#the claws are incapable of being turned against him

[fellhellion]

The suicidal ideation Miguel has about hanging himself with his webs after finding out abt Stone is doubly evocative to me because it’s not only the pinnacle of self destruction (even the rope is of him), but that it’s Miguel weaponising against himself the one thing he had believed could maybe be removed from the inherent ‘stain’ of being Miguel: the transformation that enabled his work as Spider-Man.

[3knecrotic]

Urggh,, the thoughts are back,, how annoying,,,

[moonlightrafe]

The Albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey

gn reader

Thinking about being a pretty little bunny caught in the claws of two big bad wolves…

They both cram themselves inside the same hole – fucking you rhythmically alongside each other with your smaller body pressed between theirs.

Sharp claws dent your flesh while canines fully split it open – imprinting on your fragile skin unforgivingly deep – leaving it to bruise and gush with blood the moment they spill the last of their big weighty balls inside you – both at the same time.

And after knots unknot and stiff thickness deflate – turning soft before slumping out of your abused hole – you’re finally allowed to rest in a mixture of bitter-sweet relief. 

Gratefully accepting their long-awaited finish – you slump against the sweaty chest before you with the face of your cheek smushed tight against the soothing warmth – hole fluttering numbly around nothing with the ticklish feeling of hot cum slowly trickling out only to go cold in the air.

Their sounds turn soft with a loss of growls and sharp teeth, and the one behind you places a kiss on your cheek, telling you that he’s proud – his breaths heavy and damp against your skin while he rests his sweaty forehead and slick mane softly against you. 

Both of them hug you gently – pressed tight between them – and slowly work on retrieving some semblance worth of strength while caught in the hefty crash of rapture – bodies ablaze yet steadily cooling with hearts halting in their sporadic run – dying down into slow thuds, draining until they’re both just two heaps of unwound muscles.

A couple of minutes more just like that and one of them leaves you with a groan while other begins lazily kissing and licking you in aftercare – his warm tongue laving gently over the brutal lovebites they’ve left on your otherwise pretty skin – whispering soothingly that he only wants to clean them up, so you don’t catch any unwanted infections. 

But his efforts of comfort don’t really help you keep from trembling or whimpering, nor do they help ease your erratic breath – where you sit between his legs, held tightly to his chest with both his thick arms wrapped effortlessly snug around your much smaller waist.

He's in charge of getting you cleaned up and dressed while his partner preps dinner – you hear the wolf downstairs with pots and pans while the one he’d left you with pulls you into a white babydoll – helping you stand where you wobble with hips aching upon every little move. 

He tells you that you're the cutest, making you yelp when squeezing your cottontail before picking you up like a wounded animal – as though you're incapable of making it down the stairs alone.

The stench of dead animals oozing from the kitchen makes you queasy more than hungry – but your captors, on the other hand, easily work up an appetite with the taste of your blood still fresh on their teeth. 

The thunderous sound of their stomach rumbling is all too much to keep you from crying – despite the warning you’d received the last time you’d created too much of a fuss for them – when one of them had forced bits of meat down your throat, making you chew and swallow it all one torturous bite at a time until you’d finally learned your lesson, willingly opening your mouth for him despite flinching and crying at the unnatural stomach-twisting taste. 

He'd seemed somewhat sorry seeing you throw up for days from both disgust and indigestion – and had since tried making up for it by preparing proper meals catered to your diet.

You were happy to see the medley of leafy greens and baby carrots plated for you on the dinner table, averting your eyes from the massive medium rare steaks the two dogs loudly and hungrily started cutting into – lop ears flinching upon the clash of sharp knives crashing hungrily against ceramics – trying to withhold the whimper when seeing the mixture of blood and grease roll down their chins along with the unsightly view of their sharp teeth tearing through tendons as effortlessly as if it were nothing but the same grass on your plate.

Fruit for dessert is nearly enough to lift the nausea while the three of you snuggle on the couch after dinner. Or perhaps you’d just gotten used to it – they always get lazy after eating after all – and cuddly.

You lie on top of one of them, your back against his broad chest – lifting with the rise and fall of his beaths. The other lies on top of you again, on his belly. He tells you to scratch his ears, and you don’t dare refuse him.

He moans when you rub on the tip between your small fingers – resting his head atop your heart before starting to drool, small growls ever-present in his snores. His tail lifts and slowly starts wagging in drowsiness as he gives the inside of your ear a ticklish lick – making you cringe and whine.

The one beneath you rests his chin atop your head, chuckling at the two of you – and you really wish you could get used to how the growl in their chests rock your ribs and how their mouths reek of death. Desperately, you try to focus on the smell of bleach and flowers – the ones they’ve bought and brought home to you when trying to distract you from the grocery bags held behind them – chock-full of bloody bits they stock the meat locker with. 

That would be your worst nightmare, you unwillingly think, shuddering at the thought as if consumes you – to be locked up in that room – you’re only glad they’ve yet to think of it as a punishment.

Sometimes you wonder if they’re planning to eat you at some point. You’re certain they understand they can’t successfully breed with you – so it wouldn’t make sense for them to keep you forever, even though they swear to it when you sleep squished between their bodies in the middle of the bed with their massive paws and sturdy claws latched onto your supple flesh.

It's impossible for you to ignore what they are when the whole den has hints of rot lingering in the air, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to let go of the fear. But at the same time… you can’t really deny their love entirely either – not when they rub their snouts into your neck so lovingly, cuddling you tight as though protecting you from any harm, grooming you with their own tongues ticklish against your skin and fur, thoroughly leaving their print and scent on you, fully claiming you as theirs.

BNHA – BakuDeku, TodoBaku, KiriBaku, EndMight, EndHawks, DabiHawks, ShigaDabi

JJK – SatoSugu, Toji x Shiu

HQ – Miya twins

DS – DouAka

HxH – HisoIllu

[6sakusa]

𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Content: FWB relationship, missionary, fingering, mating press, creampie, riding, jealous!eren, him just being soft tbh.

A/N: Not proof read and written on a whim sorry not sorry.

Summary: Eren Jaeger is genuinely incapable of doing friends with benefits, he always seems to have problems with the ‘no strings attached’ part of it all.

You knew some of Eren’s friends and he was pretty renowned around campus, so the day you met him you can believe that you were pleasantly surprised to say he lived up to the hype and more in terms of his gorgeous face. Surprisingly he took quite an interest in you, the pretty girl with Jean’s arm slinged around her shoulders? Oh he’s got to know more. When he got your number he was elated and as expected, it didn’t take more than a few text exchanges before getting you in his bed but something about this was different. Maybe he was just pussy-whipped but he genuinely, for the life of him, couldn’t stop fucking you.

“T-Too much.” You manage to get out through your moans, it’s practically incoherent but by the way you’re clawing at his back while he’s balls deep inside, hammering you in missionary while he presses light kisses to your collarbone even has him surprised. He pulls away from you, slightly, just slightly to your earlobe where he whispers, “You can take it for me, can’t you?”

And of course you do, but the strangest part is that even when Eren fills up the condom he can’t stop, pushing your legs against your chest and fucking you in all kinds of devious angles that have you falling apart in seconds. “Fuck I can’t stop, can’t believe I wasn’t in this pussy sooner.” He whines out against your ear, pushing the both of you into overstimulation countless times.

It’s safe to say you were spent after that but to his your surprise and his, the next day he’s calling you again, asking if you wanted to come over. There was one rule that Eren Jaeger lived by, never fuck the same girl twice. It was simply because he didn’t want to give them the wrong impression, he wasn’t looking for anything serious, anything along the lines of a relationship was an absolute no-go, so he thought it was best to avoid any remnants of that all together. But yet he’d somehow convinced himself there wasn’t any harm in going at it with you again, you were his best afterall.

By the third time he told himself it would be the last time, that was a lie. As hard as he tried to get you off of his mind it wasn’t possible, sex with any other girl felt mediocre after you which left him with only one choice: Running back to you.

“So what do you think about us making this a thing?” He stops halfway through unbuttoning your top, he’s got you trapped underneath him, pupils blown out from your makeout session from just seconds ago.

“A thing?” You raise your eyebrow, a light chuckle escapes your lips in amusement from such cryptic language and for some reason it pulls at Eren’s heartstrings. What was this overwhelming urge to hear you do it again suddenly?

“Yeah a thing.” He repeats, “Like we fuck, no strings attached.” He asks nervously, fumbling with the next button on your shirt a little nervously.

“Are you asking for friends with benefits?” Your expression contorts into one of disbelief, for a second he thinks he’s messed this up and he’s about to lose the best sex he’s had in his entire life until he hears another laugh escape from your lips. “Okay, no strings attached.”

And just like that his lips are back on yours again.

Turns out you really do become friends, you talk constantly on the phone which though, does usually lead to sexting over the following weeks you become closer and closer to one another. The next time Eren tries to get with a new girl his mind wanders back to you, your pretty face, your gorgeous body, your cute little laugh. And the moment he gets his cock out to fuck her it won’t get hard, like physically it can’t. That was definitely one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life, not only was his mind being stupid but now he couldn’t even control his dick when it wasn’t about to be inside of you. That day he left that girl very disappointed, a huge blow to his ego and perhaps reputation but for some reason he finds himself outside your door instead of his own dorm he was planning on going home to.

And surprise surprise, the moment he sees your face, peering up at him with your head cocked into the side in confusion as to why he’s showed up without a word at this time, oh he’s rock solid. Naturally, to make up for such an intrusion he fucks you crazy, enough that it takes twenty minutes for you to regain your ability to speak afterwards. He’s convinced he’s in a slump right now, soon enough he’ll get over this and be back to getting around with whatever women he wants and then he’ll be able to end your agreement once and for all. Yep, that was the plan.

“How are you gonna get home?” You raise an eyebrow, walking out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in your mouth. He can’t help but laugh at you, no one would’ve known how hard you were getting fucked just an hour prior. “You didn’t drive here right? So you left your car.”

“I can walk.” He pulls up his sweats back up, looking at you in a manner that he probably shouldn’t be.

“You can stay the night if you’d like.” You wave him off, wandering back into the bathroom to finish off. It takes him much longer than he should to respond but he does, eventually.

“Here?”

“What?” You laugh, cocking your head to the side. “You don’t like my place?”

“The beds a little small.” He jokes, peering down at the same thing you just fucked on. You roll your eyes, grabbing yourself some fresh pyjamas from your wardrobe. “Well I’m sorry that it wasn’t designed for a six foot four man.”

“Don’t do that, you’ll boost my ego.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Through all the jokes between the two of you his head is screaming at him that this isn’t a good idea, but when you show him your favourite blanket that he wouldn’t be allowed to use he’s convinced of two things. You’re way too cute to say no to, and the fact that you won’t share your things with him is a good sign. This isn’t intimate, it’s nothing but a good friend doing him a favour.

There just wasn’t one thing he’d anticipated, how much he would love cuddling you in your bed. This was detrimental for him because now he craved it after sex. The next time he was finished with you he opened his arms out once you’d cleaned yourself up, albeit awkwardly considering he’s never consciously done this before.

“What?” You look at him with confusion, your expression only deepens when he frowns, “You hungry or something? We can order food.”

“Yeah.. what are you up for?” He mutters out, closing his arms instantly. That was the last time he decided to not have the courage to ask you to cuddle because he felt strangely empty afterwards.

Obviously, you’re a bit surprised when the emerald eyed devil in all his six foot glory stutters when mumbling, “C-Can we cuddle?”

“Huh? You wanna cuddle?” You almost snort, Eren had obviously avoided anything on any lines of being intimate, the second the two of you had a conversation unrelated to sex and he realised that he would waste zero time throwing an inappropriate joke in. Just a reminder of what your relationship with eachother entailed, nothing more.

“Why are you saying it like that?” He pouts, rubbing his temple with two of his fingers lightly. You seemed surprised and he definitely felt embarrassed.

“I just didn’t expect it from you.” Your furrow your eyebrows, realising that oh, Eren Jaeger was actually being serious when he was asking you to cuddle right now. You seemed reluctant and that’s when he knew that you were in deep in this agreement as he was. Fuck, you might even be worse. You’ve never proposed to do anything intimate and now you even looked like you were about to flatly reject his proposition, how had he let it come to this. There was only one solution, pull out the big guns and guilt trip you out of his embarrassment, “I thought we were friends with benefits, don’t humans need physical touch to survive? That sounds like a benefit to me.” He folds over his arms, all whiny with pink littering his cheeks.

“Okay okay.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, knowing that he could go on until tomorrow if you didn’t stop him. You make your way over to him on the bed, allowing him to engulf you in his arms. He relishes in his victory with a smug expression on his face for a few minutes until you randomly say. “I can’t believe you like this.”

“What? You don’t?” There’s an overwhelming feeling of worry in his chest that he can’t quite discern, the feeling that you may not like him past being friends. But why did he care about that? He shouldn’t, he didn’t like you past being friends? Right? So why had he still not fucked another girl in months? Why was he finding it so hard to get it up without you? He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and does what he does best, makes it into a game. Now he was on a mission to get you to fall in love with cuddling, he had his arms around you every chance he could get. Especially after sex until it became a routine with the two of you and you couldn’t fall asleep in his arms otherwise. It was nothing more than mission accomplished he told himself.

At that point the dynamic of your friendship started to change, he couldn’t help the urge to want to see you more often which meant that he invited you out with his friends as much as he could. And he couldn’t regret something more because now Jean had you wrapped around his stupid finger, laughing at all his jokes while you brushed your hands on his chest. God, it made Eren sick.

What was worse it when Jean started sneaking into your sex life, that was his final straw.

Ren: Wanna come over? I’ve got your favourite cookies

You: Extremely tempting offer but im out right now, save them for me?

Ren: Where?

You: Jean’s place

Ren: You never told me you were going there lmao

You: ?

You: Was I supposed to? You don’t tell me when your with other girls

Except he was never with other girls these days. So the next time he saw you he asked straight up if you and Jean had sex. You gave him a strange glance but nodded reluctantly, not knowing if that was actually any of his business or not.

“Oh.” He responds, playing with his fingers, an excuse to do anything but focus his gaze on your pretty eyes.

“Is that.. a problem?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No.” He says so quickly that you’re almost shocked, like he’s so sure of his answer that he doesn’t even question it. “We’re not exclusive so do whatever you want.” He scoffs, it’s more of a reminder to him than it is to you but you can’t help but wince at his harsh tone. It’s just like Eren to cause an argument because he doesn’t have it in him to convey his real feelings. So the next thing you know he’s rambling about STDs, how you having multiple sexual partners isn’t safe for him and how the two of you should break off your agreement. None of it made any sense considering Jean was the only guy you’d fucked in months other than Eren and you knew nothing about what Eren got up to sexually either. Anyway, it was safe to say you stormed out of his place that day in tears and fuck did he feel so bad that he wanted to cry himself. Especially when he finds out that the first place you went after that was to Jean’s house. God he was so mad at himself.

After some time when he finally builds the courage, and albeit after a drink or two he turns up at your door step, it’s a heinous time to be banging down your door, he knows. Of course, your roommate isn’t happy about it either but when he’s telling you how sorry he is and how much he misses sex with you it only takes a few more sweet, yet filthy words to get you writhing under him once more in your bed.

“So sorry baby.” He reminds you as his hands pull your lace panties down a little, he really did miss this so much, missed you too, such a pretty sight. “Want me to show you how sorry I am?” He asks teasingly, running his fingertips up and down your sensitive thighs.

You nod slowly, your breath hitching as he sports you his signature grin. You haven’t seen that in a while and you know exactly what it means. He wastes no time sticking his finger inside of you, he’s memorised your body by now, the way you like to be touched, your little reactions to what he does, the exact angle that his finger needs to hit to get you to cum in under a minute. “Shit.” You fist his top, pulling him down into a messy kiss.

“You like that?” He asks against your lips, his fingers continue to work magic on you. “Did you miss me?” He asks, pulling away slightly while he begins to work into you much quicker than before, it’s enough to have you moaning under his touch. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

“Missed you so much.” You breathe out, he rewards you by pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in circles while his fingers pump in and out of you. You’re falling a part so quickly and you’re easily reminded that no one can make you feel as good as Eren can.

“Yeah?” He breathes, “You gonna show me? Gonna show me how much you missed me?”

