#the power the force the intensity the agility

[wildsaltair]

he's so hot he's affecting local weather patterns. meteorologists are baffled

[kodasmind]

United front

Rhea X Reader X Damian

The crowd at Monday Night Raw was electric, the energy pulsating through the arena as fans eagerly awaited the next match. You stood backstage with Rhea Ripley, both of you watching the monitor as Damian Priest made his way to the ring. He was set to face JD McDonagh in what promised to be an intense bout.

"He's got this," Rhea said, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"Of course he does," you replied, sharing her confidence. Damian was a force to be reckoned with, and you knew he wouldn't go down easily.

The match began, and Damian took control early on, his power and agility on full display. However, as the fight progressed, JD managed to turn the tide, using his speed and technical skills to keep Damian on his toes. The two traded blows, each near-fall causing the crowd to gasp.

Just when it seemed Damian was about to secure the victory, Finn Bálor appeared at ringside. You felt a knot of dread form in your stomach as Finn slid into the ring, attacking Damian from behind. The referee called for the bell, disqualifying JD and awarding the match to Damian. But the assault didn't stop there.

As the bell rang, Dom Mysterio, Kalisto, and Liv Morgan joined Finn and JD, surrounding Damian. They began to pummel him, their combined assault overwhelming him. The crowd erupted in boos, but the beating continued.

"Come on, we have to help him!" Rhea shouted, already sprinting towards the curtain. You were right behind her, adrenaline surging through your veins.

Bursting onto the stage, the crowd's reaction shifted to cheers as you and Rhea charged towards the ring. Rhea slid in first, immediately going after Liv Morgan, her strength and fury on full display. You followed, targeting Kalisto with a series of rapid strikes.

The brawl was chaotic, each side trying to gain the upper hand. You managed to land a solid kick on Kalisto, sending him stumbling back. Rhea, meanwhile, lifted Liv and tossed her out of the ring with a powerful slam. Finn and JD turned their attention to you, but Damian, fueled by your support, fought back with renewed vigor.

He grabbed Finn, delivering a punishing chokeslam that shook the ring. You and Rhea teamed up against JD, your combined efforts finally driving him out of the ring. With Dom, Kalisto, and Liv already retreating, the attackers regrouped on the outside, glaring up at the three of you.

The crowd roared in approval as you helped Damian to his feet. He nodded his thanks, a determined look in his eyes. "Thanks for the save," he said, his voice hoarse from the fight.

"Anytime," Rhea replied, a fierce grin on her face. "They won't mess with you when we're around."

You gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "We're a team. We've got your back, always."

As the three of you stood tall in the ring, the fans cheered louder, the bond between you, Rhea, and Damian stronger than ever. You knew there would be more battles to come, but together, you were unstoppable.

[novaursa]

The Blood of the Dragon

- Summery: After you reject Daemon, the dragon chases after what he believes is his.

- Paring: reader!niece/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred as Y/N and is bonded with dragon Grey Ghost. For the full list of my works done in chronological order visit my blog, it's pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 1 984

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The wind howls in your ears as Grey Ghost soars above the Crownlands, the dense forest below a green blur. You urge him higher, relishing the freedom and exhilaration of flight. The sky is yours, a vast expanse of azure that stretches endlessly in every direction. For a moment, you forget your troubles, losing yourself in the pure joy of riding the skies.

But that joy is short-lived.

A dark shape appears on the horizon, growing larger with alarming speed. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the red-hued scales and unmistakable silhouette of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. Daemon. Panic grips you as you realize he is coming straight for you, his dragon's wings cutting through the air with terrifying swiftness.

"Grey Ghost, we need to move!" you shout, your voice nearly drowned out by the wind.

Grey Ghost responds immediately, his massive wings flapping harder as he veers sharply to the left. The sudden maneuver almost throws you from the saddle, and you cling desperately to the reins, your knuckles white with the effort. You glance over your shoulder, hoping Daemon might break off his pursuit. But no such luck. Caraxes is right on your tail, his feral eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Daemon, stop!" you scream, though you know he won't hear you over the roar of the wind and the beating of dragon wings.

You lean closer to Grey Ghost, urging him to go faster. The ground blurs beneath you as he dives, weaving between clouds in a desperate attempt to shake off his pursuer. Your mind races, trying to understand why Daemon is chasing you. You recall the wedding, Rhaenyra and Laenor's joyous union marred by Daemon's advances. You had rejected your uncle, firmly and publicly, hoping he would get the message.

It seems he hadn't.

"Y/N, there's no escaping me!" Daemon's voice rings out, carried by the wind, sounding almost amused.

You grit your teeth, anger flaring alongside your fear. "I told you no, Daemon!"

Your words are lost to the wind as Caraxes closes the distance, his fiery breath scorching the air just behind you. Grey Ghost dodges the flames, but you can feel the heat, a stark reminder of the danger you're in. You can't keep this up forever; Caraxes is faster and more agile. You need a plan.

"Grey Ghost, head for the cliffs!" you command, hoping the rocky terrain might give you an edge.

Your dragon responds with a powerful thrust of his wings, speeding towards the craggy cliffs that rise sharply from the coastline. You hold on tight, praying this desperate gamble will work. The cliffs loom closer, jagged and unyielding, and you guide Grey Ghost into a narrow crevice, barely wide enough for his wingspan.

Caraxes follows, his larger frame struggling to navigate the tight space. For a moment, you think you might have escaped, but Daemon is relentless. He forces Caraxes through the crevice, rock and debris raining down as his dragon's wings scrape against the stone.

"Why are you doing this?" you shout, glancing back at Daemon.

His eyes meet yours, fierce and determined. "Because you belong to me, Y/N. And I always get what I want."

His words send a chill down your spine. This isn't just a chase; it's a hunt. And you're the prey. Grey Ghost bursts from the crevice, diving towards the sea. The salt spray hits your face as you skim just above the waves, the sea a blur beneath you. Caraxes is right behind, unrelenting.

"Y/N, don't make this harder than it needs to be!" Daemon's voice is closer now, the thrill of the chase evident.

Your heart pounds in your chest, fear and anger warring within you. "I will never be yours, Daemon!"

You steer Grey Ghost towards a series of sea stacks, hoping to use the rocky pillars to your advantage. The dragon weaves through the formations with practiced ease, but Caraxes follows, smashing through one of the smaller stacks in his pursuit. The sound of shattering rock echoes in your ears, and you know you can't keep this up much longer.

Grey Ghost's wings are tiring, each beat growing more labored. You can feel his exhaustion through the bond you share, and it breaks your heart to push him further. But you have no choice. You can't let Daemon catch you.

"Just a little longer, my friend," you whisper, patting his neck.

The coastline stretches before you, the cliffs giving way to open fields. There's nowhere left to hide. Daemon is gaining, and you can see the determination in his eyes. He won't stop until he has you.

"Grey Ghost, we're almost there," you murmur, though you don't know where "there" is. All you know is you have to keep flying, keep evading, keep hoping for a miracle.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the land, Daemon and Caraxes remain relentless. The chase continues, the outcome uncertain. Your only hope is that somehow, some way, you can outlast him. 

But for now, the hunt is on, and Daemon Targaryen is not a man who gives up easily.

Grey Ghost’s wings beat heavily beneath you, the strain evident in his every movement. Caraxes remains relentless, his larger form casting a long shadow over you as he inches closer with every passing second. Just when you think you might gain some distance, a sudden gust of wind throws Grey Ghost off balance. In that moment of vulnerability, Caraxes strikes.

The collision is violent and sudden. Caraxes crashes into Grey Ghost with brutal force, their massive bodies tangling as they plummet towards an ancient, abandoned tower below. You cling desperately to the saddle as Grey Ghost tries to regain control, but it’s too late. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the impact is catastrophic.

The tower shatters under the combined weight of the two dragons, stone and timber exploding in all directions. Grey Ghost roars in pain, his claws scrabbling for purchase as Caraxes pins him down, their scales scraping and clashing with a deafening screech. You barely manage to stay mounted, your world a blur of chaos and destruction.

"Hold on, Grey Ghost!" you cry, though you know it’s futile.

Caraxes is relentless, his jaws snapping dangerously close to Grey Ghost’s throat. You can feel your dragon’s suffering and pain through your bond, and it tears at your heart. You need to do something, anything, to save him.

"Daemon, stop this madness!" you shout, but your words are drowned out by the roar of the dragons.

With a desperate decision, you unfasten the straps of your saddle and leap from Grey Ghost’s back just as Caraxes lunges forward. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of your lungs in a painful rush. For a moment, you can’t move, your vision dark and your body aching. The sounds of the dragon fight fade into the background as you struggle to breathe, each gasp a sharp pain in your chest.

Slowly, your vision clears, and you see Grey Ghost pinned beneath Caraxes, his once-mighty form now battered and immobile. The sight sends a wave of despair through you. Your faithful dragon is defeated, and there’s nothing you can do to help him.

A shadow falls over you, and you look up to see Daemon dismounting Caraxes. His movements are graceful, almost casual, as if this were just another game to him. He walks towards you with a smirk on his face, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and admiration.

"You put up quite the chase, Y/N," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "I must admit, I enjoyed it more than I expected."

You sigh, defeated. You know how this game is played, especially among those with dragon blood. Daemon has won, and there’s no denying the surge of conflicting emotions within you – fear, frustration, and a reluctant spark of excitement. There’s a strange satisfaction in knowing you fought well, even if the outcome was inevitable.

Daemon kneels beside you, his hands gentle as he cups your cheeks. His touch is surprisingly tender, and you feel a shiver run through you as his forehead rests against yours. His breath mingles with yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

"You are mine, Y/N," he declares softly, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. "And I always take what is mine."

The words resonate deep within you, stirring something primal and undeniable. You close your eyes, accepting the truth of his claim. There’s no escaping Daemon Targaryen, no denying the bond that ties you together. The chase is over, and Daemon has won.

Daemon's eyes bore into yours, a smoldering fire that matches the heat coursing through your veins. His hands slide from your cheeks to the back of your neck, drawing you closer. Without hesitation, he captures your lips with his, the kiss searing and demanding. You resist for a fleeting moment, your mind battling your heart, but the intensity of his desire sweeps you away.

You surrender, kissing him back with equal fervor. The world around you fades, the dragons, the ruins, everything dissolves into the background as you become lost in the sensation of his lips on yours. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if he’s your anchor in a storm.

His hands move with purpose, deftly unfastening your riding gear. You follow suit, your fingers fumbling with the clasps of his armor, the urgency of the moment making you both impatient. Fabric and leather fall away, leaving you both exposed to the cool air and each other’s heated touch.

Under the watchful gaze of Grey Ghost and Caraxes, you and Daemon come together with a fervent intensity, your bodies moving in a primal rhythm. Every touch, every kiss is charged with a desperate need, as if the world might end and this might be your last chance to claim each other.

Daemon's hands explore every inch of you, his touch both possessive and reverent. You respond in kind, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his body, memorizing the feel of him. You move together, lost in a dance as old as time, chasing the high that only comes from complete and utter surrender.

The climax is shattering, a moment of pure ecstasy that leaves you both breathless and trembling. You collapse against him, your heart racing, the aftermath of your union leaving you both spent and exhilarated.

Daemon is the first to move, his touch now gentle as he helps you dress. There's a new tenderness in his eyes, a softening of his usual fierce demeanor.

"Get dressed," he murmurs, his voice husky. "We’re going to Dragonstone. Our union must be cemented, made known to all."

You nod, still catching your breath, and begin to pull on your clothes. Daemon's gaze never leaves you, his eyes filled with a possessive pride. Once you're both dressed, he extends a hand to help you to your feet. You take it, the strength of his grip reassuring.

As you mount Grey Ghost, you feel a mixture of emotions—trepidation, excitement, and an undeniable connection to the man beside you. Daemon swings onto Caraxes with practiced ease, his gaze still locked on you.

"Follow me," he commands, his voice carrying the authority that comes so naturally to him.

You nod again, and with a powerful beat of Grey Ghost’s wings, you take to the skies. Caraxes follows, and together, you fly towards Dragonstone, the future uncertain but the bond between you and Daemon now unbreakable.

As the dragons soar through the twilight sky, the ruins of the tower fade into the distance, leaving behind the memory of a chase that ended not in defeat, but in an irrevocable union.

[astrojulia]

Your Relationship to the Past and the Collective

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The Moon's placement reflects our emotional connection to history, tradition, and the collective consciousness. It reveals how we process cultural inheritance and navigate the tension between individuality and societal conditioning.

Moon in Aries

You strive to distinguish your personal identity from cultural conditioning, seeking to define your choices independently of inherited traditions. This placement encourages boldness and a pioneering attitude when breaking away from the past. While rejecting or ignoring the past, you may unconsciously remain influenced by it. A lack of awareness about these hidden influences can lead to impulsive decisions shaped by subconscious patterns.

Moon in Taurus

You value and respect cultural heritage, especially natural and enduring structures. To you, the past offers nurturing and stability, and you often seek to conserve what is meaningful and timeless. Attachment to tradition can make you resistant to change, overly reliant on established ways, or closed-minded to new perspectives. Your reverence for "how things have always been done" may hinder adaptability.

Moon in Gemini

Curious and mentally agile, you engage with historical and cultural details, finding ways to connect lessons from the past to the present. Your approach is thoughtful yet lighthearted, appreciating diverse viewpoints. You may dismiss traditions and cultural norms as irrelevant, rebelling when they are imposed on you. This tendency can make it difficult to anchor yourself within a shared historical or cultural framework.

Moon in Cancer

Emotionally attuned to your heritage, you cherish the bonds of family, community, and tradition. Your sense of rootedness fosters an intuitive connection to the collective consciousness, and you have a natural affinity for nurturing cultural continuity. Your emotional ties to the past may trap you, making it hard to establish independent values. Susceptibility to collective or occult influences can lead to an overreliance on external validation or outdated ideals.

Moon in Leo

With a creative flair, you draw inspiration from cultural imagery and traditions. You express loyalty to your heritage while adding your unique touch, often celebrating your roots with pride. Your romanticized view of the past can lead to rigid or exclusionary attitudes, making you prejudiced against other cultures. An overemphasis on cultural superiority may create barriers to embracing diversity.

Moon in Virgo

You approach cultural traditions with a practical mindset, seeking to extract useful lessons from history. This placement enables you to analyze the past with precision and incorporate its values into everyday life. You may become overly critical of cultural deviations or idealize the past, clinging to conventions as a standard for perfection. This can lead to judgmental attitudes or difficulty adapting to evolving social norms.

Moon in Libra

Drawn to traditions that promote harmony and fairness, you appreciate cultural norms that foster social connections. Your values often align with ideals of justice, diplomacy, and balance within the collective. You risk losing your individuality by conforming too closely to cultural expectations. To assert your independence, you may feel the need to completely break away from inherited values.

Moon in Scorpio

Deeply intuitive, you have a profound connection to collective consciousness and can imbue cultural symbols with emotional intensity. This placement allows you to explore the transformative aspects of shared experiences. An obsession with the darker facets of culture and history can lead to glorification of power or submission to controlling influences, including occult forces. You may struggle with releasing emotional ties to destructive traditions.

Moon in Sagittarius

You are driven to understand cultural heritage and place the present within a broader historical context. Open to exploring philosophies and belief systems, you often find meaning through global or universal narratives. A tendency toward ethnocentrism or conventional thinking may cause you to defend the status quo against necessary change. You may resist challenges to institutional or cultural traditions.

Moon in Capricorn

You excel at organizing cultural inheritance into frameworks that provide structure and purpose. This placement aligns well with societal elements like governance, tradition, and historical legacy. Rigid views about societal norms and cultural superiority can limit your adaptability. A lack of intuitive connection to collective energies may create blind spots regarding emotional undercurrents in society.

Moon in Aquarius

You distill the higher ideals from collective experiences, focusing on progressive advancement and humanitarian goals. Your loyalty lies with the collective's well-being and its future evolution. Rebellion against traditional values may cause you to reject cultural wisdom outright. This tendency can isolate you from meaningful aspects of collective experience.

Moon in Pisces

With deep attunement to collective energies, you embrace universal compassion and cultural diversity. Your affinity for spiritual and religious heritage allows you to find unity among different traditions. Over-romanticization of the past or blind acceptance of collective conditioning can cloud your judgment. This placement may also open you to manipulation or the fabrication of narratives that serve personal agendas

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[scarltzwitch]

BETWEEN CLAWS AND CHALLENGES — LOGAN HOWLETT.

PAIRING: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: Logan meets a young woman during a cage fight. Despite his reluctance to hit her, she challenges him to a fight.

The underground fight club was buzzing with excitement. Lights flickered over the steel cage, and the atmosphere was charged with adrenaline. Cheers and shouts filled the air as Logan Howlett, known as Wolverine, prepared for the next fight.

