#dark angel fanfiction

[zepskies]

Basic Instinct

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: You and Alec adapt to the realities of a human/transgenic relationship, especially during your pregnancy. 

AN: Well, thanks to these lovely souls @winchestergirl2 @sunbeambarbie, and my patrons over on Patreon, I’m back with more of the Being Human storyverse! This idea could become a series of loose one-shots as I come up with more ideas around this premise (navigating a relationship with a transgenic that has…shall we say, animalistic tendencies).

Also, this is my first entry for Jacklesverse Bingo '24!~ @jacklesversebingo

Prompt: She whispers in his ear, and he breaks into a smile.

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Alec, fluff, elements of scenting, marking/claiming, hint of spice~

💜 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Alec shrugs the snow flurries off his jacket and dusts off his hair. He works past the shiver that accompanies the icy slush running off his head and shoulders, down to his boots.

He doesn’t mind the cold in these Seattle winters, but he hates slush. It’s messy and muddy, and the gray, placid sky doesn’t care about how many sectors he has to hit before his run of Jam Pony deliveries are done.

It doesn’t care about how he has to spend a few extra moments dragging the soles of his boots across the faded welcome mat into his apartment, but you do. You’ve got a thing about tracking in mud across the wood floors, even if they are already cracked and squeaky in certain places.

He savors the warmth of the living room when he finally gets inside and closes the door behind him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out tiredly, but with a note of playfulness. He half-expects you to be napping, as you tend to do in the afternoon at this stage of your pregnancy, especially now that the days have gotten so much shorter. It’s already pitch black outside, looking more like midnight than half past four.

To his surprise, you’re not only awake, but you’re zipping up the purple winter coat he got you—the one that actually fits you over your rounded belly. Your head raises, and your face brightens to see him as you wrangle your shopping bag over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you greet him, adding a kiss when you approach him at the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Alec stops you from moving past him with his hands meeting your waist.

“Hey, whoa, where’s the fire?” he asks, his brows furrowing.

“I’m just going to the market. We need a few things. So, you know, we can eat,” you say with a tease of a smile. “You probably had a long day, so you can shower up and chill if you want. I’ll be right back.”

Alec makes a sound of refusal and doesn’t let go of you when you try to keep heading for the door. You raise a brow at him in confusion.

“It’s dark as hell out there. Cold, wet, and muddy, and not to mention crazy traffic with people trying to get home,” he says. “And since I just came from that frigid hellscape, I’m gonna have to insist that you stay here and warm me up.”

His hands begin to sneak under your jacket and sweater layers, and you squeal and squirm a bit as his cold fingers find your skin, teasing your sides. You bite your lip against a smile and push at his chest, no matter how impossible that may be. Alec’s tall, lithe frame might not look particularly strong, but there’s no moving him once the transgenic plants his feet.

Just like there’s often no changing his stubborn mind on certain things, you’ve noticed, particularly in situations like this…

“I’ll be right back,” you say. “An hour, tops. Unless you want rice and canned tuna again, we need food.”

Alec pauses, his lips threatening to frown. But in a moment, a decision is made in his mind, and he grabs your bag off your shoulder.

“Fine, let’s go,” he says.

You pause, watching him open the door and hold it open for you. You sigh at him, but you adjust your winter hat and slip on your gloves before you step outside. Alec once again locks the door behind him and joins you on the sidewalk, slipping an arm around your waist to guide you snug against his side.

It’s both affection and protection. You can tell in the way he “casually” scopes the street, the neighborhood you’ve lived in relative peace for the past six months.

Still, he positions himself between you and the road, where a van zips by. It veers widely to avoid a pothole, looking like it might just take the sidewalk curb along with it. Alec tenses for a moment, until the van finally passes.

“People are freakin’ crazy in this city,” he says, shaking his head. “Just because the streetlights are more suggestion than law—”

“Alec, you drive like a maniac,” you point out. He scoffs at you.

“Oh, don’t even,” you say, cutting him off from whatever smartassed retort he was about to give. “Remember that time you ran into a chicken coop? You came home wearing bird shit and feathers in your hair.”

“Okay, but who keeps live poultry on the corner of a busy four-way intersection?” he grouses. “Make it make sense.”

Although you roll your eyes, it’s hard not to smile at your boyfriend’s antics. You two walk together amiably down to the market while he tells you about his day of deliveries. It weirdly makes you a little jealous. You stopped working after the whole Ames White debacle, when you were kidnapped. (You're still trying to block that traumatic episode out of your memory.) 

First, it was just a challenge to figure out where you and Alec were going to live. Logan is generous to a fault, but you couldn’t take up room in his apartment forever. He did make good on his promise to scope out the safest apartment you two could afford: a walkup on the moderately less skeevy side of town.

Alec hasn’t outright tried to ban you from working, but you two agreed that it would be better for you not to return to Jam Pony, both for logistical and safety reasons. Ames White is dead, but the rest of his radical organization—a damn breeding cult—is too well connected for Alec to want to take any chances. They’d likely known where you worked and followed you when you went to Alec’s old apartment that day.

All that aside, however, it’s a simple fact that your poor bladder won’t last five minutes on a bike. It’s really all you can do to walk to the market. The third trimester hasn’t exactly been easy on your body, but Alec hovers close behind you, making sure you choose whatever meat and vegetables you want, regardless of the price.

“Hey, they’ve got turkey. That’s new,” he says, grabbing a large bird off the row of hanging poultry. The smell of its rawness triggers a bubble of nausea, making you turn your face away and cover your nose and mouth with a sound of disgust.

Alec quickly holds it away from you, but he has the guy running the kiosk bag it up for him. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

“That’s too expensive,” you whisper to him in warning, your eyes widening. Alec gives you an easy smile.

“Sweetheart, if there’s one thing you and the baby need right now, it’s protein,” he reasons. “I was planning on picking up some extra shifts this week anyway.”

He gives the man the money without a second thought. You don’t know whether to frown, or shed pitiful tears when he does stuff like that. You’re still not altogether used to it, having someone who takes care of you for a change. You’ve spent most of your life doing that part yourself.

When Alec turns back around, grinning all proud as a peacock at the good deal he got and the haul he has slung in the bag over his shoulder, his expression falls at seeing the tears in your eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, touching your arm. You shake your head with a smile.

“Nothing,” you sniff and wipe at your face. “Goddamn hormones.”

Alec smirks, but before he can tease you, a broad frame knocks into you from behind. It would’ve sent you to the ground hard if Alec’s reflexes hadn’t been quicker. His arms come around you, firm but gentle as he rights you. He glances behind him and bristles with anger, his spine stiff and his body taut. You rarely see that kind of sharpness in his eyes.

They’re gentler when they turn to you. 

“You okay?” he asks with furrowed brows of concern. You have to catch a winded breath, but you nod, meeting his eyes. He doesn’t let go of you until you get your balance back.

Then, his gaze flicks up to the man who bowled you over. He stands at the same kiosk Alec got the turkey from. Meathead is trying to buy the last one.

“Alec,” you warn.

“I’ll just be a second,” he says. You reach for his arm and try to tell him that you’re fine, but it’s like a switch has been flipped inside him, narrowing his gaze. He slips out of your grasp and leaves you with the bag of groceries.

“Damn it,” you mutter.

Not even a minute later, Alec swings a quick, exacting fist. You wince as the larger man nearly breaks his jaw on the pavement.

You can’t help but giggle and try to squirm away as he noses along your throat. It tickles. His arms are a loose, comfortable embrace in the familiar peace of your bed. You’re swathed by pillows and warm blankets while Alec is tucked along your side. His long legs bend at a slight angle with his knees brushing your thigh.

“Would you stop already?” you say, swatting his thigh. You feel his smirk against your skin.

“How’re my girls doing?” he asks. You chuckle. He was a bit stunned at first to find out that you’re having a girl. You thought he might’ve been hoping for a boy, easier for him to connect with someday. But the way he dotes on you sometimes, now, you can already tell he’s going to spoil your daughter rotten.

“We’re good,” you reply.

He sighs and settles in comfortably against you. This is your favorite thing, and you think it’s his too. After a long day, it’s your time to just rest and be with each other, either watching TV or catching up about the day. It’s everything and nothing at all.

Eventually, his voice interrupts the quiet again.

