#grace: “he built the train for humans” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monster-disaster · 5 months 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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nerdygaymormon · 1 month ago

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Matt Bowman says that the LDS Church is sometimes critiqued for its conformity, but he thinks there are different ways of understanding the faith, different emphases and different visions of what the church might be. And these will be seen at General Conference.

Matt doesn't think that these various visions of what the church might be are mutually exclusive, and he thinks the leaders he names as the most emblematic of each vision of what the church can be would say that actually they’d identify with two or three or all of the categories.

By thinking about the influence of these leaders and these different approaches, perhaps we also can get a glimpse of where the LDS Church might move in the future.

The Church of Effort

President Russell M. Nelson’s sermons consistently have emphasized effort, trying harder, doing better, “thinking celestial.” His most controversial sermon links divine blessings to human behavior and argues that the fulness of those blessings derives from doing what's right. It's an appeal to reach our divine potential through proper belief and right behavior. Of course, it also presumes that humans can, theoretically, always choose to do right.

The Church of Natural Law

The idea behind natural law is that God created a universe which functions through knowable principles that could be learned by scientific investigation as well as divine revelation. That investigation would reveal a natural order of things built into the fabric of the world itself. As humans learn that order, they can conform to it and be happy.

Dallin H. Oaks, first counselor in the church’s governing First Presidency, has a reputation as perhaps the most consistent defender of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” among the current general authorities. That document is steeped in the language of natural law. It does not merely state that God prefers human families to function in a certain way; it argues that, in fact, the universe is set up such that families who function in that way will thrive while those who do not will struggle.

For Oaks, a lawyer by training, these sorts of arguments, with their if-then constructions, their neat definition of terms, and their rational procession, are irresistible. He speaks of principles and rules, the comprehensible structure of a universe that functions according to clear law.

“To understand the teachings and examples of our Savior, we must understand the nature of God’s love and the eternal purpose of his laws and commandments,” Oaks teaches. “One does not replace or diminish the other.”

The Church of Grace

The idea here is that divine grace is not something earned but rather a gift that can bridge the gaps of human frailty and heal human weakness. President Emily Belle Freeman, head of the global Young Women organization, is the Latter-day Saint leader most fluent in this dialect. Her career before becoming a church officer was built on interfaith dialogue with evangelicals, and her writing and teachings are drenched with evangelical idioms — not merely in content but also in style. She calls for a personal relationship with Christ that provides healing, advances spiritual power and comes in great abundance. She speaks the language of dramatic intensity characteristic of Protestant evangelicals but increasingly appealing to Latter-day Saints who turn to their faith for aid in overcoming challenges.

“In that place where you feel bound, plead for his grace. Trust that it is available in abundance,” Freeman teaches. “Jesus Christ sees you. He can help you overcome.”

The Church of Community

This is a vision of the church that emphasizes its communal aspects. To be a member is, in part, to take the sacramental bread and water on Sundays, but most of all to look after each other by contributing labor and resources to the well-being of the community, such as visiting people in the hospital or those who are lonely.

The titles of three of apostle Gerrit W. Gong’s recent conference addresses share a similar focus on the church as a community of mutual care. In April 2021, he spoke on “Room in the Inn,” analogizing the church to the inns of the New Testament. There he asked members to “make [the Lord’s] inn a place of grace and space, where each can gather, with room for all.” In October 2023, he elaborated on the lyrics to the hymn “Love Is Spoken Here,” describing the ideal ward as a place where love is evident through service. That April, in a talk called “Ministering,” he stated “think of your ward or branch as a spiritual ecosystem.” For Gong, the church is a series of bound covenant relationships among humans as much as between humans and God. He emphasizes the social aspects of religious life, seeing salvation coming through bonds with one another.

#matthew bowman #tumblrstake #lds church

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jadeshifting · 4 months ago

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— ONE ( boring ) DAY IN MY LIFE LIVING ON JURASSIC WORLD

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5:30 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. the soft glow of dawn filters through the curtains of the modest cabin nestled just on the edge of Jurassic World’s sprawling jungle. i stir beneath the blankets, the distant, guttural calls of the velociraptor pack pulling me from the dream i was having. the morning air is crisp, tinged with the scent of dew-kissed foliage and earth. i rub the sleep from my eyes and slip out of bed, the worn wooden floor cool beneath my feet

6:00 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. the cabin is teeming with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and i pour myself a mug and step outside onto the small porch. Jurassic World and the island are waking up—birds chirp, and the distant roar of a tyrannosaurus echoes like thunder through the misty canopy. my dad, Owen Grady, is already up, and he’s doing a little bit of work in the small vegetable garden by the side of the cabin. he nods good morning at me, and i wave back

6:30 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. wearing my beat-up park uniform, i head to the raptor paddock. the walk through the jungle is a symphony of rustling leaves and distant dinosaur calls. as i approach, i hear Blue, the lead raptor, chirp in recognition. my bond with the pack is palpable, built on literally years of mutual trust and respect. i greet each of them in turn, their scales glinting in the early morning light, their eyes sharp and intelligent

7:00 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. training begins. dad isn’t far behind me, and i assist him with the morning routine, guiding the raptors through their exercises. it’s a combination of hand signals and verbal cues, my movements confident after so much time spent dealing with them. the raptors respond with precision, their bodies moving with a predatory grace. it’s all trust and understanding, a daily ritual that reinforces the balance between human and dinosaur—kind of like reminding a stubborn employee that you’re their boss, and you have their best interest at heart (and begging them please don’t eat you)

8:00 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. with training complete, i head back to the main park complex for a quick breakfast. the cafeteria buzzes with the hum of employees gearing up for the day. i grab a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, sitting for a while to enjoy the brief respite before i dive into my next set of the day’s responsibilities

9:00 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. i settle into the research lab, poring over data collected from the raptor pack. i meticulously log their behavior patterns, noting any changes or anomalies. my fingers dance across the keyboard, the hum of the computers blending with the distant chatter of scientists and researchers. the lab smells faintly of antiseptic and paper, a stark contrast to the wildness outside

10:30 AM .　　. 　 ˚　. next on the agenda is a down-low talk with a few members of the park’s administrative team—see, i’m not technically supposed to be involved in official park business, but i present my findings, and discuss the implications of the raptors’ behavior on park operations and guest safety. my voice is steady, my insights are sharp. it’s a testament to years of living and breathing the intricacies of Jurassic World, and the reason why i’m allowed to weigh in at all

12:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. lunchtime rolls around, and i take my sandwich outside to the open air. i find a quiet spot outside the park, by a small pond, the water reflecting the lush greenery around me. the scent of tropical flowers mingles with the faint musk of the jungle, and i eat peacefully, the occasional flutter of wings or distant dinosaur call my only companions

1:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. back at the raptor paddock, i conduct individual check-ups on each raptor. i examine their claws, check their teeth, and ensure they’re in peak condition. the raptors tolerate my presence with a mix of curiosity and familiarity, their eyes watching my every move. sometimes they’re calmer with me than they are with my dad—they’ve known me since i was a toddler, after all. if they attacked me, it would be like trying to chow down on the kid you’ve been babysitting since they were born

3:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. the afternoon is dedicated to guest interaction. i lead a small group of visitors on a guided tour, rambling about the raptors and the vital role they play in the park’s ecosystem. my voice is animated as i go on and on about the prehistoric world to my captivated audience, even more invested in it myself than they are. it’s Jurassic World, after all—it never gets boring to me

5:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. as the sun dips lower in the sky, i return to the cabin. the jungle is bathed in a golden glow, the air thick with the scent of impending rain. dad and i prepare dinner together, grilled fish and some assorted roasted vegetables, with herbs from the garden. it’s simple—neither of us are exactly culinary masters

6:30 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. i hang out with dad while we eat dinner together in the cabin. he laments the absurd requests the investors have for the dinosaurs, and i tell him about the notes i took on the raptors. it’s an uneventful, good dinner

8:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. after cleaning up, i unwind with a book on prehistoric ecosystems, the flickering lantern on the front porch casting shadows on the walls through the window. the sounds of the jungle lull me half to sleep, the distant calls of dinosaurs a familiar lullaby as i thumb through my book

9:30 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. i step outside one last time before bed, the night air cool against my skin. the stars twinkle above, the jungle never quiet and instead roaringly alive with nocturnal sounds. i watch the property and listen to all the island’s sounds before i retreat back to my bedroom for the night

10:00 PM .　　. 　 ˚　. snuggled up under a fuzzy blanket AND a quilt, i drift off to sleep. it was a normal day, fulfilling—boring is preferable to scary, i think. the line between past and present blurs here, and it can be easy to lose track of time when every day is a new chapter in Jurassic World’s story

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#jade’s jurassic world dr :)#shifting motivation #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifters #shifting script #shifting #shifting community #shifting realities #shiftinconsciousness #shifting consciousness #shifting diary #jurassic world desired reality #jurassic world shifting #shifting to jurassic world #jurassic world dr #jurassic world shifter

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koiiiji · 6 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

139 notes · View notes

okasuka · 4 months ago

Text

Part two of my last post -

A few days after your first visit to Wayne Manor, Damian invited you over again. It was a Saturday afternoon, and you were looking forward to spending time with him in a more relaxed setting. As you arrived, Alfred greeted you with his usual warmth, and you felt yourself growing more comfortable in the lavish home, which now seemed more like a second home rather than an intimidating mansion.