Logan stooned in his corner, his andamantium claws gleaming under the lights. His opponent, a burly fighter with an aggressive style was stretching and getting ready for the match. The crowd wass wild with anticipation.

A figure caught his eyes in the crowd. A young woman watched from a corner. Her presence was commanding, with an air of strenght that radiated from her. She possessed extraordinary strength and agility, her movements a blend of grace and power, honed by intense training.

The young brunette approached the cage. Its was her first time challenging someone as formidable as Logan, but her determination was clear. She wanted to test her recent discoveries about her own powers and see just how far she could go.

The fight began with a intensity that took everyone with surprise. Logan, though hesitant to hit a woman, couldn't help but be impressed by her skill and strength. She dodged with agility and countered his attacks with notable force.

Meanwhile, the burly fighter in the corner of The cage couldn't contain his curiosity.

“Who is this intruder daring to challenge Logan?”

The young woman met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to prove herself. You’re just another step on my path.”

Logan, with a mix of surprise and respect, turned to her.

“So you came here to challenge me? I have to admit, this is not something I expected.”

“Then,” she replied with a defiant smile, “get ready for a challenge. I’m not here just to entertain you, but to prove I have what it takes.”

Logan nodded, intrigued by her attitude. “I wouldn’t expect less. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The fight continued with both fighters showcasing their skills to the fullest. Logan threw powerful and quick strikes, but the young woman moved with fluid grace, absorbing and countering each attack with impressive skill.

During a brief pause, Logan approached her with a look of admiration. “I’ve never seen someone so determined in the ring. Where did you get that drive?”

She panted slightly, but her gaze remained steady. “I came here with a purpose. Not just to fight, but to challenge my own limits. Sometimes, you only learn when faced with a true test.”

Logan smiled, nodding. “You’ve got guts. And you’ve managed to keep me on edge.”

She returned his smile, her face reflecting the satisfaction of the fight. “Thanks. This was a real challenge.”

Logan watched her for a moment, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through him. “So, what’s next?”

She stepped closer with a playful glint in her eyes. “I’d invite you for a beer, but only if you can keep up. What do you say?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a mischievous grin and smiling.

“It’s not a fight, but it won’t be easy to keep up with me.”

Logan look at her with a mix of respect and curiosity.

“I accept the challenge. Let’s see if you can keep up outside the ring.”

They left the fight club together, leaving the cage behind, with a new connection beginning to form between them.

@ipreferreadingtocope

It might not be the best one-shot, but I made my small effort. Apologies for any errors it might have. But I hope you enjoy it.

— Lily. 💜

[xtra7s]

Could you maybe do one where r is a boxer and has like a big fight. Renee x reader

𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee watches as her girlfriend fights in the ring, cheering for her every step of the way.

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!Reader, R is a boxer, bit of blood/violence, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: loved this request. hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Renee Rapp, adorned in a black jacket and dark clothing, slipped through the bustling crowd at the boxing venue. The air buzzed with anticipation as the murmurs of fans and the distant sounds of a cheering crowd merged into a symphony of excitement. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was Y/N's big fight, and Renee couldn't be prouder.

Her heart raced as she made her way to the ringside. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and the stadium lights illuminated the boxing ring, revealing a mix of nerves and determination on the faces of the fighters. Renee found her VIP seat, eyes fixed on the ring, eagerly awaiting the moment her girlfriend would make her grand entrance.

The announcer's voice echoed through the venue, introducing the fighters one by one. The cheers of the crowd intensified as Y/N, known as the "Silent Fury" in the ring, stepped into the spotlight. Dressed in her boxing gear, she exuded a quiet confidence that spoke volumes about her dedication and skill.

Renee's heart swelled with pride as Y/N's eyes found hers in the crowd. A silent exchange of love and support passed between them, a connection stronger than any applause or camera flash. Y/N gave a nod, acknowledging Renee's presence, before turning her focus to the impending battle.

The bell rang, and the fight began. Renee's gaze remained unwavering on Y/N as she moved with precision and agility, a true force to be reckoned with. The crowd erupted with every punch thrown, and Renee couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline with each successful strike.

The air in the arena crackled with energy as the fight unfolded in the ring. Y/N, the "Silent Fury," showcased a masterful display of skill and strategy, her movements a dance of controlled aggression. Each punch thrown, each evasive maneuver, spoke volumes about the countless hours of training and dedication that had brought her to this moment.

Renee sat at the edge of her seat, her eyes never leaving Y/N's figure in the ring. The rhythmic thud of gloves meeting flesh, the sharp exhales with each strike—all resonated with a visceral intensity. The crowd roared with approval, their cheers blending into a symphony of adrenaline.

Y/N's opponent, a formidable force in her own right, pushed back with determination. The two fighters engaged in a riveting exchange of blows, a dance of power and resilience. The ebb and flow of the match kept the audience on the edge of their seats, their collective breaths held in anticipation.

Y/N's strategy became clear—meticulous precision paired with explosive bursts of energy. The Silent Fury lived up to her moniker, a calm exterior concealing the storm of determination within. Renee marveled at the way Y/N moved, each motion a testament to her commitment to the sport.

Between rounds, Renee anxiously watched Y/N retreat to her corner. Their eyes met, and Renee offered a reassuring smile. The silent communication spoke volumes – a shared understanding that went beyond words. Y/N's determination never wavered, fueled by the love and support radiating from the woman who stood at the edge of the ring.

As the fight reached its intense climax, Y/N found herself caught in a fierce exchange of blows with her formidable opponent. The air in the arena was thick with tension, and the crowd's cheers and roars intensified with each well-placed punch. The relentless dance in the ring seemed to transcend the physical, echoing the resilience of a fighter unwilling to back down.

In a moment of quick and unexpected retaliation, Y/N took a solid hit to the face. The force of the blow reverberated through the arena, and an audible gasp swept through the spectators. A trickle of warmth signaled that Y/N's nose had borne the brunt of the impact. The crowd fell momentarily silent, the sight of Y/N, bloodied but unbowed, hanging in the air.

Renee's heart skipped a beat as she watched from the ringside, standing up quickly to hold against the bars of the balcony she was on, a mixture of concern and admiration etched across her face. Y/N staggered back, briefly stunned by the hit, but her eyes remained focused, the fire within undiminished. The referee quickly assessed the situation, checking for any signs that might warrant stopping the fight.

Blood dripped from Y/N's nose, staining her boxing gloves, but she shook off the pain and wiped away the blood with a determined swipe of her glove. The taste of iron lingered in her mouth, a visceral reminder of the brutal reality of the sport she loved. The referee gave the signal, and the fight resumed.

In the subsequent rounds, Y/N fought with a newfound ferocity. The adversity only seemed to ignite a spark within her, turning the pain into fuel for her determination. Despite the visible toll on her face, Y/N moved with calculated precision, unleashing a barrage of counterattacks that left her opponent on the defensive.

Renee, her worry transforming into awe, could see the resilience in Y/N's every movement. The crowd, initially hushed by the sight of the injury, now erupted into a chorus of support. Cheers and chants filled the arena as Y/N pushed forward, refusing to let the setback dictate the outcome of the match.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the fight, Y/N stood in the center of the ring, battered and bloodied but victorious. The crowd's thunderous applause and standing ovation were a testament not just to Y/N's skill but to her indomitable spirit.

As the final rounds approached, the tension in the arena reached its zenith. The crowd's cheers reverberated, creating a cacophony of sound that encapsulated the intensity of the moment. Y/N, sweat-soaked and resilient, pressed forward with unwavering determination.

In a climactic exchange, Y/N delivered a powerful combination that left her opponent staggering. The referee stepped in, declaring Y/N the victor. The crowd erupted into a thunderous applause, and Renee jumped to her feet, overcome with joy.

The roar of the crowd still echoed through the arena as Y/N made her way backstage, the taste of victory mingling with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Renee, her concern evident in her eyes, rushed to meet Y/N the moment she stepped off the canvas.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Renee's voice was filled with a mixture of worry and pride.

Y/N managed a weary smile, her face still marked by the battle scars of the fight. "I'm good, baby. Just a little banged up, that's all."

As they retreated to a more private area backstage, away from the prying eyes of the media, Renee gently guided Y/N to a chair. She could see the signs of exhaustion etched on Y/N's face, but the fire in her eyes remained unyielding.

"Let me take a look at that," Renee said softly, reaching for a towel to dab away the blood from Y/N's nose.

Y/N winced slightly as Renee touched the tender area. The cut on her nose, while not deep, had left a visible mark. Renee, however, approached the task with a delicate touch, her love and concern evident in every gesture as she brought a hand up to hold Y/N's face still.

"I can't believe you kept going after that hit," Renee murmured, a mix of admiration and concern in her voice.

Y/N chuckled, the sound slightly muffled by the cotton towel pressed against her nose. "Wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, you should've seen the look on her face when I came back swinging."

As Renee cleaned the cut, she couldn't help but marvel at the strength and resilience of the person before her. Y/N's determination, both in the ring and in life, was a source of inspiration. The adrenaline of the fight had given way to a more intimate moment between them, the backstage chaos fading into the background.

Once the bleeding was under control, Renee reached into a nearby medical kit for some ice and a soothing balm. Gently applying the cold compress to the bruised area around Y/N's eye, she spoke in a soothing tone. "You were incredible out there, Y/N. I've never seen anything like it."

Y/N leaned into Renee's touch, grateful for the comfort and care. "Couldn't have done it without you in the crowd, cheering me on. Your presence is my secret weapon. Now kiss it better."

Renee smiled widely, rolling her eyes. "I love you" she murmured, leaving a light kiss on Y/N's nose, as she held her.

As they sat together backstage, the connection between them deepened. The physical wounds would heal, but the bond they shared, forged in the crucible of the fight, remained unbreakable. In that quiet backstage moment, surrounded by the echoes of victory and the gentle hum of their love, Renee and Y/N found solace in each other's presence, knowing that no matter the challenges they faced, they could overcome them together.

[inubaki]

Taking What’s His

Chapter 3

-warning for Adam and Lucifer Smut and Impreg-

—a commission I bought from @libby-for-life! Art from @sir-tater-of-the-tot!

——

The first thing Adam felt was the heat. He wasn't awake to process it, but his skin was still affected by it. The hot air whipped at his hair and face, mind too clouded to realize he was falling. Claws gripped him hard as he felt the heat increase the further they fell. His veins felt like they were dipped in lava, his forehead aching like it was being split in two. Adam couldn't even cry out as they hit the unfamiliar terrain with enough force to crack the ground.

Those clawed hands dug deep into his side, a piercing pain that jolted Adam from his disoriented fall. He blinked slowly, his mind struggling to piece together the fragmented memories of Lucifer’s abduction. What had transpired in those chaotic moments? His surroundings swirled in a haze, the air thick with humidity, clinging to his skin like a suffocating shroud. Something slivered out of the corner of his eye and in a panic he looked up.

Adam let out a panicked scream as he was confronted by the unmistakable eyes of Lucifer, piercing him with an intensity that sent chills down his spine. The smile that followed was both unnerving and captivating, revealing a set of sharp, glistening teeth that seemed to gleam in the dim light. "Adam...you're awake," Lucifer purred, his voice a low, melodic tone that dripped with both faux sweetness and menace. He was oozing sexual desire.

Adam, heart racing and his breath coming in jagged gasps, found himself frozen on the ground. Each ragged inhalation intensified the fear coursing through him as he took in Lucifer's transformed visage. The figure before him was more formidable than he remembered—his horns had grown exponentially, twisting upward in a dark, imposing crown that emphasized both his power and his malevolence. Deep crimson eyes glowed like coals, full of anger and malevolence yet carried a soft look, locking onto Adam with a predatory intensity.

He had large fangs that reminded Adam of a snake, the largest dragon wings he'd ever seen, and pale red scales dotting his white skin.

A sharp tail, sinuous and agile, writhed behind Lucifer as if it were an extension of his will, driven by a restless energy that mirrored the tension in the strange place he woke up in. Adam's body felt heavy and uncooperative as if the weight of his own fear and the surreal reality before him had rendered him helpless. It was a terrifying moment, suspended in time, where Adam could only watch as the embodiment of darkness loomed ever closer.

"I'm relieved to see that you're finally awake," Lucifer whispered, his voice low and edged with an intensity that sent shivers down Adam's spine. He leaned closer, a predatory glint in his eyes, as a clawed hand reached out to grasp Adam's face. The tips of the claws grazed his skin, sharp enough to threaten but not quite breaking through the surface; there was an undeniable tension in the air as Lucifer held back as if wrestling with some inner turmoil.

Adam's heart raced, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling within him. ‘This was all wrong!’ his brain struggled to come to terms with reality. His Eden, his triumph- But shroud of the last of Lucifer’s blues burned the last his denial like wisps in Hell’s forever red skies. They both had Fallen. He could hardly form words as he whimpered, the sound escaping his lips before he could check himself. Lucifer's expression twisted in a disquieting blend of possessiveness and rage. "You were going to leave me? Abandon me?" he hissed, his breath hot against Adam’s cheek. "Who gave you the right, Adam?"

As the demon drew even nearer, his eyes darkened to a deeper shade of crimson, a vivid reflection of his simmering anger that intensified with every word. Adam could only shake his head, paralyzed by fear and desperation, aware that the fragile line between affection and violence was ready to snap in an instant.

"You have no idea how much I want to hurt you for doing that," Lucifer growled before sighing. He smiled at Adam as if he didn't just threaten him. "But no matter...now we're together. Like it was meant to be." He said it with such a firm voice that Adam knew he would never be able to argue with the demon. The clawed hand holding his face harshly let go, gently brushing the skin. "And my...you've certainly changed...I like the look."

Adam's eyebrows furrowed but he didn't get to speculate those words as Lucifer grinned down at him. "It seems the Fall burned your clothes. Lucky me~." Adam tried to stop Lucifer but a swift bite to his neck made him cry out in pain. "No. You're not going to take what's mine, Adam." Adam could only whimper as the strong clawed hand wrapped around his dick, massaging it roughly. Adam cried out, not having the energy to even muffle the noise he was making.

"How dare you try to leave? And for that harlot?" Lucifer growled between peppering his face with kisses, his lips feeling like coal on his already hot skin. "That woman doesn't know the first thing about you, Adam. Not like I do." A sharp bite on the cheek made Adam cry out. "She doesn't understand what you need. What we need. Someone like her doesn't deserve you."

"And you do?" Adam managed to get out. Lucifer's eyes darkened as he snarled. "Yes. I do deserve you. How can you even ask me that?!" He pinned Adam down, not caring that he was agitating Adam's injuries. "I gave you my first time, Adam! I don't want anyone else to have you and I don't want anyone else either!"

Adam struggled to get out of the vicious hold but this only seemed to make Lucifer angrier. He let another growl, smoke leaving his mouth as he said, "Enough talk. Perhaps I just need to prove it to you." That's when Adam noticed the appendages hanging from Lucifer's crotch. His eyes widened at just how big and girthy it was, far too heavy to do anything other than hang low. To make matters more horrifying, there were two. Lucifer had two dicks and a dripping pussy to match.

Lucifer smirked down at him, hot saliva dripping out of his maw as his sharp teeth started to grow. Adam wasn't prepared for what happened next. He was flipped onto his stomach, the wings he didn't even realize he had flapping wildly at the sharp turn of his body, and he felt a wet thick tongue slip inside him.

It was then Adam realized he also had a pussy.

Adam cried out at the intrusion, not prepared for such a thing but let out an involuntary moan as the tongue brushed a particular bundle of nerves. He tried to force himself not to rock into that tongue but judging from the deep and mean chuckle leaving Lucifer, Adam was failing miserably.

"See? That woman you tried leaving me for could never do this." Lucifer said before biting the large globes of flesh in front of him. Adam moaned harder, tears spilling over at how rough Lucifer was being. He loved what he was feeling, even if a part of him still wanted to run as fast as he could. To get as far away from the twisted version of his former friend.

Lucifer, as if reading his thoughts, bit his thighs in retaliation. "You're mine! You can run Adam. You can try. You might even manage to escape for a little while. But I will never stop hunting you because of this. You. Are. MINE!"

The demon plunged one of his dicks into him and Adam yelled, screaming at the stretch but moaning all the same. Lucifer took him rough and fast, not giving him any time to adjust before adding in the second cock. "Lucifer!" Adam slurred out, a sizable bump appearing in his stomach as the demon fucking him bruised his cervix.

"Don't try to deny it!" Lucifer growled as he noticed the pain-filled pleasure in Adam's eyes. "I can feel your desires! You want this! But you're afraid to allow yourself to want it." Lucifer's claws pierced his hips as the demon continued to fuck him. 

"You're mine Adam! Say it!"

