#battle of the long image descriptions

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET FOUR - ROUND TWO - MATCH THREE

"The Weather" (exhibited September 24, 2021 – August 7, 2022 - Laurie Anderson) vs "The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit" (1882 - John Singer Sargent)

THE WEATHER: This is the Laurie Anderson room at the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington, D.C. I think it used to be part of a larger exhibit but I only saw it recently and by then it was this one room. It’s hard to describe without being there — this huge black room covered in white paint. Drawings, words, on the walls and the floor. I kid you not, walking into that room felt like walking directly into my brain. The fragmentation, the poetry of it, it’s so crowded, bursting with cognition. Remembrances and stray ideas fly around this place and I stayed there for an hour plus, reading everything and looking at everything and sitting in the corner. It made me so insane I went home and wrote an entire prose poem about it. (@green-cargaytions)

THE DAUGHTERS OF EDWARD DARLEY BOIT: It’s not the most overtly disturbing piece in the world, but it fucks me up. There’s this genuine grim sense of foreboding, this unspoken dread in the painting. The art book I first saw it in talked about how the girls are dwarfed by luxury, by inanimate objects that are clearly cherished in a way that they aren’t. (@dontbreakthechain)

("The Weather" is an audiovisual exhibition by American artist Laurie Anderson. It was exhibited at the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington DC from September 24, 2021 – August 7, 2022, where it spanned the second floor.

"The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit" is an oil on canvas painting by John Singer Sargent. It measures 222.5 cm × 222.5 cm (87.6 in × 87.6 in.) The painting is housed in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, where it hangs between the two vases depicted in the image.)

[moonlightrift]

RWBY x Fortnite

[sentientstump]

that melting expression spoke of troubled analysis of surroundings, it appears on my face every day too. (translation: ayo, my eyesight is also goofy!!!)

doodle page with exploration of the theme for this comic below 👇🏼

literally drew that face and was like "huh, i will implement this idea into the very core of my being. no one can stop me " or something like that- xD

[bytebun]

found family coworkers (definition multiple) of all time [image description under cut]

Comic 1:

First panel, Ingo and Akari are standing together. Someone off-screen asks “oh, is that your dad?”. Akari has an awkward smile and replies “oh, no no. he’s my...” There’s a long pause as she looks at Ingo. He’s leaving it up to her. She finishes, “He’s my coworker... friend... guy.” In smaller font, she continues “yea. that.” Comic 2: A dramatic panel of Volo, looking pissed off, shouting “who are you to interfere?!!” Ingo tugs the brim of his cap lower. The upper half of his face is in shadow, while his eyes stand out. He looks threatening but has his expression is his characteristic neutral-frown, and he says “...I’m her coworker friend guy.”. In the final panel, Machoke is throwing an incredible amount of punches, a reference to Star Platinum from Jojo. Ingo is pointing with one hand, his battle pose. The background text reads, “What does that even mean??” Volo is experiencing off-screen violence.

Comic 3: The comic is titled “Reunion”. In the first panel, Ingo shows off Akari, with a faint smile on his face. She is labelled “best girl (assigned by god)”. He says, “Emmet, this is Akari, my coworker. She’s the reason I was able to return to this station.” In smaller font, Akari comments to herself, “ooh... so this is the man in white.”

In the second panel, in smaller font Ingo notes “I think I remember now...” He says, “Akari, this is Emmet. He's also my coworker.” Coworker is underlined. Emmet is crying in the background, looking confused, conflicted, distressed, and happy. He says, “Brother...?” In the final panel, we see a framed photograph of all three together. Underneath are the words, Employee of the Month. Akari is dressed as a depot agent, and she and Ingo pose with peace signs. Emmet is red faced from crying, but he’s smiling widely. He looks happy.

[deanwinchestersbabygirll]

wishful thinking

-warnings// angst, mentions of smut but no real descriptions

lil summery// Sam has a little crush on deans girlfriend a just little sad

Dean x reader... with a little Sam x reader (just a lil bit)

word count// 3450

(Gif from pinterest)

You groaned as the light came through the window blinds, rolling over to hide in your boyfriends warm chest, Dean chuckled running his hand up and down your bare back "not ready to wake up gorgeous?" He asked kissing the top of your head "no. My plans revolve around staying in bed with my pretty sexy, and very nude boyfriend" you mumbled against his chest, dragging your hand down his chest and down his stomach

You jumped back when you heard a loud knock on the door "are you two almost ready? There was another attack last night" Sam called through the door, "Just taking a shower then we'll be out Sammy" Dean yelled back, you looked up at him confused "baby we showered last night" Dean chuckled, rolling on top of you, he smirked down at you, his amulet hanging down his neck "yeah but I just bought us some more time" Dean flirted as he pressed kisses down your neck, already making your eyes roll.

Sam leaned against the impala, growing more and more impatient as the time moved on, with a final sigh of annoyance he went back to Dean and your shared motel room, "Dean I've been waiting almost an hour dude serio-" Sam started to yell but was quickly cut off by the door opening revealing you dressed only in deans long red flannel, your cheeks red and your hair a mess "I'm sorry Sammy, we'll be right out in two minutes, I swear" you told him quickly shutting the door in the stunned Winchesters face 

Sam was in awe of you, ever since you and Dean came to get him from Stanford four years ago he knew there was something about you that just warmed his heart, how kind you were to him and when Jess passed, you let him cry in your arms many nights after, how beautiful you were, how smart you were, you were like a walking encyclopaedia. He knew how wrong it was, having a crush on Deans girlfriend. he just couldn't help himself 

Every day was an internal battle for Sam, he wanted you, he wanted you more than he's ever wanted anything, but he sees how much his brother loves you, and that's what kills him even more, he would never want to hurt his brother. He just couldn't help himself, especially when he heard your moans through every crappy motel walls, hell he's even walked in on you both going at it  more times than he'd ever like to admit, you would think after the eitgth time Dean would learn to lock his damn door.

It definitely didn't help Sam keep himself composed when he was popping boners left and right with the images of you after being fucked, even if wasn't by him flash through his mind constantly.

"Alright, give us the run down Sammy" dean said as he drove away from the red room motel Sam stayed quiet as he tried to avoid looking at you sitting in the back seat "Sammy!" Dean called loudly snapping his fingers in his face startling the seasoned hunter "w-what?" He stuttered out confused "gives us the run down... are you feeling good, not like you to be so out of it man" dean turned to look at him quickly worry evident in his voice 

"Yeah fine just tired. didn't sleep great"  Sam mumbled out tucking his growing hair behind his ears "you sure sweetie? you look a little pale, maybe your coming down with something. c'mere let me check your temperature" you said leaning into the front to feel his forehead "w-what no no I'm fine not sick I'm just tired so just drop it and leave me the hell alone!" Sam said flinching away defensively, if you touched him right now he was definitely gonna go crazy 

Dean turned to give Sam a hard look "watch it Sam, she was only trying to help you, no need to bite her damn head off!" Sam snorted "whatever" he pushed himself as close to the passenger side ignoring his brother for the rest of the ride his eyes stared hard out at the road as he tried to focus on the hunt... and not how good your breasts look in that shirt .

Dean looked at Sam then gave you a concerned look matching your own in the rear view mirror. 

When you got to the Swanson house you both  decided to let Sam take the lead in questioning considering he didn't give you any details on the death, what he suspected, could be demon, ghost... literally anything at this point.

"Any idea what's up with Sam?" You asked Dean watching as Sam spoke to the victims heartbroken husband, Dean sighed his eyes narrowed at his little brother trying to figure out what's going on in his head "not a clue but I'll talk to him about it" dean grumbled out squinting his eyes at his younger brother.

It was a quiet drive back to the motel , Sam was laser focused on watching the blurs of houses and cars, you couldn't help yourself but looking at him worried, you were sure he could feel your eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. Even if he did feel it he never let on, never acknowledged you or dean were in the car too.

Once Dean parked baby Sam was rushing out toward his motel room. Dean slammed the car door annoyed before turning to look at you his hard eyes softening "I'm gonna talk to Sammy see if I can get him to talk about wheatever the hells bothering him" dean told you before planting a soft kiss on your lips "okay baby, I'm gonna take a walk and go grab us some snacks and beer, hopefully Sammy opens up to you" you wrapped your arms around deans neck, his own on your hips as he had you pinned tight against the impala

Dean shook his head pulling baby's keys out of his pocket "your not walking anywhere sweetheart, I trust you'll take care of my baby, and my baby will take care of my sweetheart" dean joked making you giggle, your cheeks heating up as you licked your lips "you Dean Winchester are a man of many surprises... and I quite like that about you" dean caught your lips once again in a soft kiss his tongue slipping into wrestle with your own before giving your ass a hard smack. You gasped and pulled away your body feeling hot at his actions 

You put your hands on deans chest lightly pushing him away from you "alright I better go, good luck talking to Sam" dean shook his head his green eyes turned to look at Sam's closed motel room door sighing "yeah I'm gonna need it". 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Your nerves were all over the place as you walked around the small corner store. You hated when Sam and Dean would fight, on one hand, Dean is your boyfriend you can't help but take his side most of the time, but Sam was your best friend. It just put you in such a shitty position until the boys eventually swept it under the rug. You grabbed a bunch of snacks because you knew Dean was an angry eater and he usually stuffed his face with liquorice and chocolate after any arguments, or if you were having make up sex and dean was still a little mad he'd eat something else...

You opened the door to your motel room so see Dean pacing the floor his hands running through his hair, clearly he was frustrated and seemed pretty anxious "how'd it go sweetie?" You asked him setting the bag of goods and beer on the table "I- uh- fi-fine yeah I guess" dean stuttered out as his pacing continued "dean what's wrong? Is it bad- oh my god please sit down your freaking me out!" You snapped grabbing deans arms stopping him from moving any further "it's nothing I just... look you know how much I care about you. Id do anything for you no matter what it was, I just when you talk to Sam please remember that" dean told you his hands coming to rest on the sides of your face his worried eyes staring into your own

"Wha- talk to Sam? Dean what's going on why do I need to talk to Sam?" You were freaking out why the hell was Dean Winchester, the man who hides what he feels on the daily pouring his heart out to you now of all times. Dean leaned in catching your lips in a slow sensual kiss, pulling away to rest his forehead against your own "I promise everything will make sense if you talk to Sam" Dean whispered "okay let's go" dean shook his head immediately "I don't think I should be around Sammy right now I'll wait for you here" okay now you were officially freaking the fuck out

You nodded slowly and headed out to towards Sam's motel room next door. You stared at the red door taking a couple of deep worried breaths before knocking. It took three seconds after the last knock until the younger Winchester was opening the door his cheek looking slightly swollen "hey... come on in" Sam said moving to the side to allow you in "hey... so what's going on? Dean seemed pretty upset" you told him, Sam sighed and ran his hands down his face his eyes closed tight "it's stupid. It's so stupid I just don't know what to do anymore I've been... fuck this is hard-" "Sam! Spit it out please!" You yelled cutting off his rambling 

"....Y/N, I think I'm in love with you" once the words left Sam's lips your whole body froze. You felt like the air was sucked right out of you. "You what?" You asked "I think I'm in love with you... it started a couple of years ag-" "Years! what the fuck do you mean years Sam? How many?" You cut him off "i- I lost Jess and then you... you were there for me and it just kinda escalated from there. Look I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be in love with my brothers girlfriend, I've felt like the worst person in the damn world every day because of this... I just I can't help it" Sam confessed

"Sam Jess passed four years ago. Are you telling me you've had feelings for me since then?" You asked him calmly and he nodded quickly "honey I don't think your in love with me. I think you went through an extremely traumatic experience with Jess and me being there for you every day. I think your confusing the feelings you had for jess to me. Sam, I love you because your my best friend... and I'm with dean and I haven't even told him yet but I love him Sammy..." you told him and Sam took a deep breath "I uh i guess I never thought about it like that. I think your right I'm confusing my feelings I had for Jess to you" Sam agreed making you relax 

"I'm sorry I sprung all this on you and Dean today. When you put it like that it makes sense... I mean Jess was the love of my life… I even had a ring. Before you and Dean came to Stanford I had it all planned out, then it was taken away from me in the blink of an eye... and dean still has you-" Sam paused taking a shaky breath "I guess I'm just jealous of you guys, of what you have with each other. I've never seen Dean love someone so much and that's why me feeling like this bothered me so much because I want my brother to be happy and I want my best friend to be happy too" Sam ended his speech and you had tears falling down your cheeks feeling your heart break at his words

"Sammy I'm so sorry about what happened with Jess. You deserved to have the happy life you always wanted with her" Sam nodded his eyes filling with tears he sucked in a harsh breath of air "yeah.... I miss her every day. I just... I want what I had with her back- I want Jess back, I see you and Dean and I want that. Jesus I fucking had that. Life deals me the crappy hand of yellow eyes and Jess has to pay for it?" Your cheeks were wet with tears, you couldn't help but bawl at Sam's words. Life had been so cruel to the Winchesters 

"I know honey... I know. It's not fair, I know you feel like Jess was the one for you but sam, I only met her once and I seen how much she loved you. She would want you to get out there and find the girl your meant to spend your life with, it's not me, but she's out there... she's just waiting for you to find her" you smiled taking his big hand in yours and giving it a comforting squeeze. Sam nodded slowly 

"I really i appreciate that Y/N, I'm glad this crap got brought out. Talking to you has really made me feel a lot better about this so thanks, I uh do you mind giving me some time just to think. I kinda want to be by myself now" Sam told you and you nodded heading towards the door, Turing to take one last look at the sad giant "we're right next door if you need anything at all, okay Sammy?" His lips curled in a soft smile and he gave you a quick nod.

Once the door was a shut you leaned against it your hand going to your chest as you took a deep breath, hunting gouls was easier than that damn conversation. Your heart was beating like crazy thinking back on every word, Sam thought he was in love you, I mean of course he wasn't. He was in love with the idea of you... of love that's what he wanted.

You squeezed your eyes shut to calm down before going back to your and Deans room. You opened the door to find Dean sat at the edge of the double bed, his head facing the ground as his hands ran through his hair “Dean?” You called to him. His head snapped towards you his feet moving faster than the rest of his body as he stunned his way toward you “Y/N…. H-how’d it go? Did you-” “talk to Sam… yeah we had a long talk. I think everything’s gonna be just fine now” you told him 

Deans shoulders visibly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a hug “thank god… thought I was gonna have to kick his ass” dean joked but you thought back to Sam’s swollen cheek. You pulled back from the hug and gave dean a hard look “Dean Winchester… did you punch your brother because of me?” 

Dean shook his head quickly “no of course not… I punched him because he told me he wanted to be with my girlfriend, maybe had he phrased it better to me I wouldn’t have lost my temper but if someone tells me they want to be with my girlfriend and they’re in love with her… I’m gonna loose my shit” you tried to hide the small smirk from your face by leaning in to give dean a hard kiss on his soft lips “that’s really sweet baby. Please don’t fight with Sam because of me, seriously we had a really good conversation tonight” 

Dean noodles slowly “can you tell me what you talked about?” You smiled and sat down on the bed and pulling Dean with you so you were both laying down on the hard mattress “well he told me he was in love with me-” deans arm around your waist grew tense as he pulled you closer so your head was resting against his chest  “but we talked about things and we got to talking about Jess and-” you paused taking a deep breath and looking up at dean to find him already looking at you 

“Sam is still hurting over Jess. He was confusing his love for Jess to love for me, thats all, he’s not In love me. He’s in love with the idea of love because he had that, then he lost it in the blink of an eye and then he sees us together. He just needs some time and he needs us to help him get back out there find a distraction, hey maybe even find the love of his life like m-” you stopped yourself quickly, Dean opened his mouth to say something but you quickly jumped back in

“We should take him out tomorrow, there’s a bar down the block. I saw it when we were driving earlier, it looks like it could be fun, what do ya say?” Deans eyes crinkled as he smiled lovingly at you. He loved how much you looked out for Sammy, it’s part of what made him fall in love with you. “I’m down, any time I get to spend with you I am down for it” dean told you taking your hand in his placing a soft kiss to it “how about we crack open those beers over there eat some junk food and watch a little Dr sexy?” Dean suggested. You smiled and nodded your head “i love that idea” you leaned up to give him a quick kiss before he grabbed the goods.

You were hours into the doctor sexy marathon you and dean had unintentionally started. Deans arm hung loosely around your waist while you cuddled comfortably into his warm side, your leg wrapped loosely around deans hips. You looked up to see deans green eyes lolling to sleep slowly, still somewhat awake “dean?” You whispered, his eyes opened quickly and he let out a low “yeah?” And turned his gaze to you “why were you so nervous earlier? Before I went to Sam’s room?” He sighed his body tensing slightly under you “I just… I hated the idea of you talking to Sam about his little crush on you because well, your my girl… and I love you” dean rushed out the end and your head snapped up 

“You what?” You asked your chest suddenly feeling tighter like your heart was about to explode “i love you sweetheart” dean told you more clearly this time. A smile immediately overcame your face as you rushed down to press a hard kiss on deans lips. Dean responded right away, his hands wrapping around your hips to pull you on top of him… well more than you already were

You pulled back slightly from the kiss pressing your forehead against his “I love you too Dean Winchester, so fucking much baby” you giggled your lips brushing against his in each movement. Dean pulled you back into another deep kiss his big rough hands squeezed your ass before moving up your waist to pull your shirt off leaving you in your black lacy bra. Your squealed into deans mouth when he ripped your bra in half, pulling the ruined fabric off off your arms baring your breasts to him. Deans lips detached from your swollen ones, he attacked you chest immediately placing kissing app over your chest, sucking love marks all over you, especially on your sweet spot to mark his territory.

Sam who was in the next room slammed a pillow over his head to drown out your screams of pleasure, Sam lied to you earlier, he meant it when he said he was in love with you. But when he saw your panic and how you talked about your one for his brother he panicked and wanted to take each word back, that’s why when you mentioned it being confusion over his love for Jess he jumped at it. He would never do anything to hurt you or dean he loved you both way to much to ever even  think about doing that to either of you, that’s why he was just going to have to swallow his feelings and curse chuck for not having you both meet first. He wished every damn night that he met you before dean, constantly living in guilt Sam knew he had to take his feelings for you and bury them deep inside of him, a life with you was just wishful thinking for the younger Winchester. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

ALL MY OWN WORK I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT TO COPY OR PUBLISH ON OTHER SITES , I.E WATTPAD, ETC, WITHOUT MESSAGING TO ASK FIRST

next to be written is Sam Winchester, hero part 2, this was requested and I'm hoping to get it published soon, until then please enjoy :))

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hey! I really loved your Covkwarming with Alastor Story. Would you maybe want to make one where Alastor is busy and reader wants his attention? Maybe he even snaps at her only to later search for her and make it up to her? With lots of fluff and maybe nsfw?

Hope you have a nice day

-🌸🦇

BRODI! You waited a whole month for this and I AM SO SORRY. I love and appreciate you and your request so much thank you very much for being patient, i really really loved this idea but dang april has been a crazy month for me, i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this fic it’s a longer one!

i’m actually really happy with how this turned out

warnings: SMUT 18+, angst, fluff, mean alastor, you guys fight, gaslighting girl boss alastor, established relationship (you were together before he went missing), loyal reader described, codependency kinda, some horror aspects?, descriptions of alastors dead food, alastor admits his emotions and issues in an alastor way, brief descriptions of reader having self sabotaging habits- drinking smoking/potsmoking too, GN reader although clit is used, penetrative sex, slow sex, swearing, alastor doesn’t like pillow talk lol i think that’s it but let me know not proof read

5.1K words

Alastor was locked up in his radio tower, exhausted as he sifted through various forms of media coverage from his battle. Vox, the little electronic weasel, had his entire affair with Adam recorded and broadcasted around, which was frightful for Alastors image. Not only had he been gone for seven years, but he’s helping with a hotel that endorsed goodness. Needless to say Alastor wasn’t doing okay, his ears were constantly pulled back, smile strained, and he kept blowing the lights up and down. Hell, his static was so violent it even gave him headaches.

Even his shadows at this point began causing chaos, his own anxiousness and frustration bleeding off into them. Alastors isolation caused you to be extremely worried, you weren’t there while he fought Adam, you should’ve been, because since then he’s not been the same. You saw it on TV, the one Vox had broadcasted. Try as he may, Alastor didn’t keep it away long enough for you to not see, there was always someone else putting it back out there.

You didn’t bring it up to him- not that you could; he was too overly consumed in his tower. Incessantly shutting down broadcasts, throwing out power, attacking minor demons for spreading the information. It made you feel so very many unfortunate emotions, never in your many years of being dead have you ever seen him so erratic and emotionally disturbed.

Alastor would play pretend in public but you knew him, as did Husk, the two of you could tell he was tense, strained, constantly ready to snap, his poise was harder to keep. Lucifer presence in the hotel didn’t help at either, constantly trying to get into it with Alastor, which only furthered his isolation. You began to feel extremely lonely, it was rare in hell anyone was a good shoulder to cry on, or ear to hear, but you got used to going to Al after a long day, laying your head on his lap as he caressed your face and hummed you tunes, now you were alone most the time. None of his silly jokes filled the air, no you barging into your shared room and him attempting to hide his messy eating, no soft jazz playing next to you as you slept, no shadows trying to scare you, nothing.

It was incredibly lonely and the time without him showed how emotionally dependent you were on him. You wondered if he felt the same lonesomeness without you around, or if he didn’t even want you around? Maybe he was too wrapped up in his feelings to realize you weren’t around him? Did he have the same need for you as you did him? Did he miss little things about you as you did him.

Throwing your body off the couch and standing pin straight, you cut your thoughts off by marching towards Alastors tower on the far end of the hotel. You hadn’t been up there once since the battle, so this was bound to be interesting, and anxiety inducing. You could already feel the worry prickling your finger tips, making you even more uncomfortable. Knocking at Alastors door was, well, underwhelming, there was no sound, no movement, no indication he was even in there. Even shouting out at him normally would’ve gotten him to at least respond by now, it was rare he left people hanging like that, it wasn’t how he was brought up.

So you decide to cross the boundary you knew he loathed; intrusion. You entered with your breath held tightly making your throat clench, walking in you meekly hummed out his name. “Al? It’s been a long couple of days, I was wondering if you wanted some down time?” Your eyes bounced around the dark room, papers on the floor, radio frequency buzzing harshly in your ears, the low buzz of what sounded like hospital lights, it was all very creepy

Wringing your hands you came up toward his large table connected with cables and speakers, on the table was cups of coffee empty and half drank, corpses and bones of unfinished mutilated deer, and the smell of blood was something that suddenly hit you nearly knocking you back. As you covered your nose with your wrist, you back up and bumped into something, turning around with incredible speed. Alastor was there, taller than usual with his bones looking sharp and broken in his skin, his smile was stretched gruesomely making you nearly grimace, his eyes as well, wildly glaring down at you black and soulless. “Uh, I missed you.” You squeaked curling into yourself just at the sight of him.

Alastor hasn’t ever looked like this in front of you ever, it was such an abnormal and alarming look for you to set your eyes on. Alastor let out a jagged breath, his antlers growing in size with a nasty crunching sound to accompany it. “You disturbed my work, and snuck in, all because you missed me?” Alastor bent down to grab your attention, your eyes flickering to meet his own. You nodded at him, and he only hummed in return, standing tall and walking around his desk to sit at his chair. You turned on your heel to follow his movements, biting your lip with worry. Sure you were anxious before as you typically got with anybody, you weren’t confrontational and you weren’t one to cross the boundary, although you never expected him to look so angry with you.

“Perhaps, if that’s the case, you should find yourself another demon; I cannot be surrounded by the meek and emotionally stunted. My work, my image, will always come first my dear. Now, get out.” Alastor enunciated every word with his hands rested under his chin, and his head cocked to the side. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks watered like you were about to be sick, immediately your eyes widened, noises falling out of your mouth as you attempted to grasp at the words you were trying to say. “S-You’re breaking up with me?” Your voice was a wreck, struggling to expel the words past the sob that wanted to rip out of you, the disbelief evident in your tone. Alastor stood from his seat and leaned toward your face over the table, your lip quivered as he did so, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Heavens no! I’m simply saying if you can’t handle being a secondary priority perhaps you should take some time alone, remember what it is to be your own person! I will not bend my rules for some silly relationship.” His tone dripped with condescension and he finished his sentence with a boop on your nose. The only thing your mind could conjure was ‘how dare he?’ you never felt so insulted by him before. You always put him first, you waited seven years for his return defending his role in hell, and he sees you as secondary to himself. Does that mean he would save himself before you? Was this relationship only about his own desires, his own cravings and you weren’t important? You must be too sensitive about this?

“So you won’t spare me a moment because some stupid TV proved you aren’t invincible? Grow up Alastor please,” You could help the rage that slipped out in between your words, fists clenching, eyes narrowing. Alastor hissed statically at you. “Don’t for a second get it twisted up in your pretty little head that you are special, you are just like every other disposable sinner, i suggest you monitor your tone with me, dear.” Alastor crackled, his voice more electric than you’ve ever heard before. Your frown was deep, the tears silently falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know what to say, instead you just shrugged with your head low, and turned around silently leaving him behind.

The moment you existed his tower you ran, your brain screamed to get away before somebody could question what was wrong or what happened. You couldn’t stomach the idea of being seen like this, and you didn’t want Alastor to come out and catch you, so you took off. You exited out the back without a trace, wandering into the streets of the pentagram. Eventually you found yourself back at your old apartment, which you still paid for as you really don’t plan to continue living at the hotel. When you got there you were finally able to let everything settle in you, it felt like the sadness slipped into your bones and weighed you down further into your sofa.

You didn’t move for hours, and eventually you ended up falling asleep. You left without a word, without your phone and without any of your stuff. Of course Alastor was very aware he made the choice to say the things he did, but he didn’t mean them, and after a short bit of reflection he could understand it was just an emotional response to the fear of being vulnerable. As well as the anxious thought dancing in his mind about the what ifs, what if he were to die, what if his plan fails and the deal goes wayward and you’re left with the pieces of his mess? What if Vox targets you, what if others do, do the citizens of hell see him as some weak mush because he’s dating you?

