#tree adams slaps for this

[thoughts-of-the-unheard]

idc what anyone says, tree adams is the biggest shipper of them all, he literally named his songs stuff like "Bellarke Theme" "Clexa Theme" "Kabby" "Marper" "Octillian" "Bellamy and Clarke" "Miller and Bryan" "Kane and Abby" "Raven and Shaw" "Delilah & Jordan" "Bellamy and Clarke Suite" like whos doing it better

[sirenmoth]

Prey

Werewolf x GN!reader

CW:DUBCON, outdoor sex, forest sex, predator/prey kink, knotting, marathon sex, penetrative sex, mind break, breeding, cockwarming, a lot of cum

Running as quickly as your legs could carry you, your legs like jelly as the mess of mixed cum and saliva trickled down between your legs, the old dry mess combining with the fresh still warm load, you hope it wouldn't leave a trial that leads the beast directly to you. You just got away from it again, just barely, having it mount you on the cold forest floor and pound into you with abandon over and over while you begged and screamed in mercy or in pleasure, it was hard to say as it pulled orgasm after orgasm from you until it was satiated for a short time, its knot lodged inside you keeping everything in. The beasts cock nice and snug as you warm it with your gummy walls.

How many have you had? It was hard to say, as everything was blurring together, your mind hazing over into a lust-filled, cockdrunk state more after each round.

You'd run, get found, mounted by the beast that towered over you, and mounted and fucked into the dirt until you couldn't speak or think once more, a small breather while it laid on top of you while it licked you like it was grooming a pup. Both yours and its lower half covered in cum and sweat, you can feel its soaked fur against your skin as it kept you speared on its cock with the knot that kept you both in place, making sure the creature's thick, warm fertile cum took, making sure a litter was ensured by the end of it all. Once the knot deflated and slipped to you, the second it got off you, and you could stand on your own two legs, you ran.

Rinse and repeat.

Only know it was hard to do that, you steps turned into stumbles, and you turned to leaning on the trees for supports, your mind foggy and exhausted, it was getting harder to get away from the creature, and you know that is exactly what it wants, it's adamant on keeping you close and stuffed full of its cock and cum, never letting you stray to far from it. Mud ran up your legs from your feet to your knees while the mess of white fluids down from your stretched open hole and thighs, the two mixing in the middle, leaves were stuck in your hair, and you had dirt and mud all under your nails and over your hands.

Your eyes blurred as black spots speckled in your vision, leaning against the nearest tree until it past, stumbling a bit more and hoping there is enough distance between the two of you to give you a proper rest. The thumping of paws against the leaf covered ground proved you wrong, you freeze and listen carefully for where it's coming from, then darting off in the opposite direction with it hot on your heels, breathing down your neck as your bruised and sore knees hit the earth, digging into the dirt.

You breathe heavy as you hear it approach, did you stop on purpose or did your legs give out? You couldn't tell as you see its front paw come into view, "please..." you meekly whimper out, wishing it will go easy on you this time. Mounting you, pressing your shoulders down, your hands already bracing for what's going to happen, face sideways in the dirt. It humped your ass a few times in failed attempts to enter, after a minor adjustment and thanks to the dripping mess it left behind, its cock slides in one go, balls deep inside your warm walls.

Without warning and giving you no time, it starts thrusting, rutting into you with reckless movements and the need to breed you. "Fffuuucck- mmm," you moan out, the force of the thrusts pushing you forced causing your knees to dig in further into the earth, hands trying to find some stability to ground yourself.

Nails and claws pin-prick your skin, the momentous force of the thrust rocking you back and forth, but still keeping you impaled on its flared red, heavy cock. The sound of slapping skin muffled against fur and high pitched whines echo out into the surrounding forest, please of mercy or maybe for more.

It's hard to say as you let yourself sink deeper into the mental fog.

"yesyesyesyesyes-" you garble out as another orgasm washes over you, dragging you deeper into the fog clouding your mind, any thoughts you had about running were quickly being pounded out of you with a sicking wet thwap as its fur covered pelvis and thighs met the meat of your ass, its legs on either side of your hips.

Cum, both yours and the beasts, is pushed out of you in clumps and down your legs, onto the earth underneath your limp body. Your legs sore from the friction causing them to dig and drag on the dirt and from the position you're in, you moved your arms to be under your head to cushion it, still the claws dug into your shoulders and your nails into the flesh of your palms. Huffs and growls could be heard from above you, as you cum again, drool starts falling from your lips as you left yourself go, the mental fog finally took over.

All that's left in your mind is the thought of the big, flared cock rutting inside you and how good it's making you feel, bringing you waves upon waves of mindless pleasure as it hits that sweet spot inside you over and over. Giving in to you, you slump your top half down and raise your ass high into the air, presenting and offering yourself to the beast that had been fucking you so good, all cognitive thoughts have left your mind as you enjoy the sensations. Somehow it moves faster, choked moans and sobs escape your throat from every thrust the creature buries itself deep inside you again and again.

"P-please." you manage to get out, not sure what you're begging for any more, but the beast seems to have an idea on what. A brief moment of clarity and to breathe as it stops thrusting but still stays inside you, it repositions so you're now fully pinned underneath, head squished into your arms and your body into the dirt, thighs pinning your calves down as the beast pinned you down, effectively trapping you now with nowhere to go, if you wanted to run it would be impossible. Then it starts back up, pounding and rutting harder than before, this time with a purpose and a goal, barely pulling its cock out before slamming it back in, never leaving you empty, its heavy sack slapping against your thighs.

You can feel its knot swelling against your abused hole again, pressing against trying to get in, more choked whines leave you, "Kn-knot me, please, ple-please." Absent mindedly begging to be knotted and filled, the creature happily obliged. It wanted to breed you full of its litter, and here you are begging for it, even if you didn't know it in your cockdrunk haze.

One finale hard thrust and its knot slips in, inflating as the creature cums one last time deep in you. You cum from the sensation alone, the sensation of the knot stretching you open again, your hole clenching around the knot, trying to pull every last ounce of white fertile fluid out of it. You both lay there, catching your breaths, your sweat covered skin sticking to its fur, drool leaking out of your mouth, eyes rolled back into your skull. Its cum shooting high up, deep inside you, keeping you in this lust-filled mindset a little while longer. Allowing yourself to be licked and groomed by the beast.

Once the knot deflates and the beast pulls out, it expects you to run, but you don't. You lay exhausted and limp on the forest floor, cum spilling out of you, the creature picks you up and flings you over its shoulder, knowing it has won the game you both were playing. Its prize? Fucking you over and over while you lay and look pretty in its nest, having you take it cock over and over while it breeds you. It's not satisfied yet, you notice its cock emerging from its sheath again as it walks, bobbing up and down with each step, who knows how long it will be before it's done with, hopefully you can survive until then.

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[hazbinwhoree]

HELLOOOOO I’m new to tumblr and I’ve been reading a couple of ur fanfics and I rlly like them. idrk how requests work, but could u please write a Sub!Adam x Dom! Female Reader? Thank u and have a good day! 🫶🫶

Oxytocin

A/N: This was heavily requested lowkey.

(Name) sometimes tried to get the upperhand in bed, and Adam never let her. Little did he know, she wasn’t really trying. All it took was playing on his incredibly high sex drive.

They were having a picnic out in a secluded location, a little waterfall surrounded by trees. They were the only ones around, and (Name) decided to come over and straddle Adam’s lap. Adam took a second to decide which was more important; his ribs, or seeing where this went.

He decided seeing where this went was more important, and discarded his ribs on the picnic blanket. He ran his hands up and down (Name)’s thighs. “Where did this come from, baby?” (Name) didn’t answer, shutting him up with her lips against his.

As they made out, Adam flipped them so that (Name) was on her laying on her back, him on top of her. To his dismay, she pulled back. “Position we were in, or else we stop.” Adam looked taken aback, but he definitely didn’t want to stop, so he crawled off of her and let her push him onto his back.

“This isn’t the position we were in–” “Shut up.”

Adam wasn’t sure how to feel about (Name)’s attitude, but his sex drive outweighed his reservations. He let her crawl on top of him and reconnect their lips. He tried to grope her chest, and she slapped his hands away. “You ask before you touch.”

Adam whined. “What the fuck, why?” “Because I said so. We can stop…” “No, can I touch you?” “What’s the magic word?” (Name) purred. “Please,” Adam growled. “Let me touch you.” “Hm. Fine,” (Name) hummed.

Adam excitedly slid his hands up (Name)’s shirt. He groped and massaged her breasts for a moment before deciding he wanted to see them, and trying to tug (Name)’s shirt over her head.

(Name) caught his wrists and with Adam off guard, managed to pin his arms down. “You undress first.”

She let him go and Adam gaped at her. Still, he wanted to see her naked, so he quickly began stripping. When he was completely bare, (Name) sat back on her heels. “Now you can undress me.”

Excited, Adam did so. He took his time, savoring the reveal of her body. Once he’d removed her shirt, pants, and panties, (Name) pushed him onto his back again. She laid on his chest, reconnecting their lips. Adam grabbed her hips and tried to pull her down so he could grind against her, but (Name) bit his lip before pulling back.

“You’re not in charge,” she told him, taking his wrists and pushing his arms down.

“You know I could easily overpower you, right?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. (Name) smirked. “But you won’t. Because I have something you want and you’ll do whatever I want to get it.”

Adam shuddered. She wasn’t wrong.

(Name) reconnected their lips and they made out steadily until (Name) reached out and began to pet Adam’s wings, causing Adam to jolt and moan into her mouth. “Fuck,” he panted. “Yeah?” (Name) smirked. “That feel good? I know how sensitive your wings are~”

Adam’s dick twitched, neglected. (Name) took pity and slid her body down so that his erect dick rested between her folds. She let him make small little thrusts with his hips to get some friction, not ceasing her ministrations on his wings.

Adam whined, slowly becoming a mess underneath her. (Name) slapped his thigh to get his hips to still before slowly beginning to move on her own, teasingly slowly rubbing herself against his dick.

“C-come on,” Adam panted. “What?” (Name) asked coyly. “What do you want? Use your words.”

“I want to fuck you,” Adam tried to growl but his voice cracked.

“Beg for it.”

Adam was silent for a moment. (Name) leaned herself up with her hands planted on Adam’s chest, staring down at him. “Well?”

