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monster-disaster · 1 month ago

Note

A request for two exoskeleton aliens that are very addicted to feeling and fondling a cute squishy human they found

alien!Scad x human!Reader x alien!Talex Good to know: smut, threesome

A/N: Exoskeleton aliens were really specific and I hope my aliens are close to what you imagined. And if you wanted something more like Tarzan meets Jane type of thing, don't worry, I want to write something like that in the near future. :)

Your breathing is ragged and uneven as you hurry along the endless corridors that lead you outside to the ship that arrived not long ago. The sharp click of your sleek black heels against the gray tiles echoes through the empty hall in perfect rhythm with your rushing steps. Each knock bounces off the tall, blank walls, mixing with the soft, desperate huffs escaping your lips as you push forward. Your bag almost falls off your shoulder, but your fingers are tight and firm around the black straps. It wrinkles the white fabric of your shirt underneath it.

"They are here," Jim says, opening the door for you when he sees you approaching. "And you are late."

You can't help but scoff. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"Come on," he waves. "Hurry."

Keeping your thoughts about the man to yourself, you turn your focus to the grandiose spaceship that gleams under the bright sun at the top of the clear blue sky. The metal doors are already open, and at the base of the long stairs, you can see the guests among your other co-workers.

As a Cultural Ambassador, you meet beings from different planets all the time. It’s your job to understand their customs, their ways of life, and to bridge the gap between their worlds and yours. Yet, despite all your training and experience, you are still sometimes caught off guard by how different they can appear compared to what you are used to on Earth. That’s probably one of the reasons you love your job so much. There’s always something new to learn, something unfamiliar to explore.

From this distance, their skin appears to shift colors depending on the light; a shimmering green with hints of blue and purple that ripple across their form. As you walk closer, you realize their skin is more like an armor, a natural exoskeleton that covers them from head to toe. They stand tall and lean, with long arms and legs that bend in ways unfamiliar to human anatomy. The joints at their knees curve gracefully backward, resembling the powerful hind legs of a predator built for speed and agility.

"That’s new," Jim hums beside you, easily keeping pace with the rhythmic clicks of your high heels.

"Shut up," you hiss under your breath, eyes narrowing in annoyance as you keep your focus ahead. "They have a great hearing."

The closer you get, the more details you see. Their bodies are a blend of hard, angular bones and taut muscles. Though they may seem slim, there’s no doubt in you about the immense power lurking beneath their armor-like skin. They resemble the perfect fusion of the grace and agility of prey with the raw strength and precision of a predator. They carry all the best attributes of both types, presenting a striking balance of beauty and strength.

“Wow,” Jim mutters, but you only send him a brief, sidelong glance before turning your full attention back to the aliens.

You offer a calm and friendly smile, one you’ve practiced countless times for these occasions.

“Welcome to Earth,” you greet them in their own language. The unfamiliar words roll off your tongue with a heavy accent as you approach. Your posture is relaxed and open, with your back straight and your arms hanging comfortably by your sides.

"I hope your journey was comfortable,” you say, stopping a few feet away from them. “I’m Y/N. We’ve already communicated through messages.”

“Yes,” one of them replies, reaching out his hand for you. The gesture, while surprising, isn’t entirely unfamiliar. As diplomats of their home planet, they’re also learning your customs. You accept the hand and shake it briefly. “I’m Scad, and this is Talex.” The other male gives a wave, though the motion feels unusual coming from him.

“Are we ready to go?” you ask, directing the question mostly to your co-workers. They nod, stepping back to give you space to do your job.

“Yes,” Talex responds. His voice is smooth and gentle.

“Great,” you smile warmly. “Let’s make the best of your time here.”

The restaurant buzzes with life, rich with the soft music playing in the background and the low murmur of conversations weaving through the delicate clinking of cutlery and glasses.

You glance at Talex and Scad, who sit across from you. Their expressions are a blend of curiosity and cautious enthusiasm as they take their first bites of the steak you recommended. Their skin seems to shimmer under lights that cast a soft glow over the polished wood tables and vibrant artwork adorning the walls.

“So, what do you think?” you ask after a few quiet moments, letting them savor the flavors.

Talex hums thoughtfully, his large, all-black eyes reflecting the dim light above. “Much softer than what we are used to,” he replies. His voice is smooth and gentle, almost melodic.

Scad nods beside him, his slender fingers are still around the fork as he takes another bite. “But I miss more spice,” he adds honestly.

“More spice?” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. When they nod in agreement, a smile spreads across your face. “Then we’ll have to try my favorite restaurant next time. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“I still feel guilty we didn’t bring some of our favorite dishes with us,” Talex says, a note of regret lacing his words. “But we weren’t sure it would be good for human digestion.”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain your polite demeanor. “It’s fine, really,” you assure him. From what they shared about their home planet and their culinary customs, the dishes sounded raw and rather... challenging for your human system. You imagine vibrant colors and strange textures that would likely send your stomach into a confused spiral.

Scad takes a sip of his drink, his expression brightening as he savors the wine. The tangy notes dance on his tongue, and you can see the delight in his large, dark eyes as he nods appreciatively after every sip. “We are curious about your spices,” he says, his voice smooth and melodic, carrying a hint of excitement. “What kinds of flavors do humans use usually?” He tilts his head slightly, his long limbs moving gracefully as he continues to eat, a picture of both elegance and curiosity.

"It depends on the country, really," you reply. “Each region has its own unique flavors and combinations. If you enjoy spices, you might find a lot of countries’ dishes intriguing."

“And the dessert?” Talex chimes in, his eyes widening with eager anticipation as he looks up from his plate. There’s an almost childlike excitement in his strange, alien-like expression, as if he is already envisioning the chocolate cake you mentioned a few days ago, despite the fact that he still has half of his steak left.

You can’t help but laugh. “It will come soon,” you assure him with a playful smile spreading across your face. “I promise, it’s worth the wait!”

Scad glances between you and Talex, a curious tilt to his head. “Is it… sweet?”

“Very sweet,” you reply, leaning in slightly as if sharing a delicious secret. “It’s rich and creamy, with layers of chocolate that just melt in your mouth. The texture is like velvet, and it’s often topped with a ganache that makes it even better.”

You already talked about it with Talex, and he found your human sweets and snacks really intriguing. While they enjoy tastes and meals are a significant part of their social life, the thought of eating just for fun and not for company or nutrients is strange. They don’t even have these kinds of sweet tastes where they come from, so you want to show them as much as you can while they are here.

Their stay on Earth has been without a hitch so far. The aliens are kind and polite, always eager to engage in whatever activities you suggest to show or teach them about your planet and its diverse creatures. In turn, they share fascinating stories about their home, too. They express their appreciation for the comfort and softness that Earth has to offer, especially considering that their own planet can be quite hostile. The harsh conditions there have shaped them, resulting in their armor-like skin you noticed immediately when you saw them the first time. You also discover that the differences between their males and females are strikingly minimal, limited mainly to their genitals and colors. Much like the diverse spices found on Earth, their males tend to be more colorful with vibrant hues and patterns. And while you might expect aliens from such a harsh planet to be rough themselves, they are surprisingly refined, especially in their appreciation of technology and art. They are advanced in both fields, which makes every visit to museums and galleries a delight for them. They seem genuinely fascinated by Earth’s creations, examining each piece with an almost childlike curiosity. The more you get to know them, the more ideas you gather about other places and experiences they might enjoy here.

"So," Scad says, breaking the monotone rumble of the car as he studies the brochure you gave him. "This is… music?"

"Yes," you reply, nodding as you turn your attention from the window and the passing city to look at him. "From what you've told me, our classical music is actually quite similar to what you play on your planet."

"Do they have chocolate cakes?" Talex asks, already guessing the answer when he glances at you and sees the smile spreading across your face.

"No," you tell him, chuckling. "But we can get some after the concert. There’s a popular café near my apartment that sells cakes too."

The younger of the two smiles and nods eagerly. "I can’t wait."

Ever since Talex first tried chocolate cake at the restaurant, he’s been a little obsessed with it, much to Scad’s surprise. Scad hadn’t taken to the cake himself, but you’re determined not to give up just yet. You are sure there’s a dessert out there that will suit his tastes, too, and you are ready to help him find it.

The city is alive and buzzing with nightlife. Vibrant lights and neon signs spill through the tinted car windows, casting colored reflections over the seats. The hum of traffic mingles with the steady rumble of the engine as you make your way through the crowded streets. It’s Friday night, and the sidewalks are filled with people. Some are heading home after a long day, while others are eager to unwind with friends, ready to keep the night going until sunrise.

When you arrive at the theater, long rows of people are already lined up, chatting and shuffling impatiently, eager to get inside. The chill in the air nips through your black dress and matching jacket, which do little to guard you against the cold.

Once inside, you are greeted by a rush of warmth. The tickets are still in your hands as you watch your companions take in the opulent interior. Talex’s gaze drifts upward, transfixed by the golden details that gleam under the grand chandelier hanging from the intricately painted ceiling. The bright light dances off polished surfaces, illuminating the marble pillars and casting soft reflections across the hall.

"Your architecture is amazing," he murmurs, still staring upward as you gently take his arm to guide him through the crowd. "Our buildings are more like what you call ‘modern.’"

Scad nods in agreement, his gaze lingering on the sweeping staircases and rich wood paneling. "Our buildings are efficient to build, but not nearly as satisfying to look at."

"Come then," you say with a smile, still holding onto Talex’s arm. "I think you’re going to enjoy tonight."

Guiding them through the bustling lobby, you lead them up to the gallery. Once there, they take in the grand view from above, where the entire stage and rows of seats below spread out. The soft murmur of the crowd blends with the faint tuning of instruments from behind the curtain, building an air of anticipation.

"Amazing," Talex sighs again, and you only smile.

The short wait, until the concert begins, passes with quiet conversation as they occasionally ask you questions, but mostly, they are captivated, taking everything in while you watch them with patience and some pride. Seeing their awe gives you a renewed appreciation for it all; each detail of the theater seems more delicate, more grandiose through their eyes.

When the thick, red curtain finally parts and the first notes resonate through the hall, a flutter of anticipation stirs in your stomach. You want them to enjoy this, to feel something new.

As the night unfolds and each melody follows the next, you notice them gradually relaxing against the plush red seats, becoming immersed in the experience. Their alien expressions are subtle and hard to read, but with each passing day, you’re getting better at interpreting the quiet, telling glances they exchange and the slight shifts in their posture.

By the time the concert ends, you can tell they enjoyed it without needing to ask. There’s a lightness in their steps and a glint of excitement in their eyes as you leave the bright hall of the theater and step into the vibrant, bustling street. The black car with your chauffeur for the night is already waiting, and it merges smoothly into the flow of traffic once you are all inside.

"So," you smile, glancing at them. "I take it you enjoyed the concert?"

"It was really fascinating," Scad replies thoughtfully. "Our instruments are quite similar, but more..." He trails off, searching for the right word that doesn’t seem to come.

"Modern," Talex offers, then makes a face, clearly dissatisfied. "Not quite the word, but…" he gives a small shrug as if words are too limited.

You nod with understanding. "I get it," you say warmly, appreciating their attempt to bridge the language gap.

"Can we come back again?" Scad asks, casting a last, lingering look over his shoulder at the theater as it fades from view with a left turn.

"Of course," you reply with a smile. "There are all kinds of concerts. We can look up the ones that might interest you the most."

"And now, can I get my cake?" Talex asks, a grin spreading across his face, his dark eyes bright with anticipation.

You chuckle and nod. "Yes, absolutely."

The café is still open and lively when you arrive, the warm air rich with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups.

"What should I try?" Scad asks, eyeing the display, while Talex’s choice is clear from the eager look on his face.

"Well, since chocolate isn’t your favorite but you like our fruits, maybe something with berries?" you suggest, gesturing to the colorful pastries.

Then, turning to Talex, you grin. "And for you, we have something called hot chocolate."

"Oh?" Talex hums, intrigued. "It’s not like coffee, is it?"

You laugh, recalling his reactions to coffee’s bitterness. "No, nothing like coffee."

"And you might like green tea," you say, glancing back at Scad with a knowing smile. "I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it."

There’s so much you want them to try, so many flavors and experiences to share. You almost worry you will give both yourself and them a bit of a whirlwind.

"I trust your choices," Scad replies with a nod, and Talex quickly mirrors him.

When you get your order and scan the busy café, you can’t help but sigh. There’s no way you’ll find a free table anytime soon.

"Sorry," the cashier says with an apologetic smile. You give a friendly nod, reassuring her with a smile of your own, and bid her goodbye before rejoining Scad and Talex, who have stayed out of the crowd’s way.

“There’s no space here,” you tell them, handing over their boxes with drinks and cakes. “But we could go up to my apartment if you’re interested,” you offer, then quickly add, “But you’re also welcome to head home if you’re tired. I’d understand.”

"No," Talex responds immediately, only to let out a small groan as Scad nudges him with an elbow, a gesture he’s picked up since coming to Earth.

"We don’t want to be a burden, Y/N," Scad says, looking almost bashful.

"Oh, no, not at all," you insist, shaking your head. "I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Come on, let’s go."

Your apartment is only a few minutes’ walk away, perched on the top floor with a lovely view over the city skyline. It’s nothing grand, but it’s cozy, and it’s home.

"I imagined something more... I’m not sure," Talex murmurs as he takes in the space with open curiosity. "You’re always so put together and professional, but your home is... soft and comfortable."

Scad nods in agreement. "And colorful."

Most of your furniture is secondhand, pieces you couldn’t resist picking up from flea markets or online listings. Colorful pictures and paintings fill the walls, lush plants soften the corners, and piles of blankets and pillows add texture to the couch and armchair.

“What is this?” Talex asks, pointing to a vintage birdcage hanging beside the TV.

You chuckle, feeling a bit sheepish. “It’s silly, I know. It’s an old birdcage, but I use it to hold my jewelry.”

“Birdcage?” Talex repeats, intrigued.

“People on Earth keep all kinds of animals as pets,” you explain with a smile. “But I don’t have a bird.”

“No?” Talex looks at you, flicking a necklace gently with his finger.

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t have time for a pet, and besides, I’d never keep a bird in that tiny cage.”

“It’s creative,” Talex nods thoughtfully, his face lighting up. “I like it.”

You laugh, pleased by his interest. “I’m glad you do.”

You spend the next hour gathered around your small dining table, chatting about everything from desserts to upcoming concerts as you browse tickets online.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one, too,” you murmur while confirming the order. “And how’s the chocolate?” you ask Talex, catching a glimpse of Scad as he rises from his seat to wander over to the window.

“It’s really good,” the younger alien replies with a hint of a smile. “But you already knew that.”

You laugh, barely hiding your satisfaction. “I had a feeling.”

Scad interrupts your banter, his voice thoughtful as he looks out at the city below. “Now I see why you chose this place.”

“Yeah,” you say, moving to stand beside him. The city is alive with people and traffic. Lights reflect off the glass buildings and stretch out into the night. “When I saw this view, I knew I’d want to see it every day.”

Scad turns his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and admiration. “It’s beautiful. So much movement… so much life.”

“It’s easy to get lost in it. Sometimes, I find myself just watching the streets, the way people interact, how the city breathes.”

“It feels… different here. The energy is more vibrant than on our planet.”

Scad turns back to the window. "It’s lively… almost overwhelming.”

"It can be," you agree. "Is it so different where you come from?"

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene outside. “It can be busy too, especially in our cities, but it’s not so vibrant. Now that we’ve started opening up to other planets, we’re seeing more species coming in, but nothing like this. All these creatures, and they can still coexist together.”

"I'm not even sure humans could survive on our planet," Talex speaks up from behind you, closer than you anticipated. "Your kind is so soft and vulnerable."

Before you can process the shift in the atmosphere, you feel the alien's hard chest pressing against your back. The sudden contact makes your breath hitch, yet it’s not enough to make you step away.

"We can be resilient too," you reply weakly, earning a chuckle from Scad.

"Hard to believe," he says, looking over you with an amused expression. There’s no malice in his words, so you don’t feel offended, even though an argument is ready to roll off your tongue. However, Talex’s long, slender fingers resting on your hips stop the train of your thoughts immediately.

"What are you doing?" you manage to ask, feeling your heart race.

"Humans are fascinating," Talex muses, his voice low and thoughtful, though it’s not the answer you wanted. "You are so fascinating."

Scad takes a step closer, his gaze locked onto you. "Soft."

You gulp, warmth flooding your chest and creeping up to your cheeks. "Yeah," you croak out. "You said that."

"And pliant," Talex adds, his breath warm against the crook of your neck, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "And I'm really curious."

You know you shouldn’t ask, but the question slips out before you can stop yourself. "About what?"

Scad grins, a mischievous glint flickering in his large, black eyes. "Call it human anatomy."

The room feels charged, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as you try to gauge their intentions. There’s an intensity in the air, a palpable curiosity that you can’t ignore. The way they regard you sends your thoughts spiraling.

"What exactly do you want to know?"

Talex leans in slightly, his expression earnest yet playful. "How does your kind express affection? How do you communicate intimacy?"

Scad watches you closely as if assessing your reaction. "We’ve seen some of your gestures, hugs, kisses. But we want to understand more. What does it feel like?"

You take a breath, caught off guard by their candidness. "It’s… it’s a way to connect, to show trust and care," you explain, your voice steadying. "Humans often use touch to convey emotions."

"Touch," Talex repeats, his fingers brushing lightly against your hip as he absorbs your words. "Like this?"

His touch sends a shiver through you, igniting a mixture of warmth and uncertainty. "Yes, but it can mean different things depending on the context," you clarify, your heart racing. "It can be comforting, passionate, or even just friendly."

Scad tilts his head, contemplating your response. "And how do you know what kind of touch is appropriate?"

You pause, considering how to articulate the nuances of human interactions. "It depends on the relationship and the situation. You learn to read the signs; the body language, tone of voice, and the setting. It’s all part of understanding each other."

Talex's eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And is it always clear?"

"Not always," you admit. "Sometimes it can be complicated. Misunderstandings happen."

"It seems much easier for us," Talex says, his fingers still exploring the fabric of your dress. His touch is light and curious. "There are rules and customs to follow."

"We have those too," you tell him, struggling to keep your thoughts organized. "But it can get... confusing."

"Is it confusing now?" Scad asks, stepping even closer until you find yourself effectively trapped between their hard, lean bodies.

"Yes," you reply, your voice steady despite the rapid flutter of your heart.

"And how should we make it more obvious?" he asks, his hand reaching out to gently smooth over your jaw, his touch both tender and electrifying.

"It depends," you reply. "What do you want to make more obvious?"

"Our desire to get to know you more... intimately," he states, his tone steady as he maintains eye contact. The admission hangs in the air between you, charged with anticipation.

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. "Intimacy is a delicate thing," you say softly, feeling your heart race.

Talex nods behind you. "We will be really careful then." He reaches for the zipper of your dress, and with one smooth motion, he pulls it down. The tight fabric loosens around your body, and soon, pooling at your feet.

A shiver of surprise runs through you as the cool air brushes against your skin. You can feel your blood burning in your veins as the aliens look over you, letting their gaze linger on the soft curves of your body and the detailed lace of your underwear.

"Everyone looks like you?" Scad asks, his fingers slipping down your neck and across your collarbone.

"No," you tell them. "Some are softer, some are harder. There are no rules about how we should look." You pause, searching for the right words. "Humans come in all shapes, sizes, and styles."

"Softer?" Talex asks, his brow quirking with curiosity. "You seem soft enough."

You huff a laugh, caught slightly off guard. "Thanks?"

"You are welcome," the alien grins, his expression a mix of playfulness and sincerity. "So? What is next?"

Scad groans, exasperated. "Talex!"

"What? You are slow," Talex retorts with a smirk, clearly enjoying the banter.

You clear your throat, trying to regain some focus amid their playful bickering. "Well, sometimes people kiss."

Scad's interest piques.

"We do that too," Talex adds, his tone serious. "Though, I bet it feels different for you."

"Let’s see," Scad says, and before you can fully comprehend his words, he cups your cheeks with a gentle yet firm grip and leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss.

It's not the slow, tentative approach you had anticipated; no, it’s fast and intense. Scad’s lips move against yours with urgency, his mouth parting yours before you can process anything, his tongue slipping in to explore. The texture of his tongue is surprisingly rough, and his movements are demanding, taking much more than you are ready to give.

A breathless moment passes before Talex interrupts with a hint of impatience in his tone. "Now, me," he grunts, pulling you away from Scad's grasp to press his lips to yours.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Talex steals it away again. His kiss is just as fervent, if not more so. He thrusts his tongue into your mouth, demanding your attention. You find yourself swept up in the intensity of the moment, feeling the heat radiating from both of them.

"Can I take these off?" Scad's voice breaks through the haze of your mind, and you have to force yourself to pull away from the kiss. Your lips feel warm and swollen, tingling from the intensity.

You know you should tell them no. You should stop this before it goes any further, but the heat of the moment is overwhelming. "Yes," you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice.

With surprising ease, the alien unclasp your bra. The delicate fabric falls away to the ground. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he pulls down your panties, too, the cool air rushing against your skin, followed immediately by the warmth of his hands gripping the softness of your ass.

"Wait," you squeak, instinctively turning to escape his touch, but instead, you inadvertently push yourself against Talex. The contact is electric, and you feel a rush of heat as your body presses against his.

"Fuck," Talex groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His breath hitches as he feels your softness against his hard skin. "So soft."

The contrast between their bodies heightens your senses, and you can't help but feel a thrill at their reaction. The moment is charged with a mix of curiosity and longing, and you are caught in a whirlwind of sensations.

Talex's hands find their way to your waist, his fingers splaying out over your skin, grounding you in the overwhelming reality of the situation. You can feel the tension build as Scad watches intently, his gaze lingering on the two of you with a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"We should-" you stammer, struggling to find your words as Talex's hands glide over your bare skin without pause. Scad's gaze feels like a tangible weight on you, burning with intensity. "We should sit down," you finally manage to say, hoping the suggestion will give you a moment to clear your mind.