It’s all what led him to exploding; insecurity. Even the thought of having such a low tier emotion made his blood boil, but as long as nobody knew about it, he would find a way to quell it. Alastor waited, not wanting to impose while you were still going through thee emotions. However things started getting worrisome by the next day, nearly thirty hours into being gone and the patrons had begun to question him. Obviously Alastor didn’t know, and instead opted to sway the topic away from you and instead to something else.

The week came and gone like a blur, Alastor hadn’t seen you since you came into his tower and the rest of the hotel had set out to look for you with no luck. Alastor kept to his tower, telling himself if you wanted to be away that was your choice; he wasn’t chasing you like some lost puppy. Though he did find himself briefly wondering if you were still alive, after all Vox was out there watching through cameras on every corner and Adam’s corpse went missing and wasn’t accounted for, there was many threats to your safety he hadn’t thought of before.

With a sigh of static frustration, Alastor flicked his hand giving the okay to his right hand shadow to go find you, he couldn’t stand his thoughts anymore. And so it did, within seconds the shadow zipped and zoomed knowing exactly where you were, not that you were trying to hide. It slinked up against the paint peeling wall of your apartment, watching you on the couch, news softly sounding out as you read a book. Your home was a wreck, looking as though you’ve had fits upon fits of rage and lacked to clean after. Dishes piled, laundry scattered all across the linoleum floors. Alcohol, pot and cigarettes were a hefty scent in the room, it didn’t accompany the damp mold smell well at all. Oh what a thing you’d become without Alastor! The shadow watched like a fly on the wall for varying moments, studying you and your state before vaporising into the floor and taking off back to its master.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting Alastor to come knocking at your apartment door, so when you swung it open expecting your usual delivery guy, you were shocked and you didn’t bother fixing your depressed appearance. “Goodness gracious my little dame it looks like you’ve been dragged through mud!” Alastor laughed boisterously using his microphone to push you aside and barge in. You stood aside speechless, watching as he stepped inside with his hands rested just above his tail, surveying the room around him. His neck cracked disgustingly, his body forward while his head faced you, his grin tamed. “What happened here?” The words were simple but his tone was confusing, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, suspicious, or worried. You sneered at him, lip twitching upward as you slammed the door and wordlessly returned to your spot on the couch.

“I didn’t expect you to search, work come first yknow.” Oh yes, you planned to milk the words he said against you to berate him and his attempts to make up, you were in hell for a reason after all. Alastor huffed- like a buck would, something uncharacteristic for him to do outside of being alone with you, which sickeningly made your heart flutter, he still trusted you in a way, did that mean you were still his? You always told him he was more deer then he’d like to admit and those huffs were one of those deer attributes. “Hm yes, but you’ve been quite the work, I hope you know.” You clenched your teeth, trying not to snap instantly, but you did send him a glare.

You muttered about how that didn’t make things any better when he snapped his fingers, all things garbage vanishing in a pinch, mold included. “Ah, much better! My mother always said the state of the house is the state of the mind!” A round of applause sounds from his microphone as he laughed, rounding the couch with a slow stride. “Tell me, would you like to talk?” It felt more condescending then genuine, the way he was bent forward with lidded eyes and an eased smile, like you were some child having a tantrum. “No, Al, you made what you said pretty fuckin clear, i don’t wanna be with you if I am some chore or job, or secondary whatever!- i wanna be your partner and you want me to be a pet? Yeah, no thanks.” You punctuated your sentence with a dramatic scoff, flopping back into the cushions with your arms folded protectively across your chest.

“Ahhh my little doudou,” Alastor chided, sitting himself flush to you, arm around the back of the couch to trap you near him. “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely because i will never admit this again!” Alastor exclaimed this with what sounded to be false confidence and a slight hint of exasperation. He pinched your chin in between his claws forcing you to look at him, and of course you did, what else were you to do? “I have become a fool, all across the pentagram, I’m held by ball and chain— the devil my dear! The devil is- some frazzled little nitwit with all the power and no ambition!” Alastors fist clenched at the mention of Lucifer, abandoning your chin to do so. “I was feared my dear, nobody dared to test my authority, and now i’m an assumed bellboy for the princess and her gaggle of misfits. You,” Alastor paused leaning in so close your noses touched.

“My dear, were the only one i actually wouldn’t mind being weakened for.” You couldn’t stop the comical ‘huh’ that gargled straight from your throat. “What does that even mean Alastor.” You whine throwing your head back bumping his arm as you did so, an unknowing invitation to slide it down, hand caressing your shoulder softly. “It means dear, I didn’t mean what i said, because i’ve already done those exact things in the past! I’ve missed countless radio shows from you, refrained from eating deer around you- for your sake. I’ve held you to me on every block knowing Vox could see us perfectly! You were my chosen weakness, darling, but with all these other useless sinners belittling my role in hell, i took it out on you,”

Pausing Alastors static faded in and out, you watched his eyes closely, but the real give away was the way his ear subtly tilted to the side looking like a sad puppy. “I felt what i said, I felt weak and I knew you needed me and didn’t want to feel this weakness anymore, so logically-” You scoffed with a small smirk, mockingly muttering ‘logically’ back at him. “-I had to try to appear as though I am what I originally intended to be.” He finished giving you a pointed look. Shifting your body to face him more, you analysed his body language and face. Typically- no matter how long you’ve been together- he was amazing at hiding his emotions, always seeming to be happy. It seemed like he let his guard down however, his eyebrows were furrowed and pointed upward, his smile tight, shoulders rigid and his breathing shallow. Anticipation was evident by the way his hoof tapped against the floor with beat.

You finally let you emotion reignite, the tears slipped down your face like rivers as you gently shook your head. “What did you intend to be?” You asked softly, an unattractive spit bubble forming as you opened your mouth. “A ruler of sorts, i suppose. Emotionless, cruel, untouchable. I tried to reaffirm to myself by being cruel to you my dear, that i was still a demon, not the altruist teddy bear they all dubbed me as.” Alastors form had finally slumped, sinking into the cushions alongside you, his head falling back gazing up at the ceiling. You caved just slightly at his admission, and rested your head on his chest near his armpit, your body sinking into his. Suddenly he perked up, looking down at you, you reflexively shooting your gaze up to him.

“Yknow they made a mockery of my speech as well my dear! Preposterous, darling, many sinners posted about me being ‘cringe’, my speech was ‘corny’, my dearest can you believe that?” You almost took offence to the fact he sounded more distraught over being made fun of rather than hurting you, but you reminded yourself that Alastor was trying to open up, and you weren’t gonna ruin that. “Is that why you were killing randos instead of overlords?” You asked feeling more relaxed than you had before, obviously there was many words in between you two unsaid, but you wanted to bask in the small talk you craved for so long from him just a little longer.

“Precisely. I’m proud you noticed.” You hummed with a small smile, your head resting back on his chest. “Why did it take so long for you to come?” Despite not even thinking he would, you now had the knowledge he didn’t actually hate you, and if he didn’t why’d he drag it out? “Pride,” What would’ve been a hoarse voice to any other demon, was a staticy robotic sound that crackled out of his chest. “This is way out of my comfort my dear, i didn’t and still don’t know what to say or do, and i don’t like being out of control.” You whimpered at that, curling up into him, your legs slinging over his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. Immediately his arms engulfed you, pulling you into him with a happy hum, his neck craning to kiss your head softly.

“i missed you, you really hurt me, bad. Don’t do it again.” You state firmly though it was muffled by the fabric of his coat, the one you had your face nuzzled into. Alastor hummed out softly petting you on your head, just like he would before. “Never again doudou~, you have my word, and i promise to make it up to you.” Tiling your head upward you yanked at his colar, and he immediately ducked down meeting your lips at will. The kiss was soft and Alastor could feel the dampness from your tears on your chin against him. After a moment you both pulled away, although not far from eachother your lips were practically still touching.

“Why don’t I give you some attention my sweet doe.” Alastor cooed against your lips, you could hear the mischief in his tone as his hand pawed your hips. You blinked slowly at him, an instant twist of desire appearing low in your gut. “How?” Alastors grin widened for the first time since appearing at your door, and you feared you’d truly be in for it tonight. “Oh my, have i neglected your needs so long you need to inquire how?” Alastor question was rhetorical only furthered by the way he kissed his teeth with his index finger coming up to shake side to side. “That simply will not do!” Standing suddenly, with you in his arms, made you gasp and clutch onto him instinctively. You smacked his chest playfully, muttering to him about being too heavy, he however ignored you, walking toward your old room with his head held high.

The room in question was a mess, and a thick layer of dust coated every object that wasn’t being continually used, like the nightstand, and the lamp. Alastor didn’t care much though, he never did care whether you were messy or super clean he’d always snap his fingers to assist you, and that’s exactly what he did. Slowly around the room things cleared up, his shadows slunk into the room with strange looking candles setting a romantic tone for the room. The bed was remade neatly when he set you on it gently, watching your doe eyes stare up at him with a familiar intensity that always made him fidgety. You let him flop you down without complaint, after all it wasn’t always that Alastor seemed so interested in getting down and dirty.

Standing above you, Alastor grinned down at you with lidded eyes, letting his long fingers dance down his chest to undo his buttons. He wasn’t really a fan of trying to appear sexually appealing to those around him, he’d never admit how out of the ordinary, and awkward it felt, but he knew you. You were his. You were loyal. You waited seven years just for him, never spilling a single secret. Secretly, he was way more comfortable with trying to appear “sexy” for you, because he knew no matter what, you wouldn’t look at him any differently. Alastor shrugged off his jacket, his button down shirt open exposing his chest to you. “Y'know dear,” A bit of southern drawl slipped out, as the mask he wore slipped away with his jacket. “You give me a very special outlet i do not think i’d have with any other sinner, you’re too kind to me.” Pulling off his shirt, he folded it and set it aside, kicking off his slacks right after, leaving himself in his boxers and long socks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes, you wanted nothing more then being pressed against the warmth of him, absorbing his touch. You however stayed still, letting Alastor relax into the mood as he rid himself of clothes. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, right beside your hips, his hand traced lightly up and down your torso, occasionally dipping down to your thighs. You felt tense at the touch, both anticipation and insecurity making you feel stiff. Suddenly his claw hooked around the band of both your undergarments and pants, his eyes flickering up to inspect you when he did so. “May I?” His voice was soft, the usual uncertainty present as he felt out of his realm. “Yes, please.” You sigh, your tone nearly whiny. “I missed you so much Alastor,” You admit hushed as his claws brushed down your thighs with your clothes. Once off, Alastor leaned down, giving soft pecks to your thighs, eyes staring up to you through his red lashes. “Yes dear, my life been painstaking without you.” He whispered against your flesh, sharp teeth dragging up past your hips, nose bumping the cloth of your shirt. Sitting up slightly, you were preparing to slid your shirt over your head when Alastors body slid between your legs, claws coming up to pinch and lift the fabric exposing your chest.

With him now face to face with you, leaned over your body, you caved. Your hands slid around his neck guiding him toward you slowly, your lips met instantly like two magnets being held just inches apart. It was a sweet kiss for the most part, your lips meshed against his as you let him control the pace, it was nice with Alastor you always had enough time for the heat to simmer and grow, making foreplay unnecessary most times because he naturally took his time. You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching up his scalp causing ripples of goosebumps down his arms. Alastor slipped his tongue delicately licked at your lip, brushing as soft as ever. You were a bit shocked at this, typically he wasn’t into french kissing, lamenting that the whole tongue thing was messy and disgusting feeling. However you didn’t fight him, only allowed him access, which he immediately took with ease slipping his tongue against your own.

His body collided into yours, nose bumping your cheek as he angled his head. Your hands slipped down his back, smiling against his lips at the feeling of his tail wagging back and forth making small gusts of wind against your fingertips. Alastor nipped at your lips in retaliation, hands roaming your body as he pushed his hips up to softly grind his hard on into you. You hummed at the feeling of him against you, angling your hips back and up pressing your wetness against his briefs. Your body was buzzing while Alastor slowly grinded himself down on you, his clothed head travelling between your folds and back up to poke at your clit. The kiss had broken as he continued on, your breathing shaky as you enjoyed the slow motion of him above you, his teeth scraping down the length of your neck.

Alastor couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of him. Not only could he smell your arousal but he could smell just you. He pressed his face to the nape of your neck, kissing and inhaling, loving the smell you had naturally on your skin. He also got quite the kick out of hearing the blood rush through your veins, it made him feel feral knowing you would bare yourself to him so willingly, he had you around his finger. Alastor let his lips glide down your body, leaving bite marks down your chest and neck as he did so, hips still moving slowly against you. You had soaked his briefs making the fabric feel absent, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock slide through your folds. “Please Al, I need you.” You whined pathetically, pressing your hips up into his. Alastors choppy breath warmed your collar bone, his forehead rested on your shoulder, eyes closed as he slipped his hand down, yanking himself out of his boxers.

Sometimes he felt like an untrained dog, he couldn’t help but want to hump into you without restraint, but that wasn’t him, that was desire, and he knew how to hold back. As he sunk into you, slowly, he breathed out the quietest of noises against you shoulder, basking in you. You could hear his quiet noises clearly since he was so close, you bite your lip at the sound of him, loving how he always let you see him so wrecked. When Alastors hips were flush with your own, your legs came up around his hips, his tail stiff, while your arms wrapped around his neck, your right hand dragging up his scalp to his ears. “I like hearing you, Alastor,” You gasped as he jolted into you, like an involuntary reaction to your praise. “It makes me feel you.” You finished breathlessly. Alastor hummed against you, setting his pace slow and deep, barely pulling away before he pushed hard back inside you.

Your eyes were wide as he continued this rhythm, to you it was incredibly overwhelming, he never left you vacant always hungry to fill you right back up with him. His pants against you were also adding to your arousal, his eyelashes fluttered against your skin ever now and again as he attempted to contain himself. You knew he was sort of embarrassed with himself feeling pleasure, so you never egged him on when he did start making noise, but lord you wanted more. You tugged Alastors hair softly, pulling him up for a sloppy opened mouth kiss. He barely opened his eyes as he mushed his lips against yours, snaking his tongue against your own, bucking up faster into you at the warmth of your mouth. “I missed you, i love you,” You cried against his lips pathetically, your body’s both rocking on the bed as Alastor hurried his pace.

Alastor let out a low guttural noise, something from the back of his throat making your toes curl, pulling at his hips with your legs. “I couldn’t- stand you being away, dear.” Alastors face was inches from your own, forehead rested on yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. “Never again will i be such a fool, you’re mine forever.” Alastor growled through his clenched teeth, claws ripping into the mattress as he spoke. Your mouth hung open, eyebrows raised as you tried to from some sort of praise, but now his eyes were open looking down at you with such intensity and emotion, and his pace fast hard putting your body straight into the mattress. You didn’t even feel your orgasm coming on when it did, your body arching up into his, crying out his name alongside pleas.

The display of you in front of him was so pornographic, something he wasn’t fond of seeing but now understood why people were. You were gorgeous right now, your face red, your eyes watering, your body folded up towards his, all the scars, folds marks on your body, all for his eyes only. Groaning loudly, he fell back into his favourite place, your neck, and let out a deep breathless static moan as he came. You clutched him the entire time through watery blurred eyes, enjoying the feeling of him inside you post orgasm. Pulling away, Alastor was quick to pull out and away, snapping his fingers he began to clean you with a cloth. “Disgusting of me,” He muttered, seemingly angrily. “No, it was good Al, you’re allowed to. You’re not disgusting and neither was the sex, believe me.” You coo, sitting up from your position, a dopey look on your face. In a snap, Alastor was redressed as were you, in leisure clothing. “We’re going back to the hotel to sleep my little doe.” Alastor spoke softly, lending his hand to you, humming you took his hand letting him take you through his magic, back to the hotel. You knew Alastor didn’t like to lay sticky in the remnants of sex like many others, and probably would push you to shower before getting in his bed. But that way okay, you loved him regardless, and you really missed having his attention.

[bamfkeeper]

Sinister Kurt having trouble with his instincts, you are the only one who calms him.

Firstly, Kurt with horns? YUM. But I like how they showed him having difficulty controlling himself after his mutation was further developed (I don't remember what the circumstances were). I thought it was a cool concept for his character so here we go. Inner conflict is always fun.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and blood, some angst, comfort ofc, gender neutral reader, unedited ignore mistakes.

WC: 2.7k

Kurt had no idea where they came from. He woke up with two horns on his head like some sort of Krampus. He felt something inside himself stir, and he tried to ignore it, it felt like a pit in his gut that slowly began to expand and grow when he wasn't focused on repressing it.

You reassured him he was still the handsome man you loved, his horns gave him a little extra insecurity. He hadn't felt so insecure about himself in a long time, as Krakoa had provided such acceptance his appearance hadn't been a thought in his mind as a bad thing. But these horns...they made him look more like a devil than anything else, and that worried him.

"Engel...I am becoming ein Teufel..." he mumbled sadly, touching them as he looked at himself in the mirror. "What is becoming of me..." he turned to look at you, his eyes holding confliction and sadness.

"Oh, my love," you cooed to him, standing and walking over, "They're just a pair of little horns...I'm sure that they'll go away...maybe." Your sentence quieted towards the end, it was such a random development, you had no idea where the horns stemmed from and what was going to happen to him. Was his mutation randomly evolving more? Was it something in Krakoa that was making his mutation mutate? You didn't know.

Kurt sighed inwardly, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if seeking solace from an unseen torment. You hadn't seen him in this state for years; he looked so lost, so utterly confused. It was as though he was grappling with a fear that had taken residence within him, a fear directed at his very own reflection. With his new appearance, you couldn't blame him for feeling this way.

His once familiar face now bore the horns of a demon and he couldn't recognize himself, even with something so minor. He thought he looked awful, and he was at a complete loss on how to process these overwhelming feelings, the weight of his transformation was a burden he didn't know how to carry.

Not that he told you yet, but it wasn't just a physical change he had gone through. There was something deeper and more unsettling happening within him. His urges were growing stronger and more insistent every day. He felt a strange compulsion that he couldn't easily explain. He didn't know how to bring it up with you because he didn't want to scare you or make you worry. The thought of sharing this part of himself was something he was trying to avoid, he feared your reaction more than anything.

He would see you talk to another man, and everything in his body screamed at him to attack. His muscles tensed, his fists clenched, and his heart pounded as primal instincts surged through him. The images and urges that flashed across Kurt's mind scared him deeply, filling him with a sense of dread and confusion. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the violent thoughts clouding his mind.

"Nein...I am...not a monster," he muttered to himself, arguing, begging with his own being, his voice trembling with the effort to control his darker impulses. He held onto you, whispering German prayers to himself. The internal struggle was intense, leaving him feeling isolated and tormented, as if he were battling a beast within.

And he was, in a way.

His grip on your hip would be tight, his nails had grown into claws that dug into you, not on purpose but in the moment he couldn't help himself. His yellow eyes glared at the man, his lip curled up slightly to bare his teeth. He snapped out of his descent only when he heard your voice in his ear. "Kurt?? That hurts, a bit..." You winced slightly, your hand gently trying to ease the grip he had on your waist.

He snapped out of it, blinking a few times and letting go. "Liebling....I...es tut mir Leid...." he apologized quietly, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down at his hand once he let go of you, his eyes filled with confusion and concern. "Something is happening to me...I....do not know how to explain it," he continued, his tone tinged with a mix of fear and bewilderment.

What was strange was that a part of him actually liked these new instincts that were surfacing within him. It was a feeling that baffled him, and he hated himself for even entertaining such thoughts. He had always prided himself on his compassion and his desire to never cause harm to anyone, ever.

But now, these intrusive thoughts were invading his mind with increasing frequency, making the idea of causing harm seem so...good, almost irresistible. It was a battle within himself, between the person he had always been and these dark new impulses that threatened to take over. It was like a siren song, beckoning him to come over the brink.

"What do you mean?" you asked him gently, your voice full of understanding and patience. Despite having no idea what was going on, you managed to sound so composed and caring. He was incredibly fortunate to have someone like you by his side. So deeply in love with him, you were always there to protect and support him. Your devotion was unwavering, and it made him feel cherished. So protective. So possessive.

Kurt stared you down intently, his piercing yellow eyes observing your every move. After a moment of intense scrutiny, he grabbed hold of you firmly and tugged you flush against him. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, and his breathing increased noticeably. You made a sudden gasp of surprise at the unexpected act, your heart pounding in your chest.

He lowered his head closer to you, his forehead gently touching yours, his horns rested delicately on your head. Behind him, his tail thrashed wildly, a clear indication of his heightened emotions. It was obvious that he was either irritated or stressed, as his tail only behaved this way in such situations. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension, making the moment even more intense. His silence didn't help.

"Kurt...?" you squeaked as his hands grasped your ass and squeezed firmly, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes widened in surprise and you felt his tail wrap tightly around you, holding you still in a firm, possessive grip.

"Kurt!" you exclaimed, looking around nervously. He had never been so bold before, and this unexpected display of affection caught you off guard. A few playful touches here and there in public were common, sure, but to grab you in such an intimate and brazen manner without a care in the world was completely unlike him.

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of his sudden audacity, wondering what had prompted this uncharacteristic behavior. "W-what has gotten into you?!" Your voice echoed in his mind, getting lost in the fog clouding his rational thinking. All he could think about right now was you. How good you'd feel, how good you'd taste.

One more shout at him and he seemed to snap out of the hold the dark fog inside of him had. With a blink he pulled back, his cheeks turning violet, "Ach! I-I didn't mean to do that!" Kurt spoke quickly, his voice trembling with urgency, "Es tut mir Leid! I-I'm sorry!" His eyes were wide with concern as he looked at you, clearly distressed.

His hands, which have been on your backside, were retracted up like he had touched an oven, fingers curling as if to protect himself from further harm. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could see the regret etched on his face, his body language screaming apology and fear.

"Kurt, sweetheart...please, talk to me. Tell me what's going on..." You pleaded with him, your hands cupping his cheeks. "I'm not mad because you grabbed my butt either. You've literally been inside me," your words made him stiffen and blush harder, a tiny whine escaping through his trembling lips. "I just want to know what's going on...you're acting so...different. Since those horns sprouted from your head..."

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh, and looked down to avoid your gaze. The weight of his thoughts made it impossible for him to bring himself to look you in the eye. He felt such shame and embarrassment, fearing you wouldn’t like what you heard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice trembling with vulnerability.

"I've been... having thoughts. Bad thoughts... these images flash across my mind. They are random sometimes, appearing out of nowhere, but sometimes they happen in the moment," he begins quietly, his words barely audible. "It's like a dark cloud that follows me, casting a shadow over everything. I don't know what to do about it, and I'm scared of what it means. I'm afraid it means I am becoming something horrible..."

You coo softly, your thumbs gently rubbing his cheekbones as you stay quiet, offering him the space and time he needs to get out the words he struggles to voice. "What are they? The thoughts?" you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to coax him into sharing more with you so you can have a better understanding.

"Hurting people," Kurt's voice strains, "I don't want to! I don't want to hurt anyone, I'm not a monster... I don't want to be one... but... it's so overwhelming sometimes. It's like every fiber in my body is demanding me to do it," he continues, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. You can see the torment etched across his face, the internal struggle tearing him apart.

"You aren't a monster, Kurt. This might just...be part of this new development," you said, your voice gentle and reassuring. You stroked up more, feeling the base of his horns, noting the texture and warmth. "You don't act on those thoughts, and that's a good sign. You're not a slave to those intrusive flashes; you recognize that they are wrong, and you don't act on them. That means you aren't the person you imagine you are. You have control, even if it doesn't always feel that way."

"But what if I do act on them," he asks weakly, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. "What if I can't control it?"

"Then I will help you," you replied firmly, your eyes locked onto his, full of determination and love. "I'm not worried, because I believe in you." You gave him a tender kiss, showing him all the love you could muster. "Trust me, if you can't trust yourself. We will face this together, and I will be by your side every step of the way. You are not alone in this."

He shed a few tears, and they stained his pretty cheeks in dark lines as they traveled slowly down his face. His pained gaze closed tightly as he bit his lip, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. "Ich verdiene dich nicht," he whispered weakly, his voice barely audible as it trembled with emotion. His shaky hands held you with such gentle awareness, as if he were afraid to harm you accidentally with his claws.

"You do." You gave him a few more soft kisses, your gentle reassurance helping keep his emotions at bay.

That was a week ago.

Now, you followed the sound of his teleportation and saw him fighting alongside other mutants. You joined in, not knowing what exactly was happening, but seeing enough to know that these soldiers were attacking your home. You were fighting well, your skills made you a confident fighter, but when Kurt spotted you and more soldiers around you, his composure vanished.

That horrible itch he had been so desperate to scratch was finally too overwhelming for him.

The sound of a mighty roar echoed through the air as he lunged at the soldiers with a terrifying intensity. His movements were swift and brutal, attacking them with such ferocity that it left you stunned, unable to process what was happening. Normally, Kurt was known for his preference to incapacitate his opponents, opting to knock them down and out rather than kill them unless absolutely necessary. However, in this moment, he had abandoned his usual morals and principles, casting them aside like a forgotten cloak.

Right now, he was a force of nature, mercilessly ripping into the soldiers with an uncharacteristic savagery that showcased a side of him you had never seen before. You watched with disbelief as Kurt completely ravaged through the soldiers, staying in front of you and snarling with blood caked between his teeth, drooling down his goatee and staining his fuzzy skin. You tried to call out to him, to be the desperate voice of reason in his carnage.

It seemed that your voice fell on deaf ears, and he continued his relentless attack.

He had ruthlessly slaughtered over twelve men within a mere minute, and he didn't seem to have any qualms or remorse about it. The air was thick with tension as he turned to look at you, his chest heaving with heavy breaths like a wild animal after a fierce battle. Slowly, he crawled over to you, inching closer with a predatory grace.

You were frozen in place, paralyzed by the sheer brutality and unfamiliarity of this new Kurt. His eyes, which were usually so expressive and full of life, now seemed glazed over with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. It was as if a stranger had taken over the body of the man you once knew, leaving you feeling more vulnerable and confused.

He dripped onto you, causing you to whine and hastily wipe the blood off your top. His head lowered against you, his breath warm and uneven. "Kurt...?" you asked weakly, your voice trembling as it escaped your lips.

