#i will start convulsing violently on the ground

[ahllohehn]

i think he is the word "skrunkly" personified

[melathan]

bangchan x fem! reader "your body will remember me."

word count — <1k

warnings — NSFW, 18+. pervert(?) bangchan, drugged! reader, dub con. choking, piv/penetration, overstimulation, squirting, dumbification, drunk sex (sorta), use of nicknames (babygirl), unprotected sex (be safe yall)

editor note — i saw bangchan's new solo and was like . mm. christopher in the building yall.

You were in a daze, red and black filling your blurred vision and your body heating up to a dangerous degree. And yet, your tongue was loose, your mouth spilling out noises and nonsense. Your numb fingers gripped the pillow, your cheek flush with the firm mattress.

“Good girl,” He mumbled behind you, his large hand dragging along your neck and gripping it. His other hand splayed on your lower stomach, holding your hips up to connect them with his own. 

After seeing you like this, Bangchan didn’t feel so guilty anymore. Sure, you were the one to initiate the conversation. But he was the one to initiate this.

You let out another garbled moan, eyes rolling into your skull. Your legs trembled, your cunt clenching down on him. He let out a breathy curse as he gripped your stomach, his slow, hard movements stuttering.

Something about slowly dragging his thick cock against your tight walls, feeling everything as the veins made you shake and drool, was so much better than fucking you into the mattress–

The gold party dress that caught his attention in the first place was on the pillow, the straps stressed and nearly torn. Your lace bra was still intact, but the panties were torn and hanging on your ankles. Chan’s red tie was knotted snug against your eyes, small tear stains already penetrating through the silk fabric.

You felt his tip brush agonizingly slow again on your g-spot and you convulsed. “C-Chan–”

“Shh,” He hushed you, pressing two fingers against your wet mouth. You welcomed them instantly, your tongue messily swirling around the digits. “You’re being such a good girl for me, baby. So good…”You whined again, almost like an injured animal. The noise grounded Chan for a second, realizing his situation.

He was fucking the girl of his dreams, the only thought occupying his mind, his obsession…

She was drunk on liquor and Chan’s cock, resulting in a babbling, sloppy mess. 

He hissed, going to lift up your hips even higher. He started pistoning into you, the abrupt change of pace making you scream. You gripped the sheets, drool soaking the mattress, and the tears darkened the silk tie even more. 

“Chan-! S’too much! Too much– Chan~!” Did he mention that he started on you two hours ago?

You convulsed even more violently, your sloppy lips opening in a silent moan as you cum for the nth time. Chan felt a familiar pressure building up against his cock, but he hissed and continued to shallowly fuck you. Your hips jolted, toes curling as he fucked you while squirting

You were so sensitive you felt like you could pass out. You could feel every inch, every vein– fuck even the coarse hair. You felt everything.

Your arms flail, but he manages to catch them and pin both down with one hand. He continued fighting against your orgasm, your essence going everywhere. 

He leaned to your ear, his teeth clenched and jaw taught. “Relax, baby girl. Daddy’s taking good care of you, right? He’s making you feel so good, right?”Your head lolled, more hoarse moans leaving you. At this point, your wet cunt and his thick dick was louder than your moans. It was more arousing to him, faintly hearing your whimpers but mostly the wet slapping of your hips against his. 

You probably will kill him next morning. Sure, you’ll know that you fucked him. But you wouldn’t know the alcohol buzzing in your veins, tainted with a drug thanks to Chan, melted a hole in your memory. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but at least he knew.

His camera knew. His photo and video library knew too. He let out another hiss, tossing his phone aside as he instead rammed your hips against his, having you move on his cock. At this point you were dead weight, letting the man use you like a limp doll. Within minutes he came, a loud curse leaving him as thick cum flooded your abused hole. A garbled complaint left you, but you couldn’t complain about the sticky warmth left between your legs.

Fuck, he hoped that you were on the pill. If not, well…

He gripped your neck again, making your back arch as he lifted you up to his mouth. “I just need your body to remember, baby.

“Your mind can find any other guy, but your body knows it belongs to me now.”

08.25.24

[multi-fandom-imagine]

༻✧༺thᥙᥒdᥱrstorms ↳Qimir

A/n: here it is, some soft smut for Qimir.

Qimir loved to see you smile, it's why he agreed to even stop on this stupid planet for you but when he heard the familiar sound of thunder in the distance he had to practically drag you out of the water and into the safety of the nearby cave.

It didn't take long for it to start a down pour, thunder lighting up the sky as you clung to him. Your body pressing into his tightly, your lips on his neck warming him. "You're awfully frisky right now."

An airy laugh escaped your lips as you pressed your body into his own. "I want you to fuck me, is that so bad?"

"Of course not."

The sound of thunder echoed through the cave as Qimir pinned you to the ground, the man hovering above you. "You're far too tempting to deny." His hands now roamed your wet skin, fingers feeling off the remnant's of the clothing you wore. "Shame that the thunder will hide the way you moan out my name."

Rolling your eyes, you felt warmth creep up your neck as Qimir let his hands glide across your body, his hand squeezing your breast. You weren't sure when he stripped the rest of his clothes of but your breath hitched when you felt the tip of his cock brush your slick entrance.

A primal grunt tore from deep within his throat at the feeling of your sopping heat enveloping my cock.Your legs wrapping around his hips as he stilled, savoring the exquisite sensation of being fully seated inside your pussy

"Fuck..." He gritted out between clenched jaws, fighting every instinct to rut into you like an animal in heat. But he wanted to draw this out, to worship your body like you deserve.

Slowly, Qimir withdrew inch by inch before slamming back in sharply, eliciting a breathless cry from your swollen lips. Trailing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, he set a relentless pace, pistoning in and out your warmth.

"You feel so good around me..."He crooned roughly into your ear, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. You could only babble incoherent syllables as he pummeled into you over and over reducing you into a mewling mess.

Sliding a hand between your joined hips, his calloused fingers found your clit as he rubbed tight, in accurate circles. "Come for me. I want to feel you milk my cock dry."

Your breaths coming out in short pants, you could feel the force holding you in place as you did your best to move with his thrusts.

Your cries being drowned out by the thunder as the lighting illuminated the cave.

A few more strokes was all it took before your walls convulsed violently around him, dragging him over the edge as he filled you with his seed.

Still clinging to you, Qimir buried his face in your neck. You were his everything, he would destroy planets, slaughter anyone if it meant that it would keep you safe.

"You are perfection." He muttered, placing a kiss on one of the marks he left on your neck.

"I love you Qimir."

Closing his eyes, he could feel sleep start to over take him as he held you in his arms, he would never grow tired of hearing you say you love him. "And I love you."

And he'll never grow tired of hearing it.

[whump-imagines]

Meeting the Firefam

Eddie x reader

~1600 words

Warnings: epileptic reader. Hopefully accurately portrayed.

You parked in front of the station and turned off the ignition. Taking one final deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped out. You didn't know why you were so nervous. Meeting Eddie’s coworkers shouldn't seem so frightening.

What if they hated you? What if they told him to break up with you? You knew they were more like family to him than just coworkers. Their opinions mattered a lot. You had only been dating him a little over a month but you had fallen hard. You really couldn't imagine your life without him and Chris and even Carla.

You needed them to like you.

Making your way inside, you quickly spotted Eddie as he approached. You greeted him with a kiss before he pulled you into a hug.

“Hey, you. How was traffic?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Normal. Slow.” Eddie knew it was your least favorite part about LA.

“I think lunch is almost ready. You ready to meet everyone?”

“No.” You wrapped your hands around his bicep as he started walking toward the trucks.

He leaned over and kissed your temple. “I told you they’re going to love you. You have nothing to worry about.” He pulled you along with him towards Buck and another firefighter beside the truck.

Buck smiled when he spotted you. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you finally decided to come have lunch with us.”

“Hi, Buck. Someone has been persistent.” You looked at Eddie just in time to catch his shrug.

“Y/N, this is Ravi.” Eddie introduced.

Ravi lifted his hand for you to shake. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.”

Eddie pulled you away towards the stairs that led to the loft. You couldn't help but look around at everything. “This is a beautiful building.”

Eddie nodded. “I agree. It's my favorite station in the city.”

You had barely made it to the top of the stairs before you were being engulfed in hugs. “Oh, uh, hi.”

Eddie chuckled. “This is Hen and Chimney.”

“We are so excited to finally meet you. Eddie here won't shut up about you,” Chimney said.

You glanced at Eddie, catching him trying to hide his blush. “I don't talk about her that much,” he argued.

“Constantly,” Hen mouthed at you with a grin.

Next, Eddie led you over to the kitchen. “And this is Cap.”

The man in front of the stove wiped his hands on a dish towel before reaching out for a handshake. “It's Bobby.”

“Nice to meet you. It smells amazing in here.”

Bobby smiled. “Well, thank you. This will be done in a few minutes. Eddie, can you grab everyone down stairs?”

“On it.” Eddie pointed to the couches. “You can make yourself comfortable over there.”

Within ten minutes, everyone was getting settled at the table. Eddie took your hand to pull you up from the couch. As he pulled out a chair for you, you suddenly felt your left arm go numb.

“Oh no.” You mumbled. You reached out towards Eddie as your knees buckled and the world around you disappeared.

Eddie was quick to catch you before you could hit the ground. “Woah. Y/N?” When you didn't open your eyes he slowly lowered you to the floor. Seconds later you were convulsing violently. Eddie couldn't help but to just stare at you in shock.

Chim was on the floor beside Eddie a second later. “Eddie, we got her.”

“I'll grab a med kit,” Hen announced as she ran for the stairs.

Chimney kept you rolled on your side. Bobby stepped closer to pull Eddie away. “They need room to work.”

Eddie tried to resist. “I should help.”

Buck stepped beside his best friend to keep him out of the way.

Bobby stepped towards you and grabbed your foot, pulling off your shoe. “Medical alert. Epilepsy.” He pointed at the shoelace tag as he looked towards Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. “I didn't know. Why didn't she tell me?”

Hen returned with a monitor and med kit and Chim filled her in. “Epilepsy. Let's just give it a minute.”

Eddie pushes past Buck and sat down on the ground by your head. He whispered soft reassurances in case you could hear him.

Chim pulled a pulse ox monitor out of the med kit and clipped it on your finger.

“She's barely breathing,” Eddie pointed out. He knew that was common with seizures but still couldn't help the mild panic he felt.

“That's normal,” Hen reminded him. She started to attach an oxygen mask to the tank she’d carried upstairs just in case.

Next, Chim started to attach cardiac leads to your chest. Once he'd finished, they waited for the seizure to stop.

“That's five minutes,” Bobby pointed out.

Hen and Chim sighed as they locked eyes with each other. “Alright, let's push Ativan,” Chim said.

“I'll start an IV,” Hen announced. “Eddie can you hold her arm?” He did as asked, trying to hold your arm as still as possible without hurting you. “I'm in.”

Chim pushed the meds he'd drawn up as soon as IV was secured. It took about another twenty seconds for the seizure to finally stop.

Everyone let out a relieved breath. Eddie pushed some hair back behind your ear.

“Let's get her loaded up and to the hospital,” Chimney broke the momentary silence.

Hen nodded. “I'll go radio dispatch and get ready.”

Within five minutes you were loaded into the ambulance with Eddie and Chim beside you as Hen shifted into drive.

“Ugh.” You groaned a few minutes later. “N-no hospital,” you mumbled out fighting your grogginess.

Eddie ran his hand over your head. “Yes, hospital.”

You huffed, frustrated you can't get the words out to explain. “E-epi–”

“We know about your epilepsy, we found your alert tag,” Eddie interrupted. “Sweetheart, your seizure lasted almost six minutes. Hen and Chim had to push meds to stop it. You have to go in.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. Suddenly you were glad you'd been with them for lunch and not alone at home. You knew he was right and allowed yourself to relax. “Tired.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “That's the medicine. You can sleep.”

You nodded as your eyes drifted closed. You weren't sure you could have stayed awake even if you'd tried.

A few hours later, you were finally settled into a room after being poked and prodded. They had run all kinds of tests trying to figure out what might have caused the long seizure.

“Anything I can get for you?” the nurse asked.

You shook your head as you shifted in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Every muscle was sore.

“Okay. I'll let your visitors know they can come in now, if that's alright with you,” the nurse says as she walks toward the door.

“Visitors? Plural?” You ask surprised.

“You have a whole herd of firefighters waiting out there for you,” she explains.

“Oh, wow. Could you just send Eddie in for now?”

She smiles kindly. “Of course, honey.”

Eddie pushes the door open not five minutes later. He pulls up a chair and takes your hand in his, careful to avoid your IV line.

“Hi,” you greeted

“Hi. How ya feeling?” He asked.

“Kinda like someone put me through a blender.”

He chuckled and nodded. “You scared me. I'm just glad Bobby noticed your medical alert tag.”

“I'm sorry,” you sighed. “This is definitely not how I planned to tell you about my epilepsy.”

He locks eyes with you. “So you were planning to tell me.” He looks annoyed or maybe hurt that you hadn't already told him.

“Eventually.” You drop your gaze to the bed. “It's not exactly an easy conversation. It's caused a few break ups over the years.”

“What do you mean?” He looks genuinely confused.

“I'm too much to deal with. No one wants to deal with seizures,” you try to explain. “And you already have to deal with sick people all day at work. I'm sure the last thing you want to do is deal with the same at home.” You sniffle. “I'll understand if you want out now.”

“Y/N,” Eddie said, placing a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “I love you. This could never change that. Any guy who dumped you because of this is an asshole.”

Tears rolled down your face before you were suddenly sobbing, relief washing over you in waves.

Eddie moved quickly to sit beside you on the bed. Pulling you into his side and shishing you softly.

You had been so worried about telling him for so long. “I-I'm sorry. I should have told you.” You sniffled harshly. “I should have known you'd accept this part of me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know now. That's all that matters.”

Eventually you calmed down but you were beyond exhausted. “Hey, isn't everyone still out there waiting?”

“Yeah.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I'll text them that you're okay and let them know they can head home.”

Placing a hand over his screen, you shook your head. “No. I want to see them.”

“You need to rest,” he argued. “They can come back tomorrow or we can go to the station if you're discharged.”

“Just a quick visit. Please? Fifteen minutes.”

Sighing, he stood from where he was still perched on the bed. “Ten.”

“Deal.”

[wosowffc]

CAN SOMEONE HELP

Tw seizure

You and Leah had been living together over the last few weeks as you have just recently moved to Arsenal from munic so knowing Georgia reckoned it was a good idea a you can't live alone.

Leah has been amazing company and you had grown very close in such a small time. The girls had immediately starting taking notice of this and soon enough you and leha had too. She asked you out on a date to a roof top picnic at night and it was perfect we walked home with pizza and watch a movie.

Today we had one of our freinds wedding whos very close to the team so as a result we are all invited. It's in this historical magical looking castle grounds where streamers and strung and music is thriving after about 4 hours of speaches, the best part of weddings (not) we finally were on the dance floor all half cut. I'm not ment to drink as I take tablets but after backlash of me and leahs relationship and theories from fans as we still haven't even made it public I needed this drink well drinks (I'm quite far in)

"Ynnnn, Heyy gurllll" an equally drunk Katie McCabe comes up to me ushering me to dance with her which my drunken self happy accepted as me and the girl danced I started to feel a bit...off?