"I'm yours!" Adam cried as Lucifer came into him. The First Human could feel the dicks blow its load inside him, coating his womb in fertile seed. Lucifer finished off with one more bite to his throat before slipping out of him. He shoved the semen back in, determined to tie Adam to him in the most intimate way possible. Adam moaned, his oversensitive pussy quivering as those fingers entered him.

Adam sighed when they left him. Despite feeling satisfied, Adam was tired and could feel his muscles burn at the thought of moving at all. He half expected Lucifer to shove the same forbidden fruit between his lips. To desert him in their shared fluids as he once done.

But Lucifer wasn't done with him. Adam groaned as he was rolled onto his back and Lucifer's grinning face came into view. "It's my turn now, Adam." His turn? Adam moaned, tears picking his eyes Lucifer began to rub his dick back to full mast.

"My turn...to think that I could have lost this. That you would have taken it away..." Lucifer growled before showing Adam his dripping honeypot. Adam's was bigger and more fatter while Lucifer seemed leaner like the rest of him.

He smiled as he gently lowered himself onto Adam, still pinning the First Man to the ground in case he got any ideas of leaving. Lucifer threw his head back, eyes burning red as he felt Adam enter him. "Yes! I missed this!" Lucifer's wings flared around them as he bounced on Adam's cock. Adam grunted at the feeling of a tight pussy around him. It had been so long since he felt like this.

Lucifer was stirring up old emotions within Adam, feelings he had long buried and convinced himself didn’t exist anymore. He had believed he could escape the weight of those emotions in the Garden, naively thinking he could embrace his time with Lucifer without any deeper attachments or complications. Yet, that illusion was quickly shattering. Beneath the surface of his fear, a fragile seed of hope began to take root, quietly blossoming in the depths of his heart. A gentle, persistent voice echoed in his mind, coaxing him to consider the possibility, "Maybe this time it would be different." It was a whisper that ignited a flicker of optimism, challenging the walls he had built around himself for so long.

Adam shoved it back down.

Lucifer continued to fuck himself on Adam, and the First Man was meeting him halfway now until he came inside Lucifer. The demon came around his cock and they both breathed heavily, staring at each other as they climbed down from their high.

Adam didn't know what to do, but he supposed his body did it for him. He passed out.

6 months later:

Adam stirred from a restless sleep, the darkness of the night wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. He took a slow, deliberate breath, focusing on keeping his breathing steady and calm. In his mind, he had meticulously crafted a plan, rehearsing every detail with a determination that bordered on desperation. Tonight was the night he would make his escape.

The opulence of the palace, a grand structure that Lucifer had designed to dazzle and delight, felt suffocating to Adam. Each exquisite ornament and shimmering surface served as a painful reminder of his confinement. It had been six long months since he had been thrust into this realm of torment, and during that time, he had attempted to break free on three separate occasions, each endeavor thwarted by Lucifer’s fierce protectiveness and unyielding fury.

Every time Adam tried to leave, Lucifer's wrath descended upon him like a storm, leaving him feeling more trapped than ever. The combination of anger and possessiveness in Lucifer's eyes shattered any hope Adam had for a future outside the palace walls. Adam could feel the weight of despair creeping into his heart, and it was becoming an unbearable burden.

This immense pressure was taking a toll not just on him, but also on the precious life growing inside him. Adam placed a hand on his abdomen, anguish flooding through him as he thought about the risk he was taking. How could Lucifer be so blind to the damage he was causing? The constant turmoil and fear were toxic, and he knew, deep down, that such relentless stress couldn’t possibly be good for his baby. A sense of urgency pulsed through him; he had to find a way to escape this gilded cage before it was too late.

Adam stared at the sleeping form of the demon sprawled beside him, his heart a mix of frustration and bewilderment. Lucifer, the King of Hell, whose very presence commanded fear and respect from countless souls to come. Yet here he was, seemingly at peace, yet undeniably pregnant as well, a state that only added to Adam’s tumultuous emotions.

Every hour that ticked by felt like a prison sentence. Adam was acutely aware of every moment spent in the lavish confines of the demon's expansive palace, with its opulent furnishings and dark, oppressive beauty. The silence of the room only intensified his irritation. It was maddening to be locked away in this hellish world, forced to play house with a being who was used to having his way with everything and everyone, and who had no concept of the word "no."

Despite the bond that was forming through their impending parenthood, Adam couldn't shake the feeling of being held captive. It was a twisted kind of irony; the man who was to become a parent alongside him was also the very force that kept him from his freedom. Adam’s resolve hardened as he looked at Lucifer, snoring softly, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in Adam’s heart.

Tonight would be different. Tonight, he would make his move. He had a plan, and he was determined to execute it. He would break free from this gilded cage, redefine his destiny, and reclaim his life. No longer would he allow himself to be a reluctant participant in Lucifer’s game.

That night, under the shroud of darkness, Adam had subtly laced Lucifer's drink with a carefully concocted mixture of plants during their dinner. It wasn't anything harmful, not to the powerful demon nor to the life still nestled within him, but rather an expertly mixed elixir designed to lull a creature like Lucifer into a deep, undisturbed slumber. As the hour grew late and the flickering candlelight danced across the room, Adam could see the signs of the concoction taking effect; Lucifer's eyes, usually so full of mischief and fire, began to droop heavily and Adam had suggested they go to bed.

With soft, deliberate movements, Adam slipped out of bed, his heart racing at the thought of what he was about to do. He took care not to disturb Lucifer, who now lay sprawled peacefully, the calm surface of his face a stark contrast to the turbulent waves of anxiety stirring within Adam. He reached for the hastily hidden sack he had prepared—a sturdy leather satchel he had  made filled with the essentials for his escape. Inside were the few possessions he could not leave behind: a worn cloak and some provisions.

As he gathered his belongings, Adam cast a lingering glance at the sleeping figure beside him. The drink was doing its job well, weaving a cocoon of tranquility around Lucifer, allowing Adam just enough time to slip away undetected. Quietly, he gathered the last of his things, every rustle of fabric echoing in the stillness of the room, before finally stepping softly toward the door. Adam took a deep breath, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders, but he knew he had to seize this fleeting moment of freedom.

Adam should have known that escaping from the palace would not be a simple task. A sense of urgency weighed heavily on him as he navigated the opulent halls, each step feeling more precarious than the last. The echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the corridors, suddenly interrupted by a low, menacing growl that rolled through the air like thunder. Adam's heart raced, panic surging through him as he realized that Lucifer was already awake, and the window of opportunity for his escape was narrowing rapidly.

Despite the considerable burden of six months of pregnancy, a fierce instinct propelled Adam forward. He sprinted down the lavishly adorned corridor, its walls lined with intricate tapestries and gilded mirrors that reflected both his fear and determination. Just as he thought he might make it, a voice pierced the tense silence, filled with emotion. “ADAM!” 

He flinched at the sound, spinning around to see Lucifer standing at the far end of the hall. The sight sent a jolt of mixed emotions through him. Lucifer's breath came in ragged gasps, his presence imposing and intense. His eyes—deep pools of swirling anger, fear, and pain—locked onto Adam, creating an electric tension in the air. Adam stood frozen for a moment, torn between the instinct to flee and the pull of the demon he had once known.

Lucifer stepped forward, the weight of his own pregnancy evident in the way he moved, each step slow and deliberate as he approached Adam. The tension hung in the air, thick with anticipation, but Adam felt an unsettling certainty settle in his chest—he had failed in his attempt to escape. He braced himself for the familiar sounds of rage that usually accompanied their encounters: the guttural growls and the fierce, possessive tones that marked Lucifer’s wrath. 

To Adam’s shock, however, the scene before him unfolded in a way he had never anticipated. In an unexpected outburst, Lucifer fell to his knees, his large, crimson eyes brimming with tears that shimmered in the dim light around them. His hands clutched desperately at his swollen stomach, as if trying to hold onto something precious yet intangible. 

“Why? Why won't you love me?!” he wailed, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair. Each word resonated with a vulnerability that disarmed Adam, leaving him speechless. His heart raced as he took in the sight of this powerful demon, usually so commanding, now reduced to a figure of anguish. 

“Haven't I shown you how much I love you?!” Lucifer’s voice carried desperation, echoing through the silence that followed his outburst. Adam’s mind raced, grappling with the depth of his own shock and the turmoil he felt as he looked down at Lucifer. Love had always been a complicated weave between them, but seeing this raw display of emotion turned everything he thought he knew upside down.

"Please... don’t abandon me..." Lucifer pleaded, his voice trembling as he knelt on the ground, desperately crawling toward Adam. Each move was laborious; the weight of his pregnant belly made it difficult, but he pushed through the discomfort, his heart heavy with longing. Finally, he reached Adam’s feet, resting his forehead against the cool ground in a show of vulnerability. 

Adam gazed down at the demon, his own feelings swirling in a tumultuous storm. He felt confusion, sorrow, and an undeniable pull toward Lucifer. The sight before him was heartbreaking: Lucifer, usually so proud and formidable, was reduced to this state of desperation, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued to sob. 

"I’m so sorry for keeping you here..." Lucifer continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "But please... I just didn’t want to be alone! I—I love you! You opened my eyes to wonders I never thought were possible in Eden, and yet, time and again, you keep leaving me!" There was a raw honesty in his words, an aching plea that echoed in the silence around them, a testament to the bond they shared, and the fear of losing it all.

A chilling realization swept over Adam as he stood frozen, confronted with the intense emotions radiating from Lucifer. The sight before him stirred something deep within—a haunting echo of his own past in the lush, vibrant expanse of Eden. In that paradise, he had felt an agonizing desperation as he pleaded with Lucifer not to forsake him for Lilith. Now, in this moment, it was as if he was witnessing Lucifer transformed before his very eyes; the mighty being reduced to a quaking shadow of his former self, tears streaming down his face. 

Lucifer clung to Adam's legs, his grip fierce and unyielding, a desperate man seeking comfort from him. The vulnerability displayed in that moment struck Adam to his core. He could recall the searing loneliness that had once plagued him, a profound ache that now mirrored Lucifer's own torment. The demon's cries echoed in the silence, a haunting melody of despair that resonated with Adam's understanding of loss and yearning. 

Never before had Adam experienced such profound sorrow during his time in Eden, a place where joy usually reigned supreme. But now, witnessing Lucifer in this way, as fragile as freshly fallen leaves trembling in the wind, illuminated a shared pain he never thought he’d recognize in another. The realization filled him with a sense of empathy and understanding, bridging the vast chasm that had once separated them. In that moment, both their hearts bore the weight of their respective histories—bound together by the poignant thread of longing and heartache.

"Oh...oh, Lucifer... it seems we're quite the pair, don't you think?" Adam murmured softly, sinking down to meet Lucifer's gaze at eye level. The demon looked up, his usually fiery eyes now shimmering with vulnerability and regret, his cheeks stained from the tears he had shed moments earlier. Adam was careful to keep their delicate, rounded bellies apart as he pulled Lucifer gently into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

Lucifer gasped in surprise at the sudden warmth of the hug, his breath hitching as he felt the weight of Adam's affection. "Please... please, Adam... don’t leave me," he pleaded, his voice trembling, the sincerity lacing his words evident in every syllable. "I know I messed up. I was wrong to... to act the way I did. To leave you first." The admission hung between them, heavy with the pain of their shared history. As more tears slipped silently from Adam's eyes, he held Lucifer closer, the bond between them pulsing with unspoken understanding and the hope of forgiveness.

In that pivotal moment, a profound revelation washed over Adam like a tidal wave. He understood that he had unwittingly replaced the role of Lucifer’s partner, usurping Lilith’s place by his side in a cosmic dance of power and influence. The weight of this realization sank deep into his core: it was he who had taken the fateful plunge into the abyss, not Lilith, who had long been cast aside. 

As he stood there, locked in the dark intensity of Lucifer’s sad gaze, Adam felt a surge of something mixed with an unsettling twinge of happiness. He was the one destined to share in the dominion of chaos and rebellion—a stark contrast to Adam’s silent suffering, his bitterness festering from the betrayal of being left behind. The shadows of their new reality loomed large, yet Adam could not shake the exhilaration of his newfound place.

In this altered timeline, he was no longer a mere pawn; he would become a ruler alongside Lucifer. Together, they could forge a new legacy, one that eclipsed the painful memories of abandonment. He reveled in the knowledge that it was he, not Lilith, who strode beside the Morning Star.

Adam remained silent, his expression a mixture of concern and tenderness, as he carefully gathered Lucifer into his arms. The demon, his body feeling heavy with exhaustion, allowed himself to be cradled, the turmoil of emotions swirling within him like a tempest. Adam's heartbeat echoed softly in his ears, a steady reminder of the warmth and safety found in this moment of closeness.

As they reached their shared bedroom, the familiar scent of soft linen and the dim glow of Hell's light wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Adam gently laid Lucifer onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling his tired frame. With a deliberate and soothing motion, Adam tucked the sheets around them, ensuring that Lucifer felt secure and protected in their sanctuary.

Looking down at Lucifer, who was struggling to contain the tears welling in his vibrant eyes, Adam's voice broke the silence, gentle yet laced with vulnerability. "I know you love me," he began, his gaze steady and sincere. "But at this moment, I can't say the same." The admission hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet truth that elicited a faint tremor in Lucifer’s chin as the weight of his heartbreak threatened to spill over.

Lucifer’s heart ached, and fresh tears brimmed in his eyes, shimmering like the last rays of sunlight filtering through the window. Yet, before despair could take hold, Adam's hand came up, gently shushing him as if to calm the storm within. 

"But," Adam continued, his tone shifting to a hopeful whisper, "I could learn to love you if we do this the right way... okay?" His words wrapped around them, laced with unspoken promise, inviting Lucifer to believe in the possibility of a future forged through understanding and patience.

"Thank you, Adam..." Lucifer whispered, his voice barely rising above the soft rustle of the sheets. As Adam tenderly wiped the tears from Lucifer's cheeks with his thumb, a wave of comfort enveloped them both. Their spirits, worn from the night they had faced, found solace in this quiet moment. 

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as the light of Hell surrounded them. They were curled together on the bed, exhaustion pulling at their limbs. Adam's heartbeat drummed steadily against Lucifer's side, a soothing rhythm that lulled him into a peaceful state. 

Lucifer’s lips curled into a gentle smile in his sleep, the weight of worry lifting from his shoulders. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of hope that Adam was truly there to stay, that he wouldn't vanish into the pits of Hell.

Adam, too, succumbed to a deep slumber, his brow unfurrowing and the tension in his shoulders easing as he breathed in the familiar scent of Lucifer’s hair. In that intimate embrace, the world outside ceased to exist, and both men drifted off into a serene night, cocooned in each other’s warmth.

——

Pervs:

I wanted to post this so badly. So I’ll post the finished colored page of Tater’s work afterwards. Living in America, I will be very busy in the next two days with Thanksgiving. then I have some of my smaller pictures up for it.

[ophanum]

can I request (i feel like more platonic but you can decide) Furious Five, Po, Master Shifu, and Tai Lung with a snow leopard who can manage to blend in snow and fog making people believe she is a ghost? it's not part of kung fu, it's her hobby to scare bandits from stealing without using violence.

RED - ! Kung Fu Panda

ft. Furious five, Po, Master Shifu, Redemption! Tai Lung x Snow Leopard! Reader

"Hearts on the walls, but no love in these streets. Appetite for destruction, a girl's gotta eat, yeah." - Red by Alex Boniello, Kylie Cantrall, and Walt Disney

Po

When Po first hears about the “snow ghost” legend from the villagers, he’s beyond excited. Stories spread quickly about a mysterious snow leopard, half-seen in the mist, who frightens bandits off the mountain paths without lifting a paw. Naturally, Po assumes you’re some kind of ancient spirit and is fascinated until he finally meets you and realizes it’s all a clever act.

He becomes your biggest fan, frequently pestering you to share your “scare tactics.” His excitement is boundless, and he tries imitating your techniques, though his own approach is far from stealthy. Po’s natural enthusiasm and not-so-quiet demeanor don’t lend themselves to subtlety, but he adores being part of your adventures.

You invite him along on a patrol, and Po can barely contain his giggles when he sees the bandits running in terror at the faintest glimpse of you. He makes sure to tell everyone in the Valley about the amazing “ghost” that guards the mountain, embellishing the stories until the villagers are convinced they’re protected by a fierce spirit.

Tigress

Tigress has immense respect for your restraint. She has always valued strength and discipline, and to see someone choose to defend their home without fighting intrigues her. While her instinct leans towards direct confrontation, she appreciates your commitment to finding an alternative that’s just as effective.