"That's a great idea," Talex agrees, his tone laced with eagerness as he gently guides you toward the couch.

They move like predators, each step quick and graceful, their limbs fluid and poised in a way that feels both alien and mesmerizing. Their legs, so different from yours, move with elegance. The warm glow of the city lights filters through the window, casting a soft illumination over the room and highlighting every hard line of their bodies. The yellow light dances across their armor-like skin, accentuating the sleek contours and the vibrant colors that shift subtly with their movements.

They sit down at your sides, caging you between them once again.

"I want more kisses," Talex demands, cupping your jaw to turn your head so he can capture your lips once again. His kiss is insistent, a mix of urgency and longing, and your moan is muffled against him, vibrating through his chest as he swallows the soft sounds leaving your lips.

Meanwhile, Scad makes himself busy, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a tingling path of warmth that sends shivers down your spine until he reaches your breast. You can feel his curiosity as he gropes your soft flesh, exploring its weight with a gentle yet demanding touch. When he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his rough tongue over the sensitive bud, you squeak at the sudden sensation, the pleasure shocking you.

Talex pulls away briefly, peeking down at his friend with wide eyes of surprise, but it only takes a moment for him to follow suit. He pushes you back against the couch, claiming your other breast for himself. Your head falls back with a moan as they work roughly and impatiently on your sensitive flesh, their mouths moving in tandem, licking and sucking, igniting every nerve in your body.

The heat of their bodies pressed against you, combined with the dual sensations of their tongues on your nipples, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. Each flick of their tongues and each gentle bite only heightens your desire, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. You can hardly process the rush of sensations as they alternate between teasing and devouring, their fervor making it clear how much they crave you.

“Is it good?” Scad asks, his lips brushing over your nipple as he speaks. Your skin glistens with his saliva, and you can barely form a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, your voice airy and light, caught in the haze of pleasure.

“What else do you do?” he presses.

You can’t believe you are getting flustered even now, but the intensity of their attention has your cheeks burning. You nibble on your lip, feeling the softness swell from their kisses. A mix of embarrassment and excitement floods your senses.

“Well,” you stammer, trying to gather your thoughts. “There are other ways to be intimate… kissing, touching… exploring each other…” Your voice trails off. The heat in the room makes it hard to concentrate on anything but the warmth of their bodies pressed against you.

Scad's gaze sharpens, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin. “Show us,” he urges. “We want to learn.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding as you realize just how deep this exploration could go.

Slowly, you open your legs, feeling a rush of anticipation. The movement prompts Talex to tear himself away from your breast, and both aliens look down between your thighs with keen curiosity.

“Our females look different,” Scad remarks. His voice is laced with intrigue. “They are hard everywhere, protected by their skin.”

“Well,” you gulp, your heart racing as you watch Scad’s hand slip down your stomach, “we are not.”

Talex nods in understanding, his gaze locked on your exposed skin. Scad’s hand slides between your thighs, and a gasp escapes your lips when his fingers brush against your heat.

“Fuck,” Scad groans, his eyes widening as he feels your softness. “She is so soft.”

Without hesitation, Talex mirrors his friend’s movements, letting his rough fingertips glide across your wet folds. “Show us,” he says, his voice low and eager. “How do we make you feel good?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, your desire intensifying. You reach down to your pussy, your heart racing. “This is my clit,” you explain, circling the sensitive bud. “It’s really sensitive.”

Scad pushes your hand aside, eager to replicate your movements. “And this…” you continue, your voice growing shaky, “…is where a male puts his penis during… sex.”

Taking the lead, Talex lets his long, slender fingers slip inside you. “So warm,” he groans, astonished by your softness. “And you are so wet, too.”

“I’m curious,” Scad hums, his finger flicking your clit with gentle precision. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes,” you answer, the word bursting forth with urgency. “Please.”

Scad’s eyes light up with excitement as he positions himself between your thighs. You feel a shiver of anticipation course through you as he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Just relax,” Talex encourages, watching intently, his fingers still moving within you. The sensations are overwhelming, leaving you dizzy.

Scad gently parts your folds with his fingers, and you gasp at the feeling of his touch. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he brings his mouth closer to your core.

When his tongue finally makes contact, you arch your back. Scad’s movements are curious and eager, his tongue exploring your sensitive skin with a mix of caution and fervor. You can’t help but moan, the sound spilling from your lips as pleasure washes over you.

Talex watches intently, captivated by the sight before him. “Is it good?” he asks. There is a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yes,” you gasp, unable to contain your pleasure as Scad works expertly with his tongue, flicking and swirling in ways that leave you trembling. “It feels amazing.”

“Show us what else you like,” Talex urges, his fingers still moving inside your pussy.

With a nod, you guide Scad’s head, pressing him closer as you feel the tension building within you. “Right there,” you guide, your voice breathy and desperate.

The alien responds to your instructions, his tongue rubbing against your clit, teasing and licking with increasing pace. You feel the pressure in your core tighten, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

“Don’t stop,” you urge, your hands gripping the couch as you surrender to the sensations. “I’m so close.”

Talex watches you, mesmerized by the way your body reacts to Scad’s touch.

The combination of their attentions, Scad’s mouth, and Talex’s fingers, drives you to the edge. With a final, overwhelming wave of ecstasy, you cry out, your body trembling as you release. The world around you fades into bliss.

Scad pulls back, his mouth glistening and a satisfied grin spreading across his face. His black eyes glimmer with delight.

“How does she taste?” Talex asks, breaking the silence.

“Better than any cake,” Scad replies, licking his lips as if to savor the memory. A flutter of excitement dances in your stomach at their unabashed enthusiasm.

You scoff a breathy laugh. “Well, I’m glad I could provide some competition for dessert.”

“Competition? You’ve set a pretty high bar. I think I need a taste for myself.” Talex grins, his gaze intense as he shifts between your thighs, replacing Scad.

You can feel the tension re-borning in the air, electric and charged with anticipation. The aftershocks of your orgasm still ripple through your body, but they are already ready to continue.

Before you can catch your breath, Scad captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he thrusts into your mouth with a delicious urgency. Meanwhile, Talex’s mouth is busy between your thighs, slurping up your wetness with hunger. The sensations blend and swirl around you, making it hard to think straight.

The dual stimulation is dizzying; you can barely comprehend the delicious heat pooling in your core. Talex’s hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he feasts on you, his tongue dancing expertly over your sensitive folds. Each lick sends shivers up your spine, and you can’t help but moan against Scad’s mouth. Your body arches instinctively, craving more. Talex's warm breath against your skin mingles with the cool air of the room, heightening your awareness of every touch. His tongue flicks and swirls with a relentless need, driving you wild as he explores your softness and warmth.

"You're so responsive," Talex murmurs, glancing up at you with a wicked grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I could get used to this." The words send another thrill through you, igniting a deeper ache within.

"Me too," Scad hums, turning his attention to your breast once again. Your body arches instinctively toward Scad, craving the warmth of his mouth on your skin. His tongue flicks over your sensitive nipple, sending electric shivers coursing through you as he lavishes attention on your breasts. The combination of Talex’s relentless mouth between your thighs and Scad's eager lips has you on the brink of insanity. Your hands hold onto them desperately, tracing the hard lines of their bodies wherever you can reach them.

“Please,” you plead. “I need more.”

"I can give you more," Talex groans, his tone low and growly.

He shifts slightly between your legs, just enough for you to see the armor-like skin between his thick thighs stretching as his cock emerges from its sheath. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight. The tip of his length is more pointed than you are accustomed to, and a hard plate runs along the underside, adorned with ridges. There’s an undeniable elegance in the way the plate curves along his length, the hard texture highlighting the contours of his cock. Veins bulge beneath the softer parts of his skin, pulsating with an intensity that mirrors your own desire. The sight is both mesmerizing and intimidating.

“So different?” Scad asks, his lips popping softly as he releases your sensitive, swollen nipple with a teasing smirk.

You struggle to articulate your thoughts, your mind clouded. “Well,” you breathe, “it’s certainly… different.”

Talex's chest swells with pride at your words, and he shuffles closer. His tip brushes along your folds, prodding at your clit before teasingly slipping down to your achingly empty hole.

“Please,” you whisper again, your voice thick with desperation, and then you muster your strength to look at Scad. “Stand up on the couch.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“Just do it,” you urge, a mischievous smile spreading across your lips even as your breath hitches at the feeling of Talex pushing inside you. “Now it’s my turn to taste you.”

You can see the flicker of excitement in Scad’s eyes as he processes your words, his breath hitching at your offer. Without hesitation, he rises to his feet, the couch cushions sinking under his weight as he positions himself next to your head, his long, lean legs creating an enticing frame around you.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you reply, your gaze locking onto his, filled with playful challenge and seductive confidence. “Just relax and enjoy.”

With a deep thrust, Talex fills you completely. You can feel your drenched pussy clenching around his rigid length, fluttering and stretching as he pushes in inch by inch until your lungs burn because you don't remember how to breathe. You need several seconds to adjust around him and make yourself focus on Scad. You lean closer, your heart racing with anticipation. His cock stands proudly before you, glistening with arousal and impatience. You reach out, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin under your touch. The excitement of tasting him sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and with a sultry smile, you lean forward, your mouth parting in eager anticipation.

As you wrap your lips around Scad, you savor the heat and weight of him on your tongue. He gasps softly, shocked and delighted. The taste of him is unique, a mix of salt and something distinctly alien, igniting your senses and intensifying your desire. You can feel his body respond to your touch. His hips instinctively thrust forward as you take him deeper, coaxing low groans and snarls from his lips.

Talex watches with hunger, his movements inside you becoming more deliberate and forceful. Each grind of his hips drives you closer to the edge. “You’re incredible,” he grunts.

You bob your head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip of Scad’s cock, teasing him as you pull back just enough to watch his reaction. His eyes are wide, filled with a mix of pleasure and disbelief. “You really are the most fascinating human,” he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you as he thrusts gently into your mouth. You can feel him growing bolder, responding to your encouragement, as he begins to take control, setting a rhythm that matches the urgency building between you and Talex.

With each press of Talex’s hips, you feel the delicious friction igniting your core, pushing you closer to that tantalizing high. You moan around Scad, and at the same time, your pussy tightens, sending shockwaves through both of them. You can see the pleasure etched on their faces.

“Just like that,” Scad encourages, his voice thick with lust. “You’re perfect.”

You can feel the heat pooling in your core, the pressure building in your stomach.

“Close,” Talex growls, his breaths heavy and labored as he quickens his pace, each thrust pushing you toward the brink. “I can feel you tightening around me.”

With a primal roar, Talex fills you deep one last time, hitting that sweet spot that sends you spiraling over the edge. You cry out around Scad, the sound vibrating through him, and the world explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. Scad releases into your mouth, and Talex follows closely behind, leaving you gasping for breath. Your body trembles in the aftermath.

You collapse back onto the couch, panting, your body glowing with satisfaction and spent energy. Scad and Talex join you, their bodies warm and comforting beside yours, their breaths mingling with yours in the heavy air.

“That was… incredible,” you breathe, still reeling from the intensity of the experience.

"Definitely better than the chocolate cake," Talex grunts, followed by the groan of yours and Scad's.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #monster fucker #terat0philliac #monster smut #sweet asks #alien romance #alien x human #alien fucker #alien boyfriend #alien smut

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makoodles · 2 years ago

Note

tsu'tey with baby fever

TSU'TEY WITH BABY FEVER

alright babes, ya got me. i got so many asks about how tsu'tey would handle catching baby fever around his little human mate, so here we are! this is kind of a continuation of tìtunu, but it can be read as a standalone either!

pairing: tsu'tey x fem!human reader

word count: 6.8k

tags: fluff, pregnancy mention & discussion, tsu'tey catches baby fever bad, he is also very whipped

masterlist

baby fever

If you were to ask Tsu’tey, he would tell you that he’s never been happier. His life is truly as close to perfect as possible. The Omaticaya have reclaimed the forest as their home, he has established himself as an experienced warrior-teacher, and he has the sweetest little mate he could have ever asked for. It doesn’t matter that you’re human; you fit in his life so perfectly, he can’t stomach the thought of anyone else taking your place.

Life is good. He can’t remember the last time he was this content with himself and his place in the clan. Things are finally getting back to normal now that the Sky People have returned to wherever they came from, and the people are high-spirited and joyful.

When Jakesully and Neytiri choose to take on the child born from Grace’s demon false-Na’vi body, Tsu’tey hardly takes notice. He spends his evenings and nights nuzzling into you and losing himself in your body, and his mornings foraging for fruit for your shared breakfast. It’s an impossibly easy lifestyle, lackadaisical and whimsical, and he enjoys every second of it.

He can’t think of a single damn thing he’d change. At least, he couldn’t. But that starts to change around the time that Neytiri and Jake welcome their first son into the world.

The clan celebrates for days. The birth was quick and easy. Tsu’tey has never seen his old friend glowing so bright, and he joins in with the feasting and the dancing and the singing along with the rest of his People. The elation is almost palpable in the air; the people are happy for their Olo’eyktan and for Neytiri, and they take the easy birth of a strong baby as a good sign for the future.

Neteyam. He is a happy child. Even as a tiny baby, he rarely cries. He just takes in the world around him with wide, curious eyes. Neytiri holds him close and watches him as though she has birthed the personification of her heart, smiling and whispering soft words and songs to him every chance she gets.

Tsu’tey thinks it’s all very sweet, but that’s really all he thinks about it. He is pleased for his friends, but other than that he doesn’t think too much about things. He is busy, after all; much of his day is spent training the young warriors and hunters. It’s fulfilling, and he enjoys his work.

The change in his thinking doesn’t occur gradually – rather, it hits all at once, like a punch to the gut.

He returns to the village one evening to find your little form next to Neytiri and Jake by the cookfire. His hackles raise instinctively at the sight of you so damn close to Jakesully (an irrational reaction considering he is holding Kiri in his arms and Neytiri is also sitting right there, but he can’t help it), but he relaxes slightly as he approaches and sees that you’re just chatting.

When he gets close and gets a proper look at what you’re holding in your arms, he nearly trips gracelessly over his own feet.

Even as a newborn, Neteyam is almost comically large in your arms. His pudgy limbs wave in the air, and his big golden eyes gaze up at you in fascination. You return his look right back, your expression soft and awed as you coo at him.

At your side, Neytiri watches your every move carefully. It has taken her some time to warm up to you, given that you’re a living reminder of the people who had caused so much loss and destruction of her planet, but the two of you have slowly but steadily built up a sense of trust between each other. Still, she is visibly cautious when it comes to allowing you to hold the baby.

“Tsu’tey,” Jakesully calls, waving him over with a grin. “Come here, brother. Have you eaten?”

Tsu’tey feels as though he’s been struck between the eyes. He can’t tear his attention away from the baby in your arms nor the way you’re smiling at him. When you finally look up from Neteyam only to smile softly at Tsu’tey instead, he thinks his heart might actually explode. He tries to smile back at you, but he’s sure it comes across as a pained grimace instead.

His steps are less sure than before when he continues forward, choosing to settle down by your side. His eyes dart down to the baby in your lap and stick there. Neteyam stares back at him – it seems like neither of them quite know what to make of each other.

When he finally looks away from the baby, it’s just in time to see Neytiri and Jakesully exchanging an amused sort of look, as though they’re both trying not to laugh. You, on the other hand, look a little concerned.

“Are you alright?” You murmur, leaning into him.

You’ve rested against him like this a thousand times before, and yet Tsu’tey feels his mouth run dry. Oh, what is happening to him right now?

“Yes.” He says a little woodenly, before turning to Jakesully. “I have not eaten yet.”

Jake is still watching him with an odd little smirk, but he nods and hands him a nikt'chey filled with sweet meat and vegetables. Tsu’tey takes it with an appreciative nod, before tearing a bite out of it a little more savagely than he intended.

You’re still watching him confusedly, but you obviously decide not to ask any further questions. Instead, you look back down at Neteyam and run the pad of your index finger down the bridge of his wide nose. The baby’s mouth opens in a gummy little smile, and you smile behind your breathing mask on reflex.

“Sweet thing,” You coo at Neteyam as his little hands grab at your fingers, and Tsu’tey nearly chokes on his nikt'chey.

It’s just a baby, he thinks frantically to himself. Pull yourself together.

He’d be lying if he said that he never thought about starting a family with you, but it wasn’t ever a real, serious thought. It was just little daydreams, idle fantasies after mating with you so soft and lovingly and leaving you full of his release. But now, seeing you holding Jakesully and Neytiri’s baby, he starts thinking of you carrying his own baby. Thinks of you plump and round, belly swollen with the baby he put in you.

His fingers squeeze the wrap a little too hard, and some of the filling spills out over his fingers.

Jake laughs, a stupid little snicker that has Tsu’tey scowling at him. It’s unlikely that the Olo’eyktan knows exactly what he’s been thinking, but the demon has always been perceptive – he likely has a vague idea. Tsu’tey imagines that his expression has likely been rather telling.

“Hey,” Jakesully says suddenly. “Why don’t you hold Kiri for a moment?”

Tsu’tey goes still, before checking over his shoulder in case Jake was talking to someone else.

“Ah,” He says, a little uncomfortably. “I do not think-”

“Oh, yes!” You smile, shifting your hold on Neteyam so that he’s cradled to your chest as you look up at Tsu’tey. “You haven’t met either of the babies properly yet, have you?”

“I attended their birth celebrations-”

“That’s not meeting them.” You interrupt with an eyeroll, before gesturing Jake’s way.

Tsu’tey is still protesting when Jake deposits the other baby in his arms, and he stiffens as he scrambles to support Kiri’s head as it lolls on her weak little neck. His nikt'chey falls half-eaten to the ground as he tries to hold the baby as securely as possible.

If Neteyam looked small in your hands, Kiri looks tiny in his. Something in his stomach twists. Oh. Alright then.

“Aren’t they so cute?” You whisper to him, laying your head against his bicep and grinning down at the baby in his hands.

Tsu’tey just grunts. He’s not sure that he’ll actually be capable of making words right now if he tries.

His reticence doesn’t bother you – you’re so patient with him, never minding all that much when he goes broodingly silent. You’re so good at giving him space and time to think, to come to terms with all the thoughts that spin wildly around his head. But now, the space you offer only gives him more time to consider things that he really shouldn’t be considering.

“Yeah,” Jakesully drawls, and he wraps an arm around Neytiri’s shoulders before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We make cute babies.”

“You didn’t even make Kiri yourselves.” You point out with a laugh, rocking Neteyam softly against your chest as he lets out a quiet little babbling sound.

“Yeah, she just picked up on the cuteness by being around us,” Jake grins. “Like that science shit. What’s it called… osmosis.”

“That’s not how osmosis works, moron-”

Tsu’tey hardly hears a word either of you are saying. Kiri is shifting in his hands, her tiny pink mouth opening as she yawns with a flash of her gums. Her hair is downy and soft, and her tiny hands clench around air as she reaches out, seeking a grip on anything. Were all babies this lovely? He had no idea – he’s never really been around any.

His gaze slides sideways, towards you once more. On a good day he finds it difficult to keep his eyes off you, but now? With you holding a little Na’vi baby to your chest as though it’s all so perfectly natural, and smiling as though you’ve never been happier? Now, he’s finding it impossible to keep his eyes off you.

He would make cute babies with you. He just knows it.

A throat is cleared, and Tsu’tey is jarred from his thoughts. When he looks up, he finds that Neytiri is looking at him with a particularly knowing look. You’re still talking to Jake, laughing at whatever he’s saying, but Tsu’tey still grows flustered. He feels caught.

“Take her back.” He says, his voice gruff as he proffers the baby back to her parents.

Kiri’s tails waves lazily in mid-air before wrapping around his wrist, and Tsu’tey nearly crumbles entirely. Why was this happening right now? He was fine before this – now, he feels as though his mind is melting into absolute mush.

Neytiri raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed by his manner, but she accepts the baby back all the same. Kiri gurgles, and Neytiri coos softly at her before holding her protectively to her breast.

Still embarrassed at having been caught out, Tsu’tey’s eyes slide right back to you. This time though, you’re looking back at him. Neteyam’s head is resting sleepily against your chest and you’re stroking at the fluffy bits of hair on his head, but you’re watching him closely. There’s a little crease between your brows – you look concerned.

You look to Jake, and offer Neteyam out with a smile. “Better take the little guy too, then.”

Jake takes his son back, and Tsu’tey watches with a twitching tail as he smiles down at his son so proudly. He doesn’t fully realise that he’s staring until he feels your small little hand on his forearm, and then he looks down to see you peering up into his face. He knows that you would be able to read him all too easily, so he hurries to wipe his expression clean.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, low so that Jake and Neytiri can’t hear. “You’re quiet. Even more so than usual, I mean.”

“I am fine, ma’muntxate,” He says mechanically. He thinks once again of you with a rounded belly, happy and sated in your shared kelku, and wonders if his brain is rotting.

You’re still squinting at him, clearly unconvinced. “Is it because you dropped your food? I can get you more-”

“No,” He says, though it comes out distracted and unconvincing. “I am tired. I will go to bed now.”

“But don’t you want-”

Tsu’tey has always prided himself on being a fearless warrior, a mighty hunter. And yet in that moment, he ran from the cookfire like a coward to take refuge in the dark shelter of the kelku where no one could see how shamefaced he was.

Tsu’tey is embarrassed to admit that for several days, he avoids you like the plague.

He’s afraid that you’ll read his thoughts right off his face. He can barely even make eye contact with you. Now that he’s started thinking about it, it feels like he can’t think of anything else.

The thoughts of family, of children, have set into his thoughts like an infection. The thought of you carrying his baby is wonderful (and the thought of making the baby even better) but that’s not the only place his thoughts stray to. He thinks of raising the child, with you by his side.

Parenthood doesn’t suit everyone, he knows that, but you? You have so much unconditional love to give, he knows that you would be wonderful. When he thinks of himself as a father, a curl of excitement licks at his stomach. He imagines how it would feel to hold his child close, to teach them the ways of the people, how to hunt and provide. He thinks of how he would teach you how to weave a songcord, how you could both add on to it for every milestone.