“Please, please get on my dick and let me fuck you, I need it so bad, baby, stop teasing, please let me inside of you.”

(Name) grinned, wiggling her hips and drawing a groan from Adam. “I can’t say no to such a cute face.” She sat back, grabbing Adam’s cock and lining it up with her opening. Then she sank down slowly.

Adam panted and whimpered, the pace torturously slow. When (Name) had taken all of him, she sat still for a moment. “Buck your hips and I’ll get off,” she warned when she felt him twitch underneath her. Adam whined. But he didn’t move his hips, and was rewarded by (Name) finally moving.

She planted her feet on the picnic blanket on either side of Adam, steadying herself with her hands splayed against his chest. She began to ride him, and Adam threw his head back. “Fuck, fuck,” he hissed. (Name) bit her lip.

Adam held onto her thighs for dear life as she rode him, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting filling the small clearing. (Name) made sure to sink down as far as she could every time, taking all of Adam inside of her. The position allowed him in deep, which was benefitting both of them heavily.

(Name) picked up the pace, her legs beginning to shake.

“Fuck, baby, don’t stop,” Adam babbled beneath her. Seeing him coming so undone went straight to (Name)’s core.

(Name) put her full body weight into riding Adam’s cock. Her legs were getting tired, and she knew she probably wouldn’t have enough energy to chase her own orgasm, but Adam was nearing his and that was all that mattered.

She could feel his dick twitch and observe the way his wings fluttered, warning signs he was nearing his peak.

“You gonna cum in me, my love?” Adam’s grip on her thighs was bruising. He nodded vigorously, his eyes shut tight. A few more bounces on his dick had Adam crying out, cumming deep inside of her.

(Name) didn’t move off of him, pulling him up into a sitting position. They held one another as (Name) sat in his lap, his dick still buried in her. She looked down to see the mess they’d made and grinned. Cum was leaking out of her hole despite still being plugged by Adam.

“That’s a lot a cum,” she smiled, kissing where Adam’s nose would be (he was wearing his mask). “You must be trying to make me a mommy.” Adam blushed, looking utterly fucked out and content.

“We should do that more often,” he said, still coming down from his orgasm. (Name) smiled, kissing his lips sweetly before climbing out of his lap, cum staining the picnic blanket. “Anytime.”

[alltheirdamn]

Dark!Preacher!Joel x f!reader

Summary: You indulge in the voice of the Devil for one fateful night. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Caution/TW: DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: NONCON ELEMENTS, no outbreak AU, undisclosed age gap (joel is 56 and reader is in her late 20's), infidelity, religion!kink, degredation!kink, humiliation!kink, praise!kink, choking, slapping, forced oral (m receiving), deepthroating, rough hair pulling, boot licking, light fingering, pain!kink, noncon unprotected piv sex, pet names (little one, good girl), degrading terms (bitch, whore, slut), dirty/filthy language, rough sex, forced orgasm, noncon creampie, no aftercare A/N: this is WAYYY out of my comfort zone to write, but something about the idea of Preacher!Joel just did it for me. I figured I'd test out the waters & see where it gets me... anyway, enjoy and PLEASE READ THE TAGS/WARNINGS

Masterlist

You weren’t oblivious to Preacher Joel's sidelong glances and lingering stares. Every Sunday, you sat in the second row of the church, watching him preach the Lord’s gospel with a baleful smile only meant for you, while your husband, Adam, sat beside you blissfully unaware. So, when you proposed the idea of taking a pie over to his home—alone—Adam didn’t even bat an eye. 

“Are you taking over a cherry pie?” Adam had asked from the living room. 

You were bent over the oven, pulling the hot pie dish onto a trivet with shaky hands. Sunday service that morning had been your breaking point; the communion dish made its rounds through the pews, and you found Joel’s eyes tracking your mouth as you brought the grape wine to your lips. Your resolve snapped, and the desire to feed into temptation blurred any and all judgment you had since maintained. 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” You hollered back at Adam, wrapping the pie in a terrycloth. 

“I’m sure he will, honey.”

Untieing the canvas apron from around your waist, you smoothed down your white church dress and shuffled the pie dish into your arms. Crossing into the living room, you kissed the crown of Adam’s head softly before saying goodbye. He didn’t look up once. 

The benefit of living in a small town was that all the homes were fairly close together, meaning it was a short walk to the preacher’s home, which resided behind the town’s church. It was far past supper time, and most of the town had tucked into bed by now, leaving you alone with the wind between the trees and a man who could be your undoing. The only sounds echoing around you were your feet crunching along the dirt road and the howls of stray dogs in the distance. Clutching the pie closer to your chest, you continued walking toward his home with the Devil on your shoulder. 

Preacher Joel’s home was modest and small; the white paint on the wood structure chipped away from years of weathering. His black pickup truck was parked on the side of the house, the wheels dirty and the paint smeared with mud. The closer you got to his front porch steps, the more rapidly your heart pounded inside your chest. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew every muscle drawing your body closer to his home was being fueled by the Devil. Under the flickering front porch light, you brushed your knuckles against the door and held your breath. 

Heavy footfall sounded on the other side of the door before it opened, revealing the man that plagued every thought in your mind. Joel stood before you with his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing the dark chest hair that spattered across his tan chest. His patchy grey beard was well-trimmed as if he had just refreshed it, and a lascivious grin broke across his face as his eyes raked over you. 

“This is a mighty nice surprise,” he whistled. 

“I—I wanted to bring over a pie,” you stuttered. “As a thank you.”

“For what?” He quirked a thick eyebrow, his piercing brown eyes staring down at you. 

“It was just on my heart to do something nice,” you lied. 

Joel reached out for the pie dish, his warm hands brushing over yours as he took it. You weren’t sure what to do with your empty hands, so you found yourself fidgeting with the gold cross dangling around your neck. 

“Come in,” he said, sidestepping to welcome you in. 

The second your feet walked over the threshold, you knew temptation had sunk its teeth into you. 

“This is a lovely home,” you commented, following him to the kitchen. 

The living room was surrounded by dark wooden walls, with a beige loveseat in the center and a TV box pressed against the opposite wall. There were remnants of him in every corner of the room: a half-drank glass of whiskey, a newspaper folded on the coffee table, and his black leather Bible resting on the arm of the sofa. The kitchen was just as simple, with a gas stove and small white fridge nestled against wooden cabinetry. 

Joel set the pie dish on the granite countertop, turning to the cabinets to retrieve a small plate, a fork, and a knife. You fixated on the way he worked at rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the veins in his forearms flexing with each fold of the fabric. He let out a small chuckle, forcing your eyes to tear away from his hands and back to his deep brown eyes. 

“Y’make this yourself?” He asked, cutting himself a slice. 

“I did,” you nodded. “It’s cherry.”

“Mmhm, my favorite,” he hummed. 

He dug his fork into the pie, the crust crumbling onto the plate as he lifted it to his mouth. You watched as his mouth wrapped around the utensil, a low groan escaping his throat as he tasted the cherry filling you had made by scratch. Under thick eyebrows, his eyes closed while he savored the taste, and you felt the swell of pride stirring inside you. 

“It’s good?” You asked. 

“S’delicious,” he mumbled, digging into it for a second bite. 

Instead of bringing the next bite to his lips, he offered it to you, urging you to lean over the countertop and meet him halfway. How were you to deny the preacher of something he wanted? Opening your mouth, you welcomed the sweet taste onto your tongue, meeting his eyes as you wrapped your lips around the fork. 

“Delicious, ain’t it?” 

“Yes,” you whispered as he pulled the fork from your mouth. 

Joel’s eyes dilated with a surge of lust. You never saw that look on your husband, but it was unmistakable when you looked into those dark eyes now. A sudden thrum of warmth ran through your body the longer studied you, forcing you to squirm in place. He must have taken notice of it when he decided to round the countertop and swarm you with his broad frame. His finger curled under the chain of your necklace, tugging at it until you lifted your eyes to his. 

“You’re a temptation, little one,” he drawled. “Just look at you.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me during your sermons,” you confessed.

He cocked his head to the side in amusement; his plush lips quirked up in a smile. His finger coiled around the chain tighter, pulling you a step closer. You inhaled the scent of whiskey and smoke that lingered on his shirt as it brushed against your chest. The thin fabric of your dress wasn’t enough to hide the shiver that ran over your spine. Joel tucked a stray hair behind your ear, bending down to brush his lips over the shell of your ear. 

“Y’sure you ain’t seein’ the Devil?”

His hand released your necklace, only to wrap around your throat in a tight grasp. You struggled for air under his grip, your nails raking down his bare forearms. There was an uncanny wildness lighting up his eyes as he watched you gasping under the forceful pressure of his fingers.

“Just a naughty thing lookin’ for corruption.”

“Please,” you choked.

“Ain’t this what you wanted, little one? Look at you, just drippin’ in sin,” he whispered.

“I—I can’t breathe,” you thrashed against him, tears pooling in your eyes.

He shoved you backward until you were doubled over and heaving for air. There was a deep laugh swirling through your fogged mind, and you blinked back tears before you attempted to make eye contact again. Something about this felt wrong. 

Joel stood with his arms folded over his chest, waiting for you to recompose yourself. You staggered back, your body hitting the wall of the kitchen, and you coughed violently, trying to grasp back onto reality. He curled a finger to beckon you forward, and despite your reluctance, your body moved on its own accord. With a fist full of your hair, he forced you to your knees, making you cry out at the impact of your knees hitting the tile floor. 

“I should make you pray for forgiveness before I ruin you,” he growled. 

You whimpered, humiliated at the way arousal pooled between your legs with every word he said. Adam never spoke to you in such a vile way; he only ever took you in the marital way, with you on your back and him above you. But something told you that the preacher would be far from that familiarity, and it electrified you. You wanted to know how far you could take it and how rough he could be. If the Devil was beckoning you, who were you to deny him the pleasure?

With defiance in your eyes and a proud grin on your face, you started to mouth a prayer to the Lord, knowing He wouldn’t be listening. Whatever you did in this small home was between you and the preacher. 

“Louder,” he ordered. 

You repeated the prayer, never breaking eye contact with him as his jaw clenched with each word you spoke. His hand was still twisted into your hair at the roots, holding you firmly in place. Your eyes traveled down his broad torso, settling on the growing bulge beneath his trousers. You wet your lips, imagining what his cock looked like and how it feel inside of you. Joel must have taken notice of your fixation and brought his other hand down to deliver a sharp slap against your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, the sting of his hand lingering on your face as you gathered your bearings. 