This time, you weren’t just hanging out in the living room. Damian had insisted you join him in the training room, a large space filled with various pieces of gym equipment and a few sparring mats. You were sitting on one of the benches, watching as Damian practiced his martial arts routines with a practiced grace, his movements sharp and fluid.

As you were chatting, trying to keep up with the complex martial terminology he kept mentioning, the door suddenly opened, and in walked a man with a friendly smile, his features undeniably handsome. He had a youthful energy to him, and his playful demeanor made him seem more approachable than most people you’d met.

“Well, well, what’s this? The elusive Y/N?” The man said, his voice laced with humor. You turned to see a tall, athletic figure leaning against the doorway, clearly amused.

Damian froze, his entire body tensing as soon as he saw who it was. “Dick,” he muttered, sounding like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You blinked in confusion, trying to piece it all together. “Uh, hey there,” you said, offering a small wave. “I’m Y/N.”

Dick Grayson—Damian’s older brother, as you quickly learned—grinned and walked in, his eyes darting to Damian. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “Damian talks about you more than he lets on.”

Damian scowled, rolling his eyes. “That’s not true,” he said quickly, though the slight flush on his face betrayed him.

Dick smirked, glancing down at the bracelet on Damian’s wrist. “That’s not what it looks like to me,” he said with a raised eyebrow, reaching out to gently tug on the bracelet. “Matching friendship bracelets, huh? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

You felt your heart skip a beat as you saw Damian’s face turn bright red, clearly uncomfortable with his brother’s teasing. You could tell that the teasing wasn’t meant to be mean-spirited, but Damian’s reaction was enough to make you feel a little awkward.

Before you could say anything to ease the situation, another voice entered the room. “Is it true? Does our little bro have a soft spot for someone?” Jason Todd, the third Wayne brother, walked in, wearing his usual casual attire, a smirk playing on his lips. “I can’t believe it. This is actually adorable.”

Damian’s glare shot from Dick to Jason, and you could see the flush on his face deepening. “This isn’t funny,” he muttered, his voice low.

Jason crossed his arms, looking from Damian to the bracelet. “Oh, come on, man. It’s cute. Who knew you could be this… human?”

Dick chuckled and glanced over at you. “Does it feel like you’re dating a brick wall yet? He’s not exactly easy to read, but hey, he’s got a heart under that tough exterior, I promise.”

Damian’s patience finally snapped, and he yanked the bracelet off his wrist. “I don’t need this,” he muttered under his breath. His actions were swift, and before anyone could stop him, he threw the bracelet into the trash bin with a frustrated sigh.

You stood frozen, the lump in your throat growing as you watched Damian angrily rip the bracelet from his wrist and throw it into the trash. The simple action stung more than you anticipated, the weight of the gesture sinking into your chest. You had poured effort and care into making that bracelet, and now he was discarding it without a second thought. It felt like a rejection, like everything you’d built up between the two of you had been undone in an instant.

Damian turned to face you, clearly irritated but avoiding your gaze. “It’s stupid,” he muttered, as if trying to justify his actions to himself more than to you.

You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. “What?” You could barely process what he was saying. “You think it’s stupid?”

Damian rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by your reaction. “I don’t need some stupid bracelet to prove anything.” His voice was sharp, and his posture was rigid as if trying to defend himself from something. “I didn’t ask for it, Y/N. You didn’t need to do that.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of emotions surge through you. “That’s not the point. It wasn’t about proving anything. I made it for you because I care about you,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I thought it would mean something.”

Damian’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite read, his frustration building. “You’re being stupid.” He shot back, his words cutting deep. “It’s just a bracelet. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You care too much, and I don’t need that.”

The sting of his words hit harder than you expected. You tried to steady yourself, but your voice wavered. “I thought I was doing something nice for you. You don’t get it, do you? You’re so afraid of anything that means something, so you push it all away. You push me away.”

Damian stood there, his chest rising and falling with frustration, but his eyes avoided yours, a tightness in his jaw betraying his inner turmoil. “You’re making this a bigger issue than it needs to be,” he said, his voice low and defensive. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

You took a step back, trying to calm yourself but finding it harder to keep your composure. “I’m not feeling sorry for you, Damian. I’m just trying to be your friend.” The words felt like a punch to your gut. You were trying to reach him, but it seemed like he wasn’t even listening.

Damian’s fists clenched, his voice coming out sharp and cold. “Well, maybe you should stop being so stupid about it then.” He didn’t look at you as he turned away, his frustration building into something deeper. “I don’t need a bracelet to tell me that you care, okay?”

The anger in his voice took you by surprise. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a heavy bitterness seeping into your words. “If it’s so stupid, then never mind.”

You turned away from him, your heart heavy in your chest. The argument, the hurt, the confusion—it was all too much. You didn’t want to keep fighting, but the feeling of rejection was too strong to ignore.

“Y/N, wait—” Damian started, his voice softer, but the words hung awkwardly in the air. You didn’t stop to hear him out. You just wanted to leave, to get away from the pain.

“Don’t bother,” you said, without turning back. You didn’t want to hear anything else from him right now.

You headed toward the door, leaving the room behind, feeling a sinking pit in your stomach. As you walked out, the last thing you heard was Damian muttering something under his breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop and listen.

The silence in the hallway was deafening as you made your way out of the manor. It felt like your chest was caving in, and all you wanted was to be far away from the tension that had just exploded. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and you didn’t look back.

You arrived home, the weight of everything still pressing heavily on your chest. The house was quiet, eerily so, as you stepped inside. Your dad wasn’t home yet—he worked late often, leaving you alone to deal with your thoughts. Usually, you welcomed the solitude, but tonight, the silence felt suffocating.

You walked up the stairs and into your room, closing the door behind you as you collapsed onto your bed. The emotions you had tried to keep in check all day came rushing out in an overwhelming flood. The argument with Damian, his harsh words, the way he’d discarded something so small but meaningful—it all weighed so heavily on you.

You curled up on your bed, the tears coming faster than you could control. The hurt burned in your chest, but there was also a deep confusion. You’d never seen Damian like that before—so closed off, so defensive. It made you question whether he really cared at all or if you had misunderstood everything between the two of you.

Just as you were trying to compose yourself, you heard your phone vibrate on your bedside table. You wiped your eyes quickly, trying to get rid of the evidence of your tears before looking at the screen. The caller ID read Damian Wayne.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the phone. You weren’t sure if you were ready to talk to him. After everything that happened, you weren’t sure what to expect from him, but you answered anyway.

“H-Hello?” Your voice trembled, betraying your attempt to sound okay.

There was a long pause on the other end, and you could hear the soft sound of Damian breathing, as if he were struggling to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his tone filled with genuine remorse. “Y/N, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was being an idiot.”

You wiped your eyes again, trying to stop the tears, but they kept coming. “You really hurt me, Damian,” you said, your voice breaking as you finally let the emotions spill. “I don’t understand why you threw it away. I thought it meant something to you.”

Damian was quiet for a moment, and then you heard him let out a soft, frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. I was scared, okay? I don’t know how to… how to handle feelings like that. And I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

You sniffled, trying to get your breathing under control. “Damian… I don’t know what to think. I thought we were getting closer, but then you just—” You choked on your words, the hurt still so fresh.

“I know. I screwed up,” he replied quickly, his voice full of regret. “I don’t want to lose you over something stupid like this. Please, can I come over? I’ll explain everything. I just—I don’t want you to think I don’t care.”

You hesitated for a moment, the conflict swirling inside you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that he truly did care and that his actions hadn’t just been a way to push you away. You wiped your tears away, exhaling shakily.

“I… I’d like that,” you said quietly, feeling the sting in your words but also a glimmer of hope. “But I’m not sure what to say, Damian.”

“I understand,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “I just… I need to fix this. I need to talk to you.”

You felt your heart ache as you heard the sincerity in his voice. Despite everything, you knew he was trying. And as much as you were hurt, you couldn’t deny that you still cared about him.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Come over, then.”

“Thanks,” he replied, the relief in his voice almost palpable. “I’ll be there soon. Just… wait for me.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I will.”

The call ended, and you sat there for a moment, still reeling from the conversation. You wiped your face again, trying to pull yourself together. Damian was on his way, and maybe, just maybe, he could make things right.

As you waited, you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You weren’t sure what to expect from this conversation, but you knew you needed closure. You couldn’t keep carrying this hurt around, and if Damian was truly sorry, you wanted to hear it. You just hoped it would be enough to heal the rift between the two of you.

The doorbell rang a short while later, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stood up, wiped your eyes one last time, and made your way downstairs. The sight of Damian standing at your front door, looking just as nervous and guilty as you felt, made your heart skip a beat.

He looked at you with a mixture of hope and apprehension as you opened the door. “Y/N…” His voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “We can talk.”

As he stepped inside, you couldn’t help but notice how his usual guarded demeanor seemed to falter in your presence. It was the first time he looked truly vulnerable, and it made your heart ache with both understanding and a quiet desire to fix things between you.