You nod and he makes a negative sound, completely unsatisfied with your answer. “Gotta say it gorgeous.” He whispers against your earlobe, “You know how I am, wanna hear you speak.”

“I’ll show you.” You manage to say between moans, your name is on the tip of his tongue and the familiar feeling is in your stomach once more but he doesn’t let you cum, slowing down once he recognises the way your cunt feels when you’re about to spill over the edge.

“Not yet.” He laughs, “Tell me, how are you going to show me?”

“Gonna let you fuck me, I’ll let you fuck me as hard as you want.” You whine, grabbing onto his toned arms in protest, hoping that it will be enough to get him to let you cum.

“You promise?”

“I promise ‘Ren.” You nod, he pulls his fingers out of you and stuffs them in your mouth before putting them in his own. It’s filthy really, no one would ever believe the two of you were anything more than fuck buddies but you loved it, you loved that out of all people Eren could be your dirty little secret.

The next second he has his hands pressing your knees against your chest, you practically yelp in surprise when he pushes his cock inside of you without warning. “Then take this fucking dick like a good girl, can you do that for me?” He doesn’t give you any time to adjust to his pace, he’s pounding into your mercilessly enough so that lewd sounds are filling the air that can’t even be disguised with either of your moans. “Don’t need to prep you properly right? Considering you’ve been fucking other guys.”

You tighten around him at his words, he’s being so mean and you hate when Eren’s mean to you, except in the bedroom, God is it a turn-on. “Oh you like that? Fucking slut.” It was becoming more and more obvious that Eren was in fact mad about you and Jean, this entire thing was a jealousy fuck put simply and my was he putting on his best performance.

The kiss he pulls you into the next second is such a contrast to his dominating demeanour, it’s so gentle and sweet, the type that you give to someone you love and for some reason you can’t help but reciprocate it. He leaves light kisses on your neck, knowing that you would never let him mark you, trust him, he’s tried. The second his lips pull away from your body he’s back to being mean again, picking up the pace even more than before. “Eren— fuck.” You can’t even get out your words.

“Feels good?” He asks, usually he doesn’t like it when you only give him a nod but he knows that right now he’s fucking you absolutely stupid and there’s nothing else you can do. “Who else can make you feel this good huh?” He slows down his strokes, wanting a genuine answer from you as he wraps his hand around your throat. “Tell me, who else?”

“No one.” You whine as tears prick your eyes, he has no mercy for you, not a care in the world as the headboard of your bed slams against your wall. You’d have to apologise to your roommate later. “That’s right, no one.” His thumb brushes your cheek lighty. “So whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

“Correct, mine.” He grins smugly, he knows it doesn’t really count considering he can get you to say anything as long as he’s balls deep inside but still, for some reason the sentiment means a lot to him. "You're being so good for me, you wanna cum?"

"Y-Yes please." His expression darkens for a second and he's worried that the time away between the two of you has meant that you'd forgotten the rules of the bedroom.

"Yes please, what?"

"Yes please daddy." You correct yourself instantly and he grins with satisfaction, being nice enough to press his thumb against your clit one more. Rubbing it in soft circles while he bucks into you faster until you're clamping down against him.

“Fuck missed this pussy so much, missed you so much." He says in pure ectcasy as he throws his head back. And for someone who was banging on about safe sex the last time you saw him it's surprising that he had zero reserves about fucking you raw and then cumming inside.

He releases spurts of cum into you and it's almost shocking how much he fills you up, when you were first fondling with his balls tonight you told him how heavy they felt while grinding on his thigh. You'd figured he hadn't fucked anyone in a while, now you could confirm that with the way white thickness was trailing out of you. For the first time, Eren does all the things he never used to before and you can't help but think it's so gentleman-like. The way he rushes to clean you up, not leaving you to do it yourself, the bath he runs for the two of you, the way he changes your bedsheets and for once how he isn't running off home the second he's nutted. Instead he has you in his arms and even more shockingly stays the night.

One thing he hadn't anticipated with all your time away was how much your relationship with Jean had progressed. It was only when he woke up the next morning, seeing you in your pretty little dress and face full of makeup that he wanted to ruin so badly that he realised. "Oh finally, you're awake." You spin your legs in his direction from the chair you sat on opposite your vanity table.

"Nice treat to wake up to." His eyes trail your body shamelessly, and his hoarse morning voice only has your blood rushing south. Eren looks gorgeous in the mornings too, he always does.

But there was something about his hair down against the pillow, the light pink littering his cheeks when he's realised that he's engaged in something intimate last night, his pretty eyelashes when he gazes at you. And don't get started on the way half of his abs are visible through the bedsheets considering he's so adamant on sleeping shirtless.

"You going somewhere?" He asks, propping himself up a little with his elbows. "I thought that maybe we could grab breakfast or something." He continues with a little frown on your face. Eren has never proposed grabbing breakfast before, like ever.

"Sorry." You say, grabbing your bag, double checking that you had everything you needed.

Your perfume fills his nose and he has to bite back a smile, he's so glad to be back. "I've got a date but feel free to help yourself to breakfast here."

"A date?" He practically erases the last part of ot your sentence from his mind, "With who?" He raises an eyebrow, fully sitting up now.

"Jean." You give him a look that reminds him to watch his words considering how he spoke to you the last time he came up.

"Oh.." It felt like that was the only thing Eren knew how to say when it came to you with another man, he was speechless. The time away made him realise he liked you, of course he fucking liked you. What he hadn't yet realised is that he loved you, all those months together meant that you were the girl that had captured his heart and now knowing after last night you'd be off with Jean?

Oh he felt sick. "So you guys are getting pretty serious then?"

"I mean I guess." You shrug, "But we're not exclusive yet."

"So what does that mean for us?" He asks, you've never seen such hurt in Eren's eyes the way you were seeing it right now. The words were almost taken from your mouth but you were doing what was best for you. When you'd first started your arrangement with Eren you were warned by your you were warned by your friends about him. You didn't listen, the sex was too great for you to bother. Over time you realised you'd started developing feels for him and if there was one thing about Eren Jaeger it was that he was allergic to the word intimacy. You'd never have what you truly wanted out of him. So when Jean came around with all the affection in the world your friends convinced you that was what you deserved so naturally, you made an effort.

"Us?" You raise an eyebrow, "Well I guess we'd have to stop what we're doing. obviously." You point between the two of you, hopeful that he wasn't about to suggest cheating if you and Jean did get together.

"Right." He responds plainly, it's extremely blunt, why wouldn't it be? He's got nothing else to say. "We can still be friends though."

Oh that one really hurt. "Yeah.. friends."

"Look I'm already really late, l've got to go but l'll see you later okay?" You don't give him anytime to respond before rushing out of the door, the air was so suffocating in there and you could feel the awkward unspoken tension that you didn't have it in you to face. It takes a lot considering his heart has just been broken but eventually Eren gathers the strength to stand up, waltzing into your kitchen for said breakfast to see you roommate Sasha giving him a scowl. He wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t like him or if it was because the two of you were too loud last night. Either way he wasn’t interested in that, he was much more fixated on the freshly bloomed vase of flowers that were now on your kitchen island that he’d never seen before. He figured they were Sasha’s, he knew she had a boyfriend because you’d told him.

“Nice, did Niccolo get these for you?” He raises an eyebrow, hoping that it would be enough to dissipate the awkward silence between the two of you.

“Actually…” She turns around with a smug expression, “Jean got them for y/n.” She shrugs, going back to whatever cereal she was pouring. Fuck, he was beginning to doubt himself. Jean seemed like the perfect guy for you, he’s been taking you out on dates, getting you flowers and now he knew the two of you were sleeping together, it was only a matter of time.

The next time he texts you is a few days later, he makes the highest effort possible to not bring any form of sexual speak into the conversation. He was determined to show you how much he cared about solely you and your day. Imagine his surprise when you told him that you and Jean had a date planned tomorrow.

You: Honestly I think he’s finally going to ask me to be his girlfriend

Ren: About time

You: Tell me about it

Ren: If that was me I wouldn’t have ever waited that long

You: Stop being a flirt

Ren: Come on, you know me

You: Yeah I do

You: Kinda gonna miss you ig

Ren: Kinda?

You: Yeah just a little

Ren: I’ll miss you less

You: Just a couple days ago you were in bed whining about how you missed me so much though?

Ren: Low blow

You: Come on, you know me

Ren: Not funny when you do it

You: Shut up you love it

Ren: Yeah unfortunately I do

You: Hey wanna come over? One last time for old times sake

Ren: Fucking you before you become someones girlfriend? How romantic

You: Is that a yes?

Ren: You know it is

And now that he was back in your bedroom, legs spread out while you bounced on his cock because he was adamant on the fact that he did all the work 90% of the time during your FWB relationship, he realised how much he simply cannot let you go. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact your pussy had his head going foggy but once he felt you gripping around his cock, he could only tilt his head back while using his hands to lift your body weight up and down his shaft. The moment he was cumming he slipped into confessions that he probably shouldn’t have, “Fuck baby I don’t want you to leave me, I love you, I love you so fucking much you don’t even know.” He moans against your ear while filling you up.

You can hardly process his words until you’ve come down from your high and you’ve got your arms around his neck while he rubs your back soothingly. You’re so out of breath from riding but he presses a kiss to your temple and it’s enough to calm you down, “You did such a good job, you always do.”

Seconds later your eyes widen, remembering what he just said. You pull away from him, a shocked expression on his face as your eyes search his for any indication that he’s realised what he’s said. “You what?”

He pouts, “Don’t make me repeat it please, it took everything in me to admit it already.”

“Adm— You mean that? Like actually?”

“Of course I do.” He sighs, running one hand up and down your waist slowly while the other cups your face. “I know I’ve been a dick for a long time and I never really had the courage to say anything but I like you more than you know. Fuck that, I love you, everything about you. The way you laugh when I tell you the stupidest joke, your pretty face and these eyes when you’re about to scold me for something, every inch of your body that you’ve let me explore, all these little beauty marks that you have, especially this one here.” He places his hand on the small of your back.

“I have a beauty mark there?” You try to turn around but of course, you can’t see it.

“Yeah you do.” He laughs, “And it’s perfect, just like you.” For a moment he pauses with a sigh, “I know Jean is going to ask you to be his girlfriend tomorrow but—“ He gulps, “But I don’t want you to be his girlfriend! You said you were mine and I don’t want things between us to end, I don’t want you to leave me!” He begins whining.

You fall into his chest and for a moment he thinks he’s said the wrong thing before you start— laughing? “What?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I would’ve never expected you to say something so.. pathetic.” You shake your head with a laugh, “That’s so like you.” You whisper.

“I’m pouring out my heart here.” He deadpans.

“Sorry.” You shake your head, “Please continue, I love hearing it.” You say, placing a light kiss on his lips.

“If you feel anything for me..” He begins again nervously, “Anything at all then don’t be with Jean, I’ll treat you so much better and we can do all the things you want like go on dates and I’ll get you flowers—“

“What are you suggesting?” You finally ask.

“I have a proposition.” He smiles, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Another one?” You laugh.

“Yeah, how about we make this a thing?” He points between the two of you before resting his hands on your waist once again.

“A thing?”

"Yeah, me and you, boyfriend and girlfriend, a thing."

Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed likes and reblogs are appreciated & requests for Eren Jaeger are open for more <3

[cherie-doll]

Cherie, friend, babes AHH HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW ZOMBIE GHOST(technically not new, been a few months alrd I’m just late) and the little headcannon that he broke his jaw so he won’t bite and infect anyone?? It has me clawing at my heart sobbing QAQ

Could you write a fluff fic of Zombie!Ghost who still has an inkling of memory of what he was before or maybe like hcs/short scenarios of all the boys in a zombie apocalypse scenario?

Gods I can’t think of anyone better to write this one 😭😭😭 I love you, catch ya later!!!

yes! i do rmb reading a fic on idk where abt that hc

Zombie!Ghost x Reader (+Soap & Gaz)

Simon's hand had been quick to grab his jaw in a tight grip, applying force until he snapped it in one swift direction; breaking it. His jaw slacked, his mandible hanging; obscene and wide as blood spilled like water.

The efforts of the three of you; Johnny, Kyle, and you proved to be effortless when attempting to save Simon before the bite infected him. He'd taken care of it before any of you could think clearly. Panic had broken out among the group as your minds were thrown into disorder, unsure about what to do. Johnny had been at his side in an instant despite Simon's protests to stay back. And he in his panic, knowing he ultimately had no other choice to keep the rest of you safe, took action before better judgement dawned on him. The crack of bone echoed in the silent room as everyone watched in horror.

Simon was in agony. But how long does it take for a human to start losing their sanity and become nothing but a rotting corpse with an insatiable hunger? He knew, he'd seen it first hand. It took only an hour.

He deteriorated quickly. First, he lost his sense and sentiment... the very things that made him human. Sensibility was replaced by instinct. This showed when he lunged at Johnny, the flesh nearest to him. Simon attempted to bite down on Johnny's shoulder, desperate to get to the meat underneath the clothes. But with his loose jaw he was incapable of ripping through.

It took both you and Kyle to get him off Johnny and tie him down. You held back tears as you tightly secured the knots around Simon. Undoubtedly, his body was still in pain. The skin around the infected area had darkened like a bruise before it turned black. Spots of clotted blood became apparent on his skin and he felt hot, as if he had a fever. Beads of sweat formed on his hairline as he grunted.

As you observed him it seemed he was fighting a battle within himself. Flashes of memories rose to the surface emerging from the murky waters of his subconscious, having broken through the thick barrier in his mind. If his eyes were able to focus through the foggy white and meet your eyes, he seemed to recognize a being rather than tender flesh. Simon's eyes would soften as if reminiscing on a fond memory. And for a moment he seemed lost in a trance.

In the silence of the night, when it was your turn to stay guard, whilst Kyle and Johnny slept you approached Simon cautiously. As you came closer, he caught your scent and attempted to attack but was restrained by the thick ropes. You stopped a couple feet in front of him. Your eyes glanced at the ropes holding him back, and you noticed reddened skin caused from the friction and rubbing of the ropes.

You winced, unable to see him in such pain. Sadly, you looked into his cloudy eyes. Simon had withstood this on his own accord, he had chosen to go through this before any of you. Your weakened heart brought tears to your eyes as you kneeled before him. He stopped struggling against the ropes when his eyes were able to focus. The veil in his mind parted and his reaction was that of a human again.

You looked at him, with eyes unclouded and clear. He was able to see the reflection of himself in them. He felt before he saw, your outstretched hand coming near his face and delicately tracing the faint tearstains on his cheek. For a fleeting moment erasing the aching.

You both knew he couldn't hold on for much longer. Still without speaking, you placed a hand on his chest, over his faint heartbeat and tried to smile as your other hand entwined with his fingers. Simon couldn't give you anything but gentle eyes, a last effort at an affectionate gesture. The hands he wishes to stretch out and gather you in his arms, to hold you. A memory of once embracing you. To reach out desiring for touch and gentle lips that press kisses on skin instead of craving and sinking teeth into soft meat.

Your entwined fingers become undone and slowly his humane fades away.

[thepenguinweeb]

RAHHHHHHH I have cometh to satiate your desire for writing–I was thinking Of a Yandere Sung Jinwoo x m!reader.Like the reader looks androgynous and graceful (like y'know those people that wear those corsets,the white dress shirt ,tight black pants and cunty boots and the addition of those metal claw(long nailed???)gloves thingie oh my god am gonna explode-yup that's the reader) also the reader is not human he's an artificial being made by one of the rulers as an overseer on earth–so he helped Jinwoo secretly by somehow tampering with the system to ensure better rewards and protection and guidance(idk how he'd do that but he can as he is a higher being). So after Jinwoo becomes the Shadow monarch he'll become aware of the reader's help and boy he is set on tracking him down and just keeping him for himself to cherish and protect just like how the reader did for him when he was weak. (I just KNOW Jinwoo would be protective and possessive for his pretty boy :3)

Anyways here have my Jinwoo brainrot hopefully it's not too bothersome I just can't stop thinking about the silly bastard (affectionate)😺

`` Favours for favours. ``

[ ☆ Yandere!jinwoo x m!reader ]

[ ☆ You were created to be an overseer on Earth, and so far your life has been quite boring and monotone. Then you met Jinwoo, and your sole purpose became protecting him. But after he became one of the strongest on Earth and found out about your help, he was set on keeping you all to himself. ]

[ ☆ Requested by: anon!! ]

You're not human. You never were. You were created to serve one sole purpose, and that was to be an overseer on Earth, nothing more, nothing less.