I recongnised the felling even though my drunken self drunk phased head I now this feeling. I ripped myself awy from the group to see Leah just at the side with alessia as they grabbed some wine.

"Leah" I said desperate as u grabbed her arms not even caring how I shoved between alessia as they were talking about some random stuff.

"Leah I need....leave we...not here" you words started to slur as you got weaker"Leah I should have said before, I'm sorry please." "Leah please don't be mad" you say as you fall into leahs chest her arms wrapping around you.

Leahs pov

Yn stumble toward me she was drunk yes, but this isn't her drunk stumble she takes a hold of me between alessia I wrap my arms round her back her words are slurring. I don't think this is alcohol. I know she doesn't slur when drunk I know that after the first team get together her and Katie ahd a drink off but that's for a diffrent time cause with in seconds she was dead weight against my chest as I held her.

"SHIT, less help , can someone help me" I had carried her and ran to a room to the side alessia following on the phone to paramedics as soon as I laid her down she started shaking. Violently. Her jaw clenched, arms straight by her side and all over convulsing. Alessia was saying stuff I didn't know what I was sat on my knees next to her as she was making noises and I stroked her hair back.

"Leah move please I know what to do " less ushered her away handing her the phone as the paramedics spoke to her through the phone. She put yn on her side wiping some spit away from her mouth and cheek. She lied her head so she could breathe a bit better clearing up some of the noises.

Yn pov

There were voices, they were telling me stuff saying everything's ok. I open my eyes I'm on my side on the floor everything hurts. I've had a siezure. I blink I blurring my vision to see Leah at my head she's talking calmly

"It's ok we're going to lay there for a bit ok?" She said more of a stamens but made it sound like a question. Tears trickle down my cheek to me ear and she turns more concerned.

"I'm sorry, please I'm- I should have told you le- I'm sorry" I apologise holdin her hand

"Yn it's ok we found the medical band on your ankle it's ok, I'm here when ever you need you can teach me what to do and when ever you need I'll be there"

You sit into her lap for a while in silence as tiredness takes over. Leah carries you to bed in the hotel and settles in next to you.

She rubs your back as you softly breathe next to her. She wish you would have told her, she didn't want you to feel like you couldn't. But she's here now and she knows so she will learn and she will help you when ever

[darkest-depravity]

Two Forms of Desperation

I'd love to keep you in a chastity cage for weeks, and tease you every single day. You're a kept woman, of course, but that doesn't mean the teasing needs to stop when I go to work. I'll leave you with a remote vibe inside your cage and a plug in your ass and steadily edge you all day, every day. You'd better not fucking fall behind on your housework because of this. But you're such a good girl, and I know that you fear me even more than you want me, so you don't.

I'll watch you deteriorate as a human being. Watch you debase yourself, so frantically desperate for any kind of release. Watch you devolve into wrenching sobs as you cling to my feet, not daring to glance up at me for fear of meeting my cold eyes, indifferent to your suffering.

Then, one day, you're doing dishes. Your whole face feels puffy and tight from crying, but still, the tears flow down your cheeks as the pain in your cage remains unbearable. You look so broken. That's when I decide to take you. I grab a fistful of your hair and drag you to the living room, throwing your body to the ground and your face into the carpet. You feel an overwhelming surge of relief as I unlock the cage, and all you can do is whimper, "Thank you, Goddess" over and over in a frail, choked little voice. I don't start slow. I fuck you harder than I've ever fucked you before. I keep the vibe on you and turn up the intensity to its maximum. The effect is instantaneous. The most incredible orgasm you've ever experienced in your worthless little life and fresh tears of joy stream down your face as you're completely overcome with pleasure the likes of which you never could have even imagined.

But then I don't stop. I slow down and lower the vibration just enough for your body to recover between orgasms, then ramp it up to maximum again. Over and over, shuddering tidal waves of pleasure burst through your entire being. Your body convulses and you feel like every single one of your muscles is spasming out of control. It's too much. It's too much. Soon, each wave begins to decline in pleasure and the sensation shifts to pain. It hurts now. Every thrust sends a stabbing pain through your body, and every orgasm depletes you more and more of energy you didn't even think you had left. You beg me to stop. I ignore you. You scream and wail and cry and beg and feel as though your body is being torn apart. All of your senses seem to blacken and some instinct drives you to get away, to please make it stop, but I'm just so much stronger than you and I've already left you so weak. I hold you down and push your face into the floor, then fuck you even harder. Somewhere in the only minute rational corner of your mind you have left, you wonder how I could possibly be fucking you harder than I was before.

This goes on for what feels like hours. What began as heaven has twisted into hell. Eventually, your screaming ceases and you become silent, accepting the piercing pain that rips through your body with each thrust. This is what penetration feels like. You forget who you are. You become an unthinking husk.

Finally, I stop.

I collapse on the floor next to you, pulling your small, violently trembling body into mine, and kiss your neck so softly. I stroke your nipples and caress every inch of your round softness so gently. I tell you over and over how perfect you are, how wonderfully you did, and how much I love you. I know you're not strong enough to stand, so I lift you up in a bridal carry and take you to the bed. I make you drink water and I cook you your favorite meal. We watch one of your comfort movies as you melt into my arms and freshly sob. I coo reassurances and stroke your hair, and you cling to me so tight that your knuckles turn pale. Finally, mercifully, the emotion slowly subsides and you drift off into the heaviest and most restful sleep you've ever had.

When you wake up the next morning, you find two things: a plate of breakfast and a hot cup of coffee on the nightstand made just how you like it, and the chastity belt locked around your waist.

[rainforestakiie]

Sinner Adam is a trope that i love and I know you would handle it AMAZING, so what do You thing???

hi!

i struggled a lot with this because i didn't know what to write! ahhh! i also wanted to try something new that hasn't been done before, though i did use one known trope. but i hope it's not too bad!

i tried to write something different with sinner adam.

i really hope you like it, and thank you so much for the wonderful request! it was so fun to write!

also, for the full experience, please listen to 'the ballad of the witches' road' from agatha all along! i was listening to this while writing, and it made it so chilling!

The Acedia of Hell

The first thing Adam heard as he drifted toward consciousness was a faint crackling, like a thousand whispered secrets swirling just above his head. He flinched, instinctively recoiling from the sound, but it only grew louder, wrapping itself around him until it became a relentless drumming in his ears.

An ache began to creep along his back, first a subtle tingle, then swelling into a searing, acid-like burn. It started between his shoulder blades, coiling down his spine in a twisted agony that made his entire body tremble. His chest constricted, as though his heart had been crushed and was now struggling to inflate, each beat an effort, each breath a torment. His skin twitched, and a chill raced through him, sharp enough to raise every hair on his body, as if some unseen force was raking icy fingers across his flesh.

Inside him, something stirred—an eerie, swelling pressure, like a bubble forming deep within his chest. It started small, like the delicate bubbles children blow in the wind, then grew, expanding into the size of a birthday balloon, then larger still, as though a hot air balloon were inflating inside him, until it became a blimp of overwhelming pressure, straining to escape. And finally, with a violent eruption, his throat opened, and Adam gasped sharply, his eyes, swollen and raw, wrenching open. A torrent of hacking coughs tore from his chest, each one sending fresh pain rippling through him.

His body convulsed, and with a grimace, Adam spat out thick, blue liquid. He collapsed onto his elbows, his back blazing with even fiercer agony, as though his spine were splitting apart. He wheezed, vision blurring, trembling hands pressing against the slick, waxy surface of the red stones beneath him. His lips parted in a desperate attempt to scream, but instead, a sudden gush of the brilliant blue fluid burst forth, staining the crimson ground beneath him in striking shades of despair—a beautiful, sorrowful blue, spreading like an ethereal bloom.

More of the thick, otherworldly liquid streamed down his face as Adam continued to cough and choke, his chest aflame. The golden essence of his blood, once radiant and divine, began to glow with an unnatural hue, shifting to match the eerie, silver-blue shade he was vomiting. It pulsed beneath his skin, transforming, until the ethereal silver - blue coursed through his veins, as if his very soul had been overtaken by the same haunting colour he was now expelling.

Adam sucked in a ragged breath, the crackling still weaving through the thick, oppressive air, a relentless whisper just beyond his senses. His mind teetered on the edge of darkness, desperate for the release of unconsciousness, but each time it began to drift, the sharp stab of pain wrenched him back into this torturous reality.

He squinted through the haze, trying and failing to clear his vision, his hands trembling uncontrollably. His back arched, and with a gasp of agony, he could feel it—his spine, as if it were trying to tear free from his skin. His mouth opened in a desperate cry, but his body was already curling in on itself, shaking violently as he pressed his forehead to the slick, waxy ground beneath him. The crackling grew louder, and behind him, a new sound emerged—horrific snapping and tearing—but Adam couldn’t bring himself to look. Fear rooted him in place, afraid of what he might find if he dared to turn his head.

With a trembling breath, Adam stretched out a weak, shaking arm, fingers barely able to grasp at the air as his vision swam, the world blurring with blinding streaks of silver and blue. “H-help…” he tried to call out, but his voice was broken, twisted into something unrecognizable. He wasn’t even sure if he had spoken at all.

Through the haze, a faint glimmer of golden light caught his eye—a figure, bathed in white, stepping toward him, with another taller, draped in deep crimson, following close behind. Adam’s heart leaped in fragile hope—someone had heard him. Someone was coming to help. But even that thought was quickly drowned out by the relentless cracking that now roared in his ears, and exhaustion crushed down upon him like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t fair.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he began to let his arm fall, surrendering to the pull of oblivion. But before it could hit the ground, warm hands wrapped around his trembling fingers, catching him. The touch burned, searing against his skin, yet Adam couldn’t summon the strength to pull away. It stung, this connection—more than he could bear—but his body refused to obey his silent cries to escape.

Voices murmured above him, too distant, too distorted to comprehend. He thought he heard his name, thought someone was calling for him, but the pain, the exhaustion, drowned out everything else. He sobbed weakly, shaking his head as if to dislodge the agony, before sinking toward the ground again, surrendering to the waxy surface beneath him, craving nothing but the embrace of sleep.

"Why..." he whispered, or at least he thought he did. His voice was so faint, so lost. "I wish I were dead. I don’t want this anymore... I’m so tired..."

Suddenly, arms wrapped around him, strong and unyielding, lifting him before he could collapse back down. His face was pressed against a chest, and the sting of their touch flared through his nerves. He tried to resist, weakly pushing against them, but their hold was too tight, too firm. There was no escape.

And yet, as the warmth of their embrace held him fast, Adam felt something strange—an unspoken promise, a tether keeping him from falling into the darkness. But even in that moment, all he could think of was the unbearable weight of it all.

The pain. The exhaustion. And the whispered wish that it would just... end.

“I want to be dead.”

~#~

The next time Adam drifted into consciousness, the world around him felt strange, unfamiliar—like something from a dream that still clung to the edges of his mind. He was so tired, so utterly exhausted, and his entire body was wrapped in a deep, aching soreness that refused to fade. Every muscle, every inch of skin felt foreign to him, as though it didn’t quite belong.

Slowly, he forced his heavy eyes open, blinking as he stared up at the draped curtains hanging above him. He didn’t move, feeling as if he were both too heavy and too light at once, trapped in a body that no longer obeyed him. The soft, purple folds of fabric gathered between the four towering posts of a massive bed.

A bed. He was lying in a bed—one so vast, it made him feel small, which shouldn’t have been possible. Adam was over ten feet tall, yet here, he felt dwarfed.

His eyes fluttered closed again as he took a shaky breath, his chest trembling with the effort. It hurt, a searing pain that ran through his lungs as though he wasn’t meant to breathe like this anymore. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, hoping the sensation would pass, but instead, it worsened. A sharp throb flared at the top of his skull, a maddening itch that grew with every beat of his heart. Panic flickered through him like a match struck in the darkness.

What was happening to him? Why was everything wrong? Where was he? Why did everything burn with such unbearable intensity?

His thoughts spiraled, and flashes of memory crashed over him like waves. The war. He had led an army—against Hell. No, not just Hell, but the Princess of Hell herself. The spoiled, naive fool who had no idea of the devastation she was courting. He had wanted to stop her, to make her see the consequences of what she was about to unleash on Heaven, on the Winners. The survivors.

Adam’s pulse quickened. Did no one truly understand what the Winners of Heaven were? They weren't just the righteous, the pure, the souls who followed God’s plan. No, the Winners were the survivors of unspeakable torment—humans who had endured hell on Earth and deserved peace. That was the essence of Heaven, the sanctuary for those who had suffered beyond reason. And the Princess of Hell, in her misguided quest for redemption, was threatening to undo it all. If she succeeded in redeeming a Sinner, what would happen? How would the Winners react?

Adam shuddered at the thought. The Winners weren’t just passive souls—they were warriors, survivors of the darkest trials. They had a power unlike anything even Heaven fully understood. And if they unleashed that power, it wouldn’t just be Hell that suffered. Heaven itself would be torn apart.

Lucifer.

Adam’s jaw clenched at the thought of that arrogant demon. The Morningstar had no idea what was truly at stake, what Heaven truly represented. He had humiliated Adam, beaten him, all because Adam had dared to protect the survivors—those who had suffered at the hands of their abusers. If the Princess succeeded, her reckless actions would incite a chaos neither Hell nor Heaven was prepared for.

And yet... Adam had failed. He had been defeated. During battle, someone—he couldn’t remember who—had snuck up behind him and struck the final blow. But it wasn’t just that. Lucifer had already broken him, leaving him weakened, humiliated. His death, when it came, had been almost a relief.

He had welcomed it.

Adam’s eyes snapped open. His vision was blurry, the world around him swimming in shades of red and purple. He blinked hard, trying to make sense of the shapes and shadows, but his heart sank as realization dawned. Those colours—those curtains—he knew where he was. And the truth was unbearable.

No... no, this can’t be.  He couldn’t accept it.

Panic surged through him, and with a desperate grunt, Adam began to wriggle beneath the heavy quilts that pinned him down like chains. Every movement sent searing pain through his body, his muscles protesting as if they had been stripped raw. His chest heaved with the effort, and it felt like he was dragging something impossibly heavy along with him, a weight that wasn’t his but clung to his very soul.

With trembling arms, he forced himself up, biting back a scream as his body burned with every inch he moved. It felt like a monumental struggle just to sit upright, the heavy air pressing down on him as though the room itself conspired to keep him immobile. His hands clutched at the silken sheets, knuckles white as the realization clawed at his mind.

He was back in Hell.

And it was only the beginning of something far worse.

Dragging himself to the edge of the colossal bed, Adam twisted awkwardly, his body giving out before he could brace himself, collapsing heavily onto the cold floor. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and something inside him wrenched, unfamiliar and raw. Panic flooded his chest. He had to move—now. He had to escape before someone found him, before they came to see if he was still broken, still helpless.