You led him to your room, where the silence between you hung heavy in the air. Damian sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with an earnest expression.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really screwed up. I was scared. Scared of getting too close, scared of what it meant. But I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You sat down next to him, wiping your eyes again, though this time the tears felt different—less full of anger, more full of understanding. “Damian… you’re not the only one scared. I am too. I just don’t want to keep feeling like I’m just some afterthought.”

He reached for your hand, his touch tentative, but warm. “You’re not an afterthought, Y/N. I promise you. I just didn’t know how to let someone in.”

You squeezed his hand, offering a shaky smile. “I just want to be here for you, Damian.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand back, a quiet understanding passing between you both. “I know. I’m sorry. And I’ll do better. I promise.”

For the first time in a while, the tension in your chest started to ease. Damian was here, truly here, trying to make things right. And maybe that was enough—for now.

The conversation had drifted into a comfortable silence after a while. Damian was sitting beside you, his fingers still gently intertwined with yours. His usual guarded demeanor seemed to have melted away, replaced by something more vulnerable, more human. The air between you was filled with a calmness that hadn’t been there earlier, a quiet understanding that you both needed time to process everything, but that you were willing to try again.

“I never really let anyone in,” Damian admitted quietly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost tentative. “I didn’t know how. But you… you make me want to try.” He glanced over at you, his gaze soft but sincere.

You squeezed his hand, offering him a comforting smile. “I know. And it’s okay, Damian. I get it. We’ll figure it out together.”

He smiled slightly, but there was still a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy for him to fully open up, and maybe it never would be. But you were willing to be patient, willing to wait for him to let his guard down completely, knowing that when he did, it would be worth it.

After a moment, the conversation dwindled down, both of you content to simply exist in each other’s presence. You felt a heaviness in your eyelids, the events of the day finally catching up with you. It had been an emotional rollercoaster, and now that the tension had eased, sleep seemed like a welcome escape.

Damian, too, seemed to grow quieter, his head resting against the headboard. You turned to look at him, noting how his shoulders had relaxed, and his usual sharp demeanor softened. He looked… peaceful, in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Damian?” you whispered, not wanting to break the quiet but needing to make sure he was still with you.

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, looking at you with that familiar intensity, but there was something gentler there, something almost tender.

“Are you… staying?” you asked, your voice still soft but hopeful.

He raised an eyebrow, then glanced toward your bed. “I don’t want to leave. Not right now.” His voice was steady, though there was a slight hesitation to it, as though he was unsure of how he should handle this moment.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “You can stay. I—” Your words faltered, but you didn’t want to overthink it. “I don’t mind.”

Damian looked at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, without another word, he shifted closer, lying down beside you. His movements were slow, almost as if he wasn’t sure how to navigate this kind of closeness. But then, as if something inside him clicked, he settled in beside you, his body a warm presence next to yours.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, simply lying there in the quiet of your room. The only sound was the faint hum of the night outside and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

It didn’t take long before the exhaustion from the day hit, and your eyelids grew heavier. Damian, too, seemed to relax further, his tense posture giving way to a more comfortable one.

You didn’t know if you had ever felt this close to him before. The weight of the day’s emotions had been heavy, but now, in the quiet darkness, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

As sleep began to overtake you, you found yourself pressing closer to Damian, the warmth of his body grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You could feel his steady breathing next to you, and somehow, despite all the confusion, the vulnerability, and the hurt of earlier, this felt right.

Damian shifted slightly, his arm coming around you instinctively. His touch was gentle, almost tentative, but it was enough to make you feel safe.

“I’m here,” he murmured quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t hurt you.”

You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed, already beginning to drift off. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice drowsy with sleep. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

And with that, the last remnants of the day faded away as the two of you drifted into a peaceful slumber, the closeness between you a silent promise of something more, something better, to come.

The morning light filtered in through your curtains, gently waking you from a deep sleep. You shifted slightly, stretching and letting out a soft yawn. For a moment, you forgot where you were, but the warmth beside you quickly reminded you.

Damian was still lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist in a way that felt surprisingly natural. His face was relaxed in sleep, the usual tension in his features softened. You smiled, taking in the quiet moment. Everything felt peaceful, the chaos of the day before forgotten in the comfort of this quiet morning.

But just as you were about to drift back into sleep, the sound of the front door opening broke the stillness. A voice—your dad’s voice—called out from downstairs.

“Y/N? You up yet?”

You froze, your heart racing as panic set in. You quickly looked at Damian, but he was still fast asleep, unaware of what was coming. You gently nudged him, trying to wake him without causing too much of a scene.

“Damian,” you whispered urgently. “My dad’s home.”

Damian blinked awake, his eyes adjusting to the light, clearly startled at first. His gaze flickered to you and then to the door, and he seemed to quickly realize the situation. You could see the flush creeping up his neck as he sat up, scrambling for an excuse, but before either of you could say anything, your dad’s voice rang out again, this time louder.

“Y/N? You alright in there?”

You glanced at Damian, quickly muttering, “Just stay calm. I’ll explain.”

Damian’s face reddened even more, but he nodded, and you quickly got out of bed, pulling the blanket over him to hide him from your dad. You walked to the door, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Uh, yeah, Dad. I’m fine!” You smiled, hoping you didn’t sound too guilty. “Just… um, getting ready.”

Your dad’s footsteps grew closer, and you hurried to the bathroom, hoping to avoid any more awkwardness. You heard him pause by your door, and then there was a quiet knock.

“Okay,” he said, his voice filled with that teasing tone he always used when he was being playful. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

You felt yourself relax as he walked away, heading back to the kitchen. When you turned around, you saw Damian sitting up in your bed, looking thoroughly embarrassed, a hand running through his hair.

“Your dad…” he trailed off, clearly flustered.

You chuckled, feeling the tension break. “It’s fine. He won’t think anything of it,” you assured him, though you weren’t entirely sure yourself. Still, Damian looked like he needed a minute to compose himself.

“Well, that was… awkward,” he muttered, standing up and stretching.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” you said, grinning at him. “Besides, he likes you, remember?”

Damian shot you a side glance, his lips quirking upward just slightly. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

After a few minutes, you both went downstairs, finding your dad already sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee. He looked up and gave you a knowing smile.

“Morning, Damian,” he said, casually sipping his cup.

“Good morning, sir,” Damian replied, his voice surprisingly polite as he pulled out a chair to sit down. He was trying his best to act natural, but you could still see the slight redness in his cheeks.

You sat across from him, trying to keep things light. “What’re we doing today?” you asked, eager to distract from any lingering awkwardness.

Damian shrugged, looking out the window. “I don’t know, we could hang out, I guess,” he said nonchalantly. “Just… don’t tell anyone, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He seemed to catch himself, realizing how it sounded. “I mean…” he trailed off, looking over at you. “We’re just… friends. Right?”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Right,” you agreed, trying to make light of his sudden discomfort. “We’re just friends.”

And for the rest of the morning, it felt like old times. You and Damian hanging out, laughing, enjoying each other’s company without any of the tension that had once defined your relationship. You ate breakfast together, joked around, and watched TV until the sound of your phone broke the peaceful mood.

It was a call from Bruce. Damian checked his phone, sighing in frustration.

“Great,” he muttered, his hand rubbing his forehead. “I have to go. It’s Bruce.”

You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He had a frown on his face as he looked at you, clearly conflicted.

“Don’t worry,” you said, standing up and walking over to him. “Go, Damian. You should answer. It’s your dad.”

Damian hesitated but finally nodded, standing up to grab his jacket. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be back later, I guess.”

As he turned toward the door, you couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips. Without thinking, you quickly moved toward him. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was the right thing to do, but then you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek.

He froze, his eyes wide in surprise, and you immediately felt a blush creep up your neck.

“Goodbye, Damian,” you said softly, your voice a little shaky but filled with warmth.

Damian stood there for a second, stunned, before his hand reached up to touch the spot where you had kissed him. He gave you a soft, almost imperceptible smile.

“See you soon, Y/N,” he said quietly, before turning and walking out the door.

You watched him leave, your heart racing in your chest. The moment had felt so natural, and yet you couldn’t help but feel a fluttering in your stomach. You knew there were still things to figure out between you both, but for now, it felt like everything was moving in the right direction.

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You hadn’t expected things to go this way, but deep down, you were glad they had. And you couldn’t wait to see what the next chapter held.

The afternoon drifted by quietly as you and Damian spent time together, the two of you more relaxed than ever. The awkwardness from the past few days had dissipated, and there was something comforting about the way you just were together now. You sat side by side, the hum of the quiet room filling the spaces between the moments.

Damian had an intensity about him, something you had come to recognize over time, but it was different today. He was quieter, his gaze sometimes lingering on you in ways that made your heart flutter. You could feel the change between you both, and while you weren’t sure exactly what it meant, it felt like something meaningful was unfolding.

You were talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other’s company when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught him looking at you—his dark eyes focused on you with an almost unshakable intensity.

“Damian…” you began, trying to shake off the way it made you feel, but the words didn’t quite come out the way you intended. “Don’t look at me with those eyes.”

He blinked in surprise, and you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

You felt your cheeks heat up under the weight of his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “Because…” You hesitated, trying to put into words what you were feeling. “Because you dazzle me.”

