupt church officials. He'd needed a break from that after four hundred years, and he had plenty of brethren who were happy to continue the work, to attempt to wrestle God's corrupt minions away by showing them the truth. This form, though, allowed him to slip into any company he needed to and dismantle it – or, at least set the process in motion – before anyone even suspected him.

Over the last few thousand years he had mastered the art of playing into assumptions and prejudices to protect and defend those who needed him. In this case it would be all the underpaid staff expected to toil away all day in unsafe conditions, possibly fueling the energetic demands of demons with their suffering. He did not often fail his jobs, and he didn't plan to fail this one, either. His entire existence was centered around teaching humans that they should care about each other and the Earth on which they all lived, and protecting them from those who simply wished to cause suffering to increase their own joy, be they unchangeable mortal or true demon.

The employee who was tasked with showing him around the store and teaching him his job was a tired man in his mid-thirties, about the age Aamun's fake identity said he was, also. There was something about his scruffy face and bloodshot eyes that called to Aamun's compassion. He introduced himself as Jake, a supervisor of the employees who did most of the shelf stocking.

And the first off-the-record thing he said to Aamun during the tour, when they had their first moment away from other employees or customers, told Aamun that Jake was going to be immensely helpful to the investigation.

"I suggest you start looking for a new job soon. This is a toxic place to work."

Aamun hoped he looked surprised. "That's weird. The hiring manager assured me we were all like family here when he interviewed me."

Jake glanced around, then shook his head and said quietly, "That's one of the biggest red flags in any workplace. It's to compel you to feel like you owe the store – management – something personal. But you don't. It's a job. Clock in on time, do what you were hired to do for your scheduled shift, and clock out on time. Don't do this place any favors because God knows they won't do you any, either."

Aamun gave him a long look, then threaded his next words with a touch of compulsion, "What did they do to you?"

Jake just shook his head again, though he seemed to hesitate. "I don't know you. For all I know, you could be a pawn of theirs. I could be walking myself into getting fired by telling you anything. Hell, even what I just said could get me fired if you talk to them. I can't afford that, not after the pay cut they just gave me."

Aamun had no desire to force him to speak when he carried so much worry, but it further confirmed that there was work to be done here. He withdrew all hint of compulsion before he spoke again. "Are they cutting costs?"

"They're just trying to hurt us where it counts. Our paychecks. They're sending a pretty heavy message not to try fixing this messed up place."

Before Aamun could try asking anything more or begin to earn the man's trust, they arrived at the receiving department. Pushing through the swinging doors, Aamun stopped short when he saw the burly, messy-haired man standing in the middle of the floor. He held a clipboard and towered over the delivery driver who was signing a sheet of paper on the clipboard. It wasn't the size of the man that startled Aamun, but the fact that he wasn't a human man at all. Aamun could see through the glamour, unlike the mortals at work around them.

Beneath the human-appearing flesh of the glamour was a demon. This one was as burly as the glamour he wore, but his feet were hooves and his hands were well-maintained claws. On his head were two great horns that curled back around and below his pointed ears. Aamun couldn't tell through the haze of the glamour if he had skin or short fur or scales.

The demon suddenly stood more upright and seemed to draw a deep breath before slowly turning to face Aamun and Jake. Under the glamour that made his face appear like that of a bearded mortal man, his true face was sharply angled, his nose bull-like, his brows pronounced, and his horns were decorated by fine chains like the necklaces his glamour wore, one dropping down almost into one massive eye. He had clearly not been expecting to meet someone who could see through his glamour, because the moment he recognized what Aamun was, he lowered the clipboard to cover – barely – the very male anatomy between his very muscled thighs.

Aamun knew the demon couldn't see his true form, but he'd been told by other supernatural beings that he and the other angels had a smell and a glimmer about them that made it obvious what they were, even if mortals weren't aware of it. There was, however, no way for others to tell the difference between the Fallen and Blessed angels at a glance – Aamun was thankful to know he didn't smell like charred meat at least. The fear on the demon's face assured Aamun that this wasn't someone causing harm in the store, just someone taking advantage of it for survival. Chaos demons were like that. If he'd been the guilty one, his first instinct would have been to run or fight, according to Aamun's previous experiences.

"That's Henry," Jake explained. "We call him The Bull."

"Uncanny," Aamun replied.

[idolomantises]

I still can’t believe Panty and Stocking is coming back. Feels so surreal.

[us-angels-together]

Shoutout to Selfshippers who....

want to talk about their fictional others but also feel embarrassed about doing so

want to talk about their fictional others but feel too protective about them and want to keep them completely to yourselves

hide the fact they selfship

religiously read x reader fanfiction

have told people they selfship and were made fun of or were unsupported

have lost track of how many fictional others they have

feel guilty about having multiple fictional others

have only one fictional other

have only just recently started selfshipping

have been selfshipping for years

You are all amazing, keep doing what you're doing! Keep having fun with your selfshipping. Keep doing it!

Divider by @cafekitsune

[angelpregdreams]

a fruitful union (1)

content: fpreg, half-elf/half-orc offspring, hard labor, hard birth, praise

wc: 4145

When Eirian Estainfae had been told of her fate as the bride to feared Orc chieftain, Rhesh Kharr, she sat in shock for several days. At no point in her life had she considered her future husband would be anyone other than an Elf - let alone an Orc. 

She had never imagined it would be Rhesh Kharr, even in her wildest dreams. 

The night before her wedding to the Orc chieftain, Eirian’s mother came to her chambers, sending the servants away as soon as she entered. Myfiria was nearing her third millennium but still radiated grace and beauty. It was something Eirian always admired about her mother, something she always prayed she acquired from her.

With how she had been feeling lately, she doubted her own grace very much.