How long had he been unconscious?

It didn’t matter. He had to get away before something else was taken from him, before he was humiliated again. The shame was already too much, a suffocating weight on his soul. He couldn’t bear it. Not again. It was always him—always Adam who crumbled under the boots of others. Always the one who was stepped on, laughed at, torn apart.

But not this time.

Not yet. Not so soon after... his death. Why was he still here? Why was he still trapped in this existence when he should have been freed? It wasn’t fair.

Adam’s limbs trembled violently as he struggled to move, but his body refused to obey. His arms and legs felt distant, alien—completely unresponsive. His feet wouldn’t lift him; his hands collapsed beneath his weight. The dark mist crept at the corners of his vision, curling like smoke around his consciousness.

Why?

His body had betrayed him. His strength had deserted him, leaving him defenseless, pathetic, like prey waiting for the predator’s strike. He couldn’t be here—not like this, not when he was so weak. The moment they found him, they would break him again, humiliate him, tear him apart.

Why? Why? Why?

"Adam!" A voice, frantic and sharp, called out from behind him, cutting through the fog clouding his mind. It came from the other side of the bed, filled with panic.

Adam’s chest felt as though it was about to shatter. His head spun wildly as he turned toward the voice, his blurred vision struggling to focus on the figure rushing toward him. His eyes widened in shock, his jaw slack. His arms shook violently as they tried to hold him upright, but he must have looked pathetic—a trembling, broken creature hunched awkwardly on the floor, freezing and disoriented.

The figure in white drew closer, their movements rapid and purposeful, but Adam barely registered them. All he could feel was the cold consuming him, seeping into his bones. Another figure lingered at the doorway, and a third stood on the other side of the bed, watching him intently.

His mouth opened, but the scream that ripped from his throat didn’t sound like his own. It was a raw, primal sound, something more beast than man—an unearthly shriek that echoed through the room, leaving Adam stunned. The others recoiled, their hands flying to their ears as the sound shattered the stillness. The figure in white froze mid-step, shocked by the inhuman scream.

But Adam wasn’t finished. Something was unfurling behind him, stretching out on either side of his trembling body. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t care. All he could see was the familiar shimmer of silver and blue, lightning-bright streaks zipping through the air as the energy expanded from him. It spread from his knees, seeping into the ground beneath him, forming a perfect, glowing pentagram.

"Adam!" the one in white yelled again, reaching out desperately. "Stop!"

But Adam could barely hear them over the roar in his mind, his own voice breaking through the madness as another scream tore from his throat.

"Why am I still alive?!"

The words echoed in the room, a question as desperate as it was furious, and then the world around him erupted in a blinding storm of silver and blue. Light filled every corner, obliterating the darkness, until finally, everything collapsed.

Silence descended.

Adam crumpled to the ground outside, his body curling tightly as the last of his strength drained away. His mind drifted toward the edges of consciousness, a peaceful emptiness overtaking the pain.

At least it was quiet here, in the stillness of oblivion.

Maybe now, at last... he could die.

~#~

Waking once more, Adam’s eyes bled silver and blue, the ethereal liquid streaking down his face like tears from another realm. Death had eluded him again, cruel and mocking, leaving him tethered to the world he so desperately wished to leave behind. He was alive—still breathing, still suffering. His soul ached for release, for the finality that would never come. Exhaustion clung to him like a shroud, each heartbeat a reminder of the torment he could not escape. All he wanted was for it to be over. To step off the ride, to finally find peace.

With a sharp, burning gasp, Adam stirred. His body shifted, finding itself curled tightly between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, its pulse faintly humming beneath him. His skin prickled with unease as he tilted his head back, gazing upward through bleary, stinging eyes. Above, the branches stretched high, their once vibrant leaves now brittle and decaying, drifting down in slow spirals as if mourning their own demise. The bark, though alien to him—unlike any tree from Heaven or Earth—had a strange, almost alive texture. He squirmed, dislodging himself from the roots’ tight embrace, crawling slowly from his resting place.

As he glanced back, he saw the imprint his body had left on the bark, as though he had tried to meld with the tree itself. The bark appeared to have absorbed part of him, as if it had become a part of his essence. An impulse to reach out, to touch it again, gripped him, but he resisted. Something was terribly wrong. His instincts screamed in warning, a whisper of dread curling around his thoughts.

Slowly, Adam’s gaze drifted across the grass beneath him, noticing the withering of the once-lush greenery. The vibrant blades had become dry and brittle, curling in on themselves, as though the life had been drained from them. They crumbled at his touch, turning to dust between his fingers. A creeping sense of decay hung in the air, growing heavier with every breath he took.

Groaning as his knees cracked and snapped, Adam ignored the sharp sounds of his bones as they protested the movement. He crawled forward slightly and sat amidst the ruin, surveying the place he found himself in—a place that felt like a park, with trees and grass, but distorted. Wrong. He was still in Hell; he could feel it. The telltale red mist swirled through the air, thick and heavy, and the sky above held the familiar sinful hue of dusty crimson, broken only by the stark white orb of Heaven shining faintly in the distance.

But something was terribly amiss. The garden around him, once filled with life, was decaying before his eyes. Colours drained from the world, turning to muted browns and greys, the vibrancy crumbling into lifeless ash. It was as if something was devouring the very essence of this place, siphoning its vitality away.

Adam’s chest tightened with dread. What was happening?

Adam dragged himself through Hell's garden, the once lush and vibrant world wilting under his very touch. His fingers dug into the crumbling earth, pulling his exhausted body forward as he felt something—something heavy—attached to his back, dragging along the ground behind him. He didn’t dare look at it, too weak to confront whatever grotesque thing clung to him. Instead, he kept his gaze ahead, watching the grass around him slowly die, the green blades blackening and withering to ash.

Above, the trees groaned as their branches trembled, fruit falling from their limbs. Adam’s eyes caught a flash of orange as one tumbled to the earth. He paused, staring at it as it rolled to a stop just within reach. It was an orange—once bright and plump—but even as he watched, it shrivelled, darkening as mold crept across its surface, turning it black and rotten. The putrid smell hit him like a wave, but still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Life here was slipping into death, drained of its essence before his very eyes.

He kept crawling, his hands the only means to move his broken body. His fingers sank into the brittle grass, which disintegrated beneath his touch. With each pull, it felt as though he was dragging the weight of a thousand souls behind him, an unseen burden shackled to his spine. His feet wouldn’t support him—he knew that much. They were useless, numb. All he had were his hands, and they were trembling.

At last, he reached the edge of a pond—a small, still body of water framed by red roses and carnations that lined its banks. Adam paused, staring. The scene was hauntingly familiar. He had seen this place before. He had been here. He recognized the way the water shimmered, the way the flowers bloomed, the pair of ducks that glided across the surface without a care. He could almost hear the memory whispering to him, as if from a life long forgotten.

But even here, in this last vestige of beauty, death was encroaching. He watched as the roses began to droop, their petals browning, curling inward before falling away into dust. The carnations followed suit, their vibrant hues turning a dull, lifeless grey as they crumbled into the earth. Adam’s breath hitched, the garden around him collapsing into decay, the blackened grass creeping ever closer to the pond.

Panic seized him as he turned his gaze back to the ducks, still swimming, unaware of the dying world around them. He tried to cry out, to warn them, but his voice failed him—nothing but a strangled whine escaped his throat. Desperate, he reached out a trembling hand, as if he could stop the inevitable, but it was too late.

The ducks froze. Their feathers darkened and their forms withered, collapsing in on themselves as though time had cruelly fast-forwarded their lives. In mere moments, they had turned to skeletal remains, their bones sinking beneath the murky surface of the pond. The water rippled briefly, then stilled, as if nothing had ever lived there at all.

A horrified cry escaped Adam’s lips, his chest tightening in anguish. His tears—those strange silver and blue droplets—fell freely now, sliding down his cheeks and staining the ground below him. He wheezed, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as panic gripped his chest. The world around him was unravelling, and he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t understand what was happening, why everything he touched seemed to rot and die.

His vision blurred, the edges of his mind fraying, until something caught his eye. The pond. Even in its stillness, the water remained reflective, its surface like a dark mirror. For a moment, Adam hesitated, but the pull was too strong to resist. Slowly, with shaking hands, he dragged himself to the edge of the pond, his long fingers curling around the damp earth at its banks.

Leaning forward, he gazed into the water.

There, in the blackened reflection, was a face he barely recognized.

It was him—but not him. His eyes glowed faintly with silver and blue, the same colours that bled from his tears.

Adam gazed into the still surface of the pond, his breath catching in his throat as the reflection staring back at him took form. He blinked, refusing to believe the grotesque figure he saw was him, but no amount of denial could erase the haunting image. What looked back was a twisted mockery of what he once had been—a shadow of the Archangel he was.

Two small horns jutted out from the sides of his head, emerging through his thick, dark hair. Between them floated small fragments of bones, like a fractured halo suspended in a macabre orbit around his head. His face was part flesh, part bone, his eyes deeply sunken into skeletal sockets. But it was the colors of his eyes that truly chilled him: light blue sclera encased piercing green pupils, a reversed and unnatural reflection of the angelic light he once knew. His hair was a deep, ink-black cascade streaked with pale blue, as if frost had kissed the darkest night, the strands shimmering with faint highlights, both ethereal and eerie.

Adam’s arms stretched before him, thin and skeletal, his fingers bruised and pale, almost translucent as they hovered above the pond. They weren’t claws, nor did he have sharp teeth or monstrous fangs—no, what unnerved him was the hollow, fragile appearance of his limbs. He looked as though he had been drained of life, a mere shell of the vibrant creature he once was.

But what truly paralyzed him—what left him trembling, breathless—were the things attached to his back. His gaze, hesitant and terrified, shifted slowly, his heart pounding in a ghostly echo that seemed to drop into the pit of his stomach. His body shook as, ever so slowly, six enormous wings rose and stretched on either side of him. They were not the radiant, feathered wings of an angel. They were made entirely of bone, skeletal, devoid of life or warmth. They stretched wide, casting shadows over the withered garden as if they themselves consumed the light.

He swallowed hard as the truth struck him like a blade to the heart—he was the one draining the life from the garden. It was his presence that withered the trees, sucked the life from the grass, and rotted the fruit. His very existence seemed to poison everything around him. He froze in place, trembling, unable to tear his eyes away from the devastation spreading across the landscape. The vibrant flowers wilted, crumbling into brittle, lifeless husks, the trees withered and bore no more fruit, and the air itself seemed to grow colder and darker in his wake.

With this horrifying revelation, Adam found himself able to stand. His legs were shaky, barely able to support his weight, but he forced himself up. He was dressed in nothing but an oversized black t-shirt that hung down to his mid-thigh, loose and ill-fitting as if mocking the frailty of his new form. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as he took a step forward, his feet shuffling through the dying grass. Each step he took seemed to leech the life from the earth beneath him. The trees bowed, their branches heavy with rot, and the air grew thick with decay as he unconsciously fed off the energy around him.

Adam’s gaze fell upon the ducks—the innocent creatures that had once swum peacefully in the pond. Now, their skeletal remains rested on the water's surface, sunken and lifeless. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as the weight of his existence pressed down on him.

What had he become?

What kind of monster was he now? Why had he been twisted into this grotesque parody of an Archangel?

Suddenly, his chest burned. A sharp pain shot through him, and he winced, glancing down. The star-shaped scar on his chest—the wound that was supposed to have killed him—began to glow, flickering with an eerie blend of silver and blue light. It pulsed in time with his breathing, as though the very scar itself was alive, tethered to whatever dark magic had transformed him.

Stumbling backward, Adam tripped over a root and fell to the ground with a thud. He scrambled to his feet, turning sharply—only to find himself facing a looming pillar. A shrine. It stood tall and imposing, bathed in a strange, pulsing glow. And resting atop the shrine, shining with an ethereal golden light, was a single apple.

The moment his eyes fell upon it, Adam knew what it was. The Apple of Knowledge. The very fruit that had torn apart his life, had brought the first sin into the world. Two distinct bite marks marred its surface—the marks of Lilith and Eve. A shiver ran down his spine, colder than anything he had ever felt before. The magic radiating from the apple was intoxicating, vibrant, filled with life and light. It pulsed with an energy that was the antithesis of everything he had become.

Adam reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered closer to the cursed fruit. He could feel the warmth of its magic, the life it offered, but something inside him—deep, dark, and instinctive—reached back toward it. His hand extended, fingers trembling as he stretched toward the apple, drawn by some unseen force.

The thing that had ruined him, the thing that had caused everything to spiral into chaos, was now within his reach. Yet as his fingers neared the glowing apple, the darkness inside him stirred, awakening something ancient and hungry.

Adam’s breath quickened. He hesitated, the weight of eternity bearing down on his fragile soul as his hand hovered inches from the fruit of knowledge.

"Adam!" a familiar voice tore through the air, sharp and desperate, snapping him from his trance as if yanking him back from the edge of oblivion.

Adam flinched, his skeletal feet trembling as he stumbled away from the pillar. His wide eyes, dark and hollow, were unfocused, as if his mind wasn’t fully present. Slowly, his gaze drifted toward the figure standing before him—the one responsible for all his ruin, the one who had torn him apart and left him shattered time and again.

Lucifer.

He stood there, flustered and breathless, his usually composed face flushed with a rosy hue, his striking red pupils wide with fear and disbelief. His skin, pale and immaculate, glowed with the warmth of life, his cheeks tinted a delicate shade of pink. His hair, golden blonde with soft coral streaks woven through the pale strands, cascaded down his shoulders like sunlight caught in a gentle breeze. Dressed in a pristine white suit, Lucifer looked every bit the angel he once was, but his expression betrayed him—too many emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession, as though he couldn’t quite grasp what he was witnessing.

Lucifer’s enormous wings, a breathtaking blend of white feathers tinged with red, stretched out behind him, trembling slightly as if mirroring the chaos in his soul. He looked upon Adam, not with anger, but with a raw, anxious desperation, his heart visibly torn. He couldn't believe it—couldn’t fathom that it was Adam wreaking such havoc.

“Adam, you have to stop!” Lucifer’s voice broke with urgency, his words almost pleading. “You need to stop before it’s too late!”

But Adam just stared at him, unblinking, as if Lucifer’s words were an alien language he could no longer understand. A hollow laugh bubbled up inside him, though it never left his lips. Instead, all he felt was emptiness—an overwhelming void that left him cold, shivering, and numb.

“Please, Adam,” Lucifer’s voice softened, cracking at the edges. “You’ll kill everyone... you’ll hurt Charlie if you don’t stop.”

Golden sparks of magic began to shimmer around Lucifer, swirling in the air like embers of light, but Adam was blind to it. His body trembled, not from fear, but from something far deeper—a profound emptiness that gnawed at his soul, threatening to consume him whole.

And then, almost as if a dam had broken inside him, Adam’s voice tore through the air, his scream ragged and inhuman.

“Why...” His voice was barely a whisper at first, choked and broken. “Why didn’t you kill me?!”