Life was boring. Dull. Monotone. You'd come to think it was your fault by the end - thinking you were emotionless, incapable of feeling anything.

Then you met Jinwoo. Well, not really met, but you got to know him trough his many failures. You watched as the man, supposedly the weakest hunter, went raid after raid, always getting out of it bleeding and torn.

So, after the accident happened, you decided to help him out. Surely tampering a tiny bit with the system wouldn't hurt anyone?

And so you did. Whenever Jinwoo was in a bad situation, you ensured he was protected by any means. If he was low on items, you gave him as many rewards as he needed each time he completed a little quest. All while he was unaware of it all.

Things changed when he became the Shadow Monarch. He had come to realize someone had been helping him since the beginning, and after he found out it was you, his goal became to track you down and keep you all to himself, so that nobody could ever hurt you.

He found out where you lived shortly after. That's how he found himself knocking on your door, desperate to see you and get to know you real close.

Once you opened the door, he could see the utter surprise on your face. But he had to admit, he was slightly taken aback, too.. he didn't expect your style to be like that, but it didn't matter to him, as long as it was you.

"How.." you began, your voice uncharacteristically quiet. But your words trailed off when Jinwoo put his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Don't worry," he said in a hushed voice. "You'll be safe with me. I promise you, nobody will ever hurt you as long as you stay with me. I'll protect you, no matter what."

Before you could ask any questions, his grip tightened and he rested his head on your shoulder with a soft sigh. "I must repay you for your help."

"Oh, you don't need to, really-"

"Let me rephrase.." he cut you off, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I will repay you for your help."

He smiled at the silence that followed and finally pulled away from you.

"Come now," he said, putting his hand against your cheek gently. "I'm taking you home."

A/N: Omg I'm sorry for the wait, anon! It took some time, but I finally finished this request :) I'm actually not that big a fan of how this one turned out, but oh well..

Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry, ty! <3

[pignipplez]

-I found him-

✨ Poolverine/Deadclaws fic ✨

Logan sat on the foot of the bed lightly grasping the pasty yellow comforter beneath him. His face redding by the second. Shallow breaths left him as he watched the bathroom door, listening for any movements coming from inside. Logan’s heart pounded rapidly as he anxiously, impatiently tapped his feet against the carpeted floor.

The suspense was killing him.

Finally the sound of the shower running stopped, steam suddenly filling the bedroom as a tall lean man in a towel walked out. A toothbrush rested in his mouth as he gave Logan a little wave, then turned to open the closet drawer, scrounging through to find something to clothe himself with.

Logan studied his roommate's body intensely, his scared and mangled skin gleaning with water and steam. Wolverine’s claws slid out piercing into the blanketed bed in desire. Logan’s mind began to wander, as his claws tangled with the mattress springs. Letting out a sigh of pleasure at his fantasies on accident.

Logan’s half dressed companion slowly turned around with a smirk on his face. Making Logan swallow loudly.

He had heard him.

“Awe is the little kitty in heat?” Wade asked, tilting his head slightly and pouting his lip in an innocent way slowly walking up to Wolverine.

Stopping a few inches away from his face Wade lightly grazed Logan’s thigh causing Logan to bite his lip.

Touching his lips to his ear, Deadpool softly purred, “You want me to breed you, Honey Badger?”.

Suddenly Logan unsheathed his claws from the bed and into Wade earning an “oomph” from him as he hit the wall.

“Fucking asshole,” Wolverine sneered underneath his breath, standing up to look down at Deadpool.

“Ooo degradation, me likey, likely,” Wade replied, blowing out one of Logan’s legs with his heel causing Logan to hit the floor.

Quickly grabbing a dagger from the dresser above Deadpool roughly stabbed Wolverine in the thigh using the dagger handle to drag them closer in vicinity. Logan loudly growled in pain, punching Wade across the face then pulling the dagger from his thigh and jabbing it up into Wade’s rib cage.

They now sat panting only inches away from each other's faces, both of their breathing heavy and unbalanced. Logan pulled the dagger out slowly making intense eye contact with Wade then shoved the weapon into the drywall they sat propped up on.

Wade, the toothbrush still in his mouth, spat it out onto Logan’s lap, licking his lips tauntingly while doing so. Logan got up on his knees letting the brush fall to the floor, spit flying in the air.

“They made you out to be a bottom in the comics so let’s see if you're canon or fanon bub,” Wolverine grinned mischievously, unbuckling his belt and pulling his dark washed jeans down to his ankles.

“Who gave you permission to 4th wall break, Peanut,” Deadpool smiled back grabbing Logan’s left shoulder and lightly wrapping his legs around Wolverine’s waist, “Just cuz every relationship I’ve had has been me getting booty fucked doesn’t mean I’m incapable of taking you to pound town buddy,”.

Logan laughed wildly at both the thought of Wade being capable of topping and also the overwhelming amount of urge in his body that hoped Wade was genuinely serious about this so-called “pound town” he wanted to take him too.

They made eye contact, both grinning at each other smugly. A hand then cupped Wolverine’s buttcheek

finally setting both over the edge. Forcing all of the sexual tension built up from the room Wade and Logan met each other's lips strongly, allowing boths tongues to glide and search their mouths.

With warm breath Logan brought his mouth down to Wade’s neck prickling the still semi wet mercenary cold skin with sweet kisses and pecks. Wade, still cupping Wolverine’s dumpy, used his other hand to grip Logan’s hair, shivering every time as his soft but somehow still chapped lips met Wade’s neck.

Logan grinded into Wade’s hips, both of them ultra hard. Deadpool whined softly as he uncupped Wolverine’s asscheek forcing his hands onto Logan’s hips motioning him faster and harder on their crotches.

Logan kept on Wade’s neck, hardly nipping his skin with his teeth trying to draw blood without Wade knowing.

“Hey don’t worry, the immortality makes the stds go away just in case you didn’t want to have to tell the fam the reason your passing is cuz of my raging gonorrhea and aids,” Deadpool laughed out awkwardly breaking the heat filled silence, still roughly rotating his lower body into Wolverine’s.

“You don’t fuck with suspense or what pretty boy, you wanna get straight to the hard core fucky don’t you,” Logan hummed knowing that what he was doing was probably the worse thing Wade has ever had to experience, slow burn sex.

“Never really done this lovey dovey kinda shit before, also your just really fucking smoking Wolvie and if you don’t get inside me soon I think I might rat you out to the authorities with 3 pounds of cocaine, and a maxi pad filled with dog sperm, if you can’t get inside me the only thing your getting inside is Alcatraz,” Wade complained, threatingly joking while tugging at Logan’s boxers with a pleading face.

Logan rolled his eyes, taking his mouth off of Wade’s neck and pressing his lips lightly onto Wade’s. Wade, surprised by this feeling, this moment of peace and serenity that he had never truly, truly felt before, kissed back.

Was this love?

“Dude… I am so wet right now,” Wade answered the kiss, melting over how passionate the incredibly horny man on top was to him. Trying so hard to not touch himself over the sight of the crazed, ferocious in passion man Deadpool with strong intentions forced himself on top of Logan.

Logan had just shown him a feeling he had never felt before and now he wanted to feel it forever.

Logan hitting the floor now looking up at his roommate to see the same overwhelming emotion and energy than Wolverine could adhere too.

They had both just found their person.

The person that truly understood everything.

Someone to finally fulfill his and his’s crazy.

Deadpool held Wolverine’s head in his hands rubbing his finger across his prickly unshaven cheek.

They both just stared in awestruck silence.

In awestruck love.

I GIVE UP I DONT WANNA WRITE THIS ANYMORE 😫💔

[slut4thebroken]

Assorted characters x stalker!reader hcs - pt. 2

Part 1

(Jason Todd, Jonathan Crane, Jackson Rippner, Spencer Reid, Stiles Stilinski, Bucky Barnes)

Jason Todd - You don’t ever confront him. He actually figures it out on his own. You were following him, walking half a block behind him, wondering where he was going. He suddenly turned a corner and you rushed to speed up to make sure you wouldn’t lose him. When you rounded the corner, a hand was gripping your neck tight enough to make you wheeze and pushing you against the wall. You clawed at his arm, already feeling lightheaded from the pressure, and once he got a good look at you, he seemed to realize who you were— the girl he helped a few weeks ago. He asked why you were following him and what you knew as you gasped for air, trying (not really though…) to remove his hand from your neck while squeezing your thighs together. He suddenly removed his hand and you took in a huge breath, then started coughing. Your relief didn’t last long though. Cold metal on your neck made you stiffen and you looked down, finding a knife against your skin. “You better start answering me or things are going to get a lot worse for you.” He warned, but that only made you want to do the opposite. You wanted to test him— see what he’d do to you once he snapped. When you couldn’t speak, he dug the knife into your skin a little harder and you let out a low moan, making him freeze. “Of course you’re getting off on this- fuckin hell.” He muttered, making you blush. “That why you’ve been following me, sweetheart?” He cooed mockingly. His gaze trailed over your flushed face and you bit your lip as you waited. “Still can’t talk?” He asked, giving you one last chance. “Fine. But let’s put that mouth to good use, yeah?” He forced you down onto your knees, the rough gravel making you wish you had worn pants instead of a skirt. He dragged the knife over your cheek as you got to work on freeing his cock. A sharp sting on your cheek made you gasp and you brought your hand up, feeling a small bead of blood leaving the wound. You looked up at him and he put the knife on your chin to tilt your head up even more. “I’m not a very patient man so I’d move a little faster if I were you.”

Jonathan Crane - One night you followed him excitedly, he was deviating from his normal schedule so this must have something to do with his alter ego. Since it was night and there weren’t many people out, you made sure to really keep your distance. When you rounded a corner, gas was being sprayed in your face, making you cough and sputter as you felt your heart start to beat faster in your chest. Your body grew sweaty and shaky, your breathing shallow. You felt hands on you, making you scream louder, then a hand was being placed over your mouth as you were dragged somewhere. Your brain couldn’t focus on the details, not with the fear response you were undergoing that was starting to manifest into actual hallucinations. After a while you eventually passed out, the stress being too much on your body, and woke up a few hours later on the floor in a dark building. You couldn’t see much, but suddenly a hand was gripping your hair from behind you and pulling you up into a sitting position. “Why are you following me?” The voice modulator in the mask made the question sound even more menacing and your body started trembling again. When you didn’t answer, he forced you around to face him and grabbed your cheeks to make sure you were looking at him. Through the mask you could see icy blue eyes that you’d recognize anywhere after staring at them for half a semester. “Professor..” You said breathily, a small smile forming on your lips. You knew he liked you just as much as you liked him. When you said that, he recoiled away from you with a sharp “What?” You explained that ever since you found out he was the newest villain terrorizing Gotham, you wondered if he’d want to use you for his experiments. You wondered what he’d do to you when you were incapacitated by fear, unable to fight back or protest. When you told him that you wished you had woken up with a sore cunt, you knew he was blushing under the mask, but he quickly recovered. “Aren’t you a depraved little thing… Is that why you’ve been stalking me? You want your professor to take advantage of you?” When you nodded eagerly he scoffed and stood up. “And what makes you think I’d be interested in a desperate fucking whore, huh?” You whined and looked away, biting your lip to keep from moaning. “My standards aren’t that low, sweetheart.” He condescended and you couldn’t keep the sounds down anymore. You pleaded— for what? You weren’t sure— and grabbed onto his pants leg, getting up onto your knees. You begged him for a chance, telling him that you’re not a desperate whore, not unless he wants you to be of course. “Don’t lie to yourself.” He scoffed. “I’ll give you what you want and in return I just want one thing.” “Anything,” You begged. “You.” You didn’t have time to ask him to clarify before gas was invading your senses again and he was pawing at your clothes, eagerly ripping them off your body, leaving them in tattered shreds on the floor.

Jackson Rippner - The only reason he found out was because you told him. You brought your hand gun to keep control of the situation, and that worked for a while… until you went up to his room. The second the door softly clicked shut, he was grabbing your hand and bending it backwards, making you cry out and loosen your grip until he managed to take the gun from you. “Stupid fucking slut thinks she can bring a little toy and get whatever she wants? I’m going to make you regret ever meeting me.” He growled, then proceeded to do the opposite. He fucked you so hard— so good— you knew you were ruined for any other man now. Nothing would ever compare to the way he held the gun against your temple and “forced” you to suck him off or the way he pushed you down deeper on his cock even though you were choking and gagging and crying. But most of all, nothing would ever compare to the way he fucked you— hard and rough, words blending praise and degradation seamlessly, making you beg him to spare your life as his cock rammed into your abused hole relentlessly.

Spencer Reid - He was able to figure out that you were following him. You’re his student and the first time he noticed you outside the classroom, he assumed it was just coincidence. But after the fourth time, when he would watch you try to act nonchalant like you really were just there for yourself and not because you were watching him, he knew his suspicions were correct. So one day after class he told you to stay behind for a minute. Your whole face flushed as your head raced with thoughts of what this could be about. What you didn’t expect though, when he brought you to his office then closed and locked the door, was for him to call you out. He told you about how he knew you were stalking him, then asked why. When you stammered out a pathetic response, he only got crueler. He called you stupid and needy and desperate, making your cunt fucking throb. When you whined, he let out a sharp laugh “of course you fucking like that” he said, making your blush darken. His punishment for your wanton behavior was far worse than any of your fantasies and you left his office with a bruised ass— that’s not even being dramatic, it was literally black and blue. The next day, his eyes were trained on you for the majority of the class, watching the way you squirmed uncomfortably in your seat.

Stiles Stilinski - (this one is giving Neil and violet in watching the detectives lol) (also this got so long but I don’t feel like editing it to make it shorter) The only reason Stiles found out was because of a stupid mistake. He was talking to you, asking about the homework since none of his friends were in the class you both shared, and it turned into a normal conversation. You were trying to focus on his words and not his lips or his fingers as they played with his flannel and because you were so flustered, you slipped up. You said something that you shouldn’t have known and he picked up on that instantly. “How do you know…” He asked, growing increasingly concerned. “H- oh my god… Do you spy on me?” He whispered, almost horrified. “That depends on how you define spying…” You said with faux innocence. “Oh my god- you spy on me! Why do you spy on me??” He exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few students. You grabbed his flannel and dragged him down the hall to the janitors closet, then shoved him inside. You told him how spying makes it sound so juvenile and your infatuation was anything but— which made him blush. When he called you creepy and rambled on for at least five minutes about how that was a complete invasion of privacy, your heart started to sink. You weren’t doing it out of creepiness... But then he started talking about how he didn’t understand why you’d want to spy on him of all people. Which you thought was stupid. He’s probably the most interesting person you’ve ever met— he blushed when you said that. Almost as if the stars aligned, you were paired together for a project. His recent discovery of your… infatuation, almost intrigued him. Honestly it felt like he was on the verge of a full blown adhd induced hyperfixation on you. When you showed up at his house with all of the materials you needed, he opened the door, then his jaw went slack at the sight of your low cut top. You spent the night laughing at his jokes, listening to his rants, inching closer to him, but he only seemed to notice when you placed your hand on his thigh. “W-what are you doing?” He squeaked, making you smile. “Nothing.” You shrugged innocently. “Wait..” He started when you slowly dragged your hand up his leg. “I can make you feel so good, Stiles. Please, will you let me?” He groaned and closed his eyes in response. Your hand reached the top of his thigh, but you stopped so that your finger was just barely brushing his crotch— his bulge. He opened his eyes and stared at you as you waited for permission, batting your eyelashes at him. “Have you ever watched me jerk off?” He asked suddenly and you almost choked on your spit from surprise. “No…” You muttered, almost sounding disappointed. “Go sit on the chair.” You tentatively stood up and walked over to his desk chair, watching as he pushed the books and papers aside to lay down. When he started unbuttoning his pants, you stiffened. “What are you doing?” You asked, staring at him with furrowed brows, your cunt starting to ache. “Stiles,” You whined, getting to your feet, but you quickly dropped back down when his voice lowered and he ordered you to ‘sit the fuck down.’ “You should be grateful I’m not making you watch from outside.” He said harshly as he took his cock in his hand and stroked slowly. Your mouth went dry and you subconsciously leaned forward in the chair, wanting more. Everytime you tried to get up though, he told you to sit down and threatened to make you leave, saying that he’d close all of the blinds and finish alone. And everytime you’d whine, but sit back down. He came on his stomach and you ached to lick it up, but he grabbed a tissue from his nightstand and wiped it up before tucking himself back in his pants. When he called you back over, you thought he was finally going to give you what you wanted, but he made you sit down and continue working on the project with him, completely ignoring the way you were whining and squirming.