“Filthy lil thing just beggin’ to be fucked, huh?” 

You worked your jaw open and closed, trying to relieve the pain that radiated down your neck. 

“Answer me, little one,” he snapped. 

“Y–Yes,” you muttered.

Another jarring hit came across your face, your ears ringing from the impact. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

Satisfied with your answer, he worked at undoing his belt buckle, tugging his trousers and underwear down his hips. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his cock; the thickness of it was enough to wrack your already shaking nerves. Adam never asked you to pleasure him this way, but your body reacted differently when you were kneeling at the feet of a corrupt preacher. 

His fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock, his hand pumping it slowly as it grazed over your parted lips. You wanted to take the plunge and wrap your lips around it; you wanted to savor every inch of it and watch him fall apart. 

“Droolin’ like a bitch in heat, fucking pathetic,” he taunted. 

He smacked the weeping head of his cock against your lips, precum smearing across your mouth and chin. You obediently opened your mouth for him, the immediate salty taste falling against your tongue. He gave you a moment to stretch your jaw to adjust to the girth of his cock before rocking deeper into your mouth. The tip of his cock tapped the back of your throat, forcing you to sputter around him. Tears soaked your cheeks as he picked up a steady pace, each thrust reaching your soft palate. 

“That’s it, little one,” he groaned. “Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Can’t cry out for God when you're full of me.”

You moaned around him, the vibration sending him into a frenzy as he brutalized your throat. You could only bare your weight against the floor and take every inch he gave, the drool and tears mixing together as they rolled down your chin. Joel’s head tilted back, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock. Your gag reflex kicked in as he struck the back of your throat before he pulled out and leveled you with a heavy stare. 

“Such a good girl,” he praised, tapping your cheek lightly before unwinding his fingers from your scalp. 

He gathered the drool dripping from your chin and smeared it over your face, the taste of him invading your nostrils with each swipe of his hand. It was dehumanizing and disgusting…but some fucked up part of you loved it. 

“Thank you, sir,” you preened, smiling through the mess he had made of you. 

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, little one. Better clean your drool off my fuckin’ boots.”

Your smile faded as your eyes flicked between him and his shoes, which were visibly covered in a pool of your saliva. You shook your head in protest, but he was quick to shove you down toward the floor. You thrashed against his grip on the back of your neck, your nose brushing against the worn work boots adorning his feet. 

“Lick,” he demanded. “Clean your fuckin’ mess.”

You swallowed thickly before you allowed your tongue to dart out and lap up the remnants of your saliva. You held back a retch as your tongue grazed over the leather material, the dryness under your mess painful against your throbbing tongue. You peered up at him in hopes that he was satisfied, but you were only met with a cocked brow and an unamused stare. 

“Missed a spot,” he huffed, toeing his boot against your mouth. 

You cringed as you continued working your tongue over his other shoe, the taste of it unbearable. He was shamelessly minimizing you down into the worst version of yourself, and there was no one to blame but you and your naivety. 

Joel slammed his shoe back against the tile with pursed lips, and he tsked at you. 

“Pathetic,” he mumbled.  “Bedroom s’down the hall. I want you in there and spread out on my bed.”

You nodded and wiped away the tears bursting from your eyes. A firm hand gripped your shoulder as you tried to rise to your feet, forcing you back down. You gave him a weary look, waiting for his next command. Crouching down to eye level, Joel took your chin into his hand with a forceful grip. 

“Crawl,” he ordered. “Go on.”

He straightened to his full height and loomed over you as you planted yourself on all fours. Turning toward the walkway of the kitchen, you started crawling, the heat of his stare on your backside enough to ignite another wave of pleasure inside your stomach. You could feel your dress hiking up over your thighs, putting your cotton underwear on display for him with each progressive move you made. The heat of his stare lingered on you as you scrapped your knees across the carpet, the bedroom door at the end of the hallway calling out to you through the voice of the Devil. He reached over your body to open the door, guiding you into the dark room. There was a wooden wardrobe propped against the wall and a matching side table next to the large bed that sat in the center. Flipping on the overhead light, he pointed to the bed, silently instructing you to climb onto the flannel bedspread. 

You laid back on the bed, your white dress pooled around your body as he crawled over you. Caging you between his muscular biceps, he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and dragged his tongue against the pulse throbbing under your skin. The need growing between your legs was becoming too unbearable to handle, but you were afraid to beg him for release. He had made it apparent he controlled every second of this interaction, from how much you breathed to the way you moved. 

“Let’s see how soaked these pretty lil panties are,” he whispered, snaking his hand down your abdomen. 

Flipping your dress up, his fingers delved under the waistband of your cotton underwear, a hum of approval rumbling his chest as he found your thighs slick with arousal. Thick fingers worked their way through your wet folds, teasing your entrance before he plunged two fingers in without warning. You arched into his touch, the curl of his fingers against the soft spot inside you jolting you upwards. 

“Fuck!” You cried, your fingers digging into his arms. 

His free hand shot out to cover your mouth as he pressed his forehead to yours, rage simmering in his brown eyes as he stared you down. 

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, little one,” he warned. “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ peep, you understand?”

Your response was muffled under his hand, and he shifted his weight so that his fingers dug further inside you. You swallowed back pitiful moans as he worked his fingers in and out of you. A slow-burning sensation rolled through your stomach, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your climax. You were fluttering around him as it bubbled to the surface, only to be met by the absence of his fingers as he pulled them away at the last second. You wailed in protest, feeling a hollowness inside of you without them there. 

Ripping your underwear down your legs, Joel hauled you onto your stomach, positioning your hips upward in the way he desired. You had no choice but to take anything he gave you. The clanking sound of the belt around his pants was the only warning you were granted before wedged between your thinks and sunk into you. Your vision faded out at the blinding pain of him stretching you open, every inch of him tearing you apart beyond compare. 

“It’s too much. I—I can’t. It hurts!” you cried. 

His only response was to grind his hips harder against yours, the pain radiating up your spine. 

“Shut up,” he bit out, pulling out and driving back into you. “You’re gonna take my cock like the filthy lil slut I know you are, and you’re gonna thank me. Understand?”

Your face fell into the pillows as you muffled a scream. His hand wound around your neck, yanking you from the bed and forcing you to bend back and meet his vicious stare. With his teeth barred and cock buried inside you, there was nothing to do but give yourself fully to him. 

“Yes, sir!" You wailed. “ Thank you, sir.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he crooned. 

He set a steady pace, the lewd sound of his hips smacking against yours echoing throughout the room. He was brutalizing you, defiling you, completely ruining you into oblivion. The voice of temptation had led you here, and now you were paying the price for your sins. No amount of prayer or forgiveness could wash you clean. 

“Such a perfect and obedient whore,” he grunted with his fingers bruising your hipbones. “You fuckin’ love havin’ this tight cunt wrecked by the preacher—shit—just dyin’ to have my cum inside you.”

The sobs wracked through your body as the need to climax tore you apart. He yanked your hips even higher, pistoning his cock into you at an angle that set your body alight. You had no control over the pleasure burning deep within you, and suddenly you were tensing around his cock with the name of God falling off your lips. 

“God can’t save you now, little one. This unholy cunt is mine.”

Fizzles of your ebbing climax simmered through your body, carrying you back down to the present, only to be met by another onslaught of violent thrusts from the man behind you. He was relentless as he took…and took…and took. By the time he was done with you, there would be nothing left. 

“Please—stop!” The words left your mouth broken and strained. 

You were clawing at the bedsheets, begging for him to release you. He only laughed at each one of your protests, his pace unrelenting and forceful with every drive of his cock inside you. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you felt the shift in his rhythm, alerting you that he was about to climax. 

“Don’t—God—please don’t!” You begged. 

“Quiet,” he snarled, pulling you by the throat so that you were flush against his chest. 

“Please,” you sobbed, barely choking out the word. 

“Gonna send you back to your husband with my cum leakin’ out of you,” he snarled. 

Before you could even attempt to escape his hold, Joel was slamming into you one final time, a carnal groan deafening your ears as he filled you with his release. He tossed you back onto the bed carelessly, leaving you aching and stretched open on the ruined sheets. You lay there motionless, staring at the chipping paint along the doors of his wardrobe. Joel rolled off the bed, muttering a slew of derogatory words your way, before vanishing into the bathroom down the hall. The silence swirling around you was the only comfort in the aftermath, the pain radiating inside you fading away the longer you sunk into the mattress. 

The sound of footsteps flooded the room, and you flinched away as Joel’s hand roamed up your bare thigh. His fingers prodded against your throbbing entrance, teasing you until you squirmed out of reach. 

“Take yourself home, little one,” he instructed. 

You winced as you rose from the bed, not daring to make eye contact as you gathered your underwear and fled down the hallway. The slap of the cross necklace against your chest was a burning reminder of the sins you had committed. You staggered out the front door, barely making it down the first step of the porch before you burst into tears. Joel’s presence loomed behind you, and you looked back one final time to see him watching you leave with a sinister smile breaking across his face. With scuffed knees and his cum trickling down your thighs, you barreled home, knowing you had just met the Devil.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Crash Landings (Adam x Reader)

CW: Rough sex, Dub con, sex pollen, degradation, pussy slapping, fingering, compromised ability to consent Rated: AdultSummary: After taking damage to his wings, Adam has no choice but to make an emergency landing in a clearing of purple flowers, unaware of the unique flora of hell. While he waits for his flight feathers to regrow, he's met with some rather unexpected side effects of exposure to Hyperrigidus Purpureus pollen. His luck this extermination had been shit but when a pretty little demoness all but trips over him, he is pretty sure his luck was about to change.

A flower fic for @redvexillum- the least I can do for designing the banners for RedFoxTober.

Adam soared through the air, spinning toward the ground as he tried to gather his wits. Feathers fluttered around him, knocked free by the force of the explosion and compromising his ability to take control of the nosedive he was currently stuck in. 

They would grow back quickly enough. In an hour or two he’d regrow the shed flight feathers enough to have lift again. In the meantime, he had no choice but to try and regain enough control of his descent before he crashed into some building or impaled his wing on a fucking tree branch or something.