The words erupted from him with such force that it felt like his very soul had split open. His throat burned as the screech reverberated through the air, twisted and raw, sending shockwaves of agony through his body. The darkness inside him, the festering void that had grown and coiled in his chest, flared violently, crashing against his ribcage like a beast seeking to break free.

And then, with a sudden roar, silver and blue magic exploded from him, crackling like furious lightning. It surged outward, chaotic and destructive, colliding with Lucifer’s golden-red magic that spiralled toward him in a desperate attempt to contain the storm. Their powers met with a deafening clash, sending shockwaves ripping through the garden like a hurricane unleashed from the very depths of Hell.

The once-beautiful garden, Lucifer’s sanctuary, was torn apart in seconds. Trees that had stood for centuries were uprooted and thrown across the desolate landscape. Flowers, once vibrant and fragrant, withered instantly, their petals crumbling to dust in the raging wind. The earth itself seemed to split open, groaning beneath the weight of their combined magic.

Everything Lucifer had spent years creating…gone.

Lucifer, for all his strength and grace, struggled to keep his footing. His boots skidded across the soil—the same soil he had lovingly tended to for countless hours, the soil of his sanctuary that now lay in ruin. But he had no time to grieve the loss of his beloved garden. His wings flared out behind him, struggling to shield him from the brutal force of Adam’s magic. His arms rose instinctively to cover his face, but even that seemed barely enough to hold back the searing heat of the silver and blue flames that crackled before him.

“Adam!” he screamed again, his voice raw with desperation, but the storm between them swallowed his cry.

The chaotic swirl of magic grew hotter, more violent, each pulse of energy warping the very air around them. It was as if the magic was feeding off the destruction, growing wilder, hungrier with every passing second.

The world around them blurred, torn apart by the force of their powers clashing together. Lucifer’s heart ached as he fought against the tide of devastation, his soul pleading for Adam to stop, to see reason, but all he could feel was the suffocating weight of Adam’s sorrow and rage.

And beneath it all, the same question echoed in his mind, over and over—Why didn’t I kill him?

Why didn’t I kill him when I found him alive again?

But no answer came. Only the howling wind and the crackling of their deadly magic filled the air as the remnants of the garden continued to fall apart around them.

Horror clawed its way into Adam's very soul as the full weight of the truth settled in like a stone in his chest. He was the opposite of Lucifer in every imaginable way. Lucifer, with his golden magic that breathed life and creation into the world, stood as a beacon of beauty and celestial grace. Adam’s magic, by contrast, was a force of destruction—silver, corrosive, and cold. Where Lucifer’s halo shone with light, Adam’s was a ghastly ring of darkness, fragments of bone that hovered in a grotesque parody of divinity. Lucifer embodied radiance, but Adam... Adam was a twisted figure of decay, a living effigy of death.

And then, in a heartbeat, everything stopped. The chaos that had spiraled around them moments before stilled, as if the world itself had drawn a sharp breath and held it. Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.

Adam staggered backward, horror flooding his veins like ice. His mismatched eyes—green and blue, so wide they hurt—were clouded with disbelief. He felt as though he were drowning in the weight of his own being. A dizzying pulse throbbed at his temples, his head swimming as he arched his back, his skeletal wings trembling on either side of him, quivering under the weight of his agony.

And then he saw it—his shadow, misshapen and grotesque, stretching out beneath him like a harrowing specter. A sob tore from his throat at the sight, a raw, anguished sound.

His hands shot up before him, his fingers bruised and skeletal, trembling with the weight of his disgust.

“What am I?” he gasped, voice cracking as tears of silver and blue welled in his sunken eyes. “What have I become?”

Lucifer, mere feet away, was barely able to stand. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for rest. His own magic, golden and warm, had shrunken inward, drained and depleted from the effort of containing the chaos of Adam’s power. It had been too much—too young, too volatile. If Lucifer had faltered for even a moment, Adam’s destructive magic could have consumed Hell and Heaven alike. The weight of this realization pressed heavily on Lucifer’s chest, his heart pounding in the aftermath of the storm. His claws dug into his knees as he fought for breath, his whole body aching as though it had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.

He blinked through the haze of exhaustion, lifting his gaze to where Adam had collapsed onto his skeletal knees, the wings of bone and dark feathers draped limply around him. Adam’s figure was so broken, so full of anguish, that Lucifer’s heart ached in a way it hadn’t for millennia.

“Adam...” Lucifer began, his voice barely more than a whisper, soft and deliberate, as though he were approaching a wounded, dangerous creature. Each step he took was cautious, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, but he pressed forward.

Adam’s head snapped up, his eyes wild and frantic as they locked onto Lucifer’s. And before Lucifer could react, Adam lunged forward. His skeletal fingers latched onto Lucifer’s pristine white jacket, clutching it with a desperation so raw it sent a tremor through Lucifer’s core.

“Kill me!” Adam’s voice broke, the words tumbling from his lips in ragged sobs. “Please, kill me!”

The tears flowed freely now silver and blue streaks painting his gaunt cheeks. His voice trembled, each word a struggle as his throat throbbed with the strain of his pleading. His hands tightened their grip on Lucifer’s jacket, tugging helplessly as he begged for release.

“You need to kill me! I can’t live like this!” Adam’s voice cracked again; each word laced with despair. “I want to die! Please... kill me.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock, his body jolting as Adam’s weight tugged on him, pulling him forward and backward with each desperate plea. His hands instinctively rose, hovering in the air, unsure whether to push Adam away or hold him closer. His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat, tangled in the raw emotion that had suddenly consumed them both.

“A-Adam, I...” Lucifer stammered, his voice thick with uncertainty, his chest aching as he struggled to find words. But what could he say to this broken, haunted creature before him? He, too, was lost in the swirling chaos of their shared past—of wounds too deep to heal, of choices that had led them to this desolate place.

But Adam’s trembling form clinging to him, begging for death... Lucifer had no words for this. No way to undo the pain. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Kill me, Luci! You need to kill me!” Adam’s sobs tore through the quiet, his voice breaking as blue and silver tears spilled down his gaunt cheeks. His skeletal wings drooped lifelessly to the ground, the bones scraping softly against the cracked earth on either side of him. His whole body trembled with the weight of his anguish, his hollow cries echoing like the lament of a lost soul.

“I was supposed to die, Luci. I shouldn’t be here! I don’t want to be here!”

At the sound of that name—Luci—a shudder ran through Lucifer’s entire body, freezing him in place. Adam hadn’t called him that since Eden, since before the fall, before he had left with Lilith and turned his back on Heaven. It was a name laced with the memory of something far simpler, far more innocent. Lucifer's chest constricted painfully, a burn spreading through him that hadn’t surfaced in centuries. The name clawed at old wounds, ripping them open in ways Lucifer hadn’t expected.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he struggled to catch his breath, his heart hammering in his chest as though it might shatter beneath the weight of Adam's plea. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer raised his trembling hands, jerking slightly before finally resting them on Adam’s shoulders. The touch was tentative, unsure. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and almost broken.

“I can’t...” The words barely made it past his lips, fragile and uncertain.

Adam’s response was immediate, shaking his head as he cried harder, his body wracked with sobs that tore from the depths of his soul.

“Why not?!” His voice was laced with desperation, the agony of someone who had already lost everything.

“I-I just can’t, Adam…” Lucifer stammered, his own wings beginning to mirror Adam’s, drooping low and heavy as if they shared the same unbearable weight. The once-majestic feathers, streaked with white and red, now seemed dulled in the shadow of his anguish.

“I can’t kill you. I-I... I won’t.”

Lucifer’s voice trembled as he spoke, his chest tightening with every word, with every refusal to grant Adam the one thing he begged for. It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t cruelty. It was something else—something Lucifer didn’t have the strength to name. His hands tightened their hold on Adam’s shoulders, as if grounding himself in the fragile moment between them, unwilling to let go. His breath hitched again, the agony of their shared past and broken present pressing down on him like a weight he could no longer carry.

Adam’s cries continued, his body collapsing beneath the weight of his despair, but Lucifer stood frozen, his heart torn between an impossible decision. How could he grant Adam’s wish? How could he be the one to end it all, when every piece of him screamed to protect what little remained?

“Please, please, kill me. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He hiccupped pitifully.

“I-I just can’t, Adam…” Lucifer gasped, shaking himself.  “I can’t kill you. I-I… I won’t.”

At those words, something inside Adam snapped. His sobbing morphed into a cry of rage, his blue and silver magic crackling violently in the air around them.

“I hate you!” he screamed, the words ripping from his throat like a curse. “You ruined my life! You took everything from me!”

His fists clenched, and he pounded them weakly against Lucifer’s chest, though it wasn’t the physical blows that hurt—it was the weight of Adam’s words. “I have never asked you for anything, Luci! Not once! But this… I ask you for this, and you can’t even do it!”

Lucifer stood still, his expression softening, though his heart broke with every word. He didn’t flinch as Adam’s magic lashed out, the chaotic tendrils of blue and silver sparking in the air. He simply listened, his heart aching, guilt weighing heavy in his chest.

“You were my Archangel! My best friend!” Adam continued, his voice cracking under the strain of emotion. “I adored you more than anyone. But you—you betrayed me in the worst possible way! You left me… you hurt me… and I’ve never recovered from that. The pain is still there, festering inside me! And it wasn’t because Lilith left me, that she chose someone else. I could’ve survived that. But what destroyed me was that it was you!”

Adam’s voice broke as he cried out in anguish. “You, Lucifer! The person I trusted more than anyone else. The one I cared about the most! And you—you took her from me. I could never heal from that betrayal! It tore me apart, and it’s never stopped hurting.”

Lucifer’s eyes glistened, his face still, but the pain of Adam’s words cut deeper than any wound. He stood in silence, absorbing every accusation, every ounce of hatred. He deserved it all.

Adam’s magic flared again, wild and uncontrollable.

“You took everything!” he screamed, the rage and sorrow blending into something raw, primal. “You took Lilith! Fine, I could live with that. But then you took Eve! What the hell was I supposed to do?! Did you want me to be alone for my entire life? You took them both! Both! All I ever wanted was to be loved! To belong! But you—you cast me aside, left me in the cold, just like everyone else!”

Adam’s tears streamed down, his voice cracking as he screamed, “I hate you, Lucifer! You’ve always hurt me!”

Lucifer’s knees buckled under the weight of Adam’s words, and slowly, he sank to the ground. Adam weakly hit him on the chest, fists thudding against the fabric of his white suit, but the blows quickly gave way to broken sobs. Without hesitation, Lucifer wrapped his arms around Adam, pulling him close, hugging him tightly. His voice was soft, trembling with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am a terrible Archangel. A terrible friend. I never wanted to hurt you… I never meant for any of this…”

“But you did!” Adam sobbed. “You’re always hurting me! Every choice you make, every decision—it always ends with me suffering!”

Lucifer squeezed him tighter, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought you’d come around eventually, that—”

“Come around to what?!” Adam interrupted, his voice hollow with disbelief. “You took my only friends! Left me all alone! If Eve hadn’t bitten that apple, I would’ve been in Eden for centuries, alone, because I couldn’t handle someone leaving me again. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you thought would happen?”

“No…” Lucifer whispered, shaking his head, but the words faltered on his tongue. “No, Adam, I wasn’t thinking like that. I just… I wanted everyone to be free. To make their own choices.”

“You were being selfish!” Adam screamed, his voice rising with the chaos of his magic, silver and blue lightning sparking and crackling around them. “You’ve always been selfish, Luci! Every decision you’ve ever made has led to me suffering!”

Lucifer flinched, the truth of Adam’s words hitting him hard. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

But Adam wasn’t finished. His eyes blazed with fury, his magic lashing out in uncontrolled arcs. “You’re still selfish! You don’t even know why Heaven does what it does, why it’s so important to protect the Winners! Do you even understand what it would mean if Charlie managed to redeem a Sinner? Why the Exterminations are so critical?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock, confusion clouding his features.

Adam scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course, you don’t know. You don’t know anything! Hell is filled with abusers, Lucifer! Every Sinner is someone who hurt another soul—who enjoyed hurting them. Every Sinner committed a crime, and every one of them has a victim in Heaven! The Winners are the ones who survived their sins, and now Charlie’s trying to paradise their abusers!”

Lucifer opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He was utterly stunned, caught in the truth of Adam’s words.

Adam’s voice trembled with anger as he continued, “It’s not about second chances. It’s about whether the survivors can live in a paradise knowing their abusers are there too. Every decision Heaven made was to protect the survivors from Hell’s rotten souls.”

Lucifer could only listen in stunned silence as Adam revealed the harsh truth.

“Lilith isn’t trapped in Heaven,” Adam said, his voice quiet but filled with bitter sorrow. “She chose to stay. She saw the survivors, saw what those humans did to them. She’s up there helping them, not because Heaven forced her, but because she wanted to.”

Lucifer's head spun, the world crumbling beneath the weight of this revelation. Everything he had believed, everything he had fought for—it all felt meaningless now. He had been so wrong. So blind.

But the realization brought no comfort to Adam. Seeing Lucifer’s defeated expression didn’t ease his pain. It only made it worse. Adam sobbed harder; his broken heart laid bare.

“Please,” he whispered, the tears choking him. “Just… kill me.”

But once again, Lucifer’s answer was the same.

“No.”

Adam sagged backward, the weight of everything crushing down on him, his head hanging hopelessly, defeat rippling through every inch of his frame. His wings, those macabre skeletal structures draped with trembling blue feathers, drooped even lower, dragging against the ashen ground.

“I hate you so much,” he whispered, his voice hollow and ragged, as if the very words drained the last of his strength.

“I know,” Lucifer responded quietly, his voice thick with a sorrow that mirrored Adam’s despair. He tightened his arms around Adam, pulling him closer as if trying to meld their broken pieces together.

“I hate myself too.”

Neither of them spoke after that. In the silence, the ruins of Lucifer’s Eden replica stretched out around them, the once beautiful imitation of paradise now little more than a graveyard of dreams long dead. Their breaths mingled in the stillness, both clinging to each other, neither wanting to let go, yet neither knowing how to move forward. It was a quiet, desperate embrace, filled with all the things they had never been able to say.

Finally, Adam, voice low and hesitant, broke the silence. “What do you want from me?”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened slightly, as though afraid that letting go would shatter what fragile connection remained between them. When he finally spoke, he pulled back just enough to meet Adam’s eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness that was almost painful to behold. His hand reached up to touch the blue circle that was now imprinted on Adam’s cheek, a dark and sad reflection of what once might have been divine grace.

“I loved you,” Lucifer whispered, his fingers tracing the edge of the mark gently. The circle glowed faintly, like a dying ember. “I loved you so much, but my affection—it was too much for you. And for that… for that, I am deeply sorry.”

Adam blinked, confusion crossing his face as he furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand what Lucifer was trying to say, and it only made the ache in his chest throb harder. “What are you talking about?”

Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice a soft breath against Adam’s skin. “I want to make a deal with you.”

The moment the words left Lucifer’s mouth, Adam recoiled violently, yanking himself out of Lucifer’s arms with a sudden surge of anger. He stumbled backward, struggling to his feet, his wings flaring wide in frustration.