Bucky Barnes - The way Bucky found out was probably the most humiliating way possible. He knocked on your door one night, asking if he could come in to talk to you about something. You eagerly agreed, wondering what he might say. He asked if you knew about his past, what he was made into. You answered honestly, not sure where he was going with this. Then he asked if you knew what the serum did. You, again, said “yes, it made you stronger.” He agreed and your confusion remained until he said that there was more. “It didn’t just give me enhanced strength, I have enhanced senses too.” Oh… You weren’t sure what he was trying to say though, which you voiced to him. “It means that I can hear your heartbeat from another room… I can smell your cunt when you start acting like a bitch in heat any time you’re around me for longer than five minutes.” He growled, making your eyes widen. He practically bullied you relentlessly about it, but the most humiliating part was when he pointed out how he could smell you right now. He could smell how needy your “pathetic fucking cunt” was getting just from his words. He said that he could practically taste it— that’s how wet you were. And when you tried to deny it, he forced a hand down your pants to find out for himself, laughing loudly when his fingers swiped through your obvious arousal, making your whole face turn red as your hips bucked forward from the contact. “So fucking wet.” He muttered, almost disgusted. But you could see the tent in his pants.

[ringleaderising]

After the Fall || The Host

A great body lies picked clean by the opportunistic flock, and fledgling settlements grow within the grand bones incapable of removal- for the living, the work has begun on a new future.

But for the Host, the sun rises on a trial by a jury of Encore's peers.

[Puppeteer, Magda] [Mithos, Stygian] [Encore, Crux]

Content Warnings: Descriptions of gore!

"Hideous living things... traipsing about with their... free will." The valley below is alive with life even in the darkness of night, the constant chattering of construction crews harvesting and working bone into useable pieces for the slowly growing marketplace and housing in the body of the fallen 'God' below. "Now we are working at a deficit, and they are celebrating as if they've been given a feast- what a pitiful performance he gave. Almost not worth the effort retrieving him."

"Puppeteer, talking to yourself again?" The Skydancer woman adjusts her cane in her hand, head inclining toward the sound of another arrival's voice- the cloying, perfumed scent of roses making it clear who the arrival is, even if she can't see the imperial sidling up behind her, exposed golden bones entangled with flora catching in the gentle breeze passing through the Emperor's Wake. "I thought we were past that little... idiosyncrasy."

"Silence yourself, Heathen. I am not talking to myself. Magda is here."

"Ah yes, of course, we can't do this without Miss mud and detritus can we? Where have you gone then, Maggie?" His voice carries, and as he turns his head to look around, leaning into his spear for balance, Mithos scowls. "Mm, I see. You've misplaced your gravedigger, Puppeteer- perhaps we should keep a better eye-"

"....." He's cut off by the sudden, violent thud of a large, thick stone, humming with magic and depicting an ignited brazier in the center. ".... Marker."

"Weaver's blessings you lumbering oaf you could have caught my foot with that-"

"Stop your complaining Mithos!" Puppeteer snaps, feathered frills flicking up in a display of displeasure. "I spend enough time listening to you moan about that filthy child of yours to tolerate you complaining about doing your job. Help her place the stone."

"Who died and made you-"

"Encore. Now lift the stone." Mithos rolls his eyes, bending to pick up one side of the stone- pushing it into place as Magda watches on silently, filthy gloved claws gripping her shovel handle as she nervously sways back and forth. "It's quite alright, Magda, we will inter him after we've had a little talk, is all... He must answer for this utterly miserable display. It is one thing to die, it is surely another to do so in a way that gives so many of these.... unworthy access to our strength. Not negligible of which being your filthy harlequin and my disobedient doll... Tch."

"So really, you're throwing a tantrum because the Sow's made a purse out of the pig's ear you saddled her with?" Another voice chimes, then proceeds to laugh at his own terrible joke. "Crux and I got held up, apparently, the crippling guilt of a clan leader who failed her people cannot wait the twenty minutes it would have taken to get this done."

"My pack is starved for the hunt, Stygian, not that you would understand that... layabout as you are." The tundra's armor clanks against itself as he extends a wing, a pack of braying wraith hounds trapped within the snowfields displayed on the underside. "...We are sated. Until we know what Encore has to say for himself." Cold air spills from skeletal maw, the thick haze starting to occlude the overlook the five of them stand upon from the ground below, as Magda continues to dig.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Mithos questions, Stygian raising a brow.

"You got a hot date or something, Mithos? Some party to get to in amongst our centuries of free time?" The imperial scoffs, but the skydancer continues, smirking as he removes his tankard from his belt and taking a lengthy swig. "Because I can always give Selv or Lacrymosa a ring, if you're too busy for us, oh no, wait, no I can't, they're a little busy in dragonhome, cleaning up after-"

"I get it. Shall we make a jab about my dead beholder, too?" The argument is ended before it starts, though, when Magda lofts something fleshy and scrunched from the hole in the ground, tossing it to the ground beside Puppeteer's feet.

"Encore... Here."

"Ha, I knew the luscious golden locks were a wig."

"Shut. Up. Stygian." Puppeteer snaps now, holding one clawed hand aloft. "Thank you Magda."

"...Leave?"

"No. You are part of this trial, so you stay." The guardian woman sighs, reaching her own hand to absently stroke at the snout of the skull hung over her wing. "This will not take long." Puppeteer jabs at the fleshy amalgam- revealed now in the haze to be a heart- with the sharp end of her cane, filthy black magic contorting through the meat beneath- until the heart itself shifts, shape changing, the sound of creaking bone and squelching flesh filling the air just the same as Crux's ghostly frost for a short time, until in the place of it lies... Encore.

Stripped of magic, of Godhood, and made of seemingly only a small amount of the flesh that once made him whole, it is still what once was Encore lying filthy and bare in the grass below a scowling Puppeteer with the previous grandiose presence that still lives within those who stand around him now completely vacant. It is also the fallen spirit who's bones now thrive with activity below who, upon regaining enough awareness to speak- begins begging for his life.

"Puppeteer- I- I did not-"

"Did not intend to die or did not intend to do so in such a miserable way that now we are at risk of more hunters at our door? Because you surely did both. Someone get him some clothes. I am not having this discussion with him in the nude."

A ragged, bloodstained bolt of cloth, and then another, finds itself thrown at Encore- who takes a moment to gather himself- bones and flesh mangled and showing- exposed heart muscle making up more parts than it certainly should, vascular and tangling his hands and feet. He is not whole and the pieces they could find are struggling to resemble what he should be- he dresses- he tries to pretend his wings aren't flaps of slick organ, instead of thick leather. Whatever has become his stomach turns.

"What did you do to me...?"

"Well, I mean, you were thousands of feet tall and the size of a frigate, we had to make some exceptions so you could answer for yourself. I just wish those exceptions were less wet... Magda! Get back here." Mithos snarks, turning to catch the retreating figure of Mag slowly trying to slink away in the wintery haze. It's spreading, now, blanketing the bones below and causing less winterized, less hardy workers to hesitate in the sharp, biting chill.

"Not right...." She insists softly. "Cannot see but know it is not right." Her voice rasps, and Puppeteer rolls her eyes.

"We are not here to be bleeding hearts- well, none of us but Encore, hm?" She snickers, Stygian and Mithos laughing under their breath as well as Crux soothes the pack contained within his wings- they've gone from silent to a fever pitch, howling and wailing not unlike the wicked, biting wind. "It seems the huntsman has made his judgement already... You failed us, Encore."

"There is something beneath Lightning that knows of us, it is what killed me- it spoke with the voice of a woman- it told me- it insisted-"

"Ah, so we're listening to voices from beneath the sand now? I tire of this fool, Puppeteer, I say we set the hounds, and be done with him." Mithos grunts, examining glittering golden claws for a long moment. "He was sent on a simple outing, he failed and beyond that, now he's provided these mortals with the ability to better seek the throne. He's endangered all of us."

"Fine. I grow weary of the living anyway. We take our vote now. Those in favor of Encore's return to the earth? Mithos?"

"Nay."

"Stygian?"

"Nay."

"Crux?"

"Nay...."

".... Magda?"

"....." The guardian remains silent- swallowing tightly- Encore turning to her suddenly- she cannot see him but she can hear it in his voice, the way he's been twisted into something disgusting- something unholy, through Puppeteer's touch. She lifts her tail, worrying nervously at it with both hands.

"Maggie- Maggie please- don't- you don't have to go along with this-"

"Majority.... Rule... But I vote... Yay."

"Ah, Tragic it means nothing, here, isn't it, Maggie?" Mithos snorts. "Well, Encore, those are the breaks, huh? Too bad. Maybe in another thousand years we'll see you at the Pantheon Yule parties, but for now? Crux, I hope those dogs of yours are hungry- got some prime meat on offer."

"We hunt relentlessly. Until your guilt leaves your heart, Encore- The Pack will pursue." He hesitates, if only for a moment- the bleach white of his skull almost... sad. "...As my friend, as a former colleague... I will offer you a headstart- you have until the fog passes to get as far as you can. Once it lifts- there will be no freedom from our pursuit- until we are fed."

The Huntsman's wings unfurl again, his loyal pack spilling from within, soon surrounded by several wraithhounds, their bodies gaunt with hunger, their eyes trained ahead on their meal.

So Encore runs. With the haze of safety rapidly dwindling, and new, wrong flesh catching on rocks and trees, he runs- as he knows that death would have been the kindest thing his peers could offer him- and should Crux's hounds catch up, it will never come- eternity under their teeth and claws would make his Collapse look like child's play.

He needs somewhere to hide.

[greetingfromthedead]

11. Jaws

Series: Mermaid!AU Depth of Despair

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Author's Note: I am happy to announce that Depth of Despair is back to weekly uploads for chapters 11 - 15! I apologize for the long break, but with life being busy and my mental health being what it is, I am incapable of juggling two ongoing series (Apple Blossoms being the other) at the same time and since I really don't want to drop either of them, I have settled on writing 5 chapters of one of them and then switching to the other + break weeks between as necessary. It's not ideal, but I hope yall will put up with me ❤ If there are questions, I am more than happy to answer! ❤

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The voices of the merpeople tangle themselves into the minds of the seamen while they chant commands in a cacophony of haunting melodies. Guns drop to the slippery wooden deck as the sailors become entranced by the mesmerizing sounds. One can barely hear the scratching of nails against wood as the predators claw their way on board. That is until everything falls silent as a grave.

Out of nowhere, a massive black shadow appears under the water's surface. It circles the fishing boat, occasionally coming up enough to breach the still surface with its spines that protrude out from its back. The sirens grin a sharp toothed smile as they watch their meal shiver in fear. The men on the boat are unsure of what to do, their own voices quieting down now that there is nothing to drown out. Vash hears his heartbeat in his ears, blood rushing through his veins as he waits for the attack.

A giant black serpent's tail suddenly slams over the side of the boat, crushing a railing that splinters into pieces. The wet scales glisten, reminding Vash of a dark moonless night. The fishing boat rocks from the impact, a few sirens falling back into the water. The boat starts to keel the other way, a few of Vash's men losing their footing as they all turn just in time to see a black haired man pull themselves over the edge, his body transforming from being covered by massive scales to a human form. He slithers up to the front of the deck, keeping himself upright with the help of a massive trident. He looks imposing where he stands, but his face isn't filled with malice or anger. Vash thinks he might even see something resembling a smile.

"Blondie, it's you again," the serpent speaks, almost playfully.

"Nicholas, wasn't it?" Vash replies, remembering the day you snatched him from his own pier to save him from the man who now seems to toy with the lives of all his men.

"Indeed. And you aren't even drawn to me," he smiles more obviously. "Unlike your crew."

Vash hears more clanks and thuds as his men drop their weapons, their eyes solely focused on the frightening merman in front of them.

"Let them go," Vash commands.

"Why would I let a meal go just like that? Haven't you slipped from my grasp enough times by now?" The merman's voice is cold and menacing, but Vash hears something more in it—a playful note that doesn't seem to belong there. "Why don't we make a bet?"

"You want me to play with the lives of my men?" Vash is in shock, but none of the people around him seem to understand what the conversation is about; they look enamored, captured by the voice of the creature from the deep.

"Didn't you come here for a reason?" Nicholas asks, his gaze sharp as a blade.

Vash's eyes widen in surprise. He shouldn't be shocked that the man before him knows all about your situation, but for some reason he is anyway. It fills his chest with anger and fear. Without even intending to, he takes a long step forward, his hand reaching for the sword on his hip.

"Now now, hear me out first," Nicholas scolds him. "How about we play a game? Do what you came here to do; succeed, and I will allow you, your crew, and… your loot to get out of here alive. Fail, and you will all become fish food."

To emphasize his point, Nicholas flexes the muscles along his long tail that has coiled around the boat, making the planks complain via small cracks and squeaks.

"Why do you do this?" Vash asks, mistrustful of the siren.

"It gets so boring living in hiding all the time. I don't often get the opportunity to play with my food." Nicholas licks his lips. "But don't get me wrong. You are food. You will not succeed. Without your little guardian angel, you will not escape my jaws a third time."

"What are the rules of your game?" Vash asks, forcing himself to be calm in the face of death.

"I grant you your crew, as much as their scrambled brains will allow, and you will get to show me what you're capable of. To give you just a touch of a fighting chance and to make things more entertaining for myself, I will stand down, and so will everyone else who is here. But if you come across any others, they are free to rip your flesh from your bones. Sounds good?"

Vash walks closer, up the stairs to the landing where the siren perches. He stretches out his gloved hand to accept the only line of hope he has to save everyone.

"Alright, I will take those odds," Vash says with as much confidence he can muster up. Failure is not an option.

Nicholas takes Vash's hand, sealing the bet with a firm handshake and a crooked smile on his lips. "I'll be rooting for you, Blondie."

Vash's head swims with everything he just heard. The remarks and comments alluding to facts he did not know. His heart still pounds loudly in his chest as he turns away from the impressive siren to look over his ship and men. He doesn't have time to dwell on anything he just heard. All he is focused on now is to save you, whatever it takes.

The ship rocks as Nicholas slides back into the calm waters. One by one, the other merpeople follow his lead, diving back into their environment. Vash sees numerous shadows lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to fail. He doesn't quite understand why he was presented with an opportunity to save everybody, but he has nothing to lose. If Nicholas lied, everyone will die. If he fails, everyone will die. So he has one goal and one goal only as he watches his men snap back to reality, getting hold of their own minds and bodies again. Their hands shake in fear, and their eyes are wide with terror as they look around, realizing that they did not dream this.

Vash takes a deep breath, steadying himself before starting to dish out commands and instructions to his disheveled men.

The sun shines through the tree branches, caressing the back of your neck and your cheek as you sit on the edge of the pier. The water laps gently at the wooden planks below you, the sound a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of birdsong. A playful gust of wind ruffles through the linen material of the puffy sleeves of your shirt while you close your eyes and take in the peaceful moment. Your heart leaps with joy as you feel at home.

The rustling of grass alerts you to Vash's presence as he struts down the bank of the river until his footsteps echo hollowly on the wooden dock. You don't turn to look at him, choosing to keep your eyes closed until you feel his warm embrace envelop you. Lazily, you lean your head back to nestle between his shoulder and his neck, causing the flower crown he placed on your head earlier to nearly slip off, catching it just in time before it falls.

"Careful," Vash says with an amused tone, pulling away from you just enough to place a kiss on your cheek before sitting down from his squatted position without letting go of you.