Tigress becomes curious about how you blend so seamlessly with the snow and fog, watching with intense focus the first time she sees you vanish into the mist. She doesn’t say much, but she’s deeply impressed by how you combine your skills with cleverness. Although her style is distinct, she practices what she learns from observing you, eventually finding her own methods for blending into certain environments.

Though she keeps her admiration subtle, she’ll sometimes spar with you, hoping to pick up more of your quiet, calculating approach. She’s thrilled to train alongside someone who proves that power can take many forms, and she may even share some of her own techniques with you as a sign of mutual respect.

Monkey

Monkey finds your ghost act legendary. The moment he realizes you’re using stealth and strategy rather than brute force, he’s ready to become your accomplice. He admires that you’ve chosen a path without violence, turning your environment into your ally. For him, your approach has the perfect mix of humor and strategy, making it more of an art than a skill.

Eager to assist, he starts joining you on your “ghost patrols,” and his agility adds an extra element of surprise. He’ll disappear into trees or leap from cliffs to help create even more suspense, and his quick-witted ideas make him a natural partner for you. Monkey delights in watching bandits stumble over each other in fear, convinced they’ve crossed into some supernatural realm.

He brings a playful twist to your work, coming up with ideas to amplify your “haunting” presence. “Let’s create moving shadows with these branches,” he whispers one night, rigging up sticks and leaves to dance eerily in the moonlight. Thanks to Monkey, you earn a reputation as the most unpredictable ghost in the valley, and he never stops bragging about how he’s part of your “ghost crew.”

Crane

Crane is amazed by how skillfully you blend into the snow, creating the appearance of a guardian spirit without ever needing to fight. Your approach aligns with his own tendency towards gentler methods, so he quickly develops a deep admiration for your style.

As a supportive friend, he offers to be your “eyes in the sky” when you patrol. From above, he can spot bandits before they even reach the mountains, warning you of their approach with subtle calls. He becomes your quiet lookout, ensuring no one surprises you.

Sometimes, he’ll add a touch of theatricality to your ghost act, swooping down and creating mysterious gusts of wind that make you seem even more like a phantom. He enjoys the role, finding a sense of peaceful purpose in your shared mission. Crane takes to calling you the “Mist Guardian” and tells others that they should “leave a little gift” for you at the mountain's edge if they want to avoid your ghostly wrath.

Viper

Viper has a quiet admiration for your strategy and finds your methods brilliant. She respects your control and appreciates that you choose to avoid violence unless absolutely necessary. Your non-combative style resonates with her own thoughtful approach to combat.

She’s fascinated by your techniques and sometimes asks you to show her how you blend with the fog. Viper wants to learn how to incorporate this into her own martial arts, as she values the ability to move undetected when necessary. Together, you two practice silent movement and controlled breathing, honing your skills in the art of blending.

Viper becomes one of your most enthusiastic supporters and talks highly of your skills to the rest of the group. She often calls you her “mystical sister,” appreciating the unique perspective you bring to protecting the valley. She even suggests you two go on occasional “stealth missions” together, so she can see your techniques in action.

Mantis

Mantis is wildly entertained by your scare tactics. He’s all about clever strategies that make people think twice, and your ghostly presence is his idea of the perfect deterrent.

He enjoys “helping” from time to time, usually by hitching a ride on your fur and whispering in a spooky voice to add an extra layer of fright to the experience. Mantis loves watching the bandits’ reactions when they hear unexpected voices coming from seemingly nowhere.

The aftermath is Mantis’s favorite part. He’s quick to gather all the funniest details about the bandits’ reactions and shares them with the group, exaggerating for dramatic effect. He even invents legends about you, calling you the “Phantom Guardian,” and he swears he’ll write a story about the “Ghost of the Mountain” one day.

Master Shifu

Shifu has high regard for your dedication to non-violent protection, seeing it as an admirable choice that requires a deep level of discipline. He might not always show his appreciation openly, but he respects that you’ve crafted a role of defender without needing direct confrontation.

When he learns about your methods, he recognizes the skill involved in blending with the snow and fog, and he subtly encourages the rest of the Furious Five to observe and learn from your approach. To him, you embody the idea that true strength isn’t always about force, and he may even hint that you’re an example they could all learn from.

He’s quietly proud of your efforts and will sometimes watch from afar, ensuring that you’re safe on your patrols. Shifu may even thank you directly for your contributions to the valley, a rare acknowledgment from the usually reserved master. He might not show it outwardly, but he considers you one of the most resourceful protectors in the region.

Tai Lung

Tai Lung is deeply intrigued by your method of protection and fascinated by your ability to guard the valley without ever needing to fight. Coming from a background steeped in power and aggression, he’s both impressed and humbled by your approach.

If he joins you on a patrol, he’s initially silent, observing the way you weave through snow and fog with effortless grace. He finds himself drawn to the idea of protecting without force, seeing it as a form of strength he hadn’t considered before.

Tai Lung tries to follow your example, though his instincts sometimes get the better of him. He admires your patience and considers you an unlikely role model, one that challenges his view of what it means to be strong. Though he might not say it, he respects you deeply, viewing you as a kind of mentor in restraint and control.

-

The fog rolled thick over the mountainside, curling around tree trunks and swallowing rocky ledges. A faint shimmer of white slipped through the mist, moving with an unearthly stillness that no mortal could manage. From below, the valley bandits, their faces pale with fright, muttered nervously.

“Did you hear?” one whispered, gripping his spear a little tighter. “They say a ghost haunts these peaks—a spirit with fur as white as death itself.”

With a quiet chuckle, you—the snow leopard of the Valley—melted deeper into the mist, every step perfectly silent. You’d learned the art of scaring bandits away without needing to fight long ago; it was your signature way of keeping peace. Out here, the cold air carried whispers, and the fog was the perfect veil. So, you moved closer, letting your tail flick just barely into view before vanishing again.

One of the bandits gasped. “Did you see that?”

“You’re just seeing things,” his friend chided, though he took a cautious step back himself.

In another instant, you appeared again, only your sharp blue eyes showing through the fog like two frozen flames. That was enough—the two men shrieked, dropping their weapons and stumbling over one another as they bolted down the mountain path, disappearing into the trees below. You waited until you could no longer hear their footsteps, your amused smile spreading as the air around you settled back into silence.

“Wow! That was amazing!” a familiar voice cheered behind you. You turned to see Po, bouncing with excitement, a wide grin stretching across his face. “The ‘Snow Ghost’ strikes again! They didn’t stand a chance!”

You let out a soft laugh. “They’ll think twice before coming up here again, that’s for sure.”

Po was still bubbling with enthusiasm, eager to see your tactics in action up close. “That’s gotta be the coolest way of keeping people safe that I’ve ever seen! You didn’t even have to touch them!”

Just as Po finished speaking, a low growl sounded nearby. “Did you even consider if anyone might be watching?” Tigress asked as she emerged from the trees, her eyes narrowed with concern. “They were still carrying weapons.” She glanced at Po and added, “A little less cheering and they might not have noticed you.”

You gave a light nod of understanding. “True, but you’ve got to admit that scaring them off without a fight is sometimes… effective,” you offered, catching the faintest smirk that Tigress tried to hide.

“Effective,” she echoed with a nod, casting a sideways glance. “I didn’t say it wasn’t impressive.” There was something like admiration in her gaze as she continued, “Blending with your surroundings, using the mist like that… It’s a useful skill.”

A flicker of movement overhead caught your attention, and you saw Crane gliding down to perch on a low-hanging branch. “Keeping to the shadows again?” he teased lightly, settling his wings. “I’ll admit, it’s pretty remarkable what you do.” He tilted his head with a grin. “Though, if you need extra eyes from above, just give a signal. I can always scout the area.”

A spark of pride warmed your chest. These were friends who understood your quiet approach, who valued it just as much as you did. You watched as Crane spread his wings wide, demonstrating how he’d glide down to create a gust of wind that would stir the mist around you, amplifying your ghostly appearance.

“Oh! And wait, wait!” Monkey piped up, jumping in from a nearby branch, grinning as he moved his arms in sweeping, exaggerated gestures. “You could always rig up a few branches to move in the wind. I’m telling you, they’d go from scared to screaming!”

The idea made you laugh softly. Monkey’s antics often bordered on the theatrical, but his creative enthusiasm added an extra layer of fun to your mission. “I think I’ll stick with what I know works,” you replied, though you made a mental note of his ideas. Sometimes, a bit of drama worked wonders.

“Now, now, let’s not get carried away,” Master Shifu’s voice came from behind you, the red panda giving a thoughtful look over the group. “Though, I must admit,” he said, glancing up at you with respect, “what you do is unique—and honorable. Protecting the Valley without harm… there’s something admirable in that choice.”

You felt a swell of pride at Shifu’s words. Shifu, though reserved, valued wisdom over brute strength, and that was exactly what you hoped to embody. As he watched, you melted back into the fog to demonstrate, turning your head just enough for your pale blue eyes to peer back out before you fully disappeared into the mist.

“I think she’s trying to show off now,” Mantis muttered playfully, crossing his tiny arms.

“Show off?” Tai Lung’s voice cut in, his tone one of mild intrigue. He’d arrived quietly, his towering form blending into the shadows. His eyes held an intensity as he watched you, though not with his former fury. Since his redemption, Tai Lung had taken to observing and appreciating non-violent approaches, curious about a strength that was more restraint than force. He inclined his head, his gaze softened. “There’s wisdom in a fight avoided. Perhaps it’s a lesson I should’ve learned long ago.”

Tai Lung’s quiet acknowledgment was unexpected, and you inclined your head in a brief bow of mutual respect. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Tai Lung admitted, “You’ve shown that power doesn’t always mean force. I think… that’s something I should remember.”

Just as he finished, Po let out an amused sigh. “Oh, come on, Tai Lung! You know that everyone’s just impressed by the legendary ‘Snow Ghost.’” He grinned, looking around at the group as he continued, “Just imagine, if I’d seen her out here on my first visit to the Valley, I’d have been toast!”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” Tigress replied dryly, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Before the group could continue, Crane’s sharp eyes spotted movement below. Another group of bandits approached the valley entrance, clearly unaware of the fate of the others before them.

“Another set already?” Mantis asked, exasperated. “What do they think is going to happen?”

You exchanged a determined look with your friends and wordlessly vanished back into the mist. Po and the others watched in awe as you moved forward, your fur nearly disappearing against the snowy backdrop.

Watching from above, your friends saw the bandits’ eyes widen with dread as you emerged like a phantom, appearing just close enough for them to glimpse your icy stare. You allowed the fog to gather around you, lingering in view just long enough for them to understand the warning in your eyes. In seconds, the bandits took off, their courage gone, scattering back down the mountain in a hurry.

When you returned, the group was ready with quiet applause. Even Tai Lung nodded in admiration. “That,” he said, “is how to inspire fear without lifting a finger.”

“I think it’s more than fear,” Shifu noted thoughtfully, glancing up at you. “It’s a way of reminding others that sometimes the strongest power is the gentlest hand.”

Po clapped you on the back with a grin. “I think we can all agree—the Valley’s got the best ‘ghost’ in the land. Who needs a fight when they have you?”

And as the mist wrapped around you once more, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over the mountains. You’d protected the valley again, keeping peace with a bit of stealth, some clever tricks, and a loyal family who believed in the strength of a peaceful heart.

[txjis]

I’ll feed ur mind. reader who meets geto on a night out and the two are so in lust over eachother that they don’t even make it back to getos place they just fuck in an alley outside the bar 🫥

this made me do backflips. i hope i did u proud !!

One Too Many..

cw: Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader , public sex , creampie . petnames (angel said once) , mention of drinking , sex with a stranger .

wc: 810(?)

notes: im chewing rocks i want him so bad. smut is kinda rushed 😔

you spot suguru across the bar, his dark hair falling gracefully around his sharp features. he is leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand, and there is an air of mysterious loneliness about him that draws you in. as you move closer, you notice his intense gaze fixed on you, and a shiver runs down your spine. his eyes are dark and piercing, and you wonder what secrets lie behind them.

as you approach, you notice his tall, slim frame and the way his muscular body moves with graceful agility. his black hair, partially tied up, accentuates the elegance of his features, and you feel a spark of desire ignite within you. you introduce yourself, your heart pounding in your chest, and his low, gravelly voice washes over you like a forbidden caress. you can sense the tension between you, an electric current buzzing through the air.

the drinks flow freely, and as the night progresses, the bar gets hotter. you feel a drop of sweat trickle down your back, and you realize it's not just the alcohol making you hot. suguru's intense gaze is fixed on you, and you can feel his eyes burning through your clothes. the air is thick with desire, and you both know what the other wants.

suguru leans in close, his breath warm on your ear, and whispers, "i want you." his words send a shockwave through your body, and you pull him closer, your hands tangling in his soft hair. you taste the whiskey on his breath as your lips crash together, all restraint forgotten. his hands move roughly over your body, igniting a fire in your belly.

you need him now.

you push him against the wall, your bodies pressed together, and kiss him fiercely. your hands explore his strong body, feeling the powerful muscles beneath your fingertips. he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting you up against him. you can feel his hardness against your core, and you grind down onto him, needing to feel him inside you.

he pulls away, his breathing ragged, and says, "here. now."

you look around, realizing he means right here, in the alley outside the bar. the risk excites you, and you nod, your eyes locking with his. with a hungry growl, he pushes you against the rough brick wall, the cold night air sending goosebumps racing over your skin. lifting your legs around his waist, you whimper as you feel his hardness probing at your entrance. without hesitation, he thrusts into you, filling you completely.

a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him stretch you, the pleasure mixing with a bite of pain. suguru's hands grip your hips tightly, his nails digging into your soft flesh as he begins to move. his thrusts are deep and urgent, his body slamming into yours with a force that sends shocks of pleasure through you. you can feel the rough brick wall against your back, the coolness a contrast to the heat building within you.

suguru's eyes never leave yours as he fucks you against the wall. his black hair falls into his eyes, making him look even more mysterious and desirable. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. his breath comes in hot pants against your neck, and you can feel his sweat-slicked skin sliding against yours.

you moan loudly, not caring who hears, as the pleasure builds. suguru's thrusts become more frantic, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. you can feel his cock twitch inside you, and you know he's close. his guttural groans fill your ears, sending you even closer to the edge.

"cum for me angel," he growls, and his demand sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body shaking uncontrollably as you cry out. suguru follows, his body tensing as he fills you with his hot release. his eyes squeeze shut as he bites down on his lower lip, trying to stifle his pleasured cries.

for a moment, you both lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. then suguru gently lowers your legs and pulls out of you, a mix of your essence dripping down your thighs. he presses a quick kiss to your swollen lips, a promise of more to come.

as you straighten your clothes, a sly smile spreads across your face. you've only just begun, and already the night has been unforgettable. suguru's dangerous allure has hooked you, and you can't wait to discover more of his dark, erotic secrets. with a final lingering glance, you step back into the bar, knowing you've only scratched the surface of this enticing stranger.

little did you know, this was just the first step of a filled night that would leave an indelible mark on your soul.

ask/requests: OPEN

[urfavoritewriter]

Werewolf Appetite

A commission for an anonymous user over on Discord, a long read (~15,000 words) so grab some snacks.

Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Digestion, Multiple Prey, Unwilling Prey, Cruel Pred, Sentient Fat, Permanent Fat, Teen Wolf, Incest, Forced Body Worship

The thick canopy of the forest cast dappled shadows on the forest floor as Tyler, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for ruthlessness, stalked through the undergrowth. His movements were calculated and deliberate, each step cautious yet purposeful. He wore dark camouflage cargo pants that were stained with dirt and grime from countless hours spent in the wilderness. His boots, heavy and sturdy, crunched softly on the fallen leaves beneath him as he moved. A black tactical vest adorned with an array of pockets and pouches hugged his muscular frame, the weight of his arsenal distributed evenly across his torso.

Tyler's face was set in a grim mask of resolution, sweat beading on his brow despite the coolness of the forest. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. A thick layer of stubble lined his jaw, evidence of days spent in pursuit of his elusive quarry. Strapped across his back was a sleek crossbow, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees, a common weapon of choice for werewolf hunters.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush caught Tyler's attention, and he whipped around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. "I know you're out there, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Show yourself, or I'm fucking shooting you where you stand!"

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for action. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent testament to the deadly game of cat and mouse that was about to unfold. And then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.

It was Peter Hale, his lithe form darting between the trees with the agility of a wild animal. His clothes were simple yet elegant, a fitted henley shirt clinging to his muscular frame and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his powerful thighs. His hair was tousled and unkempt, the sunlight catching the subtle highlights in its dark strands. And in his eyes burned a fierce intensity, a primal hunger that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

But before Tyler could react, Peter was upon him, his movements a blur of motion as he deftly dodged the bullets Tyler fired in rapid succession. Each shot rang out like thunder in the stillness of the forest, but Peter moved with a preternatural speed and agility that seemed almost impossible to comprehend. He hoofed between the trees with the grace of a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and effortless as he closed the distance between them.