“My darling,” Myfiria cooed at her daughter, smoothing her hair away from her face. Eirian couldn’t help but feel tears burn her eyes once she looked up at her mother. “Oh, cry if you must, my dear. But cry here, in my arms, and not again from this night onward.” Her hand tucked a stray hair behind her daughter’s pointed ear, then slowly drew her fingers up under Eirian’s chin - keeping her eyes upwards, “do you hear me? Do not cry in front of them.”

Eirian sobbed, remaining in Myfiria’s arms until the sun rose. By then neither of them had any more tears to shed, simply comfort in silence. 

After her mother left, Eirian sat in her bed to wait for her maids to come in to dress her, bare of all clothing, and her long black hair hanging down her back, loose and slightly tangled. She began to lose track of time after that, her chest aching and her mind moving too slow for her body. One moment she was in her childhood bed chambers, and the next she stood in an opulent war tent, listening as her…husband explained…something she hadn’t caught the start of.

“...-thers, they will not bother you either, so you are free to go about the camp as you wish.” Rhesh finished saying, using the common language. His back was turned towards her, and Eirian finally noticed that he had removed his tunic, the broad expanse of his back exposed her eyes. 

After a beat, she cleared her throat slightly and stepped towards him, replying in the common tongue as a courtesy in return. “I appreciate that-” Eirian stumbled over her next word, at a loss of what to call him, before the silence grew a second too long, “husband.”

A muscle in his shoulder twitched and she rose her eyes from it before the motion captivated her again, as he turned to stare at her. Rhesh lingered in silence after that, his hard stare pinning her in place, but she didn’t look away. After a moment, Eirian noticed his brow quirk slightly, then his face returned to a blank mask. 

“...You look troubled, wife.” Rhesh replied, his eyes roving over her form, not even attempting to hide his lingering gaze. He then turned towards her fully and Eirian felt her cheeks burn. 

His cock pressed against the seam of his trousers and took no effort to hide it. Unabashed, he took two steps closer to her, and lifted up a hand to her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin and Eirian stilled completely - except for her heart beating rapidly against her breast. His hardened, dark grey eyes searched over her face, looking for…something she couldn’t figure out. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he finally said, dropping his hand and walking away from her, barely brushing against her as he did so. Rhesh left the tent without another word. 

For the following week, he did as he promised. He didn’t hurt her. He spoke to her every day, common things. About how the food was, how comfortable her cot was, if anyone was bothering her. It was charming, and the start of a very tentative romance. 

He gave her time, and she felt like she could never repay him for it. His kindness showed through, but only for her. Every interaction she saw Rhesh have with the others in his warband, he was rough and near-cruel and it never stopped making her stomach turn. But then he would sit across from her for dinner and ask her about what she studied. 

As the days passed, Eirian began to speak more and more, opening up to her husband. Both emotionally and physically. 

Rhesh expressed his worries about their need to please both of their people and the reality of now being split between two nations. She listened, inputting her opinion, the stress of the last few elven councils she had attended. 

When Eirian began to speak about her sadness, Rhesh placed a large hand on her thigh, squeezing gently but not pushing beyond that. That was the moment Eirian realized that she began to fall for the massive Orc. 

From there, their touches were casual occurrences. She would reach for his arm while walking near him through camp. He would slip a hand around her waist while guiding her through the entrance of their tent. It was innocent, it was gentle. 

Surprising both of them, Eirian made the first move. She was in the bath, a tub set up in the middle of their tent while he was out on a patrol. Except Rhesh returned sooner than she expected, leading to him walking in on her, naked, wet, and flushed pink in the hot water. Her eyes caught his, and she swallowed her nerves, beckoning him to join her in the bath. 

Rhesh raised a brow, silently asking if she was sure - to which, Eirian gave him a slight smile and nodded. 

His armor was removed, something dropped from his body with every step towards the bathtub, but his eyes never left her form. When he stood at the side of the tub, he was fully nude and Eirian couldn’t pull her eyes away from his massive erection. There was no hiding it, and it made her belly twist in excitement at his unabashed nature regarding his attraction to her. Knowing he was turned on by her, and her alone, it made her crave him just the same. 

The bath was tight with the two of them in it, but when Rhesh pulled Eirian onto his lap, straddling his hips, did they fit in it more comfortably. Eirian was a blushing mess, but she couldn’t help herself, and grinded her hips down against his throbbing member. His growl was encouraging and, if that wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down, his lips finding hers passionately. 

Eirian wasn’t a virgin when she met Rhesh but the amount of time it took to adjust to him was far longer than either of them expected. By the time she was comfortable, Rhesh swiftly set a quick pace, bouncing her up and down on his thick cock as she dug her nails into his muscled shoulders. Neither of them were quiet, his grunts and her whines were heard through the camp, but no one would comment on it later. 

When Rhesh pounded upwards, pulling her downwards at the same time, he rocked his hips against hers - then Eirian felt the warmth of his cum spill into her belly. She couldn’t help but whine, having sensed her own orgasm quickly approaching but when he stilled to cum in her, Eirian wiggled her hips needily. 

He grumbled into a chuckle, releasing her hip and reaching down to her clit, flicking over her sex swollen nub only a few times before she finally orgasmed. Her cunt clenched around his softening member and he groaned in approval, rocking his hips up to urge her orgasm to linger. 

From then on, their relationship shifted. 

They were friends, and now lovers - the two of them falling into a working marriage as a bridge between their people. 

However, the biggest bridge came when Eirian’s belly began to swell outward. Rhesh commented on it first, holding his hands over her lower abdomen and rubbing the slight pouch developing over her middle. As he did so, Eirian had the sudden realization, she had not bled in a while. No one ever confirmed the pregnancy, in fact, the two of them decided to keep their first child between them for as long as possible. A small act of rebellion against those that arranged their marriage without them. 