"I am! I would never want to lose it!" You speak with a smile, turning your head to see the soft expression on his handsome face. He leans in, touching the side of his head against your temple, making you face forward again as his hug tightens around you.

His long legs spread out to either side of you, framing you in a protective embrace. You look at your own legs, the pants rolled up to your knees to avoid getting them wet. You lift your feet out from the river, water droplets on your skin catching the sun. Vash settles in, resting his chin on your shoulder as he keeps his head against yours, his contempt sigh tickling your skin. You flex your feet and toes, feeling a cool breeze against your ankles.

"I watered the roses. Just a few more days until they burst into bloom," he murmurs against your skin as he presses his nose more into the suppleness of your cheek.

He keeps his left arm around you, the right one untangling itself from your body to gently run along the length of your arm, his fingers tracing along your elbow and down to your fingertips until he cups your hand in his before lacing his fingers with yours.

"What a beautiful day," you sigh with happiness as you both bask in the warmth of the sun and the joy of each other's company.

The smile lingers on your lips even as the brilliant sunshine gets duller, a veil of clouds obscuring its rays. Even as the crisp air gets murky and dull like mist, it doesn't dampen the joy in your heart. Even as wisps of blood appear, bright red, in front of you before disappearing, Vash's upturned lips and brilliant blue eyes are all that you see.

The growling of the changelings doesn't even register in your mind as they fight each other for a place around you. Their sharp teeth leave marks on your skin as they ravage your body, drinking deep from your veins, but you are too mesmerized by the scene in your head to feel any pain. You are lost in the world of your imagination, completely detached from reality. A reality that is cruel, dark, and hopeless. You feel a sense of peace and freedom in your mind, a place where you can escape from the harshness of the world around you. The only place where you have not been tied down to become a buffet to these creatures who want nothing else but the magic in your veins. Your reality is a merciless nightmare that will never end. Draining you dry will not kill you; ripping the flesh from your bones won't do that either. You are doomed to remain in eternal suffering, but it is a fate you would choose again and again if it meant that Vash is safe.

You are glad that the last moments you spent with him, you got to see him up close. You got the chance to memorize every detail of his face, from the curve of his lips to the angles of the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that show up more when he smiles. You never want to forget a single thing about him; he is always on your mind. Even now your mind conjures him up, swimming closer with a knife between his teeth. The image is so lifelike, so true, it's like you could reach out and touch him if your muscles had a single ounce of strength in them.

Hissing and screeching erupts all around you as the changelings scramble away from a blade that slashes through the water with unnatural speed. A large shadow blocks out the dim light of the distant surface, a silhouette with a sword in their left hand. The blade glints for a moment as it slashes again, making the little changelings scatter in fear. It all feels so real, yet it cannot be true. As Vash's worried face comes to view, you want to close your eyes. It is too good to be true—an impossible scenario that you would rather not have in your head. You don't want to feed into unreasonable hope. He should never come here.

Despite your wishes, you can't look away. Vash's free hand cups your cheek to pull himself closer so he can press his lips to yours. It is hurried and brief, over before your brain can catch up. Bubbles escape his mouth as he breathes in the salty ocean water, and he looks relieved. You keep telling your fuzzy mind that none of this is real. It cannot be. But his touch feels so vivid, so tangible, that you can't help but wonder if it actually is. Hope, that is so dangerous, blooms in your chest. Your mind keeps fleeing from you no matter how hard you try to focus. Moments of almost clarity are quickly replaced by darkness as your thoughts slip away.

Through the fog of your mind and feeling like your body doesn't belong to you, somehow you still feel the binds being cut. No longer do the ropes dig into your flesh as they anchor you to the mass of rocks. Relief wants to wash over you, to knock you out cold, but still you try to convince yourself that whatever is happening, it is not as it seems. Vash couldn't have come to save you. He shouldn't have.

Your body gets dragged into a new restraint; something else locks around your waist as you get pulled away. Through the haze of your eyes, you see the faces of children as they come out from their hiding spots. Their dark eyes narrowing with anger as they hiss in frustration. It feels so real.

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[cerebrosurgeon]

Crack.

The sound echoes so loudly in the quiet that it's almost deafening. At the end of the corridor, stark against the artificial darkness, there is a ghost where there had not been one seconds before. It stares at Cerebros with an optic like a window to the cosmos.

One clawed foot is frozen over the broken piece of glass that had betrayed its presence. Its frame is hunched, its arms too long, its neck crooked like a bird's. And it is white—not painted, but sun-bleached, sterile white. It blinks, shutters briefly eclipsing a faint nebula.

And then it turns and sprints on all fours back the way it had come.

Oh.

Cerebros thinks the word, but doesn't say it. It isn't even broadcast far; him startling was not uncommon for his binary bonds, and Max felt little need to intrude beyond a basic status query after reviewing Cerebros's stable vitals. Out of habit, used to accommodating Max's paranoia, Cerebros responded with an automated, cool affirmative.

He did not feel very cool. Actually, he was a bit hot, cooling always a trial on Planet Master even under the best conditions. He stared into the darkness of the corridor leading to the decommissioned testing wing, slowly lowering the material in his hands back down to the dusty table he'd lifted it from. Everything here was hardly any younger than him, the facility constructed when the Headmasters and Nebulans were first truly deported from Nebulos. It was a nostalgia trip. It was safe, insofar as being uninhabited and so little known most Cybertronians thought of it as a rumour.

And a stranger was running around it. Or he was going crazy. He sent the Cog combiners a request to check on Max, something mundane and believable, wanting his bonds to all be together and, hopefully, unlikely to startle the- Cybertronian? Mech? Transformer? he'd seen. The minibot rose from the desk and walked into the darkness, careful not to step on the glass shards as he passed.

"Hello? My designation is Fortress, former Supreme Commander of the Autobots," he called into the halls, visor barely piercing the void. He wasn't particularly scared of the stranger, not nearly as much as he was worried about the sand he felt sticking in his joints as he kicked up unseen piles. "You can call me Cerebros, though. Do you need help? Fuel? Transport?"

The walls opened up around him. Cerebros paused in the centre of the four-way intersection, not lost but incapable of determining where the gangly mech had skittered off to. He waited, fruitlessly staring into the darkness surrounding him.

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 12 | Nora x Hancock

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

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Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

When Nora thought for sure she was going to die too, the pain stopped – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but the grief. Half of her soul was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. Then just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. The hole was filled the moment it had been created. As she gripped Nate’s vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself battling with the horrifying realization that she had another soulmate; that some stranger had taken Nate's place.

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The silence that immediately followed the attack was both haunting and brief. Explosive gunfire and shrill screaming echoed and dwindled within the ruinous buildings around Nora until she was left with oppressive silence. The creature’s corpse was draped over Nora like a too-heavy blanket. There was a barely-there second where Nora felt a surge of relief, but it was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of complete helplessness. Her body was pinned beneath the monster’s weight. Though she tried to lift her arms and push the corpse away, her arms merely jerked within the confines of the power armor. Nora felt heavy. Her limbs strained against all the weight but nothing moved. Her back bowed with the effort. She tried to kick her legs, she tried to push and roll. Nora was stuck under the beast, trapped in a tin can. Weak. Helpless. A shuddering whimper left Nora as she threw all of her efforts into getting free. She began to hyperventilate. The eyes of the helmet began to fog as panic set in.

That heavy, lingering silence was shattered by an ear splitting scream. Nora thrashed, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how loud she screamed, she couldn’t move - couldn’t get out. She was helpless, stuck and incapable of doing anything aside from watching as the man aimed the gun at Nate's chest, as someone carried her baby away.

“Nathan!” She shrieked, her voice cracking. Her eyes bulged, as her body quaked. “NATE!?” Her struggles renewed, trying to free herself so she could try to defend her family. “NATE! NATE PLEASE! SHAUN–”

“Lady, hey, listen - okay?"

It wasn't Nate's rumbling baritone. It wasn't nearly as deep, and it carried infinitely more gravel. The panic started to dig its claws into the very essence of her being. 

The man's breath was frantic and ragged, matching hers, "Hey, you-fuck-you gotta breathe. Yer havin' a panic attack. Focus on me."

A choked sob tore from her throat, tears flooding her vision. “N-Nate." she whimpered.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Focus.”

She did. She took deep heaving breaths and focused on the man at the other end of the bond. Clarity seeped in through the hysteria. There was some residual panic, but there was also a flooding relief that forced her body to relax completely. Her breathing evened, and she sniffled. Snot was dribbling from her nose, but she couldn’t wipe it away.

“There ya go. Good girl. ”

The creature’s corpse was slowly replaced; a room, mostly made of surprisingly well kept wood. A couch, a coffee table – a trio of people with weapons, peering towards her with wide, uncertain eyes. None were threatening. This was better. By leaps and bounds, it was better. She no longer felt confined and helpless. Her connection to her soulmate set her at ease, despite the crowd of strangers.

“Hey, boys,” her soulmate drawled. He was staring up at the armed people, looking as if he was on the floor. “Say hello, to… What’s your name, doll?”

“Eleanor,” she sniffled. Tears still leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Nora.”

“Nora,” he repeated, saying her name like a prayer.

One of the men lifted a hand and waved. Another asked, "You gotta soulmate, mayor?”

"Sure fuckin' do."

They were all dressed quite nicely, suits and fedoras, but there were a couple within the group that didn’t quite look right. Something was wrong with their skin – it was as if they had been burned. Eyes looked wrong. Noses were missing. She furrowed her eyebrows, focusing on her breathing. They looked reminiscent of patients she’d seen in the VA hospital Nate used to frequent on his days off.

“Is… “ a slow exhale. “Are they… are they alright?”

There was a moment where she picked up on his confusion, and then he released a low chuckle. “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen a ghoul yet?”

There were a couple of responding chuckles from the men, and then a female voice was telling them to go ahead and go – that everything was fine. The group collectively turned and left the room, the door closing behind them.

“Ghoul?”

“Some folks get exposed to a shit-ton of radiation and don’t die. Ya got the standard ghouls, like the gentlemen that you saw. Fine for the most part, but a little fucked up." So they were just people who had been hurt? It felt cruel to call them ghouls if all they did was survive horrendous, unlikely circumstances. "And then ya got the ferals. Those are the ones ya gotta look out for.”

Ferals. There was no need for an explanation there. Just as she started to attempt to wrap her head around what a person would have to go through to get to such a state she felt her body jostle. Blinking a handful of times, she re-set her focus on the world around her, only to see the worried face of Preston Garvey.

“Nora,” he said, a wide grin splitting his handsome features. “You’re alive!”

“I’m alive,” she confirmed weakly. “I can’t move. Please get me out of here.”

There was a low, dangerous drawl from her soulmate, “Looks like ya made a friend after all, sweetheart.”

She ignored the surge of jealousy that she felt, still focused on utilizing the calming relief that still clung to him.

“You took that hit pretty hard,” Preston said kindly. “Probably knocked the Fusion Core loose. We’ll get you figured out – Sturges! Can we get your help over here?”

Nora watched the two men as they worked to pull the dead deathclaw off of her. It took Preston, Sturges, and a couple others to move the beast, and then the same amount to help Nora roll over onto her front. The armor was obscenely heavy. No wonder Nate hated wearing it. Between its unwieldy weight, and an alleged flaw in the welded lining in the chest plate, Nate had complained at length about all the time spent in power armor. Now Nora understood why. The armor worked well enough to keep her safe, right up until it stopped working all together. As she struggled under all of the weight, and all of the open scrutiny from the settlers she had saved, waves of irritation and jealousy lapped at her senses. Before she had an unstoppable urge to get snappy with anyone she blocked out all of her soulmate’s incoming emotions. No use pissing off the locals. As Nora waited to be freed she focused on keeping her breathing even, and her panic in check. 

Thankfully, the man known as Sturges worked quick. A bit of a tinkerer by trade, he was able to identify the problem fast enough. 

“It’s the fusion core alright. You did get tackled by a deathclaw, afterall. Hold tight, Nor. Just going to hit the manual release.”

“Thank you,” Nora replied distantly just before the back of the suit opened and blessedly cool air seeped into the machinery. Preston helped her from the armor, all gentle with his beaming smile. “Thank you,” she said again as she hastily wiped at her face. Tears and snot smeared onto the sleeve of her vault suit. 

“So,” Preston said by way of response. “You said there was a place we could go? Sanctuary Hills?”

Upon meeting with Preston and the other settlers, Nora had offered up Sanctuary Hills as a viable home. The moment it came time to ante up, Nora regretted the offer. The Commonwealth had been violent and aggressive as far as she had known it, and yet she offered up her personal safe haven to strangers. While the settlers certainly seemed mostly peaceful (Marcy Long was a very blatantly hostile little thing, and Nora’s soulmate insisted that Nora tell the woman to do unspeakable things to a Brahmin (whatever that was) if she wanted to be mean), she felt weary about sharing a neighborhood with them. Instead of reneging on her offer, Nora offered a tired smile and guided them to the place she called home. 

Nora watched as the derelict neighborhood became infested with life once more. People drifted in and out of crumbling homes. They staked their claim in some places, and started scavenging from others. Watching them work kicked up fresh waves of anxiety, and Nora very politely informed Preston of which house was hers before rushing off to tell Codsworth to be mindful and keep anyone away if they wanted to target her house for scavenging and looting. Even mentioning it made her feel just south of crazy, but it was her house. It was Nate’s house. She wasn’t giving it up – but staying in the home was making her restless. Sounds of voices came filtering in through the broken roof, and the shattered windows. Whenever there was a particularly loud sound, Nora would give a bodily flinch. The closer it got to dark, Nora admitted to herself that she quite simply didn’t feel safe with the neighborhood’s newest occupants. It was curious, she had expected to feel a little more at ease once she found a community, but… 

“Miss,” Codsworth said gently, his tone soothing as he drifted close to her. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable elsewhere…?”

Nora shook her head, arms crossing over her torso to soothe her rapidly fraying nerves. “I don’t know where I would go.”

“There is the old truck stop. The Red Rocket.” She knew the one he was talking about. It wasn’t even an entire mile away. Nate had been friends with the owner. “The place is still quite structurally sound. Perhaps I could escort you there? We can clean up any riff raff together.” Before she could object, the Mister Handy continued, “And then I would pop right back home, madame. To watch the place, as you said.”

Nora agreed, and on the short walk there, she wondered if she would ever get used to this world. She wondered if she would always be untrusting towards people. She also wondered if she would ever find her backbone in this place. Instead of retreating from her home, she could have stood her ground, told them that if anyone touched the house that she would deal with them personally. Threaten them with what? It wasn't like there was any police to call, or her husband to back her up. Despite the absolutely hellacious day she had, she didn't think she would be comfortable threatening someone's life so casually.  Even if she did, who would believe her? Sure, she took on a “deathclaw”, but then she cried and had a panic attack immediately after. Even if they hadn't directly seen it, she wasn't exactly quiet about it.

The one person that she could trust to help her was someone she wanted to avoid. She was irritated that she had caved in so soon, but it was abundantly clear that she was going to need his help if she wanted to survive. That didn’t mean anything, though. It wasn’t like she was running to him with open arms. This was strictly business.

As her and Codsworth neared the truck stop, Nora reached out to him.

“Hey, uh, sir? What’s your name again?”

“Forget, didja?” Came the rasping chuckle. “You can call me John.”

//

Tag List: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl / @brainrot-extravaganza

[thoughtswordsandnonsense]

Panic

Asks are open if anyone wants to submit Fourth Wing/ The Empyrean series imagines/ fanfics (reader inserts are fine as well!) Sorry if this isn't any good, I'm just getting back into writing after a long time of not writing.

Concept:  Xaden tries to comfort Violet from an anxiety attack that Andrana accidentally causes before Violet can shield fully. Takes place in Fourth Wing, there are no Iron Flame spoilers & Liam is still alive. (RIP)

Trigger warning for anxiety attacks and sorta self-harm though it’s not consciously intentional.  (nails biting into skin, scraping one’s self purposely) Also mild blood.  

Violet POV: 

My heart races as I borderline run back to my room, the walls feel like they're closing in as my vision spots in and out. I’m going to fail for everyone, I’m not good enough to be Tarins. I’m going to get them killed.