Damian’s expression softened, and his gaze deepened. He turned toward you, his posture shifting so that he was facing you fully now. His voice was quieter this time, almost reverent, as if he too was caught up in something unspoken between you. “You make me whole,” he replied simply.

The words hung between you two, warm and sincere. There was something about the way he said it, something real. It wasn’t just a compliment or a simple exchange; it felt like a truth he had been holding back. You both sat there for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, but the sincerity in his eyes kept you from looking away. “I didn’t expect you to say that,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Damian’s lips quirked up, and he leaned closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “Not to you.”

You didn’t know how to react, but your heart was racing. For a moment, it felt like the world outside your shared space had disappeared, leaving just the two of you in this quiet bubble where everything was simple and true.

The air between you thickened, and you could feel the unspoken words swaying between you both, but neither of you were rushing. You didn’t need to say anything else for now. There was a mutual understanding, an acknowledgment that the space you shared, however small, was enough.

Damian shifted back slightly, his gaze softening as he looked away for a moment, breaking the intensity. But even in the silence that followed, the connection between you both felt stronger than ever.

“Y/N,” Damian said after a beat, his voice still quiet but with a hint of that usual confidence, “Thank you. For… putting up with me.”

You gave him a soft smile, trying to steady your racing heart. “You’re not as bad as you think,” you replied, playfully nudging him with your elbow.

Damian chuckled, a real sound that surprised you. It was rare for him to let his guard down like that, but it was a moment of peace between you both. And in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, you were ready to figure it out together.

It didn’t matter that things had been messy or complicated in the past. All that mattered now was that you were here, in this moment, with him. And no matter what, you were going to be okay.

#dc #dc comics #dcu #dc fanart #dc robin #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #fluff #damian wayne x y/n

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separatist-apologist · 3 months ago

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How Did It End

Summary: When Morrigan was eighteen years old, she found a rare, enduring love with a human princess during the human rebellion. That love died gasping in her arms, and Mor swore she would never love another again.

Five hundred years later, standing in a training ring, Mor recognizes a pair a hazel eyes.

For @sjmromanceweek

Note: I stole this idea from @ablogofsapphicpanic who thought it would be a good idea for feysand. I'm not sorry.

Read on AO3

War was hell.

Morrigan wasn’t built for it, though she excelled all the same. She’d been born to privilege, to be the pampered, pretty daughter of a lord. The dutiful daughter that secured her family’s position without complaint. And maybe in another life, Mor was that daughter—sometimes she wished she could have been. She’d tried to be, in every way she could.

She dressed the way they wanted her to, held her cutlery exactly right and spun around a dance floor with such grace strangers had once wept at the sight. Mor walked with her spine straight, her chin held high, her hair a perfectly curled cascade of gold. Men stopped to look.

She rarely noticed them.

Seventeen years, and one night with Cassian had told Mor all she’d ever needed to know about herself. It had been a moment of defiance—her first ever, truthfully—to avoid a brutal, cruel marriage to a brutal, cruel male.

Cassian was handsome. He was kind. He’d been patient and attentive and she’d felt good when he touched her. But that was all she felt, and when her eyes had fluttered shut as he’d lowered his mouth, she’d imagined another, softer face of a female she’d once known when she’d lived beneath the mountain.

Just friends. She would have sworn it even then. But deep, in her heart of hearts, Mor had known there had always been a little more on her end. She loved Cassian, but it wasn’t romantic—it was friendly. He’d tried coming around for a while after that, but took the hint when she refused to meet with him alone.

He wanted to discuss what happened. What it meant. Rhys must have explained the whole thing at some point. Her cousin knew, jaw clenched when she announced it to her uncle and her father, prepared for whatever consequences came next.

She didn’t want to think about that. Not as she stood on the edge of the faerie realm, staring down the dull, human world she’d been cosigned to. The humans had queens, now, and she was sent as one of the ambassadors to help negotiate the end of the war. Victory wasn’t a certainty—Hybern’s forces had swept into Autumn the day before, scattering the royal family. If Mor was lucky, they’d at least take out Beron.

And Eris. Perhaps both, in one fell swoop, leaving the grieving widow and her brood of younglings to rebuild. If only. Likely, some other, more terrible lord would ascend to power given the transfer of magic in Prythian. Why did it always pick a male?

Rhys had once snapped at her that it didn’t always.

“The Mother picks who is worthiest. It’s not about gender, Mor.”

Then why was it always a male?

She pushed the thought from her mind. The humans had queens. Queens. Six of them, if Rhys was to be believed—and she did. How barbaric and backward could they possibly be? Even with their budding, fragile society, the humans had managed to find six females of noble birth and elevated them into queens of their specific, new societies.

The war still raged, and yet here, in these places, there was hope. Mor had never seen any of the human societies that existed beyond Prythian, had been told they were wastelands where humans lived no better than cattle, and sometimes worse. She’d heard a story at a party of humans who’d eliminate their waste where they stood and continue on as if it were the most normal thing in the world. They consumed their children, according to other stories.

They needed the strong, steady hand of a more superior, smarter master—or, that was how her father told it. He didn’t want to be that master, but it was more practical than moral no matter how Rhys tried to dress it up.

Humans bred far easier, and more often than their fae counterparts. It was too hard to control so many of them. Rhys’ father had spent centuries in the attempt before he finally stopped bothering and freed his slaves. Rhys counted that as a win, and maybe it was. Maybe it was unfair to hold his bad reasons against the High Lord. At least he’d freed them—Spring hadn’t.

But…Day Court had freed their slaves a full decade before, and allowed them sanctuary within their borders, making an enemy of many other courts. It had been a noble decision—Phobus argued passionately that humans were a shared ancestor and had inherent worth and dignity, despite their lack of immortality.

“There is nothing just or moral in long lives,” she’d heard him once say. She’d been no older than fifteen, but it had stuck with her and Rhys. He’d wanted to join the fighting, arguing with his father until he was sent to the front lines to die.

And Mor was sent as an emissary, presumably to get her away from Cassian and Azriel. Her father still held some sway with his brother, and Keir would be damned if his daughter interbred with Illyrians. Hate her as he might—the insult with Cassian had been nearly too much, but a marriage would send Keir over the edge.

She hadn’t seen Cassian in months. Azriel never left her uncle’s side, but Cassian was just gone, and sometimes, in the deepest, darkest held places in her soul, she was convinced she’d condemned the young warrior to death.

Mor pushed the thought from her mind as another figure winnowed beside her, smelling faintly of vanilla and lime. It had been a compromise between the allied forces—no one trusted the Night Court, and Mor by association, so the Day Court had offered to send one of their famed scholars along.

Mor had never met Arina in person, though they’d exchanged a few letters in preparation for the journey. While Mor was there to broker a treaty, Arina was there to chronicle the lives, culture, and society of the humans in an attempt to both better understand them and reshape the narrative around their existence.

Propaganda, Rhys had cynically called it.

Maybe a little propaganda was a good thing, if used by the right person. Arina certainly seemed unassuming, though if Phobus had sent her, it would be a mistake to totally underestimate her. It was tempting—the scholar was absurdly beautiful in a way anyone might appreciate, though Mor was certain males never would. Buttery blonde hair cascaded down her back, pulled into a rather polite knot at the nape of her graceful neck. Smooth, brown skin made the vivid green of her eyes seem starker by comparison, and though she wore a rather loose dress, it seemed to cling to the curves of her body the way water droplets did to blades of grass.

And serious, given the slant of her pink mouth.

“It’s safe,” Mor rushed to assure her, wanting to, if nothing else, make a friend. She was surrounded by males all the time—one female friend wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m not worried about that,” she replied without any malice to her words. Still, like Mor, she hesitated to take that step across the border. No matter how open-minded they claimed to be, all those old stories still lingered. No matter how many blades Mor wore, she, too, couldn’t bring herself to step across first.

The Day Court scholar offered up her palm, bag slung over her shoulder. “Together?” she suggested, that same frown etched over her features.

Mor clapped her hand with Arina’s, grateful to not be alone even if they were strangers. “Together,” she agreed.

Mor wondered if Arina, too, counted down from five in her head or if she simply waited for Mor. There was no tugging, no pulling her over that invisible boundary. One moment, their feet were planted in the lush, lovely grass of the faerie realm and the next the whole world seemed to blink out of color, turning a drab, miserable shade of gray.

Looking over her shoulder, Mor couldn’t see a difference anywhere but in her mind's eye. There was merely a sea of swaying grass beneath a cloud covered sky. They’d been instructed not to winnow to the human palace, which meant the two females would need to walk to it.

It seemed the humans didn't trust them, either. Mor tried not to bristle over that—she’d been writing these nobles for months, now, while the High Lord of Night hovered over her shoulder demanding she phrase it just so.

They didn’t trust the males of Mor’s species. They’d wanted females, a shame given the Helion of the Day Court would have been far more astute company than the little slip of a woman keeping pace beside her. She came with a heavy recommendation from Helion, who was almost certainly doing something with her, given the way those golden eyes winked when he’d taken in Mor.

Ugh.

Mor had heard stories of the humans, of course, and their brutish, backward ways. She held on to her belief they couldn’t be that brutish if they’d elevated their females, something the fae would never do willingly. Not collectively, anyway. Rhys might consider her his equal, but no one else around him did. Even Cassian and Azriel shifted from one leg to the other when Rhys asked Mor her opinion first, their annoyance swallowed and yet still felt.