Despite his best efforts, Tyler's shots went wide, each bullet finding nothing but empty air as Peter continued to evade his every move. Panic surged through Tyler's veins as he realized that he was no match for the supernatural creature before him. He was just a man, armed with nothing but a gun and his wits, while Peter was something else entirely—a being of raw power and primal instinct, driven by a hunger that Tyler could scarcely comprehend. And as Peter closed in for the kill, Tyler knew that he was truly and utterly fucked.

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Tyler huffed, out of breath as he grabbed his crossbow now that his gun was out of ammo. “We hunt those who hunt us,” He repeated, almost as if he was reassuring himself and reminding himself of all the hunter training he’s successfully gotten through.

As Tyler fumbled with his crossbow, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, he felt a sudden weight slam into him from behind. With a cry of surprise, he stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the forest floor. Before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Gasping for breath, Tyler struggled against his unseen assailant, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He could feel the hot breath of his attacker on the back of his neck, the scent of earth and pine filling his nostrils as he fought to break free. But whoever—or whatever—it was, they were strong, far stronger than Tyler had ever imagined possible.

"Get off me, you bastard!" Tyler spat, his voice laced with fear and defiance. But Peter only laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.

"You think you can stop me, little hunter?" Peter growled, his grip tightening around Tyler's throat. "Not so tough without your neat little weapons, eh?"

Tyler struggled to speak, his words choked off by Peter's vice-like grip. He clawed at the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something—anything—that he could use to defend himself. But it was no use. Peter was too strong, too fast, too...inhuman.

As Tyler's vision began to swim with black spots, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He could feel the strength draining from his limbs, his body growing weak and sluggish as Peter's hold tightened around him.

As Tyler's struggles began to weaken, Peter's grip on him shifted. Instead of tightening further, it loosened slightly, and Tyler felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like a wave of hunger, raw and primal, crashing over him with such intensity that it stole his breath away.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter considered ending Tyler's life then and there, the thought of his blood staining the forest floor sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. But as he looked down at the helpless hunter beneath him, something else stirred within him; Although his primary goal was to end the lives of anyone involved in the Hale House fire, his predatory werewolf instincts have taken over, irresistibly so.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of Tyler's neck as he inhaled the heady scent of his fear. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, demanding to be sated, and Peter found himself unable to resist its call. Without another thought, he pressed his lips to Tyler's skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of sweat and adrenaline.

Tyler gasped at the sensation, his body tensing beneath Peter's touch as a shiver of adrenaline-filled pleasure through him. He could feel the heat of Peter's mouth against his skin, the rough scrape of his teeth as they grazed his flesh, and a shudder of fear.

As Peter continued to lick and bite at Tyler's neck, his hunger grew more intense, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light, their color shifting from deep brown to a piercing shade of blue as his werewolf instincts took hold. His sideburns lengthened, his muscles rippling with newfound strength as he hovered over his prey, his breath hot and heavy against Tyler's skin.

With a low, feral growl, Peter leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Tyler's ear as he whispered words that sent a shiver of dread down Tyler's spine.

"You taste...delicious," Peter murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I'll have you for dinner."

Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Peter was about to do, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Peter's mouth descended upon him.

As Peter's mouth closed over Tyler's head, he could feel the hunter's hair brushing against his tongue, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the metallic taste of blood as Peter's teeth grazed against his skin. With a low, guttural growl, Peter swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat contracting as Tyler's head disappeared down his gullet in a single, ravenous gulp.

"What the fuck!" Tyler's muffled voice echoed from deep within Peter's throat, his protests cut off as Peter's esophagus closed around him, sealing him inside the darkness. But despite his frantic struggles, there was no escape for Tyler now, no hope of salvation as he felt himself being pulled inexorably downward into the depths of Peter's belly.

Next came Tyler's shoulders, his clothes tearing and ripping as Peter's jaws stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his prey. With each swallow, Tyler could feel himself being compressed, the pressure mounting as he was forced further and further down into the pit of Peter's stomach. He thrashed and struggled, his fists pounding futilely against the walls of flesh that surrounded him, but it was no use—Peter's grip was too strong, his hunger too overwhelming to be denied.

As Tyler's abdomen disappeared into the darkness, he could feel the acidic burn of Peter's stomach acids beginning to seep into his wounds, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. He screamed and cursed, his words becoming increasingly muffled as he was swallowed deeper into the abyss, his body contorting and twisting as it was crushed and compressed by the sheer force of Peter's appetite.

As Tyler's thighs disappeared into the darkness of Peter's throat, he let out one final, desperate cry for help, his voice barely a whisper as it was drowned out by the roar of Peter's digestive system. And then, with one final gulp, Tyler's legs vanished from sight, consumed by the darkness within.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Peter's satisfied burp as he settled back on his haunches, his belly swollen and distended from his recent meal. And as he rubbed his hand over his full stomach, feeling the faint movements of Tyler's struggling form within, a satisfied smile curled his lips.

"Delicious," Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and contented. "Absolutely delicious."

Under the cover of darkness, Peter sat beneath the sheltering branches of a tall oak tree, the hunter's crossbow clutched in one hand as he idly played with it. With his other hand, he rubbed his distended belly, feeling the weight of his recent meal pressing against his palm.

As he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, Peter let out a satisfied burp, the taste of the hunter's flesh still lingering on his tongue. He smirked to himself, realizing just how delicious humans truly were, their succulent flesh providing a tantalizing feast for his insatiable hunger.

Turning his gaze towards the night sky, Peter chuckled softly to himself, his voice carrying on the cool breeze. "Looks like you failed your mission," he taunted, his tone mocking. "Guess that means lots of people are going to end up just like you—swallowed up and digested alive."

As the nights passed in Beacon Hills, California, a sense of unease settled over the small town. Men, one after another, began to disappear without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fearful whispers among the remaining residents.

Families fretted as their loved ones failed to return home, their absence a glaring absence in the close-knit community. Rumors swirled through the streets, whispered conversations speculating about the mysterious disappearances and the dark shadows lurking in the shadows.

Some claimed it was the work of a deranged serial killer, while others whispered of supernatural forces at play. But no matter the speculation, one thing remained certain: people were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clue as to their whereabouts; Only leaving behind a tangible reminder on Peter’s growing belly as he digested more and more.

"Come on, come on... Shit!" Stiles muttered under his breath as he crouched in front of the door to Peter Hale's penthouse, the thin metal of the hex wrench feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hand. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching him attempt to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the most legal activity, but Stiles was desperate for answers.

Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Peter Hale. It wasn't just the way the man had been putting on a bit of weight around his midsection, though that certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. It was also the sudden string of disappearances in Beacon Hills, particularly among young men. Stiles had a knack for piecing together clues, and something about Peter's behavior just didn't sit right with him.

Focusing his attention back on the lock, Stiles cursed softly as the hex wrench slipped again. He knew he was taking a risk by breaking into Peter's penthouse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. If he could just find some evidence to connect Peter to the disappearances, maybe he could stop whatever was happening before it was too late.

“Fuck, how difficult is it to get into one old man’s house?” With a determined sigh, Stiles refocused his efforts, his fingers working deftly to maneuver the wrench into the lock. It was slow going, each movement careful and deliberate as he tried to coax the tumblers into place. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, the tension in his muscles making his movements slightly shaky.

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles felt a satisfying click beneath his fingers. With a triumphant grin, he twisted the wrench, and to his surprise, the lock gave way with a soft snick. Stiles froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened for any signs that he had been caught.

When no alarms sounded and no footsteps approached, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside Peter's penthouse, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He was finally going to get some answers.

As Stiles cautiously made his way into Peter Hale's penthouse, he was immediately struck by the decor. The space was adorned with sleek mid-century furniture, each piece carefully selected to create an atmosphere of sophistication and elegance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that swirled in Stiles' mind as he took in his surroundings.

Navigating through the living room, Stiles couldn't help but notice the meticulous layout of the space. The clean lines of the furniture and the strategically placed accent pieces gave the impression of a well-organized and thoughtfully curated home. But as he moved further into the penthouse, Stiles began to notice something unsettling.

Scattered throughout the rooms were mementos, seemingly random items that appeared out of place among the carefully curated decor. A baseball cap hung on a coat rack in the foyer, a pair of sunglasses sat abandoned on a side table in the living room, and a leather wallet lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. Each item seemed innocuous enough on its own, but as Stiles pieced together the puzzle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

These were the belongings of Peter's victims, the men who had disappeared without a trace from Beacon Hills. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the significance of what he was seeing. These were not just random items left behind by careless guests; they were mementos, trophies collected by a predator.

As he moved from room to room, Stiles couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a heavy cloak. Each item he encountered served as a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills. And as he paused to take in the scene before him, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave.

"What the hell..." Stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he surveyed the room. The realization of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. How could Peter be capable of something so monstrous? It was a question that lingered in the air, unanswered and ominous.

With a heavy heart, Stiles tore his gaze away from the scene before him and pressed on, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew he had to find answers, no matter the cost. But as he ventured further into Peter's penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.

As Stiles hurriedly made his way toward the exit, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him like a vice. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with questions and fears. How could he have been so blind to the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills?

Just as he reached for the doorknob, a voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Stiles?" The voice was smooth and taunting, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine.

Stiles turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as Peter Hale emerged from the shadows, his presence looming like a dark cloud. "Peter," Stiles stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I was just..."

Peter's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Before Stiles could react, he found himself pinned against the wall, Peter's bulging belly pressing against him with a force that left him gasping for air.

"Mind your business, Stiles," Peter purred, his voice dripping with malice. "You've done an impressive job of deducing who's behind the disappearances. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say."

Stiles swallowed hard, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch as Peter's words sent a chill down his spine. "Well, I take after my pops," Stiles retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his fear. "He's in law enforcement."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sarcastic, even at a time like this?" he mused, his tone mocking.

Stiles shrugged anxiously, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "It's all I got, man," he replied, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Pale skin and a little bit of sarcasm."

As the weight of Peter's gaze bore down on him, Stiles couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settle over him like a heavy cloak. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain: he was in way over his head.

Peter's smirk widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close, his eyes sufficed with malice. "You know, Stiles," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "I think I'll make an exception for you. I'll take my sweet time digesting you, longer than any of the others. After all, you've been such an entertaining little detective, and it’ll be rude not to give pack members special treatment."

“Y… You what?” Stiles' eyes widened in horror at the realization of what Peter was suggesting. He struggled against the grip of Peter's belly, his heart pounding in his chest. Stiles' mind raced as he frantically searched for a way out of his predicament. How could he have been so foolish to think he could outsmart Peter? The truth was staring him right in the face, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.

Peter's smirk only widened as he saw the realization dawn in Stiles' eyes. "Ah, I see it now," he taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You didn't figure out as much as you thought, did you, Stiles? But don't worry, you'll get to experience it firsthand."

"No, no, you can't!" he protested, his voice trembling with fear. "You-you can't just...swallow me whole like that!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Stiles' spine. "Oh, but I can, Stiles," he replied, his tone laced with malice. "And I will. Consider it a...reward for your persistence."

Stiles felt a cold chill run down his spine as the full weight of Peter's words settled over him. He was trapped, at the mercy of a ruthless predator who had no qualms about devouring him whole.

Peter chuckled darkly as he observed Stiles' futile struggles, his enhanced werewolf strength making it effortless to overpower the younger man. With a swift motion, he grabbed Stiles' legs and forced them upward, beginning the process of swallowing him feet-first.

Stiles thrashed and kicked, his fists flailing wildly as he shouted defiantly, "You won't fucking eat me, you hear me? I won't let you!" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, filled with a raw mixture of fear and anger.

But Peter paid little heed to Stiles' protests, his focus solely on the task at hand. With each gulp, he felt Stiles' body slide further down his throat, the sensation both exhilarating and satisfying. He ripped open Stiles' pants, revealing his underwear, and pulled them down to expose his manhood, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Stiles continued to fight, his struggles growing weaker as he realized the futility of his efforts. "You fucking bastard!" he spat, his voice choked with emotion. "I won't let you do this to me!"

But his words fell on deaf ears as Peter continued to swallow him down, relishing in the feeling of power and control. Stiles' protests grew more muffled with each passing moment, until finally, with one last gulp, he disappeared entirely into Peter's gullet.

Peter smirked triumphantly as he rubbed his distended belly, feeling Stiles' struggles growing weaker with each passing moment. He had claimed another victim, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

Peter paused, relishing in the sensation of Stiles squirming helplessly within his belly. He could feel the young man's struggles growing weaker with each passing moment, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the inevitability of his fate.

But instead of continuing to swallow him whole, Peter decided to have a bit of fun. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he focused his attention on Stiles' exposed manhood, stroking and teasing it with a wicked grin as his mouth navigated around his balls and hard shaft.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief as he felt Peter's touch. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.

Peter merely chuckled darkly in response, his fingers dancing lightly over Stiles' sensitive flesh. "Just enjoying the view, Stiles," he replied casually, his tone dripping with amusement. "After all, it's not every day I get to play with a meal as tasty as you."

Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he struggled against the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his body. "Stop it," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go."

But Peter paid no heed to Stiles' protests, his touch paired with the licking of his tongue becoming more insistent as he continued to tease and stroke. Stiles' resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of sensation, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt himself growing more and more aroused.

And then, with one final, desperate cry, Stiles succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his body trembling as he released his load under Peter's skilled touch. He collapsed against the wall, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he tried to catch his breath.

Peter smirked triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Stiles' reaction. "Fucking bitch, enjoyed that didn’t you?" he remarked casually, his tone filled with amusement.

Peter's laughter echoed through the room as he continued to swallow Stiles down, his belly expanding with each gulp until it protruded out like a rounded bulge. With a satisfied smirk, he reached out and cupped Stiles' face in his hand, holding him in place as he leaned in closer, his mouth gaping wide open.

Stiles squirmed and protested, his muffled cries falling on deaf ears as Peter positioned him directly in front of the mirror. With a wicked grin, Peter met Stiles' gaze in the reflection, his eyes glinting with amusement as he slowly lowered his head into his waiting mouth.

Stiles watched in horror as his head disappeared past Peter's lips, the sensation of being swallowed whole overwhelming his senses. He struggled against the tight confines of Peter's throat, his frantic movements only serving to hasten his descent into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

With a final, satisfied gulp, Peter swallowed the last of Stiles down, his throat convulsing around the struggling figure as he disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall, his hand resting lightly on his distended belly as he let out a contented burp.

"Fucking delicious," Peter remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on his reflection in the mirror. "You're the best I've had yet, Stiles. Shame you won't be around to enjoy it."

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted.

Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.

"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."

As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.

"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"

With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.

"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."

Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.

"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."

Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.

With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.

Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.

A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"

Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"

The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.

Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.

As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart.  "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.

Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.

As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.

As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.

On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know  you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."

Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"

Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."

Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.

As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.

"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"

Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.

Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.

But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.

"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"

But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted. He stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a satisfied smirk. He glanced over at the corner of the room where Stiles’ underwear memento lay, torn and cum-soaked from his prior release.

"Looks like they've called a meeting to find you," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Funny how you'll most likely be dead by the end of it."

Stiles groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled against his restraints. "You're sick, Peter," he muttered hoarsely, his words barely audible.

Peter chuckled darkly, turning back to the mirror to straighten his tie. "Perhaps. But at least I'll be entertained while I wait for your demise."

With a final smirk at Stiles, Peter left the penthouse, and headed towards the designated meeting spot– Derek Hale & Noah Stillinski had called for an emergency meeting, as one of their members had suddenly disappeared without a trace.

As Peter sat in on the pack meeting with Derek and Noah, the tension in the room was palpable. Noah's usually calm demeanor was replaced by an air of frantic worry, his brow furrowed and hands clenched into tight fists. Derek, ever protective of his pack members, especially Stiles, was visibly agitated, his posture rigid as he leaned forward in his seat.

"So, any leads on where Stiles could be?" Noah's voice was strained, betraying his desperation as he addressed the group.

Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Nothing yet. I've been trying to pick up his scent, but it's like he's vanished without a trace."

Noah let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Stiles wouldn't just disappear like this. He's not the type to run away."

Peter, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin, interjected, "Perhaps he's just off on one of his little adventures. You know how Stiles can be, always getting himself into trouble."

Derek shot Peter a glare, his eyes flashing with irritation. "This is serious, Peter. Stiles wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone. Something's not right."

Noah nodded in agreement, his gaze hardening. "Exactly. Which is why we need to figure out what happened to him, and fast."