Everything is too much, everything is too loud, Tarin's shouts in my brain are too muddled as I slam open my door and close it just as hard. My hands tremble as I grip my chest. Nails bite into the little exposed skin I have on my neck as I claw at myself. My clothes feel too tight as if they are choking me as the room spins violently. 

My door slams open and Liam stands there looking panicked, accessing the room for danger before his gaze lands on me. “Violet, what the hell is going on? You just fucking bolted from sparring like you saw Malek himself” He stands in my doorway and tried to step forward but stumbles back as though he can’t get in. “I can’t-” My throat closes as I wheeze for air, my lungs completely incapable of letting me get the slightest breath in. My eyes tear up as Liam turns on his heel and races off, slamming the door behind him.

Xaden won’t get here in time, my lungs are killing me, he’s going to be too late and I can’t do anything about it. My own body is going to get all of us killed, I’m going to die, Barlow is going to be so pissed that he’s not the reason I’ll be announced on the death roll tomorrow. 

“Child, you need to calm yourself.” A low-pitched feminine voice cuts through my scattered thoughts. I stand there shaking, breath laboured as I squeeze my watering eyes shut. “He’ll be there soon, just hold on.” Sgayel, my brain catches on, to her firm tone. “Tairn, what's happening?” I plead down our bond, desperate to make this stop. My head pounds as my breath catches again, a garbled wheezing noise comes out as I trip backwards and onto the floor. Pain lances through the back of my skull as it hits the edge of the bed frame. “Andarna, she’s panicking about what would happen to you if something were to happen to me, unfortunately, she’s forcing her emotions onto you.” His tone has an aggressive snap to it as if he’s lashing out at Andarna. “How, how do I make it stop? Please.” 

Before he could respond my door opened again, Liam found Xaden. 

Heavy steps fall in front of me as my gaze snaps up to Xaden’s onyx eyes, wide with worry as he sinks down in front of me. My ears ring as I try desperately to focus on him, my head throbbing more with each passing second as I wheeze again. He grasps both of my hands in one of his, his mouth moving though I hear no words. “Violence, I need you to focus. You’re okay, you need to shut the bond with Andarna down. Close the door just like we practiced a few weeks ago.” Xaden’s voice rings softly through my head, words commanding but not in his usual bossy tone. “I can’t. Make it stop.” I plead with him as tears fall from my eyes, burning as my walls come down.  

Another set of hands is on me, touching the back of my head and I jump forward. Xaden catches me, holding me against his chest. Arms circling me as I grip onto him tightly, faintly I hear someone curse. “Listen to the Wing Leader. Focus.” Tairn’s stressed voice chimes in. “Focus on me Violence, you usually don’t have a problem with being distracted when I’m around.” Xaden chimes up through the bond. “If it wasn’t for the fact of I feel like I’m dying I’d stab you.” I shoot back at him, and he has the nerve to laugh while I struggle to breathe in his arms. “Just focus, study your bonds. Take your time. I’m right here.” His calming voice helps break through the intense panic. 

Picturing Andarna’s shimmering gold door I try to shove against it, but it barely budges as it pushes back, every push makes my lungs wheeze again. “It’s okay, you’re doing great. Just try again.” Xaden encourages.

 The ringing lessens as I feel Tairn trying to help as I push again, slowly it begins to close, my head throbs harder as we keep going. “That’s it, good girl. You’re doing so good.” Xaden says again, his deep voice helping ground me even more. One of his hands runs up and down my back, and I can feel another set pressing against the back of my head. Finally with one last shove her door closes as I sag with relief into Xaden’s leather-clad arms. 

Turning my head slightly I look up and see Liam crouched just behind me, holding a black cloth against the back of my head, though there’s blood flecked against his hand. Tairn rumbles as I hear Sgayel pipe in. “She’s just an adolescent, her emotions are more intense than ours. She’ll be okay now.” Her tone is that of a mother consoling a child. The ringing finally stops as I take in my room, breaths still shallow as I can finally hear Liam. 

“She should be okay, the bleeding is stopping now. You still with us Vi?” His sky-blue eyes flick down to my lingering gaze. “Yeah.” I manage to choke out as my head swims, Xaden sighs in relief as I unclench my hands from the back of his flight leather. “Thank you,” Xaden says to Liam as he continues to hold me, Liam takes the cloth away from my head as I shift to rest my head into the crook of Xaden’s neck. Exhaustion settles over my body quickly as the adrenaline leaves, Liam crouches in front of me, one hand resting against my shin as Xaden pulls me further into him. “Have you ever had this happen before?” Liam asks and I shake my head no. “I’ve felt something similar when Brennan died, but not to this extent.” My voice is hoarse as I answer. “It’s normal, my sister Sloane used to get them when we were kids. It’s called an anxiety attack, physically you’re okay but you spiral so bad mentally that it puts you in fight or flight. Take it easy the rest of today. You’re probably already feeling like shit?” He questions and I nod yes. “How bad?” I ask “You aren’t concussed, but head injuries bleed like a bitch. I’ll grab you some water okay?” He asks softly and I give him a small smile. “Thank you.” He nods and stands, throwing the cloth to the hamper by my desk. “Yeah, it’s no problem. It’s what friends are for.” He ruffles my hair as he walks by. “Oh and you definitely need to wash your hair, those silver tips are kinda dyed red now. Though it does look kind of badass.” He throws it over his shoulder as he walks out of the room and softly shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s get you up,” Xaden says as he lifts me bridal style and then lays me down on my bed. I move over some as he sits on the edge of my bed, looking down at me. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?” He asks “Please” I respond and he throws his legs up, shifting himself so his back is against the wooden headboard. “Has this ever happened to you?” “No, not from Sgayel at least, and never to the extent you were at.” “What exactly happened?” I ask. “From what Sgayel is telling me, Andarna got herself worked up and because she’s young she didn’t realize she was sending her crisis and panic down the bond to you. Tairn and Sgayel are with her right now, though I don’t think Tairn is helping the situation.” “Ease up on her, she didn’t mean to.” I shoot to Tairn and he replies instantly. “We will discuss this later, you focus on letting the Wing Leader take care of you while we deal with the child.” His grumpy tone leaves no room for arguing. After a few moments of silence, I ask Xaden.  

“Can I have you undo my braid please?” he sucks in a breath as his hands move. “Yeah, come here.” He helps shift me as I lay my head in his lap. Fingers softly moving through the motions of untangling my crown braid, my eyes flutter shut as my body finally relaxes into his tender touches, being careful of where my head hit the bed frame as he finally unravels it. “Mira used to play with my hair to get me to sleep.” I yawn out, the moment feeling intimate between the two of us. “It’s okay, just sleep. I’ve got you.”

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

Old Town Road | Halbrand/OC (part 4)

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Give up her freedom, and save her family home. The ultimatum was one Tilda had grown to accept, given that she could stay as far from her would-be captor's presence as she wished. But when chance forces her into closer proximity with the man known as Halbrand, she will find that her patience is not the only thing being tested. Particularly when what he seems to desire most, now, is her heart. (Yellowstone-ish AU).

Warnings: alternate universe, original character(s), house fire, death of a parent, burn scars, toxic relationship, Stockholm syndrome, angst, allusion to smut, unrequited love, enemies to lovers.

Other: Please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag-list!

Part One Part Two Part Three

From the moment he opens his eyes, Adar knows that something is very, very wrong.

He sees it first in his daughter. Even before he had managed to claw his way free of the haze that held him trapped beneath the veil of unconsciousness, he could feel it in her presence at his side. Tension. Grief. Fear.

All of those things had seemed to coalesce around her, as she sat in the chair beside his bed, forming a strange sort of shield through which he could not hope to reach her. He had felt it, as fear moved to the forefront, causing her to stand.

It had been that movement that had finally enabled him to pull himself free of whatever kept him half in the waking world, and half asleep, but now, all he could discern was how she stood, frozen, staring into the hall beyond a room he did not recognize, her apprehension nearly palpable.

He tries to call out to her. Tries to utter her name, but the words die off in his throat, a searing sort of pain suddenly possessing him with little else aside from the ability to generate a singular, ragged groan. Though the pain causes his vision to darken, narrowing in from the corners, he can see, just beyond where Tilda stands, the shadowy frame of a man. Tall. Clothed in black.

Again, Adar tries to move, whether in an effort to pull his daughter back, or to draw the man's attention to himself, he honestly cannot tell. But the effort fails almost as soon as it begins, whatever strength he might have possessed dwindling in an instant as another flare of white-hot pain sears at him from the inside out.

It is then that Tilda turns to him, the shock she must feel over his awakening rendering her incapable of keeping her reaction to it a secret, even from herself. He watches as a myriad of emotions flicker across her features, from surprise, to worry, to something else, a thing he had never wished to have her know.

Unimaginable, and unbearable pain.

He could have predicted the way in which Tilda would scramble to rearrange her expression. The way she would draw herself inward, as she had always done, before, when confronted with the thought of another sensing her distress. Whatever emotions had been warring for control are now replaced by a thin veil of resolve.

In seconds, her hand is reaching for his own, and he can feel the trembling that rests, just beneath her skin. Her teeth come out to worry at her lower lip, a flash of white against his vision that seems to darken and lighten in uneven fits and spurts.

Desperate to remain with her, rather than returning to the foggy haze that he had been suspended in, before—a fog that, even now, fights to drag him back under—Adar clings to Tilda's hand with all of the strength he possesses, limited though it may be. He watches as an errant tear slips, unnoticed, down the skin of her cheek.

His free hand reaches toward her as well, desperate for all of the contact he can obtain, particularly as another effort to speak leaves him nearly paralyzed by renewed pain, but his daughter shushes him. Her brow furrows with something not all that far from concern, and she gently presses that hand that had yearned to brush against her cheek back to the bed at his side.

For a moment, he wonders at the action, blue-green eyes searching for answers in the familiarity of her own, but Adar finds nothing. Nothing save for a maelstrom of unreadable emotion that he doubts Tilda will ever grant him the capacity to understand.

Her mouth opens, and then closes, her throat working convulsively as though words are as reluctant to leave her lips as they had been his own, but before he can make any attempt at discerning what it is that has her struggling, another sound reaches him. That of someone coming to stand just inside the door.

It is a presence that has his daughter tensing all over again, whatever vulnerability that he might have sensed in her bearing long gone.

The instinct to protect rises within him, sharp and unrepentant, and Adar tries to push himself to sit, but the fire that sears its way through every last nerve ending prevents the act as swiftly as if he had been cut off at the knees. Another groan escapes, and he collapses backward onto the rough mattress and thinness of the pillow.

Again, Tilda is at his side in seconds, hand tightly clasped around his own. And it is then that he takes note of the other presence in the room for the first time. The one that had rendered his daughter so uncomfortable he can practically feel the discomfort radiating from her very bones.

"How long ago did he wake?"

"A—a few minutes ago, but I—"

"Have you told him anything?"

The inquiry sparks some curiosity, and Adar finds his half-lidded gaze flitting between the doctor who is now so clearly tracking his vitals to Tilda, and back to the doctor, again. The sensation he had noted before—that something was wrong—returns, and he finds the powerlessness that renders him incapable of doing anything to discern what that something is to be akin to torture.

He watches, as his daughter shakes her head, something not all that far from guilt taking form behind her eyes. Rooting itself in the thinning line of her lips. A muscle twitches against the fine line of her jaw, her fingers tightening almost possessively around his own, and it is then that he realizes it. In the time since he opened his eyes, his consumption with Tilda's presence and his own pain has robbed him of the ability to recognize the now-conspicuous absence of two others.

His wife and son.

The thing he sensed had to do with them. With their absence. Adar knows that, now. And finally, painstakingly, he attempts to speak once more, this time determined to push through whatever fresh agonies may await him as a result.

"Where are—where are they?"

As soon as the words are spoken, barely above a whisper while flames lick at his throat, Adar feels the gentle pressure of Tilda's hand wrenching itself from his own. He recognizes the choked sound that escapes her, not all that far from a sob.

Her eyes shine with the unmistakable sheen of tears as she favors the man straightening on Adar's opposite side with a look that can be described as nothing short of scathing. And then he knows. Or at least, he thinks he knows. The only reason his daughter would be so hostile to another would be if she believed that person was being deliberately callous. If the individual in question was somehow a threat to the well-being of those she cared for.

Something must have happened to his wife. Or to Bain. Or, more likely, both. Another observation of Tilda's ashen features all but confirms it. And although he knows, somehow, that another attempt to rise will be futile, it is not enough to stop him from trying to claw his way upright once again.

By some miracle, and in spite of how his daughter's hands almost immediately move to try and waylay him, Adar succeeds. The pain very nearly blackens his vision entirely, but he sits upright, fists curled in the thin fabric of the sheet that covers his frame.

Breath after ragged breath drags through his still-burning throat, his chest heaving as he struggles to remain alert. As he forces himself to remain awake, despite the pull of the blackness that moves toward him like the soft call of a lover long missed.

His gaze fixes upon his daughter, desperate for answers. For the truth. The very thing he can tell, somehow, that she is entirely too reluctant to give. The growing horror in her eyes over his obvious comprehension of her omissions only spurs his desire to attempt to speak.

"Where are—they?"

Tilda opens her mouth. Shuts it. Opens it and shuts it again, and Adar would be a fool to pretend he does not know the reason behind her sudden inability to speak. He can feel it seeping like a poison through his veins the longer his gaze remains locked upon her own. And with the reality of his daughter's hesitation all but confirming his suspicions, Adar finds that he is now powerless to resist the pull of the scathing pain that holds him in its relentless grasp.

Combined with a truth he never wished to face, it drags him under, into the black reprieve of unconsciousness yet again, until he knows no more.

The next time Adar wakes, he does not fall prey to the same sensation he had before. Where there had once existed dread for the thing he had learned, its certainty now robs him of any feeling save for a boundless grief. Weighing heavily upon him, it keeps him nearly motionless. Trapped in the bed he'd found himself in, so that he is nearly drowning in it.

It fills him with a bitter feeling. The taste of bile lingers at the back of his throat. And as the pain that had dragged him under its sway resurfaces, Adar finds himself wishing that the flames that had consumed his home had managed to take him with it.

He is aware, of course, of his daughter's lingering presence beside him. Though she cannot seem to meet his gaze head-on, Tilda seems entirely reluctant to leave his side. All of the fight he has always known in her seems to have fled, leaving her hollow. Empty. A shell of her former self, even if he is not blind to how she is hardly alone in her vigil.

Elendil's son is there often enough, talking in hushed tones with Tilda, though more often than not she remains silent. Dimly, Adar finds himself grateful that she will not be alone.

In the days that follow his first awakening, he learns that while Bain had, despite his initial belief, survived, his wife—his Freida—had not. The grief hangs over him—over his daughter—like a shroud of darkness neither of them can escape.

Tilda is every bit as consumed by it—by guilt—as Adar is, himself, though she had no part in everything that had transpired, and not for the first time, he catches himself wondering if it might not have been better for his daughter to have stayed away.

At least, if she had, she might have been spared a bit of pain. The pain that would come in knowing his own stubbornness had all but sealed their fate.

He cannot speak the words. Even now, they all but choke off in his throat, despite the fact that the pain that assailed him when he spoke upon first awakening has dulled. He cannot tell his daughter that his own mistakes have cost them everything.

She would hate him for it. For refusing to take the deal the stranger had offered. The man with a dark suit, and a clear desire to possess all of the land of value within their town's borders. The man had offered him everything in return for a parcel of land that Adar had grown to love. That he felt was a part of his very being, now, where before he might have cared little for its fate.

Though he has no proof, it seems reasonable to suspect that this man was behind the destruction of his home. After all, Adar was no stranger to tales of other, similar happenings in neighboring ranches. Offers of purchase made, and when denied, punished swiftly. Severely, though the absence of proof of the cause of those punishments, and their perpetrator, was always notably absent.

The spectral presence of the man in black that he had noted upon his first awakening all but confirms Adar's suspicions, but he can do little about that now. He cannot voice them aloud, when to do so would mean bringing his daughter to face the truth of all his failures.

Instead of speaking, he sits in his silence, balanced between the waking world and that of sleep, but his dreams are hardly peaceful. In them, he faces the flames again and again, sometimes even managing to save the home that he loved, but each time that he awakens again, he realizes he is a fool for ever believing it to be possible at all.