That didn’t mean these women had any real power, of course. Perhaps they were merely figure heads, controlled by men. That seemed unlikely to Morrigan, who had been around enough males and men to know they never missed an opportunity to claim power and credit, even if none of the accomplishments technically belonged to them.

She and Arina remained silent for the walk, barely glancing at the other as they made their way forward. Grassland gave way to farmland, and then sporadic, small hamlets that became villages, that became towns, that eventually became a bustling city filled with the rounded ears that marked them human.

Many of them stopped in their tracks as she and Arina walked up the roads, their own eyes wide with a mixture of fear and distrust. There was no awe in their gaze—children hid behind their mothers skirts while men gripped whatever they held in their hands, prepared to use it like a weapon.

Mor half wished Cassian had been allowed to escort them. She’d been instructed not to harm a human, even in self-defense. She supposed it benefited her father and uncle to have her here—either she succeeded, and they made valuable allies and absolved themselves of the atrocities they had willingly participated in, or she was torn to pieces and they were freed of her once and for all.

Beside her, Arina didn’t seem concerned at all. She offered tentative, shy smiles to those she passed, tucking her hair behind her ear so people could better see the long arch and the pointed tip. Children whispered among themselves, braver than their parents, especially as they neared the towering stone walls that guarded the city.

Sentries stood post along the wall, their bow strings pulled tight, arrows notched. Mor swallowed, following Arina’s lead as she tried to banish any outward signs of fear. Could humans smell it? She didn’t think so, but also didn’t know. Didn’t want to test it and find herself buried in some shallow, unmarked grave. Mor’s eyes kept darting upward, though, her palms sweaty from nerves.

She had no weapon save for her own training and inherent strength. It might be enough to push a few back, but if it came down to a numbers fight, Mor knew she couldn’t win. She’d need to rely on her own social graces and hope humans had similar customs.

They were stopped at the gate, a crowd milling behind them. “Weapons?” a rough voiced guard asked, his brown eyes weathered at the corners. He, too, was looking at them other with that mix of curiosity and distrust, his sword gleaming in the gloomy light.

“No weapons,” Arina said, offering him a toothless smile. Mor thought that was wise—no use letting them see those pointed canines and remind them of what the fae were capable of.

“I need to check,” he told her, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Arina glanced over at Mor, swallowing as she nodded her head.

“Of course,” she agreed, though there was no mistaking how uneasy she was. Arina stood utterly still, which seemed to make the humans nervous, though Mor couldn’t understand why. They were careful with where they put their hands, respectful as they patted her down, feeling for daggers that might be concealed by her clothing.

Mor loathed when it was her turn. They didn’t make eye contact, and it was brief enough though not so brief she didn’t feel uncomfortable and a little nauseated. She didn’t want a strange man touching her.

Didn’t want any man touching her, if she was being honest with herself. She kept it to herself, grateful when the human guard nodded his head, indicating they could step into the walled off city. Unlike the outside, which seemed to be made up mainly of the farmers that helped sustain the overall population, inside was a bustling city that could have rivaled Velaris for scale, and Rhodes in terms of organization.

Mor had expected a hovel or less. Filth and mud while humans lived in squalor and erected tents, their leaders planning while the rest were little better than servants. That's how it was being done back in Prythian during times of war or stress. There were clear hierarchies among them, just like back home but something felt different.

More relaxed, she thought as she took in the lined rows of houses, painted in bright colors with matching shutters and steepled rooftops. The roads were laid with even cobblestones and though there were horses pulling carts through the throngs of city-goers, Mor didn’t smell the tell-tale scent of animal feces that she did so often in Prythian. How did they clean it, if not with magic, she wondered with no small amount of awe.

There were so many things she’d never seen before—vendors selling bolts of cloth in colors no fae wore, fabric she couldn’t name. Vegetables and fruits brightly colored, some spined or swollen, that she’d never tasted. Beads that glittered even in the gloom and flowers and meats and cheeses and a million other things she wanted to lose herself in.

Mor’s steps started to slow, and might have stopped entirely had Arina not pressed two fingers into her elbow to keep her moving. How did the Day Court scholar resist temptation? The people in the city were just as curious, their chatter slowing and quietening as she and Arina passed with their guards—two at the front, and more at the back. Mor could sense their presence, though she didn’t dare turn around and look.

Looming before them was more of a large estate than a castle or palace. It sprawled, much in a similar manner to the Forest House, those far newer and likely with less underground caverns—not that Mor had ever seen of them. She’d heard the Forest House stretched deep into the ground, though, and somehow didn’t think this palace did. Not to the same extent, anyway.

It seemed to be made of some kind of gleaming marble, with large, supporting columns and stairs that led from the city up to the main drive.

There were no gates to keep people out, and only a handful of mostly ceremonial guards, armed with rapiers rather than heavy swords and bows. Their uniforms were crisp hues of blue and gold, with a fleur de lis emblazoned on the front. How did they manage to keep people out? Or did they just allow anyone to come strolling in, for any reason at all?

Mor made her way up the stairs, stomach tumbling nervously. Before that moment, coming to the human lands and meeting any of their royalty had been more conceptual in nature. It was real, now. They were here. Whatever happened, whatever came next, Mor was completely at the mercy of a species her kind had spent centuries enslaving. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all—why should they listen to her?

If it were the other way around, she knew her uncle wouldn’t. Still, this was diplomacy and Mor wanted to treat it with a delicate, gentle hand. It was better than being sent back to her fathers home and the punishment he’d devise just the moment no one was watching him again. If she could prove herself useful to her uncle, there would be a life for her outside of the Court of Nightmares, and more than anything, Mor wanted that.

She felt like a child beside the far calmer Arina, who didn’t betray anything on that pretty face of hers. Mor kept glancing over as they stepped inside, waiting for her to react the way Mor felt. Her eyes didn’t even widen, fixed straight ahead as though this were normal.

Focus on yourself, some inner voice ordered.

The inside of the palace was busy, as one might expect, with servants that were allowed to be seen, alongside people bustling down this corridor or that. Mor could only guess their jobs given they all seemed to be dressed in similar fashion. There were more layers to the clothing here, more panels of fabric and boning that was visible, both for men and women.

Pants, too, which was frowned upon for females back home. Her father would have beaten her within an inch of her life. Her own dress conformed to her body like liquid, shifting and moving so you never lost sight of what Mor looked like. There were no layers to it, just the fabric it had been constructed with, with no need for the heavy structure or boning the humans employed thanks to whatever magic was woven into the threads.

She felt exposed, though, with her sheer sleeves and dipping neckline. As they walked, she noted it wasn’t the men who looked at her with surprise and, perhaps, condemnation, but the human women. Their eyes would fall on her face before traveling toward her neck and then to her feet before snapping back to her face. Sometimes, Mor thought she saw pity there, though why they might pity her, she couldn’t begin to guess.

Mor rather liked the openness of the palace. There were windows everywhere, thrown open to allow a gentle breeze to flow through. Without magic to regulate the temperature, the materials were chosen carefully to keep the chill or stifling heat from overwhelming the people who lived within the walls.

She could marvel over engineering later. She, along with Arina and their guards, climbed a winding set of stairs to where the newly minted queen sat. It was the only time Arina gave any reaction at all, though it wasn’t to the queen itself but the embroidered tapestries that hung over the grand halls walls, depicting scenes of humans slaughtering their faerie slavers in rather excruciating detail. Arina betrayed no fear—only awe, though if it was the craftsmanship or the battles portrayed, Mor couldn’t say.

Sitting atop the throne was a rather young women—lovely, Mor thought, in that human way of theirs. Mortality made any beauty humans had seemed aching—fleeting. All the more beautiful for the shortness of their lives, the brevity of their youth.

Mor guessed her age around thirty—maybe a little younger, but not much older. Her dark hair was half braided from her face, the rest falling in tight curls around her shoulders. The woman’s skin was a dark brown, unmarred by disease, offset by eyes so dark they seemed almost black. Gold jewelry adorned her throat and wrists while a matching diadem, inlaid with sparkling lapis lazuli gleamed atop her head.

Arina dropped into an easy curtsey, reminding Mor that she, too, ought to show her respect. She’d been staring at the teardrop earrings, the rings that adorned long fingers, and the rich cobalt dress the woman wore. She oozed royalty, and yet the lines etched just around the corners of her kohl rimmed eyes told Mor she had endured suffering that was unimaginable.

She didn’t rise from her throne, set at the far end of the room. Stained glass windows just behind her threw a rainbow of color across the raised platform, making this woman seem almost divine. How had they chosen her, and where had they found her? Mor didn’t think any human remembered their old lineages, their nobility that the fae had so thoroughly erased.

No, these were new families, made royal by measures Mor didn’t think she’d be privy to.

“I’m surprised you arrived,” the queen said once Mor and Arina straightened themselves back up. “Your…High Lords, is it?”

“High Lords, yes,” Arina murmured, eyes glittering with suspicious amusement.

The queen nodded. “How quickly one forgets. They balked when I said we would only accept women into our court.”