The problem came when Eirian was reminded she was quickly swelling with a half-orc child, and hiding her growing belly was harder as months dragged on. Someone finally caught a glance of Eirian and Rhesh together by a river, the two of them lost in each other, and not realizing a servant now had spread the word of her pregnancy throughout camp. From his war camp, it was quickly spread back to their home countries, and from there - a mess of missives and letters making demands of their unborn child. 

Pregnant and worried for her baby, Eirian cried one evening, the first time since the night before her wedding. Her hands were splayed over the expanse of her large middle, their child nearing full term now, at least with a normal Orc pregnancy. Elven pregnancies lasted longer, but considering the weight around Eirian’s hips, she realized this would not be like a normal Elven pregnancy. 

Silently, Rhesh came to her side and brushed the tears from her eyes, gently lifting her into his lap. He cradled her and held a hand over her belly, his thumb rubbing over her popped out belly button over her dress. There were no words spoken between the two, just her quiet tears and his silent support. 

The conversation about their first born needed to be addressed but for the night, the couple simply found solace in each other. From then on, it quickly became the two of them versus their own people to try and protect their future children. 

Eirian’s belly continued to grow, albeit slower than a normal Orc pregnancy, but just as big. Rhesh became concerned as the days drew on, his eyes and hands never straying from her swollen form in one way or another. His worry became palpable, the entire camp felt the pressure under his harsh orders. Everything had to be right, and Eirian had to be protected. 

Neither of them said it outloud, but they both knew that the Orc elders and the Elven council would be above subterfuge to identify the babe. Eirian knew that her uncle would pull no punches with this alliance, including swiping her first born if it meant he could manipulate the child of their union. 

Rhesh kept his camp in one spot for several weeks, not wanting to be on the road when Eirian began to labor. He wanted his camp set up so their tent was deep in the middle, making sure his men and personal guard were between them and those that posed a threat to his wife and unborn child. It made his men nervous but he was quickly becoming steadfast in his care, ignoring their comments of disapproval. 

After a long day, Rhesh finally came back to their tent. He had been out on a patrol, and after being waylaid by a group of river bandits, finally able to come back to Eirian’s side. She sat draped over their plush chair, specifically bought for her by her husband quickly after her pregnancy showed itself. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, her head tossed back over the chair, her dark hair messily thrown over one of the arms. Eirian rubbed her distended abdomen with both hands, a focused look upon her features. 

Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a lingering look, one that told him everything he needed to know. 

“Our babe is ready?” Rhesh asked her, coming to her side immediately. He knelt beside the chair and took her small hand into his larger one. “Are you well, Eiri?”

Eirian released a long breath, continuously rubbing her stomach with her left hand. Rhesh squeezed her right, bringing it to his lips to gently press a kiss in her palm. She gave him a reassuring smile, “labor is taking a toll on me, I fear.” Her body tensed and she squeezed his hand tightly, attempting to control her breathing as she continued to speak through the pain, “it’s been…all day, I hadn’t expected…you…to be gone so long.”

The Orc held her hand, shaking his head, “I hadn’t either, forgive me. Do I-” he paused for a moment, letting her ride out the pain before continuing, “shall I get someone?” 

“No, no, please no.” Eirian shook her head, teary eyes boring up at him. “Do not leave me again. I just want us.”

Rhesh nodded, brushing away hair that stuck to her sweaty forehead. She pressed her head into his hand, giving him a tired smile. 

“The little one sits low, I think it’s almost time.” Eirian said, grunting and shifting in her seat. Her thighs were sitting wide apart, her massive belly jutted upward, the pressure on her hips intense and unable to be ignored. She groaned and tossed her head back, belly tensing as a contraction took over her again. 

“Fuck!!” She cried, the pain lingering for longer than before. Wiggling her hips slightly, she gestured for him to help lift her dress up. Rhesh complied quickly, shoving the fabric up her legs and pushed it over her hips and massive belly. Her taut skin was splattered with stretch marks, the soft pink flesh between her legs was darker, and swollen. Eirian spread her legs apart farther, gasping in slight relief as she was able to shift into an open position, the head of their babe sitting deep in her body. Rhesh grabbed on her legs and placed her foot on his shoulder, allowing her to push against it as she needed. 

Eirian gave him a grateful look, not pausing her focus as she felt another pain take over her lithe frame. On his shoulder, her foot trembled, her strength pressing against his and it was no match, even as she labored. 

“Breathe, Eiri,” Rhesh murmured, reaching up and caressing her thigh, “listen to your body.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, a soft huff as she tugged the dress she wore up and over the rest of her body. Fully nude now, Eirian tossed her head forward and looked at her husband, whispering her discomfort, “...there’s so much…pressure…”

Rhesh nodded, sensing the strain on her body as she heaved heavy breaths, thighs now fully spread open to reveal her slit to him. Her foot on his shoulder dug into him, Eirian grunting as the pressure shifted even lower into her core, the weight of it causing her to rock her hips forward slightly and groan out, “fuck..fucking…pressure!” 

“Keep breathing,” he reminded her. In response, she gasped out a deep breath, eyes screwed shut in pain. “Good, good, again.”

Eirian continued to follow his instruction, even as a few minutes passed and several pains came and went. Her body began to arch with each pain, the tightness of her muscles around her middle making the movement nearly impossible to avoid. The foot not on Rhesh’s shoulder now draped over the arm of the chair, fully apart enough for her body to finally give her the urge to push with her next pain. The pressure between her thighs was too much to ignore and Eirian finally gave a grunt and pushed, her body wound tight and tense as her body began to strain. 

“Good push, Eiri,” Rhesh cooed up at her, reaching up to rub her other thigh, his fingers trailing over to her swollen womanhood, feeling every tremble in her muscles along the trail. “Good girl, good push.”