The sound of your voice made him stiffen slightly, and he leaned back, his intense gaze boring holes into you, scrutinizing every inch of your face. The air around you felt thick with tension, and you could feel the heavy weight of his stare.

His breathing calmed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowing to a more steady rhythm, and he stayed where he was, staring at you with an unwavering focus. You swore he seemed more mutated in that moment, his claws were longer, sharper, and his horns almost appeared just as so, curving menacingly.

The changes in his appearance made your heart race even faster, a mixture of fear and concern gnawing at your insides as you wondered what exactly had happened to him. What caused this?

You slowly reached out to him, your hand trembling as it brushed against his cheek, ignoring the blood that spattered across his skin from his recent animalistic attack. The warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the coldness of the blood. He relayed a quiet growl to you, his eyes blinking slowly, the ferocity gradually fading as he began to regain his senses.

As he came to, he saw the destruction he had caused, the chaos and ruin that lay around him. It was so painfully heart-wrenching to watch him realize the extent of what he had done, the devastation in his eyes made you want to wrap him up and take him away.

"W-what...what did I do..." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, as he glanced back over his shoulder. He could only bear to look at the bodies for a mere second before quickly averting his gaze in horror and disbelief. "Nein...nein, nein....I didn't...did I??" His bloody hands trembled violently, the crimson stains glaring back at him accusingly, and he made a quiet, heart-wrenching wail, shrinking into himself where he sat, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation.

You were right there to catch him, just as you had promised. Gently, you reached out, offering the comfort and support he desperately needed.

"Hey, hey...it..it's okay," you tried to find the words to comfort him, but you realized words weren't enough to ease the pain or fear he was experiencing. So, you chose to just be there for him, offering silent support and understanding. Just you, being a comforting presence in his time of need.

He grabbed you and clung on, crying as he didn't bother holding himself back. He was distraught, the very thing he feared the most had happened. "I'm here." you whispered quietly, your arms wrapped tightly around him as the rest of the world faded away and you became the only thing he could focus on.

"I'm here."

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Images: Legion of X #7 (2023); Legion of X #8 (2023); Legion of X #7 (2023)

[more-lavender-syrup]

The Prince's Heir

Description: Daemon returned home from battle with one very specific thing in mind. Despite your sleeping state, you're more than willing to give it to him. Word Count: 1,882 Warnings/Notes: PIV, breeding kink, reader is asleep in the beginning, Daemon is manipulative (isn't be always?), Daemon wants an heir Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

A set of black boots, bloodied from battle, thudded against the floor beside the bed. A man pulled his shirt over his head before discarding it onto the floor below. The bed dipped inward and the blankets lifted off of the mattress as the familiar shape climbed inside. Slowly, the man began to inch closer to your sleeping form, careful not to wake you.

You flinched, feeling yourself awaken as the man pressed his chest to your back.

“Daemon?” You asked through the darkness. Your mind was still asleep and it was far too dark to see anything in the room. 

You got your answer when a familiar set of lips pressed against your cheek. 

He smelled of ash and sweat; like battle and victory. You were sure in the morning you would see all of the new bruises that painted his pale skin.

But for now, all you could feel was gratefulness that he was safe.

You were sure that you had seen the battle in a dream; images of Daemon riding Caraxes and ordering the beast to burn everything to ash flashed through your mind, painting the pale prince in a crueler light. But, as you lay there, the dream became foggier.

His hands slid across your back, searching for the quickest access to your body.

“The tie is behind my neck.” You said. You were still half asleep as his hand drifted upward and began tugging at the thin pieces of ribbon.

“You can go back to sleep.” He whispered. Once the knot was undone, he wasted no time. He pushed a dirty hand under the white linen of your nightgown, caressing the soft skin of your back. His other hand carefully pulled the material off of your shoulders and began to usher it downward. The material drifted over your knees before he pulled it completely free of your form and discarded it onto the cold floor below. You were left completely bare, with only your husband to keep you warm.

He wanted to relish this moment; savor the fact that his bride had been waiting, warm and soft for him. He had fought valiantly, after all. He had defended the realm and fulfilled his princely duty.

You spread your naked thighs for him, your chest still pressed against your pillows. This wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for the two of you. In fact, it had become something of a tradition. 

His hands moved across the small of your back before he groped your ass.

“You’ll be so beautiful, darling.”

“Hmm?” You asked. 

With each movement, he peppered more kisses across your face. It was his way of showering you in perverted adoration. You were the goddess that he would die to defend; a little piece of heaven that was his to love, touch, and fuck. He didn’t need the Faith of the Seven, so long as he had you to bury himself in every single night.

“I missed you.” You whispered. 

“I missed you, too. I missed you every hour that I was gone.”

The bed trembled as Daemon carefully undid his pants and then pulled them over his pale thighs.

His lips grazed the shell of your ear. Somewhere down the hall, you heard a cask of wine collide with a wall. Several men cheered in response.

“They’re celebrating.” Daemon offered. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be gentle.”

“Do you wish to join them?” You mumbled. Your voice was muffled by the ocean of blankets that surrounded you.

“No.” He had come home with a mission. 

Daemon worked quickly, pushing a hand underneath your body so that it was between your warm form and the mattress. He gently reached his hand under your hips. His fingers ghosted through your folds, carefully finding your clit in the darkness. The pads of his finger swirled small circles over the bud. Jolts of pleasure shot through you, making you gasp and grab at the sheet that surrounded you.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away. You whined at the loss of contact. But, getting you to finish wasn’t the point; at least, not right now. 

“It’s alright, darling. I’ll take care of you.” You knew he would. He leaned downward and pressed a quick kiss against your naked shoulder before he glanced downward to see a growing slickness between your legs. With that, he pulled his hand from under your hips. He folded his fingers into a fist, leaving only his index finger free. 

Carefully, he slid one finger between your folds. He poked at your entrance, making sure not to move too fast. You sighed, feeling his finger slide inside of you.

“Daemon.” You gasped, overwhelmed by the feel of stretching around him. A free hand drifted upward, moving so that his large palm covered the back of your hand. 

“What would you do to please me?” He whispered, his eyes still fixed on where your body was swallowing him.

“Anything. Anything in the world.” He grinned at your words; he knew you would do whatever he wished.

“Give me an heir.” He whispered. The request caught you off guard. You didn’t know why; it made perfect sense for a prince to want a child. However, it had never been something that he had directly asked you for.

“What?”

He pulled his finger free, watching as it glistened in the dim light.

He then leaned down, moving his face so that he was closer to your open thighs. You felt him drop a long line of spit against your core, guaranteeing that you would be able to take him.

The warm drool pooled between your folds.

“Give me an heir.”

“What?” You asked.

You felt his heavy cock against your thigh. He had come home from battle desperate; needy.

“Don’t you want a gaggle of silver haired babes running around?”

“Uh yes, but-”

“Wouldn’t you like to feel a part of me growing inside of you?”

“I- uh” your head was fuzzy from sleep and he was saying so much, so fast. He had clearly practiced the routine on the way home.

“Don’t you want the gift of carrying a prince’s child? A Targaryen child?”

Daemon’s child.

It would be a gift, from him to you.

You nodded against the pillow. 

Suddenly, you felt the head of his cock prod at your entrance. Then, in one smooth movement, he pushed inside of you, stretching you so wide that you gasped.

“Daemon!” 

You twitched around him, trying to adjust to his size.

“What do you want, darling? Is there something you want to ask me for?” He leaned down and peppered a series of kisses along your bare shoulder. Each motion was gentle; loving. It was a beautiful contradiction to the saccharine manipulation that was going on.

You had finally stretched to accommodate him. Now, all you wanted was for him to move. But, instead, he was staying completely still. 

Why isn’t he moving? 

You rolled your hips upward, moving until his length almost slipped out of you. Then, you pushed yourself back, fucking yourself with Daemon’s cock. 

“I want to give you an heir.”

He lifted his face from your bare skin, only to move his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I don’t believe I heard you, darling.”

“Please let me give you a child.” You begged.

He grinned, pleased with himself. He had gotten his way, as always. 

Now, he could give you what you wanted. 

He slid his hips backward and then slammed back inside of you, claiming you as his own. 

Daemon had the special ability to turn any idea of his around; now, it seemed like it was your idea, more than anything else. And he was merely the dutiful prince, always willing to please his ladylove. 

You didn’t understand why he had never been selected to be the Hand of the King; he could convince you to do anything in the world. Then again you had always felt that the Daemon you saw, the man who would call you pet names and coo to you on nights when you couldn’t sleep, was not the same man who could beat rival soldiers to death with helmets. The man you got was a harmless, silver-haired angel.

You bounced your hips backward, taking him inside of you over and over. 

Daemon pressed his forehead against yours; you could hear the hitches in his breathing with every thrust.

Daemon groaned; he was close. 

His rough hands traced your naked form, taking in every dip and curve as you grinded against him. He wanted to feel you; all of you. Despite the fact that he was buried inside of you, with the weight of his body pressing against yours, you both still wanted to be closer. 

“Harder.” You begged. Your husband happily obliged, hitting so deep inside of you that you saw stars. 

It took only a minute of the breakneck pace for your head to fall against the pillow as a wave of heat shot through you. You gasped, feeling pleasure begin to shoot through you as your body clenched and spasmed around him. 

He groaned, feeling himself fall over the edge after you. You felt a sudden flood of warm wetness fill you as he fucked himself as deep into your core as possible. 

All you could do was writhe between the bed and his warm body.

The pleasure slowly died down, leaving your bodies tangled in a sweaty mess.

He held your hips against his, making sure that every drop had been drained into you. He didn’t want to risk any part going to waste. 

Daemon whispered something against your skin, but you didn’t hear what it was. You were also too tired to ask. 

You inched your thighs open, expecting him to slide out. However, he remained firmly in place, his lips still dancing over your exposed skin. 

“I’m going to give it a little while. Just to make sure it takes.”

The exhaustion that you had felt earlier was eating away at your thoughts. You wanted to say something to him, but anytime you tried to open your mouth, whatever you were about to say slipped away before it could come out. 

Daemon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. 

“You can go back to sleep, darling. I’ll be here to take care of you.” He cooed. 

Strong hands reached out and grasped the edge of the blanket. Daemon carefully pulled the blanket around you, tucking you in so that you could be warm. 

“I love you.” He whispered. It was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

He remained inside of you, thrusting every so often when he would begin to go soft. 

You had many dreams that night. Each one was filled with Daemon’s adoring voice. There was no battle; no bloodshed. 

At the end of one of the dreams, you could not find Daemon. You had found him in your bedroom. He was speaking softly to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He had been so lost in his own world that he didn’t even notice you come in. After a moment, though, he turned, showing you the silver haired babe that he was holding. 

[kiryoutann]

another sneak peek because i have yet to find it in me to post the full thing. warning(s): MDNI, sexual contents, graphic description of blood, wounds, burn scars, and violence. past-torture, possible dacryphilia.

“Those scars…” Your voice wavered, and you had to pause to steady it. “Were they from your time in the military?”

Watching those pretty lips tremble, tears marring your beautiful face, he felt a sickening clench in his chest. Part of him hated seeing you so sad, while another swelled with something akin to misplaced pride – that this angel was weeping over scars so old they had long since stopped hurting him.

Scars from battles the old Simon had fought years ago. Scars he had seen as part of his creation, marks he bore without feeling.

“Some from service, yeah. Others… more personal-like.” He said it nonchalantly. In his perspective, as proof that it didn’t hurt anymore, didn't need to numb it with ice like he did in the past—so, sweet thing, stop crying over him.

As if that were possible. He could tell you that it happened years ago, but it doesn't matter; it wouldn't lessen the pain even if your human life spanned a hundred centuries. Your tongue seared, heart sliced—someone touched the one you love with the most brutal violence they could choose in this world.

The image must have been absurd—the two of you completely naked in front of each other, yet instead of continuing, you weep over him. But now that you’ve seen it—those scars etched so cruelly and eternally upon his flesh—how do you look away?

"Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” Your voice trembled, tracing that scar near his ribs that had caught your attention since you first saw it. It stood out, raised and knotted in a way that spoke of a cruel blade—making you wince at the thought of the pain. “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

Without any real weight, he said, “Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,” in a light intonation as if it were some kind of joke.

But it wasn’t. My God, you wished it was, but it wasn’t, judging by the scars.

Despite his effort, it couldn’t mask the horror he’d experienced. Your breath hitches in a sob, your hand trying to cover your mouth. Your airway constricts as you imagine how it must have felt for him then. Hanged by the ribs, feeling your skin tear from holding your weight, flesh on display like they do in a slaughterhouse.

And he still manages to shush you, drawing your head to his chest in a tight hug like you’re the one who’s been through it all.

“Twern’t nothin’ – doesn’t even ‘urt no more.”

Pressed against his skin, you seek the usual solace that his heartbeat brings. But your heart remains unsettled, a lingering question nagging at your mind and tongue, refusing to let you find peace until it's voiced.

Raising your head slightly, chin resting upon his chest, you meet his gaze with red-rimmed eyes. "And... and the burn scars?”

“House fire during a mission.”

You know that’s not the full truth, but you don’t dare to press it, choosing to spare your heart from more details of his agonies.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” You said.

Simon gave a small hum in response. Reaching up, he wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Then stop cryin', love. 'Urts more to see yer pretty face all red and puffy.”

The hands around your jaw bring you closer. This time, he's the first to initiate this new kiss, closing his lips around yours with almost hesitant caution. And you want to cry—you want to cry from how gentle his touch is, and yet someone has handled him in the cruelest way possible.

[sneak peek of chapter 10 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING."]

[areyouwell]

Athazagoraphobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of forgetting. Children or adults with this condition tend to experience nausea, raised heart rate or panic attacks when attempting to remember someone they don't.

Ch.5

Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content, talks of suicide, suicide attempt, descriptions of extreme bodily harm, needles, this chapter gets dark, reader discretion is advised

Word Count: 13.7k

A/N: i have been looking forward to this chapter for so long oh my GOD i am vibrating. this is the shit i love, although the absolute BATTLE i just fought to get this post off the ground was long and arduous so rip my formatting tumblr didn't like it :( god gives his hardest battles to his silliest soldiers. also kurt and hank are here because i felt bad leaving them out timeline WHAT TIMELINE?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

To say Logan hadn’t gotten much sleep was an understatement. Sure, he’d dozed off here and there, but he would jolt awake every time you held so much as a sleepy breath. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Seven of them. The way their heads cocked at an unnatural angle. The way they silently stared, faceless, voiceless, seemingly just watching. Waiting. The way they sank back into the shadows the moment you stirred. They must have been from you, some subconscious product of your mutation. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t creep him out a little. 

Though, he didn’t know what else he expected. You could manipulate and walk through shadows. You were bound to have some creepy quirks, as well as constantly looking tired, apparently. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust mites floating in the golden beams filtering through the leaves of the various plants near your window. You’d told him a while ago you’d named them all, something about giving them a voice making them grow faster, or something else equally as ridiculous. He still didn’t quite know which one was Molly and which one was Dalia, but he could tell his Herberts from his Judases, which was a start, he supposed. 

Fucking hell he was down so bad.

You still slept soundly against his chest, occasionally a soft snore would melt his heart, or a discontented pinch of your brow only to smooth out when you nestled closer. Part of him wished neither of you ever had to move. Actually, scrap that, he wished you didn’t have to move with his whole being. He silently thanked whoever came up with the idea of Saturdays and the knowledge that the two of you could spend a lazy morning in bed without the approaching threat of teaching a class. 

Maybe he would take you out today, steal Scott’s bike and escape for one peaceful moment. There were a few lakes nearby he wouldn’t mind visiting with you, end the day at a bar or something. The image of you perched behind him on the bike, your arms wrapped around his middle, cheek resting against his back made up his mind. He was definitely going to take you out today. Get away from everything for a while. Away from teaching, training, the possibility that if you didn’t get your mutation under control you could be lost to the shadows for good…

That kind of thing. 

He gazed down at you, your mussed hair and twitching features. He loved you. Logan knew that. Two months and he was already certain. It was just saying it, he struggled with. Admitting it out loud. That’s where the problems started. It was like he was cursed, the moment he uttered those three words, some kind of catastrophe would strike and he’d lose everything for good. 

He hoped you knew. Fuck, he hoped you knew. Hoped you knew that with every waking moment, he burned to be near you, seared with the need to touch you. Even innocently. A hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, anything. Sure, he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his face between your thighs or his cock submerged in your cunt, but that didn’t seem realistic. And, if nothing else, Logan was a man of realism. 

A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips, eyes fluttering slightly as you started to wake. He brushed the stray hairs from your face, your features scrunching, blinking awake. 

“Good mornin’,” he smiled, and you groaned in response, closing your eyes again and hiding your face in his chest.

“No.” your response was muffled but audible, and he cocked a brow.

“Bad mornin’?”

You shook your head slightly. “No morning. Wake me when it’s midday.”

If there was one thing Logan had learnt about you, it was that you were not a morning person. ‘Too much light’ was your typical excuse, and he couldn’t say he blamed you. He used to drag himself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee before he became a teacher. He didn’t know why he was shocked to learn you were a night owl, it made a shit ton of sense considering your mutation. Though he chalked it down to the fact that your smile shone like the sun itself.

“Coffee?” He asked, and that silenced your protests. Your clock was still discarded on the floor, but flicking his wrist up in front of his face, he grinned seeing the time. 8 am. Oh, you were going to be furious. Especially since it was a Saturday. 

“What time is it?” you asked, raising your head from his chest and turning your head to your window as if the sun had personally offended you. You had half the mind to storm over to the curtains and snap them closed. If only you hadn’t been so comfortable, you’d really show the sun what for.

“A little after eight…” he said tentatively, and your head whipped back to look at him, face a picture of utter disbelief. 

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope, sorry sweetheart, the clock doesn’t lie.” he showed you his wrist with the time, and you groaned in frustration, your forehead hitting his chest in defeat.

“It’s a goddamn Saturday, not even Jubilee is up this early on a Saturday.” You lamented, pulling the covers up and over your head. Logan chuckled slightly, finding your detest for mornings amusing as you hid from the sun. “Fucking curtains not being closed for the fucking light to get in fucking god fucking damnit.”

“Yeah, you tell ‘em.” His hand rested on your covered head in faux protection, feeling you shift beneath the duvet, your angry huff fanning his chest. 

“I will.” He could almost hear your pout, shuffling forward to poke your head from the covers like the world’s most gorgeous groundhog, the duvet wrapped tightly around your head so he could see only your face. “Did you say coffee?” You asked, and even if you didn’t have the hope of a child being offered a lollypop dancing in your eyes, he still would have nodded. Though with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Couldn’t appear too keen to bend to your every request.

“What’ll you give me for it?” He smirked, knowing full well there were very few lengths you’d go through to acquire a fresh pot of caffeine in the morning. And your narrowed eyes confirmed that knowledge. 

“I’ll suck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

Logan choked on his own saliva. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. “Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered, failing miserably at hiding his smile. You flashed him a toothy grin, knowing you had him in a box. Honestly, you’d do it anyway just for fun and maybe to tease him a little. 

Logan threw back the covers on his side of the bed, waiting for you to move so he could sit up and start his coffee-making mission. Only, you didn’t move, just blinked at him expectantly. “You gotta move, hun.” 

“Why can’t you be telekinetic, so inconvenient.” You grumbled, reluctantly releasing him from your arms and rolling onto your other side, only to huff once again as sunlight invaded your eyes. “Fucking sun!”

Logan watched with no small degree of admiration as you angrily threw one of your pillows and the window, eyes tracking the trajectory as it hit the curtain with a slight thump before falling to the floor. “You showed him.” He quipped, receiving a small kick to his side. 

You looked over your shoulder as he stood, watching his naked body shamelessly. Shit, he was so fucking hot. Your mouth almost watered as he stretched his arms above his head, his back flexing, muscles tensing. You sat up a little against the headboard, sandwiching your thumb between your teeth as he flexed his back again, and this time you knew it was on purpose.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he didn’t even need to look to know your eyes were on him. He could feel them, for fuck’s sake. And your maniacal little laugh confirmed it all.

“You’re nice to look at, excuse me for finding you attractive.” There wasn’t even a hint of guilt in your voice. You really were a freak weren’t you? 

Logan slowly turned to face you, watching as your eyes dragged up and down his body, your mischievous smile only widening. He cast his gaze skyward, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Ya done?”

You clicked your tongue. “Not even close. But, I really want a coffee, so I guess I am for now.” You shrugged as if you hadn’t just been fucking the shit out of him with your eyes. Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head in fond disbelief. As if you couldn’t be any more endearing. Yes, you were a grumpy little shit in the mornings, but you were his grumpy little shit. And he had a sneaking suspicion you might feel exactly the same about him. 

You rolled your eyes as he shrugged on his singlet, pulling up his briefs and jeans before looking around the room, unable to locate his belt. He spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the floor. He swore it had fallen with his jeans. “Have you seen my–”

Hearing the telltale clink of metal, Logan looked back at you holding up the leather by his buckle. That was not where he thought he’d left it. He raised a brow of questioning, and you shrugged again. “I had it on hand. In case…” you trailed off and his eyes widened in scandal, brow furrowed.

“In case of what?!” 

“Just, in case.” You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide your filthy grin and failed spectacularly. Logan barked a laugh of disbelief, skirting around the bed and snatching the belt from your hands, tossing it on the covers as he trapped you in his arms.

“You,” he started, before pressing his lips to yours. “Are such,” he kissed you again. “A freak.” He finished, moulding his mouth against your own in a lingering, lingering dance. You giggled into his lips, your hands finding the soft strands of his hair. “Only two months in and you already want me to tie you up?” He drew back with a smirk, just far enough to see the perversity in your eyes.

“Who said anything about tying me up…?”

He blinked. How many fucking surprises were you going to spring on him this morning? “Hate to break it to ya darlin’, but if that’s your intention then a thin strip of leather ain’t gonna cut it.” 

Your irises sparkled with the realisation that he wasn’t saying no. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to get something stronger.” You murmured, closing the gap between the two of you once again before breaking it almost immediately. “Maybe some of those metal zip ties… or just a really thick wire. I dunno, how strong are you?”

“Real fuckin’ strong.”

Your brows furrowed in thought, and he ruffled the top of your head. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You gaped in mock offence. “So rude. Go get coffee, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that earlier, were ya?”

“Yeah, but now your shirt’s on.” 

“Face not good enough for ya?”

“Not when it’s insulting me, no.”

“And when it’s doing this?” Logan leaned into your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the side of your throat, teeth gently nipping at your soft, bruised skin from last night. You gasped a strangled moan, still sensitive from where he’d left his marks on you. 

“That’s more forgivable.” You breathed as he drew back, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “Go, before I drag you back into bed and have my freaky little way with you, belt and all.” You wiggled your brows and he chuckled darkly, as if anything you said could be seen as a threat. But he acquiesced nonetheless, feeding his belt through the loopholes of his jeans, securing the clasp. 

“I’ll be back in a few.” He placed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed a soft, contented smile before he turned away and headed out down the hallway. You were right, it was far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday. As far as he could hear, nobody was up yet, which just meant he got a good few more hours to spend with you before the rest of the mansion started to think you were either dead or missing. You weren’t a morning person, but that didn’t mean you weren’t up most mornings, just with a face like thunder. 

He loosened a contented sigh, cracking open the door to the kitchen before crossing to the kettle and flicking the switch, listening to the low hiss of the water heating up before he pulled open the overhead cupboards to retrieve two mugs, a glass one for him and your favourite one for you. Logan realised with no small degree of shame that he didn’t actually know your birthday, and come to think of it, nobody else had mentioned it either. He hoped it hadn’t already been and gone, seeing your small collection of mugs had given him the perfect idea. 

He rifled around for a bit, before locating the larger, cáfetier. It was easily big enough for two cups and then some. Popping open the steel lid to the coffee grounds, he spooned four heaps into the glass, guestimating the correct amount. Two heaps each seemed about right…

It had been too long since his biggest worry was something as domestic as how many heaps of coffee should he put in a cáfetier for two. It gave him a sense of peace, despite the events of three days ago. And with nobody else up and about yet, it really did feel like the two of you were alone in the world. 

And honestly, he’d be fine with that.

At least, it did feel like, before the fantasy was shattered by approaching footsteps. Logan groaned internally, knowing that gait and heft anywhere. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Scott. Why, of all people, did it have to be fucking Scott.

“Logan… I didn’t know you’d be in here so early.” His tone was curt, stunted almost as if he was allergic to being nice. Logan simply grunted, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cáfetier and placing the lid on. 

“I was just leavin’.” He responded gruffly, hooking his fingers around the two mug handles and carefully lifting the coffee pot, making for a quick escape before Scott cleared his throat. 

“I uh… Look man, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Logan paused, giving Scott a sidelong glance, a silent suggestion for him to continue. “About what happened the other day. The Professor was right, it wasn’t the time for us to fight.”

Logan grit his teeth. “That’s what you’re apologising for? Not for suggesting we should just get rid of her?” he snarled, his fingers tightening on the mug handles. Scott sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

“It’s not– It’s not that simple, Logan. She’s done this before, and last time it resulted in the death of one of our teammates. Jade was so kind. And she–”

“Loved her, yeah I know.” Logan finished, and Scott started in surprise.

“She told you that?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“I’m startin’ to think you’ve never actually had a conversation with her.” He bit, keeping his self-control intact. Though he didn’t know how annoyed you’d be if he told you he’d smashed your favourite mug over Scott’s head. 

“She was my teammate before you were, Logan. I– It’s not easy to be the one to make these decisions, or even suggest them. But sometimes we need to do things to protect other people. You know that.”

Logan nodded in confirmation. He did know that. He knew that better than anyone. “And you should know that there is nothing I won’t do to protect her. So you come at her again, spoutin’ bullshit about neutralising a threat, and there’ll be no Professor to stop me from tearin’ you apart. Got it?” He snarled, subconsciously baring his teeth. Scott sighed again. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to threaten his life, when they first met it was almost on a daily basis. 

“I don’t want to neutralise her. I just want her under control,” he explained wearily. “Sure, the first time this happened and she killed Jade, I’d been the one to suggest that. But we were scared. We were damn terrified of her. It was only thanks to Jean that she came back.”

Logan paused for a moment. He knew Jean was keeping something under wraps. “How? What exactly did she say?”