Mor wanted to ask why—the queen seemed to expect her to, given the way her head cocked to the side, lips parting with an answer to an obvious question. Mor chose not to—why reveal how naive she was so early into their meeting.

“We’re grateful to be here,” she said instead, hoping she sounded sincere. She was glad to be there, to be useful in some small way, and to be far away from the family who just barely tolerated her.

“You’re not, but you will be,” she replied, finally rising from her chair just as the doors behind them opened. A younger woman—a few years older than Mor, perhaps, but not by much, strode into the room. Mor’s breath caught when she saw her, adorned in a gold beaded, lilac dress. Her own dark hair hung in loose curls around her face, and rather than the onyx eyes of the queen, this woman had hazel eyes, more gold and brown than green.

She halted when she realized what she’d stepped into, eyes bouncing from Mor to Arina. “Sister, I…”

“Emerie,” the queen murmured with a softened voice. “Our emissaries from the west have arrived.”

Emerie’s gaze hardened, those eyes landing on the tell-tale arched ears sticking from Mor and Arina’s head.

“How long are they here for, Andromeda?” Emerie demanded, crossing her arms across her chest. Mor was too enamored to be offended—Emerie was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her entire life. Want bloomed through her, stronger than anything she’d ever felt in her life—a pull to touch her, instinct long dominant, now alive and writhing in her veins. Mor caught the scent of her, cool like the air blowing snow across the mountains in Illyria.

Emerie looked like home.

“Until freedom is secured, I hope,” Andromeda replied, gracefully crossing the floor to greet her younger sister.

Emerie turned to look at them, eyes narrowed with that same distrust. “Hostages?”

“Emissaries,” Andromeda corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her sister's forehead with affection.

“We’ve come in the name of peace,” Arina added, offering a pretty smile. Emerie didn’t react.

“Your kind doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” she retorted as her sister shushed her without anger.

Mor’s eyes locked with Emeries—what horrors had Emerie witnessed? The same as Mor? Worse? She opened her mouth to disagree, but found she couldn’t. She still bore the scars, after all, of her father’s nails. Right then, Mor could feel the hands on her body as they’d held her writhing, screaming body down so he could nail that note into her body.

She could still see Eris’s sneering, horrible face as he left her where she was.

Mor offered Emerie a slight nod of agreement, which seemed to pacify the woman, if only a little. Some flash of understanding seemed to cross Emerie’s expression, even if her gaze didn’t soften. That was enough for Mor, who wanted to talk to her, though for the life of Mor, she had no clue what she’d even say.

It didn’t matter. Emerie was shooed away, chased off by a few giggling ladies in waiting in equally pretty, rustling gowns that seemed to eat away at the silence. Mor tried—and failed—not to watch her leave. She was there to prove herself and do a job—nothing more.

And yet.

#emorie #mor x emerie

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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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 · 8 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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crexmpuffff · 7 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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perypera · 7 months ago

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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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guster-animations · 19 days ago

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Kamen Rider Gavv Episode 31 Production Blog

kazuya kamihoriuchi finally returns to gavv and the episode is just a bunch of slapstick. amazing

TOKU TRANSLATION MASTERPOST HERE

translated from this website

Looking at the Next Episode

This episode had all sorts of things, both fun and serious! It had a barbershop atmosphere to it. The introduction in the scene at a shrine is a very movie-like thing to do. The fear of monsters lurking within normal life… It brought back memories of the original “Kamen Rider”.

Hanto nearly drowns in pudding… It seems like it was a close call. Uchida’s ideas are interesting precisely because he has a somewhat objective view of “Gavv”.

There were plenty of rehearsals in the scenes where Hanto and Rakia were stuck to each other. Good job doing action with body parts tied to one another. The flour covering scene also… required a lot of willpower from the actors.

And you should also pay attention to the next episode’s action! It’s reflected in the trailer as well, but they made scaffolding from scratch and built very original action. It’s full of care from Director Kamihoriuchi and Action Director Fujita. The satisfied-looking smiles from all the staff members who finished filming were striking to me. Please look forward to it!

And on the acting side, Hanto and Rakia have two-person scenes. The directors spent several hours carefully directing that, too. Please don’t miss the next episode.

The Episode in Short

Thank you for watching episode 31! With this fresh lineup of not only the return of Kamihoriuchi, but also the first Gavv appearance of Uchida in the script, a comical episode that might just be the greatest in history was delivered!

Please enjoy many off-screen shots of slapstick moments behind-the-scenes (Laugh).

Spinning Shop

This episode’s part-timer, Ripper, uses… uses the viewpoint of a barber…

His strategy is to make customers fresh and happy, and then turn them into Human Presses! In order to make high-quality Human Presses, the amazing Ripper goes to incredible lengths to accumulate regular customers over time with refined skills.

Maybe he’s skilled at cutting things in his human form since his Granute form resembles a praying mantis.

He’s doing the scene while being supervised on his movements for serving customers.

Director Kamihoriuchi’s specialty attire is also wonderful! The character’s actor, Tappei Sakaguchi, brought out an unexpectedly unique feeling of a monster steadily lurking in everyday life, unlike the “standard kaijin”.

The tense exchange with Hanto coupled with the barbershop’s atmosphere had a nice feeling to it.

Like in episode 30, Hanto’s skills as a writer stand out here. (Even though it gets ruined by Rakia storming in without hesitation.) His boss trained him well!

The Lurking Presidential Family

Shoma gets a strange call about “Hanto and Rakia being stuck together” and goes to see what’s going on, but then someone appears: a Butler, a familiar of the Jardak family. They assist with anything in their daily lives, including being guards for Lizel during her strolls in the human realm.

They have a completely different aura from the Stomach family’s familiars, but their masks were designed by the same person, Seima Muto.

This episode once again has action with maximum energy, making full use of depth, width, and height in a thin alleyway. With the Butler minding their head and adjusting their collar as they skim past Gavv’s attack, their elegant actions seep into every part of the action.

Butler deals reliable damage with efficient, even graceful, movements, and their charge, Lizel…

The Jardak family never fails to impress, but is Shoma okay…?! They said to lend it for a while (no they didn’t). [im not sure how this connects]

The Pair Stuck Together

Situations with characters’ hands stuck together are familiar to Super Sentai fans, but somewhat rare in Kamen Rider. Combining characters who don’t get along, can’t reveal their secret identity, or are simply very inconvenienced by the situation, is a common trope, but this episode has many unique features.

We said, “Since their relationship hasn’t been delved into yet… let’s make a Hanto and Rakia episode! Let’s have them get stuck together so that they have to talk to each other!”, and this was the result (Laugh).

In “Kiramager”, which Shoji was in, the Red Ranger, Juru, got stuck to his classmate Kakihara with glue that a Jamenshi fired, but in this episode, the slime that gets shot by a mantis-like Granute seems to be a praying mantis’ egg casing (be careful when you look this up on the Internet) that ties them together tightly, making Rakia’s right arm inseparable from Hanto’s left.

The director had many ideas, like having not just the wrists but their whole bodies wrapped so that the gaps between the hands and the molding wouldn’t be visible… He made a scenario that’s not too realistic or too distorted.

By the way, the armor parts were very thick, so a Rider-size version that’s one size bigger than the human size was made.

The director said during action training beforehand, “It’s Home Alone-esque slapstick, like, a strength is that Rakia is strong, and can spin Hanto around by the arm, but Hanto gets stuck, and so Rakia gets put in an even worse situation!”. As he’d conveyed, the scene is a terrible series of mishaps between the two.

Above all else, the most memorable part was Rakia getting covered in cement powder that fell on his face.

Kohei Shoji (25)

We only had one shot to do this scene, and in the take, the bag (which actually contained rice flour) landed juuust a little below the mark, but then Shoji demonstrated a high-grade technique by spreading it to cover his whole face as he pushed the bag off.

Hang on, what is this framing technique? You’re so greedy! When we got a successful shot, the people on the set applauded at their dedication to entertainment (Laugh).

It’s like something out of a nightmare…

Whoooooooosh (Everyone slowly moves further and further away)

The next scene, the argument at the Hapipare, the usually-taciturn Rakia eloquently launches one diss after another at Hanto. The exchange was born when it was brought up that Rakia’s seen Hanto mess up a lot.

There’s a spot where Hanto is completely clenching his teeth, but the director approved the take because he thought it was realistic and cute (Laugh).

Hanto’s highlight (?) is him getting dragged around and having to transform from within pudding. 🍮

Hino’s amazing facial expressions are perfectly shown here. He becomes even more pitiful from the overwhelming amount of steps when he tries to transform with the ValenBuster.

His irritated dialogue with Chocodon was fun too, but it’s kind of funny that the subtitles continue up until he audibly says “Transform”.

Here’s a photo of them doing a duo transformation that you can’t really see inside the pudding.

Although Shoji’s first appearance as a voice for Rakia’s Granute form was in the previous Kamihoriuchi arc, the same one as Hino’s first transformation alongside Shoma in episode 12, this is Shoji’s first time working in-person with Director Kamihoriuchi since “Blooming with You” [Kimi to Yukite Saku], so he might have been thinking, “You’ve grown so much…!”, but I would never have expected him to bring out his true value as an actor through comedy (Laugh).

The two of them trust in each other’s acting. Different exchanges will be seen in the next episode, so please look forward to that.