“You smell different, you know.”

You quirk a brow at that one. “What do you mean?”

When he shakes his head, you feel the tickle of his hair under your ear.

“Hmm, I dunno. Earthy, I guess,” he says. “Pregnant.”

You have to laugh. “I smell pregnant? Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” he nods. His lips press a line of tantalizing kisses down your throat and collarbone. You smile and curl up a hand to sink your fingers into his hair, gently massaging his head.

It’s taken you some time to figure out exactly what a transgenic is, exactly, and you’ve come to realize that all of them are spliced with a little something special. Each and every one of them, from Alec and Max, to Joshua and the others who live in Terminal City—whether they look human or not, they’re unique in some way. It gives them certain…traits. Ones that betray the animal DNA they were partially created with.

As the events of this afternoon replay in your mind, your smile begins to slip.

“That was too much today, at the market,” you tell him, now that he’s calm. “What happened there?”

Alec stills.

“Nothing, just…you didn’t hear him. The guy was a smartass,” he says.

“What, couldn’t handle a taste of your own medicine?” you quip, but you squeeze his arm gently. It rests above the swell of your belly. “No, it was more than that.”

His jaw clenches; a telltale sign that he knows exactly what you’re talking about, even if he doesn’t want to answer you. You turn your head and scooch back a little so you can see his face better. His playfulness is long gone, but he meets your gaze.

“I think…” you whisper in his ear, tapping his arm with a finger, “that you have a bit of wolf in your cocktail. Not as much as Joshua, obviously, but still.”

Alec blinks in surprise, and he breaks into a smile.

“Oh, really? What gives you that idea?” he asks.

“Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” you say. Alec rolls his eyes, but you level him with a wry look. “Sense of smell. Excessive protectiveness—”

“Excessive?” Alec raises a brow.

“Not to mention the biting, Count Dracula,” you finish, gesturing with a smile at the back of your neck. There’s a mark there that he refuses to let fade away.

Now, he becomes sheepish. His plush lips form a bit of a pout.

“I thought you liked that,” he says, his eyes glinting with mischief. You reach out a hand to cup his cheek.

“Oh, it’s hot as hell,” you tease back. You draw him in, guiding his face to yours for a slow kiss, simmering with heat.

“But it’s…possessive,” you say, after you break from him. Your words are a mere whisper in the small space between your faces. “Like you’re claiming me.”

The green in Alec’s eyes have darkened a touch. They roam your face.

“Well, you’re mine, aren’t you?” he asks. But his tone is deceptive. It’s anything but a question.

Your lips curve into a smile. You thumb at his chin.

“Yeah,” you reply.

Alec’s hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, guiding you to him this time as he claims you in a more devouring kiss. He steals your breath, over and over, plying you with his tongue and with the weight of his body wrapping around you. He moves you gently onto your side and swipes your hair out of the way, so he can kiss his way down your neck.

He stops for a moment at that mark, where he grazes over the sensitive flesh with a hint of teeth. You shudder. Hot tingles run down your spine, pluming warmth and wetness between your legs.

“Alec,” you breathe, almost on a gasp. You feel him already hard and ready, pressed against you.

“I got you, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth in your ear, but you’ve known him long enough to hear his need. It echoes your own. You take his hand and begin to lead him where you want him, all while he buries his face into your neck and inhales your sweet, familiar scent.

“Always,” he says.

AN: Short and sweet, but I had fun revisiting the Being Human world. I'd love to dip back in again someday! Until then, I hope you enjoy! 💜

I have a few more stories for Jacklesverse coming soon...

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Alec M. Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @my-stories-vault @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters

@alwaystiredandconfused @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @sexyvixen7

@jackles010378 @nancymcl @idiotdyslexic @heartlessdelusions @longlostx11

@chriszgirl92 @hobby27 @waynes-multiverse @lovelyunjinn @twinkleinadiamondsky

@ultimatecin73 @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @lovelystoriesaj @onlyangel-444

[my-stories-vault]

WIP FOLDER - TAG GAME.

Thank you so much for tagging me @bettystonewell !

RULES: Make a post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have wips. people can send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

Everyone I know is already tagged so, no tags 🙂🙃 - but anyone who wants to share their WIPS is welcome to join! Tag me if this post is inspiring you, and we can talk ❤️!

Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N Series.

1. Third Series after TSW and PS - no title yet 🙃

2. Indian Reader + Neighbour AU - no title yet either 🤣

Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N Mini-Series.

1. Goodbye Series.

2. Hushed.

Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N One-Shots (that usually get converted to series, hehe).

1. Her Faceless Guy.

2. Love Story King.

3. Traverler's Home.

4. Hearing-Imparied Kid - no title yet

5. Dandelions - not the title, just the song 😂

Oooh, also! Rewrites!

I also have a Supernatural Rewrite Series going on. Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N, it is. Do y'all want me to post it here?

I have the entire Season 1, and going on Season 2 👀🙃 . . .

Sam Winchester X Y/N L/N Mini-Series.

1. On My Case.

As you can see, I write for Sam mostly on requests, and I don't have that many—

Alec McDowell X Y/N L/N.

1. Transgenic Reader - no title yet

The character has always intrigued me but I've never had the time to explore him.

These are it for now;

Note: I probably won't go for Soldier Boy because I don't write smut, and well, it's The Boys 🙂. If I ever find a loophole, you all will be the first to read it!

Although, I would like to think about taking up Russell, Tom, Beau, and other of Jensen's works, and see if I can make something from them . . . But it feels so far away 🫠

Anyway, sorry for the long post, lmao. What can I say? I love to write and I don't feel like I write enough. But all you gotta know is that I'm here for a long, long time.

Tag List.

Forevers: @aylacavebear

Supernatural: @emma1998sblog @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2

Dean Winchester: @globetrotter28

[scriptnoir]

BITING THE HAND THAT CHOKES YOU.

renfro's a different kind of cruel. max hates that it's what she needs right now.

pairing. elizabeth renfro x max guevara/x5-452 (dark angel)

length. 4.5k

themes. smut, age gap, power dynamics, max's gay awakening somehow, renfro is fucked up

author's note. i regret nothing, you all can kiss my ASS!!!! (i do regret that i barely edited.) also first dark angel fic. please read, their height difference is doing things to my brain. also the obvious fucked up shit they got going on. also on ao3 if you care . . .

ao3

My name is Max.

That’s all Max could think. She was Max Guevara, nineteen years old. She worked as a bike messenger, delivery rider, whatever you called it, at Jam Pony. She had friends - OC, Herbal, Sketchy on a good day - and interests like any normal human being. 

Manticore made it hard to remember that. 

She stared into the distance, like she had practiced. It had been months of torture, frustration, fucking humiliation. Not everything was the same in this place but the memories swept back in that cruel way, washing over her, seizing her nerves and keeping her face in her hands. 

The last time she was here, she was barely ten. Now she had returned - returned to  the place she fought everyday to forget and fight. 

If one day she were so lucky to die, she would remember this moment. She’d remember every horrible detail - scent, emotion, temperature - and be so very glad she was going.

Elizabeth Renfro checked her watch. “Code and report?”

As if the bitch would ever forget.

“X5-452, successful copulation, Ma’am!” she yelled. 

My name is Max. 

Her hair had gotten thinner and longer. The blue shirt fit her loosely now. For months she hadn’t seen the friends who thought she was dead - out there the gist was Manticore finally brought down their finest, Normal losing another employee (not that he’d care.) But whatever happened to her, she was still Max.

Renfro knew it, too. She wasn’t dumb - the small teen’s brown eyes remained strong and defiant. The only thing that wasn’t like her was everything else. The military responses, the staunch obedience . . . she had figured Max out a long time ago, and she wasn’t this.

The woman’s heels extended and forged a path around her. She knew how she was made: built yo sense everything and anything. So she was sure she felt her eyes on her, even with her back turned. Let her feel them. Wasn’t she used to it? No one could blame her. 452 was easy on the eyes. All of that genetic makeup created a slim girl with the littlest waist and bee-stung lips, all of which she would have found more delectable had she not spouted lies and lies and lies.

But she could forgive an ugly little sin from a pretty little girl.

Still.

“Don’t you get tired of pretending?” sighed Renfro. “You’ve been here a while. I don’t imagine it’s a lot of fun.”