“What if he fell victim to the same disappearances that have been happening around Beacon Hills?” Peter said, “Maybe what got them, got him.” He added, feigning concern and intending it to be an indirect tease to the almost-fully-digested Stiles in his gut, having to hear them mutter about his fate when he’s only a few feet away from them.

“Don’t say that.” Noah said, not wanting to comprehend the possibility that he will never find his son again.

The group fell into a tense silence as they pondered their next move. Noah's mind was racing with worry for his son, while Derek's thoughts were consumed with concern and determination to find Stiles and bring him home safely.

Finally, Noah stood up from his seat, his expression grim. "I need to attend to my duties as Sheriff. Derek, I'm trusting you to lead the search for Stiles. Find my son, Derek. Bring him back to me. Please."

Derek nodded solemnly, his resolve hardening. "I will, Sheriff. I promise."

With that, Noah left the meeting, leaving Derek and Peter to plan their next steps in the search for Stiles. But as they began to discuss their strategy, Derek couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at him, a sinking suspicion that whatever had happened to Stiles was far more sinister than any of them could have imagined.

“You might be right, Peter.”

Peter watched as Derek's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his stoic facade. He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Derek's sudden intensity.

"You think my suggestion is true, don't you?" Peter asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a glint of amusement danced in his eyes.

Derek hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Noah, but... yes, I think you might be right," he admitted, his voice low and serious.

Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why is that?"

Derek sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Stiles... he told me he had a hunch about who was behind all this. He wanted to investigate further, but before he could..."

His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities.

"And he disappeared," Peter finished for him, a note of understanding in his voice. "Without ever knowing if his hunch was right."

Derek nodded grimly, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'm almost certain his hunch was right," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "And now... now he's gone."

Peter studied Derek's expression carefully, sensing the guilt and remorse that lingered beneath his steely exterior. He knew Derek blamed himself for Stiles' disappearance, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

"Well, we'll just have to find him, won't we?" Peter said, injecting a note of false optimism into his voice. "And when we do, we'll make sure whoever's responsible pays for what they've done."

Peter's confident facade faltered as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, his stomach churning violently. He clutched at his abdomen, grimacing as a series of guttural gags and deep burps erupted from his throat, each one more forceful than the last. Saliva dribbled down his chin, mingling with the bile rising in his throat.

Derek watched in concern as Peter doubled over, his face contorted in discomfort. "Peter, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Peter waved him off, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his rebellious stomach. "Fine," he managed to choke out between gags. "Just... a momentary... hiccup."

But the spasms only intensified, each one wracking his body with increasing ferocity. His vision blurred with tears as he struggled to contain the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, with one final heave, Peter expelled a thick wad of saliva and bile, followed by a sudden burst of pressure from his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he felt something solid lodged in his esophagus, blocking his airway.

With a desperate groan, Peter reached up to his mouth, his fingers probing frantically at the obstruction. And then, with a sickening squelch, he felt it give way beneath his touch, sliding up his throat and into the open air.

Derek's eyes widened in horror as Peter withdrew a half-digested jacket from his mouth, its fabric stained and sodden with digestive juices. The sight of it made his stomach churn, bile rising in his own throat at the realization of what had just transpired.

Peter's face paled as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, a cold shiver coursing through his veins. He had never experienced anything like this before, never lost control of his own body in such a humiliating manner. But Derek didn't need an explanation. The truth was plain to see, written in the horrified expression on Peter's face and the undeniable evidence clutched in his trembling hands.

Stiles was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

"I..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had just happened. But he didn’t need to; 

Before Peter could utter a word, Derek was upon him, his fist connecting with brutal force against Peter's abdomen. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through Peter's body, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward with a pained grunt. The force of the punch was enough to warrant another, abrupt burp that erupted from Peter’s mouth–

BuuUuurRrP!

–surprisingly just as loud as his previous one. Peter hadn’t anticipated how fast it happened: Derek's transformation was swift and violent, his fangs elongating into razor-sharp points and his eyes blazing a furious shade of crimson. The air crackled with the raw power of his Alpha aura as he surged forward, his movements fluid and predatory.

The force of Derek's blow was enough to drive the breath from Peter's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes.

"Derek, I—" he began, but Derek cut him off with a fierce growl, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage.

"Don't you dare try to deny it," Derek spat, his voice low and menacing. "You fucking ate him, didn't you? You swallowed him whole like some goddamn monster!"

Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Derek advance, his gaze filled with a primal intensity that sent a chill down his spine– But it wasn’t out of fear, it was pounding out of the intense excitement that he gets to swallow Derek, too. He could feel the weight of Derek's accusation bearing down on him, the truth of it echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.

But even as Derek loomed over him, his fists clenched in fury, Peter had to tease. “Didn’t think Stiles had it in him to be so loud,” He said, “Guess he wanted his final words to be heard.” He had consumed Stiles, yes, and he had burped up Stiles’ last effort at wanting to be seen.

"Save it," Derek snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. "I trusted you, Peter. We all did. And this is how you repay us? By eating one of our own?"

“You should be thankful” Peter replied, lifting up his top to show Derek his churning gut. Loud, fattier, squishable, and the most prominent change: A tattoo of Stiles's face around his naval, a permanent reminder of what he had done and a power symbol to brag about. “I’m one-for-two now, Stiles is still here. Just, different.”

“You fucking…” Derek growled, “…You fucking got his face tattooed?!”

“On the contrary,” He spoke, giving the place where Stiles’ face was imprinted a squish. “He got it tattooed, must’ve liked what happened enough in there to want to stay on it.” Subtly implying that this was simply a byproduct of the digestion.

“W-Wha–?!” Derek stuttered before being cut off by the predator.

“That punch you gave me earlier? Stiles felt it as much as I did. Can still faintly hear him in there.” He taunted, rubbing in the fact that beating Peter is indirectly beating his friend-turned-fat.

With a guttural roar, Derek lashed out again, his fist striking Peter's face with bone-crushing force. Peter was in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from keeling over.

“Stop fucking with me!” The alpha shouted, jumping in for another punch– He wasn’t buying Peter’s shit, thinking what he said was either intended to rub it in or discourage him from beating the shit out of him.

Derek's fist sailed through the air with deadly intent, but Peter was already moving, his reflexes honed by years of survival instinct. He dodged Derek's punch with a swift sidestep, then retaliated with a powerful kick to Derek's abdomen.

The force of Peter's blow sent Derek staggering backward, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to remain upright. With a growl of frustration, Derek dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists as he glared up at Peter.

"Now now, you really want to hurt your boy this much?" Peter taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Derek's anger flared, his instincts urging him to launch himself at Peter in a blind fury. But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over him. Even if he didn’t believe Peter, what if he hurt Stiles in the process? What if it was real? The thought paralyzed him for a split second, just long enough for Peter to seize the opportunity.

With lightning speed, Peter swung his fist forward, his knuckles connecting with Derek's jaw with a sickening thud. Derek's head snapped back, pain exploding behind his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.

Before Derek could react, Peter was upon him, his weight bearing down on Derek's chest as he pinned him to the ground. Derek struggled beneath him, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure of Peter's bulk, his belly.

"You think you can stop me?" Peter taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing, Derek. Just a weak little Alpha who couldn't protect his own pack."

Derek's chest heaved with exertion as he strained against Peter's hold, but the weight pressing down on him was relentless. He could feel his strength waning, his limbs growing heavy with fatigue.

But just as he was about to succumb to the suffocating pressure, a surge of determination flooded through him. With a fierce roar, Derek summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and pushed against Peter with all his might.

For a moment, it seemed as though Peter might be overpowered, his grip faltering ever so slightly. But then, with a final burst of effort, he tightened his hold, his belly pressing down even harder on Derek's chest.

"You're going to– Uunngh… Pay for what you've done, Peter," Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I swear it."

Peter's taunts cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with malice as he leaned in closer to Derek, his smirk widening into a cruel grin.

"You know, Stiles was still alive when you came in for that meeting," Peter sneered, relishing the anguish that flickered across Derek's face. "Who knows if he died from digestion mid-meeting as we obliviously discussed where he went during his final moments, unable to help as he died... Or if your punch was the one to finish him off?"

Derek's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a tight line as he fought to hold back the wave of despair threatening to consume him. "Fuck you, Peter," he spat, his voice thick with emotion.

But Peter merely chuckled, the sound grating on Derek's nerves like sandpaper. "Oh, don't worry, Derek. You'll be joining your pack member soon enough," he taunted, his tone dripping with sinister promise. "The pack’ll reunite, as fat on my fucking belly."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sending a shiver down Derek's spine. He knew he had to find a way out, to break free from Peter's suffocating hold before it was too late. But as he struggled against the crushing weight pinning him down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he might never escape from this nightmare.

With a cruel smirk, Peter leaned in closer to Derek, his eyes glinting with malicious intent as he spat on Derek's face, the spittle landing in a disgusting splatter. "You're going to make such a nice, fat addition to my belly," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

He continued to rub his distended belly against Derek's chest, the pressure making it difficult for Derek to breathe as he forced him to hear the sickening gurgles emanating from within. "Just imagine how much fatter you'll make me once I've digested you and Stiles together," Peter teased, his tone mocking.

Derek gritted his teeth, his fists clenched in impotent rage as he struggled against Peter's overwhelming strength. He knew he was no match for the werewolf in his current state, but he refused to give up without a fight.

Peter pushed his belly further against Derek’s chest and up on his face, forcing him to listen to the gurgles of digestion and feel the remaining weight of Stiles in his beer belly.

But before he could muster a response, Peter's tone shifted, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. "But not now," he mused, almost casually. "I think I'll save the best for last. Noah Stilinski seems like he'd be a delicious appetizer, don't you think?“ He said, ”Family first, right? Poor dad must be missing his son.“

And with that, Peter delivered a swift, powerful punch to Derek's jaw, the force of it knocking him unconscious in an instant. As darkness closed in around him, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light of day again.

Peter's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he effortlessly lifted Derek's unconscious form from the ground, his strength belying his lean frame. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Derek's limp body over his broad shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping.

With Derek's weight settled against him, Peter began the journey back to his penthouse, his steps purposeful and steady as he navigated the dimly lit streets of Beacon Hills. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.

As he approached the entrance to his building, Peter's pace quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through him at the thought of what awaited them inside. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and stepped into the opulent foyer, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.

Carefully, Peter carried Derek through the spacious penthouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the makeshift holding area he had prepared in the basement. With a grunt of effort, he lowered Derek onto the sturdy metal cot, his muscles straining with the effort as he secured the restraints around Derek's wrists and ankles, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to escape.

Once Derek was securely bound, Peter stepped back, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With Derek safely restrained, he could finally focus on his next target: Noah Stilinski.

"Now, off to Noah's workplace..." Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and menacing as he turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs.

The Beacon County Sheriff Station stood as a sturdy fortress against the encroaching darkness of the night. Its exterior was composed of weathered bricks, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and the elements. At the lower few meters of the building, the bricks transitioned into a different type of tile, arranged in a neat pattern that offered a subtle contrast to the rough texture of the bricks above.

A dusty, old sign adorned the top of the double-sided glass doors, its letters slightly faded from years of exposure to the elements. The white frames of the doors gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the street lamps that flanked the entrance. Two additional lamps, one on each side of the doorway, cast pools of light onto the cracked pavement below, their buzzing hum adding to the eerie ambiance of the night.

Peter approached the entrance with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on the illuminated interior beyond the glass doors. Despite the late hour, the station was still abuzz with activity, the sound of ringing phones and hurried footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Most of the deputies had already ended their shifts and gone home for the night, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the quiet hours of the evening.

As Peter pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped into the station, he noted the tired expressions of the few deputies who remained already packing their things to leave, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion as they went about their duties, while most had already gone home far earlier, after their shift ended. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the linoleum floor, illuminating the worn desks and filing cabinets that lined the walls.

At the far end of the room, Peter spotted Sheriff Noah Stilinski, in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the late hour, Noah seemed to be working overtime, his dedication to his duties evident in the way he tirelessly poured over the files spread out before him.

Peter's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way toward Noah's desk, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty station. Tonight, he would pay a visit to the sheriff, and nothing would stand in his way.

As Peter approached Noah's desk, the sheriff looked up from his paperwork, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Peter," Noah greeted, a note of relief in his voice. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Peter offered a sheepish smile as he leaned against the edge of Noah's desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not here with any groundbreaking leads," he admitted, his tone apologetic. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."

Noah nodded, understanding. "Well, it's always good to see a friendly face," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Especially on a night like tonight."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over Noah's fatigued expression. "You look tired, Sheriff," he observed, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Noah chuckled softly, a weary smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. But sometimes, being here helps take my mind off things, if only for a little while."

Peter nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get that," he replied, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a distraction, even if it's just for a moment."

Noah offered a grateful smile in return, appreciating the sentiment. "Exactly," he agreed, his eyes meeting Peter's with a hint of camaraderie. "Besides, it's all part of the job, right? Gotta keep pushing forward, even when things get tough."

Peter nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Noah's weary form. Despite the sheriff's outward strength, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the man who carried the weight of the town's safety on his shoulders.

The sheriff chuckled, “…It’s funny, because as much as I used to bicker with him, I miss him like crazy.” He looked thoughtful, “I say I try to get my mind off things, but truth be told, I couldn’t focus on shit today.” Performance suffered, and working overtime was not just a way to distract but a way to make up.

Peter glanced around the now-deserted sheriff's station, ensuring that they were alone before turning back to Noah with a solemn expression. "You know, I think I might have a lead that could help ease your mind for a bit," he began, his voice low and serious.

Noah's eyes widened with hope, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the prospect of finally getting some answers about his missing son. "You do?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where did he go? Did you find him?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze flickering with a mixture of guilt and determination. "He's right here," he said quietly, reaching down and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of Stiles' face etched into his skin.

Noah's brow furrowed in confusion, his initial excitement fading into frustration. "Peter, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is not the time for jokes," he replied sternly, his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that getting a tattoo of stiles’ face now was bad timing.

But Peter's expression remained deadly serious as he lowered his shirt, his eyes locking onto Noah's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sheriff's spine. "I'm not joking, Noah," he said quietly, his tone devoid of humor. "I swallowed him whole."

Noah's heart skipped a beat as the full weight of Peter's words sank in, his mind struggling to process the horrifying truth of what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you swallowed him whole?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he recounted the gruesome details of Stiles' fate, his words dripping with malice as he described the agony of his son's final moments. Noah's stomach churned with revulsion as he listened, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of Peter's actions.

"You monster," Noah spat, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at Peter with loathing. "How could you do something like that? How could you take my son away from me?"

But Peter remained unfazed by Noah's outburst, his expression cold and impassive as he shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing personal, Sheriff," he replied casually, his tone devoid of remorse. "Your son just tasted fucking delicious." He said, licking his lips and clutching his fat belly.

Noah's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to contain his anger, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from lashing out at Peter. But deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to bring his son back, nothing he could do to make things right, and with his most effective werewolf weaponry far away, nothing he could to avenge.

Peter forcibly rushed, rapidly transforming to his werewolf form as his predatory instincts took over, pinning Noah against his desk with a strength that was impossible for the sheriff to resist. Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the weight of Peter's massive body pressing down on him, his muscles straining against the powerful hold, and his belly pushing against his body– The same belly that relentlessly digested his son.

Despite Noah's tough exterior and years of training as a police officer, he felt utterly powerless in the face of Peter's relentless assault. His mind reeled with shock and disbelief as he realized the true extent of the danger he was in, and he was weak; Mourning his son’s death, his squirms and struggles were instinctual, but he had long given up.

With a savage growl, Peter tore away Noah's clothes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath his predatory gaze. Noah's skin burned with shame as he lay helpless beneath the werewolf's relentless onslaught, his muscles tensing with every agonizing second that passed.

But as Peter's tongue traced a path of fiery heat across his exposed flesh, Noah's resistance began to crumble, his senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through his body. Despite his best efforts to fight it, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering force of Peter's touch, his defenses crumbling beneath the weight of his own despair.

Peter licked down to Noah’s exposed member, licking it all the way down to his balls. Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he felt Peter's lips close around his dick, his body wracked with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the werewolf forced him to submit to his desires. He continued to suck on it, Noah’s dick growing hard in the werewolf’s mouth, his veins rubbing against the fangs.

Before Noah could find any reprieve from the unwanted pleasure, Peter abruptly withdrew his attention from his groin, leaving Noah gasping for air and shuddering with a mix of relief and lingering arousal. But his moment of respite was short-lived, as Peter's tongue trailed up Noah's body with a ferocity that sent shivers down his spine, leaving a slick trail of saliva in its wake.

With a low growl, Peter leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Noah's face as he licked and nipped at his skin with reckless abandon. Noah could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at the werewolf towering over him, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of fear and desire.