A patch of purple caught his eye. A clearing, flat and fairly deserted. It was too close to that damned princess’s hotel for his liking, but it was his best option. It didn’t look like there was anyone nearby that could try to fuck up his chance for a breather. He hit the ground with explosive force, sending dirt and flowers into the sky. 

“Shit!” Adam yelled, batting clumps of dirt and flower petals as they rained down on him. “Fuck! Goddamnit.” 

The bitter taste of vegetation invaded his mouth as he inhaled, preparing to let out another string of outraged curses. Instead, he wheezed, coughing and sputtering out the offensive taste as he climbed out of the small crater he had created. 

As he walked, seeking shelter in the small patch of forest, Adam examined his wings. The flight feathers were in a state of ruin. Those that hadn’t been ripped out were singed or broken. Golden blood dripped from the tips of feathers where blood feathers not yet ready to emerge from their keratin casings had been broken open too early. 

Adam grunted, digging through the ragged feathers to find the bleeding numbs. He wrapped his fist around the first one he found and pulled. Pain stabbed through his wing but he kept the pressure steady, pilling the feather out of the skin of his wing. After tossing the bloody feather to the side, he put pressure on the opening until it clotted. 

“Fucking hot ass mother fucking weather.” Adam mumbled, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his robe, groaning when it did nothing to remove the sweat from his skin, instead rubbing along his battle helmet. Had it always been so fucking hot down here, or was it worse on the ground? “Fucking sweating my goddamn fuckin’ balls off.” 

Adam pulled the helmet from his head, desperate for some air. Sweaty brown hair stuck to his skin as he again wiped his forehead. He tossed it to the ground at his feet, needing his hands free to pull the baggy robes up and over his head. It was too fucking hot to be wearing them. Stupid fucking robes. 

The hot air caressed his arms, doing little to cool the fire that seemed to build inside him. He needed to sit down, get his bearings, and rip those bleeding feathers out. The sooner they were gone, the sooner they would start to regrow and he could go back to killing these lowly fucking cunts. 

He sat under a tree and got all of three feathers out before groaning, leaning back against the tree. It was too fucking hot. He fanned himself, but found no relief in the action. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, working the buckles free from the strappy leather shirt he wore. 

It was an unneeded layer of protection, but one he wore out of habit. Sinners couldn’t hurt him, not in any substantial way. That didn’t make taking blows any more fun, though. Clacking of metal and the groaning of leather seemed too loud in the patch of trees he took shelter in as he pulled the zipper down his chest. 

Hot air caressed his chest, doing little to cool the flushed skin. He just needed a few minutes to let the sweat dry, that was all. He was just trying to make sure he didn’t get a heat rash. 

“Fucking bullshit,” Adam groaned as he shifted, pants constricting around his thighs. The heat had him sweating everywhere, resulting in all of his clothes pulling at his skin. The grip on his cock was painful. 

“Stupid fuckin’ shit,” Adam groaned, as he worked the studded belt buckle around his hips free, working the fly of his pants open. This would look so bad if anyone found him like this. He just needed some fuckin’ airflow. 

No wonder everyone walked around hell half naked. It was so fucking hot. 

He wasn’t sure when he had pulled his cock out or when he had gotten hard. It hadn’t been intentional; he was just trying to get some airflow around his fucking balls. The sweat had them sticking to his legs, the pull of hairs against sweaty skin causing stinging discomfort. 

Somehow that led him here, to be sitting on the ground of a hellish forest with his cock in his fist. Sweat poured down his back as he stroked himself. The pace had started lazy, just a way to occupy himself while he let the wounds heal and feathers regrow. It was a distraction from the way his wings fucking itched.

Before long, his pace was disparate as he fucked into his hand. He squeezed and gripped; he caressed and thrusted and yet he could not find release. The oppressive heat of hell was keeping it from him. 

“Fuck,” he panted, thankful he was alone at least. 

Or he thought he was. 

Though he was too distracted to hear it, you ran through the forest. Bare feet slammed against the forest floor, not sparing a thought to the way the branches and rocks cut into flesh. It was better to be cut up by the forest than by the Exorcist that you were fleeing. 

Panting breaths slipped from your lungs as you ran, desperate to keep the whine from your voice. There was no way for you to know how well those winged killers could hear. Though you were fairly sure you had lost the one that had been hot on your tail before you ran into the cluster of tight trees off to the side of the road, you didn’t slow. 

The trees grew more sparse as you ran, feet leaving bloody smears against the dirty ground. With explosive force, you burst from the underbrush into a small clearing, hardly large enough to be called that. 

Pink hair flew into your face as you jerked back, tripping over roots as you tried and failed to find your footing. The last thing you had expected was to find a man in the forest, let alone one that looked so painfully human. 

You fell to the ground, hands just in front of his black leather boots, full of buckles and metal. For a moment, you just laid there, dazed and looking up at the man holding his erect member in his hand. 

He was so human looking, so soft in a way you hadn’t seen since landing in hell. Brown eyes looked down at you, wide. Metal necklaces and earrings glittered in the dim light as his fist moved slowly up his length, as if he couldn’t help himself. 

You blinked your unnaturally pink eyes at him, unsure what to do when faced with a human in hell before you took in the rest of the sight. A crumpled white and gold mass of fabric sitting at his hip, a black-horned helmet sat next to it. You gasped as you realized golden wings stretched out behind him, smears of golden blood marked the tree trunk he laid against. Above the fluffy boyish brown hair floated a golden halo. 

This man who looked so human was far more deadly of a killer than any of the demons in hell. 

“Please,” you whispered, rising onto your hands and knees. “I- I won’t tell anyone about this if you just let me go.” 

Adam’s eyes ran over you, taking in the dark marron of your sweatshirt and the ever so light pink of your pleated mini skirt. Such a contrast between modest and slutty. Horns and bat wings reminded him through his lusty haze that you were little more than just another disgusting sinner. 

“How are you not burning up?” Adam asked as his hand slowly moved down his cock again. “It’s so fucking hot here.” 

“I-” your eyes widened as you recognized the purple flower petals in his hair. “It’s not. It’s you, the… the flowers. It’ll go away in time. I should-” 

Adam lunged forward, grabbing you and pushing you down onto the ground. He sprang forward with such sudden force you hadn’t had a chance to finish your sentence, let alone try to escape. 

“Please,” you begged, “Please, let me go. I’m trying- I swear I’m trying to be better.” 

“What do you mean it’s the fucking flowers?” Adam hissed, sitting on your hips to ensure you couldn’t get away from him. You tried to ignore the way his cock stood out from his pants, bobbing with every move either of you made. 

“Their pollen,” you gasped, eyes wide as the first man grabbed your wrists, pinning you down and putting an end to your struggles. “It makes people horny.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Adam hissed, “How do I fix it?” 

“You just have to wait it out,” your breath caught in your lungs, hating how your sweater had ridden up in the struggle, exposing your abdomen. 

Adam leaned forward, his cock brushing directly against your skin as he prepared to say something. Instead, his eyes grew wide, and he groaned at the fleeting contact. “I’ve been doing that.”

“You just have to wait,” you whimpered as he folded over you, thrusting his cock lazily against your stomach. “You won’t be able to take care of it on your own.” 

“And with a partner?” Adam shook the shredded petals from his hair, sending dirt and bits of flower raining down on you, not sparing a thought to how it could land in your wide eyes. “If I had some to fuck?” 

“Faster,” you whispered. “Please, I don’t want to die.” 

“What if we made a deal?” Adam thrust his hips against you again, smearing precum along your skin. “That’s what you fuckin demons are all about, aren’t you? Deals?” 

“What?” 

“You help me ride out this fuckin’ bullshit,” Adam leaned closer, brown hair brushing against your pink hair in what surely had to be a strange sight. His wings fluttered out from his back, golden blood dripping onto the ground as he shifted, forcing a knee between your legs. “And I don’t kill you, this year at least. How’s that sound?” 

“You won’t kill me?” Your eyes grew wider as his knee pressed higher, pushing your thighs apart. “If… If we-” 

“You’re lucky, you know.” Adam said, taking both of your wrists in one large hand and shifting, letting his gloved hand run over the skin of your thigh, pushing your short shirt up around your waist. “Bitches fight over who gets to fuck me. You’ll be the only demon bitch who can say she fucked the first man. The fucking original dick. Fuck, you’re so lucky.” 

“I am,” you agreed, not feeling lucky in the slightest. “I’ll do it, please. Just don’t hurt me.” 

“Fuckin’ damn right you’ll do it,” he grabbed the band of your panties, a thong that didn’t cover much anyway, and pulled. The elastic cut into your skin, burning as it stretched. The band around your hip ripped first and then the gusset was cutting into your thigh. You spread your legs in a attempt to flee from the pain, opening your naked core to him. The ripped panties hung around your knee as he dropped them. 

Adam leaned back, taking in the sight of your pink cunt. It was darker than your pink skin, a rosy color that he was eager to get his hands on. 

You hated how your body flushed at the attention. Men like Adam were just your type. Fuck boys who took what they wanted. Assholes who used and took and demanded. His hand pushed your sweater up, greedily exposing your breasts. 

“No bra?” Adam tsked as he took in the sight of so much unnaturally pink skin. Your nipples were rosy and dark, much like your folds. “Fuckin’ slut,” Adam said as he harshly palmed your breast. 

“Ah!” you arched into his touch, body betraying you as his fingers dug into the flesh. The squeezing pressure let up for a moment before he was pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pain flashing through your mind. 

His hand left your breast, letting the warm air of hell soothe the pain. His touch was far from soft or teasing as he ran his hand down your body. Fingers dug into whatever softness he found. 

He positioned himself between your thighs. The way he brought his hand to his mouth was sensual. He pinched the leather of his gloves between his teeth, first to pull open the buckle fastening the glove around his wrist and then at the tips of the fingers. He tossed the black glove to the side, letting it fall atop the heap of his robes. 

Your hips bucked as he wasted no time running his fingers through your folds. He was greedy, selfish. There was no teasing in his touches. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, wiggling a finger deep into your hole. “So fuckin wet. You want to be fucked dirty, don’t you?” 

You whimpered, hips working as his finger thrust slowly into you. The sensation expanded as he entered another finger into you, thrusting in and out. There was little resistance. Your opening was shamefully wet. 

“What has you so wet, hum?” Adam asked, fucking his fingers into you harsher. You hated how the squelching sound of his fingers in you filled the clearing. 