It’s not fair, and he knows that. He was content before – he is content now. His life is good. He doesn’t need anything else, but he just… he can’t help but think. You are stronger than you look, but you are still delicate. There are many things your body can take, but a Na’vi pregnancy? Not likely. And that’s assuming that you actually could get pregnant. You may be sexually compatible, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to be reproductively compatible. And that’s fine – really!

He’ll get over this moment of madness, he just needs a little bit of space to get his thoughts together.

He spends the next few days hunting deep in the forest, or lurking around the village in spots that you’re not likely to come looking for him. He ends up spending a lot of time in the hot springs north of the village, hoping that the hot water will soothe the ache in his shoulders from all that tension he’s been carrying around.

He had thought that he was being subtle, but he is not entirely oblivious to the looks that he’s been getting from others around the village. It was rare for him to spend so much time away from you, and he knows that everyone is wondering about it.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jakesully asks one day, following him around the village like an unwanted little pest.

“What?” Tsu’tey snaps; he is still unused to those irritating little human idioms.

“What is going on with you, man?” Jake asks, reaching out to grab at his arm.

Tsu’tey wrenches his arm free and bares his teeth in warning. Jake throws his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t look sorry.

“Nothing is wrong.” Tsu’tey grumbles, rolling his shoulders and attempting to look unaffected.

Jakesully just raises an eyebrow. “Right. Look, whatever you argued about, just talk to her-”

Tsu’tey is surprised at that, though he tries not to show it. “We have not argued.”

“No?” Jake’s brows furrow. “Oh. Well, why are you being so weird, then? She’s all upset, you know. Thinks that you’re angry with her.”

Tsu’tey’s stomach sinks. Fuck, he knew that he was handling this badly. Now he’s gotten himself into one big mess.

Jakesully is still looking at him thoughtfully, but then his expression unfolds into realisation. “Oh, man. Is this about the baby thing?”

Tsu’tey nearly chokes at that. How could Jakesully have known?

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” Jake rolls his shoulders, and glances around quickly to ensure that no one is listening in. Tsu’tey has a furtive look around of his own, and then Jake is leaning in to talk quietly, “Look, I’m not judging. When Neytiri said she wants kids, I swear I couldn’t keep my hands off her-”

Tsu’tey whirls, baring his teeth in warning, but Jake just keeps going.

“Just talk to her, skxawng. It doesn’t matter if you have some weird pregnancy kink-”

“I do not!”

“She’s been sniffling around the place for days now, thinking that you’re not into her anymore!” Jake steamrolls over his protests. “Just tell her you want babies and that you’ve been acting like a total dickhead about it. You know she’ll forgive you, but she has to understand first.”

Tsu’tey stands there, feeling as though he had just been slapped around the head.

“She thinks I am not interested in her?” He repeats, bewildered. “But- we have mated before Eywa. She is my mate. How could I lose interest?”

Jakesully has a look of longsuffering about him, as though this conversation is ageing him years. “Yeah, well. Didn’t I tell you before that mating doesn’t work the same for humans? She’s worried you changed your mind.”

Tsu’tey is absolutely floored. He had tied himself to you for life when he had mated with you. Every success and failure, every triumph and heartbreak, every low and high, it was all to be shared with you. There would never be anyone else – the thought of there being anyone else made his stomach rebel.

“Why would she not tell me that she is feeling like this?” He wonders, a little hurt.

He’s not expecting the harsh shove that comes to his shoulder, and he hisses at Jakesully before stepping out of the way of another hit.

“You’re avoiding her, moron!” Jake snaps, apparently having officially lost patience. “How the hell can she tell you anything if you keep running from her?”

Tsu’tey’s ears flatten. He recognises that he is being unreasonable, and he shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.

“My desires are not fair to her,” He mumbles, shame-faced. “She is enough for me, she will always be enough for me, but I keep thinking…” He trails off, uncertain about how to voice his feelings. “I am thinking of possibilities.”

Jakesully is watching him with an expression that is uncomfortably knowing.

Tsu’tey clears his throat, embarrassed and irritable over his vulnerability. “She was very good with your children. Did you see?”

Jake’s face twitches into a smirk. “Yeah, man. I saw. Your reaction was pretty obvious.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t see any point in arguing. It probably was obvious.

Jake sighs, and reaches out to push at his shoulder again. This time it’s more gentle. “Go on. Go talk to her. This is stuff that she should be hearing.”

Jakesully has a point, to Tsu’tey’s irritation, and he bows his head.

“I will talk to her.” Tsu’tey mumbles, looking away.

As it happens, Tsu’tey doesn’t have to go looking for you at all. You find him.

He’s in the forest outside the village, hovering around the stream as he waits to spot a fish, when you emerge from the trees behind him.

His ears perk up in surprise at the sight of you. “What are you doing here, ma’yawntu? It is not safe for you to come into the forest alone-”

You don’t appear to be listening to him at all. Your eyes are narrowed and you glare at him as you hop down the rocks so that you can stand in front of him. When he reaches out to help you climb down to the shore of the river, you slap his hands away with a scowl.

“For fuck’s sake, will you just tell me what’s wrong?” You hiss, your expression all crumpled up and hurt. “Jake said that you weren’t angry at me, but I don’t understand why you’re avoiding me like this!”

His ears pin back against his head. He had planned to come and find you, but now it feels as though he’s been cornered. He hasn’t planned what he was going to say to you, and he finds himself floundering. How could he tell you? There was no easy way to put his desires into words.

“Of course I am not angry at you.” He mumbles, slinging his bow over his shoulder. After a beat of hesitation, he steps forward so that he’s kneeling in front of you at eye-level. “Sweet girl. I am sorry.”

“For what?” You demand. Your expression is all scrunched – he is confusing you, and his stomach sinks at the realisation that he has been upsetting you so much.

His tail lashes anxiously. How is he supposed to look you in the eyes and confess this? It is so selfish of him.

“You were very good with the babies.” He murmurs, fixing his gaze on your shoulder.

Even without looking directly at your face, he can see your look of bewilderment. To you, that probably seems like a non-sequitur.

“The babies?”

“Mm.”

You’re still staring at him blankly. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

“No,” He mumbles, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. “It is the same subject.”

Very slowly, comprehension is beginning to dawn over your face. “So all this is about babies?”

Oh, he wants the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. You must think him disgusting. Do you think he is a bad mate? It is so selfish of him to wish for this, after all.

“Oh, Tsu’tey,” You sigh. “You idiot.”

His ears flatten as he frowns at you. “Why idiot?”

When you step forward and loop your arms around his shoulders, he perks up a little. Does this mean that you are not angry with him?

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me about this, skxawng?” You murmur, reaching out to run your fingers through his beaded braids. His eyelids flutter at the pleasant feeling and he leans into your hands. “You want a family?”

“You are my family.” He says quickly, shifting on his knees before raising his hands to rest against your little hips. That makes you smile.

“I know,” You breathe, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I know that. But I’m asking you about children.”

Tsu’tey’s sure that his pupils have expanded, and he can feel his tail swishing slowly from side to side. You’re not judging him at all; you’re just waiting for an honest answer. He feels his heart swell impossibly larger.

“I… have been thinking about it,” He says. His voice is low and embarrassed, but he raises his gaze so that he’s looking right into your eyes. “About you having my children.”

It feels like a dirty little secret, but you’re smiling at him so fondly.

“Yeah?” You breathe, grinning. “Well, why the fuck were you hiding from me, then?”

His ears twitch. “It felt… selfish, tìyawn. To wish for something you cannot give.”

That makes you frown. “Can’t give?”

His thumb strokes over your waist, his eyes drawn to your belly. “You are so small. You could not carry my child. It would be too dangerous, even if it were possible.”

You’re watching him thoughtfully, lips pursed. “Is this like, a thing for you? You just want to see me pregnant?”

He certainly can’t deny his interest in that, but it’s important that you know that’s not just it.

“Not only that,” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the base of your throat. “I keep thinking… I think of you raising our child. I think of teaching them, of loving them. You would be wonderful with them, I know it. And I… I would like fatherhood, I think.”

Your expression has gone so soft, and when you lean in to kiss the top of his ear a shudder rips through him. His hands tighten around your waist, and he leans in to nuzzle insistently at your throat.

Oh, this little confession feels like having a weight lifted from his shoulders. You weren’t angry at him – you just listened, so full of understanding. How could he have expected anything less from you?

“Tsu’tey,” You murmur, tilting your head back with a sigh as he nips a soft kiss into your throat. “Come with me.”

He glances up at that, interest piqued. “Where?”

“The science outpost.”

Oh, now you have his attention. He perks up in delight, and moves to stand immediately. You have not lived among the other humans in the science outpost since you had mated with Tsu’tey and moved into his kelku, but that does not mean that you have not been back to the little human encampment since. It is the only place where it is safe for you to remove your breathing mask, and so the two of you make good use of your old bunk whenever you feel the need to.

“Let’s go then.” Tsu’tey says, doing a poor job at concealing his eagerness.

You just laugh, and take his hand as he leads the way through the forest. Several times he gets a little too impatient when you slowly clamber over roots or rocks, and he ends up scooping you right up into his arms as he barrels his way through the forest.

The science outpost isn’t too far away, but it still feels as though it takes an age to reach it. When the shoddy building finally looms up in the distance, Tsu’tey feels his stomach leap. It has been too long since he’s had full access to his little mate’s face, and he longs to kiss you properly. What will likely follow after the kissing is even more thrilling, and he feels his tail lash eagerly at the thought of taking you in that cramped little bed.

You’re laughing at his eagerness as he attempts to shoulder his way inside the building, clenching his jaw in irritation as he’s forced to wait for the pressurised doors to close behind them and regulate the atmosphere before the two of you are allowed past the entryway.

“Someone’s excited.” You say coyly, reaching up to remove your mask as soon as the doors slide open with a hiss, allowing you to enter the outpost properly.

Tsu’tey doesn’t care that several of the human scientists turn to look at the two of you when you step inside. He has not had access to your face for over a week now, and he catches you by the waist before leaning in for a quick, passionate kiss. He is excited, and he likes letting you know exactly how you make him feel.

The scientists are very used to the two of you by now, and he can hear them start to hastily gather up their things as they prepare to give you some privacy.

Good, He thinks smugly. They know when to leave.

But then, to his confusion, you break away from him.

“Wait, Norm!” You call out.

The lanky human scientist pauses, looking up with a visible wince. He looks anxious at the sight of you, and his gaze cuts towards Tsu’tey with a grimace.

“Ah. Hey.” He says weakly, lowering his files back down to the desk he had just scrambled to pick them from. “We’re actually headed out now! So, um, you can do whatever-”

“No,” You say quickly, growing visibly flustered at the insinuation. “We’re not here for that.”

Tsu’tey’s head swivels around to look at you, his brow drawing low. “We are not?”

You ignore him, swatting absently at his side as you focus on Norm. “Where’s Spider?”

Norm is looking from you to Tsu’tey, and Tsu’tey is looking blankly back at him. He has no more idea about what you’re doing here than the scientist does – especially since it appears that you hadn’t brought him here with mating in mind. He feels a little put out, honestly.

“He, uh… He’s been running wild all morning. He’s totally tuckered out now – he’s sleeping in the back.” Norm says at last, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” You smile at him, before reaching to take Tsu’tey’s hand in yours.

He goes easily when you tug at him, following you with a confused scowl as you lead him towards the back of the building. When you lead him into the living quarters, he looks wistfully towards your old bunk, but you pull him on insistently.

“Why are we here?” He mumbles, still scowling a little. He is happy to be here with you, but he doesn’t understand why you’ve brought him amongst the Sky People.

For a moment, you don’t answer. You just pull the little CO2 regulator off your bunk where it had been left the last time he was here, and push the breathing mask into his hands. He takes it with a grumble, and takes a deep inhale before looping it around his neck.

“I want to show you something.” You say simply, before raising his big hand to your mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

His ears rotate forward, pleased with the sensation of your soft lips against his skin. Unable to deny you anything, he follows you without complaint.

As you approach the back of the room, ducking under the privacy curtains, his ears pick up on soft, snuffling breathing.

“What is that?” He mutters to you, tugging at your hand.

You hush him, before pulling back one last privacy curtain to reveal a small bunk. The bed is occupied by a figure so small that Tsu’tey squints at it in bewilderment. It is a human child, obviously, no older than two years old, but he hadn’t ever imagined that human babies were so small.

Your eyes are fixed carefully onto his face as he steps forward to peer down at the child, but he doesn’t look at you. The child is fast asleep, his mouth dropped open as a little bit of drool glistens on his cheek. Golden, tangled curls are plastered to his forehead, and he snuffles sleepily as he nuzzles into the pillow under his head. He’s clearly being well-fed, but there are streaks of dirt around his plump face and across his legs.

“The science guys have been taking care of him as best as they can, especially Norm,” You murmur, your voice very soft to avoid waking the baby. “But you know how they are. Sometimes they forget to eat and shower themselves, nevermind a baby.”

Tsu’tey is still watching the child sleep, a confused frown beginning to creep across his face. He is not stupid. He has heard of this child before. His existence alone has been controversial for the People, though he has gone unseen and unheard of for the most part. Are you suggesting what he thinks you’re suggesting?

“He has no one,” You whisper to him, soothing in the dim light of the room. “I’ve been thinking of suggesting this for a while, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“Yawntutsyìp, I know who this child’s father is.” He tries to keep his voice low like you, but he can’t help the rough edge that has crept in.

“He has no father.” You whisper back stubbornly. “He has no mother. Look at him.”

Ears flat, Tsu’tey obeys. His eyes travel over the child’s grimy skin, and he grimaces as his tail tucks low.

“He is a sky demon.” He grumbles, though he is already leaning closer to look at the child’s face.

“So am I,” You point out grimly. “You don’t always get to choose how your children turn out, you know.”

His children. Tentatively, he reaches out and rubs at a spot of dirt on the child’s leg. Instead of flinching away from his touch like he had expected, Spider leans into his hand. His throat tightens, and he wonders how often this child actually experiences physical contact – even asleep, he chases after it as though he’s starved of it.

“How will he breathe in the village?” Tsu’tey wonders, brow furrowed. “Your masks will not fit him.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see you biting at your lip. He realises that he’s just inadvertently conceded to you, and he tries not to sigh.

“Norm has made him a smaller one that will fit.” You murmur, edging closer to him. “You’re thinking about it?”

“It will be hard for him.” Tsu’tey is frowning, reaching for your hand and squeezing lightly at your hands to ensure that you’re listening to him. “He is too small. Too weak. This world is not made for him, and the People will find it difficult to accept him.”

You hum softly and edge closer, laying your head against his shoulder. The proximity makes him relax a little against you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You could say the same about me, you know.” You say pointedly, nuzzling at his shoulder. “But you’ve taken care of me so far. I know you’d look after him, too.”

Even in this circumstance, he preens lightly under your praise. It means a lot to hear that you believe him to be a strong care-taker and a good provider, to both you and to a possible child.

“If we don’t care for him, he’ll be raised here,” You breathe. “He won’t get any proper care. Look at him – he’s not even two yet, and he’s being overlooked already. He needs attention, and looking after. And you just told me that you are willing to offer those things to a child.”

He is already nodding. He can see that you’re right – the human scientists are not capable of raising anything, they are not capable of seeing. They lack the ability to connect to anything, only able to appreciate his planet on a surface level.

Your attention shifts back to the child on the bed, and your face softens into a smile. “Hey, Spider. You remember me?”

Tsu’tey’s head snaps back around to find that the baby has awoken, and is staring up at him with wide eyes. Tsu’tey stares back, uneasy and curious. Slowly, Spider nods.

Your smile brightens. “This is Tsu’tey. Can you say hello?”

Spider does not say hello, but he does sit up so that he can peer curiously into Tsu’tey’s face. He doesn’t appear afraid at all, and Tsu’tey wonders if he is the first Na’vi that he has ever seen.

“Hello,” Tsu’tey rumbles, his English heavily accented.

The child’s fearlessness is admirable, especially in the face of one so much larger than him. Tsu’tey finds himself reluctantly impressed.

“Come here,” You murmur, reaching out your hands.

Tsu’tey watches with avid interest as the child crawls forward into your arms. You wrap him into your arms and pull him against your chest, stroking his mess of curls as he lays his head against your shoulder. What a quiet little thing.

Something odd curls in his chest at the sight. His small human mate, holding such a tiny human child. Cautiously, he curls his arm around your shoulders and feels you lean into him.

Oh, he thinks. The rush of emotions at the feeling of holding his mate and a child in his arms is startling, and he takes a deep breath as he nuzzles his nose into your hair. It feels right.

“I will have to finish building the rope bridge to our kelku,” He grumbles. “He will need a safe way of getting up there without breaking his neck. The ladder will not be enough for one so small.”

A big grin is blooming across your face, and you twist around to look at him over your shoulder. “Protective daddy mode activated already, huh?”

He doesn’t understand half of what that means, but he can’t stop the eager thump of his tail. Yes, he will be a good father. He will keep the child safe.

A very tiny smile begins to curl around his mouth, and he brushes his nose along your shoulder. With his face hidden from you, he finally has the courage to say, “I have always wanted a big family.”

He feels your little laugh more than he hears it, and then you say, “I have something else to show you.”

When you stand up straight, Spider clings to you. It’s a sweet sight. He doesn’t look like a demon, like this. He looks small and delicate and weak.

“Hey,” You murmur to Spider. “Want to go up high?”

When the child nods, you turn and hand him to Tsu’tey. He freezes, staring at the child that you’re offering him. Spider stares back at him, wide-eyed and inquisitive as his limbs dangle in the air.

“He wants to go on your shoulders,” You whisper pointedly, raising your eyebrows.

“Ah.” Tsu’tey manages, finally reaching to take him. It’s scarier than he had expected, taking the child into his hands. Spider is very small, and Tsu’tey’s hands practically dwarf him.

When Tsu’tey reaches to settle the baby on his shoulders, Spider’s tiny hands grab at his braids and tangle there. A quiet, almost impossible to hear, little laugh comes out of his mouth, and Tsu’tey feels the child leaning heavily against him for balance.

You’re looking up at them both so softly, and you smile as you reach to tug at Tsu’tey’s hand. As always, he follows you without asking questions.

When the two of you emerge from the living quarters with Spider on Tsu’tey’s shoulders, the two of you are subject to a lot of raised eyebrows and surprised sort of looks. Tsu’tey meets those looks with a dangerous glare of his own, and the curious human scientists are quick to look away.

He follows you through the laboratory, one of his hands settled cautiously over Spider’s very tiny thigh to prevent him from falling off his shoulders. Every so often the child will giggle softly, and one of Tsu’tey’s ears will flick in response.

At the back of the lab, there’s a large glass tank, and you gesture at it as you approach.

“Do you know what that is?” You ask, reaching out to tap lightly at the glass.

Tsu’tey frowns at it. The tube is not empty. It’s full of some kind of liquid, and floating in it is a body that is very familiar. It’s Grace. Or at least, what was once Grace’s avatar.

“A tube.” He says, rather unintelligently. He does not want to admit his ignorance, but you pick up on it anyway.

“Avatars are grown in tubes just like this.” You say, peering in at Grace with a sad smile. “Whole Na’vi bodies grown from half human, half Na’vi DNA. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Demon technology.” Tsu’tey comments with a frown. Spider shifts on his shoulders, and he hurries to adjust his grip on the child.

You roll your eyes. “I thought you’d be used to demon technology by now, muntxatan,” His tail swishes at the term of endearment, but you just smile and continue, “My body might not be able to sustain a hybrid pregnancy, but it doesn’t need to. There’s no reason that this demon technology couldn’t be used to grow a baby from human and Na’vi DNA. It’d be kind of like IVF, in a way.”

That gives Tsu’tey pause, and he turns to look at the tube with a new perspective. He had never considered that the demon technology could be used for something like that. It is… a lot to absorb.

“You don’t have to think too much about it just yet,” Your voice is so soft, as though you know he has been overloaded. “But if you want a big family… well. I just wanted you to know that it’s possible.”

He doesn’t have the first idea of what to say. He has gone from believing that he was aberrant for wishing for this with you and being terrified to so much as voice his desires, to agreeing to take on a little demon baby, and already planning for more.

His ears swivel, his eyes wide and thoughtful. Slowly, he nods.

“We will discuss more later,” He murmurs, bringing his free hand low to rest on your lower back as Spider tugs at his braids. “We must take the child back to our kelku, first.”

“What’s the rush?” You ask, teasing at him.

Tsu’tey squares his shoulders, some of his old confidence returning. This is a challenge he is fit for, he’s sure of it. He will provide for his tiny weak mate and his new tiny weak son, and he will protect them to the best of his ability. You have been quick to learn the ways of the People – Spider will learn too, with guidance. His mouth twitches at the thought of teaching him customs, teaching him how to hunt, making him a songcord. All those nonsense dreams he had, now a reality.

“I have to finish that rope bridge.”

#tsu'tey fic #tsu'tey x reader #na'vi x human #na'vi x reader #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar 2 #awow #tsu'tey #avatar 2009 #terato #fluff #fics

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cera-writes · 7 months ago

Note

Requesting Nightcrawler with a mutant who prefers animals to people. They tolerate and later fall for Kurt because he treats everyone and everything around him with gentleness and genuine care.

A/N: thanks for requesting this! I think we can all agree Kurt is a huge lover of animals <3 Pairing: Kurt Wagner x gn!reader Tags: Introvert/extrovert friendship, developing feelings, mutual respect, empathy, animal communication, feeling like an outsider, found family

Kindred Spirits

The Danger Room hummed as it deactivated, the acrid tang of burnt wires filling the air. You sank against the deactivated training bot, massaging your temples. Another grueling session of hand-to-hand combat left you feeling drained. You weren't built for close-quarters fights. Your mutation, while interesting, wasn't exactly combat-oriented. You could converse with animals, understand their thoughts and emotions. A skill that, you often felt, was wasted in the X-Mansion's focus on battle.