As Peter's lips brushed against his own, Noah could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. "Reuniting son and father," Peter teased, his voice dripping with malicious intent. "Isn't that what you wanted, Sheriff?"

Noah's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the words to respond, his mind spinning with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out in anger and defiance, to fight tooth and nail against the fate that awaited him, but he had no leverage; Peter caught him at a most unfortunate time.

"Please," Noah begged, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper. "Don't–"

But before he could finish his plea, Peter's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him with a forceful gesture. With a savage grin, Peter shoved Noah's face into his gaping maw, his lips stretching wide to accommodate the sheriff's head as he forced him down into the darkness of his throat.

Noah's world erupted into chaos as he felt himself being swallowed whole, his body writhing and convulsing with a mix of terror and revulsion. He could feel the walls of Peter's esophagus closing in around him, squeezing him tight as he was dragged down into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

As Peter's jaws clamped shut around him, Noah felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him. He could feel himself being drawn inexorably downward, his body slipping and sliding against the slick, saliva-coated walls of Peter's throat as he was swallowed whole.

First, it was his head, squeezed tightly between the muscular walls of Peter's esophagus, the darkness closing in around him like a suffocating blanket. Then came his shoulders, his arms pinned tightly to his sides as he was pulled further and further into the depths of the werewolf's belly.

Noah's chest was next, compressed and constricted as he was forced deeper into Peter's gullet, the pressure mounting with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of Peter's stomach looming ever closer, the acidic tang of digestive juices burning at the back of his throat.

Finally, it was his legs, his feet kicking and flailing uselessly as they disappeared into the gaping maw of the beast that had consumed him. With one final, desperate gasp, Noah felt himself vanish entirely into the darkness, his entire body enveloped by the relentless grip of Peter's insatiable hunger.

A deep, rumbling burp echoed through the chamber as Peter swallowed Noah down, the sound reverberating off the walls with a sickening finality. With a satisfied grin, Peter patted his distended belly, the outline of Noah's form visible beneath his stretched skin.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter chuckled, his voice muffled by the layers of flesh that separated him from the outside world. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheriff. Hope you enjoy your stay." He said, before correcting himself teasingly. “–Er, and what little consciousness left of your son.”

Peter positioned himself on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly protruding obscenely as he straddled the wooden surface. His legs dangled over the edge, his feet grazing the floor below as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on either side of Noah's abandoned chair.

With a low, guttural growl, Peter began to grind his hips against his swollen belly, the pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust punctuated by a low moan of satisfaction as he reveled in the sensation of his distended stomach pressing against his groin.

"Mmm, you like that, Sheriff?" Peter purred, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it? Knowing that you're just another meal for my appetite."

He continued to hump his belly with increasing fervor, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. His moans grew louder, more urgent, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment.

"God, I love the feeling of a full belly," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And you, Sheriff, you're going to make the perfect addition to my collection. Your son and now you, all snug and cozy in my gut."

With each thrust, Peter could feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his arousal building to a fever pitch. He could practically taste the sweet release that awaited him, the culmination of his twisted desires.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his orgasm washing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure. He collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he basked in the afterglow of his release.

"That was... fucking hot," he panted, his chest heaving with exertion. "Seems like you’re good at three jobs, Sheriff."

Peter sprawled out on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly rising and falling with each labored breath. His skin glistened with sweat and his clothes were rumpled and disheveled, evidence of the intense pleasure he had just experienced.

With a contented sigh, Peter shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the hard surface beneath him. He stretched out his limbs, his muscles relaxing as he allowed himself to sink into the desk's worn surface.

"Don't mind if I nap here a little, do you?" he murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids offering a welcome respite from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.

As he drifted off to sleep, Peter could feel the gentle rocking of his belly as it churned and gurgled around him. It was a soothing sensation, like the ebb and flow of the tide, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Peter's eyes fluttered open as the early morning light streamed through the windows of the sheriff's station. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning as he glanced around the dimly lit room.

Checking the clock on the sheriff's desk, Peter muttered to himself, "Shit, almost got caught by your underdogs. I'm one lucky wolf." He chuckled softly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he thought about how close he had come to being discovered.

With a satisfied sigh, Peter climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his collar. He took a moment to admire the sight of Noah's empty office, the memories of their encounter still fresh in his mind.

As he made his way out of the station, Peter's belly churned and gurgled loudly, a constant reminder of the meal he had consumed the night before. He could hear Noah's faint groans of pain echoing from within his gut, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins.

"Looks like your old age is catching up with you, Sheriff," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Barely lasting in there, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, relishing in the thought of Noah's suffering as he continued on his way, eager to start his day, as his belly’s occupant barely had any air to breathe in.

Peter lazily strolled down the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he whistled a tuneless melody. The early morning sunlight cast long shadows across the pavement, warming his skin as he ambled along.

With a leisurely pace, Peter made his way to a nearby café, where he ordered himself a large coffee and a pastry, not bothering to hide the bulge of his distended belly as he leaned against the counter. The barista shot him a curious glance, but Peter paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Sipping his coffee slowly, Peter found a comfortable spot by the window and settled in, idly watching the world go by as he enjoyed his breakfast. He could feel Stiles' face tattoo stretching further across his bloated belly, the ink distorting slightly as his gut churned and gurgled in protest.

After finishing his meal, Peter decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park, enjoying the peaceful solitude as he wandered beneath the canopy of trees. He paused to admire the vibrant colors of the flowers in bloom, the sweet scent of spring filling the air.

As the morning wore on, Peter eventually made his way back to his penthouse, feeling pleasantly relaxed and content. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into his favorite armchair, his belly now even more swollen and round than before.

Meanwhile, deep within Peter's gut, Noah continued to be slowly digested, his body breaking down bit by bit until only a few hours later, he was nothing more than a distant memory. Peter's waistline expanded, getting much fatter, and another tattoo of Noah’s face appeared on his gut, next to Stiles. Peter gave it a big, nice squeeze.

“Did say I was going to reunite you, didn’t I?” He said, squeezing even tighter. He knew that both Stiles and Noah could feel what he felt, and he could barely hear their incomprehensible thoughts in the back of his mind, the fat on his belly sentient and permanent. “One more, and the pack’s complete.”

Peter descended the stairs to his basement, the cool air enveloping him as he reached the dimly lit chamber. There, tied-up and bruised, was Derek, his gaze fixed on Peter with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

"Ah, Derek, my dear nephew," Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to where Derek was restrained. "It seems you've been busy trying to escape. But you know what they say – it takes a werewolf to know how to tie one."

Derek's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he struggled against his bonds. But Peter merely chuckled, circling around him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You're not going anywhere, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Not until we've had a little chat. Not until I decide that it’s time for you to join the others."

Derek's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down to Peter's distended belly. And then he saw it – the tattoo of Noah's face stretched across Peter's skin, a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen his father.

"Why, Peter?" Derek demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter chuckled darkly as he pressed his distended belly against Derek's face, feeling the werewolf's struggling breath against his skin.

"You know, Derek," Peter said casually, "I've discovered that eating others whole has some... benefits. It's made me stronger, more powerful than ever before."

Derek groaned, his muscles straining against his bonds as he struggled to break free. But Peter merely tightened his grip, relishing in the sensation of Derek's helplessness.

"Now, here's the deal," Peter continued, his voice low and menacing. "You can either give up your alpha status and be a beta in my pack, or..."

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he leaned in closer to Derek's ear.

"...you can become my next meal."

Derek's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of Peter's intentions. He growled, his werewolf fangs showing as he sweared, “Fuck you, I’m doing neither.”

With a sinister grin, Peter leaned down to Derek's face, his tongue snaking out to lick a slow trail across Derek's cheek. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation, disgust etched across his features, but Peter paid no mind.

As Derek's nostrils filled with the scent of blood and decay, his stomach churned with dread. He knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of death.

Before he could react, Peter let out a loud, guttural belch directly in Derek's face, the noxious odor overwhelming his senses. Derek gagged, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep from retching.

As the smell of decay lingered in the air, Peter began to remove the shackles that bound Derek's wrists and ankles, the metal clinking loudly in the silence of the basement. Derek tensed, his muscles straining against the bonds that held him in place, but it was no use—Peter's strength was far greater than his own.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, Peter leaned in close to Derek, his breath hot against the werewolf's ear. "Don't worry, Derek," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be reunited with Stiles soon enough. And all the others I've consumed."

Derek's eyes widened in horror at Peter's words, his mind reeling at the realization of just how many lives Peter had claimed. "How many, you sick fuck?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage and fear.

Peter merely shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I lost count after twenty," he admitted casually, as if discussing the weather. "But who's counting, anyway?"

Peter's belly rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the dimly lit basement. "Looks like it's dinner time," Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a predatory grin, he advanced toward Derek, who struggled against his bonds with renewed desperation.

As Peter loomed over him, Derek's eyes burned with fury. "You won't get away with this, Peter," he snarled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll find a way to stop you, no matter what it takes."

Peter merely chuckled in response, his amusement evident. "Oh, Derek, always so defiant," he taunted, his tone mocking. "But resistance is futile. You're mine now."

With that, Peter lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut around Derek's neck. The werewolf let out a muffled shout as he was dragged into Peter's gaping maw, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing moment.

Peter relished in the sensation of dominance as he swallowed Derek down, inch by inch. He could feel the werewolf squirming and writhing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was establishing his superiority, both as the stronger werewolf and as the one who held Derek's fate in his hands.

As Derek's protests grew louder, Peter's grin widened. "That's it, Derek," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just relax and accept your fate. You're going to make a delicious addition to my collection."

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek down to the halfway point, his belly bulging obscenely with his captive's form. He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of power coursing through him.

With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek's legs and feet, the last parts of his struggling form disappearing into the depths of his churning belly. As Derek's muffled protests faded into silence, Peter let out a satisfied belch, the sound reverberating through the basement.

"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter remarked, rubbing his distended belly with contentment. "Another one down, another step closer to domination."

Leaving the basement behind, Peter ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He decided to stay awake for Derek's digestion, eager to witness the full extent of his power as the werewolf's struggles slowly subsided.

Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the kitchen, Peter settled onto the couch and flicked on the TV. He scrolled through the movie options, selecting a thriller that seemed fitting for the occasion.

As the opening credits rolled, Peter leaned back and munched on his popcorn, his gaze fixed on the screen but his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of Derek's inevitable demise, another victory in his quest for dominance.

With a satisfied smirk, Peter settled in for the show, eager to savor every moment of Derek's agonizing digestion.

As the movie played on, Peter reclined comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn and occasionally letting out a satisfied belch. Bits of chewed-up popcorn and saliva mixed together as they fell into his churning stomach, joining Derek in his acidic prison.

With each passing minute, the acids in Peter's stomach began to build up, creating an increasingly hostile environment for Derek. He could feel the burning sensation as the stomach acids lapped at his skin, searing his flesh with each movement.

Derek's struggles grew more frantic as the stomach filled with acidic fluid, his attempts to escape becoming more desperate by the second. But Peter merely chuckled at his predicament, taunting him as he watched the movie.

"Quiet down, I can't hear the movie over your ass," Peter remarked, his tone mocking as he shifted on the couch to get a better view of the screen. He took another handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the taste as he savored Derek's futile attempts to break free.

Derek, contrary to Peter’s remark, squirmed more in protest; Partially because of the pain he was in, but mostly because he refused to lose to him as the alpha. He felt a weight rising up to his chest, and after thumping it, let out a tremendous burp that squeezed his stomach tightly with how much air it purged.

BuUuuuUuuurRrrrrrRrprppppPp!

After letting out a massive belch, Peter noticed that Derek had stopped moving altogether, his struggles coming to an abrupt halt as he became dead weight. With a satisfied grin, Peter began to massage and rub his distended belly, helping it along in the digestion process.

As he kneaded his bloated stomach, Peter could feel the remnants of his latest meal churning and squirming within him, slowly breaking down under the relentless assault of his stomach acids. With each passing moment, Derek's form grew softer and more pliable, his body gradually dissolving into the sludgy mess that would eventually become nothing more than nutrients for Peter, joining the other pack members as permanent fat.

Content with his meal, Peter settled back onto the couch, the weight of his distended belly pressing heavily against him. The warmth and comfort of his food-induced stupor washed over him, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

Before long, Peter succumbed to the inevitable pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off into a deep slumber. The movie continued to play on in the background, the sound of gunfire and explosions fading into the background as Peter's consciousness slipped away.

Wrapped in the warmth of his food coma, Peter slept soundly, his belly still churning and digesting its latest meal as he dreamed of the countless feasts that lay ahead.

As Peter awoke from his food-induced slumber, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a newfound strength that pulsed within him like a beacon of power. Rising from the couch, he made his way to the nearest mirror, eager to see the physical manifestations of his newfound status as alpha.

As he gazed into his reflection, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his irises glowing a fiery shade of red, a telltale sign of his ascension to alpha status. A grin spread across his face as he took in the changes that had occurred to his body overnight.

His once lean physique had been transformed into something more robust and muscular, his frame filled out with the remnants of his recent feasts. His belly, in particular, had grown rounder and more prominent, the tattoo of Stiles' & Noah’s faces stretched even further as it adorned the bulging expanse of his abdomen. Moreover, a third tattoo had appeared as he slept; The face of his nephew, Derek.

Feeling a surge of arousal at the sight of his altered appearance, Peter couldn't help but indulge in the newfound power that coursed through him. Stepping closer to the mirror, he positioned himself in front of it, his hands roaming over his bloated belly as he savored the sensation of his own touch.

With a low groan of pleasure, Peter leaned back against the wall, arching his back slightly as he allowed his hands to roam lower, tracing the curve of his distended abdomen with a mix of fascination and desire. His fingers danced lightly over the stretched skin, relishing in the softness and warmth that radiated from his newfound source of power.

As he continued to explore his own body, Peter's mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead as the new alpha of Beacon Hills. With Derek's power now coursing through his veins, he knew that he was destined for greatness, destined to rule over the town and its inhabitants with an iron fist.

His hands traced down to his erect member, fingers curling around the shaft as he began to stroke himself with increasing fervor. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As he pleasured himself, Peter couldn't help but feel the presence of the individuals he had consumed swirling within his belly. The fat that enveloped his abdomen seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and he could sense the consciousness of Derek, Noah, and Stiles stirring within him.

“Little fuckers, how does it feel to be part of my body?” He said, speaking them to directly as he continued to pleasure himself, pushing his dick up against the sentient fat on his belly. “You like that I’m getting off to you, don’t you?”

Their thoughts whispered through his mind, mingling with his own desires and fantasies as he surrendered himself to the euphoria of the moment. He could hear their voices, faint but distinct, as they cried out in protest, their fear and confusion adding to the heady mix of sensations that flooded his senses.

But instead of recoiling from their presence, Peter found himself drawn to it, his arousal spiking as he reveled in the power he now held over them. With each stroke of his hand, he felt their fear and desperation fueling his own pleasure, driving him ever closer to the brink of release.

His hands continued their relentless motion, fingers sliding up and down his throbbing member with practiced skill. With each stroke, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation of his own touch, the pleasure building with every pass. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to the recent events—the meals he had consumed, the power he had gained, and the control he now wielded.

As he pleasured himself, Peter moaned softly, the sound mixing with his thoughts as he teased them about their fate. "You're all mine now," he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be with me forever, trapped in this fat," he continued, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "No matter how hard I work out, I'll never lose you."

The thought sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, intensifying the sensation as he continued to stroke himself with increasing fervor. His mind was consumed with images of their struggles, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears as he relished in his newfound power over them.

And then, with a guttural groan, Peter reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his body convulsing with the force of his release. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he ejaculated load after load, his seed spilling forth in a torrent.

As he lay there, spent and sated, Peter couldn't help but smile to himself, his mind still buzzing with the euphoria of his conquest. “Fuck…” He moaned, his gut coated with his cum, particularly around the faces’ tattoos. “That felt fucking good.”

Peter grabbed his belly and squeezed it tight, “Can’t wait to eat more people, and have all of you feel every bit of it as you help digest them.”

[eiralunaire]

second part of Damian going to Spain by Reader.

Reader nodded, knowing that arguing with Damian in the middle of a battle would be pointless. They both positioned themselves, synchronized as if they had trained together for years. As the metahuman launched lightning bolts in all directions, their skills complemented each other perfectly. Damian moved with almost superhuman precision, blocking attacks with a speed that made it seem like he was anticipating every move. Reader, for his part, remained in control, scanning the terrain and looking for an opportunity to counterattack.

The enemy, a man with a slender figure and skin covered in flickering electric lines, seemed to be having fun with the intensity of the confrontation. Each time he launched a bolt of lightning, he did so with a twisted smile, as if he enjoyed the chaos he was causing.