“A deal?” he spat, eyes flashing with fury. “You think I’m stupid? You want to bind me to a contract where you own my soul, don’t you? Just like you do with everyone else in Hell!”

His voice was sharp, every syllable dripping with bitter resentment. “I’ll never give you that! You’ve already taken everything from me, Lucifer! The last thing I have is my soul, and I’ll be damned if I ever give that to you.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his hand shooting out to grab Adam by the wrist before he could storm off. “Wait, please—just listen to me.”

Adam growled; his voice dangerously low.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” he hissed, his blue and silver magic beginning to spark dangerously around them again. “For someone who claims to care so much about freedom, about letting humans choose for themselves, you’re awfully eager to take that freedom away. You’re no better than Heaven, Lucifer.”

Lucifer flinched, Adam’s words cutting deep. His grip on Adam’s wrist tightened, but there was no force behind it, only desperation. “I don’t make deals to trap souls, not anymore. That’s not what this is. It’s different. This is different.”

Adam scoffed, pulling his wrist out of Lucifer’s grasp as he glared at him.

“How is it different?” he demanded, the fury in his voice only barely concealing the hurt that still lingered beneath.

Lucifer slowly stood, stepping toward Adam with deliberate caution. He moved close, too close, and looped an arm around Adam’s middle, pulling him back against his chest. His other hand rose once more to touch the sad blue mark on Adam’s cheek.

“Because this time,” Lucifer said, his voice a quiet murmur against the top of Adam’s head, “You’ll own my soul too.”

Adam frowned, the anger giving way to confusion.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why would you do that?”

Lucifer’s expression softened; his gaze filled with a rare sincerity that Adam had almost forgotten he was capable of. “Your new power… it’s unstable, dangerous. If what you said is true, that Heaven wants to protect the Winners—if they see you as a threat—they’ll come after you.”

Lucifer’s face darkened at the thought. “And I won’t let that happen.”

Adam scoffed quietly, the bitterness returning as he shook his head. “Why would you stop them? If they kill me, that’s exactly what I want.”

Lucifer growled softly, tightening his hold around Adam, pulling him even closer until their bodies pressed together.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he said firmly, his voice low and warning. “How am I supposed to make up for what I did if I let you die?”

Adam laughed bitterly, a harsh, broken sound. “You seriously think you can make up for all the pain you’ve caused?”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “You’re delusional, Lucifer. I’ll never agree to this.”

Lucifer shrugged, a wide, face splitting grin pulled at the corner of his lips. ���Every beginning is born from a bit of insanity.”

Adam rolled his eyes, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he mulled over Lucifer’s words. The weight of the offer hung heavy between them, and the truth of it—the sheer absurdity of it—began to settle in.

“Why would you offer up your own soul?” Adam asked after a long pause, his voice quieter, more hesitant now. “What do you get out of this?”

Lucifer’s grin widened, but it was softer this time, more genuine.

“Because if you own my soul too,” he said, brushing his thumb gently against Adam’s cheek, “You’ll know that I’m not just playing with you. You’ll have power over me, just like I would over you. It wouldn’t be one-sided.”

Adam’s frown deepened, but he couldn’t hide the way his heart raced, the way the offer twisted something inside him. It was tempting. Too tempting.

Lucifer’s eyes never left Adam’s as he whispered, “This way, you’ll never have to doubt my intentions again.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Adam was silent, the weight of Lucifer’s words sinking deep into his soul. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel.

Adam stood there, frozen, his heart a mess of conflict and confusion. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn’t want Lucifer to make amends or try to fix the past. He was tired. Bone-deep exhaustion pulled at every part of him. After centuries of existence—living through Eden, Earth, and Heaven—there was nothing left to strive for, no new desires to chase. He had lived a full life, endured countless betrayals, heartbreaks, and wars. Now, all he wanted was rest. He wanted the release of death. Finally. After so long.

As if sensing Adam's inner turmoil, Lucifer leaned in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s lips. It sent a shock through Adam's body, making him stiffen, his eyes widening in confusion.

Lucifer’s voice was a low, intimate whisper, his words caressing the air between them. "You haven’t experienced everything yet, Adam."

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a teasing grin, and he ran his claws through Adam’s hair, sending shivers down Adam’s spine. “You once said that I wanted you to be alone, that I took everyone from you. And you’re right. I was selfish. I hurt you, more than I could ever make up for.”

His tone softened, becoming almost mournful. “But that doesn’t mean I never wanted you.”

Adam eyed him suspiciously, the old wounds of betrayal still too raw, too deep.

“Are you only saying that because you want the full set?” he asked bitterly, his voice dripping with resentment.

Lucifer chuckled softly, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes... and no. I loved all three of you back in Eden—Lilith, Eve... and you. But I was blinded by my own pride. I lost sight of you, Adam. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Adam frowned deeply, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. “I’m not into poly,” he muttered.

Lucifer's grin softened, a knowing look in his eyes. “Neither am I. If you’re willing, it would just be the two of us. No one else.”

Adam blinked, the weight of Lucifer’s words sinking in. “In this contract?”

Lucifer shook his head, correcting gently, “No. In a relationship.”

The word sent a sharp pang through Adam’s chest, his breath catching. He couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping into his voice as he asked, “Are you only doing this out of pity? Out of guilt?”

Lucifer didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering as he met Adam’s eyes. “I won’t lie. Maybe guilt plays a part, but my love for you is real. It always has been. Just as much as I loved Lilith and Eve... maybe even more.”

His voice was a tender confession, raw and honest. “My greatest sin wasn’t falling or rebelling. It was not finding you after Eden. I should have come back for you.”

Adam wanted to scoff, to brush Lucifer’s words aside as manipulative lies, but there was something in Lucifer’s eyes—a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in ages.

“I don’t believe you,” Adam whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Lucifer, not missing a beat, reached for Adam’s hand, pressing it firmly against his own chest. Beneath Adam’s palm, Lucifer’s heart pounded erratically, the rapid rhythm betraying the King of Hell’s own unease.

“Feel that?” Lucifer whispered; his voice almost desperate. “I want you, Adam. I want to be with you.”

Adam swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat.

“If I agree to this,” he whispered, his voice harsh with emotion, “And you fail—if you hurt me again—you have to kill me.”

Lucifer's face tightened, a frown forming as he instinctively began to protest. “Adam, I—”

But Adam cut him off, covering Lucifer’s mouth with his hand. “That’s the only way I’ll agree to this contract, Lucifer. You have to kill me if you fail.”

Lucifer’s golden eyes darkened with displeasure, his jaw tightening beneath Adam’s palm. He wanted to snarl, to refuse, but Adam was right—he was the King of Lies, the Father of Deception. A sly smirk crept onto Lucifer’s lips, and after a tense moment, he nodded, his eyes gleaming with that familiar wickedness.

“Of course,” he purred, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “If I fail to make you love me in return, I’ll do as you ask.”

But even as he agreed, Lucifer’s fingers crossed behind his back. He had no intention of fulfilling that end of the bargain. After all, failure wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let it be.

Adam, too weary and conflicted to see through Lucifer’s subtle lie, let his guard down. He sighed, the exhaustion in his soul weighing him down.

“Fine,” he muttered reluctantly. “I agree.”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with triumph, but his expression softened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Adam’s in a kiss that was both gentle and filled with an undercurrent of something far more dangerous. As their lips met, golden and red magic shimmered around them like flames, dancing in the air, while Adam’s silver and blue magic crackled in response, sharp like lightning. Their powers intertwined, a storm of fire and lightning swirling around them as the contract was sealed.

A golden chain appeared around Adam’s throat, gleaming like a collar, while a silver chain coiled around Lucifer’s neck, binding them together, locking them into this shared fate. For a moment, time seemed to still. Their lips remained pressed together, the raw intensity of the magic burning between them, sealing their souls inextricably to one another for all eternity.

When they finally pulled apart, Adam’s eyes were glazed with a mixture of emotions—rage, sorrow, and a flicker of something else he wasn’t ready to name.

Lucifer, his gaze locked on Adam’s, whispered softly, “We’re bound now. For the rest of eternity.”

Adam swallowed hard; his throat tight as he struggled to breathe. The weight of the chains, both literal and metaphorical, settled around him. He was trapped. Bound. But somewhere, in the deepest, darkest part of his heart, a spark of hope flickered, hope that maybe, just maybe, Lucifer wouldn’t fail this time.

But Adam wasn’t naive. He had learned the hard way that love, especially the kind of love Lucifer offered, always came with a price.

“You’ll fail. You’ll kill me.” Adam grumbled.

Lucifer leant in for another kiss, brushing his lips against Adam’s. “I don’t think I will.”

[mcchicken-scratches]

Putrid Oxygen

Just remembered this WIP existed and managed to find it again, could've sworn I had already posted it to this blog but couldn't find it, then again, Tumblr search feature is shit. Anyways, this is from a Subnautica AU that I mentioned years ago, and still have yet to finish any fics about, this scene taking place in the latter half of the storyline.

-----

Oxygen.

Barely conscious, he was just barely aware of the sudden exposure to air, instead of the water that had begun to fill his body. And so, he convulsed, violently becoming conscious once more as he yanked off his mask desperately.

The air was acrid and humid, in a way that almost choked his lungs as much as the seawater he spewed out. Still, it was breathable, and he greedily sucked it in as he tried to steady himself on the uneven ground.

Stars swam in his vision as his breaths eventually slowed, still feeling dizzy and delirious. It was hot, very hot, a great heat emanating from somewhere nearby. Thankfully it wasn’t hot enough to hurt, but enough to sap the energy out of him, as he found himself slumping against the walls.

Squishy. Why were they squishy?

Wherever he was, it was pitch black, the floors and walls soft and uneven. And now that his breathing had calmed down, he could hear two sounds he had dismissed as his own. A thumping heartbeat, and the muffled whooshing of breaths.

His mind scrambled for an answer, as he tried to remember where he’d last been before he'd blacked out.

He'd been in the lava zone, abandoning his cyclops as it was being destroyed. He'd had nowhere left to go, his oxygen depleting fast, and the sea dragon-

With a sharp gasp, a horrid realization struck him, as his hands scrambled to his belt in search of his flashlight, nearly dropping it before he clicked it on.

The walls were fleshy, shades of pink and red, the surface wrinkled and shifting in a gentle wave-like motion. This time, the flashlight slipped from his grasp, splashing into the puddle of liquid pooled around him.

“No, no no no no no please no…”

He was in the leviathan's stomach. The sea dragon had swallowed him whole.

Ryley curled in on himself as he started to cry, the horror of his situation hitting him hard.

He’d wished he drowned instead of waking up. Now he was going to die painfully, with stomach acid slowly burning him away.

Taking the Cyclops deeper into the lava zone had been a mistake. Now he had no ship and no hope of escaping death.

In a sudden bout of frustration, he punched the stomach wall, before curling back into a ball once more.

“Ah, so you did survive.”

Ryley's head snapped up as the voice rumbled through his bones, loud and surrounding, startling him.

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 19 - Hands

1984

"Albus, who did this to him? Who?"

"Former death-eaters, I suspect. Some who are not pleased to see him free… and under my protection."

Minerva sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her nightgown tighter around herself. She glanced at the younger man's battered face then looked away: she could not stomach it, not yet.

"There cannot be death-eaters outside…"

"Many never stood trial, Minerva. And it is fair to say a good number went undetected. Severus must have encountered some of his old acquaintances tonight."

With considerable gentleness, Albus tucked a loose strand of hair behind the unconscious man's ear, revealing yet another bruise. There was blood all over his face, most notably on its lower part; his nose had bled profusely. Below the skin was marbled, certainly the result of repeated kicking. He must have protected his eyes, though, because they were mostly intact.

His lower lip was badly cut, and for some reason the headmaster could not take his eyes off it.

"Albus", Poppy said at last, putting down her wand and bringing over a bowl of lukewarm water. "Albus, I would like to screen him for internal injuries, but you know the limits of detection spells. If death-eaters did this, there might be curses we cannot catch."

Convulsively, Minerva reached for her colleague's hand. Its sight, however, made her gasp and she jumped to her feet, shaking violently.

"His hands!"

"I know, I know, Minerva, calm down. I will fix them - Minerva, calm down."

Poppy pulled over a seat and gestured towards it authoritatively.

"Sit, Minerva."

The deputy headmistress complied. But this time she could not take her eyes off Severus' hands, no matter the protests of her body and mind; there was something terribly fascinating in them, in each of those fingers so badly torn, and broken.

So much pain - he could withstand so much pain.

"I might need to wake him up", Poppy pursued, damping a white cloth in the basin beside her. She proceeded to wash his face. "Perhaps he could tell me if he recalls any spell, though with the pain in his face, I am unsure he will be able to speak."

The headmaster nodded. For a few seconds, he stroked the younger man's hair; then, as if caught red-handed, he took his hand away.

"I have means to communicate with him that do not require speech, Poppy. Please proceed."

The nurse nodded. She pointed her wand at Severus and whispered the waking spell - enervate.

Severus stirred. Immediately, an expression of intense discomfort, then pain, contracted every muscle on his face; his eyes fluttered open, and fell directly on Dumbledore.

He looked disoriented. His gaze, usually so sharp and penetrating, was glassy.

"Prof-" he started, and then winced in pain.

Albus shook his head.

"No need to speak, my boy. I am sorry we had to wake you up. We merely wish to inquire whether any significant curse was cast on you - you know they do not meddle well with in-depth diagnosing spells."

Severus' eyes went from the headmaster to Minerva, who was sitting beside him, and closed briefly, which disheartened the older man.

"There is no reason to be ashamed, Severus."

The back eyes opened again, brutally. Suddenly a flood of memories took over the headmaster's mind, and he saw four men - no, five - emerge from the shadows, attacking Severus brutally. Though taken by surprise, he fought back; in under a minute two of his adversaries lay on the ground, and a third joined them soon afterwards. It was a well-aimed blow from behind that brought Severus to his knees, and the two remaining men, in a fit of fury, beat him relentlessly while cursing him with a choking spell. He felt Severus' distress, he heard him gasp, there were flashes of light and more blood; he was vaguely aware that this had gone on for a long time, and felt Severus trying to retreat. But he pushed through.

He should not have. He knew he should have respected the man's wishes and let him show him only what he wanted, but the sheer brutality of the attack, the state of his hands; Albus needed to get a proper look at all five of these men. To remember their faces. He felt Severus' exhausted presence attempt to withdraw again and held on for a second longer.

Severus was paralysed, now. Paralysed and choked repeatedly - a most awful combination of curses.

"Not so proud now are you, uh, Snape? Dumbledore's not around to protect you this time? Come on, say it. Say Dumbledore's a cunt."

There was no reply. Then a loud snap. Severus whimpered.

"Say it."

Silence. Another crack.

"Say it."

Another bone snapped like a twig.

Feeling as though he might be sick, Albus withdrew, his face now as pale as Severus'. He was holding the bed frame with disproportionate strength. It took him a few seconds to realise.

He let go.

"Albus?" Minerva said, taking a step forward.

He turned his face away.