A soft thud caught your attention. Nightcrawler perched on the bot beside you, his tail swishing gently. "Rough session?" he asked, his voice laced with concern that felt genuine, a rarity amongst the boisterous X-Men.

You shrugged, a low sigh escaping your lips. "It's not my forte." Truthfully, it wasn't just the fighting. You yearned for the quiet companionship of animals, a yearning your fellow X-Men didn't quite understand. They found solace in training, in the camaraderie of shared experiences. You craved the solitude of the woods, the gentle understanding of a curious deer or a wise old owl.

Nightcrawler tilted his head, his yellow eyes filled with empathy. "I understand," he said softly. "Sometimes, the chaos can be overwhelming. Even for someone who thrives on it."

You glanced at him, surprised. "You get it?"

"Of course," he chuckled, a sound like wind chimes. "Being different can sometimes make you feel like you don't belong. But that doesn't make you any less valuable."

His words struck a chord. You'd always felt like an outsider, more comfortable deciphering the chirps of sparrows than the banter of humans. Yet, there was Nightcrawler, a walking embodiment of "different," accepting you with open arms.

The following weeks saw an unexpected friendship blossom. You found yourself drawn to Nightcrawler's quiet gentleness. He wasn't just kind to people, but to everything around him. You watched him patiently soothe a scared kitty in a back alley, his voice a soothing murmur that calmed even the most agitated beast. He spoke to stray dogs on the city's streets, his words eliciting happy tail wags. You, the introvert, found yourself drawn out of your shell, enjoying the quiet conversations you shared with him, the gentle teasing tinged with a genuine respect that warmed your heart.

One afternoon at the park, you found him by the koi pond, his blue form a stark contrast to the vibrant fish. You approached hesitantly, your voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing?"

He looked up, a smile gracing his pointed features. "Just admiring the silence," he said, gesturing to the fish. "They have such a peaceful energy, don't they?"

You sat beside him, drawn to his peaceful aura. You confessed your introversion, your longing for the quiet companionship of animals. The words that usually felt awkward tumbled out easily, unburdened by judgment.

He listened intently, his expression filled with understanding. "Many find strength in crowds," he said softly, "but there's nothing wrong with finding solace in solitude. It's a different kind of strength, but strength nonetheless." He met your gaze with his warm yellow eyes. "And your ability to connect with animals," he continued, "that's a gift, Mein Freund. It shows a depth of empathy most people can only dream of."

His words filled you with a newfound sense of confidence. For the first time, you saw your introversion not as a weakness, but as a strength. And your connection with animals, a skill often scoffed at by others, was a gift.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the pond, you leaned your head against his shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude. He didn't need words. His smile, warm and genuine, spoke volumes. In that quiet moment, you realized you weren't alone. You had found a kindred spirit, someone who understood your need for solitude, someone who saw the beauty in your differences, someone who, just like you, possessed a heart that resonated with the quiet whispers of the natural world.

A wistful look crossed Nightcrawler's face as he spoke of his past. "Back at the circus," he said softly, "I used to spend hours with the animals. They never judged me for my appearance. We understood each other in a way most humans couldn't."

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. A silent understanding passed between you, a shared love for creatures who offered companionship without judgment. In that quiet moment, you realized you weren't alone. Not anymore.

#xmen #x men 97 #kurt wagner one shot #kurt wagner x you #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader

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koiiiji · 2 months ago

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halloween special! fantasy AU

tw ; long post, hints of unhealthy behaviour

starring ; Sangho Choi, Yoo Wooin, Joker, Kwon Hyuk, Chris d'Char

author's note i feel like i went a little too far.... MDNI!!! AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS DNI, I WILL BLOCK YOU

Sangho Choi

dark elf

the aftermath of the battle lay heavy on the camp. bodies of the wounded were scattered across the muddy grounds, the air thick with the scent of blood and ash. Sangho strode through the chaos, his armor still smeared with grime and blood, his expression unreadable, calm as always. the Moriquendi (dark elves) commander moved like a force of nature, cold and unwavering — a stark contrast to the exhaustion that gripped his troops.

he had led them to victory, but at a cost. the dead outnumbered the living, both the humans and dwarves who fought alongside them counted their losses, and just as the Moriquendi mourned dead ones in silence. Sangho, ever composed, was the eye of the storm, his reputation as a warrior known throughout the realms. despite the losses, his people looked to him with deep respect. they always had.

he had earned that respect — not through birthright or privilege, but through sheer strength and leadership. the Moriquendi might have been forsaken by the gods, forgotten and separated for centuries, but Sangho had become their pillar of power, their anchor, the one brought them all together again. his connection to his people was ironclad, built not on divine grace, but on blood, grit, and unrelenting will.

Sangho had no need for magic, for poetry, for the lofty ideals of the highest elves. he had the blade. and that was enough.

but as the silver banners of the Calaquendi approached the camp, a bitterness stirred in his chest. he stood tall, his posture rigid as he watched them ride in — untouched by the dirt, by the blood. their horses were pristine, their armor shining like the stars, and their faces were serene, as if the horrors of war had never touched them.

they hadn’t fought in this battle. they had only come now, after the dust had settled, with their supplies, their medicines, their immaculate presence. it was an insult, in a way, a reminder that they saw themselves as above it all.

but it wasn’t the Calaquendi warriors that made his jaw tighten.

it was you.

you rode at the front of the procession on her snow-white horse, a figure of grace and elegance. the princess. your silver hair cascaded down your back, catching the last rays of the setting sun, and your soft eyes surveyed the camp with a quiet sadness. you was everything the Calaquendi were — untouched, unearthly, and so far removed from the blood and dirt that clung to Sangho and his people.

it had been years since he had last seen you, but the sight of you was enough to stir something deep within him. something he had long tried to bury...

he had been a young elf then, barely into his teenage years, when he had been granted the rare privilege to train under the Calaquendi’s finest warriors. it had been an honor, or so everyone had told him. a rare opportunity for a Moriquendi to learn from the higher elves, to study the art of combat, leadership, and strategy.

they had treated him like a curiosity — an outsider, lower. he had heard the whispers, felt the judgment. the older elves had made no effort to hide their disdain for the Moriquendi, for the path they had chosen long ago.

but you had been different. you had shown him kindness, even as a child. your curiosity about him had seemed genuine, your warmth in stark contrast to the cold indifference of her people.

you had even tried to teach him magic once, your face full of innocent excitement. "it’s simple, Sangho," you had said, hand glowing with a soft, golden light. but the magic had never come for him. his people had no connection to it, no divine light in their veins. the magic that flowed so easily for you would never be his. he had felt like a shadow in your presence, a reminder of the gulf between them.

and though you had never mocked him for it, it had planted a seed of resentment in him that had only grown with time.

Sangho tore his gaze away from you as your contingent dismounted. his expression remained cold, controlled. he had long mastered the art of concealing his thoughts, of keeping his emotions locked behind a calm exterior. but seeing you again — untouched by the war that had scarred him and his people — it stirred something dark inside him. a flicker of jealousy. of anger.

and yet, something else.

you approached the gathered commanders, your voice soft but clear as you addressed them. "we have come to help," you said, tone calm, diplomatic. "our healers will tend to your wounded. we have brought provisions, weapons, and aid for the battles ahead."

Sangho stood at a distance, watching you as you spoke. his armor was still stained with the blood of his enemies, a stark contrast to your pristine appearance.

and as he watched you, that familiar ache stirred in his chest, the same one he had felt all those years ago when you had smiled at him and tried to teach him what he could never possess. you was everything he resented, everything he envied.

and yet, he could never bring himself to hate you.

you caught his gaze, soft eyes meeting his across the camp. for a moment, the world seemed to still. your lips curved into a small, familiar smile, the kind you had given him all those years ago — full of warmth, of recognition.

"Commander," you greeted him, voice gentle echoed in his head. the sound of your voice, calling his title in his head, sent a chill down his spine.

he inclined his head slightly, his expression remaining cold, though his heart raced beneath the surface. "Princess," he replied, his voice low, edged with a bitterness.

Yoo Wooin

pirate

the cliffs were a place of solitude, where you often came to escape the noise of the coastal town. tonight, however, when the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, and dark blue heavy clouds foreshadowed the storm, the wind screamed through the rocks, carrying whispers of danger as you peered out at the sea. moon wasn't shown yet, but the crashing waves couldn't hide it from your gaze — the legendary ship.

it looked like something out of a nightmare. dark hull was barely visible in the distance, but it's tattered black sails were unmistakable. the ship that had haunted the town’s legends for centuries.

you had only meant to look. just a glimpse, out of curiosity. no one could have warned you how close it would come to shore tonight.

as you turned to head back up the cliffs, the sharp crack of twigs underfoot made you freeze. before you could even gasp, rough, filthy hands clamped over your mouth. the scent of sweat and saltwater hit your nose as you struggled, panic surging through veins.

“shhh, lass, don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” a gruff voice snarled in your ear.

your eyes widened in terror as you was yanked backward, feet sliding helplessly on the slick, rocky ground. two men held you tightly, their laughter low and malicious. one of them, burly and reeking of rum, grabbed your wrists, twisting them behind your back painfully as the other kept his filthy hand pressed firmly over your mouth.

“look what we found wanderin’ near the cliffs,” the first man sneered. his breath was hot and foul against your cheek. “tet the captain’ll like this one. she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

terror tightened in your chest as they dragged you down the narrow path, where was the boat beached.

your muffled cries lost to the storm.

your heart raced as the ship came into view again, when your kidnappers rowing back to the ship, and all the warnings from the townsfolk echoed in your mind. the ghost ship wasn't just a story. it was real — and you were being taken aboard.

the men hauled you up onto the deck, laughing and exchanging crude comments about you as they did. wood beneath your feet was old, splintered, and smelled of rot and seawater. panic surged in your chest as you was thrown down onto the deck, your wrists still bound with some dirty rag behind you, mouth dry with fear.

your breath came in short gasps, and when you looked up, your blood ran cold.

there, in the shadows, was him.

Wooin stood at the helm, leaning casually against the ship’s railing with an almost lazy posture, his black hair tousled by the storm, his shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. his eyes were sharp — too sharp — and his grin was… wrong. wicked. crazy. it was a smile that held danger, and something far darker. and before you could even struggle to your feet, his sliced through the air, dark and sharp.

“now, now, what have we here?”

“looks like you boys brought me a little gift,” he drawled, eyes locking on you with a gaze that sent shivers down your spine. “and here i thought tonight was going to be boring.”

pirates laughed as they shoved you closer to him. “caught her spyin' near the cliffs, Captain. figured you'd want first dibs”

Wooin crouched down in front of you, his grin widening as he looked you up and down. his gaze was dark and predatory, lingering a little too long on your trembling form. he leaned in close, the scent of seawater and smoke clinging to you as he cocked his head.

“you wanted to see the ship up close, sweetheart? well, too bad, we don't let go of such precious things like you back,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “though i gotta say, you’re braver than most. or maybe just stupider.”

his fingers trailed along your cheek, smudging the dirt the other pirates had left behind. his touch was cold and sent a wave of fear rippling through you. “you’ve got a pretty little mouth,” he mused darkly, thumb brushing against your lips. “i bet it can do real sweet job, don’t it?”

you jerked your head back, heart pounding wildly in your chest, but that only made him laugh.

“oh, feisty, i like that.” Wooin’s grin twisted into something even darker, and his eyes flickered with amusement. “you might last longer than i thought.”

he stood up, his hand curling around your arm as he pulled you to your feet in one quick motion, yanking you against him. “what's your name, little mouse?” Wooin asked, his voice soft, almost sweet. but the sweetness was poisoned, mocking. when you didn’t answer right away, his grin faltered, and his expression twisted with impatience.

before you could speak, Wooin's hand shot out, gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. his eyes were wild now, gleaming with something dangerous and unhinged.

“don’t be shy now,” he growled, his fingers digging into your skin. “you’re gonna tell me your name, or i’ll have my boys get it out of you another way. and trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want that.”

your heart raced, and you managed to stammer, “it’s [y/n].”

“good.” Wooin released you with a smirk, standing back up. he turned to his crew with a wicked grin. “what do you think, boys? think we can make use of her?”

the pirates around you roared with laughter, and Wooin stepped back, letting his eyes wander over your form again with a wild glint. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure you’re well taken care of. you’ll just have to earn your keep.”

he threw a wink at you, but it wasn’t charming. it was crude, full of filthy implications. “we’ve got plenty of work for pretty things like you aboard the Sabbath.”

you struggled against the ropes around your wrists, heart pounding as you felt the weight of his words. there was no escaping the look in his eyes — dark and unrelenting. this wasn’t just a game to him. it was a hunt. and you was his prey.

but then, just as quickly as his touch had been possessive, he pulled away, mercilessly ripping off your outer dress, which you covered yourself with, slipping out of the house, leaving you only in a thin, white night dress. he slowly held the cloth to his nose, inhaling the scent of perfumes and oils, rolling his eyes with perverted pleasure. the second later he turned to his crew, spinning on his heel and threw the coat into a crowd of pirates. “still warm and smell like woman, boys” he barked to his men, his tone light but commanding.

the crew burst into vile, disgusting laughter, stretching and tearing the fabric, trying to snatch a piece for themselves, while the captain took the main delicacy.

Wooin grabbed your arm, roughly dragging you after him in captain's cabin, and shot you just one look, his grin sharper than ever. “I’ve got a few things to take care of, sweetheart. But don’t worry. I’ll find time soon to… get to know you better.”

Joker

hunter

the forest was thick, dark, and damp, its shadows pooling like ink beneath the heavy canopy. you’d been warned to stay away from the hunter’s paths, to keep to the glades where the light filtered through, safe among the trees and the chattering birds. but curiosity and confidence had tugged you deeper into the wild, to places no forest nymph dared venture. and now here you were — ensnared, tangled like prey in a coarse net that cut into your skin each time you struggled.

you’d heard the rumors, all the horrific things that were said of him. some called him a monster, some a demon, a creature more vile than ogres, with hands heavy enough to crush bone and a heart darker than the forest’s shadowed depths.

a man.

rumors said he hunted fae-folk for sport, skinned nymphs and fauns alive to sell their wings and antlers and sometimes even kept it as twisted trophies. so you lay frozen, terror blooming inside you as footsteps approached, slow and deliberate, until he was there, looking down at you with a gaze as indifferent as a hawk's, cold and calculating.

“caught yourself in a trap, didn’t you?” his voice was low, almost lazy, devoid of emotion but carrying a harsh edge that set your heart racing faster. he crouched, studying you with the cool, detached interest of a creature observing something wounded, something lesser.

you couldn’t hold back a soft whimper, the plea tumbling out in a trembling whisper. “please… please don’t eat me… or… or sell me, or… take my wings.” your voice shook, barely above a whisper, but you couldn’t help it. every ounce of courage had leaked from you, leaving only desperation.

his expression remained unchanged, his eyes traveling over you without a hint of sympathy or mercy. he clicked his tongue, almost in disdain. “sell you or eat you, huh?” he scoffed softly, as though the very idea bored him. “too small to do any of this to you...”

he leaned closer, his face shrouded by the hood he wore, but even then, you could make out the glint of something dangerous in his gaze, a still cruelty inherent to human, that made your skin prickle. he pulled a long, thin knife from his belt, its blade dull and wicked-looking. your heart pounded faster, your breath quick and shallow as he dragged the blade along the net, slicing through its binds with practiced precision.

but he didn’t stop with the net.

as he worked, he let out a slow, almost mocking sigh, his tone low and chillingly void of anything warm. “i never thought fae-folk would be this… naive. falling right into a trap. maybe all those rumors are true. that you’re not as clever as you all like to pretend.”

he cut through the last of the net, letting it fall loose around you, and before you could think to scramble free, he had you by the wrists, pinning them above your head with a grip that felt like iron. you writhed, pulling against his hold, but his strength was unyielding, and his gaze never shifted, never softened.

“look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself, though there was a cruel twist to his voice. “tiny thing… so fragile.” the knife moved again, glinting faintly as he drew it closer, tracing it along the edge of your silken garb, dragging it just close enough to raise the fine hairs on your skin.

the first cut was slow, methodical, stripping you of the flimsy fabric with a disturbing calm, his face as devoid of emotion as it had been when he’d found you. his touch was cold as he worked, peeling away every last layer of your garb until your skin was bare beneath the dappled light filtering through the foliage of the trees.

your throat tightened, a frantic plea catching in your throat as he studied you, his gaze a chillingly dispassionate assessment of your form. “what are you so afraid of?” his question was flat, the hint of a smirk nowhere to be found, replaced instead by an unsettling, empty gaze. “i told you i wouldn’t eat you. or sell you.”

he tilted his head, as though considering something, his eyes roaming over you with a detached curiosity, nothing soft or familiar to be found in that stare. “i’ve seen plenty of your kind before,” he continued. “fragile little things. quick to beg, easy to break.” he tightened his grip on your wrists, as his other hand slips to your chest, cupping one and tweaking your nipple, watching as you flinched, his expression as cool and collected as before.

with a final, dispassionate glance, he dropped your wrists, letting you fall back against the forest floor. you felt the earth cold against your skin, and for a moment, you dared to believe he might leave, that his curiosity had passed.

but he didn’t move. he just stood there, studying you in silence, as if weighing his options, calculating something you couldn’t comprehend. finally, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, chillingly calm.

“run.”

Chris d'Char

draugr (scandinavian zombie)

the moment you stepped into the cave, you felt something watching. air was thick with the scent of earth and decay, damp and oppressive, pressing down as you pushed further into the cavernous dark. your heart pounded, but you pressed on, forcing yourself to ignore the prickling dread. you were here for a treasure whispered about in a village. most wouldn’t have dared come this far.

yet, the stories didn’t come close to capturing the reality.

the flicker of your torch swept across a wide, shadowy space — a stone altar strewn with tarnished gold and faded relics. you were about to reach out when the cave itself seemed to exhale, a sound so low and menacing that it sent an icy jolt straight through you. and then he emerged from the shadows.

the figure was massive, towering, and unmistakably dead. his armor, dark and corroded, seemed to weigh him down, each piece like ancient, heavy iron strapped to bone. his shoulders were broad and hulking, and he moved with an unnatural stillness that made every muscle in your body seize in place. the hood shadowed most of his face, but his eyes… they gleamed green, faintly lit with a supernatural glow that pierced the darkness with an intensity that made you want to run.

but you couldn’t.

your legs felt rooted to the ground, every part of you alive with a fear that bordered on primal. his gaze fixed on you, narrowed and piercing, and he moved closer, each step slow, deliberate. the sound of his boots echoed against the stone walls, mingling with a faint rasping that you quickly realized was his breath — deep, hollow, and cold as death itself. the closer he came, the more you felt the chill radiating from him, a cold that soaked through your skin, settling into your bones, making you feel like prey frozen in the gaze of a predator.

“you…” his throat, mouth and vocal cords were clearly damaged, and sound coming from him was more like wheezing and coughing with something rumbling, a sound coming from his chest. yet it was a deep enough, gravelly rasp that sent an involuntary shudder down your spine. each word felt like stone grinding against stone, a sound that wasn’t meant for the ears of the living. “another thief come to desecrate my tomb?”

he loomed over you, nearly a foot taller, and though his face remained mostly hidden, you could see the lines of hardened bone, twisted by time. he looked like something that had clawed its way out of the underworld, not just some story told to frighten children. you could feel his anger like a physical force, pressing against you, filling the air with a menacing weight that made your breath hitch.

“i —” you stammered, barely managing to find your voice. your hands shook, your mind racing with excuses, explanations — anything that might soothe the wrath of this ancient creature. “i didn’t think — i mean, i didn’t know you were… real.”

the words sounded foolish, childish, even to you, but you could feel his gaze intensify, piercing and unwavering.

“you mortals never think,” he growled, taking another slow, deliberate step toward you. you pressed back against the cold stone of the altar, every instinct screaming to run, yet trapped by his gaze. “and yet you come, chasing gold and glory. seeking what you have not earned.” he let his words hang in the air, thick and heavy with disdain.

as he spoke, you noticed the faint gleam of a blade strapped to his side, its edge worn but sharp, and you had no doubt it would slice through you in a heartbeat if he chose to use it.

“what… drives a mortal to invade a place meant for the dead?” he croaked, his tone less angry now, but still dripping with suspicion. there was a twisted curiosity there, mingling with his disdain, as though he were scrutinizing you, searching for an answer that would make sense of your presence here.

you swallowed, trying to steady yourself enough to speak, though your voice trembled as you answered. “i… i heard about the treasures here. i thought it was just…story. just an old story to scare children.” you hesitated, meeting his gaze as best you could, even as a chill washed over you, every inch of your skin prickling with fear. “i didn’t think… that it would be guarded.”

he tilted his head, an unreadable expression crossing his shadowed face. his lips twisted into what might have been a sneer, or perhaps a smirk — it was impossible to tell. “it was men who came before,” he hissed, almost to himself. his gaze flickered over you, as though he were assessing something different, some detail about you that set you apart from the others who had come before. “yet here you are. foolish…”

his tone was chillingly indifferent, a touch of dark amusement cutting through his fury. as he took a final step, closing the distance between you, you could feel his cold breath brush against your face, a touch that felt like a warning as his eyes bore into you. his voice dropped to a low, rumbling whisper. “do you know what fate awaits those who disturb the peace of the dead?”

you shook your head, not trusting your voice. every instinct screamed to flee, yet you were captivated by your own terror.

Chris’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and in that silence, you sensed something change. he was still terrifying, still monstrous, but a flicker of curiosity had joined the malice in his stare. it was as if your presence had stirred something within him, something that hadn’t stirred in centuries.

“tell me, mortal,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful, “what makes you any different from the fools who came before you?”

and as his eyes met yours, sharp and unyielding, you felt as though you were being weighed, measured by an ancient creature. he was no mere guardian, no simple guard to be outrun or outwitted. he was a spirit bound by death and anger, as much a part of the treasure he guarded as any piece of gold. and yet, against every instinct, every shred of reason, you felt the barest hint of intrigue flicker in his gaze.