In the chair, Eirian groaned and pushed with her body, the pains now never letting up and the child sitting so deep in her core that she felt if she moved forward it would push the child back into her womb. “Nughhhh…” She moaned, pushing down hard. “Ah!”

For several long minutes, Eirian continued to push, making little progress, but still progressing. Rhesh watched her pussy turn a darker red and began to bulge outward. But as the next half an hour passed, that was the most progress she was able to make. His fingers rubbed the bulging folds softly, urging her to push as the next pain came and went and again very little progress was made. 

“It’s…it’s too big…fuck…” Eirian breathed, releasing her push with a whine. 

She brought up a very valid concern Rhesh had remained silent about for most of her pregnancy. The genuine fear of her body not able to deliver his child, their different sizes painfully clear to notice. If she wasn’t able to do this, if his child was too big and this hurt her…killed her?

Before he could consider his word to express his worry, Eirian began to push again, her body naturally trying to urge the massive child from her womanhood. 

She groaned and it quickly turned into a shout, crying out as she strained and pushed. Her pussy bulged out even more, and Rhesh cupped her lips, the head poking out just a sliver before sliding back in when she relaxed her body.

“Yes!” Rhesh encouraged, “I saw it, I saw our child, Eiri.”

After her mind was able to register his words, Eirian was able to release a breathy laugh, and immediately moaned as another pain began to build. In his hand, her folds pushed against his palm, the skin parting as the head was brought to just visible. This time remaining closer to her opening, the sliver of the head just in sight now and staying there.

The babe came down into a wide, wide crown, very slowly. Eirian whimpered and cried out with every push and urging down her body strained to do, fluid dripping out of her swollen folds with each time. The foot on his shoulder, lifted off, her hand coming up to grip the back of her thigh and lift it up and apart from the other. As her cries and grunts elevated in volume, Rhesh rubbed her skin as gently as he could to ease the pain but it didn’t matter, her pussy was burning. 

Eirian’s pushes lasted longer, and as the next pain began, she began to push down just barely and the head finally lurched free from her tight womanhood in a messy gush of her fluid. In surprise she cried out and reached a hand down over Rhesh’s, the both of them holding their baby’s head. Tears fell over her cheeks as she felt around the head and felt for the cord, remembering that small part of childbirth in the back of her head from her mother. No cord was present and she felt her body relax slightly, some of the worry and paranoia leaving her as she went through the action. 

The rest should be easier. At least, Eirian prayed the rest of it would be easier. 

With how far the babe had spread her entrance open, she knew the shoulders would be an issue if she couldn’t get them out with the help of her body. Waiting for the next pain, she felt the little one in her jolt, the sensation making her hips buck as she jutted them into both Rhesh and her hand. The babe nestled at her entrance even more at the action.

Between her legs, Rhesh smiled up at her with awe, the sight of his small, perfect, Elven wife in the middle of birth was just something he would cherish forever. She grunted and groaned and sweated and cried, but to him, right now - she was perfect. 

Eirian looked at him with watery eyes and gave him the smallest smile she could, the pain making it the only thing she could focus on in the moment, but she still cherished him and his care. 

Their baby, however, seemed more than a little eager, now that the head had been introduced to the world. 

“Ah - oh, fuck!” Eirian cried, grunting and pushing down as she felt the baby shift in her body again, the shoulders rubbing against her entrance. Her noises got louder as she strained and bore down with all of her might. Her husband offered soft cheers of encouragement but she was far too lost in her own world. 

As the more pushes she did, Eirian’s strength began to fade quickly. Her last push was almost half-hearted, the grunts turning into whines again, the pain and the pressure making everything that wasn’t the baby - hard to focus on. 

Rhesh tried to ground her, and her body continued its natural urges to push, but Eirian sobbed and shook her head. “I c- I can’t…” She whimpered, eyes wide and directed at her husband, the look of fear crossing her features made him wish he could take this from her. “Rhesh,” she begged, “please…don’t make me…”

“You must.” Rhesh returned firmly, the hand next to hers near the babe’s head brushed their fingers together,  just slightly in comfort. “You know you must, Eirian. The babe is almost here, feel…” 

He guided her hand to fully cup the head of their child, it barely fit in the palm of her hand, the head huge and impossibly wide. Her breath caught in her throat, realizing that they were so close to meeting their child and that she had already pushed out something so massive. Their eyes met and she continued to cry, but nodded barely, once. 

Grinning, he nodded back at her, pride bursting from his chest as she readied herself to push again. Eirian’s hand still rested on the baby’s head, supporting it as she leaned her body forward towards the edge of the chair to push with as much of her might she could still muster. 

The first one was painful, Eirian screaming as she pushed. The only payoff being a slight gush of amniotic fluid dribbling around the head, spilling out of her straining womanhood, and around their fingers. As she took a breath and began to push again, her entire body shifted. Several things happened at once. Her body lurched as far forward in the chair it could, her knees coming up as close to her shoulders as she could bring them, and then one of the baby’s shoulders slipped free. 

Rhesh cheered, urging her to push one last time, their child almost free of her body. 

Eirian didn’t hear him, her entire focus now on her final push. Her cries went silent, her mouth just open and eyes screwed shut. Her pussy was pink, pulled tight around the huge half-orc baby that hung out of her. The weight of it put more pressure around her entrance as it pulled downward into Rhesh’s other hand. With her own hand, she felt the shoulder that popped out, and reached down to wrap her fingers under it’s armpit. As she began to lose steam at the end of her push, Eirian kept going, her hand now helping her as she pulled and pushed the huge child out of her.

A splatter of fluid gushed out of her as the babe came out, and Rhesh helped keep the child in their arms in the mess, guiding the child to rest on Eirian’s chest. 

Instinctively, she rubbed the child’s back - a girl, Rhesh said - and cooed, tears spilling over her cheeks as she stared at the little one in her arms. 