Scott shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “No clue. She wouldn’t tell me. She told me to ask the Professor, but we were all a little caught up in grief to ask questions at that point, and by the time we’d all managed to move on, it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Scott paused, evidently debating his next words. “But she responded to you. We all saw that. So, what I’m trying to say, is keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. None of us want her gone, Logan. We couldn’t help her, but maybe you can.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Logan had ever received from the man, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with it. So he nodded in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. But before he could contemplate it further, Scott piped up again. “I’m happy for you two, by the way. You really complement each other. Or maybe I’m just happy you haven’t been making eyes at Jean for the last two months.”

Nevermind. He hated the prick. “Go fuck yourself, Scott,” he uttered with disinterest, and if he had either of his hands free, he would have flipped him off as he left. Heading back up the stairs, Logan wondered when it would ever just stop. When everything would finally come to a halt and he could have just one day for the two of you and not think about anything catastrophic happening. Yet here he was, climbing the flight of stairs up to the third floor, contemplating your mortality. He fucking hated it. 

And he was having such a nice morning, too. 

Shouldering open the door to your room, he was greeted by an empty space and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, steam rolling out of the small gap where you’d left the door open a crack. Maybe he could still salvage this morning after all. 

Settling down the coffee and mugs on your nightstand, he left the grounds to soak in the water before briskly stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a collected pile at the foot of your bed and slowly opening the bathroom door a little wider. It was like a sauna in there, steam fogging up the mirror, the walls sweating. You hummed a soft tune, one he recognised after a beat.

It was the same song he’d asked you to dance to. 

His heart inflated as he opened the steamed-up door to step in behind you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist to your small jump and gasp of surprise.

“‘S’just me, don’t worry,” he soothed, burying his face in the crook of your slick neck. Your hair hung limp, freshly washed as you leaned back into him, holding his arms against you.

“Mmm, was just thinking about you.” You hummed, and if Logan wasn’t already half hard at the sight of your dripping naked body, that low, sultry tone of your voice would have been enough. 

“Yeah?” he loosened his grip so you could turn around to face him, your arms slinking up his body and around his neck. “What about me?” he asked, biting back his groan as you swapped places with him, warm water cascading down his back. 

“‘Bout last night… all the things I didn’t get to do…” You teased his lips with whispers of kisses, barely making contact as you held his gaze hostage, your eyes darkening with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded already when you bypassed his mouth altogether, your teeth instantly biting down against his collarbone. 

“Like what?” he strained, his hands skirting up and down your waist, your lips trailing up the hollow of his throat, over to the side of his neck where you sucked a harsh bruise that, to your irritation, faded instantly. You knew doing it again was a losing battle, but that didn’t stop you from sinking your teeth into his flesh, feeling his rising groan on your tongue as you smoothed over the unmarked skin. Your hands braced against his chest as you rose up on your tip toes to breath into his ear.

“I wasn’t joking earlier.” Was all you muttered, nibbling at his earlobe and leaving the side of his head tingling before you travelled lower down the curve of his fuzzy jaw, back down the path you’d carved for yourself, pressing kisses down his chest, your nails lightly scratching down either side of his ribs, following the curve of his hip bone and to his hard cock. 

Logan inhaled as you took him in your wet palms, squeezing around his shaft, delivering pinches with your teeth around one of his nipples, clamping down around when you teased his already leaking tip.

“Shit…” he gasped as you sucked against his shockingly sensitive bud, the scent of your own arousal heightened in the steamy heat, driving him mad with need. Releasing him from your mouth, you giggled softly as he thrust into your grip, his hands sliding from your waist to your hair as you sank to your knees before him, making sure you kept eye contact. 

  Sticking out your tongue, you waited for what felt like an eternity to him, before you delivered a small kitten lick to the underside of his cock. His jaw fell open as he watched you, all your attention now stuck on teasing the fuck out of him, not going any further than small, short swipes. He didn’t want to push you but holy shit were you testing his self-control. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He huffed, gritting his teeth when your malleable tongue traced one of the thick, pulsing veins down the side of his shaft. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not to move you, rather just to feel you beneath his fingertips. 

Logan’s head fell back as your lips enveloped his sensitive tip, and he realised he would happily drown in this shower if it meant you didn’t stop, water washing away the sweat from his brow, bouncing off his closed eyes. A gravelly moan bubbled from his chest, echoing slightly off the walls. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he whispered almost to himself as you took him further, your pointed tongue dragging down the underside of his cock, one of your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, the other braced against his hip to hold him still. 

You bobbed your head slowly, tasting the distinct musk and salt of his ecstasy as you flattened your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming lowly. The bathroom became an orchestra of gravelly groans and airy gasps, all drowned out from the outside world by the running water. Sinking into a comfortable rhythm, you looked up at his head thrown back, one of his hands had moved from your hair to the wall as he all but leaned against it.

Opening your throat, you slipped him further in your mouth until your nose was nestled comfortably against the coarse hairs at his naval. There you held him for a moment, swallowing around his cock and he fucking whimpered at the feeling of your throat squeezing him. You gagged slightly, and Logan looked down, his jaw slack as he took in possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his over a century of being alive. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and he made to pull away to give you a moment to breathe. But the moment he shifted, your nails dug sharply into either side of his hips, holding him against you. 

He stuttered moaning of your name and you knew he was close, so you hummed around him again, the vibrations of your voice travelling his throbbing length. The hand in your hair tightened as he slowly thrust his hips into your wanting mouth, gently fucking your face. 

“Jesus Christ you feel good…” he uttered breathlessly, tensing his jaw as he approached his peak. You smiled wickedly around his cock, dragging your slick tongue down that same vein you were paying attention to earlier as he moved back, your teeth ever so slightly scraping atop his length, and it was his undoing. 

Pleasure flooded his senses, fire coursing through his blood as he went to pull from your mouth, only to have you angrily shove your head forward, swallowing again around his member as he threw his head back to embrace the stream of the shower. “Fuck, fuck!” He stuttered a long, drawn-out groan as he spilled into your mouth, painting your throat white as his hips bucked uncontrollably, the tips of his claws poking through his knuckles as he fought to keep control, stars dancing behind his eyes.

The waves of ecstasy receded with each pulse, leaving him dizzy and gasping, his head falling forward to catch his breath and steady himself. Looking up from your knees, you drew back, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, your hands gently squeezing his thighs. 

“You okay?” You asked, rising to your feet, palm softly cupping the underside of his jaw and moving his face to look at you. He was stunned, dazed almost, as he wordlessly searched your eyes for an answer to a silent question. You laughed a little, and he drew you in with a thumb and forefinger pinching your chin, claiming your mouth with his lips in a delicately passionate kiss. The way he tasted himself on your tongue almost had him hardening again. 

“You almost suffocated yourself and you’re asking if I’m okay?” he asked with subdued disbelief, and you grinned wildly. 

“You seemed out of it for a moment, wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.” You responded with airy innocence, and Logan huffed a laugh.

“Murder attempt number two. Not a great track record, huh?” He teased lightly, and you narrowed your eyes at him. But before you could come up with some witty retort, he sank to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder so bruskly you had to steady yourself against the wall. “Fuck you’re so hard to ignore when you smell this fuckin’ sweet, darlin’.” He murmured, before wasting no time in devouring your cunt until you were whimpering his name and gushing all over his tongue. 

Consider the morning salvaged.

“This is going to be insanely strong coffee.” You called from the bedroom as Logan dried his hair with a spare towel, draping it across his shoulders before padding out the join you. “Someone didn’t want to leave the shower.” You shot pointedly with a small grin. He simply shrugged in response, trying not to be too disappointed that you’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Not sure how I’m to blame for that.” He crossed the room to stand behind you, towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips and circled his arms around your waist, setting his chin atop your head. “You started it.” 

You leaned back into his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It was these little moments of soft domesticity that you craved with him. Yeah, the sex was great. Mind-blowing, in fact, and teaching and training with him was a fantastic excuse for the two of you to spend time with each other, but it was these moments you valued. Swaying in the kitchen to whatever song blared from the radio, your head resting on his lap as you dozed off to some shitty reality tv-show, or vice versa. These were the moments you’d remember when you were old and grey and he was–

Still looking gorgeous and young. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. How had that only just occurred to you? You pushed the thought into the furthest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to be entertaining such things. 

“Why did you take so long, by the way? I was halfway through the intended length of my shower by the time you got back.” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact as you went to pour the coffee into the two mugs, your heart expanding when you saw he’d picked your favourite one. The one Kitty gifted you. 

“Ran into Scott in the kitchen…” You snorted at the irritation in his tone, clearly not a fond memory. 

“What’d he have to say for himself?” A hand extended behind you, clasping the top of the glass mug between your fingertips as you handed it to him, pouring yourself a mug of your own before you turned to sit on the bed.

“Thanks. He was just runnin’ his mouth, to be honest with ya. Though he did apologise, which felt weird.” Logan returned to his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard and raising his arm as a silent request for you to join him. You shuffled closer, ducking beneath his arm and cosying into his side, making sure to hold your full mug of coffee steady. 

“He did? What for?” 

“We argued the whole training thing. He was apologising for the timing of it.” 

You snorted a laugh into your mug. “Trust Scott to apologise for the thing that mattered least. But it’s a start, I guess. He say anything else?”

“Not really. Said he was happy for us and that we complemented each other, which also felt weird.” He didn’t think you’d be thrilled about the Jean comment, so he left that in the past like he had his feelings for her. 

“Huh. Strangely nice of him.”

“‘S what I thought.” 

You sipped on your drink, pleasantly surprised it was still warm, savouring the bitter-roasted flavour. “Yeah, a little too long, think the beans are a bit burnt, but it’s still good.”

“How’dya know the beans are burnt?” 

“You can taste it. Or I can. I was a barista for a while, dontcha know?”

He raised a brow. No, he didn’t know that. “How many jobs have you had?” He asked, impressed that you had such a wide range of skills. You thought for a moment, it was actually a pretty good question. 

“Ya know what? I have no idea. What’s funny is that I never remember quitting them either. I’d just wake up one day and bam! New job. I guess I liked to bounce around a lot. Still do.” You elbowed him, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and he groaned in exhaustion. 

“Terrible.”

“You liked it.” You stuck out your tongue and he huffed in amusement. Yeah, he did. And he wasn’t about to deny it.

Logan paused for a moment, knowing the next topic he wanted to talk to you about was likely going to be a sensitive one. You hadn’t told him for a reason, and if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push you, but he wanted to let you know that he knew. “Can I see your wrist…?”

Predictably, you shot from his side, muttering a curse as your coffee sloshed from your mug and onto your hand. It wasn’t like you’d made an effort to hide your scars, it was more that you banked on the fact that people, generally, were too afraid to ask. But you should have guessed Logan of all people wouldn’t shy away from something like that. Not where you were concerned anyway. 

Tentatively, you set your mug down on the nightstand, turning back to him and offering one of your wrists. He did the same, shifting to set his own mug down before slowly taking your outstretched hand in his own, inspecting the deep, faded scar with the pad of his thumb. “When?” He asked gently.

“Years ago. It’s all kind of a blur really, and I don’t remember much of it. I just– I was terrified of being a mutant and couldn’t see a way out. I think my brother found me, and took me to a hospital. I don’t know why they’re still there, honestly. I’ve used my mutation countless times since, but I guess scars are as part of the mind as they are the body. Or something like that.” It was the only explanation you had for the marks littering your body, not just the ones on your wrists, but your chest, thighs, and neck. You were a scrappy kid, always picking fights with the wrong people. 

Logan brought your wrist up to his lips, ghosting featherlight kisses down the raised line. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured, and your heart bled. He had nothing to apologise for, you hoped he knew that. 

“‘S’okay. I… learned to accept what I am. Rowan helped me with that. That’s his name, don’t know if I ever told you. After he was done being mad at me, that is. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what I would have done had the roles been reversed.” 

“You got on well, didn’t ya?”

You sighed. “Yes and no. We did when we were kids, but as we got older we started to drift apart. I think the grief over our parents changed him, and he got more cautious, whereas I got more reckless. We would fight a lot, but that didn’t mean I loved him any less. I just wish I could remember what our last argument was about. We were so fucking mad at each other, I left and deleted his fucking number.” You huffed a sigh of past frustration, turning to retrieve your mug of coffee. 

That was news to him. He didn’t know your parents had died. He knew they weren’t around during your teen years, but he didn’t know they’d died. But the way you just casually mentioned it told him it was a topic that didn’t need discussing right now. 

You settled back against him, his arm draping over your shoulders, your head dropping to the dip in between his collarbone and neck as silence settled back over you. You appreciated the way he didn’t press you for more. You doubted you’d be satisfied with such a brazen explanation, and you knew he most likely had more questions for you, so when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you smiled against his skin. 

“‘M gonna take you out today.”

“Like on a date or with a gun?”

You felt his snort of laughter against your cheek. “Have you always been this dark?”

“I’m a shadow weaver, comes with the territory.” You responded nonchalantly. 

“‘S that was you’re calling yourself now?”

“Nah. I still kinda like Phantom. But who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind someday.” You raised your head to take another sip of your coffee, grimacing as the liquid had gone from piping hot to lukewarm.

“On a date, dumbass. Thought we could get away for a while.” He brushed a strand of your hair back from your face, smoothing over your eyebrow with his thumb. 

“What’d ya have in mind?” You asked, leaning into his touch a fraction. 

“Take a drive, head to one of the lakes in the area, grab a drink after. Things normal couples do.”

You huffed in amusement. “We’re not a normal couple, Lo’.”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freak.”

“And you’re not? Mister ‘I can smell your arousal and it gets me going’.” You poked the centre of his chest and he flicked your forehead in retaliation. 

“You up for it?” 

“I get to spend the day away from the kids and visit a super scenic lake with my second favourite mutant in the mansion? Followed by an evening of drinking in a bar? You might as well have asked me to marry you here and now.” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, we’re n– wait second favourite?”

You nodded, looking at him like the answer was obvious. “Well yeah, Kitty bought me my favourite mug so she reserves favourite person rights.” 

“S’that how it works?”

“Bit slow on the uptake aren’t ya?” Logan pushed you off him, careful not to shove you too hard so you spilt any more coffee on yourself.

“I take it back. We’re gonna spend the day here.” You gasped dramatically, setting your drained mug to the side before trying to cosy back up to him, only for his arm to hold you at bay.

“I lied, I lied! You’re incredibly smart and quick and my favourite person I’ve ever met ever!” You exclaimed through fits of laughter as you tried to fight through the wall of sinewy muscle. 

“Didn’t hear ya. Come again?” He held you off with one hand, the other effortlessly raising his mug of coffee to his lips. It was a testament to his strength how he could keep you back with just one arm.

Maybe metal cable ties weren’t strong enough after all…

You conceded, flopping down onto the pillows next to you, bubbles of laughter still popping from your chest. “When do you wanna leave? What time is it actually?” you asked, taking him by the wrist only to see he wasn’t wearing his watch. Must have taken it off to shower.

“Lemme check, hold on.” Logan leaned down off the bed where the poor alarm clock still lay completely abandoned, retrieving your lamp at the same time and setting them both on the nightstand. “Just gone nine. Leave in an hour? I think it’s roughly three hours by car, but Scott’s bike shaves off at least half an hour so…” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, and you laughed at the mischief in his eyes.

“Gives us around six hours to ourselves, minus the journey. Sounds perfect to me.” Being unable to withstand a lack of physical contact with you for any longer than three minutes, Logan lifted his arm for you again, and you returned to the home you’d built next to his heart.

“We should get out more…” he lamented softly, his hand holding your shoulder, thumb stroking your soft skin beneath the short sleeve of your t-shirt. 

“If we had the time, that would be great.” You sighed, feeling his slight despondency. If only your circumstances had been different, and you were just a normal couple that could do normal couples things. But now, you had to teach younger mutants how not to accidentally kill the wrong people, and how to effectively kill the right people. Not only that, but you had to train to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill yourself in the process.

Fuck’s sake.

A fist knocked at the door three times, and you braced for Kitty to simply let herself in. But the longer the silence after lingered, the surer you became that, whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn’t Kitty.

“Come in!” You called, not making any efforts to obscure either yourself of Logan. The whole mansion knew by now, it wasn’t like you were trying to keep it a secret. The door opened to reveal Ororo, her white hair neatly tied back from her face. 

“Morning! Just wanted to– oh. Hey Logan…” she eyed the two of you suspiciously and you shared a glance with him. The fact he was only dressed in a towel and you in a loose tee and boxer briefs didn’t exactly help your case of innocence. “Right… anyway, I guess this saves me two trips. Xavier has a conference in Connecticut, Jean’s going with him. They’re giving a talk on starting up a new school for both mutants and humans to start coexisting, so you’re both on babysitting duty.”

Your heart sank. “What the hell are you and Scott doing?!” You asked accusingly, sitting up from Logan’s chest. Storm’s brows pinched like she seemed genuinely remorseful this was how things had to be.

“Tying up some loose ends for Kurt and Hank before picking them up. They’ve been away for a while now, but they’re back today. That and Scott has some errands to run, so we’ll be back late.” She explained sheepishly, and you groaned in frustration. The one day off you thought you could have and you’ve been stuck with babysitting.

The gods really like shitting in your dinner, don’t they?

“Alright… but you owe us.” Logan piped up, and you whipped your head to him in exasperation. He read your face instantly. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘Like we have a choice.’ he silently communicated back, and he knew you’d understood what he’d said when you sighed heavily, dragging a hand down the side of your face.

“Fucking fine, but Logan’s right, you owe us. And I was wondering where those two had got to, how long’ve they been away?”

Ororo loosened a breath of relief. “Thank you. And next Saturday? All your’s, I promise. As for Kurt and Hank, around a year or so? Xavier sent him off on a private mission not even we knew about until a couple months ago, just before you came back. We’re going to pick them up just to make sure they get here safely.” She didn’t seem too confident about wherever Nightcrawler and Beast had been.

“That dangerous, huh?” As if the mere mention of a dangerous mission set him on edge, Logan’s arm wrapped back around your shoulders protectively. Neither of you had been required for one since your return, and he was honestly dreading the day. 

“Kurt’ll explain more when he gets back I’m sure, but yeah, that dangerous. Hank doesn’t like to go on missions like these, but apparently, Charles needed his diplomatic expertise and Kurt’s quick getaways, so who knows?” Ororo shrugged, before looking pointedly at Logan’s bare chest and then your bare legs. “Do I even wanna know what you guys were up to before I knocked…?”

You laughed, waving off her concerns. “Having a coffee and chatting about the day we did have planned before being landed with babysitting duty, nothing exciting don’t you worry.”

“Unless you wanna talk about the shower…” You shot Logan a scandalised look, mouth and eyes wide in utter shock.

“Ew, no, I’m good, see you later.” Ororo shielded her eyes as she left as if she could unsee the mental image Logan had just planted there. As soon as the door shut you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“What was that for?”

“Did it look like she was gonna leave anytime soon to you?” You took a moment to think about it, and Logan’s expression shifted to self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You offered him a little, defeated smile. “Guess our day off will have to wait.”

He leaned forward, tucking you into his side before relaxing back against the headboard. “I’ll take you out soon, ‘kay? Promise.”

“Like, on a date or w–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before he clapped his hand over your mouth, stopping you midway through.

“Enough. It wasn’t funny the first time, why did you think it would be funny again?” 

You stuck your tongue out to lick his palm, a foolproof method of removing someone’s hand from your mouth. Or, at least it had been foolproof in the past. But you raised your eyes to his face, and he looked at you with disinterest. “Not gonna work, firefly.” 

You adored that nickname. He never explained where it came from or why he started it, but it didn’t matter to you. As long as he never stopped. 

Thick black boots pounded the floorboards as you raced through the hallways of the mansion, vibrations humming up your legs with every step, your breath like fire in your lungs. Shouts and screams echoed in every corner, flashes of torchlight illuminating cones of white against the walls like searchlights. The Professor was away. Why was the Professor always fucking away?

Sliding to a halt as you heard footsteps around the corner, you quickly slipped into the shadows, hushed voices muffled as if underwater as you jumped to the ceiling. Light separated the shadows, and four silhouetted figures walked cautiously beneath you. You could make out the outlines of their guns as the torch shifted before the hallway was again drenched in darkness as they continued their search.

Morphing to the floor, you reformed from the black, stealing a quick glance behind you to where they’d disappeared. There were no students that way, Logan and Scott had made sure of that. The moment Logan had sensed something was off, the evacuation had begun, escorting the students silently from their beds and through the hidden channel behind the panel wall. You knew there were stragglers, but you focused on the knowledge Ororo and Kurt were with them.

How had things gotten so out of hand so goddamn fast? You’d woken up on Logan’s chest this morning feeling like a whole new mutant, comfort wrapped around your heart like an embrace. Now, the opposite couldn’t be more true. You cursed the fact that Jean followed Xavier around like a lost soul. You could really use her help right about now. 

A piercing, shooting pain rushed through your head as you clamped your hands down over your ears, crouching to the floor. Your eardrums throbbed as you recognised that ability, gut knotting at the realisation that Theresa was still inside somewhere, her sonic scream sending waves of agony through your mind before it stopped abruptly. Fuck.

With a new sense of urgency, you sprinted through the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time. If you’d been a little more focused on your surroundings and less hellbent on saving the girl, perhaps you would have noticed the line of guns pointed in your direction. One moment you were racing full speed down the first-floor hallway, the next you’d frozen solid as torches flared simultaneously, erasing any easily accessible shadow. You braced, knowing after they “killed” you, they’d turn away and leave you to sink into the darkness and reform. 

But they held fire, your strained pants the only sound in the eerie silence of the bedroom corridor. 

“They were right…” you whipped your head back to the voice behind you, knees bent in anticipation as two figures stepped from the room you knew to be Jubilee’s, and you prayed to whatever sick, twisted gods above that Logan or Scott had got to her first. The torches behind you revealed a man you thought to be in his thirties, a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. He was taller than whoever was next to him and unnaturally thin. “We missed you dearly.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Come again?” You spat, eyes darting between the two.

The man just laughed heartily, opening his arms as if offering you a hug. “Of course, how could I be so rude? I’ve read the reports… Subject Five, if you could be so kind.”

Panic surged through your body as Subject Five stepped forward, a golden glow emanating from beneath its clothes. Your eyes closed instinctively as the hallway lit up as though the sun had risen, your hands flying to shield your face. 

“That’s a bit better. You look good, Eight, but you always were the resilient one.” You were barely listening, still caught up in the dawning revelation that you knew that mutation. You’d know that mutation anywhere. “We’re here to take you home. Subject One isn’t here, sadly, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it, but we really have missed you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you managed to grit, your eyes adjusting to the light as you cracked them open a little.

“I have to say, when I received word you were a teacher now, it almost made me laugh. You hated kids! Why on earth would you surround yourself with them? But then it dawned on me. A mutant school. If only my great-grandfather had thought of that at the start.” He continued as if you were engaging in nothing but a pleasant conversation in the park.

“Ya know, for someone who talks so much, you really are saying very little.” you quipped, finding a nugget of solace in the fact that this man didn’t want you dead, at least as far as you could tell. “Let’s start with introductions, yeah?”

He chuckled again. “You’re absolutely right. My name is Doctor Kreva. This man here, why you should already know him, even without Subject One to help out.” he was almost condescending in his tone, and you hated the fact he was right. You did know the mutant. And your heart bled for him. What the fuck was he doing here? Why was he raiding the school with this chucklefuck?

“Means nothing to me. The fuck do you want?” you snarled, to his further amusement.

“Were you not listening, darling? We want to take you home. My father was so stupid for letting you go,” it was the first emotion you’d seen on his face beyond sadistic joy. His eyes filled with frustrated hatred. “He never had the stomach for science. And after Seven somehow managed to kill my mother, a problem you so kindly took care of, he started to pity you all.” He spat like the word was venomous before he took a breath of collection. “Seven years it’s taken to track you all down and rebuild what he destroyed. Seven long years. But we’re nearly there. All we’re waiting for is you.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Seven years ago, you and Jade were picked up by Jean and Ororo on the side of that highway. How could he possibly know any of this? “You got the wrong gal, sorry bub.” Oh, you’d been spending way too much time with Logan. Dr. Kreva sighed, holding out his hand expectantly. Like a king’s attendance, one of the guards stepped up from behind you, making sure to keep his shadow far from your reach, before he slung a heavy pack from his shoulder, dropping it into Kreva’s waiting hand. 

The doctor took a knee, removing one of the thickest folder’s you think you’d ever seen, and holding it up. It was old. Incredibly old. Whatever colour it had been originally had faded to a pale grey, the edges frayed and splitting. He placed it on the floor face up, and your eyes caught sight of a label, though it was too far away for you to read accurately. 

“Everything you think you know is a lie, Phantom. Didn’t you think it strange your memories are jumbled? Important moments of your life scrambled or forgotten. Loose ends never tied, arguments never resolved? But this, this holds everything. Your entire life, in one folder. All eighty-two years you were with us.”

You scrunched your face, slightly offended. “I’m thirty-two, asshole.” You spat back, your skin starting to burn under such intense lighting, those threads in your body begging to be released into the shadows to escape. 

“So that’s the age he decided before releasing you. Interesting. Well, I’ll have Subject One rectify that when you’re back with us. Tranq her. Now. Subject Three, begin evacuation.” Before you could even turn around to defend yourself, a sharp pain spiked the side of your neck. You froze, blood draining from your face as you realised you’d been pierced with a needle. Heartbeat rising, you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t know where your fear stemmed from, but you assumed it was when you were taken for blood tests as a child.

If… if that even happened. Because if you were to believe anything this dickwad said, maybe you didn’t even have a childhood. 

Your vision started to swim, and you angrily blinked the grogginess away. “Rowan… wh– what’re y– what’re you doing…?” You could barely finish the sentence as the tranquiliser entered your bloodstream, taking quick effect on your mind as you struggled to stay upright, your knees buckling as you threw your arms out to catch yourself. Shadows. You needed a shadow. But there was nothing to morph into. Nothing you could reach to rid yourself of this feeling. Everything became muffled, as if you were underwater, only barely able to hear a gut-wrenching roar before your vision went dark, and you were out cold. 