“You like the show, huh?” Damian muttered disdainfully.

“Oh, yes,” the metahuman replied in a raspy voice. “But it’s going to get even better.”

With a shout, the man raised both arms, summoning a thunderstorm directly over the plaza. Lightning began to fall, hitting the ground with a deafening roar. The lights in the surrounding buildings flickered and then went out completely, plunging the area into intermittent darkness that was only broken by flashes of lightning.

Reader knew they had to act fast. Every time the enemy used their power, the energy in the air grew denser, and the battlefield more dangerous. She looked at Damian, knowing they needed a strategy.

“He’s using electricity to feed himself,” she said, trying to raise her voice above the noise. “If we keep defending ourselves, he’ll only gain more power.”

Damian nodded, his mind working at full speed.

“We need to cut off his access to the source. We need a counterattack that will throw him off balance.”

“I can distract him,” she replied. “But I need you to find a way to nullify his power.” Maybe something to insulate him.

Damian frowned, assessing the surroundings. In the distance, he saw some fallen electrical poles and exposed wires. He knew it was a risk, but they could be used to create an overload or short circuit that would neutralize the source of the enemy's power.

"I have it. But I'll need time," he said, his voice firm.

Reader nodded, clenching her jaw as she prepared. With incredible agility, she leapt forward, dodging a bolt of lightning that passed inches from her head. The metahuman watched her, amused.

"You want to play with electricity again?" he laughed, launching a new blast at her.

Reader responded with quick movements, showing off his dexterity. He leapt through the rubble, moving back and forth, expending his energy as he avoided the attacks. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his focus was absolute. While keeping him busy, Damian ran to the area where the electrical wires hung dangerously close to the ground.

With surgical precision, he began to manipulate the wires, making sure the flow of energy was redirected. He knew they didn’t have much time before the enemy realized what they were doing, but there was no room for error. Sparks flew around them, but his focus never wavered.

Finally, Damian connected the wires, creating a closed loop that began to overload the system. Around the plaza, the remaining lights began to flicker, and the metahuman’s lightning became erratic. He didn’t seem to understand what was happening, until it was too late.

“Now!” Damian shouted.

Reader, taking advantage of the distraction, launched a precise blow towards the metahuman, straight to his torso, causing him to retreat. The enemy staggered, surprised by the force of the attack and by the overload that was beginning to affect his control over electricity.

With a final spark of energy, the metahuman fell to the ground, unable to continue. The lightning dissipated in the air, and the square fell into an almost sepulchral silence, only interrupted by the crackling of the damaged cables.

Damian approached Reader, both breathing heavily after the intense battle. For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes, the weight of worry, tension, and relief in the air. Damian extended a hand towards her.

—Good job.

Reader took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin despite the coldness of the night. There was something in the way their fingers intertwined that gave him a feeling of security, that, despite everything, they had emerged victorious once again.

“Thank you,” she said, with a tired smile.

Damian watched her for a moment, still holding her hand.

“You shouldn’t have come alone.”

“I wasn’t alone, there was a team,” Reader replied, though she knew he didn’t mean that. “I can take care of myself, Damian. You know that.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

The intensity in his words made Reader’s heart race. She knew how protective he could be, but she also knew that deep down, that concern came from a deeper place. A place Damian allowed few people to enter.

“I’m fine,” she assured, lightly squeezing his hand. “I’m fine because you’re here.”

Damian looked into her eyes for a moment, his expression softening. Then, he nodded, letting out a soft sigh.

“Come on. It’s time to go.”

They both turned towards the plaza, where the support team was beginning to arrive to secure the area and neutralize the fallen metahuman. Although the battle was over, there was much to do, but the most important thing was that they were together.

As they walked towards Damian's jet, the sky was beginning to lighten with the first signs of dawn. Reader felt the tiredness build up in his body, but he didn't care. He knew that, despite the dangers, they would always have each other.

And for Damian, that was the only thing that mattered.

[briarhearts-art]

swap au character sheets for sonic n shadow are here!! :D (i still have 4 more to do . we don't talk about it) more swap au infodumping down below whee

so, this is a swap au of SA2 - sonic and shadow have effectively switched places, though it's not a complete mirror of canon bc these two would react in VERY different ways. i'm don't wanna spoil too much yet,,, but here are some brief intros about them :3

-

Sonic is the fastest weapon ever made, created for agility and speed. he wasn't a perfect creation however, despite Gerald's efforts, and his engineered body is often prone to decaying if he's not careful. his inhibitor rings limit his power in more ways than one, preventing him from tapping into his full potential

Shadow isn't considered the hero of Mobius; he tries to keep a low profile, but whenever Robotnik cranks up the intensity of his schemes, Shadow's always there to stop him. unlike canon Sonic, he doesn't have any special powers of his own; his speed comes from his enhanced rollerskates, and the red in his quills is absolutely just dye

(Shadow's red eyes are from contact lenses. because they're "cool." Rouge keeps laughing at him for it)

Sonic, similar to canon Shadow, can utilize chaos energy really well! just in very different ways:

he doesn't use chaos control. he's fast enough that he's never felt the need to learn it, though if he needed to, he would

"Chaos Armor;" instead of using chaos spears, Sonic uses chaos energy to enhance the force behind his physical attacks. it manifests with the appearance of armor, hence the name

Shadow, on the other hand, can still use chaos energy! repeated exposure to it over his years of fighting Robotnik (and turning super) has led to a LOT of residual chaos energy lingering in his body:

admittedly it doesn't do much besides helping him heal faster + have a high metabolism lmao, but he can use chaos control without an emerald. it'll just drain him very quickly

can use chaos spears when in proximity of an emerald

mostly though Shadow relies on physical attacks; he wears lots of joint guards along with his skates to guard him from rough landings

OKOK no more yapping that's all for now im normal now (lie)

[kodasmind]

Unexpected Allies pt 2

The Fight for Respect

**Rhea Ripley x Reader x Damian Priest**

The arena was electric with excitement as Damian Priest stepped into the ring for his match against Carlisto. The crowd roared as the bell rang, signaling the start of the bout. Damian and Carlisto exchanged powerful blows, their movements swift and precise. After a grueling back-and-forth, Damian managed to land his finishing move, securing the pinfall victory.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Damian stood tall, raising his arms in celebration. He soaked in the adulation, his focus momentarily on the audience and the adrenaline coursing through him. However, the mood in the arena quickly shifted as JD McDonagh, Finn Bálor, Liv Morgan, and Dominik Mysterio stormed down the ramp, their expressions filled with malice.

The crowd’s cheers turned into a chorus of boos as JD, Finn, Liv, and Dom surrounded the ring. Without hesitation, they attacked Damian, who was still celebrating his hard-fought win. Finn and JD pummeled Damian, while Liv and Dom joined in, their assault merciless and coordinated.

From the backstage area, you and Rhea Ripley watched the scene unfold on a monitor. Without a second thought, you both bolted towards the ring, determined to help Damian. As you reached the ring, the chaotic scene grew even more intense.

Liv had just delivered a brutal kick to Damian’s ribs when you and Rhea slid under the ropes. You immediately engaged Liv, tackling her and pulling her away from Damian. Rhea, eyes blazing with anger, made a beeline for Dom and JD.

Rhea’s fury was palpable as she charged at Dom. Dom barely had time to react as Rhea grabbed him, lifting him with ease. She was about to deliver a Riptide, her signature move, when Liv, having recovered from your earlier attack, rushed to Dom’s aid. Liv managed to intercept Rhea, shoving her aside and causing Rhea to lose her grip on Dom.

“Stay away from him!” Liv shouted as she squared off against Rhea, the two women glaring at each other.

You, meanwhile, were locked in a fierce struggle with Liv, keeping her occupied and preventing her from interfering further. The crowd's cheers were a mix of support for Damian and excitement over the unexpected melee.

Damian, using the chaos to his advantage, managed to push JD and Finn off him. He staggered to his feet, clearly exhausted but determined. With a furious look, he joined the fray, aiding you and Rhea against the combined forces of Dom, Liv, JD, and Finn.

Rhea and you worked together with a fierce intensity, each move calculated to take down the attacking group. Rhea delivered a series of powerful strikes, pushing Dom and Finn back. You used your agility to keep Liv and JD at bay, your focus sharp as you fought alongside Rhea.

Despite the odds, the combined effort of you, Rhea, and Damian began to turn the tide. JD and Finn, realizing they were outnumbered and overpowered, started to retreat. Dom and Liv, caught off guard by the unexpected alliance, followed suit, scrambling up the ramp to escape the chaos.

As the attackers fled, you and Rhea stood alongside Damian in the center of the ring. Damian, breathing heavily but clearly relieved, glanced at both of you with gratitude.

“Thanks for the help,” Damian said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “I didn’t expect the cavalry to show up.”

Rhea, still catching her breath, gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Just doing what needed to be done. We’re not letting them get away with this.”

You met Damian’s gaze, your expression resolute. “Consider it a temporary truce. Next time, we might be on opposite sides again.”

Damian gave a small smile, clearly appreciative of the support. “Got it. Let’s take this victory for now.”

As the arena’s lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers began to settle, you, Rhea, and Damian stood together in the ring. The unexpected alliance, forged in the heat of battle, had made a powerful statement. Despite the tensions that still lingered, the night had proven that sometimes, even the most unlikely allies could come together in the face of adversity.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Sanemi Shinazugawa with a Thunder Hashira S/O

Sanemi’s intense, no-nonsense personality fits perfectly with a Thunder Hashira S/O, whose own electric energy matches his ferocity in battle. Both are known for their aggressive fighting styles, and together, they’re a storm of power, lightning and wind clashing in perfect, chaotic harmony.

Sanemi is drawn to his Thunder Hashira S/O because of their explosive nature. He admires their speed and precision, and how they can strike down demons with lightning-fast attacks. Their agility in combat fascinates him—there’s something about watching them dart through the battlefield like a bolt of lightning that makes his heart race.

Their fights are a sight to behold. Sanemi’s wind techniques whip through the air in tandem with his S/O’s lightning strikes, creating a tempest of raw power that tears through even the toughest demons. The mix of wind and thunder is both destructive and awe-inspiring, leaving behind scorched ground and shattered enemies in their wake.

While they’re both hot-headed and intense, Sanemi and his S/O often butt heads due to their similarly fiery temperaments. Arguments can get loud and heated, especially when they disagree on tactics or how to handle a situation. However, they never hold grudges for long, knowing that their shared passion only makes them stronger as a couple.

Despite his rough exterior, Sanemi deeply respects his Thunder Hashira S/O’s strength. He’s the first to compliment their speed, precision, and unwavering determination, though his compliments are usually gruff and unpolished. When he says things like, “You’re not half-bad,” they know it’s his way of saying he thinks they’re incredible.

His S/O knows how to handle Sanemi’s brash personality. They don’t let his tough demeanor get to them and are one of the few people who can match his energy without backing down. When Sanemi gets too aggressive or stubborn, they call him out with equal intensity, which Sanemi secretly loves. He appreciates having someone who’s not afraid to stand up to him.

Despite the constant intensity between them, Sanemi and his S/O have a deep connection. Their passion for fighting demons and protecting others bonds them, and though they don’t often express their feelings with words, their actions say everything. Whether it’s the way Sanemi fights alongside them without hesitation or the way they watch his back during missions, they trust each other completely.

Sanemi has a soft spot for his S/O’s quick wit and sarcastic sense of humor. He might pretend to be annoyed when they tease him, but he actually loves it. Their playful banter is one of the rare things that can lighten his usually serious mood.

Even though Sanemi is fiercely independent, he finds comfort in knowing that his Thunder Hashira S/O is by his side. When they fight together, he doesn’t have to worry about them; he knows they can handle themselves. This mutual trust allows them to push each other to new limits, making them an unstoppable force.

While Sanemi isn’t the most outwardly affectionate person, his Thunder Hashira S/O knows he cares deeply. He shows his love through his actions—bandaging their wounds after a fight, giving them his cloak when they’re cold, or standing silently beside them after a tough mission. It’s in these small gestures that Sanemi’s protective nature shines through.

Together, they’re a powerful, unstoppable duo. Sanemi’s wind techniques and his S/O’s thunder strikes create a deadly combination that leaves no room for hesitation. Their shared intensity fuels their relationship, and though they may clash at times, they both know that they make each other stronger, both in battle and in life.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[awfcstoriesandfics]

The power couple- Alessia Russo x y/n Williamson

Once upon a time in the vibrant world of women's football, Alessia Russo and her girlfriend, Y/N Williamson, emerged as a dynamic duo in the barclays Women's Super League (WSL). Both athletes were not only known for their exceptional skills on the pitch but also for their strong bond off it.

Alessia, a forward with a knack for scoring spectacular goals, was known for her agility and creativity. Y/N, a steadfast defender, brought strength and resilience to her team. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, inspiring their teammates and fans alike.

One sunny afternoon, as they trained together at their club's training ground, they decided to challenge each other to a friendly competition. The goal was simple: who could score the most goals in a series of penalty kicks? Laughter echoed through the field as they took turns, each one playfully teasing the other about their missed shots.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the pitch, they took a break and sat on the grass, sharing stories about their dreams and aspirations. They spoke of their hopes for the season, the importance of supporting each other, and how they wanted to use their platform to inspire young girls to pursue their passion for football.

Their bond was not just about love; it was about mutual respect and admiration for each other's talents. Fans often marveled at how they played with such synergy during matches, their understanding of each other's movements leading to breathtaking plays and goals.

As the season progressed, their team found itself in the final of the WSL Cup. With the stadium filled with cheering fans, Alessia and Y/N took to the pitch, determined to make their mark. The match was intense, with both players showcasing their skills. In a crucial moment, Alessia made a brilliant run, and Y/N, reading her perfectly, delivered a precise pass. Alessia scored the winning goal, and the stadium erupted in celebration.

After the match, amidst the cheers and confetti, they embraced, knowing that their love and teamwork had led them to victory. They were not just a powerful couple; they were champions, both on and off the field, inspiring others to believe in the power of love, teamwork, and dedication.

From that day on, Alessia and Y/N continued to shine in their careers, supporting each other through every challenge, proving that together, they could conquer anything. Their story became a beacon of hope and inspiration for many, reminding everyone that love and passion could indeed change the game.

[pumperpup]

In the shadow of Mount Taygetos, under the fading caress of the setting sun, a lone Spartan warrior named Areus made his way through the dense, untamed forests that bordered the lands of Sparta. His body, already a testament to the rigorous training and discipline that defined the Spartan way of life, bore the marks and scars of countless drills and skirmishes. Yet, within him burned an insatiable desire for strength that transcended the limits of mortal capabilities.

As the other warriors returned to their quarters, weary from the day's training, Areus felt a restless energy urging him to venture further, driven by tales of ancient gods and hidden sanctuaries whispered amongst his kin. His journey led him deep into the heart of the wilderness, to a place untouched by time, where the air itself hummed with a mysterious power.

It was there, in a secluded grove illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, that Areus stumbled upon a pool of water unlike any he had ever seen. The pool, lit by the light of the moon, shimmered with an ethereal glow, its surface smooth and inviting. A sense of destiny washed over Areus as he approached, drawn by the pool's mesmerizing beauty and the faint, inexplicable pull of the divine.

Remembering the legends of his people, Areus knew this was no ordinary body of water. It was said that such pools were blessed by the gods themselves, offering those who were worthy a gift beyond measure. With a heart pounding with anticipation and reverence, Areus stepped into the pool, his skin tingling as the water enveloped him, a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

The transformation began the moment Areus submerged himself. The waters glowed brighter, wrapping around him like a cocoon of pure energy. His muscles tensed, then expanded, growing in size and strength with each passing second. The pain was intense, as if his very fibers were being torn apart and knitted back together, stronger and more powerful than before. His body surged with an otherworldly force, his veins coursing with the might of the gods.

When Areus emerged from the pool, he was transformed. His physique, already formidable, was now a marvel of muscular perfection, each contour and sinew defined with impossible precision and power. He felt an invincibility coursing through him, a boundless strength that knew no equal. The warrior stood, a solitary figure bathed in the moonlight, reborn through divine intervention.

The journey back to Sparta was a blur, Areus's mind reeling from the magnitude of his transformation. As he rejoined his fellow warriors the following day, his newfound strength was undeniable. In training, he moved with a grace and power that outmatched even the strongest of his peers. His strikes were thunderous, his agility unmatched, a testament to the divine gift he had received.

Areus's discovery of the pool remained his secret, a sacred bond between him and the gods. His legendary prowess on the battlefield became the stuff of Spartan lore, a tale of one warrior's quest for greatness and the divine favor that granted it. Areus had transcended the limits of mortality, a lone figure whose strength was a gift from the heavens, forever remembered as the Spartan who touched the divine.