This wasn’t something you wanted, not really. But you were willing to do it, to fuck him if it meant he wouldn’t kill you. What you wanted and how your body responded were two very different things. 

“You’re fuckin soaked,” Adam sneered as he pulled his fingers from you, holding them up so you could see the way your slick covered them, strings of it hanging between the digits as he spread them. “Fuckin’ eager whore, aren’t you?” 

He kneed your legs apart, slotting his hips between your legs as he lowered himself down. The head of his fat cock nestled against your folds as he looked down at you as if you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. 

“What is it, hm?” Adam asked as he parted your folds with his head, moaning at the wetness that pooled around him. “You’re suck a fuckin’ slut. Going to let the fuckin’ first man fuck you in the woods. Fuck you on the dirty ground.” 

You moaned at the burning stretch of his head pushing into your opening. He hadn’t spared a second to run his cock through the folds, to collect the slick on him, to ease his entry. He didn’t give a shit about you as he sank deeper. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, “going to get fucked by the general.” 

“Please,” you whined, hips wiggling as you tried to work your slick over his cock and ease the burning strain of your hole around him. “Just fuck me,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Adam moaned as he spread your walls open with his length, slowly bottoming out. “Look at me while I fuck you, bitch.” 

You fluttered your eyes open, coming face to face with the angel general. A blush colored his cheeks, flushed from the heat the flowers put in his body. His cock spread you wide and reached deep. The first man had been gifted with an impressive tool, far more sizable than any of the men you had been with in life or in death. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, back arching as he thrust into you. Your nipples scraped against buckles and the zipper, a painful change in sensation that paired with the stretch of him. 

“That’s right,” Adam said, pulling out as you whined. “Beg for it.” 

It took all of Adam’s self control to not plunge deep into your sopping wet cunt. Instead, he pulled further back and grabbed you, manhandling you onto your hands and knees. 

“Please,” you whispered, begging less for Adam’s cock and more for him to get on with it. 

“I don’t believe you want it,” Adam slapped your ass, the stinging pain forcing a yelp from your lips. The sound of three more sharp strikes echoed through the forest, each one blooming into a heated pleasure that made it hard for you to remember that you didn’t want this. 

“Please,” you begged, less sure of what you were begging for as you leaned back on your knees, seeking the full feeling of his heavy cock in your cunt. “Please, fuck me.”

“That’s right,” Adam sneered, smile curling as he fucked into you harshly. The sudden punch of his cock against your cervix knocked the air out of your lungs. “Fucking beg.” 

He refused to move, twitching inside her as he waited. Like hell was he going to let some fuckin hell flower control him? It was one thing for the fucking flower to make him fuck a slutty little fucking sinner like this, but he would not let it decide how he fucked. Pulling out, he sat and waited, watching your core clench, seeking him out. 

Adam was the original dick. He was fucking since fucking was a thing. He didn’t need some fucked up hell flower to tell him how to fuck. He spat, watching the glob as it hit her quivering hole. 

“Please,” you whimpered as you felt his spit splatter over your folds. “Fuck me.” 

Your control was slipping. There was a line between wanting to fuck Adam because he was going to kill you otherwise. Looking down at the ground, you saw the shredded purple of the petals, knowing full well in that instant why you were so wet.

“Fuck,” Adam moaned, thrusting harshly inside of you again, knocking the air from your lungs and sending you face down onto the ground. “Just like that, bitch.” 

You blinked your eyes, trying to breathe as he fucked harshly into you. That purple petal, hardly more than a shred danced on the dirt, carried by your gasped cries. His belt stung as it bit at your ass, each thrust slamming it into you. 

“Fuckin’ take my fat cock. Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ lucky.” He moaned, thrusting into you as he folded over you. Strong hands grabbed your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples under his hands. “Fucked by the first fucking man. Fucking dirty slut, you like that, don’t you?” 

You moaned deeply in response. That wasn’t enough of an answer for him, though. Adam’s hand left your breast, only to swing up and slap it in a stinging blow. You clenched around his cock, moaning deeply at the strike. 

“Fucking whore,” Adam said, “answer me.” 

“Yes,” you moaned into the dirt. “Fuck, yes.” 

“Good slut,” Adam praised, pinching your nipple as a reward. “Who’s fuckin’ you?”

“A-Adam,” drool ran from the corner of your cheek, collecting on the ground as he fucked into you harder. 

“That’s right,” Adam said, “Right fuckin there. Take it. Take my fuckin’ load like the greedy bitch you are.” 

He came with a moan, never slowing his thrusts. You cried out at the burning heat of the ropes of his hot cum, shooting into you without warning. His pace never slowed, even as his seed stung in the small rips his size had caused around your opening. That pain was just one more thing that bloomed into pleasure. 

“Please,” you panted, “want to, want to cum.” 

“No,” Adam said, pulling her up onto her knees by the breasts. “You can fucking cum when I’ve had enough.” 

“Adam,” you whined, as he continued to fuck up into you. The change in position had your back arched and the painful size of Adam had him pressing against your stomach with every thrust. 

“Fuckin’ whore,” Adam said, “Bitch ass slut,” his sweaty head rested on her shoulder as he continued fuckin up into her. “Why the fuck am I still so fuckin’ hard?

“F-f- fuck,” you moaned, struggling to say anything. When you reached down, hoping to stroke your clit and push yourself over the edge, Adam grabbed your wrists. “Fucking flowers.” 

“Going to fuck you till I’m done,” he promised, “fuckin use you up.” 

That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Your core clenched around him as you let your head fall back, resting on the shoulder of the man who was driving you to such heights of pleasure. 

“Please,” you whined, “Please- fuck! Please use me,” 

“Damn right,” Adam moaned, breath cascading down your chest, washing over your overheated breasts. “Fuck. Best cock you’ve had all fuckin year. Best fuckin’ of your life, huh?” 

“Y-yes!” you cried out as he slapped your breast, nipple stinging from the impact. “Best fuck- fucking.” 

“Never gonna have someone as good as me,” Adam promised, running his hand down your body, pressing into your stomach. Pressure built inside you as you were pushed closer to the edge. His cum and your slick poured down your legs, smearing into his leather pants as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. 

“No.” you flexed your fingers, nails digging into your chest where Adam’s still gloved hand had your hands pinned. “Please, please, Adam, please, I want to-” 

“Fucking dickmaster,” Adam grunted as your core squeezed the life out of his cock, “Call me dickmaster- ah! Fuck, when you cum.” Reaching down, he ran the pads of his fingers over your clit, stroking it. You thrust your hips as he worked his fingers over you. Drool ran down your chin as he continued spearing you on his massive cock. “You can do that, can’t you, my little demonic slut?”

“Yes,” you chased the pleasure he was giving you, hips working against him as he fucked you dumb. “Fuck, yes. Please. Please. So close, Adam.” 

His fingers left you for a moment before a stinging slap hit your clit. You cried out, tears running down your face as he fucked you through the pain. He slapped your swollen clit three more times, driving you closer to the edge with each blow. 

“What the fuck did I say, bitch?” Adam grunted, fucking into your sloppy hole harder, twitching inside you. “Fuck, so tight. What are you- fuck- going to call me?” 

“Dick-” you gasped, legs and small bat wings trembling. He let your hands go, reaching up and wrapping a hand around one of your horns and yanking your head back. He forced your back to arch, ass pressing into him as he continued thrusting harshly, chasing his own release again. “Dickmaster, fuck.” 

“Good girl,” Adam praised, catching himself off guard as he turned his head, planting a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Good fuckin’ slut. Come on now, cum on the first cock. Come on my cock.” 

“Fuck,” you gasped, back aching at the way he had forced you to arch it. He slapped your clit again and again, fingers running over the slick nub between blows. “Fuck, fuck,” you cried out as he yanked on her head again, “I’m going to, fuck, Dickmaster, I’m going to-” 

“Go on, slut.” Adam said, yanking at your horn as he slapped your clit harder. Each strike clenched your cunt around him as he moaned. “Cum on my cock,” 

You did, with a scream that echoed through the forest. “Adam!” You chanted, switching it out with “Dickmaster,” when he slapped your overly sensitive clit again and again. 

“Fucking slut,” Adam grunted, shoving you forward as you convulsed around his cock. Strong hands gripped your hips, dragging them up without a care for the way your nipples scraped against the ground as he fucked into you, riding each wave of your orgasm. “Fuckin’ whore, cuming on my cock.” 

“Ah!” You couldn’t make your limbs work as each wave of your orgasm crashed into eachother, blurring together in searing white hot pleasure, “D-dick, dick… Master. Fuck, Dickmaster.” 

“That’s fuckin’ right,” Adam said, seed spilling into your cunt, squelching out of your hole with every thrust he made into it. “Fuckin’ whore,” Adam whispered as he collapsed over her, spent.

Both gasped for breath, trying and failing to fill burning lungs you shuddered, twitching around his cock. Above you, in the sky, holy trumpets sounded, as they always did, twice a year to single the beginning and the end of the extermination. 

You survived another year, doing whatever you had to do in order to make it out the other side alive. Never had you thought fucking the angel general would be what it took. 

Adam pulled from you, his cock leaving, letting a river of his cum run from your hole. It tickled as it trickled down your folds. For a moment, he stood over you, running his ungloved hand through his sweaty hair. Finally, the sweat on his skin was drying and his cock softened. 

He wasn’t sure what to say to you at the moment, so he said nothing, tucking his dick away in silence. You laid on the ground, ass in the air, skirt still thrown up around your hips, seed running from your hole and dripping off your clit onto the dirty ground. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he grabbed his phone. 

He walked around the side, taking in the fucked out look on your face. The sweater you wore, a mockery of modesty, was bunched around your shoulders, displaying your breasts. 

You hardly registered the sound of a camera shudder snapping as Adam took pictures. Your wings twitched as you lay gasping for air. Adam moved around you, ensuring he could look back on this and know exactly the way your pink hair fell across your fucked out face, the way your nipples looked dragging across the ground and most importantly, the way your cunt dripped with his seed. 

“Thanks for a good time,” He said, kneeling behind you for a moment for a closer look. “Fucked yourself into another year in hell, good job slut.” 

“Adam,” you moaned, blinking at the sound of his voice. 