The days pass in the same repetitive pattern. Wake, and keep a watchful eye on his daughter when he is conscious, desperate to put an end to the uneasy silence that rests between them but unable to figure out how. Sleep, and shy away from the horrors of his dreams when exhaustion and lingering pain overwhelm his will to remain alert.

Always, when he opens his eyes, his daughter remains beside him, and Adar counts himself unworthy of such devotion, the more so because he cannot begin to think of how to tell her the truth. The same thing that had kept her silent when she knew of her mother's passing now winds its way around his own tongue, paralyzing it and keeping it still.

Again, he wishes she could have been spared from this. That she could have lived her entire life immune to such pain, but he knows there will be nothing he can do to spare her for much longer. And whether it is foolish or not, that is what encourages him to keep his silence, even though his voice must surely become hoarse with disuse as a result.

If that is the price he must pay to prolong the moment where his daughter's looks of concern change to looks of abject horror, then he will pay it, knowing that to do otherwise would mean inevitably losing her, as well.

As soon as she is certain her father is asleep, Tilda withdraws her hand from his grasp, standing to her full height on limbs that tremble with exhaustion so that she can exit the room into the hallway beyond.

The days having blurred together since the night of the fire, such that she is hardly certain of how long it has been since she last left her father's room. Only her bones, infused with a dull ache from intermittent sleeping in a chair, can tell that tale, and it is not a story she is particularly interested in hearing. It is a story that will serve as nothing more than a reminder of why she never should have considered leaving home.

It all seems so stupid, now. Leaving. Letting something that had clearly been a tradition for far longer than she, or her parents had been alive put a wedge between them, causing her to lash out. To say the most hurtful thing she could ever think of, and watch as her father's features had tightened the moment the words left her lips.

She'd done what she always had, before. Spoken without thinking. Without considering the consequences. And now?

Now, her mother is dead. Her father is still not out of the woods, despite waking on his own. The doctor had informed her in no uncertain terms that the burns covering her father's skin render him almost fragile. Vulnerable to infection, and death, and Tilda is not blind to the fact that the two of them have so very much to work through, even if he is to survive.

In truth, she hardly knows where the two of them are to begin, when it comes to making some sort of attempt at getting back to the way things used to be. But Tilda does know that she wants that with every last fiber of her being.

It is an endpoint that she would give absolutely anything to achieve, no matter the cost. Even if she doesn't have the faintest idea of how to begin.

The thought provokes a sigh as she begins to meander down the hall, not entirely sure of where she is going despite being possessed by an almost unavoidable need to move. Whatever energy she hadn't been spending while remaining in the chair beside her father's bed now propels her forward, as though the idea of remaining still is suddenly untenable.

Her nerves seem to buzz with it the longer she is upright, and mobile, and she can feel her heart beginning to pound against the cage of her ribs, picking up, beat by beat, while her breath begins to come in sharp gasps. And as the growing panic that takes over at the thought of being unable to discern exactly why such a thing is happening becomes more apparent, Tilda can do little else aside from allowing her faltering steps to turn into a jog, the need to get air rising above all other thoughts she might possess.

Air that should be plentiful exactly where she is, but it isn't. At least, not for her.

Lungs burning, Tilda breaks into an all out sprint as the hospital's main entrance comes into view. Her throat feels as though it is nearly constricted while tears burn at the corners of her eyes.

As she bursts through the doors, and the chill of the night air overtakes her, a choked sob escapes. First one, and then another, and another, until she is nearly crushed by their invisible weight. The tears that finally spill over threaten to blind her as she staggers toward the blurred outline of a nearby bench.

Sagging onto it, she crumples. Bends forward, until her elbows are resting on her knees, her head held between both hands. The sobs that had started in uneven intervals completely take over, dragging her under until she fears she might drown, and even then, they do not show any sign that they will stop.

In the back of her mind, Tilda wonders how this came upon her so suddenly. How emotion all but overwhelms her, now, where before, she had been capable of keeping it all in check.

It makes little sense. In truth, everything about the current situation makes little sense, and the uncertainty rises to mix with her lingering guilt, until it is nearly choking her every bit as much as the sobs that still wrack her frame.

The longer she remains where she is, the more her thoughts drift back to the moments before she'd left her home, one year prior. To the words traded with her parents, ultimately leading to her departure. Her resolve to resist all desire for turning back.

Not for the first time, Tilda wonders if things might have been different, had she stayed. If she could have done anything differently to change the way things were. Her heart aches with the reality of never knowing, and her entire body seems to tremble with the force of that reality when it finally lands.

As the sobs that tear through her begin to calm, albeit only by a little, she lifts both hands to dash at errant tears. The task is, admittedly, an impossible one, the wind that tugs at loose strands of her hair causing the wetness on her cheeks to cool until gooseflesh prickles against her skin.

Slowly, Tilda straightens her spine, leaning back against the wood of the bench resting behind her, as she attempts to force her breaths to slow, inch by careful inch. And by the time some semblance of normalcy has returned to the hollow pounding of her heart within her chest, she comes to the realization that she is no longer alone.

"I am—I am so sorry. Has he passed?"

"What?" Tilda breathes, dashing at the last of the tears that escape, while her eyes flit to the stranger now standing before her. Though she tries her best to prevent it, she is all but certain that her surprise must be making itself known upon her features. How could it not, when her heart stammers to a near stop inside of her chest as recognition dawns?

For a moment, she seems incapable of further speech. Of anything, save for staring at the man, while the self-same panic she'd felt inside the hospital walls threatens to resurface and drag her under. Though his stance is innocent enough, she cannot shake the memory of him standing outside of her father's room. She cannot stop wondering why he'd been there, in the first place, much the same as she cannot fathom a reason for him to be here, now.

Her gaze remains locked upon his own as he risks a step or two closer, her fingers curling into the bench beneath her until she fears she might leave indentations from her nails as a result. And when he addresses her again, his voice is soft. Almost gentle, though it provokes no sense of comfort within her, either way.

"Your—father, is it?" He begins, that same softness in his tone only compounded by a look of something not all that far from pity in his eyes, "Forgive me, I—I simply assumed—"

"My father is still alive."

The words are almost defiant, despite how they come out in something that is not all that far from a croak, and Tilda recoils just a bit as the man moves to sit on the empty space of the bench beside her. In her bones, she feels that something is not right about this. About him. But before she can consider what, exactly she is to do about that fact, she realizes that he is offering her an almost patronizing smile.

"As I said, please, forgive me. I assumed, given his condition when I saw you with him last—"

"You assumed wrong."

"Would it be wrong of me, then, to assume that forgiveness is out of the question?"

Rendered speechless, yet again, by the man's shift from a clear display of earnestness, to this brash attempt at what could only be described as humor, Tilda purses her lips to refrain from issuing a response that could be deemed as brash, her gaze shifting from the man, to the hospital, and back to the man once more. Since the panic that held her in its sway has, for the most part, passed, she wants nothing more than to get back to her father, though to do so now would likely only mean that this stranger beside her would seek to come along, as well.

Somehow, that is a thing she knows she likely cannot afford.

It is difficult to explain. The innate feeling of distrust she feels toward a man who, save for startling her with his presence twice, now, has shown no outward desire to do her any harm. But regardless of what she should or should not be feeling, it is a thing that Tilda cannot shake no matter how hard she tries.

"I'll take your silence as a no, then."

"Do you know my father?" Tilda inquires, hardly caring if the question might be deemed too intrusive, given that, in her mind, at least, the man's actions thus far could truthfully be considered the same. Uncertainty still weighs heavily at the forefront of her mind, and despite how it may appear, she allows herself to shift just a fraction of an inch away from the stranger as a result.

An act that has an amused half-smile tugging at one corner of the man's mouth before he replies.

"I suppose you might say that. Though, I'm not entirely certain your father would openly admit to such a thing if you asked him."

"Why not?"

"Perhaps we might call it a—fundamental difference in opinions."

"Opinions over what?"

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" The man muses, favoring Tilda with another look that she cannot entirely read, no matter how fiercely she might try, "He really never told you of me?"

Though she hardly wishes to give this man any sort of advantage over her, Tilda can do nothing more than shake her head in response to his question, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she watches something glimmer behind the darkness of his eyes. It unsettles her, in truth, though she does what she can to straighten her spine and give off the impression of the opposite.

She cannot make sense of it. Of why this man had been lingering outside of her father's hospital room if he did not know him, as much as why he had not made any attempt at coming closer if he did. And even when his expression all but declares openly that her attempt at bravado is something he can see through rather easily, like the thinnest wisp of smoke, it is not enough to persuade her to stand down.

"Perhaps he had good reason."

"I'm sure he believed that he did. Though I'm not so sure that will do him any favors, now."

"What do you mean?"

The question is phrased more as a demand than anything else, yet another thing that seems to provoke the man's amusement, this time in the form of low laughter that sends a shiver of apprehension down Tilda's spine. Another few moments of observation give her no reason to believe he actually intends to provide her with an answer.

In next to no time at all, he is standing to his full height, his gaze never once leaving Tilda's features in a way that has her heartbeat racing beneath her skin. And even as he reaches inside his pocket to hand her a small card, emblazoned with gold lettering, she cannot shake the sensation that this meeting, such as it was, is a thing she ought never have allowed to begin with.

"You might wish to share this with your father, when he is well enough," The man instructs, his fingertips brushing against Tilda's skin for a moment, before withdrawing completely, "For his sake, I hope that day comes soon."

Barely sparing a glance at the card in her hand as the man begins to walk away, Tilda moves to stand, her feet carrying her a few steps forward before she can summon the wherewithal to stop. She knows, on some level, that this is foolish. That what she is preparing to ask for is a thing that, if she remains ignorant of it, might do her more good than the alternative.

Some sort of instinct at the back of her mind all but screams at her that she does not, in fact, want to know any more of this stranger than the little she already does. But that is clearly not enough to waylay her from calling out after him, the slight pause in his movements as he turns back to face her satisfying her far more than it truly should.

"You never gave me your name," She says, brow furrowing as she realizes how plaintive the statement sounds, as though the lack of knowledge is something that can adversely affect her in any way at all, "If—if I am to mention you to my father, it might help to know it."

Again, the man provides her with another low laugh. A sound that pulls her toward him far more than is truly wise. And although the silence that stretches between them for a moment has her, once again, doubting whether or not he intends to provide her with an answer, Tilda finds that this time, at least, his clear tendency for baiting her will not play a part in his decision either way.

"You can call me Halbrand."

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 9: The Bite of the Apple

This is the ninth chapter of my fan fiction, "Heaven is Not Forever." You can find the other chapters on my blog. Some chapters (including this one) are NSFW.

Let me know what you think! (Radioapple/Guitarspear)

The light of the infernal dawn was now filtering through the gaps in the white drapes hanging over the numerous windows lining the circular wall. The room was still shrouded in shadows, with no lights on except for a lamp on his work desk. A single beam of light illuminated his face and the hands meticulously working on a construction. His brow was furrowed from the precision the task demanded, so tense that a solitary drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He bit his serpentine tongue between his lips, and with the help of a screwdriver, carefully screwed the wing onto a duck's body.

< THERE! Done! > Lucifer exclaimed with great enthusiasm, leaning back against his chair and thrusting into the air the hand holding the yellow duck. It looked like any other simple toy cluttering his room. Widening his sharp, drooling grin, he brought the duck to his chest, focusing his red-tinged gaze on it. < This is my finest creation, I just know it! > Then, squeezing the duck between his fingers, he activated it: a dark cloud began to swirl around it, as if by magic. < It's happening... it's happening... > He became more rigid, more tense, as the excitement in his eyes reflected the growing darkness. Shadows swelled around the object, morphing into numerous slimy tentacles writhing in the air—more and more, until the darkness became too much and, in a flash, it engulfed his hand. < Wha—? > He panicked, jerking back as his palm was deeply cut. < Ahiow! >

Squeezing his right eye shut in pain, he instinctively flung the duck toward the shadowed part of the room, hitting Alastor squarely in the forehead just as the demon was reassembling himself.

< ... > The duck bounced off with a radio crackle and fell to the floor with a squeak, returning to its perfectly normal state. But Lucifer was left speechless, staring at the demon, who sharpened his gaze in irritation before lowering it to the toy. He bent down to pick it up.

< Eehk, Alastor! > The Seraph jerked in his seat, pushing it back noisily and standing up with a tense and awkward look of discomfort. < You're... you're taking too many liberties with this pact, just barging into my room like this! I am still the Sovereign of Hell! > he blurted out, flustered, waving a finger at him before realizing that the same dark hand was bleeding. Startled, he clutched it to his chest with the other hand and turned his back on Alastor, who now stood tall, holding the duck in his claws with a tight smile, though his gaze remained sharp on the other.

He was analyzing him. So odd. Almost incapable of managing his emotions or social interactions; obsessed with making ducks, absurd, fragile, and at the same time dangerous. And that was the King of Hell? The being with the greatest power in the Abyss, one of the most feared in all creation? The one Adam couldn't even scratch, and that he...

< I find you amusing ~ > Alastor musically sizzled, freezing Lucifer in place with his back still turned and his injured hand tightly clenched in the other to stop the flow of golden blood.

The angel was only wearing his shirt, rolled up to the elbows, and his vest. No bow tie, no boots under his white trousers; his black forearms and cloven hooves were visible. How short he was. Small, blond, harmless—if not for those pale, razor-sharp fangs that rivaled his own.

For a moment, he stood there, rigid, caught in an awkward expression—what was his mistake?—with his lower eyelids raised and the fear of turning around or saying anything. What was he supposed to say? The words came from the Stag Demon, who twirled his staff, the tip a microphone, before making it disappear behind his back as he bent his elbow at waist height.

< ...You're the "Sovereign of Hell" > he sang, emphasizing the distorted words through his radio filter. < ...yet you managed to hurt yourself with your own duck. > As he spoke, Alastor moved; his steps echoed slowly, without a specific destination, as he inspected every detail in the room, from the floor to the ceiling. He neared the desk, leaving the duck there. < ...I didn't realize you liked my tentacles so much... but you can't even control them when you create them yourself ~ > he teased, now literally right behind Lucifer, just a meter away, his chin lifted and his smile so wide and amused that his red eyes glowed.

Lucifer spun around abruptly. < Listen here— > He waved his finger at him again, both furious and embarrassed, but...

< Charlie came to talk to me about you. > The demon's firm tone and posture stopped him mid-sentence.

For his part, Alastor was immaculate in his appearance; unlike the Seraph, he looked composed and refreshed, a sign that he handled alcohol perfectly fine, even though hours had passed since his half-drunken state.

That single sentence left Lucifer gaping, his finger still pointed at him. < ...and why? > he asked, swallowing hard.

Alastor twirled his cane again, tapping the base on the floor as he rested both hands on the top of the shell-shaped handle. < ... > He stared at Lucifer in silence for a moment, tilting his head sideways at an unnatural angle with a curiously dubious expression.

< Are you really asking me...? >

< ... >

< She's worried, she's realized you're hiding something from her. > < ...But I bought you some time. >

< ... > < And why... did you do that? >

At that question, Alastor's smile froze on his face, beneath a furrowed brow; he didn't answer.

Lucifer sighed, rubbing his hair with his hands and starting to move again, under the demon's gaze, who even turned to follow him with his eyes. Lucifer headed to the edge of the bed and sat down, the mattress creaking beneath him.

< ... > Alastor raised his eyebrows with a tinge of regret and looked down. < I can't give you my soul. >

Just like that. Those words prompted Lucifer to raise his face and look at him again, his expression filled with shock and concern. < Lilith has it? >

< ... > The demon stiffened, a pang in his chest. < I got close to you hoping I could find a way out... but it seems I still need to keep searching. >

< No, wait! > The Seraph leaped to his feet, closing the distance between them so quickly that he caught Alastor off guard, grabbing the fabric of his jacket at chest height. The Stag Demon recoiled with a step back, instinctively activating his sorcery. Behind a radio crackle, the room's only lamp flickered with a sickly green light.

Lucifer glared up at him, lips trembling with anger and fear, his claws clutching the red fabric so tightly he could feel the stiffness behind that minimal contact. The other demon stared down at him with wide eyes. Was he afraid, too? Was he afraid of him, or of Lilith...?