The cry that errupted from their daughter’s lungs was shrill and it made both of them laugh in relief and pride. Rhesh came up closer to the two of them now, rubbing the head of their little girl. 

“She’s loud and looks healthy,” Rhesh mumbled without attempting to hide his proud tone, “mama did a wonderful job.”

Eirian still cried, but sniffed, unable to take her eyes off the babe, her fingers trailing over her daughter’s features. Every part of the girl was perfect to her already, the pale green skin, the wide doe-eyes, and the obvious Elven ears. A beautiful combination of both parents. She would be beautiful and strong. 

A sudden stake of fear pierced her heart, coming back to the reality that their first born was a girl. Both of their people needed a male heir to secure the alliance for the foreseeable future, meaning she would have to go through this again. At least twice. 

Eirian swallowed, glancing back down at her perfect daughter, Rhesh’s hands caressing both her and the child lovingly. The worry of the future still nagged at her but she smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek - fully intent on cherishing this moment as long as she could.

[whereserpentswalk]

Humans sometimes wonder what separates them from other races like elves and dwarves and orcs, like what makes them unique. Some people say humans are generalists, some people say we're the most adaptable. But actually there is something that stands out about us that all the other races find super weird. Humans are the only sentient creature to reproduce sexually like animals do, and because of that we're the only species with romantic or sexual attraction, and ideas like sex and gender.

Elves and dwarves create new members of their races slowly and methodically, like works of art. Harpies, angels, demons and dragons are all individually and personally created by their gods. Orcs and goblins are spawned from spawning pits on mass. Merfolk come close with how they lay and fertilize eggs, but even then any individual merfolk can both lay eggs and fertilize, and they don't meet when they do it. Vampires and other undead are spawned from other races. Fae just sort of show up.

So the idea of having sexes, and genders constructed around them, and sexual and romantic relationships is all incredibly weird for other races. Most humans don't notice it because they just naturally assign members of other races genders when they meet them.

Diffrent races have diffrent ideas around these constructs. But most of them find it some level of confusing. A lot of them just ignore it. But it's really disturbing for some, romantic relationships seem like weird bonds that can't be explained, like some sort of unexplainable and volatile connection. Sexual attraction seems like some dark animalistic instinct. Gender is incomprehensible, and also seems wrong and immoral to most races. And sex itself seem like the darkest of any reproductive ritual or magic. Because of all of this humans who don't experience some or any of these things often have an easier time connecting with other races.

This has also lead scholars to belive that humans are the only sentient race to evolve naturally. Something often thought impossible before studies on humans occurred.

[brian-in-finance]

Photos: Screen Rant

⚠️ This post is ridiculously long. It includes three passages from Bees that relate to Season 7’s surprising cliffhanger ending, and an explanation from Diana Gabaldon on what put that crazy idea in the scriptwriter/showrunner heads.

From “the book”

"This is all I have," she said, her voice hoarse as a young toad's. "Just this and her wock — locket."

"This?" Jamie stirred the little pile gently with a big forefinger and withdrew a small brass oval, dangling on a chain. "Is it a miniature of Jane, then, or maybe a lock of her hair?"

Fanny shook her head, taking the locket from him.

"No," she said. "It's a picture of our muv — mother." She slid a thumbnail into the side of the locket and flicked it open. I bent forward to look, but the miniature inside was hard to see, shadowed as it was by Jamie's body.

"May I?"

Fanny handed me the locket and I turned to hold it close to the candle. The woman inside had dark, softly curly hair like Fanny's — and I thought I could make out a resemblance to Jane in the nose and set of the chin, though it wasn't a particularly skillful rendering.

Behind me, I heard Jamie say, quite casually, "Frances, no man will ever take ye against your will, while I live."

There was a startled silence, and I turned round to see Fanny staring up at him. He touched her hand, very gently.

"D'ye believe me, Frances?" he said quietly.

"Yes," she whispered, after a long moment, and all the tension left her body in a sigh like the east wind.

Jemmy leaned against me, head pressing my elbow, and I realized that I was just standing there, my eyes full of tears. I blotted them hastily on my sleeve and pressed the locket closed. Or tried to; it slipped in my fingers and I saw that there was a name inscribed inside it, opposite the miniature.

Faith, it said.

…

Faith. Our mother, Fanny had said. I'd looked more than once at the miniature in the locket — but it was too small to show anything more than a young woman with dark hair, maybe naturally curly, maybe curled and dressed in the fashion of the times.

No. It can't be. I rolled over for the dozenth time, settling on my stomach and burying my face in the pillow, in hopes of losing myself in the scent of clean linen and goose down.

"It can't be what, Sassenach?" Jamie's voice spoke in my ear, sleepily resigned. “And if it can't, can it not wait 'til dawn?"

I rolled onto my side in a rustle of bedding, facing him.

"I'm sorry," I said, and touched him apologetically. His hand took mine automatically, warm and firm. "I didn't realize I'd said it out loud. I was... just thinking about Fanny's locket."

Faith.

"Ach," he said, and stretched himself a little, groaning. "Ye mean the name. Faith?"

"Well... yes. I mean — it can't possibly... have anything to do with—”

"It's no an uncommon name, Sassenach." His thumb rubbed gently over my knuckles. "Of course ye'd... feel it. I did, too."

"Did you?" I said softly. I cleared my throat a little. "I — I don't really do it anymore, but for a time, just—just every now and then — I'd think of her, of our Faith — out of nowhere. I'd imagine I could feel her near me."

"Imagine what she might look like — grown?" His voice was soft, too. "I did that, sometimes. In prison, mostly; too much time to think, in the nights. Alone."

I made a small sound and hitched closer, laying my head in the curve of his shoulder, and his arm came round me. We lay still, silent, listening to the night and the house around us. Full of our family— but with one small angel hovering in the calm sweet air, peaceful as rising smoke.