Slow blurs of the black suit and platinum hair circled her. Max squirmed. No matter how far out she looked, the Bride of Satan remained and promised to bring her hell. She could hear her steely voice; the click of her heels; the vibration in her words. Max was prey counting her final minutes. 

Her life flashed before her eyes. Coming into the real world, frightened and shivering in the snow. The only father she ever had prowling her new home. And - take the bad with the good: laughing with Original Cindy at the bar and pretending to her core that she didn’t feel anything about Logan. Even the pining she missed, and now it was her little coping mechanism.

Funny how she tried to avoid it.

Max didn’t reply. She looked straight into the wall of Renfro’s office, shoulders straight and jaw tight. They wanted a soldier? She’d give them one. This is what they trained her to be after all. The need for a weapon was the only reason she was here. So, she was going to stand emotionlessly and not say a single word. She had no feelings, no identity, nothing.

She couldn’t keep lying to herself when her heart thundered in her chest. Zack’s heart. The thought made her want to burst into tears. Suddenly Max’s throat felt jammed. God, she couldn’t do that here.

Renfro stopped in front of her. Finally. The dizziness was gone but she still felt like she was going to throw up. She sucked in her stomach and forced herself not to blink. There was only the wall and the picture frames to look at. Only the cold to feel. This was just an intrusive horror in her head she had to banish.

Renfro leaned down. “Is it, 452?” she asked softly.

If Max were dumb, she would have believed that her tone was gentle. For a moment, she almost appreciated the lines on her face; the flattering lower of her body so her words were clear. Max thought she saw someone who wasn’t so evil.

And then she saw Tinga bound in the water. She saw Zack barely hanging onto life. She saw how brainwashed the transgenics were here, believing their only purpose was to kill. Even Lydecker - the miserable fuck - was redeemable compared to Renfro. A kinder Madam X was a fantasy never coming to life. 

Yet it was all so sudden when she tamed a strand of hair from the side of Max’s face and, carefully, back behind an all too red ear. 

Max’s eyes widened. Her breath seemed to stop completely. She hadn’t been touched like that in months. Not that she ever was, platonically or romantically - she didn’t have parents and Mr. Eyes Only wasn’t willing to admit he liked her. Fucking coward. The last person she expected that from was the woman who killed and tortured her friends. The woman who would have done that to her too had she not been too important.

Renfro’s fingertips were smooth as they skated along Max’s jawline. With an upward tip of her chin, Max was forced to look at her. Wrinkles embedded the curves of Renfro’s face. Short, white hair propped against a neck Max yearned to see broken. 

She was, however, beautiful. Maybe that’s why the men let her get away with so much. Renfro was beautiful, alright - but dangerous.

Max thought she heard that about herself somewhere, sometime.

“I asked you a question,” pressed Renfro. 

Her eyes bore down on the younger girl. Max wanted to punch her. The bitch was enjoying this. She knew Max had gotten thinner, weaker, needier. She should have predicted she’d take advantage of that, like everything else.

The toughness in her voice was back yet her face - open and vulnerable - gave away everything.

“No, Ma’am.”

Renfro gripped her chin harder. She tried not to feel anything. That was usually easy. She was born to be a weapon. She was born to stand at command and play the gun she didn’t even want to hold. 

“You’re still faking.” 

The sound in Max’s throat barely managed to fold.

Renfro ghosted her mouth over her lips. “I don’t like that.”

But God-

Max’s teeth clenched. This was so wrong, this was so wrong. She wasn’t a girl who sought it out when a woman just perfectly older, perfectly meaner touched her just perfectly right. She wasn’t going to compromise her grudges for Renfro just because she suddenly broke character. 

Shit, she might break character too. Max kept eye contact but her mind ran fast and hard about the thought of dropping the act. She could be a good girl. If she complied, she wouldn’t have to worry about the lack of food or sleep. The transgenic who looked too much like Ben wouldn’t haunt her dreams anymore.

That was what Renfro wanted her to think. She knew every little fantasy she’d written was simply that: a dream that would never come true.

“Or perhaps” - Renfro tilted Max’s head to the side, studying her like a germ under a microscope; she wasn’t two-faced enough to pretend that the girl was nothing if not a genetic mistake - “there’s other things you don’t like. Is 492 not doing it for you?”

“I am trained to fulfill my purpose regardless of my preferences.”

“I told you to drop the act, Max. It’s not flattering.”

Max blinked for the first time in minutes. Renfro had never called her that. She was a number among statistics to her. But the syllables curled in her mouth in such a sweet, poisonous way that a switch turned on.

And she could suddenly feel everything. 

Renfro’s scheming stone-hard eyes on her. The wind filling the large sleeves of her shirt. The sweat on her forehead. The coldness in Renfro’s fingers tangled around her jawline that sparked some kind of feeling in her.

No no . . . And the worst part was she couldn’t blame it on her heat. It wasn’t due for a few more months, but the burning feeling was there. She needed something, somebody - and the only one here was Renfro.

She hardened her face. Over her dead body.

“You know what my theory is?” Renfro smirked, thin painted lip pulling to one side. Max’s legs trembled under the camouflage pants. “We ought to put a woman in that cell. Someone who can handle you. Someone who bites back. Maybe boys aren’t your thing, huh?”

Max abruptly forgot to play her role. Her eyes were large. “It’s- I’m not-” 

“There must be a reason why you refuse to copulate with 494, all those false reports.”

For a woman so smart . . . 

Max seized Renfro’s hand from her face and yanked it away. The engineered strength almost broke her wrist. She didn’t care. She needed her as far away as possible. She thought she was strong enough to chew what they dished out. The starving; the pain; the humiliation. 

But it turned out she was just like the rest of the prisoners: desperate and deluded.

Disgust tasted bitter in her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering surrender. All for a head between her legs. This was the lowest she’d ever gone.

The reward for her outburst was the shock painting Renfro’s face. Dark eyeshadow framed the silent scream in those cruel eyes. Max could live off it forever.

“I think having to be a damn breeder’s dog is one.” She allowed a little squeeze on a fragile tendon. Just enough to hurt but not actually break it. “But that’s my own theory.”

She choked the captured limb tighter. She could change her mind, actually; let herself crush skin and bone and let bleed blood and bile. A fractured wrist wouldn’t equal to the torture she’d been through. 

Her eyes scoured over Renfro - matter of fact, Max thought, she deserved a bruise for every little pain, every little tear she cried at night. One punch in the chin for daring to hold her like she was a child. A kick in the stomach for the emptiness in her own. A knife through her chest for keeping her brother alive through her in the worst way possible. 

But she wasn’t like that.

Max swallowed a sob and let go. 

“And you seem to forget,” she added, despite of. Her eyes roared with flames. One day this place would burn to the ground and she’d be holding the match. “I could still kill you, and you wouldn’t see it coming until the blood’s drawn.”

Renfro stared at her. Max wished she could see people’s brains clearly, too. Maybe she’d see the wheels churning in Renfro’s head. She would comfort herself with knowing the fear that raged in her permanently fucked up brain . . .

-lasted for approximately three seconds.

Renfro was laughing. No sarcasm or shortness in it. Loud, haughty, terrifying. This was the last time Max ever wanted to see her smile. She was beautiful, but the evil drowned that out. By the time the hysterics heightened in Renfro’s thundering voice, Max was convinced already: this was the stuff of nightmares.

She tried not to throw up. Renfro was a fucking sadist. Each life she ruined was another on her resumé. Every time Max made the slightest move of protest, her smile was unmistakable. The pleasure she got from being this evil was so twisted that Max felt the reality creep up to her:

She was alone. 

Max slowly backed away. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t fight. No one was coming to rescue her. She never felt the need for anyone to do that but all she wanted now was a savior.

“See, that’s what I like about you, Max.” Renfro shook her head fondly. As her laughter died, her smile did, too. “Pretty thing, such a pretty thing - but sharp. Like a ribboned sword.”

Max was shaking. Her mouth was still agape. “You don’t get to say my name.”

“You’d rather you say mine, don’t you?” 

“Son of a b-”

Renfro wove her fingers through the transgenic’s hair and pulled hard. It all happened too fast. It all happened before Max could run. The shock came before her logic and now she was whimpering, bound and tied. She could try and fight, sure, but there were cameras in here. There were soldiers outside that would overpower her with sheer belief that it was their purpose.