Logan raced up the stairs, fury pumping through his blood. He’d been looking everywhere for you, crashing through doorways and slicing through skin and muscle to find you. Hank had mentioned he’d seen you sprinting toward Theresa’s room after she’d screamed, and he didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he’d said before he took off at a run. He crested the first flight just in time to see three figures halfway down the lit hallway, obscuring your unconscious body. He didn’t even take a minute to acknowledge the light was emanating from the figure on the right, rather than the lights themselves. The man in the centre turned just as Logan bellowed a cry of pure, unadulterated rage, offering him a curious tilt of his head before the one one the left took hold of each other their shoulders, and they disappeared before his eyes.

He didn’t care. They were gone and you remained. That was all that mattered. Racing to your side, he saw the cause of your condition, pulling the tranquiliser out from your neck and cautiously lifting you into his lap, checking your pulse just to be sure. 

You were alive. Your heart was still beating. He almost shook with relief. 

“It’s okay, I got you firefly, I got you.” He soothed, brushing your hair back and cradling you against his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Logan?” He turned his head back down the hallway, heightened sight able to make out Kurt and Scott by the stairs, Kurt wringing his hands with worry. “Is she–”

“She’s fine, just out cold. Theresa’s still in her room if you wanna make sure she’d okay.” He gestured to the room a few doors down, and Kurt jogged passed him, pausing as he saw the file on the ground. 

His eyes widened slightly, gaze flickering from the file name to your unconscious form, then back again, before looking at Logan. Crouching down, he flipped the folder so it was facing him, before continuing to Theresa’s room.

Logan froze as he read the scrawled, ink-smudged handwriting on the front of the file, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan paced as he waited outside the med-bay, chewing at the cuticles of his thumb. Scott, Jean and Charles were having a heated debate in the room to his right, he could hear raised voices even with the doors closed. Ororo and Kurt had chosen to wait with him, Kurt crouched against the wall opposite and Ororo fixed her hair every two minutes. A nervous twitch, he noticed.

Since Jean was currently held up in the furious discussion, Hank had offered to perform the routine checkups on all the mutants they’d managed to tranquilise, yourself included. It had been four hours since the attack, and he still hadn’t shown his blue furry face. Then again, there were quite a few students who’d been targeted, not just you. 

The meeting to his right went quiet before the doors slid open and Scott stormed out, a face like thunder. Logan couldn’t blame him, he had his own anger on a tight leash, simmering just below the surface. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell were you? Did Charles know about this? Did Jean? Was that why she’d been so strange lately after the training incident? The idea of the two of them knowing and not telling anyone made him want to tear apart the whole fucking mansion, and it seemed Scott was on the same wavelength as him for once. 

“Scott wait!” Jean called after him, running after the furious man, but not before casting Logan a cautious glance. He just glared at her in response, before she hurried to catch up with Scott.

“You should have told me, Jean. I’m supposed to lead this goddamn team, how can I do that without knowing who I’m dealing with. No wonder she can’t control her fucking mutation, and I’ve been made to look like a monster for wanting the situation sorted when you knew about this the whole time!” He heard Scott rage, and it was the first time he’d actually heard him raise his voice to her. It would have almost been refreshing if he hadn’t just answered one of Logan’s most burning questions. 

She did know about it. Oh, he was going to have a little chat with her later about that. 

There was a beat before Charles wheeled from the room, his face a grim picture. He loosened a breath upon seeing the three of them still waiting, his eyes lingering on Logan, the file held in his lap. Logan grit his teeth.

“Did you know?” Was all he asked, and Charles said nothing, moving his gaze to the med-bay doors. That just pissed him off further. “Did. You. Know?” he spat every word like venom, balling his fists in an attempt to keep his anger in check. 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly, as if speaking any louder would set him off. But Logan didn’t need him to raise his voice. That was all he needed to hear for his trust in the Professor to shatter completely. “Some memories are better off forgotten, Logan. You of all people know that.”

“Not her entire life!” He clamoured, causing both Ororo and Kurt to jump a little in surprise. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault. They were as in the dark as the rest of the team. Except, it seemed, team telekinesis. “What’s in that folder, Charles? And tell me honestly. No more bullshit.” He seethed, though, to his subconscious surprise, Xavier held the file out to him. 

“That’s for you to find out. If you wish. But I’ll warn you, Logan. Nothing in that file is good. Nothing is happy. Everything that’s happened to her in the last eighty years or so.” He explained sombrely, and Logan didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Eighty years? How was that possible? You were thirty-two. You’d said so yourself. None of this made any goddamn sense. How could you just forget the fact you’d lived at least eighty years of your life? As if Charles had read his mind, which he most likely had, he spoke up again. “A powerful mutant with a focus on memory altering known as Subject One, or Obscurity. From what I could gather, he could alter and re-alter memories, planting ones that never existed and pushing those that deep to the farthest reaches of their minds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they had at the time.”

The best they had? The best they had? Logan wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone bald and in a wheelchair. But he refrained himself when the doors behind him whooshed open, and Hank stepped through. 

“All stable. Took a little longer than I thought it would. I think Jones will be out for another few hours, maybe a day or so. The poor little guy barely sleeps as it is, so a tranq knocked him for six.” Hank explained before sensing the tension in the room. Logan said nothing, almost knocking Beast to the ground as he breezed past him, uncaring as he was once again greeted by yet another sight of you lying unconscious on a metal table.

This was becoming a bad habit of yours.

“She should wake within the hour. The tranqs weren’t too strong, only designed for short knockouts rather than extended periods of unconscious.” Logan was barely listening, his heart clenching as you slept peacefully, hooked up to another fucking machine. How many of these have you been hooked up to in your life? How many other machines have you been monitored on? Was that how you received the scars? Or had that part of your story been true? Did you know anything about this? Or had you been lying to him the whole fucking time?

He had too many questions for you, but he knew how he could answer them. He extended a hand behind him. “Hand me the file.”

“Logan, you should–”

“Hand me the fucking file.” His arm shook impatiently, and there was a beat before Ororo took the folder from Charles and placed it in his waiting hand. Christ, it was hefty. Though, he supposed there was eighty years worth of information within its pages. Storm hovered next to him, sparing him a worried glance as he opened the first page. 

Well, any hope that it was another Phantom was quickly dashed as the faded type described you perfectly. From the texture of your hair and the colour of your eyes to the size of your feet and the length of your legs. His heart caught in his throat as he flipped a few pages, hearing Ororo’s gasp of horror next to him.

4th September. 1932 Ex.3 – 12 pm - 9 am. Deprivation / Indulgence Subject 8. “Phantom” / Subject 5. “Solaris” Observer: Doctor R. Kreva.

Removed all objects from Sub.8’s and Sub.5’s observation chambers, and installed flood lighting on all surfaces. Sustain peak lighting in both chambers for 24 hours and record findings. Since 8 and 5 have similar DNA, they have both been selected for this experiment. Their mutations, whilst similar, are opposites. Two sides of the same coin. Will repeat experiment with darkness at a later date. 

Hour 1 – No change in any subjects. Sub.5 seems extremely content with the change of atmosphere, it’s skin emits some kind of glow similar in colour and frequency to the light around. 

Hour 2 – Still no notable changes. Sub.8 raised its head to look around the chamber, perhaps seeking refuge from the light. Only movement in the last two hours.

Hour 5 – Sub.8’s behaviour has become noticeably erratic, its eyes flickering all around the room, has yet to make a move. Sub.5 has remarkably begun creating its own lights, I have included a sketch of my findings below.

Hour 8 – Due to the lack of shadows, Sub.8’s movements have become peculiar. At times, fast and frantic, searching the room for refuge, whereas other times it would be slow and sluggish, barely able to lifts its head to look around. 

Hour 10 – Much the same as Sub.8 in the dark, Sub.5 had disappeared completely. We can only assume, due to the similarity in their DNA, that Sub.5’s body has disintegrated into the light. Sub.8’s vitals are spiking and dipping seemingly randomly. Its body lags when it moves, almost glitching into shadow with every movement. Is this the molecules trying to release?

Hour 17 – Sub.5 has returned, its hair is now elevated above its head and its eyes no longer resemble that of a human’s. Where there should be an iris and pupil, there is now nothing but smouldering light. Sub.8 has begun writhing, parts of its body disintegrating and reforming where it lies. Is it in pain? 

Hour 19 – Sub.8 has started to scream. It’s interesting. With every breath, its entire body shudders as if trying to phase through the fabric of light itself, like Sub.5 can do. Its fingers bleed from frantically clawing at the ground and blood is leaking from its nose. Will need a cleaning crew in hereafter. In contrast, Sub.5 Is now levitating approx. 5 inches from the ground. 

Hour 20 – Sub.8’s condition has rapidly declined in the last hour, its skin seems to have veins of black spiderwebbing across its face, hands and feet. Must make notes to strip both subjects next experiment, but for now I must assume this continues across its body. 

Hour 21 – Sub.8 has ceased all activity and now lies motionless. Vitals have dropped well below human sustainability, heart rate of 20 BPM, and blood pressure of 90/60 mmHg. How is it still alive? Sub.5 has begun wielding the light from its body. It seems as surprised by this as I am. It has been able to form duplicates of itself, objects, and what could be interpreted as a pair of wings. Could Sub.8 be capable of such things?

End of Hour 21 – Leaving the lights on for 24 hours would most likely be the death of Sub.8. With the slow decrease of light intensity, Sub.5 settled back to the floor, its eyes dimming before returning to what we shall now call the default state. Sub.8 remained motionless for another 2 minutes and 42 seconds before their body disintegrated. Interestingly, it couldn’t disappear before the lights were off completely. Saved footage of Sub.8’s disappearance, the infra-red camera pinpointing the moment its body broke apart. Fascinating. Placed them both back into the observation house, and monitored them for the next few days. Sub.5 is already up and around, behaving regularly. Sub.8 still rests in bed. How will this affect its interactions with other subjects?

Ex. Duration: 21 HOURS Ex. Outcome: Success Findings: See above. Memory erased: Last 21 hours Replacement memory: Cooking lesson, NLMO bonding Comments: Must remember to use the same memory for Subjects 2,3,4,6 and 7

Logan felt sick, bile rising in his throat as he blew out a shaky breath, checking the date three times to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Ororo whimpered a small sob next to him, her eyes scanning the page, her hand covering her mouth in utter devastation. Kurt looked between the two of them, not knowing if he wanted to be involved in whatever horrors lay within that folder. 

He couldn’t stop reading, some pages had notes about the life they made you believe you were living, a simulation world with the other seven, not dissimilar to the danger room. Only, every time you ‘went out on an errand’, or ‘went to work’, it was just a replacement memory for when they pulled you out for experimentations. Those were the pages that had shattered his very soul. What they did to you… How could they have been getting away with this for so long?

He continued flicking through, thumbing stacks of pages at a time before he settled on a less faded sheet, dated much more recently. He only read the first line before Ororo looked away, her head in her hands, Kurt bamfing next to her to hold her as she sobbed.

22nd September. 2008 Ex.1,243 6 pm-6:50 pm Pain Tolerance / Resilience Subject 8. “Phantom” Observer: Dr. J. Kreva

It has been noted that Sub.8’s tolerance for pain is exceptionally high. It can easily disappear with surface-level wounds and reappear as good as new. I want to test its durability to its limits and discover how deep we can wound it before we start leaving scars. In order to accomplish this without endangering Sub.8’s life, it will be stripped of clothing and strapped to the operating table and I have given us ten-minute windows. Using the same light-flooded room as Ex.3, a team will be entering the room with various appliances, following the strict instructions of careful harming, before leaving for the lights to be shut off. Sub.8 has been known to fight back, unlike its counterpart Sub.5, and we have lost good people to its unpredictability. So we will be using Sub.5 as a bargaining chip. It has been noted these two have some kind of relationship similar to that we would typically see in siblings. If Sub.8 refuses to cooperate, the team has permission to harm Sub.5 to whatever they deem necessary.

Each ten-minute window will be referred to as a cycle, due to the nature of the lighting we are implementing here. 

Under no circumstances should either Subject be killed.

Cycle 1 – Team TS8 managed to coerce Sub.8 onto the table, strapping it down with efficiency. It has yet to fight back, but it has noticed Sub.5 in the corner. It likely knows the terms already. A small cut has been made on its left arm, with no visible response from Sub.8, however, Sub.5 flinched. Interesting. Team TS8 left the room, lights still on. Nothing to note, Sub.8 disappeared and reappeared with the lightning, with no sign of the small cut. Though it is no longer strapped to the table. I am glad we brought along Sub.5. After seeing its capabilities in the mirrored experiment of Ex.3 (please see Ex.4), Sub.5 will be an excellent bargaining chip to ensure those abilities are not put to use.

Cycle 2 – Team TS8 has already threatened to harm Sub.5 to get Sub.8 to cooperate. Nothing physical yet, only threats. It understood and climbed onto the table itself, allowing itself to be strapped down again. It has said nothing in these moments, simply stared. Due to our already collected knowledge and the two-hour time limit on this experiment, I have had to jump a few levels of pain. I have provided Team TS8 with a conical flask of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It seems the jump was necessary, Sub.8 reacted with subdued screams and desperate tugging on restraints. With the skin tissue of its right calf burned away, I can see its muscular system is almost identical to our own, tendons working in the same way. Though this is no groundbreaking discovery, it is still important to note. Team TS8 left the room along with Sub.5, who seemed reluctant. Sub.8’s breathing is erratic, and it claws at the table in a similar way it did during Ex.3. Does this have any practical benefit or is this simply to ease the pain? It disappears once again along with the lights, a burn scar remains on its leg when it returns.

Cycle 3 – Sub.5 had to be harmed. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sub.8 wasn’t cooperating as well as I hoped it would. We removed Sub.8 and Team TS8 from the room and turned out the lights. Sub.8 thrashed against restraints as it watched Sub.5 be beaten from behind the door. It agreed to continue swiftly after. Sub.5’s wounds healed as the lights returned. Their bond is a fascinating one, and one I would like to explore further. Sub.8’s Trypanophobia has been noted in its records, having an extreme reaction to the sight of needles. I have provided Team TS8 with various sizes of serrated needles with a diagram of its body. The idea was to see whether Sub.8’s mutation could remove things from its body by disappearing and reforming, or whether obstructions could prevent this. Sub.8 seems panicked by the sight of needles, surely triggering its trypanophobia. Once again it thrashes on the table with each insertion, though it only cried out when pierced in the side of its neck and its inner thigh. Perhaps these are somewhat erogenous zones? Or particularly sensitive places? I will have to make comparisons to Sub.5. Team TS8 left along with Sub.5, who seems to be doing very little to stop the process, though is exhibiting signs of great discomfort. Once again, Sub.8 disappears along with the lights, and interestingly, the needles are left behind on the bed, along with copious amounts of its blood. Not sure the cleanup crew could get those stains out. 

A sob wracked from Storm behind him, though Logan couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away. They exploited your fears and used you to record responses for their sick, twisted gain. He grit his teeth, his jaw threatening to crack as his eyes continue to scan the page. 

Cycle 4 – We have recorded Sub.8’s behaviour on the brink of death in Ex.3, however it was due to lack of shadow. There were no threats necessary to encourage Sub.8 back onto the bed, the needles having been carefully removed. The next stage is incredibly simple. Team TS8 sliced through each radial artery on either side of Sub.8’s wrists. I am not a man easily haunted by much, however I do believe Sub.5’s scream will live in my memory for quite some time. I have made sure to set the cutting of the lights long before Sub.8 has time to bleed out. Sub.5 had to be dragged from the room, however, I can observe Sub.8’s body performing the same motions as it was in Ex.3 around hour 19, however, there is a complete lack of vocal response. Its body keeps attempting to disappear, though it has nothing to dissolve into. It’s fascinating to watch, parts of its limbs shimmering jet black before settling again. It’s like the molecules want to disperse. The lights have dimmed far quicker than the last three times. Sub.8 has not moved from the table. It has not disappeared at all, but it is simply lying in wait. Does it wait to die? Perhaps we underestimated its resolve. I have sent Team TS8 back into the dark room, a knife held against Sub.5’s throat. If it doesn’t dissolve, I have instructed them to make a small incision against Sub.5’s neck. It didn’t need to get that far, Sub.8 saw the consequences and immediately dissolved, though it took far longer for it to return. Perhaps the more severe the wound, the longer it takes to reknit the body back together. Will have to perform further experimentation on this. Two more scars have reformed on either wrist. Interesting. Will need to inspect needle incisions later.

Cycle 5 – It’s dead. I’m certain. Due to the ignorance and fear of man, I have lost one of my most valuable subjects. A terrified guard shot it in the chest several times and burst into the experiment. He didn’t exactly aim for it, but rather for Sub.5. It seems the bond between 5 and 8 ran deeper than even I could comprehend, 8 didn’t think twice about putting itself between the guard, taking several bullets to the chest. Four, to be exact, before he was apprehended. I couldn’t get the lights off fast enough, having to override the system I’d set specifically for this experiment. I wasn’t fast enough, and 8 suffered for it. It’s been here for the last 80 years, and one man ruined everything. Its body is still in the room. I haven’t found the heart to move it yet. Sub.5’s memory of the incident has been erased by Sub.1 once again, and replaced with a severe argument between it and 8, resulting in 8 leaving. I will most likely be dead before I find a subject as valuable for mutant research as Phantom. 

Ex. Duration: 50 MINUTES Ex. Outcome: Failure (subject fatality) Findings: I fear Mutants and Humans can never coexist Memory Erased: Experiment above, Sub.8’s death (for Sub.5 only) Memory Replacement: Severe argument. Comments: A devastating turn of events

Logan swallowed as he reached the bottom of the page. Was that how you escaped? Was that how you got out? They thought you were dead only for you to be able to heal from bullet wounds? Did you slip through the shadows? It took him a moment to think it over. No, that wasn't possible. The dates didn't add up. He turned the page over, seeing further notes scrawled on the back in pen rather than type.

22nd September, Ex.1,243 – Continuation. 1932, 11:42 pm.

The body has disappeared. I have kept the lights off since the incident at 6:50 and made the mistake of closing my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them again, Sub.8 had disappeared. I sealed the doors immediately, hoping this meant it had somehow found the strength to dissolve back into shadow. Looking into the infrared camera, I have noticed the projectiles of bullets scattered where Sub.8 had fallen. Does this mean it’s recovering? Is it possible for it to recover from four bullet wounds to the centre of its chest? 

12:08 am

Sub.8 has returned. Remarkable. Though there are clear scars on its chest and wrists, it seems to have almost completely healed from the incident. This is a staggering discovery. Will need to alter Sub.5’s memory once again.

Logan dropped the file, pages still spread apart as he took a step back. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. What you’d endured, what you’d suffered. The scars that remained. You were right, what you’d said this morning. Mental scars leave the same marks as physical ones. Your body had altered to the memories they’d forced into your mind. They couldn’t remove the scars, so they made you think you’d attempted to take your own life. Made you think you remembered getting into fights as a kid. He knew what mutant experimentation was like. He’d had a firsthand experience. But this was on a whole other level. What the fuck was this all for? 

Now Charles’ words made sense. Some memories were left forgotten. He glanced back to the Professor, who nodded grimly as if to confirm all he’d seen. “My first act as headmaster of this school is to tap into the minds and memories of its students and teachers. Logan, trust me when I say, some things are better left in the past.”

He didn’t know what was right or wrong. Keeping this from you felt wrong but at the same time, you were happy with what you had. Was it already too late? Was that glasses-wearing motherfucker Dr. J. Kreva? How much had he told you? How much did you know?

“They were looking for her, weren’t they?” It was the first phrase he’d spoken since reading the file, pieces of your puzzle clicking into place. Charles simply nodded again. 

“It’s not safe for her to be here anymore. For the students and her. They know where to find her now.”

“Then what to we do?” Ororo asked through heavy sniffles, teary eyes looking between you and the Professor. 

“We take her off grid,” Hank said, setting down his glasses. He’d picked them up to read whatever was in that folder but quickly decided against it after seeing Storm’s reaction.

“But we can’t do that without good reason?” Kurt chimed in, casting worried glances around the room.

“Two years ago, I received signals from an environmental research facility we all believed to have been destroyed in a freak accident seven years prior. I sent Jean and Storm to assess the situation after the explosion, and that’s–”

“That’s where we found her and Jade… Oh my God, that was the site?” Ororo finished, her voice dripping with dread. “But… how did they escape? What happened?”

Charles sighed with resignation. “We don’t know. It would take searching her locked memories and risk pulling them to the surface to answer that question, and that wasn’t a gamble I was going to bet on, not after what I’d glimpsed in the past.”

Logan could barely hear any of this. His ears were ringing, white noise clouding his senses as he just stared at you. Your whole life had been a lie. A jumble of nonsense knitted into your memories by another mutant, reality locked away within the darkest depths of your head. He didn’t know what to do. His urge to protect you from this new threat fought with the urge to protect you from your own past. 

“The decision should be hers.” He interrupted the ongoing conversation, moving to take your hand and press a kiss to the scar on your wrist. “Whether she remembers or not. Explain to her what you said to me, and let her decide.” It was the only course of action he could see. The room fell into silence, all contemplating the suggestion before Charles moved forward to the file on the ground, picking it up and closing it. 

“Wherever you take her, wherever you hide her, take this with you. You can’t tell me where you’re going, and I won’t search for you. The less people who know, the better.” He instructed, and Logan nodded, setting the folder to the side. “When she wakes up, we’ll–”

“When she wakes up, you’ll what?” 

The room had been too caught up in their conversations to notice you stirring from your tranquiliser-induced nap. “You know, I seem to spend a concerning amount of my time unconscious these days.” You sat up slowly, the heel of your palm braced against your forehead as if to help the slight pounding at your temples. 

Logan was at your side in a single stride, his hands cupping the sides of your face delicately, as if holding you any tighter would cause you to break. Your relieved smile when you saw him broke his heart. “Hey Lo’.” 

Though that smile faded as he didn’t return it, his eyes brimming with an emotion your groggy head couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He responded, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and it was as if that was all you needed for your headache to fade. You held one of his palms against your cheek, leaning into his touch.

“How long was I out?”

“Around four hours or so. You feelin’ okay?” Concern. That was the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint a moment ago. Concern and… heartbreak?

“Yeah… ‘m fine. Who died?” You asked, trepidation lacing your tone as you stole glances at the others in the room. Ororo had tears in her eyes, Kurt’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Hank looked more bleak than you’d ever seen him, his hands clasped together as if in mourning. You continued scanning the room, Charles offering you a look of sympathy before your eyes landed on the folder Logan had set down. It was like a trigger had been fired in your brain, hazy memories of before you fell unconscious rushing back to you in one big hurricane.

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and Logan wrapped his arms around your head in response, smoothing gently touches against your hair as you basked in the comfort of his embrace.

“How much do you know?”

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

[angel-eyes05]

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara 

summary: a fight you've been waiting for arises in front of you, but can you keep your guard up long enough to reunite with your teammates again?

warnings: ANGSTY (the next chapter is smut i promise), HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, mentions and descriptions of blood and injuries, this is so against canon its insane

word count: 1.8k

notes: ok ok i promise that the next chapter will have smut in it, i just wanted to do some enemies to lovers before we got to that point so thanks for sticking around during the past two chapters i know its not easy lmao. you guys will be rewarded well though, trust trust😌 😌 😌 

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Bright ruby liquid dripped from your tricep as Miguel’s claws ripped through the fibers of your suit, slamming you into the cement floor. Any false confidence you went into this battle with quickly disappeared when each futile attempt to get Miguel off his feet failed. You’re not sure how long you’ve been stalling him, but it felt like hours. You were still putting up a fight though, managing to bruise one of his cheekbones that you used to love so much. But compared to the state you were currently in, it didn’t exactly mean much. You were bleeding from all sorts of places. The most noticeable places were where his claws has dug into you, first your thigh, now your tricep. At this point in the fight, you were just focused on defending yourself.

Images of your favorite moments with him flashed inside your eyes in between his strikes at your face. How gently he would hold you, the way he would whisper your name sometimes and moan it others. How nervous he would get if you took longer than usual to come back from a mission. But even with his mask on, you could see it in his face that that was all gone now. Any ounce of love he had for you was whisked away with you when you walked into that elevator away from him. Just like you, feelings of betrayment flooded his brain, making him lose all sense judgment as he sliced his claws across your stomach. He didn’t feel anything for you anymore. Which only made it easier for you to harm him.

He had you pinned to the floor below him, no escape in sight other than you to physically push him off of you, which didn’t seem like very much of an option considering his size and weight. Plus, he had your hand pinned down with his knees. He had taken a break from punching you to catch his breath, heaving hot pants into your face below him. His mask faded off in order to let him breathe better. 

Your struggle out had suddenly paused.

Then you saw it. His mask had been hiding it from you before.

His eyes were red. And not his iris’ natural crimson glow. The pure white sclera of his eye had been stained with red. Had he been…crying? You felt your heart drop into your stomach. He had. A lot. You felt so guilty, knowing it was most likely you who caused this. You managed to slip your arm out from under his knee, but instead of using it to pushed him off, you placed it gently on the side of his cheek, brushing your finger over the horrible bruise you put there, blemishing his perfect skin.

His only movements from then on out were slight flinches from when your thumb would press too hard on the bruise. You wanted to badly to leave this all behind. To just go back home with him. To crawl into bed with him and pretend none of this ever happened. You wanted to embrace him again after all this time, you wanted to place your lips onto his again and remind him of your love. Both of you had been so full of hate the past few months. You needed to love again. You wanted to love again.

But you couldn’t. Not right now. And not in good conscious. To let go of this now would be to let go of everything you stood for. You couldn’t go back with him. Not like this. So while it was your heart that screamed out for him, it was your head that acted next as you grabbed his arm with your free hand and ripped his claws through his stomach. As he growled out in pain, he leaned over to his left side more, giving you your way out. You jumped to your feet and raced for the whole in the wall. You made it out, but not before Miguel made his final attempt to grab you.

He fell down in pain before you were in his clutch, but his reach out for you caused four large gashes to form into your back. You yelped out in agony as you felt his claws ripped through the fabrics of your skin. You kept running though, refusing to look back to see if he was following you. You prepped up the portal on your watch, sending out the Earth you were jumping to to the rest of your teammates. You had zero idea where they were or if they were okay, but your one concern right now was getting away from Miguel. Your back shot pain through your entire body with every step you took, but you had to ignore that right now. You had bigger matters at hand. For example, the growing sound of footsteps behind you.