"The locket," I said at last. "It can't possibly have anything whatever to do with—”

"No, it can't," he said, a cautious note in his voice. "But what are ye thinking, Sassenach? Because ye're no thinking what ye just said, and I ken that fine."

That was true, and a spasm of guilt at being found out tightened my body.

"It can't be," I said, and swallowed. "It's only…” My words died away and his hand rubbed between my shoulder blades.

"Well, ye'd best tell me, Sassenach," he said. "Nay matter how foolish it is, neither one of us will sleep until ye do."

"Well... you know what Roger told me, about the doctor he met in the Highlands, and the blue light?"

"I do. What…"

"Roger asked me if I'd ever seen blue light like that — when I was healing people."

The hand on my back stilled.

"Have ye?" He sounded guarded, though I didn't know whether he was afraid of finding out something he didn't want to know, or just finding out that I was losing my mind.

"No," I said. "Or not — well, no. But... I have seen it. Felt it. Twice. Just a flash, when Malva's baby died." Died in my hands, covered with his mother's blood. “But when Faith was born, when I was so ill. I was dying — really dying, I felt it — and Master Raymond came."

"Ye told me that much," he said. "Is there more?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But this is what I thought happened." And I told him, about seeing my bones glow blue through the flesh of my arms, the feeling of the light spreading through my body and the infection dying, leaving me limp, but whole and healing.

"So... um... I know this is nothing but pure fantasy, the sort of thing you think in the middle of the night when you can't sleep..."

He made a low noise, indicating that I should stop apologizing and get on with it. So I took a deep breath and did, whispering the words into his chest.

"Master Raymond was there. What if — if he found... Faith... and was able to... somehow bring her… back?"

Dead silence. I swallowed and went on.

"People… aren't always dead, even though it looks like it. Look at old Mrs. Wilson! Every doctor knows — or has heard — about people who've been declared dead and wake up later in the morgue."

"Or in a coffin." He sounded grim, and a shudder went over me. "Aye, I've heard stories like that. But — a wee babe and one born too soon — how…”

"I don't know how!" I burst out. "I said it's complete fantasy, it can't be true! But — but —" My throat thickened and my voice squeaked.

"But ye wish it were?" His hand cupped the back of my head and his voice was quiet again. "Aye. But... if it was, mo chridhe, why would he not have told ye? Ye saw him again, no? After he'd healed ye, I mean."

"Yes." I shuddered, momentarily feeling the King of France's Star Chamber close around me, the smell of the King's perfume, of dragon's blood and wine in the air — and two men before me, awaiting my sentence of death.

"Yes, I know. But — when the Comte died, Raymond was banished, and they took him away. He couldn't have told me then, and he might not have been able to come back before we left Paris."

It sounded insane, even to me. But I could — just — see it: Master Raymond, stealing out of L'Hôpital des Anges after leaving me, perhaps ducking aside to avoid notice, hiding in the place where the nuns had, perhaps, laid Faith on a shelf, wrapped in her swaddling clothes.

He would have known her, as he'd known me...

Everyone has a color about them, he said simply. All around them, like a cloud. Yours is blue, madonna. Like the Virgin's cloak. Like my own.

One of his. The thought came out of nowhere, and I stiffened.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ." What if — all right, I was insane, but too late for that to make a difference.

"What if he — if I, we — what if Master Raymond is — was — somehow related to me?"

Jamie said nothing, but I felt his hand move, under my hair. His middle finger folded down and the outer ones stood up straight, making the sign of the horns, against evil.

"And what if he's not?" he said dryly. He rolled me off him and turned toward me so we were face-to-face. The darkness was slowly fading and I could see his face, drawn with tiredness, touched with sorrow and tenderness, but still determined.

"Even if everything ye've made yourself think was somehow true — and it's not, Sassenach; ye ken it's not — but if it were somehow true, it wouldna make any difference. The woman in Frances's locket is dead now, and so is our Faith."

His words touched the raw place in my heart, and I nodded, tears welling.

"I know," I whispered.

"I know, too," he whispered, and held me while I wept.

— Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone, Chapter 24, Alarms By Night

"Ian — I wanted to ask you a favor." One eyebrow went up.

"Name it, Auntie."

"Well... Jamie said that you plan to stop in Philadelphia. I wondered.." I felt myself blushing, much to my annoyance. His other eyebrow rose.

"Whatever it is, Auntie, I'll do it," he said, one side of his mouth curling. "I promise."

"Well... I, um, want you to go to a brothel."

The eyebrows came down and he stared hard at me, obviously thinking he hadn't heard aright.

"A brothel," I repeated, somewhat louder. "In Elfreth's Alley."

He stood motionless for a moment, then turned and put the cheese back on the shelf, and glanced down at the clear brown water of the creek rushing past our feet.

"This might take a bit of time to explain, aye? Let's go out into the sun."

— Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone, Chapter 59, Special Requests

IAN CAME BACK from his visit to Elfreth's Alley in something of a brown study, oblivious to the shouts of dairymaids and beer sellers.

He'd thought he might have to expend considerable time and money in order to get the inhabitants of the brothel to talk, but the mere mention of Jane Pocock's name had opened floodgates of gossip, and he felt as one might after being washed overboard from a ship and carried ashore in a flurry of foam and sharp deb-ris.

Now he wished he had paid more attention to Fanny's drawing of her sister.

The loudly stated opinion of Mrs. Abbott, the madam, was that Jane Pocock had been strange, plainly very strange, demented and probably a practitioner of Strange Arts, and how it was that neither she nor any of her girls had been murdered in their beds, she did not know. Ian wondered why a young woman with such skills would have been working as a whore, but didn't say so, under the circumstances.