She couldn’t escape.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

Renfro’s lips brushed over the pillar of her neck. Her breath was warm and hot, and Max hated that she liked it that way. Liked the way the woman’s fingernails dug into her scalp. Liked the pain that made the tears rise up from the corners of her eyes. God, this wasn’t her. She couldn’t be.

Max closed her eyes as Renfro kissed her. Her tongue flattened behind her ear, then when she least expected it, Renfro bit down hard. Max flinched at how quickly she whined. She wasn’t supposed to like this. 

“Shh,” Renfro whispered. When Max’s whining increased, she soothed a thumb along a blemishless cheek. “It’s alright. I’m simply conducting an experiment.”

Max’s voice failed to stop shaking. “A-An experiment to see if I wanna fuck you? Yeah, let’s see how that turns out.”

“Sure.”

Renfro slipped a hand under her shirt. The tight midriff tensed under her touch. Max was gasping for breath by the time it stopped creeping up her breasts and stayed over her waistband. As if to ask for permission. 

Renfro smiled. “Let’s.”

Max’s head bowed as she drew in a bladed breath. She was frozen but her hips kept rolling down Renfro’s fingers. Suddenly everything about her was too sensitive. Goosebumps popped out from her skin. Her legs squirmed together, trapping Renfro’s hand. God knew the strong thighs prevented her from going anywhere. She was going to use that to her advantage. If Renfro was going to use her, she might as well do it, too.

“Mmm!” Max whined. She shook her head, refusing what her body told her to do. “No, mmm, no, please-” 

She begged herself not to give in. She was smarter than that, wasn’t she? She said it aloud and pushed herself off Renfro but she kept coming back. 

Max’s eyes squeezed up. Renfro was thumbing her covered clit so fast that her knees shuddered. She wanted to fight her off. She knew she could. But Jesus, was it too blissful to think of someone holding her down for once. Ordering her to do this and that. Making her beg.

She hated how Renfro was the first person to ever make her grovel. 

“You sound really beautiful when you beg, Max,” Renfro said. The girl’s wetness transcended past the thin cloth of her underwear. She retrieved her hand and tasted her from her fingertips. “Shame you’re a little rebel.”

“You’re evil. God.”

Renfro smiled, continuing on as if she didn’t hear her: “Nothing I can’t fix.”

The cat in Max wanted to bare her teeth, claw at the woman and tell her to back off. Renfro grabbed her hair again, like an owner seizing the scruff of a kitten’s neck. The anger never melted off her face. Who did Renfro think she was?

“Down.”

Max, hating herself for trembling at the authoritarian tone Renfro used, stuttered, “What?” 

“Down, sweetheart,” she repeated. Renfro tugged a little harder until Max was shoved into the side of the central desk. “On your knees.”

Max glowered. The little pout was strong but she slowly set a weak leg on the ground. Her thin brows arched with hatred at Renfro’s deepening smile. 

Renfro, for one, liked how despite it all, Max maintained eye contact. She could handle the glare of a defenseless girl itching for the slightest touch. She slipped her knuckles through the night-dark hair and pulled her south.

“That’s it,” she coaxed. Massaging the aching scalp, Renfro’s sigh of satisfaction made Max want to beg again. “Good girl.”

Max gulped. She knew what to do. Her greedy hands tore at the button of those trousers. The fabric slid down Renfro’s surprisingly long and smooth legs. As if there wasn’t enough drool in her open mouth. 

She got those panties out of the way and wasn’t disappointed. Knowing that Renfro, who tortured and imprisoned her, was wet from controlling her . . . she didn’t know if she should be revolted or turned on. 

Her moral dilemma reached its deadline. Renfro grew impatient. She always did: waiting for Max to be desperate and finally fuck that soldier boy stud. Waiting on her reports. It didn’t help that those large brown eyes looked incredibly innocent, as if she didn’t know what to do. Or that her lips looked swollen and needy waiting for something to quench her thirst.

She wasn’t sorry for how hard she shoved Max’s skull into the table. She wasn’t sorry for pushing her cunt onto her mouth. Renfro had never felt apologetic in her life, and this wasn’t going to be the first time.

Max growled. Her tongue opened Renfro up and the juices spilled limitlessly. Renfro was sure she was going to lose it - those lips felt as good as they looked. Just the mere brush of them against her clit impulsed her to grind harder into the girl’s face. What more when they hollowed around and suckled?

“Would you look at that. I figured you swung the other way too.”

Renfro’s nails dug into her scalp. Max tried to breathe but the taste intoxicated her again. She kept coming back. She was starved for more and for nothing, burying her face into Renfro’s center as if to drain her. Each time she got a little taste of heaven.

But Renfro didn’t belong there.

“Oh there you go.” Each insult and praise got Max to eat her out harder. Renfro stroked thr girl’s hair, playing with a stubborn curl that withstood the test of time. “Just made for it, aren’t you? To get on your knees, have your pretty mouth between a woman’s legs?”

The sounds she made, Lord. Max tried not to like it. Why wasn’t it easy? “Shut up,” she gasped, “shut up God, just-”

“You’re smarter than that. You ought to know I can’t when you’re so good at giving me what I want.”

Max shoved three digits inside her and proved her right.

The hiss that came after would have been heavenly to her. Pity she didn’t hear it. Thighs that were stronger than she thought sealed around her and she was sure she was going to die. Renfro rode her messily, getting endless juices on her nose and cheeks. She could smell nothing but the musk that made her dizzyingly thirsty; touch nothing but surprisingly firm flesh; taste nothing but Renfro.

It was sick. She was sick.

And still her fingers kept curling. Her mouth kept working. Her eyes kept tracking Renfro’s orgasmic face. Her ears kept in tune to the sound of Renfro’s drumming heartbeat.

Bliss, yes - but there was pain everywhere. The back of Max’s neck dug into the desk wood. Renfro’s strong fingers maintained a tight hold on her hair. Her jaw ached to death. Hips rolled continuously on her face like waves. The tears filled her eyes as her breath was nowhere to be found.

Renfro released her. She collapsed against the desk, whimpering incessantly. Renfro couldn’t help the rise and tense of her shoulders. The girl knew how to eat pussy. And she had to admit that she looked pretty as she lay there fatigued. There was just the type of woman who was most beautiful with her lips wet and pouty from use. Max fit that category perfectly.

She lowered herself to the ground. Max’s hands shook with the need to wrap themselves around her neck, but she couldn’t do anything. Was she having a seizure? Sort of. Or was she meant to tremble this lightly but warm up this-

Fuck. No, it couldn’t be. 

Max made a noise of protest. Renfro knew. She knew that the heat symptoms were bound to creep up on her. She could’ve had sex with anyone, God - anyone but her. Renfro was out of her damn mind.

So was she.

Renfro smiled. “Got nowhere to run do you?” she asked. 

The piteous words knifed Max’s dignity and pride. It was all her fault. She hugged her legs up to her chest as the throb inside her worsened. She needed someone to touch her. She promised it didn’t have to be Renfro specifically but her body yearned to be pinned under her. She needed it rough, the kind that would make her forget this ever happened. 

“It’s alright,” Renfro said. Her fingers glided along Max’s thigh. “You put up a good fight. But in the end, you just needed to be touched.”

“You’re an evil person. Fuck you.” Max cried tears that mixed with sweat and slick as she came to a realization. “No, just . . . please, fuck me please, fuck me-”

The look on Renfro’s face was the final straw. All that smugness and self-importance made Max lunge at her.

Her legs locked around her. Her fingers tensed under the crop of Renfro’s hair. She could have killed her at that moment. It would all be over. No one would know who broke her down. But the heat tingled in her skin. The throb in her core was too strong. Logan didn’t cross her mind at all when she leaned in and devoured Renfro’s lips.

God, she hated how good it felt. Renfro’s hands were all over her. Under her shirt; around her waist; between her legs - Max nearly came right there when Renfro forced her down on the desk. This was the exact kind of painful all the boy toys hated to do to her. Apparently she was too pretty or whatever. Too intimidating. 

Max bit down on Renfro’s slim lip, a little reminder of what she could do. Maybe it was a reminder for herself, too. 

She could taste blood. It was the most delicious thing she’d had in months. 