Fuck, he was up again already? This was bad. Your allies were all missing, the portal wasn’t ready yet, and you could feel your consciousness leaving your body as pain overtook your mind. You had to keep running, but each step was sloppier than the last. God fuck, you couldn’t get caught now. He was close you could feel it. You looked at your watch with fuzzy vision, basically praying for it to work at this point. You tried to run faster, but that proved to be a fatal mistake. Panic zoomed through your body as you felt yourself trip over your own feet.

You looked behind your back mid fall to find a demonic sight, Miguel bounding towards you on all fours at full speed, a trail of blood leaking behind him. Just as you thought it was over for you, your savior appeared. A bright neon orange portal. You attempted to get back onto your feet to make it through, nearly scrambling, but it was no use. Every movement was more painful than the last, the lacerations on your back reminding your body of all your other injuries, all of them coming to life suddenly at once. This was it. You lost. Sorry Miles, you thought to yourself, I really did try. But you’re going to have to fight this battle without me. 

You weren’t sure if the pain was making you hallucinate, but you could’ve sworn that you saw Hobie jumping into the air behind Miguel, and slamming his guitar into his face. Miguel was knocked off of his fours and onto his back, tumbling away into a building to your right. Your vision was confirmed when you felt Pavitr’s and Gwen’s hands latch onto your arms and drag you into the portal, Peter B. and the rest of the team behind them. The last thing you saw before fully passing out was Miguel’s limp body laying against the brick wall as you floated through the portal into whatever Earth you would crash into next.

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The sky grew a dark gray as your team gathered in a dark alley in whatever Earth you landed in this time. Peter B. had you in his own separate corner, Gwen taking care of Mayday as he stitched up your gashes with some spare thread Margo bought at the drugstore. Your tricep and and thigh were painful, but over faster than expected. Now he was on to your back. And fuck did it suck. Being the deepest of all three attacks, it was still bleeding while Peter was stitching it up, causing the thread to get stuck to your skin at some parts. You bit at your tongue through the pain, while Pavitr asked and answered questions to keep you distracted. “What happened?” he asked first. “Got..ambushed. Fought Miggy- Miguel I mean. Managed to hit him….before he tore my back..o-open. Yo-u guys s-saved me. Now w-we’re…where are we?” you said, gritting through your teeth. “Earth-42,” Margo stated, looking at the slightly orange glow on her wrist. You nodded slightly, but winced once Peter accidentally got the thread stuck on dried blood, and started yanking at it. 

“Jesus Peter, have you never done this before?! Mayday could do a better job than this!” you yelled at him. You got a slight giggle out of the baby, as Gwen placed her in your lap to distract you. 

“Who are you with right now?” Pavitr asked, pulling your attention away from your wounds again. “Uhh, Pavitr, Mayday, Peter B., Gwen, Hobie, Ham, Noir, Margo, and Peni,” you answered, playing with Mayday’s hands. “How are you feeling?” he asked next. “Other than the growing urge to punch Peter B. in the face-” “I’m doing my best here!” he shouted from behind you, getting a chuckle out of you. “I feel fine.” 

You felt everyone’s eyes glue onto you. You stared back confused for a second. “....What, I do.” You were the only one severely injured out of the whole group, the rest of them making it out with scratches at the worst. Meanwhile you were sitting there, blood leaking out of nearly every crevice of your body and bruises quickly forming around your face. They had a right to not believe you. Because they were right. You weren’t okay. You felt a new emotion towards Miguel that you hadn’t felt towards him before. You were terrified of him. Watching him pounce towards you like a coyote hunting its prey. You now understood how all of his enemies felt towards him. Because you were one of them now.

You felt stupid for thinking you could beat him, much more kill him. Stupid for thinking for some reason he would go easy on you. You saw how he acted towards you. He pounded his fists into your body as if you single handedly killed his whole family. He didn’t care for you anymore. But then you remembered. How his eyes were for that split second you saw them. Why was he crying? Was it stress? Was it joy that he was about to finish his mission? Or…was it you? It felt self centered to think that was the reason. That he had been crying over the fact he lost you. You could imagine it now. Miguel sitting lonelily in front of all his monitors and scanners looking for you, ashamed in himself for letting you go as easily as he did. You dragged yourself out of that thought fast, convincing yourself that thats not what you were to him. You were just a pawn in his game. And you were done playing.

Pavitr decided to not push the question anymore and began to talk to you about other stuff until Peter finished up with your back. You stood up, ignoring the ache in your back, to peek out of the alley and into the city. Everyone’s attention turned to Margo’s wrist as it blinked a light orange. When her eyes lit up, you knew it had to be good news. 

“Miles.” she said. “He’s here.”

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NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: OK OK NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LAST ONE AND EVERYTHING WILL BE WRAPPING UP THERE I PROMISE (there'll be smut too dw dw🤭🤭🤭). i also have a new idea for a miguel fic so ill be getting started on that after i finish with chapter 4 (it'll be oc x miguel cause i wanna get my character writing out there, but dw you can imagine youre her lmao). so be on the lookout for that whenever it drops, id appreciate the continued support!!!!

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[theamberfist]

Like Father, Like Child | Part 2 | Alastor + Exorcist! Reader

Familial! Alastor + Exorcist! Adopted Child! Reader

Description: The battle between heaven's exorcists and the Hazbin Hotel rages on, but when Adam catches wind of your secret past, a difficult choice is forced upon you.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder, fallen angels) (gender neutral reader) (reader is Alastor's adopted child from when they were alive) (Part 2/4 of Like Father, Like Child)

Read Part 1 here

Words: 3,351

"Jez!" A voice called from behind you and you immediately turned around, seeing one of your fellow exorcists about to fall at the hands of more cannibalistic demons. Snapping out of the trance you'd been placed in upon seeing your father again, you immediately rushed over to assist her. Luckily, it seemed Alastor really did have no interest in attacking his own child, allowing you to focus on helping your ally.

You had always been one of Adam's best exorcists. After Vaggie had left, it paved the way for you to rise in their ranks and prove yourself. Aside from Lute, there were few other angels that had killed as many sinners as you; for better or worse.

So of course, you had no trouble freeing your sister-in-arms from her predicament and then rushing into the ever-raging crowd of cannibals; thinning them out.

As you fought, though, you kept feeling as if there were eyes on you; like you were being watched. It was a bit unsettling, especially because you knew exactly whom it was that kept looking your way despite being faced with Adam himself.

'Mind your own business, dad...' You thought to yourself as you stabbed your spear through the body of yet another angel. Though, you'd been having to hold your own self back from glancing up at him this whole time, too. After all, this was the first time you two had reunited in many, many years. Could one have blamed you for being curious about what had become of the man that once raised you, even after all the horrible things he'd done?

Finally, you allowed yourself to spare a look at the roof nearby, where Adam and Alastor were engaged in a fight. For the first little while, you actually couldn't tell which of them would win between Adam's heavenly power and your dad's shadowy magic.

But as the fighting continued, the outcome started to get more apparent. Adam was strong, and unlike your dad, he wielded angelic weapons.

Several times during their fight, you also found yourself in slightly stickier situations due to being so distracted, only for an odd black tentacle-like thing to shoot up from the ground and block whatever attack a sinner might be preparing towards you. It was disorienting, as you were fairly certain those same tentacle-things had just been fighting on the side of those sinners just moments earlier.

Eventually, there was a huge blast of angelic power from the roof of the building and the once radio-static voice of your father now sounded completely normal as he cursed at Adam. It reminded you of the way he'd sounded while alive; almost making tears prick in your eyes.

For a split second, it almost felt like you'd been taken back to that time; when things were simpler and it was just you and your dad living happily in New Orleans. But of course, this was a very different situation. You were reminded of that once Adam called out.

"Jez, get the fuck up here!" He shouted from the roof. You gulped, feeling almost like a kid that had been called to the principle's office, but spread your wings and flew up to the top of the building anyway.

On the way, you caught a glimpse of one sinner in particular that looked familiar to you. With an 'X' over her eye and a big red bow in her long hair, she could almost have been the spitting image of Vaggie.

Could this have been where she ended up?

Could this be where you would end up, now that Adam seemed to be aware of who you were?

You pushed the thought out of your mind as you landed on the rooftop now, looking over at your boss and completely ignoring the sight of your dad laying against the nearby wall; as if he'd been slammed into it.

"Yes, sir?" You asked, appearing as calm and unbothered as you could have been when faced with your dad like this. Adam's eyes narrowed but then he put on a fake smile of his own.

"Great, now that everybody's here, Jez, meet the Radio Demon!" He exclaimed, pointing to Alastor, who's eyes were narrowed into a glare despite the supposed grin on his face. "Oh, wait, you've already fucking met!" You tensed when the angel's tone got more angry but kept your composure, nonetheless.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." You replied, careful not to even look at Alastor for fear of giving yourself away. Luckily, he said nothing either; likely still shocked from both seeing you after so long and being so injured by the first man.

"Oh, ya don't, do you?" Adam replied as he crossed his arms over his chest and wore an expression of disbelief. You shook your head but that didn't seemed to be enough for the leader of the exorcists. "Well, if you really don't know the asshole, then I'm sure you'll have no problem finishing him off for me." Your breath hitched.

Adam had to already know about your relation to Alastor, but how had he figured it out? You hadn't told anyone during the entire time you'd been dead, and yet the first time you saw him again, you'd been discovered for who you really were?

Then you thought back to when you'd been fighting earlier; how Alastor's powers had seemed to protect you from even the ones that were supposed to be on his own side. It seemed the man still hadn't been able to stop looking out for you; even after both of you had died. And because of that, he'd likely been even more distracted when fighting Adam, which the angel had caught on to.

Sometimes you really forgot the first man had a brain.

"Alright." You whispered finally, unsure of what else to do. You knew what would happen if you defied Adam; it was likely the same thing that had once happened to Vaggie! But as you turned to look at your dad now, still slumped against the wall, you already knew you wouldn't be able to go through with this.

He may have harmed and killed so many, but he was still your father. He'd still raised you; been loving and caring throughout your entire childhood. You couldn't help but view him as your dad, even after everything.

Plus, there was a deeper part of you that knew you two were one in the same. Just because you hadn't acted on your murderous tendencies in life didn't automatically make you better; especially when you'd gone on to kill so many sinners as an angel in death. It didn't matter if that was what heaven had commanded you to do; you were still a murderer in your own right.

So as you went to take a step towards your dad, angelic spear raised and ready, you already knew you wouldn't be able to go through with it. He seemed to realize it too, because as he pushed himself into a sitting position against the partially destroyed wall, there was a hint of pride in his eyes. He knew his own kid; knew that you'd sooner betray heaven than your only family.

"S-sir," you said, turning back to Adam now, "Are you sure you want me to be the one to-"

"Yes." The angel replied before you could even finish, "Now, get on with it! We have more little bitches to slaughter." So much for making up an excuse not to do this, you supposed.

As you turned back to Alastor, you attempted to keep your body from shaking. With fear, regret, or sadness? You weren't sure, but whatever it was, it was enough to stop you once you were within stabbing-distance of the Radio Demon.

"What's wrong?" Adam asked from behind you; his tone telling you he very much enjoyed the entertainment the situation was bringing, "Too scared to kill off your old man?"

So he did know. Your eyes narrowed, still facing away from the angel, but now that that revelation had come to pass, even when you'd suspected it already, you felt a bit of anger boil up inside you. He was doing this purely for entertainment; using you to make the extermination more fun for him. And you decided now that you weren't having it.

So, to everyone's surprise including your own, you turned around and hurled your spear directly at his face. No matter how murderous you'd felt in the past, you couldn't bring yourself to kill your own father, and it pissed you off that he would even try to make it happen.

"Do it yourself!" You shouted. He took a step to the side so the spear missed his head by a long shot but it had been enough to get your point across.

Adam's eyes narrowed and now you knew there was no going back.

..........

Technically, Alastor had never wanted kids to begin with. As entertaining as they were, he found them to be more responsibility than they were ultimately worth.

However, the people around him seemed to consider them a positive thing; almost a necessity, when it came to human life. There was so much emphasis on that picture perfect family everyone seemed to have; a wife, children, a beautiful home.

...To the point where it was considered odd not to have or want those things in some degree.

Alastor had always known his favorite 'pastimes' were considered unacceptable to the rest of society. That was why he'd gotten so good at hiding it; whether through his smile, his charm, or the rest of his meticulously planned out actions. He always took much care in making sure no one suspected him of being different or 'odd.'

Which was why it irked him once people began questioning his wants in life. "When are you going to settle down?" They would ask, "ever thought about having kids of your own?"

"It's odd to be so happy yet so alone at your age. Perhaps meeting a beautiful woman would do you some good."

Every comment increased his anger, having never felt the need for such aspects of life, but he knew it meant people had started to see him as odd; that he stood out from the persona he so desperately tried to make blend in with the rest of society.

He needed a way to reassure them all that he was 'normal' if he wanted to continue keeping the suspicion off of him. And since he could never bring himself to marry or be romantically involved with another, it had seemed he only had one other option.

Which was how he eventually found himself visiting the adoption agency just a few blocks from his home. Keeping up his cheerful and charming act had been more difficult than ever, considering he'd never wanted to be doing this, but it was necessary, and the very next day, he walked out with the first child he'd found there.

You.

He didn't know where you'd come from before he took you in and, frankly, he didn't care. You were just a way for him to keep the suspicion off himself; a means to continue his 'activities' uninterrupted.

And at first, he only did the bare minimum as your parent. You'd been five when he took you in, which he'd deemed was old enough to be left to your own devices most of the time. He provided you with food, water, clothing, and a space to live in, but that was it. For the first year since he took you in, the only 'fatherly affection' you ever received had come while you were out in public and he'd needed to make sure people questioned nothing. Beyond that, he was just a person that lived in your house.

Alastor wasn't sure when that dynamic had changed, nor what had made it do so. One day, he'd felt nothing other than basic responsibility towards you, and then the next, it had seemed your young self had him wrapped around your little finger.

He pulled back at first, not wanting to become attached to the kid he saw as nothing more than a tool to continue his murders, but in time, he came to accept it. Even if he hadn't wanted a child of his own at first, it had seemed that was what he'd gotten when he signed up to take care of you.

Somewhere down the line, you became his, and by then, there was no going back.

..........

"What the fuck did you say, you little bitch?!" Adam demanded as he stood up tall, seeming to grow in size now. He came towards you but you stood your ground between him and your dad despite the fear.

"I said I'm not doing it." You replied firmly. It was a miracle your voice wasn't shaking right now with how much fear you felt. "I'm not going to kill my dad for you."

"So you really are that cunt's kid," Adam hissed, "No wonder you were one of my best exorcists; being the child of a serial killer." Then something in his demeanor shifted. "Why the fuck do all my best people turn out to be traitors?" You knew he was referring to Vaggie, which made your blood boil even more.

"At least I'm not too much of a coward to kill a demon myself." You spat. A second later, there was a stinging on your cheek as Adam slapped you; making you fall to the ground with a cry.

"Don't act like you're any better than me!" Adam cried, clearly upset now, "You've killed just as many of these little vermin as I have."

"I have," you agreed, staring him down despite still laying on the ground, "But not anymore." You reached down into your right boot now, pulling out an angelic dagger you always had stashed on your person and launching it at your boss.

This time, it hit, landing in Adam's leg as he cried out in pain; golden blood dripping down his clothes. "You bitch." He spat before taking out his own weapon and slashing at your left eye with it. You screamed in pain, feeling your own blood run down your face. Had this happen to Vaggie too, when she'd fallen?

Wait, were you falling? Was that what this was?

In both your pain and confusion, you didn't notice the familiar black tentacles that rose from the ground now and started attacking Adam, despite Alastor's weakened state. The angel grunted in annoyance more than anything as he slashed through them with his angelic weapon before finally turning back to you.

Off to the side, Alastor seemed both more furious and more exhausted from the brief exchange.

"Someone like you doesn't belong in heaven." Adam spat as he stood over you now. You tried to get out of his way but between your pain and bleeding, it was no use. "You wanna be with your old man so bad? Fine, then enjoy hell, bitch!" And with that, he reached down, grabbing your wings between his hands and pulling so hard that you felt them rip right off your back.

The pain was immeasurable and you screamed in agony; blood now shooting out from the two holes in your back. You'd never thought you would be falling from heaven like this, but now that you were, it was as if everything you once had was being ripped from your hands.

You felt Adam preparing to stab you again and immediately rolled out of the way, crying out when the ground made contact with your now-exposed wounds. Behind you, Alastor was seething and your angel boss only seemed to revel in it more.

"I should have done away with all of you sinners a long time ago," he said finally as he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you from the ground, "starting with you, Jez. Then I'll kill your old man and every other demon here!"

"That's not my name!" You managed to shout, sounding strangled due to Adam's harsh grip on the collar of your clothes. It was something you'd been keeping in for a long time now, and since it seemed like you were about to fall from heaven, now felt like a good time to let it out.

Adam's eyes narrowed at that and then he tossed you to the side, causing you to collide with the very same wall your dad was currently leaning against. Luckily, you didn't hit Alastor but the impact of the wall against your head was enough to finally knock you out. You really weren't used to actually being injured as an exorcist and before today, hadn't even been aware demons could hurt angels at all.

Despite his own injuries, Alastor managed to stand and take a few steps over so that he was now between you and Adam, who scoffed.

"Really, you're gonna protect them now, old man?" He asked with a condescending tone, "Didn't I tell you radio's fucking dead?!" He slashed at Alastor, who managed to block the attack with a small shield that then immediately dispersed.

"Radio's not dead," Alastor replied as he let his shadow grow behind him, panting heavily, "but it is ending this broadcast!" And with that, both you and him melted away into the shadows where Adam couldn't reach.

The Angel in question let out a grunt of frustration before turning to join the rest of the battle. He'd have the chance to deal with you later, he decided. For now, you and your pathetic father had already taken too much of his time.

..........

Both you and Alastor reappeared inside his radio tower, which was in rough shape but otherwise unaffected by the battle outside. You were still unconscious and his shadow gently laid you on whatever soft things it could find; consisting of a small pile of pillows and fluff.

Your face and back were completely covered in your golden angelic blood but otherwise, you seemed relatively alright, which Alastor was thankful for.

Rage enveloped him once again as he thought back to how he'd not only lost the fight against Adam but also been forced to watch his own child be harmed by the first man after not seeing you for so many years. The fact that Adam had even laid a hand on his kid made his blood boil and he swore that if Charlie and the others didn't take care of Adam, he would.

Your dad's shadow provided some basic first aid to you as you slept, though it turned out to be rather fortunate that you weren't awake to witness the Radio Demon's temporary slip of composure. He resolved to have revenge on heaven for what had happened today, as soon as his own deal was broken, that was.

Finally, Alastor sunk into a seat near the radio tower's control panel before glancing back at you. He didn't even need to verbally ask his shadow what it was thinking; instead it seemed to just know as it gently plucked you from the ground and brought your now-bandaged body to him.

Feeling some of his anger melt away at the sight of you, he reached out and pulled you away from the shadow and into his arms, hugging you the way he had many times in life. 

The shadow melted away again as Alastor seemed to relax slightly. "There, there..." He whispered to you, who was still asleep, "It's going to be alright, darling. Nothing else will hurt you." And he meant that.

Alastor may not have been able to protect you from Adam before, but he would not fail again. He would do everything in his power to ensure this incident never repeated; especially now that you were here with him in hell, where he actually could protect you. 

He looked out the window to see the rest of the angels now flying off back to heaven since the battle seemed to have ended. They were leaving you behind as if it was nothing, but that wouldn't matter anymore. They weren't your family; they never had been. He was always your family, and he would never let harm come to you again.

No matter what.

……….

Part 3

Part 4

[eldritch-spouse]

Next part to [this series]

[Minors DNI][Fem reader][Interactive poll!]

TW: Kidnapping; Descriptions of gore.

He watches you put the cup back down.

It had been a bad decision to give you a taste of such. Hudsyn can admit that much.

Could he be blamed however, in his want to make you appreciate your time with him more? An angel's tears- The delicacy of times forgotten, something both holy and blasphemous, rich spoils only he can gift you. Can you even comprehend the magnitude of what he's offered you?

The two of you, enjoying a priceless commodity, one which no other common mortals in this world can even conceive of in this day and age. It's poetic, it signifies your importance, your achievements to come- It's romantic, dare Hudd say.

And yet, it was also a mistake. More and more, he gets painfully reminded of the risks of romanticism, of letting that little spark of pride in him -What's left of it- Blind him to reality, sideline his goals. Hudsyn's never wanted to impress someone as badly as he does you and it shows. Perhaps to you it doesn't, but to the few who know him, it'd be the most glaringly obvious slap to the face.

Point being, that drink had its uses. It was meant to keep you lulled, susceptible, easy to grasp his meanings and emotions. He didn't plan for the possibility of him being unable to keep his feelings in check, which, to be fair, isn't something Hudd often has to worry about to begin with. They bled into you, some less pretty things dancing around his excited mind… Put you on edge, overwhelmed you. Whatever channel was formed between you two was interrupted by something else at the end, something Hudd desperately hopes he can keep at bay now that you've obediently placed the cup down.

Dangerous. Dangerous unknowable variables. Thorns.

That cup. He wanted to blurt out the oh so riveting references it possessed instantly, but far be it of the demonoid to prematurely ruin a surprise. The feathers, the eye, the celestial tears- Oh, it's in moments like this that he can't help sing his own praises. He's charming. He's clever.

Hudsyn admits he's been stalling.

Not that it's detrimental to his goal, he was entirely honest when he told you that you still had a nick of time to converse before things got serious. And it's only natural he'd want to take advantage of every second he so graciously granted the two of you to ground himself, to calm down, to focus. Because, as he said, you're about to do something very very special together. It's a tricky situation, but if it all goes swimmingly, you'll be the ones to fix Hell's murky history, to finally glimpse into the world before monsters, before abandonment, before sin. Translating it into scripture.

The one true scripture of the world that formed Perdition.

Just thinking about it has Hudd a little emotional. Okay, very emotional.

Can he cry? These eyes, the way they work… Hudd has wept enough. Perhaps angels can weep in his stead now.

To think that you'll do this with him, for him, his darling precious mentee- There for him always, understanding, empathetic, a breath of much needed fresh air for his starved lungs and unfortunately also the bane of his loins. It's been too long since the demonoid was this consistently aroused. A state that should disgust him, yet the images conjured in his mind never seem to let him get rightfully upset. Oh, you and him will be beautiful. You will make everyone proud. Hudd only wishes he could make you see that now, take away the little seed of doubt he sometimes sees in your eyes. You need never doubt him, he knows best, and you've been aware of such up until now too.

" Mentee. " He starts, after a pause. " We ought to get to work. "

There. Focus. Good.

When you look at him, hues betraying an inner battle, hesitant yet curious, he really cannot fault you. For as much as Hudd has spent small eternities planning this day from start to finish, he alone cannot guarantee its success. You play too large a part to do so, without you, without your cooperation, everything will be so needlessly hard.

And yet… In the time he's come to know you, Hudd’s sixth sense hasn't technically failed him. You fit the profile of someone he needs for this kind of thing. Why, at times, you even revealed yourself as knowing more than any ordinary human should.

You wouldn't just walk out. Wouldn't get in his way.

You're better than that. You're intelligent enough to understand, you will know to make the correct choices when the time comes.

He trusts you with the most important moment of his life.

And the realization sends a rattling shiver down his spine.

When he stands up, so do you.

This has been scaring you a little.

Hudd was never someone you'd consider easy to read, not exactly an open book, even if he seemed to want to be transparent at times. Intriguing, cultured, fascinating and… Unsafe. Frantic. Invasive.

Hudd is a man on a mission, that much has been clear from day one.

And the depths of his dedication are something you're only truly grasping now, after being… Kidnapped, into this location. After becoming a part of his project.

The historian had yet to lay a hand on you. There's no immediate danger, only tension, unease- And that ever present morbid curiosity that begs you to discard any crumb of self-preservation you have.

What were the images you saw in his mind? Why did you see those things?

Who talked to you?

Help. Who asked for your help?

" What are we doing? " Something you feel the need to ask again. Maybe this time you'll get an answer.

The demonoid pauses, a hint of irritation flashing there for a moment. " Follow me, if you will, there are some things you need to see to understand, and I do not enjoy wasting breath. "

That robe-clad form turns towards that hall again. The voice… It came from there. No, you heard it in your mind, but the fact that it beckoned you to glance that way... Does something loom there? Hidden in that thick blanket of darkness that threatens to swallow the rest of the room? Whatever it is, if it is there at all, sounded small. Helpless. Corralled.

Desperation, but entirely unlike the one you felt in Hudsyn.

" My, are you really that tired? I need you to make an effort to keep up with me here, Mentee. This is important. “ The demon tuts again, coming closer to you. It's odd, you've never really paid that much attention to the difference in heights between yourself and the historian up until now.

He's taller than you. Not by that much. If you had to guess, around the six foot mark, six foot something. But those horns, the way they curve over his head like great symmetrical arches, the pitch black canvas of his face and the mystery of what lies beneath, what he tries to cover thoroughly enough to never wear anything other than those plain robes. Hudd is a tad creepy.

“ You won't forgive yourself if you falter during this. “ He warns, stern.

There's a gulp, you don't like the way he's talking. It's very clear you'll be doing something risky eventually, and you don't particularly want to chance being harmed. The fear has to be evident in your face, because he continues.

“ I have mulled over this for more years than you have been alive, protégé… So long as you follow my instructions, everything will go perfectly, and we'll emerge with the answers we need. “

A pallid palm extends in your direction, fingers curling slightly and claws glinting. “ I chose you because I know you are capable of doing this with me. Come. “

And, maybe because you can’t control your rabid curiosity anymore, maybe just because he believes in you so much, you take that hand in yours.

It feels like the seal of a promise, a contract officialized in impulsive compassion.

What would happen if you denied him now anyway? You haven’t the faintest idea where you are, bereft of any personal belongings except the very pajamas you went to bed with. Could you find a way out of his home if things went south? Could you find help in time? Would Hudd hurt you? Or… Would he simply drop you back home?