It took some time for the talk about the murder of Captain Harkness to die down, but Ian Murray did ken his way around a brothel, and when the flow diminished, he at once ordered two more extortionately priced bottles of champagne.

This altered the air of accommodation to something more focused but less vituperative, and within half an hour, Mrs. Abbott had retreated to her sanctum and the whores had reached their own silent accommodation amongst themselves. He found himself on the red velvet sofa common to such establishments, with Meg on one side and Trixabella on the other.

"Trix was friends with Arabella — Jane, I mean," Meg explained. Trix nodded, doleful.

"Wish I hadn't been," she said. "That girl hadn't any luck at all, and that kind of thing can brush off on you, you know. What are those things on your face?"

"Can it?" lan touched his cheekbone. “It's a Mohawk tattoo."

"Ooh," said Trix, with slightly more interest. "Was you captured by Indians?" She giggled at the thought.

"Nay, I went of my own accord," he said equably.

"Well, me too," Trix said, with an uptilted chin and a wave of the hand presumably meant to draw his attention to the relatively luxurious nature of her place of employment. "Not Arabella, though. Mrs. Abbott got her and her sister off a sea captain what didn't have the scratch to pay his bill. Those girls were indentures."

"Aye? And how long ago was that? Ye canna have been here more than a year or two yourself." In fact, she looked to have been in the trade for a decade, at least, but minor gallantries were part of the expected pourparlers, and she laughed and batted her eyes at him in a practiced manner.

"Reckon it would have been six — maybe seven — years ago. Time flies when you're havin' fun, or so they say."

"Tempus fugit." Ian filled her glass and clinked his against it, smiling. She dimpled professionally, drank, and went on.

"Mind, I wasn't but two years older than Jane..." Bat-bat. "Mrs. Abbott wouldn't've bothered with them, save they were pretty, both of 'em, and Jane was just about old enough to... um... start."

Ian was counting back; six years ago, Jane would have been about the age Fanny was now. Old enough...

After a few accounts of harrowing initial experiences in the trade, he managed to drag the conversation back to Jane and Fanny.

"Ye said a sea captain sold the girls to Mrs. Abbott. Do either of ye by chance recall his name?"

Meg shook her head.

“I wasn't here," she said. "Trix...?" She lifted a brow at her friend, who frowned a little and pressed her lips together.

"Has he come back here — since?" Ian asked, watching her closely. She looked startled.

"I — well... yes. I only saw him twice, mind, and it's been a long while, so I maybe don't recall his name for sure."

Ian sighed, gave her a direct look, and handed her a golden guinea.

"Vaskwez"" she said without hesitation. "Sebastian Vaskwez."

"Vas — was he a Spaniard?" lan asked, his mind having smoothly transmuted her rendering to "Sebastiàn Vasquez."

"I don't know," Trix said frankly. "I've never had a Spaniard — knowin'-like, I mean-wouldn't know what they sound like."

"They all sound the same in bed," Meg said, giving Ian an eye. Trix gave her friend a withering look.

"He sounded foreign-like, no doubt about that. And no talking through his nose or that gwaw-gwaw sort of thing Frenchies do. I've had three Frenchmen," she explained to Ian, with a small showing of pride. "Was a few of'em in Philadelphia while the British army was here."

"When was the last time Vasquez came here?" he asked.

"Two... no, maybe close to three years ago."

"Did he go with Jane then?" Ian asked.

"No," Trix said unexpectedly. "He went with me." She made a face. "He stank of gunpowder — like an artilleryman. He wasn't one, though; they've all got it ground into their skin and their hands are black with it, but he was clean, though he smelled like a fired pistol."

A thought occurred to Ian — though thinking was becoming difficult. He wasn't bothered by the fact that his body was taking strong notice of the girls, but arousal seldom did much for the mental faculties.

"Could ye tell if he was still a sea captain?" he asked. Both girls looked blank.

"I mean — did he mention his ship, or maybe say he was taking on crew, anything like that? Did he smell of the sea, or — or —fish?"

That made them both laugh.

"No, just gunpowder," Trix said, recovering.

"Mother Abbott called him 'Captain, though," Trix added. "And 'twas clear enough he weren't a soldier."

A few more questions emptied both bottles, and it was clear that the girls had told him all they knew, little as it was. At least he had a name. There were sounds in the house, opening doors, heavy footsteps, men's voices and women's greetings; it was just past teatime and the cullies were beginning to come in.

He rose, arranged himself without shame, and bowed to them, thanking them for their kind assistance.

— Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone, Chapter 80, A Word For That

From “the author”

“They actually did get the (general) idea from me, though,” she admits. “When chatting with [showrunner] Matt [Roberts] about All Things plot wise, I mentioned that if I had written a second graphic novel (I didn't, for assorted reasons), I would have shown what actually happened after Faith's presumed death at the Hopital des Anges, and how/why Master Raymond resuscitated and nurtured the baby secretly, but wasn't able to come back with her before Claire and Jamie left France. So, they liked that idea and ran with it.” — Diana Gabaldon, Parade

Remember… Claire is only one of more than a dozen time-travellers in the story… Brianna was conceived in 1746 and born in 1948… Family Beardsley is a threesome… it’s Outlander, anything can happen.

@marian4456 @saint-hildegard-of-bingen @kiaora45 @dlansing53 @young2evans @gotraveltheworldluv @krisrose16 @frenchyses @bcacstuff @pinkblizzardgladiator @thetruthwilloutsworld @its-moopoint @stellarpuffin @outlanderfandomfollies @loveisloveislove76 @castlemaine123 @dragonflydreams47

[hazbinwhoree]

Adam x F!Reader Smut

You’re a child of a demon and a human, considered dangerous by Heaven despite you not even knowing how to use your powers and just living a normal human life. Adam was tasked with keeping an eye on you, and months in your unspoken attraction for one another boils over.