“That’s right, whore-” A wet slap echoed through the trees along with your lusty yelp as he delivered one final blow to your abused cunt. “Don’t ever forget how you got yourself another year. Maybe you can remind me next year.” 

You groaned, tears running down your face, dripping into the dirt as you came back to yourself. Blurry eyes watched as Adam slipped the robe over his long frame and shoved the helmet over his head. He spared you a digitized wink as he fluttered his wings, leaving you exposed as he took off, joining his band of bloodthirsty killers as you lay exposed on the ground. 

Just as he had promised, he left you used up. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

[makingqueerhistory]

Nature Poem

Tommy Pico

Nature Poem follows Teebs--a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet--who can't bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He'd slap a tree across the face. He'd rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he'd rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he's adamant--bratty, even--about his distaste for the word "natural," over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the "natural world," he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice.

(Affiliate link above)

[strawberryscribblesandwrites]

Magic spit! -marko[tlb] x fem reader

Smut

WARNINGS-this fic contains acts of violence , teasing, oral sex and unprotected sex (rap it before you tap it) biting MDNI MINORS DONT INTERACT

Round about (2,300 words)

_________________________________________

Living in Santa Carla wasn't all bad but tonight, but tonight was a bad day. who would have guessed living in the murder capital of the world would lead to you almost getting killed?

your night had started pretty much like always You finished up your shift at the video store and rode the bus home, You couldn't like something in the back of your mind told you not to take the shortcut maybe then you wouldnt of ended up here trapped in an ally by a guy with a knife.

the man stood forward into the flickering street light he had a shaved head and a black eye.

"Your boyfriends aren't here to protect you now huh" he smirked stepping closer and closer to you.

looking closely at his face you realised he was the guy who slapped your ass while out with the boys your eyes widened in recognition and fear as he held the tip of the knife to your jaw slowly the man dragged it down your jaw causing your skin to split open you tried your best not to hiss in pain.

you kicked the guy as hard as you could in the knee causing him to topple over as he blindly slashed his knife around, unfortunately, slashing up your arms as held them up defensively before you began to run as fast as you could adrenalin coursing through your veins, you could hear the gruff man shouting as you run the sound of your blood roaring and your boots hitting the pavement rhythmically was the only thing you could hear as you continued to run, lungs burning, legs aching and mind racing. you only stopped running when you felt your legs give out under you so there you lay unable to move your face and arms pulsing in pain from the fresh wounds, Your heart felt like it was slamming against your ribs.

you weren't too sure how long you had laid on the sharp gravel unmoving and unwilling to in the silence, that was till you heard the crunch of someone's shoes against the floor like they had just appeared out of nowhere. you bolted up as fear struck down your spine like lightning hitting a tree.

"Baby?"

the familiar voice said gently causing your head to turn quickly to the source Marko, his blong curls matted with blood matching his shirt he moved to wipe his face of the evidence of his last feed.

"Marko" you breathed shakily Your eyes water as your gaze landed on his deep brown eyes

His eyes methodically studied your dishevelled and somewhat bloody form before roughly speaking his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed

"y/n...what happened" his leather-covered hand craidled your cheek as his thumb wiped away the blood from your jaw.

"Th-that guy from the other day attacked me, he had a..a knife " you cried

Marko gently lifted you from the ground his hands under your arms as he spoke darkly "Well sort him out don't worry"

His arms helped support you as he walked you home you occasionally let out a soft sniffle as you attempted to stop your tears. Marko spoke in a low soft tone as he tried to comfort you but the metallic smell of your blood seeping from your wounds had him going feral internally.

"I'm sorry I wasnt there to protect you" he grumbled lowly biting his lip as he took your keys from your shakey hands

his hands gently guided you through the threshold of your house he locked the door behind him as he helped you sit by the table in your cramped kitchen.

your eyes were glued to the tile floor trying not to focus on the dried blood on your arms and face.

"Stay here'll be a right back baby" Marko rushed out he had disregarded his jacket as he moved to your kitchen sink pouring dish soap onto his hands and scrubbing his hands and face to remove his victim's blood as quickly as he could his head kept turning in your direction his eyes soft with a darker look behind them.

"I should never have gone down that ally," you said trying to joke but failing miserably

"Maybe but I'm here and you're here and I'm gonna look after you okay Besides me the boys will make a nice meal of him" he declared as he dried his hands moving to crouch between your legs.

"Okay sweetheart ...uh umm you gonna have to trust me okay"

He chuckled comfortingly as he brought your arm to his face his cool skin sending electricity through your nervous system as he wetted his lips.

"What are you doing" you asked him softly your eyes sparkling with curiosity

"Just trust me" he rasped his voice low and hypnotizing.

Marko's tongue poked out from his mouth as he neared your cut-up arm, his wet tongue pressed flat against the tender wound dragging his tongue up the split skin You hissed at the foreign feeling of his tongue rough against your smooth skin,

He moaned softly the taste of your blood hitting his tongue felt like liquid gold, it felt like a gift from the gods to have your tangy blood hit his lips.

"fuck baby" he outwardly muttered as he kissed the cut it began to tingle and you looked at the once just-up skin now slowly meshing back together your eyes widened in amazement

"I got magic spit baby" he grinned devilishly as he stuck out his slightly pointed tongue

you let out an amazed sigh "Holy shit" you laughed softly as he brought your other arm up to his lips this time his eyes remained glued to yours as his lips slowly trailed up the cut his tongue slowly dragging over it as you bit your lip at the feeling while his eyes darkened his breath heavy against the skin of your arm.

"god baby if this is what your blood tastes like I can't wait to taste the rest of you" he darkly chuckled as he rose from his place crouched between your legs his hand grabbing your chin and tilting your face to the side giving him access to the small cut on your jaw,

Your skin prickled and your breathing hitched at the anticipation of his tongue hitting the raw sensitive skin of your jaw your face felt hot from his comment.

"look at you huh" he whispered as his cold rough tongue lay flat against the sensitive cut, his lips then enveloped the cut gently sucking causing you to let out a small squeak.

"Marko" you whined as he pulled away leaving your skin tingling as it healed.

His hand still on your jaw he looked down at you his eyes hungry, You felt a rush run through your body at his look, heat pooled in your stomach

"You look flushed baby" he teased in a rough tone his nails softly digging into your soft skin

his hand moved from your jaw and trailed down your neck his hand rested there feeling the way your heart rate quickened his cool hands a reminder of his deadly nature.

"What's wrong y/n Your heart is going like a hummingbird" he whispered in a raspy tone his breath hitting the shell of your ear as he leaned closer to you.

your breath hitched as you tried to formulate a response but the words were caught in their tracks as the blond vampire's lips trailed down your neck his teeth occasionally nipping at your sensitive skin

"ugh Marko" you groaned as you felt his lips pull into a smirk

"Use your big girl words" he teased darkly knowing the kind of effect that he had on you.

"Marko stop being a tease," you said in a high whiney toned his hand still gently on your neck

"But you're so pretty when you get all desperate" he laughed moving away from you as he did You leaned forward not wanting to lose contact.

"Come on," he said moving through your house to your small room

he gently pulled you into his chest his hand sliding down your waist his head leaning into your neck inhaling your scent with a huff before sliding down your body his face level with your hips.

his hands tightly gripped the loops of your belt as he tugged the clothing down slightly his lips trailing along your hip bone, his teeth grazing the highest point of your hip with a devilish laugh. you bit your lip at the euphoric feeling of his lips and teeth dragging lower as he shimmied your pants down your thighs.

"Marko" you panted knowing he was about to endlessly tease you

his mischievous smirk didnt let up as he squeezed the meat of your thighs before diving in like a starved animal biting down on your thigh with a loud and obnoxious groan in enjoyment.

the feeling of his teeth shinking into your skin caused you to slap a hand p over your mouth to stop the obscene noises from coming out.

"Aww come on baby don't be shy," he said darkly as he pulled away leaving your thigh with a perfect indent of his teeth, "Move to the bed" he playfully said as he helped move you to lay on your bed as he sperad your thighs apart so that he was situated inbetween then as he kneeled off your bed.

his hands looped over your thighs trapping you, he sloppily kissed up the inside of your thighs his young occasionally dragging along the soft skin until he reached your underwear, his breath fanning across the thin fabric felt like a sweet kiss from a raging fire or like a hungry animal about to pounce you looked down and locked your eyes with his, his eyes ever dark and lust filled begged for your approval, and like a great ruler about to bestow the people with a gift you caved giving his a shy yet Kurt nod.

that simple action was enough to uncage the animal that was Marko and with his hunger, he all but pounced forward shoving your panties to the side as his cool tongue ran through your sensative folds causing your boady to arch and squirm.

"oh fuck, god damn baby" he mumbled not moving away from your sensitive skin causing the vibrations to spread through you.

your hands shot down to tangle in his already matted and bloody hair You felt like he had set you on fire as he continued to devour you.

your body writhing and moving in pleasure

"Hmm, Marko please please" you practically sobbed as he darkly chuckled relishing in your taste.

"Ah ah ah," he said as he pulled away your body flooded with dissatisfaction no longer feeling like a fire was about to cover and engulf every inch of your body you let out a disappointed and high whine at the lack of contact.

"Oh I know baby I know, I was making you feel so good" he cooed mockingly as he stood from his place between your thighs his chin glistening in the soft glow of your bedside lamp a cocky smile eched on his face.

Marko towered over you as he removed his bloody white crop top and began to unbuckle his jeans, he gently moved forward lifting your hips and gently removing your underwear before less gently chucking them over his shoulder with a smirk causing you to let out a snort at his ridiculousness.

he leaned over you once more before helping you to remove your shirt leaving you in just your bra as he unzipped his old blue jeans and moved them down his thighs letting his dick spring from his jeans, your eyes trailed down his body admiring the curves.

"Like what ya see" he chuckled as he took himself into his hand giving his dick a few strokes before sliding into you with an animalistic growl his body now caging your own between him and the matrice his hips against yours his cold skin a welcome sensation against your burning desire.

you bit your lip hard to stop yourself from moaning while he rocked his hips into your own at a steady pace, his lips trailing along your chest up to your shoulder where his head stayed.