"Choking spells, Poppy. You know the counter-curses."

His blue eyes met the black, and he discerned a hint of surprise in them; he wondered why; then, taking a step back, he brought his hand to his face, and realised he was crying.

All ten fingers.

[lets-try-some-writing]

In the AU where unicron is optimus father what would happen if the kids were harmed or in a dangerous situation thanks to unicron resulting in the response of the optimus and the rest of the autobots

More pain for my lovely boy. This is going to be complete angst so to make sure Prime gets some comfort eventually, I am going to make an additional two parts for this in different posts.

A Father's Wrath

After months of watching Optimus be ignored and feared by his own team, the bots Optimus had come to see as family, Unicron grew angered. The chaos god understood their initial fear, but as he watched his only creation wallow and slowly fall to loneliness, his patience wore thin. This was his son, his glorious creation who had lowered himself to protect and care for Primus's lesser spawn, and now said spawn were rejecting that kindness. It was despicable.

The chaos god tried to reign in his anger for Optimus's sake. If nothing else the human vermin that had taken up residence on his frame were there to support his wayward creation. But days turned to weeks, and weeks into months until at last Unicron could take it no longer. One day after Optimus had struggled in vain to try and speak to any of his team only to be promptly ignored, Unicron at last snapped.

In a fit of rage, Unicron transferred power over to his creation unknowingly, causing Optimus to once again fall to the ground in agony as his frame rearranged itself to make up for the surplus of power. It was unintentional on Unicron's part, but as Optimus flailed and screamed, the waves of power emanating from him struck the children and the team. The team grew ill, most purging on the spot as Optimus pulled himself together and stood on shaky pedes, his spark once again exposed. But the children... they did not fare nearly as well.

They collapsed and convulsed. Jack became violently ill, throwing up as blood leaked from his eyes and ears. Miko started having a seizure that very nearly stopped her breathing altogether. And Rafael screamed and clawed at his face as the worst migraine he had ever gotten assaulted him. Before Optimus could do anything, Fowler was called in and the children were taken away for immediate hospitalization. The team left in Vehicle mode and parked in the hospital parking lot to keep a general optic on the children for fear that they might die while Optimus remained at base.

Left completely and utterly alone, Optimus cried. His frame once again shattered so thoroughly could not shed tears even if he tried, but the mixed dark and normal energon that leaked from his armor was enough of a testament to his grief. Otherworldly cries and wails echoed throughout the abandoned missile silo for hours as Optimus wept, hating himself and everything he was in that moment. The Matrix thrummed within him, trying to calm him and comfort its chosen bearer in its own odd way, but Optimus only composed himself nearly a day after being left alone to drown in his guilt. By the time the team came back, Optimus was no longer crying, but he was frantic for answers.

Optimus: The children, are they well?

Ratchet: *refusing to look at him*...

Optimus: Please, tell me their conditions!

Ratchet: *turning to leave* ...

Optimus: *grabbing his arm to keep him still* I can endure this silence no longer! Tell me what has befallen the children!

Ratchet: *snarling and ripping his arm away* They live, no thanks to you.

Optimus: Ratchet-

Ratchet: Save it! If this incident has proven anything, it is that you are dangerous, too dangerous to be kept near.

Optimus: Wait!

Ratchet: We are done. Take what you need and leave. You are no longer welcome here.

Optimus: Please don't do this-!

Ratchet: LEAVE!

The dooming declaration hung in the air as Optimus stopped dead in his tracks, the blazing motes of light that served as his optics flickering and wavering. His outstretched servo shook and his exposed spark pulsed in shock and horror. He looked at the rest of the team, desperate for it to be some cruel joke or perhaps a mistake. But as he met the fierce gazes of each of his former team, he knew the truth.

They feared him, and they wanted him gone.

The only one who didn't meet his pleading gaze was Bumblebee who instead opted to look away, unable to watch as Optimus was sent away. The Prime shook and energon leaked from his frame in his own version of tears as he sputtered in vain. However after a moment of silence, Optimus shuddered, turned away, and began gathering the few items he would take with him. He did not want to strip his family of anything important, after all, they still had a war to win. So all the Prime took was the few personal accessories he brought with him to earth, a singular first aid kit, and a whetstone for his in built blades.

He looked back pleadingly one last time as the ground bridge was fired up and prepared to send him halfway across the country. But as he was met with only cold and frigid glares by most, he tore his gaze away and said only one sentence before stepping through.

Optimus: If this is what you wish of me, I will honor it... but let it be known that I never intended for this to happen.

Optimus: ...

Optimus: I'm sorry.

He stepped through and the groundbridge closed behind him the moment he was out of sight. As soon as Optimus was gone, the team sighed collectively, not out of relief like they expected to, but out of grief for what they had done. But despite those feelings, they did not call Optimus back and instead each took time to themselves to think over the matter.

Arcee had been the one to hate Optimus most adamantly after the reveal, but as she lay in her berth, she found herself sorrowful. Optimus had been nothing but kind to her, caring for her and showing her the utmost sympathy and respect after the losses of her partners. He never yelled, he never harmed her, and he even willingly took hits for her more times than she could count. He was Unicron's creation, but he was the kindest mech she had ever met. She hated to admit it, but laying there after he left, she cried and tried to tell herself that it was for the best.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack were both very torn when it came to the matter of Optimus. Both respected him and looked up to him, even after the reveal they wanted to serve under him as they always had. After all, wreckers don't judge a mech so long as he does good. But with how dangerous he had proven to be, in their minds they could not afford to accept the risk that he posed, not when the children were in their care. As much as they loathed sending their Prime away, to them it was only right. It was what good wreckers would do...

Ratchet despised himself the moment he saw the look on Optimus's face after he ordered him to leave. He wished more than anything to take back those words, but his spark... his spark screamed in terror whenever his old friend looked at him. The sight of Optimus's blazing form and the feeling of his sickening spark waves washing over him were engraved into his memory. He couldn't look at Optimus the same way, not after all he had seen since Unicron's near awakening. He wanted to believe that what he was doing was right, that he was sending away a monster that had posed as Cybertronian like some sleeper agent for millions of years. But the pain in Optimus's glowing optics... it made Ratchet regret.

No monster could have looked so betrayed and so very broken at being sent away.

As for Bumblebee? He was left in a state of internal conflict. Much like Ratchet, he was terrified of his Sire's true form and nature, but like Arcee, he couldn't just ignore the fact that he had only ever been met with love and care from Optimus. The Prime had raised him, taken care of him, fought for him, and never once done a thing to harm him. Bumblebee wanted to think that he was cutting off a parasite or getting rid of a spy when he blocked off his bond with Optimus. But as he watched his Sire leave the base for what was likely the last time, Bumblebee felt empty and more alone than every before.

He had betrayed his Sire on every level and his spark knew it...

The children were not allowed back to base for over a week afterward as they recovered. Thankfully they did not suffer any serious damage and healed quickly. But upon entering base for the first time since the incident and seeing Bumblebee issuing orders instead of Optimus, they grew concerned. Immediately they tried to ask what had happened in their absence only to be met with silence from Fowler and June. Even when they turned to the team for answers, the bots simply dodged their questions, eventually up and lying by saying that Optimus was taking a few days to himself because he felt guilty.

The children were suspicious as pit, especially once they noticed the lack of avatars from Unicron and the mysterious disappearance of Optimus's plants, but they accepted it. The reasoning seemed plausible with Optimus's personality... so they waited.

Every day after school the children asked about Optimus. Bulkhead and Wheeljack only met their queries with guilty gazes and did their best to dodge the question. Arcee outright told the children to leave her alone every time they tried to talk with her about the absent Prime, only further rousing their suspicions. Ratchet straight up wouldn't even look at the children and tended to wander off muttering something whenever they tried going to him. And so lastly, after an additional week of prodding and begging for answers, Bumblebee stepped up as leader and gave them.

Jack: Where's Optimus? I know you said he was taking some time off, but it's been nearly two weeks!

Miko: It isn't like him!

Rafael: Optimus is always working and never takes breaks. Did something happen to him?

Bumblebee: ...

Rafael: Bee?

Bumblebee: For your safety, Optimus Prime has been stripped of his badge and exiled for harming innocents, associating with the enemy, and traitorous behavior.

The children: What!?!

The children were distraught but could do nothing once the truth was revealed. They could only make a fuss and give the team the silent treatment in retribution. The team did not take Optimus's absence and the children's reactions well... and neither did the Prime even with the distance between them.

Optimus set up camp in his alt-mode once his frame had healed from the power burst. He hid out in an old garage on some farmstead where a human male and his daughter lived. He stayed undercover for nearly a week in his alt-mode, both to allow his frame to recover and to wallow. He was absolutely spark broken at being sent away and most of his time in alt-mode was spent lamenting his losses.

But the Matrix has never been one to allow its bearer to remain inactive for long, and it swiftly pushed Optimus to move, to do something. As such Optimus resolved himself and left his makeshift base of operations with one goal in mind.

He would continue to fight for his Autobots, weather they wanted him to or not.

Unicron tried to reach out to his creation multiple times during the whole fiasco, but Optimus ignored him, angry at his father for destroying the delicate balance he had forged with his team. As such Optimus went at his work alone, using his remaining access to Autobot codes and signatures to track down his old team to assist where he could.

He would not stand idly by, not while Megatron still lurked.

[avvail-whumps]

TEMPTATION

cw: restraints, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper, reluctant whumper, gore, blood

Riley stepped into the kitchen to find that the whumpee had been restrained to the ground, their hands twisted behind their back as the sniper’s boot dug painfully into their spine. He paused for a fraction of a second, the sniper’s head tilting towards him as he hung up the call, and tossed his phone on the kitchen counter. 

Riley’s eyes trailed down to the writhing whumpee, who was yelling and panting violently through the fabric stuffed inconsiderately into their mouth. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pocketed his phone. 

“So,” he hummed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. His hands slid into his pockets wearily. “Why’d you call?” 

The sniper ground his heel into the whumpee’s back just to feel them squirm, before his dark eyes met Riley’s, the mask concealing the bottom half of his face. His hands moved smoothly, making Riley squint. 

“Want you to hold them still,” the sniper signed, pointing to the whumpee on the floor. “Want to try something.” 

Riley stayed planted where he was, his expression wrinkling slightly as he tried to follow the motions of his hands, before shaking his head and sighing sharply. “You know I don’t understand what you’re saying, right?” 

The sniper’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Riley rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, avoiding those eyes. He had said he’d keep trying to learn, but it wasn’t easy when he’d been so busy helping the sniper with…these kinds of things. He cleared his throat, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“You need me to…get something?” He asked, and the sniper shook his head, pointing at the whumpee again. Riley hummed. 

“Hold them?” He guessed, and the sniper nodded his head once. Riley grimaced, but he had no choice but to do as he was told when he took his boot off their back. They immediately started squirming against the kitchen tiles, and Riley crouched down to gently grab their arms. 

“Hang on, stop moving,” he murmured softly under his breath, trying to somewhat console the sobbing whumpee in any way he could. His grip almost gave way when they thrashed violently, and he tightened his grasp with a small frown. “Fuck.” 

His eyes trailed up to the sniper, who signed a subtle “idiot.” 

“Careful,” Riley scoffed. “I know what that means.” 

He focused on trying to hold the whumpee down so they didn’t slip away, knowing that would end up in a bloodbath on the carpets, and the sniper would make him clean the stains.

Riley begrudgingly watched the sniper, who had taken out a glass and a rolling pin, and winced when he smashed it against the counter. He only stopped when they were tiny little shards, and gathered them up in his gloved hand. 

When he began making his way back towards the whumpee, Riley felt his stomach twist in dreaded realisation.

“Sniper, that’s going to make a mess,” he grit out, his face paling slightly when the gag was ripped out of the whumpee’s mouth, choosing to ignore him. Before the whumpee could even take a deep breath, the sniper was pushing the glass shards into their mouth, covering it firmly to prevent them from spitting it out. With a few applications of pressure on their own throat coaxing them to swallow, he finally removed his hand. 

Riley felt them hacking violently, each garbled intake of breath tearing their throat and their mouth up even further. He heard the tickle of some shards hitting the ground, surrounded in an ever growing pool of blood, their body writhing and frantically convulsing. 

Riley squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head aside as he kept a firm grip on their arms, not giving them a chance to move as they shook with choking shrieks.

“Shit,” he whispered shakily under his breath, his own throat swelling with this phantom pain as they continued to gag and heave mouthfuls of blood. He hated that it had lasted for so long, too, until he felt the moment their body slumped forward, the occasional sickening drip drop of blood from their lips hitting the tiles. 

The sniper had watched the whole thing contently, and when Riley finally found the strength to lift his head up, his eyes landing on him. Despite the mask, Riley could see he was smiling in satisfaction. 

“Let’s do that with the next one.”

[jakkon-and-rose-topic]

Cw: Mentions to graphic... sickness, blood, shaking, withdrawals in general, stuff like that, Swearing

By agonizing withdrawals, I mean agonizing. Be warned

(Please leave comments I love reading them, even if it's just a simple oof or F in the chat for this poor man - No he isn't dead)

-------------------------------------------

Jakkon stumbled and leaned heavily against the wall with a soft groan. He needed something, anything. It hurt. It hurt far worse than he'd expected. The Satyr gasped through his teeth, breaths shuddering with every movement as his throat tightened and his lungs shattered in his ribs.

He held onto the rock as best as he could, other hand gripping the fabric of his shirt over his chest as pain pulsed like a fiery heart beneath his skin. “Shit…” Jakkon looked up, gritting his teeth as he tried to level his ragged breaths. He needed to see the others. If not, they might suspect something was wrong. He needed to piece it back together and stand up straight. He could do that. He could handle pain. He could ignore it. He'd done it plenty of times before to fool Rose out of burning herself out. He could do it again.

Jakkon shook the hair out of his face and steadied himself. He managed a level step and quiet breaths, but he funneled all of his efforts into staying upright and could hardly find the control to keep his hands from shaking. A tugging dread crawled through his mind as his fake optimism began to crumble. What if he couldn't do this? What if it killed him? What if he hurt someone?

The Satyr shook his head as he forced an uneven smile and directed his attention to appearing fine. But despite all of his efforts, his heart raced and his focus slipped away. He stepped into the doorway of the main cavern and hesitated.

But before he could rethink his decision, Rose waved with a smile. “Good morning Horns!”

“Morning.” He nodded to her, slipping his hands behind his back as he trotted over and sat down beside her.

“Are you alright? You're awake later than usual.” The Fae raised an eyebrow.

“I’m alright. I will be. Do you have any tea, water, or something like that?”

Rose stopped for a moment, but Morena smiled at him from beyond her. “I do. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please.” The Satyr smiled gratefully, finally able to let go of the concentration and effort it took to stand, hoping desperately that if he had something to drink, it might loosen the claws of pain digging into his skin from every angle.

“Here.” Morena smiled warmly as she pushed a cup of tea toward him.

The Satyr lifted the cup to his lips as gently as he could. It didn’t help as much as he’d hoped, but it did enough, taking his mind off of the pain for a moment. But the relief only lasted for a moment, as a sudden stab of new agony shot through his shoulder and an intense wave of nausea hit him like a rock.