Renfro hissed and pulled her off. Red drooled down her chin. She turned Max around and drove her face into the wood, squeezing up those perfect features and somehow making them imperfect. Max gasped for air.

“Shameless. Always trying to fight back, always trying to be trouble.”

Max didn’t realize her pants were off until she felt the sting on her ass. Her shrill cry only brought forth another unconstrained spank.  

“When will you realize you can’t win, 452?”  Renfro asked. She abused the soft flesh, hitting and tearing and squeezing, until Max’s throat burned from yelling. “No matter where you go, you’ll forever belong here, right at home.”

Max panted and sobbed. Her sweat made a puddle on the desk. Renfro’s monotone words rang true in her head. She barely fit in the real world. It was simply not made to be her home. She was manufactured to wage war against it until a bullet made her a flowerless corpse. Only then would it be her home: an unmarked spot in the earth.

Max sniffled. Here was her home in Renfro’s office, where they kissed and bit each other until they felt alive for once. This was forever unless she took a stand.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try,” she whispered.

Her scream betrayed her promises once Renfro entered her. Four fingers swiftly moved into her, not giving her time to accommodate them. Renfro spared no mercy at all. She had Max crying and arching with just the curl of her wrist. She owned this girl, like she did so many others.

While her right was stone heavy on the transgenic’s back, her other hand was wet and working, drenched in Max and Max only. Max’s quivering pussy was as tight as the rest of her. It was so easy to enjoy breaking her. She got to feel the delicious wetness of her cunt; watch the struggle of her wide hips as they thrashed and fought; hear every raw scream echo knowing they would never haunt her.

“You maniac, fuck, I need-” Max was in heaven while being in hell simultaneously. Renfro knew how to do it perfectly, curving her fingertips right where she liked it and dragging her digits along her walls. “Harder. Almost there.”

“Bet you are,” Renfro hummed along her neck. She eyed the barcode, barely hidden through the mass of black hair - the thing that made her Manticore. Renfro watched it glisten with sweat, watched it distort as Max threw her head back.

But even she didn’t anticipate her teeth sinking into it.

That was when Max screamed. Renfro’s lips caressed her skin as if to comfort her, yet nothing could take away the pain spreading through her skin. Max was sure it wasn’t supposed to feel good either. She tried to tell herself it must be the fingers flicking at her clit or the steady thrusting, but Renfro bit harder and she began to beg again - something she swore to never do. 

Max reeled as she saw white. Her shaking body sent mixed signals, moving away unsuccessfully from Renfro’s touch while whining something like please don’t stop, I’ll be so good just please don’t stop.

And Renfro, for the first time, listened to her. She kissed and touched Max like it was a different setting where the younger girl was just a curious explorer and she helped her out. She gave it to her as hard as she wanted and didn’t want it to be. She lightened her nibble on the seared flesh and breathed her scent in, eyes closed. Max always smelled like petrichor, like she’d been in a storm without a raincoat, and it fit with how she covered her hand with her blissful rain. She liked that. It could’ve been like that.

She ultimately decided she didn’t want it to be. She liked how Max was now. Poor, tiny, vengeful Max pinned under her and submitting to how good she made her feel. Max whose sweat and blood she could taste on the tip of her tongue. Max who whimpered powerlessly when she kept fingering her, whose walls spasmed and shivered as she beckoned out the fight left in her. 

Max who shivered when she said “good girl” and kissed on those pillow lips.

The symptoms didn’t take long before leaving. The horror quickly kicked in. She felt the imprint of Renfro’s teeth on her neck with shaking fingers. She didn’t have to reach down to confirm the mess she made. 

She whipped around, ready to destroy Renfro like she had destroyed her. But it was too late. She realized every strength she nurtured would fail her when it came to hesitation. She was still human after all. Max Guevara would still die if Renfro chose to use the gun pressed hard into her forehead.

[latrodectal]

fuck it, i’m desperate.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

Heyyyy the brain juice is back

Angel Danny

Ok so you all know the drill Danny gets hurt and needs to leave his world and ends up in the ghost zone and redeemed pariah dark heals helps him heal and develops a father son relationship got to love  those but the difference from my usual stuff is that Danny ends up a full ghost and so his ghost form changes from the usual to something like this

And he’s wearing something like this

{And yes he is in a dress again I can’t find any fic and other things with him in a dress so I will make my own}

And while his form is changing and as you can guess it hurts BADLY so pariah dark ends up getting protective of Danny [ But not too much not like Yandere level but at the level where he likes to have Danny by his side until he heals all the way and for a bit after.]and Danny’s lair like for my Aphrodite Danny and Nyx Dannyit takes a more Greek  temple look and vibe like this

{also can I just say that this is so pretty.}

And for the DC part of this the ghost zone is done with the GIW BS and is declaring war if they do nothing to get rid of the problem and though magic things the JL and JLD end up in the Ghost zone for negotiations so the ghost zone doesn’t fuck up their shit and Tim teams ( Tim, kon, Cassie, and Bart) end up lost and somehow get into Danny’s lair and meet him.

And I’m done, hope you guys liked it and make sure you don’t go running around the humans! byeeee

[littlelamy]

backstage fun

rafe x 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚's𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭!𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: please remember that victoria’ssecret!angel!reader is tailored to how you look. these photos are just for reference. 😊i hope you all like it!🐇💗

the bright lights of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show beamed through the hallways, casting a soft glow over the bustling backstage area. makeup artists were adding final touches, hair stylists perfecting every curl, and models slipping into the iconic lingerie sets. in the center of all the action was you, one of the show's headlining outer banks angels, which was a small feature to the vsfs pre runway. wearing your wings proudly, you adjusted the strap of your lacey white bra, ensuring everything was perfect. you still needed your make up done but so far everything looked amazing.

but your mind wasn’t entirely on the show. it kept drifting back to one person—rafe cameron. his reputation preceded him—intense, sexy, dangerously charming, and every bit as addictive as you imagined him to be. he wasn’t part of your world, but through some twist of fate, he was here tonight, lurking in the shadows with that signature smirk of his.

you’d met him a few months prior at a cameron charity event. he was magnetic, the kind of man who made you feel like the only person in the room, even when surrounded by hundreds. the way his eyes lingered a little too long, the way his hand would casually brush against your waist—it was clear that he was interested, and you had felt that unmistakable spark, too.

a knock at your personal dressing room door pulled you from your thoughts. you glanced at your reflection, wings in place, lingerie hugging every curve, and then opened the door to find none other than rafe, leaning against the frame with a devilish grin.

“well, if it isn’t the angel herself,” rafe purred, his eyes darkening as they traveled from your face to your outfit. “you ready to so that sexy body off on the runway?”

your heart skipped a beat at his bold presence, but you played it cool, leaning back on your heels and giving him a teasing smile and a slight nod. “and what brings you backstage, Rafe? looking to join the show?”

he chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into your dressing room without an invitation. his eyes never left yours, but you could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

“i just came to see the most beautiful woman in the world do her thing,” he said smoothly, his voice low and rich. “and, of course, to make sure she hasn’t forgotten about me.”

you crossed your arms, amused by his confidence. “forgotten about you? now why would I do that?”

rafe moved closer, the space between you disappearing as he leaned in, his hand gently brushing against the strap of your bra close to your chest. “i don’t know,” he murmured, his fingers lingering on the thin strap. “but i’ve been thinking about you.” still toying with the strap, he slowly bites his lower lip.

the air between you thickened with tension, the kind that had been brewing ever since your first encounter. you weren’t immune to rafe’s charm, and he knew it. there was something dangerous about him, something that made your pulse race, even though you knew better.

“rafey,” you warned softly, trying to maintain your composure. “i’m about to go on stage.”

his hand trailed down your shimmery waist, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through you. “i know,” he replied, his voice huskier now. “but you’ve got a few minutes. and i’ve got a proposition.”

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “oh?”

rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “how about a little fun before you hit the stage? a reminder of what’s waiting for you when the show’s over.”

your breath hitched at his words, the temptation pulling at you. there was something thrilling about the idea—rafe, here, backstage, where anyone could walk in. but it wasn’t just the risk that excited you—it was him. the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. the way he made you feel like you were walking a dangerous line, one that could tip over into something wild and uncontrollable at any moment.