"oh fuck baby" he stuttered " you feel fantastic" he said punctuation his words with a thrust causing you to tip your head back in a full attempt to stay quiet

"that it let me hear you," he said moving his hips faster causing the small room to fill with the sickening sounds of slick skin hitting skin, the air felt hot as you tried to control your breathing at his faster pace. he continued trailing his teeth along your neck and shoulders as you panted and moaned at the rhythmic feeling of being surrounded and filled with him.

your moans grew in volume as his hips meeting yours became more more rough more desperate.

his teeth sank into your shoulder as his hips bucked wildly into your own the mixtrue of his continued despraite and sloppy movemnt alsong with the sharp and knife like feeling of his deeth sinking into you caused your entire body to shake, flood gates destroyed as you moaned his name over and over untill his hips slowed leaving you a slurring shaking mess.

he slowly pulled out of you with a curse.

"you did so well" he said kissing your head softly as he moved both your bodys into a more comfortable possition

"from now on you wait till me or dwayne or litrally anone is there to walk you home okay"he mumbled into your hair softly as you cuddled closer into his chest.

[optimist-pine]

Chicken

Summary: In which Daryl greatly regrets ever offering to help you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 614

Era: The Prison

A/n: There's no dignified way to wrangle a chicken. (Source: just trust me.)

Capturing the ever-wilding fowl had been your bright idea, and you're sticking to the opinion that it's a good one - no matter what your companion's thoughts on the matter are. The crops are great, the pigs are fine, and the horses are beautiful. But the chickens have been your project from the start, and you take pride in your contribution.

At least, that's what you remind yourself as you stand here in the middle of the woods, out of breath and almost out of patience.

You take a step and startle the three birds in Daryl's direction for the umpteenth time. "If you-" You start to say.

He interrupts, "If these damn birds dun' start cooperatin' I'm eatin' chicken for dinner." He lunges for a black hen, wrapping his hands around her middle, but one of her wings isn't covered completely and it slips free, thwacking him square in the face. He recoils and drops her instinctively, cursing when she gets away again.

It's your turn to try and snatch a bird but you're finding it hard to stop laughing and your attempt is halfhearted. Daryl jumps on the opportunity, managing to hang onto the orange hen this time. Her wings are flapping like crazy and she's squawking as if he's trying to wring her neck; his arms holding her out as far from his body as possible. He's shouting at you to grab the crate to put her in, but a snort squeezes out and then another, and you're engulfed in laughter so intense you've got to hold your stomach and fight your screaming lungs for air.

You put your palm against a tree trunk for support, attempting to rein in the ridiculous sounds that your body is producing all while a chicken and a full-grown man have a mutual freakout a few steps away.

Somehow you manage to push the crate near enough to him that he can safely trap the hen. "It ain't that funny." He grumbles, giving you a squinty scowl.

"I know, I know, it shouldn't be-" You gasp around lungfuls of air.

"It ain't." He repeats.

"-but it is!" You choke. "You- you both looked ridiculous, I'm sorry!" Tears are leaking out of the corners of your eyes. The image of Daryl and the bird in full panic mode won't move out of your mind.

He huffs, the equivalent of an eye roll. "C'mon, girl. Let's get the rest'a yer stupid birds."

When you've made it back to the prison and introduced the new chickens to the rest of the flock Daryl points at the gorgeous white rooster you'd finally managed to wrangle. "Tha' one's gonna make a great meal."

You slap his arm lightly. "You better keep your grubby paws off'a my chickens! Sides, ya can't eat 'im til we get some chicks outta 'im."

Hershel joins the two of you with a gentle smile. "How'd the chicken catching go?"

"Piece'a cake." You grin.

That same orange hen is staring Daryl right in the eye. "That's not how I would'a described it..." He says, and you swear he shudders ever so slightly.

Unfortunately (for him) you spend a lot of time around the coop, and it's not long before a strange friendship reluctantly blossoms between the man and that bird. She constantly follows him and he actively tries to avoid her. It never fails to make you smile, and soon enough he's bringing her treats and giving her pats and it's rare not to see her tailing his heels.

And fortunately (for him) the day comes when he does in fact get to eat that rooster. He's adamant that it's the best chicken he's ever tasted.

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (10)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, panic attack, mention of rape, fluff, angst, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had never felt as calm and happy as he did that morning when he returned to his room − he couldn't get rid of the smile of pride and satisfaction at the thought that he had touched her, that he had brought her to orgasm with his very words, kisses and the touch of his hand.

He could still hear her surprised sobs of pleasure as fulfilment shook her body, as she sought refuge in his arms.

She was so polite and obedient, keeping her hands where he told her to, even though he knew it was difficult for her, she didn't touch him, allowing him to focus entirely on her and her pleasure.

He had never touched a woman of his own volition before her.

He wondered how it had come so easily, practically effortlessly, and realised that he had not associated this type of touch with Alys.

When she came to him then it wasn't him touching her, she was the one touching him, she was the one in control.

However, Wright then gave herself completely to him, allowing him to touch her as he wished, still clothed without making him feel threatened.

He realised that this could have been the solution to his problem, that maybe when he was the one in control of what was happening, his body wouldn't react with panic and bring up those awful memories.

When they went to the church to see how the installed stained glass windows looked like he felt a kind of pride, seeing how the golden background around the Mother of God with the child shimmered in the sunlight, giving a truly heavenly impression.

He couldn't look away from the face he had painted, simultaneously embarrassed and delighted by the sight, realising something, interjecting a word from the bishop who had just praised his student's project.

"In Christian iconography and theology, the Virgin Mary is supposed to be the personification of the New Eve, transformed from a woman who was tempted into a woman who contributed to human salvation. Her son, Christ, was instead to be the new Adam, which is why often in crucifixion paintings we see a skull under his feet on the ground that is meant to symbolise Adam's tomb, on which his cross grows like a tree." He said calmly, pretending that he just wanted to add some interesting information on the subject, but when he glanced at Wright he saw her lower her gaze quickly, trying to hide the smile of embarrassment and the redness of her cheeks.

He knew he was talking about her.

She was his Eve.

She was his salvation.

He had fallen in love with her.

"Indeed, the professor is right, Our Lady and Christ are the announcement of a new paradise, but also of the good news that the exile and wandering of mankind is over, that the gates of heaven have been opened to them again." Said the bishop in a light tone, acknowledging his point, snapping him out of his reverie with his next question.

"Who painted the face of that wondrous Mother of God that shines so luminously before us?"

He looked at him in surprise, feeling his heart pounding fast, and grunted quietly, not wanting to show his sudden nervousness.

"Me." He said indifferently and dryly, standing with his hands folded in front of him, and then he saw the priest's gaze quickly shift to his female student. He felt a tightening in his throat, knowing that he already knew.

Fuck.

Was Cregan guessing too, or was he just pretending not to see it?

How could he have been so stupid to let this happen?

He swallowed loudly, glancing at Wright and felt a cool sweat on the back of his neck noticing how she had gone pale, not a trace of her joy and contentment from a second ago.

She didn't look at him.

Not when they left, not when they drove back to the hotel, not when Cregan suggested they celebrate her success with dinner. He was willing to do it, he was proud of her, but she just said thank you, smiling sadly, and said she was tired and would go to her room now.

She was heartbroken and it was his fault.

As soon as he had showered and changed he was immediately outside her balcony door, knocking on her window, devastated at the thought that she might not want to see him anymore, that he had screwed things up so badly.

He was relieved when he heard movement on the other side, and then the door opened. He saw the look on her face, sadness, tiredness and resignation, and felt a tightness in his throat. He closed the door behind him, looking at her, all tense.

"What's going on?" He asked immediately, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest, his breathing uneven and accelerated.

He felt even worse when he saw that she looked away and pressed her lips together, clearly feeling uncomfortable that she wanted to tell him something that might hurt him.

"He knows. He knows it was my face you gave to your Virgin Mary." She muttered in despair and took a step back as he moved towards her. She didn't move away when he grabbed the nape of her neck and pressed his forehead against hers, shushing her silently as he traced the skin of her warm cheek with the fingers of his other hand.

"− shhh −" He whispered, hearing her accelerated breathing, seeing her look on the verge of crying, feeling painfully remorseful that he had put them at risk himself.

He didn't know then what would happen, didn't know he could ever have her.

"− it won't work − someone will catch us − we won't hide −" She whispered in a breaking voice, tear after tear running down her cheek.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that she was terrified, that she had realised what a threat this was if someone caught them. He pressed his lips together, knowing that he was the one who had the least to lose, that he was finished anyway, that he wanted to leave anyway, but she was going to study there for three more years.

He didn't want anyone to think that she owed her place and victory in the competition to the fact that she was warming his bed.

Helpless, he hushed her once more, drawing her to him, embracing her with his arms and cuddling her into his chest. She clung to him immediately, placing her hands on his t-shirt just as he had shown her the day before, hugging her cheek to his torso, breathing raggedly through her cry.

"Just tell me if you want to try." He whispered, stroking her hair and back in a calm, slow motion. He felt her freeze, her breathing sped up − she herself no longer knew what she wanted and the thought was breaking his heart.

"I'm scared." She whispered in a trembling voice. He grasped her cheeks gently in his hand and lifted her face to look at him.

"I'm scared too, but that's not what I asked you." He said calmly, looking at her tenderly.

He was scared too.

He had been scared all his life.

But he wanted to try.

He could see that she didn't know what to say, that she was heartbroken and terrified, that she needed comfort and reassurance that he wouldn't leave her, that he wouldn't expose her to mockery and gossip, that he would protect and care for her, that he wouldn't treat her like a pretty toy that he would abandon as soon as he got bored.

He felt that he had to explain to her how he felt about her, that he had to somehow put into words why it was all so important to him, why she was precious to him, why he needed her so much.

"I don't know if you believe in God, but I do. Despite what has happened to me, I believe in him and that he is merciful. I also believe that he put you in my path, that he made me choose you because you are his gift, that he knows neither of us wants to do anything bad. I have never had the opportunity to care or look after anyone before in my life, but I want to do so for you. My sketches, your face that I painted, was an expression of my desperation and suffering, but this is the last time I let anyone see what I feel for you. This is the last time I put you in danger." He whispered in a trembling voice, tucking an unruly strand of her hair behind her ear in a tender, soft gesture, literally letting out his thoughts, his feelings.

Despite what had happened to him, he was a person of faith, attending church and praying.

His faith was instilled in him by his mother, taking him to church with her every Sunday. Aegon and Helaena did not want to go there, but he did. At first, it was because he had her all to himself then, that it was their time, that he was then her only child to whom she gave her attention.