He flinched, pulling back from the table. “Ah…F- I… I should go.”

“What? Horns! Horns are you okay?” Rose stood quickly.

Jakkon groaned in pain. “Yes… I’m… Fuck, ow, no! No, I’m not okay. Shit…”

Rose’s eyes widened and she started to move toward him, but worry sparked into his eyes as he noticed Rose’s desperate terror and instinctively pulled back to avoid hurting her, standing suddenly in an attempt to back away further. But the sudden motion finally snapped the last string holding him upright and he collapsed against the table, shaking.

“Shit! Fuck! Morena! Get Finn!” Rose tensed, vaulting over the table as Jakkon’s body shrank in on itself and fell to the ground, leaving him to convulse on the stone floor, as Rose began to panic, searching for something to do.

But as she froze, he coughed, blood beginning to foam from his mouth as his body began to shake and jerk violently. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Rose began to hyperventilate as she ripped the coat from her shoulders and shoved it under his head as a hope that it would help prevent any damage from the stones beneath him as her wings flapped and bright orange Roses rained petals so thick it covered both of them. His hands twitched, fingers gripping at nothing in the air as his entire body tensed and shook with him.

Finn and Morena rushed back into the room. Finn lunged for Rose, eyes widening in horror as he caught a glimpse of what was going on. The harpy pulled her back into the hallway, away from what was going on. Rose resisted his hold, screaming and clawing at his arms as she shrieked for her brother-in-law, terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt before.

Finn closed his eyes, trying to shut out Rose's desperate screams as her nails dug into his skin, just like Jakkon when Eveny had died. Fighting and screaming with all his will to save her, now Rose for him. Though she didn't fight like he had. She fought for her brother, for the last thing she had left.

Find the rest Here

@agirlandherquill @aestheic-writer18 @aalinaaaaaa @cybercelestian @corinneglass @bifluidmax08 @leotheponderer @rivenantiqnerd @kia-is-poisoned @thelazywitchphotographer @baconandeggs-25 @i-hate-happy-endings @ajgrey9647 @carosbee @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @wisteria-whump

[spineless-lobster]

So anyways- *collapses to the floor* *hyperventilates* *starts violently convulsing* *begins frothing at the mouth* *screaming like a rabid dog* *sobbing uncontrollably* *desperately clawing at thin air* *muttering pleas towards god* *convulsing stops and I lay still on the ground for 7 weeks before promptly standing up and continuing like nothing happened*

So anyways yeah I’m very normal about him

[mansion-of-haunts]

speculation on the tgwdlm pathogen

as someone who dearly misses his freshman year biology class and will be taking biochemistry in college i thought i would share my thoughts on what this thing is. speculative biology? maybe!

discussion of death, decomposition, and body controlling “zombie fungi” under the cut. putting the “horror” in “horror/comedy musical” /silly

on what kind of organism it is, i’m thinking the spores themselves are pokey’s sniggles. for how fast it works, i think they would need to be sentient to get to where they need to go so fast, as gastly is explained in the explaining every poison type video by lockstin and gnoggin.

there’s three separate modes of transmission that are seen in the show: oral, inhalation, and post mortem:

oral infection (the people who drink the coffee in cup of roasted coffee): about one minute after ingesting pathogen, victims start coughing violently. convulsions follow almost immediately after coughing starts (32:10-33:20 in the musical). almost immediately after convulsions stop and the victim “dies”, infected “reanimate” (33:36-33:53 in the musical).

respiratory infection (ted in america is great again, paul): there is no psuedo-death period, victims who inhale the pathogen skip immediately to the “reanimated” phase of infection. this method of infection may be less effective, since the only instance we see seems to be less under the influence of the pathogen as those who ingest it (ted is easily overpowered by emma, makes references to jokes he made while alive, and is still fucking gay for paul in the digital ticket version of let it out /silly; paul is able to fight against it for a bit).

postmortem infection (charlotte, bill, hidgens, paul): these seem to be the most under the influence of the pathogen, since it didn’t have to work to kill them first before “reanimating” them.

the infection works like ophiocordyceps unilateralis, the zombie ant fungus (or more well known as the inspiration for the last of us fungus), but buffed to withstand higher body temperatures and to deal with the more complex systems of the human body as opposed to an ant’s. o. unilateralis does not infect the ant’s brain at all, but puppets its body via the muscles and communication via hyphae. in the same vein, the individual spore sniggles are a hivemind of their own, and puppet the body itself instead of mind control. this is supported by charlotte’s line in join us and die, “your own body is your front row seat”. the infected are fully aware of their actions, yet are unable to control it, a captive audience in their own body.

researchers observed in infected ants that before they walked to their death would walk around randomly and have convulsions. this is what i’m using to explain the way the customers in cup of roasted/poisoned coffee fall to the floor after being infected; they’re not killed and reanimated, it’s convulsions that cause them to fall to the ground as the fungus takes over.

because my version of the fungus doesn’t kill its victims, the way they die is much closer to susan woodings from the walten files. those that are killed upon infection are the lucky ones. since those who survive apotheosis no longer have a say in what they do, their death is a slow one of starvation, after which pokey uses the corpse for as long as possible until he runs into the same problem ennard had, being which the human body tends to decompose.

on the same tangent, otho’s powers are slightly different (due to the splicing with human dna) in that he does control the mind, which is easier than a network of sniggles micromanaging the whole body. his minions are somewhat lucky in that he has them keep their body alive. i mean they’re still mind controlled but

as for the blue coloring of charlotte’s guts and sam’s brain, i think the spores have and release anthocyanins, which is the pigment in flowers that makes them blue. or it could be pokey keeping the blue theme going magically, since this is an alien fungus and doesn’t exactly play by our rules.

[rockyteriyaki]

well! i’m still sick and still bored! have an ambiguously-young-galex jerkoff snippet that was rotting in my notes app 🫶

He doesn’t usually look, is the thing.

It’s, like, courtesy or whatever, to avert your eyes when your best mate is wanking in his bed and you’re laid on the floor of his room. Even when you accidentally lift your head one time and he definitely knows you’re awake and doesn’t stop. It’s become a bit of a ritual now, when they stay up so late that the green alarm clock numbers flip back down to triple digits. They (first George, always George, and then Alex) start stumbling over their words, slurred with an awkward, anticipatory rush to end the conversation. To begin to pad out a plausible amount of time it could have taken Alex to fall asleep before George snakes his hand underneath the covers.

On the ground, Alex can only just see the bend in the blanket, the floppy curve of George’s wrist frozen in small, peripheral moments. His noises fall from the tall mattress like autumn leaves, anonymous and unspeakably familiar at once, and it’s—enough, for Alex. More than. So he usually doesn’t look.

But now they’re in the unexplored territory of a freezing hotel room, and George is pinned by sliver of light, stranded on the twin bed across from his, making those stifled noises and dragging himself limply over yet another boundary line Alex had thought was implicit.

So, whatever. He looks.

And it’s, like, genuinely jarring.

“Jesus fuck,” Alex says, full-voiced. Nothing about the way George is touching himself warrants any kind of breathlessness.

It’s fast, which Alex could gather from the sound of it, but beyond that—George is gripping himself so tight. The waistband of his pajamas half-pins his dick to his stomach and he works it completely dry. The sensitive skin of his shaft shrugs up with every pull and Alex feels something hot and shuddery convulse in his stomach. It feels like an impossibly violent source for the soft gasps and sighs that he’s come to associate with the three-quarters view of George’s bedposts. Unconscionable, somehow, that George could be torturing himself like this in the comfort of his own bed while Alex leaked into his sleeping bag on the thin carpet below.

George groans a tight little groan and slams his hand down on the bedspread. His fingers flex and curl and go white where they press against the sheets.

“Can you—“ George says, and then stops, eyes squeezed shut. “How do you do it, then?”

Normally when George gets defensive, the overwrought haughtiness in his posh accent makes Alex want to smack him. Now he just sounds wrecked, shiny and flayed open and way, way too raw. Alex turns it over in his hands. There’s a flicker of an absurd thought—borne of lack of reference material, probably—that maybe he’s the one with ludicrous wanking technique, and George is just doing it how everybody else is doing it. But another thought, on the crest of the first: the striking image of George taking his time with it. Letting the lube drip-stain the sheets translucent, the way Alex sometimes does. Languorous. Not so much like he’s trying to start a fire.

If not for his own enjoyment, then, well. For Alex’s.

“I suppose I could show you,” Alex says, trying to keep his voice light but feeling like he’s sparking up in a room full of propane. “So you don’t, like, break your dick doing—that.”

The air conditioner whirrs. No matter what George says, the seal of silence has been broken, now. Alex can’t un-know, un-say or un-see anything. He’s not really sure he wants to.

“Yeah,” George says. His throat clicks when he swallows. “Yeah, yes. Fuck. Alex—“

“Okay, hold your horses,” Alex grunts, and then he’s moving to join George in the light.

[onemeangreenbean]

Anything Ch 4

SUMMARY: On the precipice of death Wynter does the only thing she can think to do to save herself. Something that is forbidden in her practice….to summon a demon and make a deal. The demon that answers her call ask what Wynter is offering  and in her delirious state she answers with the only thing she can think of  “Anything”.

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x BlackWitch OC 

GENRE: Demon AU, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Smut, Fluff, Angst, slowburn

WARNINGS: violence, gore, death (maybe), eventual smut, panic attacks, fighting, possessive Yoongi, jealous Namjoon

WORDCOUNT: 4,608

Previous | Next

Anything Masterlist | Masterlist

Namjoon barely caught Wynter, her body slamming into his as she shook violently. Gently and swiftly he laid her convulsing body on the floor. He tried his best to rack his brain on what to do, how to help. He had never felt so useless before. He could hear Taehyung behind him asking him questions about what potions would work best or a spell that would at least stabilize her. Namjoon was trying to focus on what Taehyung was saying but all he could focus on was Wynter’s body shaking and the viscous blood that seemed to be pouring from her body. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and a wet gurgling coming  from her throat as she tried to breathe. 

All Namjoon could think about was how he was so stupid to never ask her out and to tell her how much she lit up his world every time she smiled. With every ragged wet breath she tried to take in, Namjoon was watching that image fade away - the ringing in his ear becoming deafening.  A strong but firm grip on his shoulder stopped his spiraling thoughts before they could go any further. Namjoon looked up to see his older brother Jin staring down at the way he was clutching Wynter’s body close to his. “Hyung, please,” Namjoon voiced cracked, filled with unshed tears. He had no idea when he picked her up or when she stopped seizing. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I’m here and we are going to heal her. I’m not going to lose her to whatever this curse is,” Jin pried Wynter’s rapidly cooling body out if his brother grip and back onto the ground and began to do a quick assessment, unsure of if, or even when, the seizing would start back up again. Jin knew it was a curse but he didn’t know what it was, meaning he wasn’t trained on how to heal it. All Jin knew was that he needed to get Wynter stable so that he could figure out next steps. 

Jin, moved all of his spiritual energy to his hands as he hovered them over her life points, trying the gauge where the curse was rooted at. Easier said than done as every point he went over was engulfed by the  curse, gelatinous black energy coated everything like tar. Jin had never seen anything like it. 

Sparing a glance at his brother, he had never seen Namjoon look so lost, defeated. When Taehyung pulled him from the restaurant and through the portal frantically trying to explain what was going on through tears he saw Namjoon clutching onto Wynter’s body like she was his whole world and it had just come crashing down all around him.  “Whatever it is, is coming in waves. We need to try to mitigate it’s effects when she’s not seizing. We need to make sure that she’s not hurting herself,” Jin calmly explained. 

“Namjoon!” When his brother didn’t response Jin looked up to find his gaze unfocus. Snapping his fingers in front of his face he regained his attention, “Namjoon, I need you to hold her still, especially her head and -” Grabbing a cloth from the table beside him he rolled it into a tube and placed it in her mouth. “We don’t need her biting her tongue off. She would kill us if we let her get disfigured.” Namjoon slide her head into his lap, making sure she was slightly on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own blood. Her curls spilling over his thighs and  around her head, clinging to her forehead with sweat. Jin was working as quickly as he could to heal her, but every place he would clear of the tar like curse as soon as he moved on it would reattach thicker. He needed something to prolong the effects. “Tae! Make me a sta-”. Jin didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before the most malevolent and oppressive energy he had yet to encounter came over him. 

Yoongi had felt the soul bond light up and then flicker while he was finishing up in the temple. A searing pain pierced his unbeating heart before it faded into nothing. Not only was something wrong but Wynter was in danger. His hand still clutched his chest as he stumbled up and around the table. Waving his hand he returned the ancient library to it previous setting, hiding all the research that he did. He had been looking more into soul bonds and soulmates, while he didn’t want to believe what he was reading he couldn’t deny the tugging he was feeling in his chest. The thought that he, of all people, had a soulmate felt like a cruel trick from fate. He wanted to learn everything he could about it before he brought it up to Wynter, in case it was true. 

She didn’t seem to keen on having a demon as a master, Yoongi really doubted that she would like one as a soulmate. Tucking the thought  into the back of his head he apperated to Wynter, or a least as close as he could. She was so fucking good at wards it threw him back a few blocks from the bookstore. Another flare of pain radiated through his chest as whatever was happening to her flared up again. This time he pushed through her protection wards and made it to a scene he was not expecting. 

Wynter’s head in the lap of another man. Her pretty yellow dress covered in blood and sweat as another man placed their hands over her body. Her small body convulsing as the men yelled at each other trying to find a way to stop it. She looked ten times worst then when she summoned him to save her the first time. Yoongi had a feeling the curse would come back, just not this soon and not this bad. 

The man that was holding her head in his lap looked up and locked eyes with Yoongi. His dragon eyes narrowing into slits as Yoongi racked his brain for how he knew this shaman. Only for it to click at the last possible minute.  “Oh fuck me.” A wave of spiritual energy blasted Yoongi across the room and into a bookcase. He recovered quickly and ducked behind another bookshelf as another blast hit the wall where he had been standing. 

No wonder Wynter didn’t want Yoongi to accompany her to work. She worked for the Kim Clan. The ones who ripped him apart limp by limp and tossed him down into the deepest pits of the underworld without so much as a backward glance. It would be just his luck, but at least he was now sure that the shaman didn’t curse her. The Kim’s moral high horse would never allow them to use such a crass method to kill someone. 

“Taehyung, take Wynter and get out of here.” Yoongi peeked around the corner and saw the two brothers who were taking care of Wynter when he got there pass her over to the youngest one. Seeing that this was an opportunity Yoongi struck throwing blast of razor sharp energy that struck the one with glasses in the thigh making him stumble dropping Wynter’s limp body a bit. Yoongi would apologize to her when he got them out of there in one piece. 

Yoongi hated fights using just spiritual energy, he much rather preferred devices like swords, but he didn’t have enough power to summon them at this point. He didn’t even have enough power to keep up with the two shamans he was fighting currently. But he was holding his own against the two as blast of power and energy whizzed through the air like bullets destroying most things in the small shop. 