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “what do you say, angel?”

you swallowed hard, your pulse racing as his scent—something dark and intoxicating—washed over you. this wasn’t part of the plan, but with rafe, nothing ever was.

you could feel his breath on your neck, the warmth of his body as he hovered so close to you. his fingers grazed the fabric of your bra strap again, this time with more intent, and you felt the heat rising between you.

“rafe, this is…” you began, but your words trailed off as he pressed a soft kiss just beneath your ear, the sensation sending a shockwave through your body.

“this is what?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “crazy? dangerous? exciting?”

you exhaled shakily, your resolve wavering as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. the room felt smaller, the walls closing in as the energy between you and rafe crackled like electricity.

“exciting,” you whispered, unable to resist the pull any longer.

in an instant, rafe’s lips were on yours, claiming you with a hunger that made your knees weak. the kiss was fiery, intense, and everything you had been craving since the moment you met him. his hands roamed over your body, carefully around the lingerie, leaving a trail of heat as he pulled you flush against him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as your body melted into his.

but as the kiss grew more heated, you heard the faint sound of footsteps outside your door. a reminder that you were still in the middle of one of the biggest fashion shows of the year. you pulled back, breathless, your lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

“i have to go,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with desire.

rafe smirked, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “i know. but don’t forget, angel, i’ll be waiting for you when it’s over.”

you nodded, your heart still racing as you straightened your wings and adjusted your lingerie. rafe stepped back, his eyes filled with promise and mischief.

“good luck out there,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “not that you’ll need it.”

with one last smirk, rafe slipped out of the room, leaving you standing there, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before heading to the runway.

[s4wdvator]

OH MY GOD

[jazzmasternot]

I love this character so much, I wanna get him pregnant….

[nosferatini]

Unhallowed Providence

(Fic + Podfic)

My contribution to the Halloween festivities, inspired by the extraordinary art created by the incredible @theonevoice , I give you:

Unhallowed Providence

Being a narrative of certain events occurring in the stygian past of human history, in strict accordance, as shall be shown, with the Dark and Distorted Prophecies of Angus Nutter, Warlock.

A reversed AU in which a demon and an angel explore the forbidden treasures of the heart, mind, body, and soul—before doomsday lays waste to their sanctuary.

👁️Read Chapter 1👁️

Or…

🎧Listen to the Podfic!🎧

TW: Vampirism, vague allusions to past dubcon (due to power imbalance)

Special thanks to @onedappercat for the last minute beta ❤️, and to @theonevoice for this exciting brain worm in the form of gorgeous Demonic Aziraphale!

I’ve had the absolute pleasure of working with Voice on this project and am excited to continue as the fic moves forward. Voice, thank you for this mouthwatering obsession!

@goodomensafterdark @whickberstreetwriters

🧛🏻‍♀️🩸🖤Happy Halloween!🖤🩸🧛🏻‍♀️

[aqrafe]

ꪆ ❝ MESSY, SWEET MOMENTS. ❞ ⋆ ⸝⸝

۶ৎ angel¡reader && rafe cameron .ᐟ

The night is thick with warmth, the air soft and buzzing with the quiet hum of cicadas outside your window. Your bedroom light is dim, casting golden shadows across the space, catching the soft pink throw pillows on your bed, the glossy tubes of lip gloss scattered across your vanity. Everything about this place—this little sanctuary—is delicate, untouched by the rough edges of the outside world.

But then there’s him.

Rafe Cameron, stretched out beside you, sock-clad feet nudging yours beneath the blanket like he belongs here, like he always has. His presence is an intrusion in the best way—too big for the small space, too Rafe for the softness of your world. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other lazily tracing circles over the bare skin of your thigh where your shorts have ridden up. The scent of his cologne—rich and sharp, laced with something dark and expensive—mixes with the sweetness of your vanilla body lotion, the combination intoxicating in a way that makes your head spin.

You’re meant to be watching something, some dumb movie playing on your laptop, but neither of you is paying attention. He’s been teasing you about something—something stupid, something insignificant, something he refuses to let go of simply because it annoys you. So, naturally, you shove at his chest, giggling through your frustration. ❝So annoying,❞ you huff, though there’s no real bite behind it.

Rafe only grins, wide and smug, and before you can blink, he moves.

In one smooth motion, he flips you over, catching you off guard, pressing you into the mattress beneath him. His weight is solid, caging, and your breath catches as you blink up at him. He’s too close, all golden skin and sharp angles, his jawline cut like something out of a painting, lips curling at the edges like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your protest is barely out of your mouth before he kisses you.

It’s quick and messy, all lips and teeth, punctuated by laughter that neither of you can hold back. He kisses you again, this time lingering, fingers gripping your waist as he sinks into you. The warmth of him, the sheer weight of him pressing you down, sends something hot curling through your stomach. ❝Rafe!❞ you squeak between kisses, half-laughing, half-gasping, squirming beneath him as his hands tighten at your sides.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, thumb swiping lazily over your cheek. ❝What? You’re cute when you lose. ❞ You huff, rolling your eyes, but your resolve is thin, crumbling fast beneath the way he looks at you—like you’re something he wants, something he can’t help but touch, kiss, consume.

It’s stupid. You’re supposed to be friends. But friends don’t kiss like this. Friends don’t pull each other apart with lazy grins and teasing fingers. Friends don’t pin each other down just to see them flustered, to hear them giggle, or to feel the way their hearts race beneath their palms.

And yet—

You let him. You always let him.

The moment lingers, thick and syrupy sweet, until Rafe shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him. The bed creaks under the weight of both of you tangled together, but neither of you care. His hand slides up the curve of your back, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your spine, his touch featherlight, almost reverent.

Your head finds his chest, your ear pressing against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s soothing and grounding, the kind of thing that makes you forget that Rafe Cameron is nothing but trouble. For a while, neither of you speaks. There’s just the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of the TV, and the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. You trace a lazy pattern across his collarbone, following the freckles scattered there, and he sighs, tilting his chin down to press a kiss against your hair.

❝You know,❞ he murmurs, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. ❝I don’t think I could sleep without you anymore.❞

The confession is casual and effortless, but it sends a spark of something dangerous down your spine. You tilt your head, blinking up at him, searching his face for something—an explanation, a tease, anything. But he just looks back at you, his expression unreadable, lips twitching like he’s debating whether or not he meant to say that aloud.

Your chest tightens.

Because you already know the truth. You’ve always been his soft place to land. His escape. His little slice of good in a life that keeps pulling him under. And maybe, if you weren’t so stubborn, if you weren’t so hopelessly attached, you would push him away. Tell him to stop playing this game with you.

But you don’t.

Instead, you curl further into his warmth, exhaling softly, feeling the weight of his arm tightening around you.

❝Then don’t,❞ you whisper. And it’s reckless; it’s dangerous, but the way his lips brush against your forehead like a silent promise makes you think that maybe, just maybe, you don’t care.

Not when he’s here.

Not when he’s yours.

── my angel's ⋆ ⸝⸝

©RAFESSECRET ۶ৎ est. 2025

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist - Being Human

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader 

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: Welcome to my first Dark Angel series! I'm so glad you're here. 💜

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) Romance, angst, drama, and more. Some chapters will follow canon (others will not). Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.

Chapters:

Part 1: Training Day

Part 2: The Only Place

Part 3: Complications

Part 4: Reckoning

Series Complete!

Sequel Stories:

Basic Instinct** You and Alec adapt to the realities of a human/transgenic relationship, especially during your pregnancy. 

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Join Patreon 🌟

Series Tag List:

Comment below if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

@waters-2567 @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @honeybabycherry @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 2 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • << part 1

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

warnings: heavily implied dub/non-con, violent/disturbing imagery, body horror

Part 2: Answer

The next couple of days were met with a certain degree of reluctance and uncertainty combined as you couldn’t help but feel a crushing sense of guilt, wondering what the angel truly meant by ‘everything’.

Had you known what it could have entailed, you would have never prayed—you would have never even entertained the concept of love, knowing now that it would be taken away so soon.

You didn’t want to think that ‘everything’ could have been in a more literal sense; something that would force you to have a lacking say in your own existence in exchange for a taste of power.

It left you wondering more so if it was truly a blessing or if it was more of a curse.

And moments after tucking yourself into bed, you were awoken by an all too familiar presence making itself known within the confines of your very own home.