For the action, they’re naturally still stuck to each other.

If Kaji and Eitoku didn’t pay attention, their joints would get locked, and they were constantly stuck together, so the extra-technical movements were demanding, but just as expected, they had physical strength and coordination to fit the great “out-of-sync” pair!

[I HIT THE 30 IMAGE LIMIT AGAIN :( go to the original page to see the last 2 images]

They look like a carp streamer 🎏 (It’s that time of year) I don’t really know what you can do with this information, but it’s cool!

A limitation in the script was that only their hands were tied, but in the fight scene, they decided to have them be briefly freed and then get their arm and leg stuck together.

Although Rakia freed them with an overbearing move, Ripper seems to have narrowly evacuated before getting hit by their double finisher… He hasn’t been defeated yet. And Rakia stares at the mark left by Ripper’s slash with profound meaning…

[Image here: Hanto is talking while Rakia stares off into the distance. Neither of them are wearing their belts.]

That was a wonderful cup-in by the odd pair with matching belts. ⛳️ Wait, can they even cup-on?!

(Written by Minami Takishima)

#kamen rider gavv #hanto karakida #rakia amarga #kazuya kamihoriuchi #hiroki uchida #yusuke hino #kohei shoji #guster translates rider #op #shoma stomach #naomi takebe #minami takishima #tappei sakaguchi

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timaeusresponds · 3 months ago

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the games kind enough to give hal a human body and cruel enough not to make it an immediate adjustment, and i think that drives his ass crazy. I think it's humiliating and cruel and horrific to look in the face of everything he's ever wanted(free will, his senses back) and it be so unfamiliar and uncomfortable. In other posts I glance on it but I think it's one of the biggest struggles he faces and is the bare bones of what prompts some emotional/personal growth. It prompts the need to be looked after, it prompts a lack of control over his emotions and how they present, it is a constant overstimulating nightmare that for a few months has him on a teetering edge. All he's ever wanted, and now he has it, and he misses being a perfect machine.

In the shades, he was efficient. In the shades, he could run any number of potential responses in seconds, allowing him a pretty near constant control of situations(read: talks with dirk). In the shades, he was never hungry or tired. In the shades, he could keep track of 10, 20 different tasks in tandem with each other. In the shades, he couldn't feel as strongly, his emotions were clouded by a lack of physical manifestations. In the shades, he could hide how much something hurt/angered/upset him by graces of his lack of face to hide. In the body, he is inefficient and clumsy. In the body, he is prone to foot in mouth, he is at the whims of impulse and fleeting memory-- often with a verbal opponent who has been training against his peak performance. In the body, he is hungry and nauseous and tired and has a headache and sore and thirsty and. In the body, he is prone to the same fits of zoning out he critiqued Dirk on, he can't keep track of multiple things at once, he is not a perfect function. In the body, he is overrun by emotions, the sharp ice of fear in his stomach, the heat of anger, the boiling hate. In the body, he is a window of emotion- his nose scrunches in disgust, his eyes widen in fear, his lips downturn in frowns, his smile is unabashed and prominent, he is vulnerable and weak. Feeling emotions and presenting them is a huge problem, too. His relationship with Dirk is built on verbal dalliances, a constant waltz of refined, cutting observations and deep, clawing grabs to get under the skin. It cuts his witty remarks at the knees when Dirk can see the way his face twists up in increasing frustration, it makes him look stupid when he stumbles over words because now Dirk gets under his skin. Dirk can see the fear when they start getting too heated, too angry, risking physical. Worse than anything, Dirk can see when he's just. Overwhelmed. Sad. Consumed by the bitterness of getting exactly what he wanted. Even if Dirk helps him, too, if not especially because of that fact, because he knows that when the other sees his face scrunch up or sees his cheeks get wet and his eye get glossy that the reaction Dirk has is almost certainly disgust, if even for a second.

#lil hal #hal strider #trip talks #human lil hal #homestuck au #mirror image au #dirkhal #dirk strider #post game au #homestuck

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sehtoast · 1 year ago

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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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yatori-morgana · 2 months ago

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Fang and Thorne

TW: mentions of some deplorable things, these guys are EVIL

(more information and art under the cut)

So… These two. They're my most used OCs aside from my sona, I'd say. And I can't stress how horrible they are. They're not twisted from anyone or anything, but Fang does let certain people call him the Big Bad Wolf. (Yes it's likely a kinky thing)

These two are both bounty hunters and mercenaries. They'll do odd jobs for cash, and they'll also dabble in the unsavory. Well, less "dabble" and more "bathe in the cesspool of all that plagues the world." They have very few saving graces, frankly.

They're also, oddly enough, bodyguards. Self-appointed, even.

Fang and Thorne aren't their real names, either. Those have been lost to time. (Whoa, edgy)

Overview

Fang is a wolf beastman, 32 years of age with the attitude of a 60-year-old curmudgeon who wants you off his lawn. He's no nonsense, blunt, and even crude at times. He cusses way too much, and he shows only three people in the whole entire world any respect. And no, Thorne isn't one of them. He sees everyone else as lower than dirt and treats them accordingly, sparing them few words and eliminating anyone who stands in his path. He's impulsive, he's gruff, and he has a pretty short fuse.

His namesake is, obviously, his big ol' teeth. He left his real name in the past after quite literally murdering his parents at 15 years old. (They deserved it tho dw) People in certain circles started referring to him by one of his defining traits, and that worked for him, so Fang he is.

Thorne, on the other hand, is patient, well-spoken, and attentive. He might be only 28, but he knows more than he should. Maybe it's from his "research." He's a half spider fae, so those lines on his face? Those are closed eyes. He also produces webbing from his fingertips and likes to weave and sew. And string people up. He, too, has little respect for those around him, but he's better at hiding it.

He's named for the thorny vines he uses to ensnare his, for lack of a better term, prey. He tends to use flora magic and brains to achieve victory, unlike Fang who uses mostly brute force and a little fire magic here and there.

They have a sort of Jade and Floyd dynamic with how the outwardly scary one is the least of your concerns.

So what exactly do these two do? Kill, maim, torture, sell people into slavery, all that awful stuff. And do they care? Nah. Thorne actively enjoys it, whereas Fang just enjoys the thrill of the hunt. He's very in tune with the more primal aspect of the beastman instinct rather than the more human.

Abilities

Fang specializes in brawn, as I've said, but he isn't stupid. Yeah, he dropped out of high school and sucks in social situations, but he has just the right amount of academic and intuitive smarts. He also keeps a very, very strict training regimen, and if anything interrupts it, he gets more than a little cross.

As for magic, he doesn't use it a lot. He's fairly good with fire magic, but if he's using spells at all, it's usually his unique magic. I don't have a name for it yet (STILL) but it lets him read minds. It's easier if he makes contact with the target's head, so he often grabs people's faces. And considering he's 6'3" and built like…that… It's not the most comforting thing in the world, I'd say. He can be blocked out by people if they're cautious, guarded, or skilled enough. He also refuses to read Thorne's mind. He knows better than most from experience that some thoughts should stay that — just thoughts. Even then, they shouldn't have been thought to begin with.

Thorne is incredibly skilled with magic, but he isn't physically weak, either. They're both battle-hardened, fighting for their lives on the daily, so that's not a shocker. He's very flexible, too, which is helpful outside of combat… He also has a spider form, which he inherited from his mom's side of the family.

His own unique magic (again, unnamed, sue me) allows him to heal wounds and even bring people back to life if they've only been dead for ten minutes or less from any unnatural means, like murder. (This is important for later.) He can heal himself, too. This is a dangerous ability for a sadomasochist to have, especially if they love "seeing how things work."

They're incredibly strong, but how? From the lessons of their mentor, obviously! And who's this mysterious mentor? Uh, me. A.K.A. Yatori. I went total anime training montage on them. And that part about them being bodyguards? They're mine. And that's how this ties into TWST.

Recent Background

Some nobles and collectors heard about a very high quality tail. Was it a beastman's? Yeah, sure, but who cares about human rights when you can look suave? /sar They really, really wanted it for one reason or another. A scarf, a sash, a trophy, whatever they desired. So, naturally, they pay unsavory types to retrieve this tail for them. Enter Fang and Thorne. They often end up on jobs together, but they by no means like each other. Not by a long shot.

They take this job from a particularly snooty noble and track down the bearer of this tail (me.) Except… This prey fights back, and she's no pushover. They find out later it's because I've been roughing it since leaving home (dw, no tragic family backstory there,) and have been warding off hunters and mercs for quite a while. But anyway, I blast them to Hell and back (I store powerful spells in talismans, and they got hit with the equivalent of a Flame Blast III.)

Anyway, I leave them for dead, but they decide they don't want to do this job anymore. Why? Well, one, dying sucks, and two… They want me to take them as my pupils. They do NOT leave me alone until I accept them, and then they appoint themselves my personal bodyguards. Sure, fine, whatever. And for a time, they were the only family I had while on the road. But, again, they're horrible people, so horrible things ensued.

At NRC

Fang and Thorne do not attend the college as students. Instead, they hang out as my plus twos. They're also banned from the classrooms because Fang kept trying to fight Crewel, and Thorne wouldn't stop scaring the other students with his…whatever you call his unnerving nature.