No, this is too important to him, you’re not willing to believe breaking the perception he has of your “potential” is something the demonoid would take very well.

He smiles, nodding.

Pulled along by said hand, its hold more of a periodic squeeze than anything, you’re guided into that hall. And, as soon as you set foot in said ambiguous darkness, the shabby lamp that furnishes the wall at its very edge crackles loudly, the bulb within it giving its last few sparks of light before becoming utterly useless. In that moment, you truly become submerged in a sea of blackness, unable to pinpoint where you're going at all. Hudd, on the other hand, seems hardly bothered by the change. Perks of being a demon, you presume…

When you step over something that creaks, your hand instinctively tightens around the historian's, causing him to audibly halt.

“ Oh… “ He starts, a giddy hint lying there. “ You can't see very well, can you? “

" No. "

“ Forgive the lapse, this house… It's been a while since I did maintenance checks on it. Here, I will guide you, mentee. “

A warmth envelops your side, one of Hudd's hands presumably sets on your right shoulder and the other balances your front. The sensation of those pointed claws poking through your pajamas is mildly stressing. If he were to put the smallest amount of pressure on them, he could probably draw blood.

The demonoid's closeness is a tad confusing, the only thing audible now being soft footfalls and his slightly uneven breathing. Why not just get a flashlight? Does he seriously not have any?

A sudden intake of air has the hairs on your back rising. You'd rather stumble through the dark than feel this stifling hold upon your form. Hudd hasn't said a word but he feels and sounds even more excited than before. Like this, you are once more reminded of your short-comings as a human, and how every one of them is against you if you were to attempt to flee.

“ There's a staircase ahead, you should… Grab onto me. “

Ah, that makes a little more sense.

He wasn’t lying, because sure enough, you feel the first step, as well as his hands tightening around your body. Although your arms spread in an attempt to perhaps find a wall or a handrail, you’re unable to, having to pace yourself and take Hudd’s advice instead.

“ I won’t lie, sometimes I do forget how fragile humans are. Just look at you, blind like a bat, a fall from this staircase would probably break more than a few bones. Hm… Now that I think about it, you could die, if you fell just the wrong way. “

What the Hell is his problem right now…

“ Ah, I didn’t mean to alarm you. “ He has the nerve to say, helping you down yet another step. “ Besides, I’m here, I would never let that happen to you. “

Reassuring. Totally.

Just how many steps does this staircase have? Maybe having no vision alters your perception of time, or maybe he's descending at a snail's pace, but it feels as if you've been going down for too long. You're antsy.

“ In any case, it's rather convenient the lights aren't working very well in this next area. A different kind of lighting is necessary for it all to work. “

It all… You still don't know what he's on about.

When it feels as though you two have finally reached another division, a pause unfolds. Instead of letting you go, you feel him move to stand behind you, silently. Both of his arms shift to now hold you against him by the waist. Sensory experiences heightened by the lack of visual input, the soft rise and fall of his chest is felt clearly, as is the shape of a rather thin build behind those deceitful robes.

Seconds pass in this stillness. Part of you is hoping he'll reach for some kind of light switch on the wall or continue to guide you somewhere else, but all the demon seems content to do is stand there. If you didn't know better, you'd say he's lost too, or falling asleep.

" ... Hudd? "

No response.

" What's happening now...? "

For a few more moments, he doesn't make a peep. The very second you're considering ripping yourself free of his grasp, the monster finally speaks.

" I've been waiting for this long enough that it almost feels like a dream, you know? "

" H- Huh? "

" Shh... "

A palm slithers up your front, a finger tapping at your chin before softly resting on bottom lip.

" Ever since that night, actually. "

You figure he's going to enter another one of his long-winded speeches, so it's better to just let it happen.

" At the time, fool that I was, my act of theft was done out of spite. I wanted to save my dignity, to lash out in the only real way I could before disappearing... " He sighs. " Turns out what I unknowingly got my hands on was the very key to my success. To proving everyone wrong. To be more than any of those worthless, cowardly animals ever could amount to- "

His tone dips to a growl so bitter it drips poison.

" For decades, I have been putting everything together, down to the last detail. Mentee, I've translated ancient infernal enough times that it could be my mother tongue by now... "

There's shifting, warmth reaches the side of your face. When he opens his mouth again, a dialect you can't make heads or tails of is whispered into your ears. It's harsh and grating, aggressive, filthy. It makes you want to scratch your face.

" There was a time when things were so different. It's almost hard to conceive of now... I ventured into a place I should never have, according to them, but it opened my eyes. Perhaps I didn't leave unscathed, but it gave me the courage to do what I'm doing now, to do everything that has lead up to this. And even, to seek you out. "

" I persevered. I didn't let them dictate what I should do, I didn't let them define my actions or even continue to punish me for daring to make a breakthrough! "

His hands move again, this time to grab yours and place them on your front, wrapped by his.

" Perhaps it doesn't matter to you, but I want you to know that I've lost a lot in this search, and you can't fathom how much getting this far means to me. "

" I know you're scared. In the past, I would also see this as something frightening. But both our fates will rely on one thing alone today, your ability to listen to me. "

" O- Okay. "

You're not sure what to say to that, or even if you should pry into what little of his past this demon has let slip.

" Are you ready, protégé? "

What use is there stalling anymore? You can't even go back up the stairs alone. " ... Yes. "

" Very well. Then, I ask you to remain calm. "

Finally, almost begrudgingly even, Hudd detaches from you, moving fluidly in the darkness, the sound of a match being lit resounding across the walls. Little by little, candle flames soar, you can see the silhouette of his horns as the historian moves to quickly create a dimly lit atmosphere in the room.

The sight that greets you is more than a little disconcerting.

This room, or basement rather, is in disrepair. Wherein the living room you had been conversing with Hudd looked rather spacious and and well put together, even comforting- This division barely has any kind of furniture in it aside from shelves and work benches currently drowning in ambiguous paraphernalia. The walls themselves are badly chipped and cracked, no semblance of paint to cover what you really hope aren't splashes of long-dried blood. Some long gashes running their length can only be the result of claw marks. Scuffles. Papers litter the place. Some printed, others harshly scribbled, pages ripped from books, hurriedly pinned or glued to walls, combed over so many times that their edges start to crinkle and yellow, text fading. Pens and markers in various states scatter on the ground.

This... This is like a madman's playground.

Not that you ever though Hudd was very down to Earth.

It feels as if just stepping into this room has drained some of your very sanity. You can picture him clear as day, bent over these tables, scribbling frantically, pinning things together, wrangling someone or something into this location to do who knows what with. The more time you spend around this demonoid, the less you seem to know him.

Opting to say nothing regarding this mess of a room, you focus instead on the larger illustrations half-covered in illegible text. It only takes you a few seconds to realize how similar in nature they are to the ones you spotted upstairs, on his wall. Granted, those were a little too far away for you to actually discern what contents they displayed. But the one he specifically showed you, the one with the angel, is similar to these.

Truth be told, you don't want to believe Hudd. When you looked at that creature he had drawn, many things came to mind but an angel was your last ditch answer. And yet, he eagerly confirmed it. Told you there were more even, here on Earth. Madness, maybe he really is starting to see things, maybe he's ill. Perhaps all this time you've been humoring the drivel of a demonoid entirely disconnected from reality. Well, either way, it doesn't really matter, you just have to make it through whatever this is, right?

He's been... Nice to you, so far. Kind of? You're pretty sure he likes you. Yes, that's a point in your favor.

The illustrations on these walls depict the same being, different parts of their body in more detail. It's a fascinating thing to look at, several notes and underlined information accompany these decent sketches of the lifeform itself, the angel.

What did Hudd say it was again, a guardian?

You confess you don't really understand why this entity looks the way it does or why the demon is so obsessed with it. Might as well ask.

" Hey Hu- "

" Ah, don't mind those. " He starts, close enough to your figure that the skin nearly leaps off your body. " We don't have time to comb over my documents, as rich in knowledge as they are, yes, you will listen and learn as we go along, yes? "

" ... Uhuh. "

" I will ask you, once more, to remain calm. "

It's hard to do so when he keeps reminding you of such. Paranoia dances just beneath your skin as you attempt to nod slowly.

It seems to be confirmation enough, the demon only hesitating for a couple of silent seconds before moving further, into a section of the room you hadn't even cast thought towards. How could you, when everything else was so jarring? The obscured right edge, kept dark on purpose you can only imagine...

A final, tall candle is lit when Hudd stretches, and something likes beneath it, obscured by an inconveniently placed desk, revealing a smooth expanse of what you can only call a head. Immediately, you take a few steps to the left, forward.

The blood in your vessels stutters.

You had expected, unfortunately, to find someone else in there. Some poor soul who, like you, had gotten the bizarre demon's attention and, unlike you, didn't learn to manage his eccentricities well enough.

Little did you think reality could be worse than that already glum possibility.

Because, there, on the cold and harsh ground, shackled to the wall with rusted chains and scribbled magic engravings around them, is what can only be an angel.

The angel.

The one Hudd showed to you only mere moments ago! The one in these pictures, these sketches, detailed from head to toe like some kind of laboratory experiment, some rat.

They seem unconscious, huddled into as small of a ball as they can be, leathered wings frozen in an uncomfortable shape, like the crooked legs of a dead insect. Something mars their pale hide, a series of unknowable symbols expanding into every limb, looping around their torso, probably following into the expanse of their back and even reaching those... Odd tentacles on their lower-half. You're smart enough to understand this isn't simply a tattooed angel, how ludicrous, these scripts are magical in nature, and they've been inflicted upon the holy being. Every now and then, the darkened marks pulse a faint reddish light, and it takes you a moment to understand that the pace is akin to a heartbeat. Their heartbeat.

This lifeform is being kept in a stasis, an unpleasant one if you had to guess.

The crease on that thin abdomen you couldn't quite understand opens the slightest amount, revealing what must be a beautifully colored eye for a sliver of a second.

You can almost begin to imagine what they might look like, without those sigils, without the chains holding their wrists up to the wall...

Yes, beautiful in its own right.

Not your first idea of what an angel might be, but simply gazing upon them brings you an intense sensation of awareness. Instinctually, it's as if you recognize you're in the presence of someone that begets authority and safety.

Never have you felt something similar to this. Perhaps when you were but a youngling, feeling content in the arms of your parents as they pulled you out of a troublesome situation.

You want to get closer to this creature.

" ... please. you came! "

This time, the voice startles you. Because it sounds that much closer, that much desperate, as if a force were shaking you from top to bottom, begging, crying, do something-

" Mentee! "

The noise that leaves you is akin to a goat's bleating. Hudd blinks.

" You've been standing there like a donkey this whole time! "

You frown. " Hudd... That's- That- "

The demonoid huffs, combing over the scripts on the floor and hurriedly testing the sturdiness of the chains holding the angel's wrists. With their head bent at such an angle, you can see the cloth covering it droop, but there's no visible seam between it and the angel's skin. Whatever could be beneath it?

" The specimen I showed you, yes. That's it. Did you listen to a single thing I said just now? "

It.

The demonoid scratches his way back up to a rapid stand and approaches you with a look so dead serious that it deeply unsettles you. " I have come too far. You are not allowed to freak out on me! "

Yes. For your own good, you shouldn't freak out at all.

" But Hudd... Why is he chained to a wall? What- What are you doing to him? " It's impossible to mask the growing distrust, the anxiety, you have no idea what to think of this monster.

Clearly he's not well, and possibly, he's not sane either. But this franticness, as if he's on the clock for something incredibly important, what is driving him to be this unhinged?

The demon shakes his head like you're not quite all there mentally. " Do you sincerely think an angel would willingly converse with me, mentee? I hold no ill-will towards these beings, but all of them would have me set aflame in celestial fires! It's not as if I could merely ask one to clarify a few things... "

Point taken.

" I had... Well, I'm not happy about current circumstances, I know I must look like a mindless torturer to you, but to do this safely, I could only think to remove this guardian from his flock. Not an easy task, mind you. "

This is insane. A flock? Meaning there are possibly more angels out there looking for this one. How does he plan to evade them? Has he thought that far ahead? You hope, against all odds, that Hudd bothered with that. He tends to be thorough, maybe he does know exactly every single risk he's taking right now.

" Pay close attention. " He says, handing you a thoroughly yellowed scroll. The paper feels odd. Where had he been hiding that? " He's currently dormant, and I'm going to wake him up. "

" You're insane. " It escapes you before you can halt it.

Hudsyn very visibly fumes, growling and tugging at a horn. A tone you've yet to hear from the monster rips from his ribcage. " Will you just fucking listen! "

Alright. Okay. Sure.

Your silence calms him. " There's absolutely no reason to fear, I have him entirely under control, all you have to do is follow my instructions if I tell you to do something, it won't be too complex. "

The silence from your part continues as you merely nod, ever confounded and doubtful of where any of this is going. That's a common thing here, isn't it? No matter how much Hudd insists you're vital to this, no matter how eager he is to have you involved and to ramble, you never understood a single thing about his goals, about his methods. A historian, he calls himself, scorned, interested in mapping out the "true" history of Hell and its Rings. But how does a captured angel feature into this?

Hudd sees the annoyance written plainly on your face.

" Please protégé. I know this doesn't look right to you, I'm not dumb. And if we had more time on our hands, if- If I had structured things better, taking into account your- " He sighs, turning away like he just tasted something horrid. " I wish I could have explained things to you better. Talked to you better. But... "

There's a forced cough. " I haven't talked properly to anyone in years, honestly. Maybe, lost in the grander scheme of things, I forgot how to along the way. "

Something heavy starts hanging in the air, the atmosphere drips with sudden awkwardness. No normal demon of his kin would say such a thing if they weren't grasping at straws, if they weren't at the limits of their mind, fraying their nerve endings.

Maybe it's pity, maybe it's sympathy, but you can't help wonder why Hudd is the way that he is, if all this time he's just been calling out for help or acting out to process something he's yet to reveal. Truth is that, unhinged or not, the demon sees in you someone he can trust with what he considers to be the culmination of his life's work and his sole goal moving forward. You are, effectively, his only anchor.

One doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to understand abandoning the demon in this moment would cause him to break down spectacularly. Putting aside what might happen to you as well.

" So... " Breaking a tense silence has never really been your forte. " How do we wake him up? "

Hudd's head snaps your way, and like a switch, he dons the most excited grin. " Easy, mentee! See those symbols on the guardian's chest? I just have to smudge one away, but only one! " His finger raises humorously to emphasize. " We want him conscious, not alert and energized. "

" Is it... " You watch as Hudd shoves important items into desk shelves and arranges a wide radius around the chained angel. He seems to be thinking of any last minute adjustments before going through with this event. It's making your skin crawl. " Is it safe? "

Crouched next to the angel, Hudd gestures for you to get closer, which you tentatively do. Pallid hands grab onto one of yours. " Trust me. I have planned every detail of this. "

The very moment your anxiety starts to die down a little, Hudsyn lets go of your hand to reach under his robes and place, on the ground, a blade.

And his gesture becomes moot.

The entire thing is black, patterns of what you'd guess is gold lining the sleek segments. It looks incredibly sharp and emanates warmth, you'd be a fool to think of it as an ordinary knife.

" Alright, get ready. "

Trying to distract yourself from the nerves steadily climbing back up your spine, you instead inspect the scroll previously handed to you. Predictably, it's not in a language you recognize. It's definitely not infernal, in fact, this feels like a mixture of different foreign alphabets jumbled in a pattern that seems random, but you're sure must hold meaning, if Hudd is holding onto it. It feels old enough that it might disintegrate into ashes on your fingers.

" ... Hey, what does it say in he- "

A flap startles you, scroll clutched tight to your chest as the captured lifeform, the angel, starts stirring. Those leathery looking wings flap harshly a couple of times and his neck twists in a jolt of desperation to stretch, to rise, before the air escapes his chest and the entity sags, wilting to the side soundlessly.

Oh God. It's awake. The guardian is awake, it's alive!

You glance at its chest again, past the light blue cloth, seeing where Hudd wiped the sigil. He's just as still as you are, frozen, evaluating. You notice his claws hovering next to the blade.

In spite of being well awake, the angel doesn't do much of anything, limiting himself to breathing as well as he can in this position. Although his mouth is uncovered, he doesn't say a single thing. The eye on its stomach opens once more, this time fully, and you can hardly believe how beautiful it is. Looking into it, a swirl of warm hues welcomes you, this gentle warmth spreading across your whole figure the longer you stare into it. Hudd doesn't seem to feel any of this, unfazed.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the only eye that reveals itself, because the odd fissures in the angel's immobilized hands part, and from them, two smaller versions of his biggest eyeball are unveiled.

Woah, you've never seen that before...

The guardian looks around. Although, nothing about him betrays fear, sadness or even anger, he's just appraising his surroundings, as if relieved.

" Guardian. " Hudd begins, tone authoritative when he sits and crosses his legs. You don't quite know what to do, so you sit next to him wordlessly.

The angel senses your movement, three eyes focused solely on you for a couple of tense seconds. You've been trying to ignore it, but deep down, you know this is the voice that has been calling out to you this whole time.

" Demon. " He replies, calmly, with no real animosity or much of any inflection honestly. One of his eyes remains glued to you, the others disperse to the infernal monster. Yes, that voice, unmistakable...

" You have been transported here for one reason and one reason alone. "

Hudsyn looks serious in a way you've never seen him before. And you suppose that's warranted, this moment is crucially important to him. You can imagine all the nerves brewing under that impeccably collected act he's putting on. He even seems to think of his body language, keeping it entirely neutral, surveilling the angel with the eyes of a hawk. Even then, can those eyes compare to those of a holy creature?

Is Hudd not playing with something far too complex and foreign to be manipulated?

" I have something of great importance in my possession, and I only crave one thing, to understand it. " There's a measured pause. To the demon's credit, his captive does look engaged. " But see, for me to achieve such, I first need to understand something a lot more complex, something my kind wasn't made to grasp. "

The scroll is taken from your grasp, bounced onto his.

" The languages of siadar. "

It's a term not too well-known to you. Although you have a vague idea of what highers are, and recognize the names of the two apparently said to be on Earth at this moment, Hudsyn is a lot more well-versed in all of this than you ever will be, in all honesty.

The angel becomes, somehow, even more motionless at the mention of siadar. Like stone, really, unblinking, judgmental stone blazing into the demon beside you. It feels like a piercing gaze, a forceful stab into one's deepest wants. Whatever the guardian sees there, he doesn't approve of it.

" I would advise you not to meddle with what does not concern you, Hudsyn. " He starts, slow, tentative, trying to pass some sense into a monster that never had any to begin with.

" Spare me the moralizing, the lot of you are mere cattle. " Hudd huffs.

The angel tilts his head slightly, as much as he can. " Cattle... You find it demeaning that we have a purpose? That we exist to be extensions of our Mothers and Fathers? There is dignity in service. "

The demon looks ready to belt out a couple of retorts, yet holds his tongue at the last second, eyes narrowing in realization. The two are playing a game you're not fully aware of.

" I have no time to entertain this type of debate. " Clawed hands wave the topic away. " And I'm no fool either, I know every each one of you can read the scripts of your Lords, you will read one for me. "

Hudsyn caresses the scroll previously in your hold as if it were a newborn, fragile and immeasurably precious.

" Those scripts are incoherent to you for a reason. They are not meant to be interpreted by anyone other than celestials and siadar. " The other cautions once more.

" Bah-! That's for me to decide! " A growl rises in his throat, yet fails to instill the terror it should've.

" You judge yourself a lord of this world's balance? Delusion favors you greatly. "

You blink.

" Balance?! You call this putrid stagnation balance? If no one else will, then I must set the records straight, whether you like it or not. Balance... " Hudd huffs. " I don't care for it. "

" ... I see. " There's a long pause as the guardian takes that reply in, it appears to have revealed something to him. Eventually, that eyeless veil shifts in your direction, sending a paralyzing jolt right through your core. " And you? Do you value balance? "

You cannot answer. The words are stuck to the roof of your mouth, which seems to dry and burn whenever you so much as try to make a sound. Holding eye contact with him is not an option, for a mere glimpse of those hues fills you with too much emotion at once.

A snarl resounds. " Quiet! This encounter is between you and I only. "

" And yet she is here. " The other retorts easily. " Am I wrong to assume you value this lesser's input? "

" My mentee and I are on the same page, you won't bother her. "

Another pause. The guardian painfully rolls his head back in Hudd's direction. You wonder why he does that, when his eyes aren't there.

" Very well. "

Hudsyn unfurls the scroll, confirming to himself that this is, in fact, the correct one. Part of you is too scared to guess how many cursed scrolls he could have lying around.

" Protégé. "

You jolt.

" Grab a paper and a pen, you'll find some around. "

It's a while before you do, admittedly. Not only are you shaky with anticipation, this room is a complete mess. Eventually, you come across a crumpled stack of blank paper and a pen that has seen much better days. That'll do.

You're about to take your seat back when one long sleeved arm rises.

" No. Take a few steps back. " He waits until you comply. " Sit there. I don't want you looking at him no matter what, you hear me? "

" Y- " Your own saliva chokes you. " Yes. "

" Good. "

And just like that, the scene closes between Hudd and the captured guardian.

Hudd combs his fingers over the aged paper again, before holding it up to the guardian's main eye in complete silence for a couple of seconds. You don't know if the ensuing pause is born out of the angel's reluctance to translate or if he's simply processing the document. Hudd breaks it anyway.

" Now, I may not understand much of this language, but it doesn't take a genius to understand that these- " He points at a section. " Are supposed to be numbers. And these- " Another point. " Are axis indicators. "

That large celestial eye drifts from the paper, towards Hudsyn.

" These are coordinates. You'll translate them to me. " Seemingly getting excited by his own ingenious set up, Hudd has the nerve to tap a claw against the angel's veiled head. " Remember that you taint yourself everytime you lie to me, bahah... "

You have no idea whether the runes applied to the guardian's body actually hurt him whenever he attempts to deceive someone, or if Hudd is just being theatrical about the purity of angels as a whole.

The guardian doesn't find this nearly as humorous as Hudd does. " You know not what you ask me to do, demon. "

And, like a switch, the demonoid gets serious too. " Oh, but I do. Start talking. "

The aged paper is brought closer to the angel's main eye, not that you think a 'celestial' would have sight issues. Yet, perhaps in an effort to stall, or simply because he can't quite believe what he's reading, the guardian refuses to utter a single word. Tension wordlessly rises between the two monsters, thick enough to choke your own cool. Fortunately, or unfortunately, one of them is vastly immobile. The large orb on the angel's abdomen shifts and blinks, he's very clearly able to understand what's written in at least some of it.

It makes you wonder.

Is it just that an angel is prohibited from disclosing the nature of any higher documentation without explicit permission, or is it that the information contained in this specific one is of such abnormal sensitivity that he'd rather remain locked in a mad man's possession than reveal it?

Hudd's shoulders quake, you assume he's overwhelmed with rage until short, raspy chuckling rings.

" I don't think you quite understand that you have no choice. "

Anxious, you begin quietly tapping the pen on an empty page, soothing growing nerves. The guardian offers no direct response, silently and slowly turning his face away. Similarly, his hues point to any target but the scroll's contents.

" Very well... And I had been so clear about it too. "

When Hudsyn sets the scroll down neatly, his freed hands gravitate towards the blade and a lump forms in your throat.

Angels... Elusive creatures. For all his often concerning raving, the demon has been consistently right on one thing. We no longer know how they function, that information has been degenerated and lost. It's impossible to know what truly harms an angel. How to effectively kill one. Some records claim that an angel can and will heal from all bodily damage inflicted upon them, that one can only ever slow them down. Others say that no earthly weapon can even nick them. What of fiendish weapons? What of their own weapons? Has an angel ever pointed its tool at another and sought to harm them? How did the first angels and the first demons fight?

More importantly, what does Hudd think he's going to achieve with that blade?

The angel doesn't budge at the sound of its' sharpness grinding across the floor. Hudd rises, you can't even see his face from this angle, but you understand that he's staring the celestial being down, giving them a few seconds to reconsider, to lose bravado. They don't.

You expected many things.

Perhaps that Hudd would hold the blade to the other's neck, slice across their forearm, even jab that knife into those bizarre tendrils. But then, it's foolish to try and predict the moves of a monster so desperate to achieve their self-proclaimed life's goal.

A flash of movement unfolds, the candles around the room flicker, and a horrid wail pierces into your ears.

It's not the scream of someone who's been stabbed, it's a harmonious, broken screech of a creature that never knew real pain. More than suffering, it's a cry of pure shock and fear.

As soon as the lighting stabilizes, you disobey the demonoid's wishes and crane your neck to see Hudd tightly gripping the angel's right wrist. The blade has pierced through their palm, through the eye that was supposed to be there. A sizzling noise stands out amidst the angel's shrieking, the rainbow-like hue of colors that ooze from the wound rapidly burning into a tar-like void. The blade... Scorched him? You don't understand.

All you know is that his cries are making your hairs stand, and that Hudd just stabbed someone. " Stop- Stop it! " You choke out.

It's only a few spine-chilling moments after your call that Hudd stops grinding the sharp object, yanking it right out and shaking the contaminated blood away before taking a step back. The guardian trembles, agony wracks him, the two remaining eyes shedding large, shining tears while the fingers of his mangled hand twist like the legs of a dying insect. He seems befuddled, staring at Hudd and the stained blade as if what just transpired couldn't be possible.

" That eye's not coming back- " Hudsyn snorts. " Believe me. "

Consistent in his madness, the demonoid clumsily wipes the knife on his robes, before making a much more shallow cut across his own palm. You hear the sound of his skin zipping apart, blinking when he quickly holds the dripping appendage over the angel's ruined socket.

All it takes is one drop of his blood.

The guardian grits his teeth, a sound not too different from the choked groans of someone who's bit their own tongue, before managing to throw his head back hard enough to make a gruesome thud against a now dented wall.

" GODDESS- "

It's a plea. Just the mingling of Hudd's blood with his own makes the celestial cry for their salvation, like a lost cub echoing calls for its' mother.

In the middle of the dread consuming you, it's impossible not to spot the veins of black spreading on his arm now, making small blisters on pale skin. An allergic reaction? Is his body trying to expel it in pockets? It looks incredibly inflamed and uncomfortable.