The angel reappeared; his eyes a glowing piercing blue with snowy lashes—a gaze as cold as ice.

No longer did it have a welcoming smile.

No longer did it seem as kind.

Its voice, coming out as nothing more than a threatening low droning hum, echoed throughout your body, “Remember what you have offered to me,” he spoke, the playfulness absent from his tone, “your life is mine now too.”

Somehow, these words didn’t really register properly in your mind and you looked back at him with a gnawing sense of disbelief. Your demeanour faltering for a second. You wanted for this strange deity to provide you with answers but every interaction left you with more questions than ever before, leaving you feeling confused after each and every single exchange.

“What…?” you simply asked, blurting out your words.

The angel smiled, painting an illusion of deceptive kindness across his face. His voice softened, as though trying to comfort you despite the words holding onto a sure threat, “You said everything, did you not? That should surely include both your heart and soul.”

“B-but,” you protested, tenting your knees as you backed up in bed, holding your pillow close to your chest, “I can’t even have a normal relationship?”

“Preferably not,” the angel cooed, “but if loneliness is what you’re dealing with, then I can pay you as many visits as you’d like at night.”

You didn’t like the implication of that.

“Y-you…?” you repeated his offer, “You… visit m-me…?”

“Correct,” he nodded with a tight smile, stepping closer ever so slightly forward, “it’s my job to look over humans, so let me be your everything too.”

The more you took in the sight of the angel, the more deceptive he truly seemed. Something about him screamed arrogant and even though he wasn’t playful this time, there was something unserious about the way he spoke to you.

Again, your mind had to wonder.

(Was this truly an angel?)

(Or did you pray to something else instead?)

“T-this is my only option?” you asked.

“Yes, but I’ll visit you however many times it takes,” he nodded.

The wording threw you off however, something about the way he said it and the terminology used, didn’t sit quite right with you.

‘However many times it takes.’

Until what?

~~~

The visits did indeed come to happen, he left you feeling a mixture of both wide awake as the nights had passed yet perfectly refreshed in the mornings as though nothing had happened.

Even though your energy didn’t seemingly suffer, something else within you began to drain instead.

You weren’t quite sure what, though.

Your mind spiralled as it considered the possibilities.

You were blessed, right? Not chosen. Could there have been a difference between the two?

And lying awake in your bed yet again, you anticipated the angel but weren’t quite in the mood due to a terrible feeling brewing inside of you. Your eyes, blinded by the approaching light snapped open; feeling the weight of such unimaginable power anchor right on top of you.

“Not toda—“ you began to protest, your words coming out as barely a whisper.

“—everything,” he shushed you instead, reminding you of your place within the dynamic. He was the an angel; a being close to a god and you were a mortal blessed by his touch. Silly you. You had no right to complain.

Yet the continuation felt awfully wrong.

Like something was happening that shouldn’t have been.

Just like the many sleepless nights before this one, he started by crashing his lips against your own. His touch like pillowed stone against fresh clay—his touch bordered articulate—precise and careful, just like those many times before. Your eyes once again drifted over to his roaming hands, blurring your vision whenever you’d look at them for too long.

“I know your limit,” he whispered to you, his cold breath rippling waves of shivers through you, “I can see it.”

It was as though his words were easing you into it every time. His voice was low and his tone felt hypnotic.

Slowly, as a result, you couldn’t help but grow more accepting of it even if you were unsure why.

Something internal that faded away as you slowly gave into his presences, into his continued touch and…!

(What was this feeling…?)

His touch continued to explore you; his hands brushed over your breasts underneath your clothes. Stony fingers that slipped in between your legs, guiding his digits towards your sex. A soft gasp escaping your lips as he ran tauntingly slow circles around your clit.

Next, he moved himself to hover you. His hardened length feeling just as rigid as the rest of him, if not even somehow more, hovered at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into your awaiting cunt, his length enveloped by your heat.

Slipping himself out and then plunging forth again and again—it felt like he was bruising you from the inside. His gradually quickening pace left you breathless yet somehow craving more despite the creeping exhaustion.

“My everything,” he’d mutter, his lips ghosting icy air against your own, his tongue wrestling yours. The experience felt almost jarring with how much attention you took in from a higher power, perhaps in a way that you shouldn’t. The angel continued to stalk his release regardless—appearing almost human—almost vulnerable as he pounded into you with want and need.

He grunted, though softly, as he worked his hips into yours. Despite this, your home only echoed back the sounds of your strained whining and almost relentless, breathless moaning. Your fingers clawing against the sheets—against his flesh—grabbing, almost as if desperately trying to hold onto your plummeting sanity as it somehow slipped away during your shared nights.

His rutting pursuit was by now deeper, his speed unforgiving. Your core felt as though it was going to be split apart by his plunging length. You felt exhaustion seep and settle while your insides soon felt pummelled and even sore as the angel reached an almost frenzied pace, seeking a violent release.

It was sudden as he finally met his end; his body finally spent. You felt as his cock twitched within your sex, emptying himself fully within your bruised core, leaving you a state of uncomfortable full of him and him alone.

As he relaxed and you recovered, the angel soothed you in your repeated panicked submission. His flesh that had since then merged with yours, rubbed raw against what felt like almost worn skin. His comforting touch smoothed goosebumps over you, leaving you once again feeling not quite chosen, but blessed with the essence of something else.

(Something worse?)

Whether or not it was power that he was giving you, it wasn’t something you could tell.

He soon left you in that now familiar dazed and almost high state—your hands drifting and slurring as you moved around in bed—phasing you in and out of your own fleeting consciousness.

And although the sensation faded and the skies lightened outside, for once, you were left feeling exhausted.

As though you couldn’t quite drop what the angel left behind this time.

You’d hands glowed a faint yet noticeable blue, trailing an aura behind as you moved them around in the air. Like seeping water that evaporated the second it lingered a little too long.

Whatever this was; a power, a blessing or something else.

You didn’t want it.

It hurt.