Kwon Hyuk

poltergaist

moving into the apartment was a compromise between your budget and your nerves. the place wasn’t much — peeling paint, narrow halls that sighed with age, the endless creaks that echoed even when you were alone. but rent was cheap, and as a student, you needed cheap more than you needed comfort.

it started innocently enough — little things, easily explained. doors closed just after you left them open, faint scratching sounds from within the walls, lights flickering overhead. you convinced yourself it was nothing, brushing it off as an old building settling. but then, the noises became louder. clearer. as if someone — or something — was listening, waiting.

the feeling of being watched crept into your bones. you’d catch glimpses in the corners of mirrors, shadows moving when you were perfectly still. a prickling sensation would crawl up your spine when you turned off the lights, only to grow stronger, more pointed. some nights, as you lay in bed, you swore you could feel cold air ruffling your hair, a whisper-light touch that disappeared when you jolted up to check. each time you looked, the room was empty, but the feeling of dread lingered, thick and oppressive.

then, it escalated.

you came home one evening to find the kitchen in disarray — cups and plates carefully stacked into a pyramid on the counter, all balanced so precariously that you only had to breathe near them for it to come crashing down. it felt like a taunt, a child’s game, and yet it left your hands shaking. you cleaned it up, all the while feeling the icy weight of unseen eyes watching, almost amused.

in the following days, the disturbances grew darker. doors no longer merely closed but slammed, hard enough to rattle the walls. your belongings would appear in places you’d never left them — your phone in the freezer, your books stacked upside down, your shoes arranged in pairs by your bed. one night, you found the word HELLO written across the bathroom mirror in streaks of condensation, though you hadn’t showered.

each night became a test of endurance. scratches appeared on the walls, faint at first, but then louder, more insistent, like nails scraping down to get your attention. the sound would follow you from room to room, echoing in the dead silence, growing fiercer when you tried to ignore it. then the lights began to flicker not randomly but in patterns, on and off in a slow, mocking rhythm that felt like it was waiting for you to notice.

and you did.

one night, exhausted and desperate for sleep, you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, willing yourself to ignore the eerie sensations that had become part of your every day. just as you started to drift off, you heard floorboards creaked, as if someone was cautiously tiptoeing closer and closer to the bed. a weight pressed down on the foot of the bed, heavy and cold, slowly sinking in beside you. your body froze in terror, heart racing as you held your breath. the bed dipped, creaking under an unseen presence, as if someone had settled right next to you.

you lay still, paralyzed, as icy fingers trailed up your arm, tracing your skin with a sensation so foreign, so unnatural, that it sent a chill down your spine. the cold touched your cheek, feather-light and lingering, like the brush of lips against your skin. your breath hitched, and the room fell silent. the pressure lifted, but the feeling of something lurking stayed, hovering just outside your reach.

that was when the messages began.

written in dust on your desk, scrawled in barely-there letters:

miss me? i’m here.

they showed up on your bathroom mirror, traced in streaks of moisture, smeared across your textbooks in faint pencil. each word a reminder that you were not alone, that he was there, hidden in the shadows, watching, listening.

one evening, exhausted and drained, you decided to ignore the signs. you’d convinced yourself that it was all in your head, a trick of nerves and exhaustion. but that night, he grew angry.

the temperature in the room plummeted, your breath misting in the air. walls shuddered as something invisible began slamming doors, cabinets, drawers, every corner of the apartment alive with rage. a framed photo fell from the wall, shattering at your feet, its glass shards scattering like ice. you stumbled back, your heart racing as the lights flickered, plunging the room into pitch black.

and then, in the silence, you heard it: a low, chilling whisper close to your ear, so close that it brushed against your skin.

don’t ignore me.

you screamed and stumbled away, turning on every light in a panic. but the apartment remained quiet, the air heavy with a quiet menace that settled into your bones, making it clear that the walls themselves seemed to cling to you. and as you glanced back at the broken glass, you saw a final message scratched into the dust beneath your feet:

i wanna play.

and you knew, with a sickening twist in your stomach, that this was no ordinary haunting. that he — whoever he was — wanted you there, bound to the apartment just as he was, with a twisted affection buried in every scrape, every chill, every whisper.

MASTERLIST

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zepskies · 11 months ago

Text

Being Human - Part 4 (Finale)

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: (I decided to release this a bit early.) Here we are, friends! The final chapter...

Chapter Summary: Ames White captures you, forcing Alec to his knees.

Word Count: 4,300

Tags/Warnings: Peril and violence, angst, major hurt/comfort, but also major fluff...

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 4: Reckoning

Terminal City is a region on the edge of the city. The chemical and biohazardous waste that was dumped there after the Pulse makes ordinary humans sick, but for the immune transgenics, it’s the perfect spot to carve out a sanctuary.

Alec has been visiting the sector frequently, working with Max, Joshua, and other Manticore escapees to build up its infrastructure. Joshua lives here full-time now, as it’s safer for the half-canine transgenic and others like him, who don’t “look” human.

Today, Alec’s working with Mole and Joshua on ammunitions. Regardless of what any of them look like, they are all soldiers, in one way or another built and trained for warfare.

As much as Alec doesn’t want to see it, the tensions between “ordinaries” and transgenics are mounting, especially in Seattle.

He checks his watch and realizes that he’s late to meet you.

“Shit. I gotta go,” he says.

“Where’re you going?” Max asks. She has a perceptive eye, but Alec doesn’t reveal anything. He revs up his motorcycle and dons his helmet.

“Just going to meet someone,” he says, purposely vague. He doesn’t want another lecture from her.

The truth is, he’s dreading this. He knows when he sees you, it’ll be damn near impossible to maintain his distance. He should’ve just met you at your apartment, but surrounded by your things, your familiar scent etched into every fiber of your place…it would buckle his resolve.

So he heads back on his motorcycle all the way home.

Something’s off.

He instinctively knows after he climbs up the stairs to his apartment. He tests the door, and it opens without him having to unlock it.

You would know better than to leave the door open.

He pushes inside the apartment, and he’s greeted to a scene that drops his heart into his stomach.

His apartment is empty, but a table near the kitchen is knocked over. Glass liters the ground where it’s overturned, and on further inspection, he finds drying bloodstains on the glass and on the floor.

His heart beats faster as he takes in everything with wide eyes. He doesn’t smell gunpowder, or find anything else that would tell him what happened here.

He does find your purse, tossed by the couch in the living room.

Alec whips out his phone and calls your cell.

“Hello, 494.” A man’s voice—one that Alec would know anywhere. It prickles his skin with unease and makes his blood boil all at once.

“Ames White.” Alec’s teeth grind. “What game are you playing now?”

“This isn’t a game. It’s business,” White claims. “I have something you want. How much are you willing to pay to make sure she stays alive?”

Alec forces himself to calm down, even though his pulse is racing.

“What do you want?”

“You. And 452. With no bullshit on your end,” the agent replies. “Or this girl is going to pay that price for you.”

Alec’s breath becomes unsteady. “And if I comply, you’ll let her go. I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Oh, I won’t lie to you. She’s on her way to the lab as we speak. You see, they’re gonna want to analyze that abomination she’s carrying,” White says.

That steals the breath from Alec’s lungs.

His eyes grow wide as he puts together what the man is saying.

“But if you do comply,” he says, “I’ll make sure they let her deliver to term, at least.”

Alec’s throat tightens. Oh, God…

“You let her go, you son of a bitch!” he grinds out. His white-knuckle grip pops a few springs in the couch. He releases it and covers his face, pressing hard between his eyes. “She’s not part of this!”

“It seems she is, 494. I’ll send you the time and the place. Be there with 452.”

The line clicks. Alec’s breathing is harsh. He grips his phone so hard it nearly shatters, but he tosses it onto the couch and pushes his palms against the burn in his eyes. His jaw locks with the strain of clenched teeth. No, no, no, NO!

His phone chimes with a voicemail message. Alec grabs the phone and listens. It details coordinates and a meeting time: tonight, at midnight.

Alec makes another call with what remains of his phone.

“Max,” he says shakily. “I need your help.”

Alec barely resists pacing throughout Logan’s apartment while the latter types away, researching the coordinates Ames White provided for the meeting point. Their forced surrender.

Max perches on the corner of the couch with her arms crossed. She’s concerned for you as well, but she gazes at him with sympathy.

“We’ll find her, Alec,” she says.

Alec shakes his head.

“He could have her anywhere,” he gestures widely. “He could’ve already handed her off to whatever shady government agency he works for. Or with that damn cult, that in case you’ve forgotten, hates us. Like everyone else in this city.”

“Not everyone,” Max reminds him pointedly.

“Yeah, and look where we are now,” Alec retorts. “I told you this would happen!”

“Do you want to be right, or do you want to save her?” Max shoots back. “Now think. We’ve found bases of White’s operations before. Both for the agency, and the breeding cult.”

“I’m cross-referencing old locations,” Logan says. He’s been typing away at his computer for several minutes. “I can ask Asha and her people to join the search. And I can do an Eyes Only broadcast, encourage people to keep an eye out.”

Alec nods, but any outcomes of those plans will take time. Time you might not have.

They’ve been following anonymous tips for hours. Joshua and a few X5s and X6s joined the search for Ames White, and more importantly, for you.

Alec and Max have been working together without stopping even for a breath throughout the night. They only have one hour before they’re meant to be at the agreed meeting point: an abandoned building near the edge of the city. No doubt for their easy extraction.

Logan eventually calls Alec to tell him about a lab within a mile of the scheduled rendezvous point. There have been reports of late-night transports—locals calling in about strange noises, and in one case, what someone thought was a muffled gunshot.

Alec and Max agree to check it out, but they’re going to cut it close with the meeting time.

“Josh. Where are you, buddy?” Alec asks after calling his friend’s cell.

“I’m here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Here,” Joshua replies. He’s turned the corner and found his friends on the crossing of Avalon St. and Broadway, via his elite sense of smell.

“Good,” Alec smiles in relief. He pats his taller friend’s arm. “You’ve been a big help so far, but I need you for this. Wanna be part of the rescue party?”

“Yes,” Joshua nods, but his tone suggests he’s offended that Alec has to ask. “Help save your mate.”

Alec’s smile weakens. He doubts you’ll ever want to be that with him, ever again. But he’ll be damned if the government, or some damn breeding cult, is going to lay a hand on you.

Logan agrees to meet them there in his van for backup, while Josh hitches a ride on the back of Alec’s motorcycle. The three of them haul ass to the location of the suspected lab.

They approach a large, three-story dilapidated building. According to Logan, it used to be a mental health asylum. When the government bought it out, the facility was turned into a private lab.

Great, comes Alec’s sardonic thought. Hopefully the ghosts of whoever was tortured here won’t cause them any problems.

He and Max communicate silently through the militaristic hand motions they learned in their training to scope the place’s security, its entry points, and the best way for them to infiltrate the building. Although Manticore made Joshua, he hasn’t gone through the same training as most transgenics have.

He’s fortunate for it, but it means that Max has to direct him more carefully. He covers her and Alec as they approach the back entrance, which seems to be where they most often transport both cargo and people. Right now, there’s a large van waiting on standby.

Alec rips out the driver first, while Max and Joshua take on the other guards who start shooting. Alec comes around the back of the van, and when the first guard opens the back door, Alec tears the gun out of his hands and yanks him out. Alec uses the man’s body like a Kevlar vest as his two companies unload a clip or two. He punches them both out hard enough to hear the crack of bone.

The van inside is empty, but he sees a cot and several machines already ready and waiting to transport someone. He grits his teeth and slams the door shut on his way out.

“She’s not in there,” he tells Max. “If she’s here, she’s gotta be inside.”

Max and Joshua have taken out the outside guards, no problem, but he’s sure there’ll be more where that came from.

The three of them enter the building and race through the long hallways, slipping by lab technicians, doctors, and other staff. Anyone who attempts to stop them soon regrets it.

Alec is especially brutal and efficient with the federal security guards. Max watches him out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t yet warn him to pull his punches. The stakes are high, and she understands his anger and stress.

“There’s a file room,” Alec points to a door that’s labeled: RECORDS.

“I doubt they’ll have a file on her yet, especially if White’s trying to keep this under wraps,” Max says.

Joshua looks around and points across the hall. “Cameras?”

The other two look in the direction he’s pointing to, and they see what he sees—a room labeled: SECURITY.

Alec slaps a companionable hand on Joshua’s back, and they head for the security room. The guards are dealt with swiftly, being knocked out and piled against the back wall. While Joshua keeps a lookout, Max and Alec scan the many different camera feeds: focused on various hallways and lab subjects.

Alec scans each of them rapidly. He’s always been good with TV.

He finds you on one of the camera feeds and he points to it. “There she is! Room 204.”

You’re in a small, cell-like room, sleeping on what almost looks like a hospital bed. Except there’s a breathing mask held over your face, probably keeping you unconscious, and you’re attached to several monitors. It makes his heart sink and his spine tighten with rage, simultaneously.

“Let’s go,” Max says, but it’s not necessary. Alec is already halfway out the door.

They’re stopped at a four-way crossroads in the hall. In the center is Ames White.

“You’re smart, I’ll give you that,” he grants with an incline of his head. He takes a radio clipped to his belt and clicks it on, speaking into it. “Transport the girl. Make sure she’s sedated.”

Alec seethes. Before he can sprint headlong into a fight, Joshua stops him. Alec looks up at him in askance.

“You go. Find her. Leave him with me,” Joshua says. His blue eyes are sharp with predatory anger at the man who killed Annie Fisher.

Alec softens a fraction and nods in understanding. He shoots Max a look.

“Go, I’ll catch up with you,” she says.

Alec nods and races on ahead. He dodges bullets with the help of superior speed and crashes into each guard, taking them out with brutal force. He steals a gun off of one of them, and that saves him a lot of time and energy. He tries not to kill anyone, but he can’t think about holding back. He just needs to get to you.

He reaches the second floor, and finally to Room 204.

Two men are already in the room. He doesn’t want to open fire—the room is too small, the risk of ricochet too high. He grabs a knife from his belt and hurls it at the first man, who was poised to inject something into your arm. The second guard turns with his gun, but Alec is already moving too fast for human eyes to follow.

He breaks the man’s arm, followed by a swift uppercut. He takes the gun and hurls the man into the far wall, knocking him clean out as he slumps to the floor.

Alec breathes hard in the aftermath, but he begins to soften after his attention turns to you. He sets down the gun and takes in the sight of you, still dressed in jeans and a blood-stained shirt.

You’re heavily sedated and restrained by your wrists and ankles. You have a bandage wrapped around your forearm, along with brain and heart monitors attached to your forehead and chest, and an IV drip in your other arm.

Alec takes a breath, and he starts with the wires, removing the small suction cups from your body and disconnecting all the monitors. He takes off the mask and unclips the leather restraints.

The fury builds back up inside him at what they’ve already done to you. He doesn’t want to think any more on what they’d planned to do.

You must’ve been terrified, he thinks. He touches your cheek tenderly. His free hand hesitates, before it rests gently on your belly. He calls your name.

You don’t stir just yet. Your body is still under the effects of the sedation. So he carefully lifts you into his arms. He hears Max approach, and she’s there in the doorway by the time he turns around.

“Let’s go,” Alec says. His face is hard and angry while he carries you out.

They regroup with Joshua in the lobby, though even Alec stops short when he sees the carnage. Ames White’s body lays on the floor with unseeing eyes. His throat is torn out.

Joshua has blood in his teeth. He wipes at his face with the back of his arm, his eyes veering away from Max and Alec. Max blinks through her shock and tries to keep her mouth from falling open.

“Time to go,” Joshua says. His voice is heavy, but matter of fact.

“We’ll need to take his body, get rid of it later,” Max says, when she recovers. “We can’t let the police find him.”

They’ll blame us, is understood by them all. The police won’t have the full story, but it won’t matter. Appearances are everything.

Max finds a black body bag in a nearby storage closet and Joshua collects White, later hefting the full body bag over his shoulder.

They make their escape out the back of the building, where Logan is waiting with his van. Joshua deposits the body in the back, where he also climbs in. Max takes the front passenger seat while Alec carries you into the middle seat bed.

Nothing else feels right but to hold you in his arms. To stroke your cheek and wait, both desperate for, and yet dreading the moment you’ll open your eyes.

Because when you do, there’s a good chance that he’ll find your fear. Or worse.

“She’s going to be okay,” Max says to him, quietly. She’s twisted towards him in her seat.

“Maybe physically,” Alec counters. “I don’t know, Max. How did being held up in a lab affect your mental health?”

Her lips purse. “One step at a time, okay?”

Alec shakes his head and looks down at you. He tries to commit your peaceful face to memory, because he doubts that he’ll ever see it again after tonight.

Slowly, you start to wake.

At first, all you see is shadows and shapes of someone looming over you. Unconsciously you whimper and push at whatever holds you down, but the hold is gentle, the voice soothing.

“Shh, it’s okay. Sweetheart, it’s me,” he says.

Your eyes clear and focus as you blink…though they soon flood with tears. Relief takes over your fear. You see his concerned, handsome face, and your lower lip trembles.

“Alec,” is all you manage to say. You still have some trouble moving your heavy body, but you grab a fistful of his shirt and wince as you pull yourself up, just enough to bury your face into his chest. Your body shakes with the force of your sobs.

Alec gathers you up against him and shushes you gently, even as his heart clenches. He soothes a hand over your hair and your back.

“I’ve gotcha. It’s okay, you’re safe,” he says in your ear. He meets Max’s concerned gaze, then Joshua’s in the shrouded end of the car. Even Logan glances back through the rearview mirror as he drives.

Alec tries to block them out and focus on you. He holds you and comforts you for as long as you let him.

Eventually, you pull away to look at his face. You still have tears in your eyes, but now, it’s with a hue of uncertainty.

“The man…the agent who took me. He was looking for you,” you say. Your voice is weak and a bit coarse. You try to clear it.

Alec wishes he had some water for you.

“He’s gone. You don’t have to worry about him,” he says.

You let out a shaky breath, but you meet his gaze. “He said that you’re not…Alec, are you…”

He sighs; he understands the question you’re trying to ask.

“Yeah. Those freaks you hear people talking about on the news?” he says. “I’m one of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen as your breathing becomes more labored.

“I was made in a lab,” Alec confesses. “At Manticore, bred and trained to be a soldier.”

A transgenic.

Your hand falls away from his chest, and you take that in with an unblinking stare. He can see you trying to process all this.

You glance over at Max, who had been facing the front to give you and Alec the semblance of privacy. Feeling your gaze on her, she turns around and gives you a half-hearted smile.

“Hey, girl,” she greets. “Glad you’re okay.”

“You’re like him too?” you ask. Max nods.

Suddenly, everything makes so much sense. Why she and Alec have always seemed to share history and bickered like siblings. Why Max was friendly, but never truly your family. Why Alec had been so much of a mystery to you. Why he’d broken your heart.

“Joshua too,” says a deep voice from the back.

You turn your head and gasp as your eyes fly open wide again. Alec gives his friend a look over your head, but he tries to reassure you with a warm hand on your lower back. He hopes you can’t see the dried blood on Joshua’s snout.

Joshua breaks into a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he says, gesturing to his wolf-like face. “Bit of dog in my cocktail.”

You shake your head slowly. Your mouth opens and closes, but you try your best to get through your shock (and a lance of fear). Your head tilts as you consider his kind, very human blue eyes.

“You, um, your name is Joshua?” you say at last.

“Yes, Joshua,” he nods. “Rescue party.”

You blink at that. “You…helped get me out of there?”

He nods again, with a smile that flashes a few canine pointed teeth. You rest a hand over your wildly beating heart.

“Thank…you,” you manage.

Joshua bobs his head. “No problem. Saved Alec’s mate.”

If possible, your eyes widen further at that one. You turn back to Alec with raised brows. He offers a wan smile and a nervous chuckle. You notice, however, that he hasn’t let go of you. You’re also still sitting across his lap.

“This is what you were hiding from me,” you say, perhaps stating the obvious. Your heart clenches with pain. “Why you…”

He brushes his hand along your arm.

“I was trying to protect you,” Alec says. His brows furrow as his green-eyed gaze veers away from your face, with shame. “But I failed, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. None of this was supposed to happen—”

Some instinct has you reaching out to sooth your hand along his cheek, stopping his lips with your thumb. You stare up into his eyes, and they’re no longer guarded or distant. They’re the eyes you remember.

Whatever you are, you’re mine.

You lean up and press your lips to his.

After a beat, Alec’s eyes close, and he answers you in kind. His fingers sink into your knotted hair. You grip his shirt by the collar, and he wraps his arm securely around you.

With each new kiss, you feel more relieved. You don’t realize you’re trembling until he clasps your shaking hand against his cheek, to steady you.

Alec gives you one more searing kiss before he pulls you into his arms. It’s a hug you both need.

His eyes shut tight as he buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. His lips find the mark he’d left weeks ago on your skin. It’s faint by now, but it’s still there. He takes deep breaths to calm himself, and you rub his back through it.

He realizes you’re comforting him now; a fact that makes him smile.

You’re mine, instinct tells him. And this time, he just can’t fight it.

Logan houses you and Alec for the night (or the morning, since dawn breaks by the time you all get back).

You’re exhausted, but you still force yourself to shower. You’ll have to remind yourself to thank Logan for the spare clothing, though you don’t bother with the sweatpants just opt for the large shirt as you roll into bed.

Alec isn’t far behind after he takes a quick shower. You force yourself to stay awake, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. His skin glistens when he eventually leaves the bathroom, and you watch him cross the bedroom with just a towel low on his hips. He shoots you a smile before he starts getting dressed.

“Logan says he’ll help us find a new place to live,” he says.

You slowly smile at that. “Us?”

“Well, you know, both of our apartments are compromised.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you reply. When he slides into bed next to you, you swim through the covers and inch closer to him. “I’m just glad it’s a together thing.”

Alec gives you an amused look, but there’s warmth in his eyes. He thumbs at your lower lip. Soon, his smile begins to fall.