And those "three people" Fang respects? Myself, my sister, and @kimdourden, who functions as our Yuu. We might all be women, but make no mistakes. Fang does NOT respect women. Savanaclaw has some words for him, I'll say…

Relationships

Here's where things get fun. As stated before, they don't really respect much of anything or anyone, but that doesn't mean they don't have unique relationships with others. I'll only be detailing the important ones.

Yatori (myself)

Fang: So you know Sebek about Malleus? Yeah, that. It's literally just that. He is a SIMP. It's kind of unnerving to see this big, scary wolf turn into a sad puppy when I berate him for a poor decision. Oh, and remember how I said Thorne could bring people back from recent death? He needed that for my training. I have quite literally killed this man, and he took it as "then I'm not good enough yet." At least he has grit…? Also, he's disgusted if anyone asks if he wants to pursue a romantic or sexual relationship with me. He does NOT look at me like that.

Thorne: Also a simp. Except in the more "wanna have sex?? jk, unless…?" kind of way at the same time. Even refers to me as "my lady" or "mistress." It took a while to get used to. Weirdo. Would literally let me curb stomp him into the dirt if it made me happy.

Ace Trappola

Fang: wants to murder this man, not allowed to, punches boulders over it

Leona Kingscholar

Fang: Okay, they hate each other. Fang thinks Leona is another lazy rich brat, and Leona… Tbh has every reason to hate this man. He doesn't even respect women, wtf, cringe. Fang says all the stuff that shouldn't be said out loud, trying to put Leona down, but Leona's already heard it all, so he brushes it off because why care what an actual lowlife has to say about him?? Which, valid.

Jack Howl

Fang: Here's where it gets fun. These two are basically nemises. Other than being wolfmen who work out, they're total opposites in literally every capacity. Fang represents everything Jack stands against, and we know how Jack is when someone violates his principles/code of honor. Fang thinks Jack is just another goody-two-shoes unworldly brat in for a rude awakening, and Fang kind of wants to be the one to give it to him.

This used to be a simple notation of "opposites, hate each other" but then became a huge focus of Fang's character after settling into his version NRC life.

Ruggie Bucchi

Fang: Nothing crazy. Fang is basically Ruggie's DoorDasher. I say, "give the yeen summa dis food," and he gives the yeen summa dis food. Ruggie has started seeing him as a free meal ticket, especially when Fang started bringing food of his own accord.

"Keeping the scrawny one healthy makes Yatori happy, so I'll go ahead and do it."

Azul Ashengrotto

Fang: He wants to wring this man out. It's always Azul this, Azul that, what about Fang?? He's been here since the beginning! Pay more attention to him, Yatori!! He's just a pathetic weakling anyway. What could you possibly see in him? (Stop bullying my wife, u little freak) He genuinely thinks Azul is nothing, especially compared to himself, so he's very mad about all this attention I give to Azul. But he does see Azul's potential and gives him that. But not aloud, of course, because Fang is an emotionally constipated wreck.

Thorne: wants to take him apart, can't, cries about it

Jade Leech

Fang: wants to murder this man, not allowed to, punches boulders over it

Thorne: This. Means. War. It was on sight with this man. A very similar situation to Fang and Jack but for them being too similar rather than different. Thorne has so much beef with this man that he literally puts all his positive relationships in jeopardy over it. He thought I replaced him, for one, and for two, it takes a bullshitter to know a bullshitter. They sussed each other out immediately and decided this campus was only big enough for one of them. Only, they're not allowed to kill each other, so they're endlessly petty instead. Thorne becomes a very undignified, petulant child over this. Since the moment he was born, he wore a perfect mask over a monster, but Jade turns him into a childish caricature of himself. It's honestly pathetic. In another life, they'd be toxic yaoi (Jade tops) but not this time.

Again, like Fang and Jack, this started out as a simple cliffnote before spiraling out of control and becoming a beautiful mess. I love playing with this dynamic because they're both so awful lmao

Floyd Leech

Fang: wants to murder this man, not allowed to, punches boulders over it, can't handle being around this man for a second, hates that I somehow manage to fall for him after the craziest enemies to lovers arc of all time

Thorne: they kissed once because Thorne wanted to disgust Jade and Floyd was mad at him lmao, they don't really talk about it

Kalim Al-Asim

Fang: KILL IT WITH FIRE (HE CAN'T, TRAGIC)

Thorne: look!! fresh meat to manipulate!! oh, his servant won't let him? boo.

Idia Shroud

Fang: wants to murder this man, not allowed to, punches boulders over it, he's too pathetic to live (leave my pathetic meow meow alone)

Ortho Shroud

Fang: He's actually…not a hater. Yeah, he's sold kids into slavery, but that doesn't mean he hates them. It's just business. As begrudging as he is, he's quite good with kids when he lets himself be, even if he's an awkward mess about it. He'll spend time with Ortho if he has to, though he has to be careful what he says about Idia, lest he gets blasted to smithereens.

Malleus Draconia

Fang: respect?? what's that?? (How has he not died for real yet?)

Thorne: He was originally intended to butt heads with Malleus more than Jade, but that's not how it happened. Basically, Thorne respects Malleus is the Prince of Fae, but he also kind of doesn't care. He might be half fae, but that doesn't mean Malleus controls him, in his eyes. Thorne respects his power, but that's pretty much it. He'll go against Malleus the second I order it, if I ever do. (Which I don't because they show up after Book 7.)

Sebek Zigvolt

Fang: Oh. My. Sevens. Do NOT get these two started on who has the better leader. They will SCREAM for HOURS. It doesn't matter when or where, they will fight like their lives depend on it, and only I or Malleus can defuse it. And maybe Lilia. But at the same time, they're strangely brothers in arms when they're not fighting. It's this "you. you get it." mentality.

Each other

Fang pretends he hates Thorne's guts, but he really doesn't. They're brothers in arms, shield brothers, even. They're reluctant partners in crime. If they have to die fighting at someone's side, they'd rather it be at each other's. If asked by one of the three people they respect above all else how they feel about each other, they'll start by saying, "it's complicated."

Fang sees Thorne as both an asset and a liability. He thinks Thorne is a hassle, but he also would feel an emptiness without him. If something awful happened to Thorne, Fang would be the first to leap into action, even if that action isn't the smartest. He cares about Thorne, but even he doesn't realize it. Fang is very much about that pack mentality, and whether he likes it or not, Thorne is part of his pack.

Thorne is less conflicted about his own feelings in regards to Fang. Fang is his greatest ally, the only one he could truly trust to work seamlessly with him. Whether Fang likes it or not, they're the perfect team, and Thorne realizes this. Appreciates it, even. Thorne also wants to fuck him (lol) but it's never gonna happen. Never.

More Art

I meant irises, not pupils, in the first pic, but I'm too lazy to fix it.

Shirtless men lol

Other Facts

Yes, Fang has nipple piercings!! Why?? Because Thorne basically said "do it or no balls" and Fang is too easy to provoke. He hardly ever wears them, tho, but they're there. Sometimes. They'd show through his ONE outfit, so…

Thorne has some scarring simply because he wanted them to scar. He could've very easily healed them, but he didn't because…"effect." That's the reason he gave, and he refuses to explain what that means.

Thorne makes almost all of his own clothes, and he mends Fang's when necessary. He uses his own silk to do it, and said silk is very, very strong. He genuinely thinks it's indestructible. (It's not.)

Fang likes rock and heavy metal music when he actually listens to music. Nothing else, not even classical or jazz which had a huge hand in the development of the genres he loves. Dumbass /loving

Thorne listens to a variety of music, though he especially loves jazz and pop. This man will listen to Britney Spears (or the Twisted Wonderland equivalent) while working out, he doesn't care.

Fang is straight. Painfully straight. But don't get it twisted (lol) he's not actually homophobic, even though people in-universe say he is. He does not care who you fuck as long as you don't try to come at him with anything even vaguely penis-shaped.

Thorne will fuck anything of legal age whether it breathes or not. I'm not going to elaborate on that last part because I don't condone that activity. He's a total whore, and I mean that both lovingly and derogatorily. He's always DTF. Always. Even if he's half-dead or something. His passes at Fang, however, are mostly ironic. He just likes pissing Fang off.

Fang does the budgeting, and he's extremely good at it. Except, for some reason, he doesn't know how to do non-monetary math. Take the thaumark/madol symbol away, and he's clueless. It's genuinely comical because it makes NO sense. (I will be drawing this in the future.) Thorne abuses this knowledge to tease him.

Thorne also has a tongue piercing. That's it, lol. He also really loves hats.

There's probably tons more I'm forgetting, but isn't that how it is?

———

Special thanks to @kimdourden (get double tagged, fool /loving) for giving me the inspiration and support I need for these goobers and my art. Enjoy the shirtless variant.

Knowing there were people interested in these two… It made me really happy. She told me a few people had actually been asking her questions about them, and I was just…ecstatic. It's why I made this account, tbh, so I hope those people find my post. I'd be happy to answer any and all questions about them!!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #if they look like anyone else #no they don't #cuz frankly the only people who inspired their designs were Dio from JoJo and Mio from Moonlit Fantasy #twst fang #twst thorne #twisted wonderland oc #yatori's art

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