~~~

“Thou shall not lay in bed with the gods who masquerade as angels; lest you ascend.” — Ancient scriptures.

~~~

As if on clockwork, the angel would show up again and again as per the usual times. It was nighttime whenever it arrived with its heavy footsteps splintering the floorboards, icy fingertips that willed you awake, refusing to let you rest.

You couldn’t help but shudder whenever you jolted back into the conscious realm. The touch now feeling familiar, yet somehow so freshly invasive every time.

Something felt different this time though.

“Would you like to be more than just blessed?” he asked you, although the way he delivered his words felt more like a statement than an offering. The way he spoke reminding you more of how the demons spoke; so elusive and almost deceitful.

You couldn’t form a proper response this time either. Your words stifled by a pressuring change in the atmosphere. Something about his words felt once again less like a prompt.

(Maybe more like a threat?)

‘More than just blessed.’

Your mind locked onto the way he said that and he seemed to notice. His icy blue eyes settled into your own gaze in a way that felt looming, as though he was attempting to get a read on your soul rather than to catch onto your interpretation.

“Will it stop the pain?” you finally managed to ask.

Ever since the first time the pain had began to linger, was when you started to feel like something was clearly wrong. The aura that trailed in your hands never subsided, instead slowly enveloping the rest of your skin. The burning sensation that developed in your skin when the pain manifested had only gotten worse since then. It was as though your flesh was overcome with an invisible fire that crackled and whipped away at your skin.

It surely must have been in your head, though.

Yet, despite feeling the blistering pops and the flickers of bursting skin, of charring bone that crisped deep into the core of your very being.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was all too real.

As if something within you was changing and not in a good way.

Not at all.

All the angel did was continue to smile at you. His many eyes once again fluttering around his body, as though blinking in desperation in attempted warning. Yet, the two eyes on his face remained still and almost dormant.

Sitting you upright and allowed for you to lean into his frame, his lips forged a smile to help you ease into his offering.

“It will stop the pain,” he promised, “you’ll never feel anything again, my pretty mortal thing.”

“Then—“ you coughed out, your voice hostage in your throat under a chokehold.

“—it’ll stop the pain,” he continued to comfort you, his hand brushing down your back in a soothing manner, whispering out his final words so that you just about couldn’t fully hear, “and everything else.”

Just as he said that, the pain built up within your body, the blue aura almost barely contained the longer it festered within you.

“I’ll do it,” you replied, finally giving in.

He smiled once more, however as soon as you finalised his non-offer, all remaining warmth that he held onto had since swept away, almost instantly. The once thought to be imagined sensation of hellfire burning over your skin was now visible, with roaring, crackling flames that continued to eat away at your body.

His words of promised mercy hung in the air as you focused on him out of desperation, the eyes scattered on his body weeping along with yours as you surrendered towards deceitful ascension. Your body feeling as though it was almost crumbling against his rigid touch, all the while he stared at your succumbing form.

Slowly, the blue fire closed in on you fully; encasing you in a flaming cocoon that wrapped tight around your body, constricting you.

As the fire finally burned away at your last remaining shred of pain, you longed for it to finally be over, to finally be free.

Yet, when you next awoke in a surge of jolting panic, you found that despite trying to tear your body forward, despite trying to thrash and and sway around—that you couldn’t move a single inch. Even though the sensation of peace washed over your soul, you found yourself encased in the body of someone else, watching through a fleshy tomb as they walked around with your frightened gaze guiding their way.

“There, there,” you heard a familiar voice hush you, his voice vibrating against your very being, “allow me to introduce myself to you. I don’t believe I ever have. I am the six eyed god of the open sky. You may have heard of me as the fallen angel, the one who dared to mingle with the demons and with the humans alike. Turns out I have an appetite for an uncorrupted soul and you’re lucky enough to be a part of me forever.”

You wanted to reply to him, but you couldn’t.

“Now, why wouldn’t I grant this opportunity… as some would call it, to the followers of my own temple, you ask?” he laughed, “because to worship is already giving into corruption and I only respond to untainted desperation.”

You fluttered your eyes as much as you could, the sensation feeling nauseating as you couldn’t scream while entombed within his own flesh.

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” he mocked, “I saved you. A life free from pain, free from suffering. We’ll be together as one, forever united within your dreams… but only when you’re ready once more, only when you’ve finally given in.”

You attempted to scream over and over again.

Yet no sound could be heard as you were forced to watch from his appointed gaze as his adorned seventh and eighth eyes, decorating his body as a purposeful stare, condemned to experience a life that wasn’t yours together with a deity who lied to you.

Yet the six eyed god of the sky didn’t see it that way.

For at last, he finally caught onto something human.

So pure and uncorrupted.

To finally challenge the system with what defined the balance of existence; to finally redefine both pain and peace within this corrupted world.

Together, you’d see the truth.

Even if you’d suffer for eternity as a result instead.

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

a/n: the idea i was going for was that you got tricked by not an angel, not even a god, but by something worse. it was a play on gojo’s technique rendering him into nothing more than a tool and the societal weight on his shoulders. the six eyes being a burden (with some creepy yan!angel elements).

[nomsfaultau]

What is a clawmark but a way of being honed?

Or; Philza’s “children” made him a monster, too. From my dark SBI fic, The Lambs Wolves Wear.

[charliemwrites]

Hi :)

You should not be doing this.

It rings like church bells in the back of your mind. A funeral toll for each damning decision that is killing your divinity.

Finding the ritual. Dong!

Drawing the circle. Dong!

Spilling your own golden essence over a twisting sigil. Dong!

Tongue tripping over unfamiliar vowels and consonants. A language you know but have never spoken. Dong!

“Well,” a low, rough voice drawls, “isn’t this something special.”

You close your eyes, steel your spine. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your nerves. Tilt your head just enough to watch him from the corner of your eye, a dark and hulking shape. You’re almost startled by the size of him. Have never seen a demon like this before.

His horns curve back from his head, rams horns. You jolt a bit. A higher demon than you expected - than you meant to summon.

“Such a pretty thing,” he coos, stalking closer. “I haven’t eaten an angel in millennia….”

You nearly gasp as rough hands brush your wings. It almost burns. You twist, find him suddenly much closer than you thought. A massive hand captures your chin, jerks your head up to look at you this way and that.

“And here you serve yourself to me on a silver platter.”

He smirks, a hint of viciously sharp fang peeking out. You gather your courage, smack his hand away. The bracelets around your wrist chime.

“You are the one who’s here to serve,” you remind.

He moves faster than you can ever hope to match, crushing you to the wall, your wings pinned beneath you. A clawed hand is around your throat, tight enough to threaten oxygen if you needed it. Still you gasp, squirming and struggling, frightened by his strength. Why is he so much stronger than you?

“Mind yourself, dove,” he growls, eyes glowing like hot coals. “You may have summoned me, but that does not entitle you to my power.”

You grunt softly as he flicks at your halo, eyes stinging a bit. You’re unfamiliar with pain; Heaven is soft and kind.

“Please,” you manage.

His eyes narrow, a smirk turn to his lips. “That’s more like it. Now tell me, why would one of the host call upon a demon.”

“T-to make a deal.”

His eyebrows arch, but there’s a flicker of genuine fascination in his eyes now. The grip on your throat loosens a little, but he presses closer just a quickly, one burning line of inhuman muscle along your front.

“A deal…” His voice has dropped even lower somehow, rumbling in his chest. “Oh dove, you have no soul to sell. What did you plan to bargain with?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit. The desperation that brought you here, made you do all this, yawns open inside you. “You name the price, but please.”

His laughter fills the room, genuine amusement this time. “You’ve no idea what you’re offering.”

You frown. “I do. I know… I know what it means. But what I’m asking for…”

He tilts his head. “And what are you asking for, angel?”

“There’s a man, a human man. When his mother passed I brought her soul to Heaven and she asked - she asked me to watch over her son…”

He arches his eyebrows. “You’re no guardian.”

“No,” you agree. Guardian angels are fierce and beautiful, a balance of warrior strength and guiding patience. They carry swords and shields, iron in their feathers. “But… I couldn’t deny her.”

“Let me guess, he’s slated for death now.”

“Hes a soldier.” Death then damnation. He has made himself a machine of suffering and it has charred his soul.

The demon hums with understanding. “You want me to save him.”

“From death,” you clarify, “the rest.., the rest I will try to do myself.”

The demon makes a little “ah” noise. “And so you’ll offer me anything to defy death. For one mortal?”

You can hear the disdain in his voice and it sparks your ire. The scent of ozone seeps into the room as your feathers ruffle.

“I don’t need to explain myself. Will you take the deal or not?” You demand. “I need to know if I should summon another - ah!”

You flinch as your head is wrenched back, throat exposed. Hot hair brushes the skin as he looms over you, fangs so so close.

“Your Heavenly Father didn’t bend you over his knee enough,” he snarls. “We’ll have to correct that.”

You swallow down a whimper, sense that it’s best you don’t push your luck.

“Very well, dove. You have your deal. I will keep your precious mortal alive.”

“And in exchange?” you ask.

He chuckles. “That is not for you concern yourself with.”

And then white hot pain explodes through your shoulder, fangs sunk deep into your shoulder. He moans at the taste of your blood on his tongue, hips jerking roughly against your stomach. It feels like a small eternity that he bites into you, leaving his mark. The contract of your unholy deal. His tongue laves cruelly over the marks as he pulls away. Gold drips from his chin as he grins at you.

“Fly home now, dove,” he says. “I will see you very soon.”

[bingothedingo666]

Gifts are Meant to be Shared

This was my submission for the GOAD subreddit's annual secret Santa! As a certified Christmas fiend I had so much fun making this art of our ineffables finding a creative way to share a single pyjama set.

There's even a spicy one-shot to accompany it! Read here:

@goodomensafterdark

[littlelamy]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚's𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭!𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: let me know what you guys think!

a woman as alluring and captivating as y/n is beyond what words like "sexy" can describe. as a stunning victoria's secret model, she turns heads not only with her beauty but with her presence. y/n is smart, grounded, and adored by all who cross her path. some say she's as breathtaking as naomi campbell, as sultry as pamela anderson, and as down-to-earth as bella hadid. born and raised in y/city/n, her humble upbringing shaped her into someone who can connect with anyone, no matter where they come from.

victoria'ssecret!angel!reader is a hopeless romantic, which is why she fell so fast, for rafe and had a summer fling with jj, which stirred up some drama. even with her kook status, thanks to her wealth, she’s always found hanging around near the cut, seeking out her pogue friends, where her heart truly feels at home.

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