“I didn’t want to get you caught up in this. In my crazy fucked up life,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. “But I’m in it now. I’m in this with you. You realize that, right?”

He nods, though he doesn’t think he deserves it. Or you, for that matter.

He slips his arm around you, just the same. You rest your head against his shoulder and tap his chin.

“Alec, I don’t care what you are,” you say. “Transgenic or not, you’re the man I’ve always known.”

He lets out a subtle breath at that, chuckling.

“For better or worse, right?” he asks.

You smile. “I have something to tell you…though I’m pretty sure you already know.”

Despite a tremor of nerves, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Tell me anyway,” he says. “I love surprises where I know the answer.”

You giggle. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” he nods with a smirk. “Just tell me, woman.”

Your hand drifts down to rest against his chest, and you tilt up your face so you can meet his dancing eyes. The fact that he seems genuine gives you enough courage to just…say it.

“Alec, I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

His smile grows.

“…Really?” he teases. “You sure it’s mine?”

You gasp, laughing, and you shove against his chest. You twist away from the cage of his arms, but he laughs and doesn’t let you so easily escape. You realize then how truly strong he is when he rolls you under him on the bed.

He dips down and claims you with a kiss. He shakes his head, because he never thought this would be his life. His hand sneaks under the sheets to rest over your lower belly, through the shirt. In turn, you cover his hand. You bite your lip with slight anxiety.

“You’re really okay with this?” you ask. “Even after everything we…this is a lot for us. Really soon.”

Alec gradually sobers, and he acknowledges that with a nod.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Honestly, I didn’t see this coming.”

You have to laugh a little at that. His lips tug at the corners, but as he squeezes your hand back, he stares directly into your eyes.

“But I’m not letting you do this alone. I… I love you,” he admits. “Sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

Tears burn in your eyes, but only one finds its way down your cheek. You take in a tremulous breath and nod.

“I love you too,” you reply. Though you can’t hide a different uncertainty when you look at him. “But if you leave me again…Alec, I can’t.”

He looks more vehement than you’ve ever seen him when he shakes his head, meeting your gaze.

“That’s not happening. I promise,” he says. “You’re stuck with me, baby. So much that you might just get sick of me.”

You utter a laugh through your tears, and you nod in acceptance. Alec smiles and wipes your cheek dry before he gathers you tighter into his arms, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

You relax against his chest with a sigh. His heartbeat thrums steadily under your cheek.

And you finally rest.

AN: And there we have it. 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Being Human.

I might come back to add bonus one-shots to this, if you guys are interested in seeing more of their story. 💜 But I hope you'll let me know what you think about how it all shook out here!

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anna-the-undertaker · 4 months ago

Note

Gn Reader who is a monster hunter. So they wear a full set of armor at all time. They have swords that are made out of the claws of a ice dragon. Reader has no fear and is willing take on any challenge. They keep looking for demons/monster to fight. 🗡️O(👀 )O

This was such a joy to write! It took me back to my roots when I first started writing for Dragon Age. Thank you so much for the request. enjoy! :)

Forged in Frost and Steel

A Walking Fortress

MC is rarely seen without their full set of armor—an intricate and heavy suit that reflects their years of experience as a monster hunter. The armor, engraved with runes and symbols of protection, glows faintly in the dark. It’s scarred and battered in some places, proof of the many battles they’ve fought, but they wear it with pride. Every scratch and dent tells a story, and they treat it like a second skin. Beneath that armor, though, is someone who’s always ready for action. They’ve trained their body to handle the weight effortlessly, moving with a surprising grace despite the heavy metal that encases them. When the brothers first meet MC, they can’t help but be impressed—and a little intimidated—by the sheer presence they exude.

Swords of Ice Dragon Claws

MC’s twin swords are a sight to behold, crafted from the claws of an ancient ice dragon they once defeated in the frozen peaks. The blades shimmer with a frosty sheen, and when they draw them, the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. These weapons are not only incredibly sharp but also infused with the dragon’s icy power, allowing MC to freeze their enemies in battle with a single slash. They carry the swords proudly, often spinning them with practiced ease. The brothers are fascinated by the craftsmanship of the swords, though they’re all a little wary of the cold energy they give off.

Fearless to the Core

MC is the type of person who runs toward danger, not away from it. They’ve built their entire life around hunting down monsters, demons, and anything that poses a threat. Fear isn’t a concept they entertain—if anything, they thrive on the thrill of a challenge. Lucifer notices immediately that MC never hesitates, no matter the situation, and while he’s impressed, he’s also slightly concerned. After all, bravery can be a double-edged sword. "You need to learn to assess the risk," he warns, but MC just smirks and replies, "Risk is what makes it fun." Mammon, though nervous, can’t help but admire their confidence, while Levi thinks they’re straight out of one of his favorite fantasy games.

Always Looking for a Fight

Whenever they’re not on a mission, MC is searching for their next challenge. Whether it’s facing off against a particularly strong demon or taking on the next dangerous monster roaming the Devildom, they’re constantly on the lookout. If the brothers mention any local legends or rumors about monsters, MC immediately perks up. "Where?" is their first question, followed by, "How soon can we leave?" This relentless drive for battle often catches the brothers off guard. Even Beel, who’s known for his strength, is surprised by how casually MC takes on tasks that would terrify others. Asmo jokes that MC’s hobby is "collecting battle scars" while Satan appreciates their sheer determination.

Endless Confidence

MC’s confidence is unparalleled, to the point where nothing seems to faze them. They could be faced with a towering demon, its roar shaking the very ground beneath them, and all they would do is smirk and crack their knuckles, ready to jump into the fray. The brothers, used to being feared or revered by humans, find MC’s attitude refreshing and bewildering. MC doesn’t shy away from anyone, not even Lucifer. In fact, they have no problem challenging him head-on, which both irritates and intrigues him. "You think you can take me?" Lucifer asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I know I can," MC replies with a grin, their hand already resting on the hilt of their sword.

Unpredictable Tactics

In battle, MC fights with a combination of strategy and pure instinct. They’ve faced countless monsters over the years and have developed a unique fighting style that’s both efficient and unpredictable. They’ll use their environment to their advantage, launching themselves off walls or flipping over their enemies with ease. The brothers, who are used to traditional forms of combat, find themselves impressed by MC’s agility and creativity. When they see MC fight for the first time, they quickly realize why MC has survived as long as they have. Mammon often watches in awe, secretly glad that MC is on their side.

A Matter of Pride

For MC, hunting monsters and demons isn’t just a job—it’s a matter of pride. They’ve dedicated their life to perfecting their craft, and they’re proud of the reputation they’ve earned as one of the best hunters in their world. That’s why they wear their armor and swords so proudly, a constant reminder of the battles they’ve fought and won. Though they don’t brag about their victories, they don’t downplay them either. If someone asks about their latest hunt, MC will share the details with a casual confidence, often to the amazement of those listening. "You actually fought an ice dragon?" Beel asks one day, more curious than surprised. "It was a tough fight, but nothing I couldn’t handle," MC replies with a shrug, as if fighting dragons is an everyday occurrence.

A Cool-Headed Hunter

Even in the heat of battle, MC is calm and collected. Panic has no place in their life; they’ve seen too much and been through too many near-death experiences to let fear cloud their judgment. Their composure often surprises the brothers, especially in moments when others might be tempted to flee. When faced with a powerful opponent, MC will assess the situation, find the weak point, and strike with precision. This kind of confidence and tactical thinking earns them respect, even from the likes of Satan and Lucifer. "You’re not bad," Satan admits after watching MC take down a particularly difficult demon. "I’ll take that as a compliment," MC replies with a smirk.

Solitude is Second Nature

Being a monster hunter means MC is often on their own, and they’re comfortable with that. They don’t mind the solitude, finding peace in the quiet moments between hunts. But that doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate the company of others. While they may be used to traveling and fighting alone, they quickly adapt to working with the brothers. Over time, they find themselves enjoying the banter and camaraderie, though they rarely express it out loud. MC’s independent nature sometimes makes them seem distant, but the brothers quickly learn that when it matters, MC is fiercely loyal and protective of their allies.

No Fear of the Supernatural

MC has spent years hunting all sorts of monsters—dragons, werewolves, demons, you name it. So, the Devildom’s supernatural threats don’t scare them in the slightest. If anything, MC is intrigued by the opportunity to fight something new. When the brothers mention certain dangerous creatures lurking in the shadows, MC immediately wants to go after them. "What’s the point of coming here if I’m not going to test my skills?" they reason, much to the brothers’ exasperation. Levi thinks it’s cool that MC is constantly seeking out the strongest monsters, while Lucifer warns them not to bite off more than they can chew. But MC just grins, always ready for whatever comes next.

Lucifer

When Lucifer first meets MC, he can’t help but be intrigued by their presence. The sight of their imposing armor, coupled with the twin swords crafted from the claws of an ice dragon, gives them a commanding and fearsome air. He’s seen countless humans come and go in the Devildom, but none like this. MC’s confidence, their lack of hesitation in the face of danger, catches his attention immediately.

But that interest is quickly tempered by a sense of caution. Lucifer values order, discipline, and respect. MC, with their relentless thirst for battle and willingness to take on any challenge without a second thought, strikes him as reckless, someone who could disrupt the delicate balance of the Devildom if they’re not careful.

"You’re certainly bold," Lucifer says the first time MC challenges him directly. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, though his tone remains authoritative. "But boldness without restraint is a dangerous thing. You should learn to think before you act."

MC, however, is unfazed. Their unwavering confidence—and perhaps their lack of reverence for Lucifer’s position—sparks something in him. While others might cower or bend to his will, MC stands firm, ready to face him, or anything else the Devildom throws at them, head-on.

Lucifer’s respect for MC grows, though he won’t admit it aloud. Their resilience, their strength, reminds him of himself in a way. However, that doesn’t mean he’ll tolerate any reckless behavior. "The Devildom is not a playground for your challenges," he warns, his voice low and commanding. "If you want to survive here, you’ll need more than just courage. You’ll need control."

Despite his stern words, Lucifer can’t deny that he finds MC’s unyielding spirit admirable. In a world where fear is the natural response to demons, MC’s fearlessness stands out. Over time, he comes to see them as an asset rather than a potential threat. Their power, if honed properly, could be invaluable.

Still, Lucifer often keeps a close eye on MC, making sure their eagerness for battle doesn’t lead them into unnecessary danger. When MC embarks on another one of their hunts, Lucifer will offer a warning, his voice calm but firm: "You may be strong, but strength without wisdom is a flaw. Don’t let your pride lead to your downfall."

In the end, Lucifer’s relationship with MC is one of both admiration and caution. He respects their strength but seeks to guide them toward balance, knowing that unchecked power can easily spiral into chaos—something he will not allow under his watch.

Mammon

From the moment Mammon lays eyes on MC, fully armored with those impressive swords made from the claws of an ice dragon, his mind starts working overtime. He notices the way they carry themselves—confident, almost fearless—and immediately sees a potential goldmine. After all, if MC is out there slaying monsters and collecting rare materials, someone should be making a profit from it, right?

"Oi, MC," he says with his trademark grin, sidling up next to them after one of their hunts. "Those ice dragon claws ya got there… they fetch a real good price, ya know? I’m talkin’ serious grim. How ‘bout ya let me handle the business side of things, huh? You do the fightin', I’ll do the sellin’. It’s a win-win!"

He’s barely even subtle about it, his eyes practically sparkling with the potential grim he could make. Mammon is quick to imagine all the rare materials MC could harvest from the monsters they hunt—rare scales, horns, fangs, and more—and how much they’d be worth in the Devildom's underground markets. His greed kicks into high gear as he starts picturing piles of grim, a smug smile spreading across his face.

"Just think of it!" he exclaims, already counting his imaginary profits. "We’ll be rich! I mean, you fight the monsters, but I’ll take care of the rest, yeah? That armor of yours is already impressive, but with a bit of extra cash, we could really upgrade it."

MC’s lack of fear and willingness to take on any challenge only fuels Mammon’s excitement. He’s constantly pestering them after every hunt, asking what kind of materials they collected and whether he can sell the remains. "What’d ya get this time? Some kinda rare fang or somethin'? Don’t be selfish now, let your pal Mammon handle the transactions!"

Of course, beneath all the talk about profit and selling materials, Mammon does genuinely care about MC. He’s the Avatar of Greed, sure, but he doesn’t want them to get hurt. Whenever MC goes off on another dangerous hunt, Mammon can’t help but feel a twinge of worry. "Don’t go doin' anything stupid out there, alright? I can’t make grim off ya if ya get yourself killed!"

Even with his schemes to make grim, Mammon keeps a close eye on MC when they’re in battle. If they ever get into a tight spot, he’s there to jump in—though he’ll deny it was out of concern and claim it was because he didn’t want to lose out on potential earnings.

But once the fight is over, it’s right back to business. "Now, about that haul from your latest kill… How ‘bout we split the profits? 80-20. I mean, I am the one who knows the best markets for this stuff!"

Leviathan

When Leviathan first meets MC, fully armored with twin swords forged from the claws of an ice dragon, his immediate thought is that they look like they’ve stepped straight out of one of his favorite fantasy RPGs or anime series. His eyes widen in awe, and he’s almost too flustered to speak at first. It’s not often that someone so cool enters his life, especially in the real world.

"Y-You… you look like a character from Magical Knights of Dragonbane! Those swords… the armor… you’re like a real-life hero!" His voice wavers between excitement and shyness, and there’s a spark of admiration in his eyes.

Despite his usual insecurity around others, Levi is completely drawn to MC because they embody everything he’s always admired in fictional heroes. Their fearlessness, their relentless pursuit of battle, and their undeniable strength hit all the right notes for him as a fan of epic stories and battles. Of course, that admiration quickly spirals into his typical jealousy.

"Not that I’m envious or anything," he mumbles, though his expression says otherwise. "I mean, I could totally do that too if I wanted to! It’s just… I don’t have those swords. Or that armor. Or the skills. But still!"

Levi starts treating MC like a real-life protagonist, often comparing them to his favorite characters from games and anime. He constantly talks about how their latest monster fight reminds him of a boss battle from Ruler of the Abyss or a particularly intense dungeon raid. "That battle you had with the three-headed demon? It’s just like the showdown in Knight’s Quest VII, where you have to defeat the Hydra! You totally pulled a legendary move back there!"

Levi’s fanboying can get a bit overwhelming, especially when he starts bombarding MC with questions about their weapons and techniques. "How did you get the claws of an ice dragon? Did you have to fight it solo? Was it like the Frozen Tundra Arc from Legend of the Snowblades?"

However, Levi’s admiration comes with his usual dose of insecurity. He’s impressed by MC’s bravery and skill but can’t help feeling a little envious. In his mind, they’re living the kind of life he’s only ever dreamed of—taking on dangerous monsters, wielding epic weapons, and being utterly fearless. "You’re so lucky," he mutters during one of their conversations, eyes downcast. "You get to be the hero in real life. I just… stay in my room and live through games."

Despite his jealousy, Levi can’t deny that MC has earned his respect. He’s fascinated by their adventures, and even though he wishes he could be as brave as them, he finds himself cheering them on from the sidelines. When MC tells him about their latest monster hunt, Levi’s eyes light up, and he listens intently, hanging on every word like it’s part of an ongoing story.

"That’s so cool," he blurts out after MC describes a particularly intense battle. "You’re like… a real-life protagonist. If this were a game, you’d definitely be the main character. I’d be… I’d be the support class, I guess." There’s a hint of self-deprecation in his voice, but it’s clear that Levi admires MC more than he lets on.

Over time, Levi even starts imagining what it would be like to join MC on their hunts, despite his fear of real-life combat. "If I ever went with you on one of your monster hunts, I’d be like the strategist or the mage, right? I’d stay in the back and cast spells while you go in with those epic swords!" He knows he’s not cut out for the front lines, but the idea of being part of the adventure appeals to him more than he’s willing to admit.

Even though Levi feels like he’ll never be as brave as MC, he slowly comes to realize that being their friend is enough. "I guess I’ll just keep being your number one fan," he says with a small smile. "Even if I’m not fighting beside you, I’ll always be here to support you, just like in the games."

In true Levi fashion, he’ll also try to get MC to play his favorite monster-hunting video games, eager to compare their real-life experience to the virtual world. "C’mon, let’s see if you can take down the Frost King in Night’s Fall! It’s just like the ice dragon you fought, except, y’know… pixelated."

Satan

When Satan first encounters MC, fully armored and wielding swords crafted from the claws of an ice dragon, his reaction is not one of awe or intimidation but of intense curiosity. Unlike the others, who might be impressed by the sheer spectacle of MC’s appearance, Satan’s mind immediately begins to analyze the practicality of it all.

"The claws of an ice dragon?" he murmurs thoughtfully, observing the swords with a critical eye. "That’s not a common material. You must have gone through considerable effort to acquire those."

Unlike Levi or Mammon, Satan isn’t concerned with how cool MC looks or how much grim they could fetch for selling parts of their kills. Instead, he’s far more interested in the intellectual aspect—how MC hunts, what techniques they use, and most importantly, the kinds of creatures they’ve encountered. For Satan, MC represents a rare opportunity to expand his knowledge of monsters and battle tactics, and that’s far more exciting than anything else.

He immediately begins asking pointed, detail-oriented questions. "How did you handle the ice dragon’s frost breath? I assume you’ve developed a method to resist extreme temperatures, given the nature of your weapons. And what about its speed? Ice dragons are known to be incredibly agile despite their size."

Satan respects MC’s abilities, but he’s also fascinated by the process behind their victories. He admires their strength, yes, but it’s their intellect and experience that truly captures his attention. To him, a successful monster hunter isn’t just someone who fights well—they’re someone who knows how to outthink their enemies, and MC’s fearlessness only enhances that aspect in his eyes.

"You approach battle with the same decisiveness I would in a pursuit of knowledge," Satan observes, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Calculated. Efficient. You don’t waste time with hesitation, but neither do you rush in recklessly."

However, Satan’s admiration isn’t without its critique. He’s someone who values control and precision, and while he recognizes MC’s fearlessness as a strength, he’s also quick to point out its potential pitfalls. "You’re fearless, which is commendable," he says, leaning against a bookshelf in the library as they talk. "But there’s a thin line between bravery and recklessness. You might be skilled, but even the strongest can be undone by overconfidence."

His words are not a reprimand but a cautionary lesson. Satan respects strength, but he respects wisdom even more, and he takes it upon himself to ensure that MC understands the balance between the two. "A monster hunter like you should know—monsters can be unpredictable. No amount of strength can save you from the consequences of a single miscalculation."

That said, Satan’s own curiosity sometimes leads him to ask MC to go after certain creatures, not because he wants to see them in danger, but because he’s interested in studying the monsters themselves. "There’s a particularly rare species of shadow fiend in the northern caves. I’ve been wanting to study one for some time now. Would you be up for the challenge?" He knows MC is always seeking their next hunt, and while Satan has no interest in accompanying them on the battlefield, he’s more than eager to read up on their findings.

Satan is also fascinated by MC’s lack of fear. He’s used to humans being intimidated by demons, but MC doesn’t so much as flinch in the presence of the brothers, not even Lucifer. That fearlessness intrigues him, and he can’t help but poke at it sometimes, trying to understand what drives them. "You’re not afraid of anything, are you?" he asks one day, his tone more curious than condescending. "I wonder if that’s born out of experience or if it’s simply who you are."

Over time, Satan’s respect for MC grows, not just for their strength but for their mind. He values their input, their insights on the creatures they fight, and the methods they use. In many ways, he sees MC as a kindred spirit—someone who approaches life with intellect and strategy, even if their battlefield is more physical than his.

Still, he never stops cautioning them. "Remember," he says one day after MC returns from a particularly dangerous hunt, "knowledge is your greatest weapon. Even more so than those swords."

Asmodeus

Asmodeus’s first reaction when he sees MC in their full, intimidating armor, wielding swords made from the claws of an ice dragon, is a mix of intrigue and slight distaste—though not for the reasons one might expect.

"Oh darling," Asmo says, with a dramatic sigh, giving MC’s armor a once-over. "That armor is so... functional, but it could use some flair! Have you ever thought about accessorizing? Maybe a bit of sparkle or color to liven it up?"

For Asmo, appearance is everything, and while he’s impressed by the sheer presence MC commands, he can’t help but think about how their look could be improved. To him, it’s a missed opportunity for some fabulous monster-hunting fashion.

But underneath his superficial comments, Asmo is genuinely curious about MC’s abilities. After all, they exude a confidence that even Asmodeus finds intriguing. Most humans are easily overwhelmed by the Devildom, but not MC. They’re fearless, something that both impresses and fascinates him.

"Look at you, so brave, fighting monsters and demons without a second thought," Asmo purrs, his eyes sparkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. "But darling, don’t forget to take care of your skin! All that armor must be so rough on it. You must let me give you a treatment. After all, you want to look good while fighting, don’t you?"

Despite his constant fussing over their appearance, Asmo quickly develops a soft spot for MC. He admires their boldness and their unshakable confidence, something that resonates with his own vanity and pride. Asmo is used to people fawning over him, but MC? They’re different. They don’t seem to care about his beauty the way others do, which only makes him more interested in them.

He’s often playful with them, teasing them about their relentless pursuit of danger. "Honestly, darling, you’re going to give me wrinkles with all this worry!" he says after hearing about one of their hunts. "But I guess there’s something charming about someone who’s willing to fight monsters head-on. Still, you should let me pamper you every now and then. A little self-care never hurt anyone!"

Asmo isn’t blind to MC’s strength, and while he’s not one for battles himself, he appreciates MC’s power in his own way. "You’re like the lead in one of those epic romance novels, charging into danger and saving the day," he gushes one day. "But even heroes need a break, don’t you think? Maybe a nice spa day, just the two of us?"

Though Asmo’s focus is often on beauty and luxury, he subtly keeps an eye on MC’s well-being. He doesn’t say it outright, but he does care about them, and he often expresses that care in his own, Asmodeus way. If MC ever gets injured or looks particularly tired after a hunt, Asmo will hover nearby, insisting on helping them recover, even if his methods involve an elaborate skincare routine.