< Is that still the only reason you're here?! > he demanded. < I... I can help you, Alastor. Just... just tell me how you made the pact, what the terms are, and we'll find a solution. >

< And why... > Alastor started to ask, but Lucifer was pressing too hard, practically plastered against him. The demon stumbled back, nearly losing his grip on his cane, which clattered noisily against the desk. He swallowed hard. < ...why would you do it? Why go against her? > He finished, glancing at the wedding ring still proudly adorning Lucifer's left hand.

The question clearly agitated the angel. He lowered his head, clenching his teeth, his eyes boiling red with rage as he tugged harder on Alastor's shirt. < Why... Why... Why do you keep asking me questions! > he roared, his horns curling over his forehead as flames began swirling around him, igniting his figure.

Alastor lost his cane entirely; the sound of it hitting the floor echoed just as his red claws violently gripped Lucifer's chin, leaving the angel stunned. His hold was brutal, digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks, distorting them until his lips were dangerously close to the demon's. Clenching his yellowed teeth, Alastor locked his sharp gaze onto Lucifer's wide, astonished eyes.

< Do you want me all to yourself, Lucifer ~ ? > Alastor purred, his voice harmonious, deeply distorted, and unnaturally expressive.

At that simple question, the Seraph flushed; a wave of heat surged through his chest, flooding his brain and making his head feel heavy. A blush that wasn’t just red—it shimmered, golden like his blood. Panic gripped his heart; yes, he was afraid, but the overwhelming sensation was desire. Butterflies in his stomach? Oh God, that’s exactly what they were. How long had it been since he'd felt this? Millennia. He was turning into a human teenager all because of a damn Sinner—one who, on top of it all, had a dangerous connection to his wife. Seriously? But why even ask these questions? What did he have to lose? There was nothing left to lose. He no longer desired Hell, his duties, his rule... all he wanted was to live again.

< I... I don't know. All I know is you make me feel... alive, > he mumbled awkwardly, uncertain due to the grip distorting his lips.

< ... > Alastor's expression was unreadable. < ...During an extermination, almost eight years ago... she saved me. My soul in exchange for my life, > he finally admitted, his voice buzzing with irritation as he lowered his gaze.

Lucifer said nothing. What was there to say? So, that was it? No hidden clauses, no ambiguous terms? Clenching his jaw in disapproval—not that it mattered much, with Alastor’s claws sunk into his flesh—Lucifer summoned his courage, silencing his mind and giving in to instinct. With one hand, he gripped the demon’s wrist, the one holding him captive, while the other quickly slid down the lapel of Alastor’s red jacket, slipping underneath toward the belt of his pants and hastily unbuckling it.

At this reaction, Alastor seemed to regret his question. He stiffened, pressing harder against the desk, and a tentacle wrapped around Lucifer’s wrist, attempting to stop him. But damn, Lucifer was too strong. He wasn’t playing along anymore. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t hesitating. He wasn’t pretending to be weak. He wasn’t... oh hell.

A radio static screeched through the air as the desk shuddered beneath them: Lucifer’s hand had slid into Alastor’s pants, along with the tentacle still trying to restrain him. It was irritating. Annoying. It shouldn’t have been. Yet, why did it feel so hot? Was his face flushed? What expression was he making?

< ... > Alastor’s eyes flew open, freezing his smile as both hands shot up to grab Lucifer by the shoulders. The Seraph was looking at him with an intense, wild expression. What was that confident, wicked grin?

The angel’s forked tongue flicked out from his grinning mouth just as Alastor let out a ragged breath, feeling that hand brush against his pubis before sliding up along his erection. He was... aroused. Seriously? He panicked immediately, lowering his gaze between their bodies, following the smooth but quick movements of the Seraph’s hand over his already dampening cock. He could see it, swelling under the fabric, and the friction was growing louder, his breath faster, his need rising.

Panting breaths like the crackle of a radio with poor reception, accompanied by a trickle of sweat down his temple; Alastor dug his claws deeper into Lucifer’s shoulders, drawing a painful moan that spilled directly into his slightly parted mouth.

< I bet I’m the first to see you like this... > Lucifer hissed, his forked tongue teasingly snaking over the demon’s nose. < ...do you like it? >

Did he? The question didn’t need an answer because, with one swift pull, Lucifer’s wet tongue was inside his mouth, slipping between his fangs in search of his own. Overcome with sudden lust, Alastor exhaled hotly against his lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he fell back onto the table.

Lucifer was becoming more impetuous and impatient; Alastor could feel him pressing against his pelvis. Now he was between his parted legs, one foot on the ground, the other dangling off the table’s edge, twitching in rhythm with the sticky, feverish handjob.

In a split second, Alastor found himself slammed back against the wall, the desk vibrating with the impact. Something fell, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the angel climbing over him, knee pressing against the desk’s edge, forcing him into an uncomfortable, contorted position.

Lucifer was pressing the back of his head into the wall while his tongue continued to coil inside Alastor’s mouth. The demon tried to respond, moving his own tongue, but he needed air, he was hot, he wanted to devour him. Without realizing it, his shirt had come undone, bow tie loosened, and he felt his suspenders jingling, now dangling loosely, tapping against the wood.

He flattened his ears, arching his eyebrows in a painful expression—the kind that accompanies rising pleasure—while his claws dug deeper into the angel’s shoulders. He’d already torn through both layers of fabric and could feel the warmth of Lucifer’s blood coating his fingers, accompanied by a pained groan bubbling in his mouth.

Lucifer’s instinct was driving them both. The angel was already wrapped in his tentacles, an enormous shadow cone spreading beneath them on the floor, swallowing everything, as coils slithered up and around every part of the angel’s body, squeezing and sliding over every tense muscle beneath his clothes.

Fabric shifted as though countless serpents were writhing inside, emerging as black tendrils that loosened his bow tie, snaking up his neck and chin, seeking his mouth, open from the kiss and moaning breaths.

There were also hands. They roamed over him, touching random spots as if every inch of his body was equally important, scraping against his skin, shredding clothes, and making him shiver. The angel was like a burning furnace rubbing against him, and Alastor’s cock finally slipped out of his pants as Lucifer fully climbed onto the table with a leap that sent more items clattering to the floor.

< Trust me... trust me, Alastor, > Lucifer whispered through strands of saliva, breaking the kiss to look at him with a hungry, overexcited gaze. He snapped his fingers, and his pants were now clinging to just one leg, fully exposing his lower half. Black tendrils dug into the flesh of his thighs, making his muscles flex.

In a heartbeat, Lucifer pushed Alastor’s right shoulder down even further, forcing him to bend awkwardly over the table as he guided Alastor’s throbbing cock—now slick with precum—between his buttocks. More stuff fell.

Alastor couldn’t feel the floor anymore, seated and scrunched up on the desk with the angel kneeling between his spread legs, thrusting his pelvis painfully against his erection. The pressure was unbearable. It hurt. The angel was relentless, too forceful, but damn, it was hot. Why the hell was it taking him so long to get all the way in? Was he trying to make him explode?

With a violent jerk, Alastor grabbed Lucifer’s waist—already wrapped in a tentacle—sinking his dripping fangs into his lip, a sharp radio screech accompanying the motion.

Lucifer moaned, arching his back and tilting his head toward the ceiling, but Alastor pulled even harder, pressing him down with renewed force as he braced his boot against the desk leg for leverage. Something else fell. How much crap was on this table? What kind of position was this? His chin was practically touching his chest, his face level with the angel’s torso... he could smell his scent burrowing into his brain like a thorn, but the real thorn was him, and he wanted to drive it all the way in, pierce his spine.

< Fuck > the demon cursed as fresh tentacles wrapped around Lucifer's wrists, neck, and shoulders, slamming him firmly against him with a loud thud. Alastor's brow furrowed in pain, but he never took his eyes off the angel's face, watching as it twisted in ecstasy from the deep penetration. His red eyes reflected the sight of Lucifer's mouth falling open with a gasp, a trail of saliva splattering onto his cheeks. Alastor flushed again.

Heat surged from his stomach, tightening around his waist as his claws, along with the shadowy tendrils, lifted Lucifer up and then slammed him back down with the same relentless energy. But more than anything, it was him driving into the other, plunging deeper, faster, and more violently, unleashing guttural, distorted growls that caused the room’s lights to flicker with the green glow of his magic.

And Lucifer? Lucifer was tangled in everything. His shirt and vest were still on, stained with blood, and he was drooling, sobbing with each sharp thrust that reached deep inside him. His arms were crucified in the air, suspended by the same tentacles writhing beneath his clothes, and another wrapped around his wet cock, stroking it with hunger.

With his bloodshot eyes rolled back toward the ceiling, the Seraph didn’t even notice something shifting around him again. The tendrils coiled around his knees—one bare, the other still clad in pants—lifting him higher, his body slick with sweat, his blond hair tousled and damp.

Not that Alastor was faring any better. His jacket and shirt were wide open, and his body burned with heat. His bare chest, still flushed from his healing wound, pressed against Lucifer’s clothes as he leaned over him, staying seated on the desk while thrusting his hips roughly against the angel’s. Between exhaustion, pain, and pleasure, Alastor lowered his face once more, gazing down at Lucifer’s open mouth, where the tendrils had forced his jaws apart.

< Scream... louder > Alastor growled in a distorted, demonic voice, forcing Lucifer to look up at his face.

< !!! > At that moment, Lucifer’s eyes rolled back, igniting flames between his curled horns. He gasped, feeling the penetration deepen, widen, as the demon’s figure loomed over him. Alastor’s claws gripped his waist like the handle of a fragile goblet.

Alastor’s smile stretched wide, from one eye to the other, his black gaze illuminated by the swirling red dials of a radio. His shoulders cast shadows over the Seraph, and all around them, ghostly voodoo symbols and spectral silver eyes danced in the eerie green light.

Lucifer seemed so small compared to Alastor’s imposing size, his antlers branching out into the darkness. The demon’s face glowed with stitches across his mouth, shoulders, and an “X” on his forehead.

< Ho... holy fuck... > Lucifer moaned, his eyes wide, as the demon’s massive jaws clamped down on his shoulder.

...

The lights in the hotel's Common Room flickered a few times. For a brief moment, the electrical system sputtered with annoying interference, casting flashes of green light that caught the attention of the room's occupants.

At the bar, Husk looked up at the ceiling with a frown, while Angel Dust, sitting on a stool with his chin resting on his palm, glanced around curiously.

< What's going on...? > Vaggie asked as she approached them, while Charlie focused on the door leading to the stairs up to the upper floors.

< Maybe I should go check. Dad hasn't left his room since yesterday, > Charlie commented with concern.

< What kind of hotel doesn't have a damn receptionist at the front desk?! >

Adam's voice suddenly thundered from the hotel lobby, silencing everyone in the bar.

< He's back! > Angel Dust exclaimed, as Vaggie, spear in hand, rushed down the hall, closely followed by Charlie.

< Hey, hey, get down! >

When they arrived in the lobby, Adam was pinned against the wall, tense and on edge, with Niffty clinging to his studded collar, her little feet pressed against his chest.

< Eheheh, they said it wasn't smart for you to reach that building. You came back, uahuaha, to be a bad boy?! > the bug-like creature cackled, baring her drooling fangs and glaring at him with her one available eye. Her tiny clawed hands tightened around the fabric of his sweater as she leaned dangerously close to his baffled face, prompting Adam to raise his hands in surrender. < You know... I like bad boys. I whip them back into shape, ahahauamuwa, > she hissed, laughing maniacally. Adam pressed the back of his head harder against the wall, his pupils shrinking in fear.

< Niffty! > Charlie's voice cut through the tension, causing the little cyclops to glance in her direction before letting go of Adam and hurrying toward the group.

Adam exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow, before pointing a shaky finger at Niffty. < Keep... keep her away from me! > he shouted, spitting with frustration.

< Oh, take it easy, asshole! > Vaggie growled, aiming her spear at his throat as she took a combat stance, making him flinch backward. < What the hell were you doing at VoxTek?! >

< Hey, I don't know, okay?! At some point, that damn TV demon's face showed up on my screen, and I lost it! >

< And you expect me to believe that?! >

< Vaggie, calm down! > Charlie stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Vaggie's arm.

The angel turned to her, finding Charlie's expression pointed, and she deflated with a sigh, lowering her spear.

< You asked my father to intervene for your Second, didn't you? > Charlie said seriously, addressing Adam. < You can talk to him if you want, but it's up to him to decide if you'll stay. I'll let you know when he's available. >

Adam didn't take Charlie's assertive tone well, frowning as though about to argue, but instead, he clenched his jaw, exhaled in frustration, and waved his hand dismissively. < Fine, fine, boss, > he muttered sarcastically. < I'm going to rest. It's been a fucking terrible day. >

Under the wary gazes of the others, Adam made his way toward his room.

Alastor had now quite literally pinned Lucifer on his back on the bed; the angel's figure seemed even smaller now, dwarfed by the enormous presence of the Radio Demon looming over him. The headboard of the bed thudded rhythmically against the wall in time with the deep, violent thrusts that made the angel gasp, moan, and curse. The Half-Deer was all over him, casting a shadow through the dim greenish lights illuminating the room, completely naked, his knees firmly planted on the mattress beneath the other's trembling thighs.

He could feel Lucifer's hooves kicking in the air, scraping against the sheets, clumsily trying to lock around his waist, but Alastor was too large for that to work. Lucifer's black tail trembled, wrapped around one of his own legs, and he was fully transformed, with six white and red wings spreading across the bed, twitching so frantically that some feathers had already fallen off, while others fluttered in the air.

The Sinner stared down at him with eyes filled with blackness and red pupils, his hair sticking to his damp skin, his branched antlers rising into the air. He watched Lucifer writhing and arching until his small chest rubbed against his own, pinned down with his hands above his blond head by Alastor's sharp red claws. Lucifer's face was a mask of sweat, saliva, tears, and blood—golden blood that had soaked through the shirt, the only piece of clothing he still wore, sticking to his wounded shoulder.

Alastor was ravenous. He felt a gnawing hunger in his chest that he had to control to keep from devouring Lucifer, limiting himself to ravaging him, hunched over him, taut and tense, so much that every single vertebra of his slender spine stood out. He was burning up. How many times had Lucifer already come? His chest was smeared with seed, and yet he was still aroused, his tentacles writhing everywhere, some of them rubbing persistently against his reddened member.

He's a demon, but damn it, Lucifer was far worse and would drive him insane. Alastor didn't have the power to handle the Devil. I don't, he thought. He's the Lord of Sin—so seemingly harmless, depressed when he wants to be, fragile when he chooses, destructive when he decides. He's played me.

Clenching his drooling jaws, Alastor's expression hardened into a snarl that crackled like low radio static. His blackened eyes darted to the angel's left hand, where the wedding ring still gleamed. He squeezed it violently, digging his claws into Lucifer's flesh, forcing a moan from him as saliva dribbled from the corner of his lips. Alastor promptly wiped away any secretion he found on Lucifer's cheeks, pressing his long red tongue against his skin.

Lucifer smiled. In that exact moment, his red eyes sparkled with mischief and satisfaction, stabbing a deep fear into Alastor's chest. Lucifer moved his face closer to Alastor's mouth, flicking out his forked tongue. Raising his hips higher, Lucifer twisted in yet another orgasm.

...

Since Lute had learned of Adam's presence in Hell, fear had overtaken every other emotion. Whether in pleasure, anger, or pain, there was always that overwhelming sense of dread that never left her; nightmares that had intensified ever since she finally met him, as if their reunion had marked something deeply negative rather than something beautiful.

In the last year, ever since she had bound herself to him, that fear had become a part of her, erupting at his death, transforming into rage and vengeance, and now... again.

She lifted her gaze toward the top of the Tribunal Tower, an immense structure washed in pale golden hues, reaching up to touch the sky of Heaven, standing amidst the peaceful city. Sera had responded quickly to her request for a meeting.

Not even two months had passed since she had been here last, during the trial that had declared Charlie and Vaggie unfit to redeem sinners. What could she possibly do to help Adam? He was lost. Perhaps she could stop Lilith. If she told Sera about Lilith, would it only worsen Adam's situation? And her own? Lute knew Sera was aware of it too, and she had never said a word.

She sighed and entered.