He saw Taehyung headed over to a large antique mirror. If that little shit got Wynter through that portal there was no telling if Yoongi would be able to track her down before she died. Yoongi needed an opening and he needed one quick. He racked his brain as he continued to dodge the two brothers attacks. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Steeling himself Yoongi took a deep breathe before coming out from behind his makeshift shield. The oldest, Jin, Yoongi gathered from the brothers yelling, sent a arrow of spiritual energy directly towards Yoongi’s face. 

Channeling all of the demonic energy he had into his right hand Yoongi caught the shamans attack. He could feel the power crackle and lick at his skin as it tried to consume him. Glad he still remembered Jimin’s old trick. Yoongi looked up at the two brothers who were staring at him with varying looks of disbelief, and smirked. “Fire magic?” Thankfully that was also Yoongi’s specialty. Siphoning a small amount of spiritual energy from the attack for his own reserve, he added his own demonic energy before throwing it back at the two. 

They jumped out just before the attack hit, incinerating  the desk that was behind them. “How is he able to that?” Jin screeched. Staring wide-eyed at Namjoon who was tucked behind wayward bookcase. 

Shaking his head Namjoon peered around the corner at the demon, who seemed to be struggling. That much was clear from his sluggish movements and lack luster attacks. He saw Taehyung finally get the portal to work. It was difficult to open with out the use of his hands as he was carrying Wynter bridal style. 

She looked dead to Namjoon, hanging limply in his younger’s brothers arms. Her blood dripping down her arms and onto the floor. If she died Namjoon was going to make sure that Yoongi wished he never crawled up from whatever shitty pit he was in. He wasn’t going to get her no matter what. “Tae, go!” Namjoon yelled as he resumed attacking with all he had. Using his telekinesis to fling his strongest potions from the shelves at the demon. 

Yoongi watched at Wynter disappeared through the portal with the young shaman. Trying and failing to reach her before it closed. “No!” She was going to fucking die if he didn’t get to her but even at this rate he was depleting what little energy he had in the useless fight. “Fuck it,” he mumbled as he absorbed all of the energy from Namjoon’s last attack transmuting  it to manifist his corrupt device, his sword. Did it deplete everything he had to do it? Yes. Did he also need to hurry this fucking fight along? Also yes. 

He knew he needed to find Wynter soon. The tightening in his chest was becoming worst letting him know that her condition was worsening, which considering what he saw wasn’t great. Between deflecting the Kim’s attacks with his sword, Yoongi was trying desperately to relocate Wynter. It was like every time he felt he had a lock on her location it would suddenly move. 

An attack flew past his face grazing his cheek, he barely felt it as he kept fighting. Splitting his attention between two very different task. Another nicked the side of his calf causing him to stumble and lose his balance. He couldn’t find her and she was going to die without him. Yoongi couldn’t let her die. He had too many questions that needed answers. And what if she really was his soulmate. How shitty would it be to find her and lose her all within a week. 

He was getting desperate. A being desperate was never a good thing to be in battle. Swing his sword in an arch in front of him sending a wave of spiritual energy careening into the brothers throwing them back several feet. Giving him enough breathing room to focus solely on locating Wynter. Taking a deep breathe he closed his eyes and followed the fading string connecting them until he found her on the other end. “Found you, gongjunim.”

Taehyung crossed through the portal and into his clans ancestral home. The hanok was large enough to house the entire clan on the rare occasion there was was a threat that called for them the circle the wagons. He tried not to think about how cold Wynter was in his arms as he rushed through the halls to Namjoon’s workshop. Adjusting her body in his arms along the way because the amount of blood was causing him to loose his grip on her. Shouldering the door open to the room he located the bed that sat against the wall. 

A small whimper left Wynter as Taehyung laid her in the bed. “Shh, it’s okay,” He soothed as he walked over to the cabinet with all the ingredients. Taehyung couldn’t tell if he was trying to soothe her or himself but what he did know was that he needed his hands to stop trembling long enough for him to grab the stasis potion that Jin wanted him to get. Great thing about being able to peek into peoples minds is that people don’t ever have to finish their sentences. 

The potion acquired, he went back to Wynter, saying the stasis incantation and kneeling next to the bed before carefully pouring it into Wynter’s mouth. He tried to make sure it all went in but a little dribbled down the sides of her mouth. Taehyung waited for the spell to take effect, going to run his hand through his hair only to stop after seeing all of the blood coating it, he sat it down beside him on the ground. He wanted to break down at the sight of one of her curls, ruffled by the slight breeze blowing though the open window, slow down and stop. 

“Thank fuck,” he breathed out as he stood up. He just needed to keep it together long enough for either Namjoon or Jin to get here and fix whatever this was. Taehyung clamored back to his feet when he felt the same ominous presence from the bookstore fill the room. Barely able to turn towards the demon before he was flung into the wall. 

Yoongi stood sword in hand expecting to have to put up another fight only to find that the youngest Kim stayed down on the ground. He wasn’t knocked out by any means but he also wasn’t rushing to get up to fight Yoongi like his brothers. Keeping his sword trained on the dark haired man Yoongi made his way over to where Wynter’s frozen body was laying. Her usually warm brown skin was beyond ashen, covered in a sheen of sweat and splotches of blood. 

A stasis spell was smart on the shaman’s end as it suspended Wynter in time, and in turn the curse. While not actually trapping her in time, just significantly slowing the the progression of it. Yoongi felt his chest constrict at the sight of his “alleged” soulmate. The sound of running feet informed him that the other two had caught up to him.

He called forth a collar of fire that wrapped itself around Taehyung's neck raising him in the air until his feet barely scrapped the floor. Placing himself between Wynter and the two brothers as they stumbled into the room spells at the ready. Their hearts dropped as they saw Yoongi had their brother  Sword at the ready, Yoongi stared them down, eyes dark, daring them to move. 

Both Jin and Namjoon both dismissed their active spells putting  their hands up. Namjoon’s brain was running through the different scenarios and outcomes of this, none of them were ideal.  They could either save Taehyung or Wynter, but not both. “Back up,” Yoongi voiced in a low growl. His voice slightly distorted as he tried to reign in his demonic energy. 

“Okay,” Namjoon said in a soft voice. “We’re not gonna do anything. Just let Taehyung go.” Their brother’s face was beginning to turn red as he tried and failed to stand on his toes. Namjoon could see that Tae had been able to get the stasis potion to her in time, so he could focus on saving his younger brother for now. 

“How stupid do you think I am? Why would I let the only leverage I have go?” 

“Valid point, but out of the two you’ll let him go before Wynter, correct?” Namjoon, questioned. He didn’t understand why the demon was guarding her so fiercely but he did see the way that Yoongi’s eyes narrowed when her name was mentioned. Moving ever so slightly to block their view of her. Namjoon could see Jin in peripheral trying inch his way towards the bed, so Namjoon needed to keep the demon talking. Before he could even utter another word, Yoongi’s gazed locked on the eldest. 

“Back up before I removed his head from his body.” Yoongi closed his hand slightly, tightening the collar around Tae’s neck, the heat digging in and burning. Both Jin and Namjoon yelled at the younger mans struggle to intake air. His face becoming redder at the sudden loss of oxygen. Yoongi loosened the ring up a bit, he had no problem killing any of them in order to save Wynter, but had a feeling that she wouldn’t want it that way. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on or your interest in her, but what I do know is that Wynter needs help and us fighting isn’t going to solve anything. So please let us help her,” Namjoon pleaded with Yoongi. “The statasis spell won’t last forever and the longer this stand off last the less time we have to save Wynter.”

Yoongi lowered his sword slightly, chancing a peek behind him to her unconscious form lying on the bed. He knew logically that the shaman was correct, at most what Yoongi could do was expel the curse from her again, but clearly more was needed. Her countenance too weak and the curse too persistent for her to be able to naturally repel it. Wynter needed a long term healer to help rebuild her strength and a master of charms and potions to keep it away, and Yoongi was looking at two in front of him. 

He was going to have work with them to help her and while it went against everything in him he needed to do it. The tightening in his chest was threatening to snap the thread the bound them together, reminding him of the urgency of  her situation. “I agree.” Yoongi dropped his hand and the collar around Taehyung’s neck disappeared. The boy dropped to the floor coughing and gasping for air. The skin around his neck bloody and burnt from the fiery collar. “What business I have with Wynter is mine, but all you need to know is that I need her alive.” 

Keeping his sword level and at the ready, Yoongi moved out of the way to create enough space for one of the men to get beside the bed. “You, healer,” pointing his sword at the broad man, Yoongi nodded for him to make his way of to the bed. Jin slowly crept to Wynter’s bedside until he could kneel beside it. The room was tense as Jin worked to heal Wynter, the spell helping to slow down the effects of the curse so that it wasn’t overtaking the sections he was healing. He worked methodically down her frail body until he was satisfied with his work. 

The whole time Yoongi kept his unwavering gaze pointed at the two remaining brothers in the corner. As the healer worked on her could feel the tightening in his chest lifting making it easier for him to breathe, bring him back from the edge of completely losing it. If this is what having a soulmate entailed then he wasn’t sure he wanted it. “All done.” Jin murmured. “I healed her as best as I could given the circumstance,” Throwing a sideways glance at the demon, “But once the stasis lifts the curse it just gonna undo all of my work.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Yoongi backed up until te back of his legs hit the bed. Making the quick but stupid decision to let his guard down so that he could give Wynter his full attention, uncalling the sword so that he could use both hands. Trusting that the shamans wouldn’t attack him at the risk of injurying her. A little of the color had come back into her face as she laid there unmoving. Gently placing a hand on her forehead, Yoongi brushed some of the curls away from her face. “Can you hand me a vessel or container?” 

Eyes never leaving Wynter as he heard rustling behind him. A clay jar was handed to him. He needed to moved quickly once the stasis was gone or all this would be for nothing. His gaze traveled to he plush lips, his own tongue coming out to lick his own. Ever so gently he slotted his mouth against hers, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. He than slowly began drawing the curse up until it rested in her throat. “Reverse the spell.” 

“What?” Namjoon stood by, jaw clenched, as he watched the scene unfold. Watched the tenderness that Yoongi took with her. 

“You heard me undo the fucking stasis spell.” 

Taehyung could see that Namjoon was going to argue some more, hearing the whirlwind of thoughts spiraling through his mind,  so he just reversed it himself. He could see that there was something connecting both Yoongi and Wynter, but couldn’t tell what it was as the demon was keeping the connection shrouded. But from what he could feel it didn’t feel malicious. Once the spell was broken Wynter’s rolled to her side before violently throwing up in to the jar. The black tar like substance burning her throat as it came out. 

She could hear Yoongi’s soft praises in her ear as he rubbed her back, encouraging her to get it all out. It felt like forever until the retching stopped. Tears gathered on her eyelashes from the force of being sick, body trembling as it tried to process the adrenaline that her body was producing. Through blurred eyed she could make a out a three figures in the corner, one stepping up to hand something to Yoongi. The coolness of a damp rag wiped her face clean of any black goo that was on it and cooled her over heated body. 

Collapsing exhausted onto bed Wynter fought her eyes falling shut again. Trying to get her bearings and figure out what was going on. The last thing she remembered was speaking with Namjoon, and now she was here with her demon in some unknown room. “Yoongi,” her voice raspy and frayed from vomiting. “What’s going on? Where are we?” It took all of her strength but she needed answers. Yoongi’s brows furrowed as he regarded her. 

“Don’t worry about that right now. Go to sleep.” Placing a hand on her hand he gentle pushed her under. She fought it not want to go back into unconsciousness. The neverending darkness suffocating in the way it surrounded her in her mind. The searing pain that accompanied it was enough for Wynter to grasp Yoongi’s wrist and try to stop him. 

“Please, I don’t want to. It’s scary.” Tears spilled out of her eyes as she tried to sway him. Yoongi wanted nothing more than reassure her that she was safe and climb in that bed with her and hold her until she slept on her on. 

He couldn’t though. Wynter needed to rest, a task that she was not going to do on her own at the moment. “Gongjunim, you need to rest.” Yoongi watched her big brown eyes search his, slightly hazy from fighting the compulsion. “I’ll be right here, I promise.” Once she deemed that Yoongi wasn’t going to leave her she went under. 

Yoongi could feel the hole being stared into his back as he watched Wynters features soften with sleep. Hardening his own face Yoongi stood up to his full height. “You need to make a amulet for her, that’ll keep the curse away.” He spoke to Namjoon. The younger man looked at him as if he would rather rip Yoongi’s head off, but taking a quick look at his brothers decided against it. 

“Explain.” Namjoon’s tone was hard and left no room for argument. He was uneasy by the way that Yoongi had put Wynter asleep against her will. 

“You can listen and work can’t you. I didn’t think you were incompetent.” 

Namjoon rolled his eyes but began collecting the various item he would need. “Who summoned you?” Yoongi gaze flickered towards the oldest, Jin, when he spoke. His arms were crossed making him look broader and slightly more intimidating. 

“Wynter did.” Yoongi noted there was a pregnant pause after he gave the revelation. “In her defense though she didn’t know she was calling for me specifically. She was dying and desperate I just happened to be curious.” A half truth but one that seemed to satisfy. 

“So you didn’t place this curse on her?” Jin continued his questioning. 

“Clearly not.” Quirking his brow Yoongi challenged Jin to continue. To his surprise the shaman didn’t show any signs of backing down. Instead he watched as Jin fortified himself. 

“Okay.” Namjoon was still standing at the cabinet trying to gather supplies. “What type of curse is it then?”

Yoongi hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, as Namjoon peered at him from over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Never seen one like it before.” 

All three men turned their attention to him. “You’ve never seen it before?” Taehyng rubbed a healing ointment on his neck as he stared at the demon. Most curses were accounted for and well documented so Yoongi understood their confusion. He explained that he exhausted the resources that he had available to him and that it seemed to be a combination of two separate curses. 

The Kim Clan listen patiently as he explained what was going on and his theories. It was times like this that Yoongi was happy to be able to see into peoples minds. He didn’t need to guess how they would react to what he was telling him, but knew that while they seemed to believe what he was saying none of them trusted him with Wynter. Particularly Namjoon.

“Well, that’s all fucking concerning, but,” Namjoon’s glared up at Yoongi from the amulet he was working on. “None of that explains why you seem so interested in Wynter.” Yoongi knew that this was coming, with the way the man’s thoughts of her were tinged with a hint of yearning. He knew that they knew that he didn’t really need to be here any longer than necessary unless he was choosing to. 

A scratching in his mind alerted him to one of the men trying to gain access to him mind. Leveling a glare, the youngest ones cheeks were dusted pink as he got caught. Scoffing Yoongi answered the clearly thought probing question. “We made a contract.”

“What did she offer you that could enticing enough to cause you to stay?” Namjoon inquired in a condescending tone. 

“Anything.” Yoongi smirked. The air seemed to leave the room at that. The three brothers freezing in place as they tried to wrap their head around the fact that the woman laying soundly asleep would offer that. “Plus someone is actively trying to kill her and until I can be assured that I’m not going to loose this frankly delicious soul I’m going to be here.”