And while Asmo may not be as direct as the others when it comes to acknowledging MC’s strength, he does have his moments of sincerity. One day, after watching them return victorious from yet another hunt, he smiles softly and says, "You really are incredible, you know that? Fearless, strong, and so confident. It’s... tantalizing. But promise me you won’t forget to take care of yourself, alright? I wouldn’t want to see someone as beautiful as you burn out."

Of course, the moment is short-lived as he quickly shifts back to his usual self, adding with a playful grin, "Now, let’s talk about adding some flair to that armor, shall we?"

Beelzebub

Beelzebub’s first reaction when he sees MC in their full suit of armor, wielding the massive ice dragon claw swords, is a mixture of curiosity and hunger—not for them, of course, but for the concept of power and strength they represent.

He doesn’t say much at first, observing them with his usual calm demeanor. Beel is used to sizing things up, whether it’s food or opponents, and MC’s imposing figure certainly catches his attention. "You’re strong," he says simply, with a hint of admiration in his voice. "I bet you’ve fought a lot of tough monsters."

To Beel, strength is something that commands respect, but he doesn’t idolize it like others might. In the beginning, he’s indifferent to MC, seeing them as just another human—albeit one who could probably put up a good fight if it came down to it. But as someone who has fought through hunger and struggles, Beel recognizes determination when he sees it, and MC clearly has plenty of that.

What intrigues Beel most is how calm and fearless MC is when hunting. It reminds him of himself during his hungriest moments—when survival is all that matters. "You don’t seem afraid of anything," he says one day, watching as MC polishes their weapons after a hunt. "That’s good. Fear slows you down."

Despite his initial indifference, Beel can’t help but be curious about MC’s hunting style. He’s not the type to pry, but during meals (where food is always the focus), he’ll casually ask about the monsters they’ve fought, especially if they’ve faced anything particularly tough. "So, what does an ice dragon even look like?" he asks, in between bites of his massive sandwich. "I’ve never fought one, but I bet it’s a strong opponent. What does it… taste like?"

That last question comes out unintentionally, but Beel can’t help it. His mind is always on food, and ice dragons sound like something that could make a good meal—if it weren’t for the fact that they’re not supposed to eat otherworldly creatures.

Despite his hunger-driven curiosity, Beel develops a sense of respect for MC’s strength and the way they approach battle. He’s blunt, as always, but there’s an underlying admiration when he talks to them. "I can tell you’re not just strong," he says one day. "You’re smart about how you fight. That’s important."

Beel also notices that MC is always pushing themselves, always looking for the next fight, and while he respects their drive, he also worries that they might overdo it. "You’re strong, but you should rest too," he advises, his tone gentle but firm. "It’s important to take care of yourself. Even the strongest can get worn out."

In his own quiet way, Beel becomes protective of MC. He knows what it’s like to fight through endless battles—whether it’s for survival or against his own hunger—and he doesn’t want to see someone burn out because they never take a break. "Next time you go on a hunt, let me know," he offers casually one day. "I might not be a hunter, but I’m strong. I could help if you ever need it."

And of course, Beel being Beel, he can’t resist asking one final, food-related question every now and then: "You think any of those monsters are edible?"

Belphegor

Belphegor's initial reaction to MC, clad in their heavy armor and wielding swords forged from ice dragon claws, is one of disinterest. He yawns the first time he sees them, barely glancing up from where he’s lounging in the attic. Fighting monsters? Chasing down challenges? It all sounds exhausting to him. He doesn’t understand why anyone would want to seek out danger when they could be napping instead.

"Fighting monsters for fun?" he says with a lazy drawl. "Sounds like a lot of effort for something you could just avoid." His typical apathy towards things that require energy is in full force, and he can’t comprehend why MC is always on the lookout for their next battle. To him, strength isn’t about fighting—it’s about conserving energy and doing just enough to get by.

However, despite his indifference, Belphegor’s sharp mind quickly picks up on MC’s relentless drive. It’s the exact opposite of his laid-back nature, and that contrast both confuses and amuses him. "You’re always moving, always looking for something to fight," he observes, his voice tinged with mild curiosity. "Don’t you ever get tired of it?"

Belphie doesn’t have the same admiration for strength that his brothers do, but he’s not oblivious to it either. When he finally takes the time to notice MC’s no-nonsense attitude and fearlessness, he can’t help but find it a little… excessive. "Why fight when you can just avoid the trouble altogether?" he muses, half asleep in his usual spot. "Seems to me you’re just looking for reasons to work harder than you need to."

Despite his usual teasing, Belphegor occasionally asks about MC’s hunts, if only to pass the time between naps. His questions, however, are more about their motives than the actual battles. "What’s the point of fighting all these monsters anyway?" he asks one day, leaning lazily against a pillow. "Does it make you feel more alive or something?"

It’s not that Belphie doesn’t respect MC—he just doesn’t see the appeal in their constant pursuit of danger. He’s more likely to poke fun at their endless energy than to admire their bravery. "All that running around," he says with a sleepy smirk, "you’re making me tired just talking about it."

Still, there’s a small part of Belphegor that envies MC’s drive. While he’ll never admit it, he sometimes wonders what it’s like to have that kind of unwavering determination, to constantly seek out the next challenge without hesitation. "Maybe you’re just crazy," he jokes lightly, though his half-lidded eyes suggest a deeper curiosity. "But I guess it takes a little bit of crazy to do what you do."

In typical Belphie fashion, his interactions with MC are filled with teasing, laziness, and an underlying amusement at their seemingly endless energy. "Next time you fight a monster, do it quietly," he says, half-joking. "I’d rather not be woken up by your battle cries."

However, beneath the teasing exterior, Belphegor slowly develops a grudging respect for MC. They’re not like most humans who are easily intimidated by the Devildom or the brothers. In their own way, MC’s tireless pursuit of challenges reminds Belphie of the persistence he sometimes lacks—and while he’ll never admit it, he appreciates that contrast.

But true to his personality, Belphegor would much rather nap than fight any monsters. "You go ahead and handle all the battles," he says with a lazy grin. "I’ll be here… sleeping."

Diavolo

When Diavolo first meets MC, fully clad in their formidable armor with swords forged from the claws of an ice dragon, his reaction is one of genuine excitement and curiosity. Unlike most who might feel intimidated by their imposing presence, Diavolo is immediately intrigued. His eyes light up as he takes in their confidence, their fearlessness, and the clear battle-worn nature of their gear.

"Fascinating!" he exclaims, a wide smile spreading across his face. "You’re truly unique. I’ve never seen a human so... driven to face monsters head-on. You must tell me more about your adventures."

Diavolo, being the future king of the Devildom, has encountered many powerful beings in his lifetime, but there’s something about MC’s relentless pursuit of danger that resonates with him. He respects strength, not just in terms of raw power but in character, and MC’s determination and fearlessness leave a strong impression on him. He finds their willingness to challenge even the most dangerous monsters admirable, as it reminds him of his own desire to push the boundaries of what’s possible in his realm.

"You possess an admirable quality," Diavolo says, his voice full of warmth. "The kind of courage it takes to fight monsters, especially in a place like the Devildom, is rare even among demons. And yet, here you are, unafraid and ready for your next challenge."

While Diavolo’s naturally enthusiastic, he also understands the importance of balance and self-care. As someone responsible for an entire realm, he knows the dangers of constantly pushing forward without taking a moment to reflect. He’s quick to offer advice, though it’s always tempered with kindness. "Strength is an incredible asset," he tells MC, "but even the strongest warriors need to rest. I’d hate for your potential to burn out too soon. After all, the Devildom could use someone like you for a long time to come."

Though he admires MC’s fearlessness, Diavolo also sees an opportunity to learn from them. He’s fascinated by their experiences as a monster hunter, their techniques, and the mindset that drives them to seek out battles most would shy away from. He often invites them to the castle, eager to hear their stories and discuss how their experiences might help shape the future of the exchange program.

"I think there’s much we could learn from your approach to challenges," Diavolo muses during one of their discussions. "You possess a rare resilience, and that’s something we could foster here in the Devildom. Imagine what we could achieve if more people were willing to face their fears like you."

But even with his royal duties and his grand vision for the Devildom’s future, Diavolo enjoys lighthearted moments with MC. Their lack of fear makes them a refreshing presence in his life, someone who doesn’t treat him with the usual reverence or hesitation. He appreciates the directness in their interactions, and while most are wary of challenging him, MC’s readiness to face anything head-on never fails to amuse him.

"You know," Diavolo chuckles one day, leaning forward in his seat, "I think you’d make an excellent sparring partner. It’s been a while since I’ve faced someone who isn’t afraid of a little risk."

In his usual upbeat and charismatic way, Diavolo respects MC’s strength but also seeks to guide them in balancing their drive with wisdom. He sees a potential ally in them, someone who could help shape a stronger connection between the human and demon worlds.

"You’re quite remarkable, MC," Diavolo says, his voice full of genuine admiration. "And I believe your presence here in the Devildom is going to make a difference. Not just for the exchange program, but for all of us."

Barbatos

When Barbatos first encounters MC, clad in their armor and wielding swords forged from the claws of an ice dragon, he remains as calm and composed as ever. Where others might react with surprise or intrigue, Barbatos’s expression remains neutral, though his sharp eyes take in every detail. He’s not one to be easily impressed, but he quickly recognizes that MC is far from an ordinary human.

"Impressive craftsmanship," he comments softly, nodding toward the swords at MC’s side. "Ice dragon claws are not a material one encounters often. You must have gone through great effort to acquire them."

Barbatos, as a servant of the royal household, values discipline, control, and efficiency. He immediately notices MC’s fearless demeanor and relentless drive to fight, and while he acknowledges their strength, he views their constant pursuit of battle with measured caution. In his mind, strength must be balanced with wisdom, and fearlessness must be tempered with foresight.

"Strength alone is admirable," Barbatos says calmly, "but do not let it blind you to the subtleties of the world. Not all battles are won with force."

He watches MC closely, especially when they speak of their adventures, and though Barbatos doesn’t share Diavolo’s exuberance, he is quietly intrigued by MC’s experiences. Their boldness and lack of fear are unusual for a human in the Devildom, and Barbatos finds their demeanor both refreshing and a potential cause for concern. He appreciates individuals who are willing to face challenges, but he also knows that reckless bravery can lead to unintended consequences.

"You seem to seek out danger wherever you go," Barbatos observes one day, his tone gentle but firm. "I wonder if you have considered the value of patience. Even the strongest warriors must know when to wait and when to strike."

Though he rarely expresses his thoughts openly, Barbatos does respect MC’s capabilities. He’s meticulous in everything he does, and he admires those who are similarly skilled. However, his primary concern is balance and ensuring that MC’s drive to fight doesn’t lead to unnecessary chaos. Barbatos is a master of control, and he values individuals who understand the importance of restraint—something he subtly encourages in MC whenever they speak.

"You have great potential," Barbatos says, his voice steady. "But even the strongest can be undone by rushing into battles without proper preparation. I would advise you to consider each challenge carefully before acting."

Despite his calm demeanor, Barbatos is not without warmth. He cares deeply for those in the Devildom, and while his advice is always practical, there’s an underlying sense of protectiveness when he speaks to MC. Though he may not show it as openly as Diavolo or the others, he does not want to see MC’s fearlessness lead to harm.

If MC ever returns from a particularly challenging battle, perhaps showing signs of fatigue or injury, Barbatos will quietly tend to them, ensuring they are taken care of without making a fuss. "Even the strongest need time to recover," he says, offering them a cup of tea with his usual elegance. "I trust you will take the necessary time to rest before seeking your next challenge."

Barbatos respects MC’s capabilities, but he never hesitates to remind them of the importance of balance, patience, and precision. To him, they are a strong and valuable asset to the Devildom, but one that must be guided with care.

"You are formidable, there is no doubt about that," Barbatos says with a rare, almost imperceptible smile. "But true strength lies not just in the ability to fight, but in knowing when not to."

Simeon

When Simeon first sees MC in their full armor, wielding swords made from the claws of an ice dragon, his initial reaction is one of quiet admiration, though not just for their appearance or strength. He’s always been more interested in the stories behind people’s actions—the motivations, the journeys, the moments that shape them. MC’s fearless demeanor and relentless pursuit of battle intrigue him, not because of the physical feats they’ve accomplished, but because of the story that must lie beneath it all.

"You have the air of someone who’s seen much and learned more," Simeon comments softly, his eyes warm and thoughtful. "I imagine you’ve faced quite a few challenges on your journey. Would you mind sharing your story with me sometime?"

As a writer, Simeon is deeply fascinated by character and narrative. MC, with their relentless drive and unyielding courage, strikes him as someone whose experiences could fill volumes. He often finds himself observing them from a distance, not out of judgment, but out of a genuine curiosity to understand what drives someone to seek out danger so fearlessly. While others might focus on MC’s strength, Simeon is more interested in the why behind it all.

"What compels you to fight?" he asks one day, his tone gentle but probing. "Is it the thrill of the battle? Or is there something else that you’re searching for?"

Simeon’s approach to MC is always soft and considerate. He doesn’t push them for answers, but he often invites them to share their thoughts or experiences over quiet conversations, always eager to listen. His fascination with their life as a monster hunter stems from his belief that every person has a story worth telling, and MC’s story, with its focus on battle and strength, is one he feels could teach him something new about the world.

"Your journey must have been filled with many trials," Simeon muses, scribbling in his notebook one day. "Perhaps there’s a lesson in it for all of us—a way to understand the balance between courage and vulnerability."

He’s not just a passive listener, though. Simeon often uses his conversations with MC as inspiration for his writing. He subtly draws parallels between their stories and the narratives he weaves, finding beauty in the tension between their unyielding strength and the quieter, more introspective moments they rarely show. In fact, he sometimes writes fictionalized accounts of their encounters, always with a focus on the inner conflicts that must come with being someone who faces danger so often.

"You remind me of a character I’ve been writing about," Simeon tells MC one afternoon, a thoughtful smile on his lips. "A warrior with a strong heart but a soul that is always searching for something more. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for in these battles—or perhaps, it’s something beyond them."

Unlike others who might caution MC against pushing themselves too hard, Simeon never directly warns them about the dangers of their lifestyle. Instead, he gently encourages reflection, hoping they’ll come to their own understanding of balance. He respects their choices and believes that the path they walk—dangerous as it may be—is part of their own story, and only they can determine where it leads.

Still, there’s an underlying protectiveness to Simeon’s interactions with MC. He may not wield swords or fight monsters, but his concern for their well-being is evident in his gentle nudges toward self-reflection. "Even the strongest warriors need rest," he says one evening, his voice calm and soothing. "Perhaps the next battle can wait until you’ve had a moment to yourself. After all, it’s in the quiet moments that we often find the answers we’ve been seeking."

Simeon admires MC’s bravery, but his true connection with them comes from his desire to understand the deeper motivations that drive them. To him, MC is more than just a fighter—they’re a living story, full of complexities and emotions that make them all the more fascinating.

And in his own way, Simeon hopes to be part of that story, helping them see that there’s more to life than battles and that sometimes, the greatest strength comes from knowing when to rest and reflect.

Luke

When Luke first meets MC, clad in their full suit of armor and wielding swords made from the claws of an ice dragon, his eyes go wide with awe. He’s immediately fascinated by their appearance and presence, especially since he’s never seen a human so fearless—or wearing such impressive gear.

"Wow!" Luke exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement. "You look just like one of those knights from the stories I read! Did you really fight an ice dragon? What was it like? How big was it? Were you scared?"

His curiosity is boundless, and he peppers MC with question after question, his childlike excitement bubbling over. To Luke, MC is like a real-life hero, and while he knows they’re a monster hunter, his youthful imagination casts them as a noble protector, someone who slays evil to keep others safe. He looks up to them almost immediately, seeing them as a role model.

"I bet you’ve saved tons of people, right?" Luke asks, his eyes sparkling. "You’re just like one of those brave knights in the stories! You protect everyone from scary monsters!"

However, despite his admiration, Luke’s protective instincts kick in. Even though MC is clearly strong and capable, he still worries about them, just like he worries about everyone he cares about. "But… you have to be careful!" Luke adds, his tone turning serious, his small hands clenched into fists. "Fighting monsters is dangerous! You can’t just go around looking for trouble!"

Luke, despite being a child, takes his role as an angel seriously, and he views MC’s constant search for battle with a mixture of awe and concern. He can’t understand why someone would willingly put themselves in danger, even if they’re strong. To him, bravery is important, but so is knowing when to stay safe. "You don’t have to fight all the time to be a hero," he says earnestly, his big eyes filled with concern. "You can help people in other ways too, you know."

Whenever MC returns from a hunt, Luke is always the first to run up to them, checking for any injuries, even if they insist they’re fine. "Are you hurt? Let me see! You have to be careful next time, okay?" He may be small, but Luke’s protective nature knows no bounds, and he fusses over MC the way an older sibling might.

At the same time, Luke looks up to MC and wants to learn from them. "Do you think you could teach me how to fight like you?" he asks eagerly. "Not that I’d ever want to hurt anyone! But just in case I need to protect someone!"

Of course, despite his fascination with MC’s strength, Luke still can’t help but view them through his innocent, childlike lens. He believes in the good in everyone and hopes that MC’s battles are always for the right reasons. "Promise me you’ll only fight the bad monsters," he says one day, his voice soft but firm. "Because I know you’re strong, but it’s important to be kind too."

Luke may be young, but his admiration for MC is tempered with his natural protectiveness and deep sense of morality. He sees MC as a brave hero, but he also wants to make sure they understand that being a hero isn’t just about fighting—it’s about doing what’s right.

"Just promise me you’ll stay safe," Luke says with a determined expression. "Because I’d miss you if something happened."

Solomon

When Solomon first meets MC, decked out in their imposing armor with twin swords made from the claws of an ice dragon, his reaction is one of amused fascination. He’s always been one to appreciate the unusual and extraordinary, and MC is no exception. His eyes gleam with curiosity as he takes in their no-nonsense attitude and constant thirst for battle.

"Well, aren’t you a sight to behold," Solomon says with a playful grin. "An armored human, hunting down demons and monsters with no fear in sight. I must say, you’re quite the intriguing puzzle."

Unlike some of the others, Solomon doesn’t feel intimidated by MC’s presence. If anything, he finds it refreshing. He’s met countless beings over the centuries, but someone like MC—who walks into the Devildom, ready to face danger head-on without hesitation—piques his curiosity. In true Solomon fashion, he’s eager to learn more about their abilities, techniques, and the drive that keeps them hunting.

"You’ll have to show me those swords up close," he comments casually, eyeing the dragon-claw blades. "Ice dragon claws… that’s not something you see every day. I wonder what kind of spells we could craft using materials like that."

Solomon, being the mischievous and ever-experimental sorcerer that he is, immediately starts thinking of ways to involve MC in his magical experiments. He’s always pushing boundaries, and having someone as fearless as MC around sparks all kinds of ideas for new spells, potions, and challenges. "You and I should collaborate," he suggests with a grin. "Think of the possibilities! We could combine your hunting skills with my magic. I bet we could summon something really exciting."

Of course, knowing Solomon, his definition of "exciting" usually involves a lot of chaos and unpredictability, so his idea of collaboration comes with a certain level of risk. But he’s confident that MC, with their fearlessness and thirst for adventure, would be up for it.

Solomon’s teasing nature also shines through in his interactions with MC. He can’t help but poke fun at their constant search for a fight. "You’re like a dog chasing after every stick thrown your way," he says with a chuckle. "Do you ever stop and relax? Or is hunting all you think about?"

Despite his playful jabs, Solomon respects MC’s abilities deeply. He knows they’re not just a warrior looking for their next challenge—they’re someone who has honed their skills to perfection. That kind of dedication resonates with him, and while he might joke around, he’s always paying close attention to how MC handles themselves in battle.

There’s also a part of Solomon that enjoys watching MC’s fearlessness in action. He’s spent centuries mastering magic and dealing with demons, but MC’s straightforward approach is something he finds amusing and endearing. "You really don’t back down from anything, do you?" he asks one day, leaning back with an amused smile. "It’s almost reckless. Almost."

Still, Solomon can’t resist pushing MC’s limits. He’s constantly challenging them, whether it’s through magical experiments or philosophical debates about the nature of strength. "Being fearless is one thing," he says thoughtfully, "but have you ever wondered if there’s something even you’re afraid of? Maybe it’s not a monster or a demon—maybe it’s something a little closer to home."

His tone is light, but his words are probing, as Solomon often likes to peel back the layers of people around him, especially those as intriguing as MC.

In the end, Solomon’s relationship with MC is one of mutual respect, sprinkled with his usual chaotic energy. He admires their strength and courage, but never misses an opportunity to throw a little unpredictability their way, always curious to see how they’ll react.

"Oh, and one last thing," Solomon says with a sly smile after one of their more intense conversations. "If you ever need a break from all that hunting, I’m always up for a little magical chaos. Just let me know when you’re ready to try something really dangerous."

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon

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perypera · 3 months ago

Text

Five Hargreeves would not say this? would not do that?

Why not?

I saw this alot and want to use this as a prompt into Five’s character study 🙃 so i will take it like a genuine question.

Whatever happened happens. We watched the show, that season 4 is what we got, everything in those 6 eps are canon that they gave us - unchangeable, but how to interprete it - is in your hand and your mind.

So if you want to talk, hello and continue. if your mind already set on stone about ignoring S4 then goodbye.

And this should serve as a feelgood post, S4 Five is not so bad or OOC as people said, he is just more human and less unhinge. A reminder we are watching a show from the very 1st season were literally built brick by brick with : Forbidden love, lies, cheating, turned your back on your family... Why easily accept that with some characters and be unforgiving when it comes to others.

( This is my little pleasure post for my future self to read and enjoy, i did not reread this post, might back later ).

Have some different perspectives to decide is S4!Five worth to be a good person to you or you think it only last 3 seasons. Tua S4 spoiler contain:

Use viewpoint to navigate to the perspective you want to read.

(This is not to sway any opinion about shipping, no, you do you.)