Finally, after allowing the angel's frightened sobs die down minimally, Hudd appears to be done with his torment. It's incredibly unnerving how he just... Sits back down, as if nothing had transpired.

" Are we ready to read now? "

" Stop this... Stop. "

The angel murmurs, voice small, a trembling whisper cradled in pure terror.

" I'll stop. I will, trust me, I'm not here to torture you- " Hudd laughs, as if the notion were ludicrous, as if he didn't just deliberately heighten the guardian's pain only moments ago. " Just read for me. "

The scroll is once more brought close to the angel's largest eye. Hudsyn looks serious, unrelenting. You can picture those pinprick white eyes blazing eerily at the celestial, the same way they once did when he showed up at your home. Unannounced, uninvited, with dubious-intent.

Imagine what he might have done to you then, if he felt like it. This demonoid has an angel subdued and wounded right now, a human is hardly an opponent. You picture yourself in the guardian's place, getting a knife drilled through your socket, a visceral chill shakes you.

" Read, angel. Or I'll scoop the other one. " Hudd turns back to you for a second. " Mentee, would you like a little souvenir from this adventure? Perhaps a resin paper weight with a guardian's eye? "

You don't answer. He's not looking for an answer anyway.

The guardian in question takes a few moments to deliberate on something. Probably the consequences of doing this, of providing a demon with information it most definitely is not meant to have. You have a feeling there's too much in that head for you to even begin to grasp.

More stiflingly silent seconds pass before his voice finally rings again.

" From the depths of our glorious Perdition, I pen these words with naught but ultimate scorn and haste, for my own existence is far from secured. Even now, I hear it all, above. Defeat, disorder, panic. I sense an age of calamity and ruination will befall this annex, His Kingdom, His chosen. "

The guardian pauses, likely to translate what must be entirely alien vocabulary into something tangible. Hudd fists the ground, not merely jolting you into action, but also reminding you to jot this down.

" Eden sings today, frivolous, mocking choirs in our skies, for their brutish extermination was successful, and they think themselves supreme. We know better, we are better, us the ones who were always loyal. He holds nothing from us, and this is not the end. May the Curator be as good as blind, for what he received was the mere flicker of Him. "

Hudd tugs at one of his horns, wheezing breathlessly.

" He remains with us, always. I do not weep, because the one who finds this finds Him. I will make sure of it. Welcome Him. Cherish Him. Make Him proud. Be more than us. Be worthy. "

" The great silence chases after me, these moments are my last, these breaths are my last. I beg you to seek Him, when the time is right, when the Dust has settled. Below lie the... "

The angel's voice dims into a whisper, then nothing at all. Your hand shakes over the paper.

" The coordinates! " Hudsyn all but shrieks, nearly ripping the scroll from how tightly he holds it. " Read them!! "

Silent and motionless, the celestial begins crying again. He knows what this will achieve already, he knows he can't lie. You have an inkling of what this scroll is conveying, and if it's enough to make an angel cry... If it's real...

" FUCKING TELL ME- "

The demonoid is hysterical. Understandably so, this is the very plateau of all he's worked for, and he's being unceremoniously edged along. You suppose you'd be half as mad as him too.

Patience eroded, nerves frayed, Hudd spares no mercy for the angel's continued stalling, picking the bloodied knife back up.

Quiet sobs turn into screams of desperation, distressing pleas for him to wait please wait don't please don't stop please-

You know what he's going to do, the second eye on the angel's unblemished palm will be destroyed, just as promised.

Time seems to slow down as your heartrate quickens. You ponder what to do. There's a heavy-looking vintage lamp beside you. It's not being used, of course, but it's there nonetheless, collecting dust. Quietly, you set the papers aside, rising to a squat and stretching just enough to grab it, the cord dragging along. The metal is cold and dense in your hands. It provides a sense of safety.

Do you trust the demonoid the same way he claims to trust you? Do you want to see where this goes? Is letting him achieve this the safest option? Do you share affections for this monster, in spite of his erratic nature?

Or... Is the angel, the voice in your mind, a way to avoid something catastrophic? A way to free yourself?

Hudsyn hunches over the wounded, begging guardian.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 12

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, description of a panic attack)

A/N: This was a beast of a chapter, and I couldn't have done it without @the-scandalorian (who is one of the most insightful, helpful readers/brainstormers I have ever met in my life) and @the-ginger-hedge-witch (my wife, who said "this chapter was a bitch, but you made it YOUR bitch" and I fell in love with her even more) ❤ enjoy!

-

Joel looks down at the dead man at his feet. 

Emaciated, clothes worn from the elements, hair matted and dirty. He eyes his boots, sizing them up with a narrowed gaze, and deciding they are probably too small for him, makes a mental note to grab them for you instead. The jacket he’s wearing is too threadbare to be of use, and it’s splattered in blood anyway. 

A clean shot square between the man’s vacant eyes, Joel’s eyes sweep over the wound as if he doesn’t even see it, and kneeling, he starts to check his pockets. With the practiced efficiency of someone who’s been scavenging for a long time, he makes no effort to be gentle in his search.

Hands tugging the clothing aside, he strips everything he can use: the boots, his gun, a small switchblade, some rope, loose bullets in his pocket. In another pocket, he finds a thick, folded piece of paper, and tossing it into the pile before shoving him over on his stomach with a sickeningly limp roll, he finds a knife strapped to his belt and takes that too.

Satisfied he’s gotten everything of value, he stands and with a grunt, starts dragging the corpse deeper into the woods. If it were just him, he would leave it. He’s seen and handled enough dead bodies that the task doesn’t faze him, but it isn’t just him anymore. When it’s sufficiently hidden in a spot where he knows you’d have no reason to walk through, he covers the body with leaves and branches.

Still thrumming with adrenaline and on his guard, his senses are hyper alert and aware. His eyes scan everything: the crisping, brittle leaves that rustle in the wind, the phantom figures that shift between the tree trunks as shadows play between them. Checking every single trap before he came back to bury the body, Joel is satisfied the man was alone, but something still pulls at him. 

Lost in what needed to be done in the moment, it finally comes to the surface. 

It starts with his heart, picking up pace until it hammers in his chest and holding his rifle in a one handed grip, he rubs at his sternum with the other. The muscle tightens instead of loosens, the pain constricting his breathing, and splaying his hand in a lean against the trunk of a tree, he temporarily gives into it. A cold sweat breaks out along the nape of his neck, the sound of his ragged breathing covering the sounds of the forest. 

A muffled white noise rises to overtake everything, his limbs weighted in their effort to keep him upright, and his coherent mind struggles against being pulled under into the depths. His eyes close tight and the bark of the tree scrapes the palm of his hand as he holds onto something as an anchor against the waves of panic. 

Again. It almost happened again. Another person he loves dead and it would have been his fault. He’s the only one here to protect you, and he almost failed. 

An image of your tear streaked face floods into his mind, and bile rises in his throat. Swallowing hard against it, he loses the battle and wretches onto the grass by his boots. The sensation burns just as much as the pressure in his chest, and lightheaded, he sways in his bend for a moment. 

Slowly, the outside world comes back: the white noise receding to give way to bird song, the bark on the tree under his hand sharp in its bite where he’s scratched himself. Rising, he spits to rid his mouth of the foul taste, and gathering himself for a moment, turns to gather up the pile of loot. 

–

You stay hidden for as long as your legs will allow it, cramping in their painful fold on the hard, wooden floor. Your fingers wrap around the grip of your gun just like he taught you, and you squeeze the metal tighter to stop the way your hands shake. The image of his back as he walks away from you plays on a loop in your mind, as your thumb worries a cool ridge along the barrel. 

A long time since you’ve used one, the gun feels both foreign in your hands and yet familiar.  Muscle memory, after ten years of using one, even though he’d always tried to shield you from having to use it if he could, both on the road and here. Tucked into the corner of the bedroom,  you feel embarrassed to admit to yourself that you had actually hoped you’d never have to use a gun again. 

Not on another human, anyway. 

Your cheeks tight with dried tear tracks and too anxious to wait for him any longer, you eventually rise and pace the length of the room, working the feeling back into your limbs. Undecided if the lack of sound outside is a good or bad thing, you bring the gun with you when you head out into the living room to begin to clean up.  

Shards of glass and couch stuffing litter the floor, fine splinters of wood everywhere. You shake the quilt on the couch out, turning your face away from the debris that flies off, and before you fold it and place it to the side, you bring the fabric to your face. The familiar scent of his skin is a reminder that this space is yours, even though it doesn’t look like it right now. The barrier that had been building during your stay has been breached, and grabbing the broom, you try to soothe yourself by setting it right again. 

No concept of time to aid your waiting, it seems as though he’s been gone longer than he should be for someone just checking the perimeter of the property, and though you haven’t heard anything beyond the gentle sweep of your broom across the floorboards and the tinkling sound of glass, the silence is eerie, ominous. Unsettling, after the loud gunshots. Like it should feel like things are back to normal, but something in the space has shifted. 

One man completely ripped away the safety you’ve come to take for granted, and you scold yourself on a loop for becoming too complacent, too dependent on a play-pretend peace that couldn’t ever be guaranteed, no matter how much you wanted it to be real. Your lack of awareness almost cost you everything. 

Not your life, not the garden: him and the child inside you. 

The stomp of his boots up the cabin stairs stops the circuit of worry, and meeting him at the front door, you take the bundle of things from his hands before pulling him in for a hug. 

“What took you so long?” Your cheek is pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, and you couldn’t care less how worried you sound.  

“I had to make sure there wasn’t anyone else,” he replies. He embraces you back, squeezing tight for a moment before letting you go. Holding you at an arms length, his eyes do a visual scan.

“You alright? You feel okay? You hide, like I said?” His questions are tight with worry, impressing upon you how important it is to him that you listened. 

You nod, and satisfied with your answer, he does another sweep over your features before pulling you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You relax into the comforting hold of his arms for a moment, leaning into his solid frame. “Was he alone?” 

“Yea, seems like it,” he confirms. 

“That’s…good.”

He huffs, stepping back with a shake of his head. Letting himself drop onto the couch, he places his rifle near his knee and scrubs his hand over his face. “Don’t know if I would say that.”

“You know what I mean.” You speak the words softly, coming to kneel next to him on the couch, and reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, you look at him. Worry is still etched hard into his features, the lines of his frown deep and unyielding. Dragging your nails through the hair at his temple shot through with gray, you look at him for a moment. 

“Are you okay?”

He says nothing, instead letting a heavy breath out. He lets his head fall to the side, turning to face you, and you can see what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. His expression is apologetic yet resolute, like he’s bracing himself to say something he knows you don’t want to hear. Knowing exactly what it is, you change the subject. 

“You bring me some presents?”

He gives you a look that shows he knows what you’re up to but doesn’t push it. Sitting up with a cinch, he pats your thigh. 

“Yea, I did.”

Following him into the kitchen, you find the boots are a little big but otherwise a good fit, and sifting through the rest of the items, he plucks out the piece of paper. It unfolds to be larger than it looks, and spreading it out on the counter, you stand next to him and look down at it. 

“Is that..?” you ask quietly, and he answers right away. 

“A map.” Crudely made and hand drawn, he studies the winding trail filled with human-made landmarks and a single star labeled “Jackson”. 

“Jackson….Wyoming?” you ask, puzzled. 

“I guess,” he says, frowning, leaning in closer. He tilts his head, reading scrawled notes on the side, the words almost worn away. “This says it’s a settlement.”

“Like another QZ? I thought the closest one was Salt Lake City.”

“That one’s abandoned. This…” his voice drops lower as he thinks. “This looks like a real one, not run by the government. One off the grid.”

“Those exist?”

“I heard rumors before, but I…I thought they were just rumors.”

You fold your hands on top of your stomach, rubbing at a burning spot on your skin. “He must have been heading there.” 

He nods absentmindedly, still looking intently at the map, and then he stands straight, his hands on his hips. 

“Don’t matter where he was going,” he says with finality and a tic of his jaw. “All that matters is that he saw our place, which means other people could see it too.”

“Yea, but he’s the first in what – six months? More?”

The words make no difference to him, his face still set in a solemn frown. His stern eyes lift to yours. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

Even though you knew this conversation was coming, the words strike deep. Tangible grief stirs in your gut at the idea of having to leave it all behind.

“Joel,” you start, ready to argue with him, but he just shakes his head. 

“You know it’s not, honey.”

You do know. You do. The map is clear evidence that others might follow, and you know it would probably be in your best interest to leave. You also knew for a fact he would insist on it as soon as you saw that look on his face but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is your home. Having worked so hard for this peace, it seems wholly unfair that it would be torn from your hands by only one man. 

“Where do we go?” you ask, knowing full well there isn’t any good answer. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “We can grab everything we can carry –”

“I can’t carry anything.”

“I’ll carry it then.” He’s determined, the tone of his words final as he argues more with himself than anyone. “We’ll pack up what we need, get as many seeds from the pantry as possible. Got a couple of guns and some ammo to last us awhile, and –”

“Joel,” you interrupt him softly, getting his attention. “Forget what we’re gonna carry. Where are we going to go?”

He closes his mouth and with a shift of his jaw, stares down at the floor with his hands on his hips. 

“I can’t leave like this,” you press. Gesturing at your stomach, you let a hand come to rest on it. “What happens if we don’t find anything before I’m ready? Or worse, what happens if someone else finds us on the road? I can’t even defend myself. I wouldn’t even be able to help fight.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I don’t need to worry about it here. Out there, I would.”

“We do need to worry about it here. You saw –”

“I saw one man, and I saw you kill him.”

He brings his eyes to yours, and you meet his look with a fierce one of your own. “You killed him like it was nothing and I know if someone else comes, you’ll do the same.”

“You don’t know that,” he argues. “What if I’m gone? What if I’m huntin’ or somethin’, and someone else comes?”

“Then I’ll hide, just like you said.”

He gives you a look and you counter it. “I can barely even run, Joel. If we leave and something happens to you, I would never make it.”

His eyes drop to your stomach, and you come closer, reaching for his hand. “You know I’m right.”

He thinks for a moment, his expression softening and when he answers, his voice is softer too. “You think I wanna leave, honey? I don’t. You know I don’t, but we knew this would happen someday.”

“Yea, but we didn’t know this would happen.” You take his hand and place it on your stomach, and his shoulders drop in acquiescence.

“It’s not ideal, I know,” you continue. “But we can set new traps and make sure the old ones are still up. We can cover the front of the cabin with branches and try to shield it from the road. We can –”

His face shifts into something argumentative and skeptical, but yet you press on. 

“We have to try Joel,” you urge him, squeezing his hand. “We can’t leave. We can’t.”

Your tearful voice brings his eyes to yours, and his expression softens around the edges. 

Your garden, your cache, your warm bed with him beside you. The heat of his body felt through the flannels he wears when he sits next to you on the porch, the cool caress of the river when you bathe. The light you’ve seen grow inside him, the dimples he shows more often than not. The space in the corner of the bedroom where you had just begun to think of as the perfect place for a cradle. The peace that you’ve both found, and the happiness. 

One man to take it all away?

You can’t leave. You can’t. 

“We have about four months,” you say, holding his gaze. “The baby will be here by the spring, and then we can go. Okay?”

Your heart set on the knowledge that you might be able to change his mind in those four months, you shove the idea of leaving down deep and lock it away. A problem for the future, if he’ll agree to the present. 

“Deal?”

Warring with himself, the turmoil clear in the depths of his brown eyes, he eventually relents. 

“Deal.”

–

He starts spending the nights on the couch in the living room. 

The first night, you don’t say anything. You understand his need to keep watch, and so you bring him a pillow and a blanket before turning in yourself. The next morning though, they appear untouched. 

The second night, you ask him to come to bed, but he declines. 

“Safer with me out here.” Consumed with defending your home, he looks tired - so tired, sleep ringing his weary eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he looks every one of his years. His hand reaches for yours, and pulling you close, he kisses the round of your stomach. 

“You can’t stay awake all night again, Joel.”

Your fingers card through his curls, and for a moment, he lets his forehead rest against you, his eyes closed. He sags into your embrace, his nose nuzzling the soft fabric of your shirt and letting out a deep sigh, sits back up and avoids your scolding. 

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Biting your lip, you leave him in the living room, the map laid out on the table in front of him. 

It’s been there since that first day he brought it home; hours discussing the possibility of it being real. He had given you a lesson in the nearby QZ’s - Salt Lake City (abandoned), San Francisco (possibly controlled by the Fireflies), Portland (unknown, since the last communication). Only one worth heading to, the idea of entering another QZ’s walls made you queasy. 

Rough, dirty, swarming with people just trying to survive a life that didn’t seem worth living anymore. Scavenging, smuggling, stealing. Working disgusting jobs to get enough rations to get you next to nothing. Shitty apartments filled with even shittier people, and the idea of bringing a baby into that world seemed abhorrent to you both after this. You could see it on his face, the clear rejection of the idea even as he argued for it, and so each time, the subject was eventually dropped; the two of you looking down at the map instead. 

On the third day, you can see the lack of sleep in his movements, sluggish and slow. You urge him to take a nap, promising that you’ll wake him if anything happens, but when he passes out in the sun drenched bedroom, you try to keep the curtains closed against the bright light that pours in through the window. Not that it makes any difference, with how deeply he sleeps.

Later that night, it’s you who can’t sleep. 

Tossing and turning in a bed that feels bigger than it has in months, you throw back the covers and pad out to the living room. 

“Joel?” you murmur, his name coming out in a hush as not to startle him. 

He turns away from the window to look at you, his rifle resting near him on the couch, and you come to stand between his knees. 

“What are you doin’ up? Should be sleepin’.” The edge of his words blur, his voice husky in the darkness. 

“I can’t without you. I miss you in bed with me.”

His face softens in the moonlight, the well of his brown eyes pitch black and endless. “I know, honey.” His eyes linger on your body, down and back up again. “You wear this out here to entice me in there?”

You shrug, lifting the edge of your mouth in a smile. One of his flannels on, you’ve taken to wearing them to bed as the nights get chillier. You want to ask how much longer he’s going to keep this up, but not wanting him to get a chance to voice a defensive reason, you try the new one he’s just given you. 

“Is it working?” You finger a button near the top, his eyes on your hand as you undo it. 

His gaze darkens, his hand curving large and warm around your hip. You think you’ve won, but then he answers. 

“I can’t, honey. You know I can’t.”

His response is tinged with apology, and knowing you’re not going to win this fight, you lean forward to rest your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head. Lifting your leg, he watches as you straddle him. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay out here with you.”

He chuckles lowly, shifting down on the cushion to give you more room to sit on his thighs, and when settled, you lean into the broad expanse of his chest and tuck your face into the crook of his neck. Letting your mouth rest there for a moment, you press a kiss to the edge of his beard. 

“You gonna sleep on my lap?” he teases. 

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping,” you reply, the low tone of your voice rolling a shiver over his skin that you feel with your lips. Opening your mouth a little wider, you give him a lingering kiss on his neck. Another one lower, your bottom lip catching the edge of his collarbone. 

His hands roam lazily along your curves: his fingers splayed over your back, they slide down to palm the curve of your ass, and fiddling with the leg bands of your underwear, he pushes the thin fabric to the side, searching for your plush, soft skin. When he finds it, you roll your hips over his lap, encouraging the touch. 

“I do want you to get some sleep,” you say, flicking the lobe of his ear with your tongue. “But if you’re not going to, maybe we can do…something else.”

His hand glides up your back to cup the nape of your neck, and pulling you back with the hold, he guides your face to hover just in front of his. The grip itself implies possession; his mouth so close that you can feel his breath skim warm over your lips. 

“Yea,” he agrees, nodding. He stares back with an intense intimacy only found in the middle of the night and his lips brush against yours in a delicate tease. “Okay.”

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he captures your lips in a fierce kiss, one that betrays the hunger he’s felt all these days for you. You match it, your fingers twisting into the cotton that rounds his shoulders, and when he deepens the kiss to slide his tongue against your own, you widen your thighs and scoot closer, fitting your center over the crotch of his pants. 

It’s rough and needy, his hand staying in place with a firm hold on the back of your neck to keep you in place as he pulls from your mouth, and when you break away with a whine and a ragged inhale, his mouth never stops. It molds tight along the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping along your skin. 

“I’ve missed you too, honey. Goddamn, I’ve missed you.” His confession is an endearment breathed into your skin between open mouth tastes, and shoving the collar of his flannel to the side, his mouth drags a wet path across the swell of your breasts. “Comin’ out here in my clothes. Sittin’ this pretty pussy on my lap. Like you’re all mine, just for me.”

He works open the next button on the flannel, gaping the fabric until he finds your bare breast and immediately covering it with his mouth, he sucks hard on your nipple with a groan. 

“I am yours,” you whine, arching your back, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth. 

You press yourself closer, his hand coming to push the plump of your breast into his mouth as he opens up wider, and though your belly should be crammed uncomfortably between the two of you, it makes you even wetter to think about how much you are his. Marked, in the most base way possible. 

He tugs the shirt roughly to the side as he switches his attention to your other breast, the collar slipping off the round of your shoulder as he groans against your skin, and pulling him back, you guide him back up to your mouth. Your fingers thread through his curls, tightening to give them a little pull, and he responds with a lift of his hips, grinding the hard heft of his cock between your legs. 

“I need to fuck you,” he rasps between harsh kisses, and your fingers drag down his torso until you find his belt, working it open. 

Your thumb pops the button of his jeans, his grasp on your hair tugging your head back so he can devour your throat, and trying to get his zipper down proves a task too hard until he helps. Without looking down, his hand joins yours, and the two of you frantically work his jeans open, the back of his hand brushing heavy against the inside of your thigh as he pulls himself out and you shove the damp crotch of your underwear to the side. 

Lifting just enough off his lap so he can position himself into place, it’s a delicious, filling stretch as you slowly lower yourself onto him. So thick and stiff, his cock notches satisfyingly deep as you work him all the way in, and impatient for you to do so, he keeps his eyes on your face when he flexes his hips up to force himself in, in a slick slide down to the base. 

Your jaw clenches as a whine crawls out of your throat, and holding you steady with a hand braced across the middle of your back with the other one curving around your hip, he brings you closer to him. Your hips are already chasing his, already a steady rhythmic rock as you fuck yourself on his lap and burying his face between your breasts, he takes pulls of your sweet scent, his beard scraping the soft skin. 

You have missed him just as much as his own need implies: missed him in your bed, missed the carefree Joel you’ve become used to, missed his presence when he left to ensure your safety. Everything since that day and before floods into your mind, coming out in a desperate need to show him just how much you appreciate it all. Appreciate him, for all he’s ever done for you, but also how lost you would be without him. 

You used to need him for protection, for his skills, for his ruthlessness. Needed him for his sense of direction and experience, needed him to seek refuge in the shadow of his determination to stay alive. You do still need him for those things, but you also need him now for him. 

Joel Miller, the caregiver. 

Joel Miller, the provider. 

Joel Miller, the one who has opened up to you and has shown you who he really is - something he’s been doing all along through his actions, only you didn’t realize it. 

Joel Miller, the man. 

You need him. 

Your hand cups his jaw and guides his mouth to yours, and lowering your face to his, you try to convey everything you feel in a wordless, hungry kiss. He tastes so familiar, so right, his lush lips giving just enough against your own that you’re driven mad with the need to deepen the kiss, and like always, he feels your need and matches it with his own. 

Your hips never stop moving, picking up speed in their roll on his lap. Your thighs burn with effort, your hips already sore from the width of him underneath you, your mouth drinking down the grunts that he lets pour into you as he bucks his hips to match your every stroke down. 

Entwined and lost in each other, you keep going because you can’t stop. 

—

He almost lost you.

With that thought a constant reminder that drives him to desperation, he winds his arm tight around you and uses his other hand to guide your hips harder down onto his lap: again, again, your head tipping back as you cry out for him. 

Heat pools between his thighs, a heady pull that starts at the base of his spine and works its way up through his balls, and then he’s fucking up into you, clutching you tight. You’re so wet – so fucking wet – and squeezing him like a slick fist. His heart pounds just underneath yours, his eyes raking over your exposed skin where his shirt — his shirt – has slipped off your shoulder. 

You smell like a mixture of himself and you, the firm swell of your belly pressing into his, and he groans, lust overtaking him.

“Fuck me, pretty girl. Fuck me.”

“I’m so close – Joel, please. I’m gonna come.” Your begging makes him thicken inside you, his hooded eyes fixed on your face. 

Your beautiful face, mouth open in pleasure. 

The sweet sound of your begging, just for him. 

His name on your lips, in all forms: said with a teasing smile, a gentle scold, a cry for mercy. 

He almost lost it all. 

His hold on you tightens as his thumb finds your clit, nestled above where he’s stretching you open and he knows he's found the right spot when you clench around him, curling your body inwards. 

“I’m gonna make this pretty pussy come for me. Gonna make it mine.”

“It is,” you moan, your hips working faster. “It is.”

“Just like you’re mine.” 

“I am,” you confess breathlessly, looking down at his face. You close your eyes tight and chase the release he can tell is coming to a crest inside you, and the gorgeous way you let yourself fall apart on his lap with a broken cry floods his chest with the same pressure he felt in the woods, only this time it’s not dread he feels, but something else. 

“I love you.” 

The words come pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them, but once they’re out, he can’t stop saying them. Burying his face in your chest, he says the words directly over your pounding heart. “I love you, honey. Fuck, I love you.”

His unyielding hold keeps you pinned to his lap, and he comes inside you with a groan when you confess your own adoration into his sweat-damp curls.

“I love you too,” you say, breathless and pleading, your cheek pressed against the top of his head. “I love you.”

[bakedbananners]

my Samirah Valyrie outfit designs (click for better quality XP)

[image description: fanart of samirah al-abbas from the magnus chase series. on the left she is shown wearing "horse-riding armor", with a viking winged helmet and face covered by chainmail. she wears a long green cloak over one shoulder, and a cream robe over her armor. to the left she is wearing "battle armor". her green hijab is adorned with a laurel, and she wears a small wing-shaped pin. she wears a green and white striped robe, with chainmail and leather armor over it. she leather shin guards and arm bracers. she wears a sash with a leather belt and ribbon, where she holsters her black and gold hand axe. her shoes are reminiscent of ballerina flats and sneakers- with thick soles and wrapped in ribbons. end ID.]