For all my bitches as depraved as me.

Requests open

Adam had never wanted a woman so badly in his life. Well, except maybe Lilith. But not even Eve had driven him this mad.

It was late one night and he was watching (Name) sleep. Totally not a creep. (Name) twitched in her sleep. She made a small noise and Adam came to hover over her bed, half checking on her and half just being nosey.

“Mm,” (Name) mumbled something incoherent. Adam leaned over her. “Adam,” she moaned softly in her sleep. “Adam~”

Adam was both taken aback and thrilled. Was she dreaming about him? In a naughty way? Adam grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight.

He climbed onto the bed positioning himself over her, and woke her up. (Name) gasped when she registered Adam basically pinning her down without touching her. He was so close.

(Name)’s thighs rubbed together. “Were you dreaming about me, babe?” Adam teased. “Tell me, what was I doing to you in that dream~?”

(Name) blushed, looking embarrassed. “It was nothing!”

“Well you were moaning my name so it doesn’t seem like nothing.”

(Name) pulled the covers up to her face. Adam yanked them back down. “Don’t be embarrassed, doll, it was hot.” His eyes hungrily roamed down her body and (Name) felt heat in her core at his gaze. Adam leaned back on his knees to shed his coat, before leaning back over (Name) and lowering himself so their chests touched.

“Do you want this?” He was uncharacteristically quiet. “Yes,” (Name) mumbled, biting her lip. Adam put a stop to that with his lips on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth. With his knee he nudged her thighs apart and settled between them, rubbing his erection against her crotch.

“Adam,” (Name) moaned more coherently. Adam pulled back and began attacking her neck, biting and sucking his marks onto her. (Name) tried to push his head back, the sensations becoming almost overwhelming, but Adam didn’t budge, instead he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands tightly above her head.

(Name) gasped, hips bucking up and pressing Adam’s hard-on roughly against her core. Adam groaned, growing desperate. He’d wanted this for so long.

Well, not really considering how many years of existence he had under his belt, but it felt like forever.

He pulled off of her neck an released her wrists for just a moment to pull her shirt over her head, and pull down her shorts. He knew for a fact she didn’t sleep with panties. Dirty girl~ But it only served to benefit him.

He yanked down his pants and boxers, kicking them off unceremoniously before climbing back on top of (Name).

With both of them now naked, (Name) got embarassed again, covering her eyes with her hand. Adam grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head again. His other hand fondled her breasts, going back and forth between the two while kneading the flesh and tweaking her nipples.

He pressed himself between her legs, wanting desperately to penetrate her, but he could feel she wasn’t wet enough yet. His hand abandoned her chest and moved down to her pussy, swiping his thumb across her clit.

(Name) gasped, then moaned as Adam inserted two fingers. He leisurely pumped them in and out for a minute before adding a third finger to stretch her. “Fuck,” (Name) sighed. He pumped three fingers in and out of her much harder, hoping to prepare her for the brutal pace he would set as soon as he was inside of her.

“Adam, I need you,” she whined, and it was music to Adam’s ears. He figured he’d prepared her well enough. She’d told him once that she wasn’t a virgin so she should be fine.

He released her wrists to line himself up with her entrance before thrusting in all at once. (Name)’s back arched and her mouth opened but no sound came out.

Adam pinned her hands again, but this time he pinned each on either side of her head with his own hands, intertwining their fingers. Then he began pounding into her, not bothering to start slow. (Name) cried out, squeezing his hands.

He swallowed her sounds with his mouth on hers to keep her quiet. His hips snapped against hers as he roughly thrust, the sound of skin on skin and muffled moans breaching the silence of the quiet room.

Adam released one of her hands and she immediately grabbed onto one of his horns with it. He snuck his now free hand between their bodies to pinch her clit, making (Name)’s back arch again.

Unlike how he felt for the many women he’d banged, he actually cared to make (Name) cum.

She was immediately getting close as soon as he started giving her clit attention, Adam could tell by the way she shook and spasmed around him.

“Cum for me, baby, let go,” he coaxed. “Cum on my cock.”

His unholy talk sent (Name) over the edge, and she came with a muffled shout, squeezing around Adam so tightly that he came quickly after. He buried himself as deep as he could go when he came, painting her insides white.

“Gonna put a triple hybrid baby in you.”

(Name) shuddered.

“Hah!” Adam laughed, still inside of her. “Told you I’m the Dickmaster.”

(Name) rolled her eyes. “Pull out, Adam.”

Adam obliged, snickering when his cum dripped down her inner thigh. He collapsed on top of her and (Name) grunted from his weight. He shifted until his weight was comfortably spread, burying his face in her neck. He kissed a hickey he’d made, admiring his work.

“That was great, sugar tits.”

“Ehh…”

Adam braced himself above her on his elbows, an indignant look on his face.

“The fuck you mean ‘eh’?”

(Name) rolled her eyes. “Fine, it was enjoyable.”

“A bit more than enjoyable if your orgasm was anything to go by,” Adam teased. He cuddled back into the crook of her neck, slipping both of his arms under her back and holding her close.

“I do care about you, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“…I know.”

[ptieuca]

iwryfanficmarathon's 20th anniversary

bangel + locations ↳ angel's apartment (sunnydale + los angeles)

[battydeville]

Theres never a boring day at the Cannibal Tiki Bar 🍹🌴

IG: BattyDeville

[humanoidhistory]

Blade Runner (1982)

[omniluci-estumbra]

“Want. Want. Want. She felt it like her heartbeat. If he couldn’t hide her, he would hoard her to himself as much as he was able.

She had fallen for a dragon”

🐉🐉🐉🐉

A little Fallen Angel Draco anyone? No? Just me? That’s cool I’ll keep him to myself 👀

🖼️Reference: The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel

ff: Manacled by @senlinyu