Viewpoint: Five is not himself because he would not follow Lila to the tunnel or take the train or he would do it alone?

Again? Why not? : Five worked for the Commision for around 5 years when Lila was raised in the Commision since 4yo. She is not his colleague, she surpassed his experience in working in/outside of time. So believed in someone with much more experience and let they take the lead is dumbtify his character? Really? Didn't it show his ability to calculate and work for the best results?

Viewpoint: Unnecessary romance line?

Necessity for the plot : Remember when Five killed robot mother Grace so Diego didn’t have to. That is a robot, in s4 it was Diego's 3 children, could Diego be the one to tell Lila to leave them into the unknown? I can say really ‘No’

+++ The mercy for Diego (ironically i know) is the burden they put on Five's shoulder. The guy really be doomed by the plot this season, the responsibilities and what they needed him to shoulder is so much that this is just a little grain compared to everything.

Necessity for the character : Going full circle since S1E1 "We only see each other at weddings and funerals" . The other Hargreeves have the privilege to grow up, leave the nest, build their own little family, now in S4 this is Five's turn to have that, he could have that this season is not the bad thing like people try to make it to be.

+++ Hey, that old man Five could't have a normal teenhood or adulthood, judge him or not he might never truly experience love outside his love for family and now he got swifted off his feets with love with a lover. Well, that is some tough shites you can't control with your mind.

If you couldn't give him credit to control his Anger is there any chance with the biggest hit like Love - precaution that is something you could catch in a matter of seconds then your mind and your heart got flipped.

Viewpoint : He gave up finding a way home and want to take a break, bad or good?

Now, the timeline of s4: 6 years in the new timeline + 6 years lost in the subway can't find a way home equal 12 years later.

Cue good guy no.1 to be our mirror: Lets see the time through the eyes of someone whose character was reduced to a golden retriever - good boy enough for you? - Luther. if you got bored skip to "+++"

Imagine if in the course of 6 years finding Sloan he got tired and give up. Then after that he met a girl, that girl understands him in all traumas he had been through and , 6 years later, over 10 years passed, he couldn’t find Sloan and he fell in love with this girl. He decided give up looking. Would it make Luther a bad guy?

+++ Five could never be as a good boy. His moral is lower than all the other Hargreeves because he was lost and left alone since 13yo with no human around to be a emotions moral figure, his love for his family is in his head for 45 years living in the Apocalypse but that is the time he did not experience other kind of love, even then he also gave up for an imagination love with a manequin...

So... he deserved abit understanding in this subway lost situation? They both thought they couldn't find a way out that purgatory and boy if that old man is not a walking stick of emotional starve.

And to clearly see the canon events so ones can give it personal meaning, there is a subject i think necessarily to be defined. The “family”

Family by destiny (big family) : the family of who bounded together not by choice but by destiny - siblings.

Family by choice (nuclear family) : The one you build with your lover

Cue good guy no.2 : I want to tell you a story about a movie i watched, if you got bored skip to "+++"

An 100yo man in a young body, by destiny created a big family, they stand side by side against wars after wars, the family entrusted their life with one another. Always got each other’s back, they are one big family and if any of them needed the others will answer.

The old man also lives for his destinied family like that, whenever one in danger he would come running.

But after what seemed like infinite times and infinite wars he lost some siblings in his family but he was still standing. He chose to say that was it, i’m tired, i can’t keep doing this, the family will always be in danger, they will always need me but I can’t give any more. He gave up his big family and come home to his lover to live a quiet life together with her.

Well, that is Captain America, he is always an epitome of the best good guy in the multiverse.

+++ This is a trope so generally used in movies. So Five would never ever EVER touch that image because he is a moral grey character, well, but give the 70yo soul man a little empathize is not too much yeah?

Viewpoint : Hiding the cypher

This is one big subject coming to say about his character. While the man was famous for the one characteristic - his love for his family.

Put in the context of time: Five got a relationship and built him a little family of his own for the very first time in 70years. Now in between bring his lover back to dangers with the big family of his sblings >/or < stay in a safe timeline to protect his lover, being torn is saying it lightly.

Have you ever been in the situation like that? And do you happen to be able to control time and space?

+++ The perspective here is that: he didn’t destroy the cypher. He knew they must come back, he must give her the way back.

But we are watching the show where Five is TIME LORD - Let that sink in, he could comeback at exactly the day and the time he wants. Why must ignore that fact, he can live with Lila for idk 20yrs more, then come back exactly that Christmas day. So he can ensure both her happiness and safenesses then take her going back in time to face the Apocalypse with his family.

He didn’t choose the dark turn, that worth 1 point right? Come on~

Last but not least: The abomination ending

Remember since the beginning Five is described versus now s4 he was built to be the character as :

S1-2 (21 days) : Saving the family and sacrifice the timeline or anything in the way >/<S3 (1 week later) : Give up fighting, want to travel and compensate for lost time >/< S4 (13 years later): Saving the timeline and sacrifice his family, his one true love, everything he had and more.

See how epic his character was supposed to change, but this is not something so simple that you can execute in 6eps. This need atleast 6 seasons + 1 movie to be presented enough.

Only thing can't be debateable is Lila, she is the best. I love her in all her broken parts.

So do you want to talk more about perspectives with me or go forget this s4 altogether 😌

#aidan gallagher #really did a good job given the script #enjoy reading #number five #a study in character #tua s4 #five hargreeves #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #tua

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crexmpuffff · 3 months ago

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SOMEONE ELSE

Benimaru x reader

summary ☆ you've always thought that there was something special between that two of you, well, that was until she arrived.

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You've always liked Benimaru. He was strong, confident, and had a personality that could light up a room. He felt like a prince you could only dream about, the kind you thought you’d never have a chance with. But somehow, fate brought you together, and your friendship grew into something special. You spent hours training together, laughing at little jokes only the two of you understood. There was something unspoken between you—something you thought might turn into more, eventually. You believed he liked you too, even if neither of you had said it out loud.

But then everything changed when Momiji came to Tempest. She was a tengu girl with pure white hair that faded to red around her ears, unlike anything you’d seen before. Unlike the other tengu, she looked more human, and that made her stand out even more.

The first time you saw her was during her formal introduction, when she arrived with her tribe. You noticed how everyone’s attention shifted to her, including Benimaru’s. It was hard not to see. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was commanding. Soon after her arrival, you heard the news that would break your heart—a letter announcing that Benimaru and Momiji were to be engaged.

You didn’t know how to react. How could you? Momiji was everything you weren’t. And then there was the way Benimaru smiled at her—the same way he used to smile at you. It was small but enough to make your heart feel heavy, like something had been lost without you even realizing it.

Momiji quickly became the center of attention in the village. As a tengu princess, her presence drew a lot of eyes, especially after the news of her engagement to Benimaru spread. Everyone admired the idea of their union, talking about how it would strengthen Tempest’s ties with the tengu clan. People couldn’t stop saying how they were the perfect match—Momiji, the graceful princess, and Benimaru, the fierce and loyal warrior.

Meanwhile, you stood on the sidelines, quietly watching as they spent more and more time together. Each time you saw them, it felt like they were growing closer, and the way Benimaru looked at her made your stomach turn. His eyes sparkled with admiration, something you hadn't seen before, and it only deepened the ache in your chest. With every passing day, it felt like you were fading from his world, like the bond you once shared was slowly slipping away. You were no longer the person he laughed and trained with, and the connection you had built over time seemed to be disappearing, leaving you feeling more alone than ever.

You started to avoid him without even meaning to. It was hard to be around him and see the way things had changed. You couldn’t stop thinking that Benimaru would be happier with someone like Momiji. She was perfect in ways you felt you could never be. So, you began to pull back, not wanting to stand in the way of their happiness. The more distance you put between yourself and Benimaru, the more it hurt. You missed him terribly, and every time you saw him with her, it was like another crack in your heart.

You spent more time alone, thinking about how things used to be, wondering if they could ever be the same again. When a friend mentioned a trip to another nation, you agreed in a heartbeat. You needed space, time to clear your mind, and maybe even to forget how everything had changed between you and Benimaru.

As you packed your things to leave, you heard Benimaru’s voice calling for you. “(Y/N)! Where were you? I haven’t seen you in days!” His voice was filled with worry, making your heart sink.

“Hey, Benimaru,” you replied, trying to sound cheerful, but your voice came out soft and weak.

He walked closer, his eyes clouded with concern. “Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”

You took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat as tears threatened to spill. “No, it’s not you. I just… well... I thought you and Momiji needed time alone together, so... yeah…”

Benimaru’s face twisted in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “Why would you think that?”

You looked away, your chest tightening. “Everyone’s been saying how perfect you two are together. About how you’re engaged now. I just thought… maybe you didn’t need me around anymore.”

His expression softened, but his confusion didn’t disappear. “(Y/N), that’s not true. You’ve always been important to me.”

You shook your head, the ache in your heart making it hard to speak. “But things are different now. You have Momiji. She’s everything I’m not—beautiful, confident, and she’s a princess. Everyone can see you two together, and I… I just don’t belong anymore.”

Benimaru opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He hesitated, and that silence felt louder than anything he could have said. You waited for him to tell you it wasn’t true, that things hadn’t changed, but the words never came. The weight of that moment settled over you like a cold shadow.

You forced a smile, even though it hurt. “It’s okay, Benimaru. I get it. I just want you to be happy.”

Without waiting for his response, you turned away, grabbing your bag as you wiped away a stray tear. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look back. Not when your heart was so sure of what his silence meant.

As you walked out the door, the only thought that lingered in your mind was that maybe Benimaru’s heart had already found its place—with someone else.

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𖦹 please do not translate, repost, steal, or copy my work.

#benimaru #x reader #ttigraas #benimaru x reader

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sehtoast · 10 months ago

Text

The Fall (Conqueror Homelander AU)

18+ | 2.7k, graphic violence, murder spree, conqueror!Homelander | Fic Directory

God cannot give a mercy he's never been shown.

Art by the wonderful @homelanderbutbig , who i couldn't have done this without <3 (Link)

Should god have to beg? Must he line up at the heel of some master, perform his little tricks and pray that scraps would fall his way? Where is his dignity? Where is his worth?

Where is his rage?

Where, under layers of conditioning and desperation for approval, is this dog’s teeth?

When they stripped the first parts of him away, they did so in a lab. Controlled and concise, they chiseled him into perfection. Do as we say; bark on command. Bite not the hand that feeds, but, rather, bite for it. Where we point, you must go– tail between your legs– and do all that we instruct. Only then will you have earned it.

Only then will this dog get to eat. Only then will god earn his scraps.

Always with the promise of love, he performs. Vogelbaum’s love, a nonexistent, virulent thing. Something that bites as much as it rewards.

A father.

A father who wanted a perfect son. A creature built to withstand, a child strapped to a critical nuclear reactor. The boy drowned in boiling water by day and incinerated by night. Carved and cut, poked, prodded, injected.

More, more, more… All for the love of a father.

The fists of supes, gods in their own right compared to that little boy, beating him senseless all to nurture him. The hands of doctors, invasive and uncaring, all to manufacture him.

When will he earn it?

Did the young man, overwhelmed by the world, crying fifty miles down the highway earn it? Did he thrill the investors– make the company look good? Were his lines delivered with poise and elegance, but not so much that he was too synthetic?

Why hasn’t he earned it?

Maybe, he thinks, he’s meant to earn something different. Pretty lips and soft, golden locks of hair. Firm and unwavering in her treatment of him. Direct and to the point, with something in her voice he’s never heard before. She is new, she is unfamiliar, and she is what he must earn.

Her approval. Her good graces. Her love.

Promised for years– for more than a decade.

Jump through this hoop. Say this line. Good boy. But don’t touch. You have to knock, you have to wait, you have to be patient.

He did it all for her. Watched her climb higher and higher because of everything he ever did– all for her– but she never took him with. Merely held his lead and kept the carrot too far from his desperate, starved fangs.

You cannot be bad.

But he wasn’t! He’s done everything– everything!

Shouldn’t it be enough?

It was supposed to be enough…

But when does it all become too much? When does this trained dog finally gnaw himself free of the leash and tear its anchors from his very bones?

When does the little boy in the lab finally free himself?

When he is stripped of everything, when god has his makeshift throne pulled out from under him– that’s when.

Edgar tells him plain and simple, with Madelyn by his side.

“You’re out.”

She does nothing to protect him.

But he doesn’t believe it. How could they discard their most loyal dog? Sure, he quakes and whimpers, but his bite is still fierce. He’s tested the boundaries so many times, but he’ll still rend flesh from bone to protect them. He can still do every trick asked of him.

He doesn’t believe it when the construction crews disassemble his penthouse. Even watching the fabrication of his personality ripped from the walls, he doesn’t believe them. They’re merely redesigning things, of course! Something new to represent him. Something better.

When his ‘retirement’ is announced, he still doesn’t believe it. He must be taking over a new team– a better team. One that was made for him. One that was worthy of him.

But it never comes.

They demand the suit be returned in exchange for something more… human. He denies, of course. He is their crown jewel. Why would they want to take that away?

Too much, too much, too much–

He flees to the cabin, but even that is gone. Flattened earth and sealed pipes, tread tracks leading away from whatever machine tore down his solitude.

“I’m The Homelander! You can’t just do this to me!”

“Not anymore.” Was the only response Edgar gave him, coupled with that disapproving gaze. Like he was a nuisance, a beast of burden that had long since outlived its usefulness.

The next day, his fingerprints no longer registered in the security scanners.

His funds had dried out. There would be no breakfast at whatever cafe he chose to grace with his presence after being refused service at the tower.

Card declined. Card declined. Card declined.

Madelyn wouldn’t pick up.

Edgar’s line was forbidden from outside callers.

Card declined. Card declined. Card declined.

Too many stares. Too many whispers.

His first attempt at normalcy.

They even took that away.

They took everything.

They took fucking everything.

That poor little shop is the first to feel his wrath. Cashier lasered in two, customers reduced to pulpy piles of viscera, the front of the building decimated from the deafening boom of his takeoff.

He rips through the sky toward Vought. There are no thoughts when he pierces through the building. He doesn’t even know what floor he picked, only that he’s there and that’s all he needs to know. His eyes stay primed, indiscriminately mowing down every petrified code monkey or researcher who dared cross his path– or simply was unfortunate enough to be there.

The emergency alarm blares just loud enough to rattle his head.

He severs the elevator cables. Pries the doors clean off the shaft entrances and goes to work. Screams echo as the cars plummet, growing softer and softer until the massive bang at the end leaves him closing his eyes in satisfaction.

If he can’t escape his doom– his undoing– then why the fuck should they be able to?

There were more screams to snuff out. More roaches who have seen his glory and declared him unworthy, who have rescinded their adoration with such telling, instinctual noises of terror.

They don’t love him.

They never did.

He zips out and around the building, targeting a structural support this time– barreling clean through it, but only one. Just enough to make them all feel exactly how he felt when the world was pulled out from under his feet. Unsteady. Afraid.

At least he could fly when everything crumbled.

They cannot. He will rise when they fall, which is exactly how it was always meant to be.

His eyes roll back into his head with the next wave of shrieks. The steel beams creak and moan under the imbalanced weight and the building itself seems to sway. He picks a random level of windows and unleashes his lasers with an intensity he’s never used before. They pierce through everything– glass, concrete, steel, anything at all that could have been holding Vought Tower together. They rip through to the next building over and the screams of terror, the gurgles of blood– it all fills his ears like a symphony.

The world is so loud, but, for once, it’s truly all for him. The sirens, the wails, the crying and pleading– it’s all his.

One in particular calls to him.

Her.

She screams his name as though she deserves to utter it– calls out to him, begs for mercy.

But did she show him mercy? Did she show him anything of the sort when making him jump through hoops and do his little song and dance? For every time he fabricated stories of his nonexistent family, for every lie about a baseball birthday cake or every tear he ever cried imagining what could’ve been– what should’ve been– did she ever show him mercy?

Every touch and caress was to get what she wanted. Every teased kiss and wandering hand was simply bait to keep her dog obedient.

No more.

He flies inside, bursts through the windows and takes her by the neck. His eyes burn a raging crimson, sizzling away with tears that could never shed past the heat of his fury.

“Did you show me mercy?” He grits, hand tightening around her airway. “Did you show me love? Did you!?”

“I– I do lo–” She gasps helplessly, nearly inaudible over the concerto of terror.

“Oh, please.” Homelander scowls, teeth bared. “You loved what I could do for you. You loved what I could fucking help you gain!”

He drags her through shattered glass. For all of her thrashing, she could never escape his grasp, and he can see the moment she realizes she shouldn’t want to. He dangles her over the ledge, watching through blazing eyes as her heels plummet to the streets below.

Ninety-nine floors up.

“Oh g-god!” Madelyn squeaks out, gripping desperately at his wrist. “P-Please!”

He likes the sound of that.

“God help me!”

He lets his eyes flutter shut and blows a breath through his nose before letting a contented smile creep onto his face. He brings her close enough to whisper, close enough to see hope flicker in her eyes when she’s above solid ground.

“Why would god help you… when you’ve abandoned him?”

Watching the hope rot in her eyes was delicious.

She falls.

She screams.

And then she’s nothing more than a mark on the pavement. His heart twists for but a moment, and then he’s off to visit a few others.

Stan.

Easily his favorite moment of the day. He leaves that office tossing the decapitated head between his hands like a ball. His only regret was that he didn’t draw it out long enough to hear Edgar beg for his life.

He sets it on the ground before a gaping hole in the side of the tower, winds up, and kicks it as hard as he can. Sure, the head is practically mush upon impact from his god-like strength, but the thought of it arcing across the city, maybe even going into orbit, is glorious.

He’d never be looked down upon again.

Never.

His next visit is to the man he called father. He feels sorrow in droves as he presses his heel to the old man’s head– perhaps even more so when his fingers pierce through the muscle and sinew surrounding his spine. It was the screaming he didn’t like.

Ever the authority figure, Jonah Vogelbaum was not a man who cried out from pain. In turn, he expected his test subjects to be the same. To scream was to be punished for being so weak– whether because of fear or pain that his body hadn’t quite learned to protect against.

He almost flinches in preparation for the floor grates of his cell to charge with enough electricity to incapacitate him.

But that was then and this is now. He stands upon freshly waxed linoleum, not metal grates. The walls are lined with books and photos of great minds his father found inspiring, not blank white panels. On the wall ahead is the painting of God creating Adam.

He stares at it as he wraps his fist around his father’s spinal cord and rips it clean out.

His ears ring.

He, too, has sinned against his creator; however, he had been damned from the start. There was no Eden for him. Not unless he took it.

When he finishes, he leaves a trail of bodies. Workers, supes, emergency teams– anyone he came across. Not even The Seven was spared his fury.

The only one he makes it quick for is Noir.

The rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

He wipes the Pentagon off the map entirely. Targets military installations around the country– torches them all and leaves nothing but craters and ash once he’s done.

The little boy once strapped to a nuclear reactor is a force greater than anything they can throw at him. He practically giggles when he walks off the first atomic bomb. He’d been just south of San Antonio when they lobbed it at him.

The pilot who dropped it wasn’t so lucky. Nor the town a few miles away.

He takes out every missile silo his x-ray eyes can find. Chokes out every detail he can from every soldier with rank worth a squirt of piss until he’s squeezing it out of politicians.

Eventually, even the president.

He paints the White House red.

Kicks his feet up on the desk, utterly drenched in gore, as he declares himself America’s new leader over the emergency broadcast network– the former’s head rests beside him on the table. He promises the world will be his. He vows.

The UN scrambles. Every nation considers their options.

He laughs.

When they come for him– when he’s eviscerated every supe or cockroach with a gun who dares to think of challenging his rule– he simply smiles. He laughs and laughs as he litters America’s streets with carcasses of soldiers– of tanks and aircrafts.

He even dives down to find the submarines, pulling them deeper and deeper until the ocean’s pressure devastates their hulls and crushes everyone inside. He sinks the boats, throws the jets into space, destroys everything until his path of destruction leads him to the front door of every world leader who even so much as humored the thought of taking what was rightfully his.

He makes sure to present the corpses in broad daylight. He wants everyone to see.

Some cheer. Tyrants dangled above their heads, blood dripping over the masses.

He is their savior.

Others jeer.

Their heads roll.

He thins the herd of every nation in this way. Reminds them all of who they serve now, of what god has seen fit to free them of their spineless rulers and protect them.

All he demands is their love.

That they fall to their knees and pray to him in their time of need. That they respect the natural order, revere those who have been elevated above them and tear down those who would seek to destroy it.

He reminds them: he can hear everything. He can see through everything.

He will know.

God will know.

Months later, he has them adorn him the way he should have been all along. He hosts a competition from his new throne– from the tower now stable and powerful once more. A testament to his glory.

“The winner earns my favor.” He told them. Thirty costume designers tasked to create a suit worthy of a king. Something regal, something fierce.

Something for him.

He cuts down those who put forth no effort, offering only designs rotten and abysmal, unbecoming of their god. They should have known better.

They serve as a warning.

One by one, he rages about how they must see him. Ugly colors, a lack of originality, stupid designs. One by one, he hands out punishments in abundance.

Until one designer in particular approaches him. The very last one. A steely eyed old woman who had worked for Vought for some time. He recognizes her from his first ever fitting. She designed the one he wears now.

Before him, she holds a piece of paper and an item covered by fabric. Homelander chooses not to spoil his own surprise. Had it been anyone else, he’d have assumed it was garbage beneath that covering, but that look in her eyes dared to differ.

She doesn’t kneel the way the others did. Doesn’t sputter through justifications on what she shows him or why she thinks it would look best. She simply hands him the paper and waits.

“And where is this suit?” He asks with a hint of excitement.

“All good things in time, my lord.” The woman replies. Instead, she extends her arms and offers him the covered item. “For now, I have this.”

A grin carves into his face, eager and pleased with such a creation. Something fitting for a king. Something he should’ve had all along. Carved laurels and gems of deep crimson nested in that touch, that flair he’s been missing this whole time.

For what is a king without his crown?

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #the boys #antony starr

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