But then he began to find some kind of relief in this, in the thought that his suffering was not worthless, that it had some meaning, that he may not have had a good father on earth, but he had one in heaven.

Seeing his suffering and loneliness, he sent him, like to Adam in Eden, his Eve, so that he would no longer be lonely, and with her he sent him that wonderful feeling that had to come from him, because it was too beautiful, too warm, too good.

He saw her draw in the air loudly at his words, her gaze warm and tender, filled with pain and affection at the same time, from which he felt tears under his eyelids.

"Please, protect me." She mumbled at last, and he sighed loudly in relief and smiled tenderly, stroking her cheeks.

"I'll. I promise." He whispered, feeling heat filling his heart at the thought that she trusted him, that she believed he was capable of it, that his feelings for her were sincere.

They leaned towards each other tentatively and then their lips came together in a hot, wet kiss that made his head spin, her scent and taste filling all his senses making him feel throbbing in his sweatpants again.

After what had happened the day before, he felt more confident.

He thought he wanted to do it.

"− do you want to finish what we started yesterday? −" He asked quietly and she nodded, smiling so sweetly, so innocently, that he felt like devouring her.

They kissed again, deeper and more passionately, and then he took her hand in his, leading her slowly towards her bed, sitting down on it, looking up at her from below.

She stood before him, beautiful and warm, just his, and he had all night to explore her body.

He bit his lower lip feeling the painfully pleasurable pulsing of his manhood again, pleased with how automatically his body responded to her closeness.

"Can I stroke your cheek?" She asked uncertainly and he swallowed loudly, looking at her surprised.

You are such a pretty boy, Aemond.

He wasn't sure if he wanted it or not, but he thought it was just a touch on the cheek, no big deal − he knew how warm and soft her hands were and he decided he wanted to feel her.

So he nodded and swallowed loudly, closing his eyes, pressing his lips together because as soon as he felt her touch, he saw her, pulling off her nightshirt, a shapely, ripe body that might as well have belonged to his mother.

He saw her large breasts, her wide hips, her womb.

Why are you so tense?

"Are you okay?" He heard another soft, warm voice and nodded, figuring he could stand it, that she wasn't doing anything wrong after all, that she was just touching his fucking cheek.

But instead of her hand, he felt her hand, her hand stroking him as she rode him, as her body fell against his manhood with a loud, sickening click, and she panted in delight.

Look, see?

You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it.

It's okay, sweetheart.

He felt tears under his eyelids, pressed his lips together and shook his head, grabbing her wrist.

"− no − I − I'm not − I'm sorry −" He mumbled out brokenly and felt her pull away from him immediately, but he was no longer there, with her − he was in his hotel room there, during their family trip to the seaside, he was alone in his bed when she came to him and refused to leave his mind, his heart, his body.

It wasn't better at all.

Nothing was better.

Nothing had changed.

He couldn't not think about it.

He burst out sobbing, heartbroken by this discovery, by the realisation that he could only touch but not be touched, that the physical tenderness of the girl he adored was unwanted to him, made him uncomfortable, made him want to run away. He couldn't cope with that thought, that terrifying realisation that this would probably never change.

That forever again the touch of her hand on his bare cheek, his arms or his torso would remind him of her.

That he would never let her touch him down there because it would remind him of her.

That he might not even be able to look at her beautiful, gorgeous naked body because it would remind him of her.

He wanted to die.

"− I'm begging you, don't apologise − I'm the one who's sorry − so much has happened, I shouldn't have asked for this − forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you −" Her terrified, distraught voice roused him from his lethargy. He chuckled despairingly under his breath, revealing his face to her, shaking his head.

"− hurt me? − you can't even touch me − fuck! −" He growled in despair through his tears, running his hand over his face, feeling his whole stomach clench, his body quivering, knowing it was a panic attack again and that she had just witnessed it, that after what she had seen she would understand what she was dealing with, how fucked up he was.

She couldn't even touch his fucking cheek because he was starting to shake and cry.

How were they going to have a normal relationship?

How could he make her persist in something like this, feeling perpetually rejected and unwanted?

He thought it was all her fault, that stupid whore − he felt anger and hatred, words began to fly out of his mouth on their own, the things he had never told anyone about gushed out of him like the poison that had bubbled up inside him all these years.

"− that whore − then when she came to me − she touched me, she fucking touched me everywhere − my cheeks, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my −" He couldn't finish, gasping for air, his voice breaking through the fact that he was crying and couldn't breathe, looking at her, seeing her terrified, hot gaze full of concern and understanding.

She was listening to him, she was beside him, kneeling on the ground beside him like Mary Magdalene beside Christ, not daring to touch him.

He drew in a loud breath and raised his hand, as if he wanted to explain something to her, to point out the source of the whole problem.

"− she touched me everywhere − e v e r y w h e r e − as if she wanted to contaminate my body − to make sure that no one would ever touch me after her again −" He muttered in a breaking, angry, embittered voice, running his hands through his hair, only now understanding what she had done to him, how much she had deconstructed him as a person.

For years he had told himself that he simply hated women and didn't need them, that he was capable of satisfying all his needs himself, but now he realised that this wasn't true, that he was protecting himself this way from disappointment, that subconsciously he knew he wouldn't be able to bear the touch of anyone else.

He saw her cover her mouth with her hand, crying as he did, her eyebrows arched in anguish, in disbelief, the pain in her eyes from which his own heart squeezed.

"− she destroyed me as a man − as a boy − you were right − it doesn't make sense − you don't deserve this, you will only face rejection from me −" He muttered, burying his face in his hands again, heartbroken at the thought that he hadn't been able to give her what she needed, that he would never change, that he would never be normal again, that what had happened to him couldn't be fixed.

He felt worse and worse, he felt the contents of his breakfast in his throat, his heart was pounding so hard he felt like he was about to die, he was shivering all over, cold sweat running down his back.

"− you said you would never touch a woman before me, and yet you've been sleeping in the same bed with me for the past two nights − you've been holding my hand and kissing me − you demand too much of yourself and you think I demand the same, but that's not true − I just want you to be there for me −" She said in a quick, breaking, soft voice from which he felt warmth in his chest − he drew in air loudly, clinging to her words, wanting to believe her, wanting to hope.

And then he felt a contraction in his stomach.

He knew what it meant.

His body had always reacted the same way since that evening.

"− I − I − I think I'm about to throw up −" He mumbled and heard her pick herself up quickly, running somewhere, taking a moment to hand him the vase.

He just managed to turn away from her, not wanting him to look at it, and threw up, trembling all over, breathing loudly, embarrassed, humiliated, weak and distraught, feeling that he had just shown her his worst side, the one he was most ashamed of.

He thought that after something like this she would never want him again.

That she would only be with him out of compassion.

"− I'll stay with you − I'll take my duvet, we'll go to your room and I'll lie down on the armchair next to you − I'll be with you, okay? −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that his guess had come true, that she felt sorry for him, that she would now feel responsible for him like a mother for her child rather than a woman for her man.

Still, he needed her like he had never needed anyone else in his life, so he nodded.

He rinsed his mouth and the vase in her bathroom, not even looking at his reflection in the mirror out of shame, unable to believe that he had got a panic attack because she had touched his cheek.

He left her room without a word.

He only checked that they had both closed the door behind them and lay down on his bed, feeling completely lifeless, weak and resigned.

Empty.

He saw her sprawled in an armchair near his bed covering herself with a duvet and thought it was pathetic that he, as a man, was supposed to sleep here and she was supposed to lie there in discomfort and watch him as if he were six years old.

He stood up abruptly, frustrated by this thought, walking over to her.

"− you'll be uncomfortable there − lie on the bed, I'll sleep in the armchair −" He said indifferently, but she furrowed her brow and shook her head, covering herself more tightly.

"− no −" She said in a tone that he knew wouldn't convince her, and he no longer had the strength to argue with her.

"− come to bed −" He whispered resignedly, going back and laying down on the bedding. He heard her objection caused by fear that she would make him uncomfortable again, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence by saying that he wanted her close to him.

After a moment, she stood up uncertainly, circling his bed, and he felt the mattress bend under the weight of her body, which lay somewhere far away from him.

He swallowed loudly, feeling shame and sadness, thinking about how he would never be a man again in her eyes, how pathetic he was. He felt tears under his eyelids again and cried like a small child, clenching his lips, not letting any sound leave his throat. He swallowed loudly, drawing in air deeply.

"− will you stroke my head? −" He asked in a breaking voice, remembering that when he was a little boy and was afraid of darkness, his mother would come to him and stroke his head until he fell asleep.

"− I don't want to hurt you again −" She whispered uncertainly, and he felt a tightening in his heart at the thought that she clearly resented herself for wanting to touch him, as if touching his cheek would be some perverted crime.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing loudly, feeling his body tremble, having the feeling that he was cold.

"− please −"

He heard her shift, moving closer but so that her body wasn't touching his, and after a moment he felt her tiny fingers comb through his hair in a soft, calm motion. He felt a pleasant shudder, some kind of reassurance at that familiar, longed-for touch that combined his pleasant memory with her scent and touch.

He heard her want to say something, sensitive to any movement of his, but he didn't let her.

"− don't stop −"

So she continued stroking him, with an unhurried, tender movement of her hand trailing over his head, playing with his short hair making him finally start to calm down, his heart no longer pounding so fast, his breathing no longer so loud.

"− I will watch over you all night − no one will come in here − no one will touch you − you are safe − try to sleep −" She whispered tenderly with a certainty that surprised him − he felt a sudden tightness in his throat, one solitary tear ran down his cheek at her words.

No one will come in here.

No one will touch you.

You are safe.

He hadn't even realised how much he needed to hear it.

He sighed quietly, feeling some kind of relief, as if her reassurance had made his whole body relax.

He believed her.

No one would come in here.

No one would touch him.

He was safe with her.

He closed his eyes, concentrating only on the tender, gentle, feel-good touch of her fingers, on the smell of her body and her shampoo, on the fact that he could feel her breath on his neck.

She was beside him.

He slept restlessly and shuddered every time he woke up feeling her touch, terrified, but as soon as he turned his face towards her and saw her lying next to him immediately felt indescribably relieved.

In the morning, turning around and noticing that she really was awake, that at his slightest movement she opened her eyes and her hand began to stroke him again, he felt a squeeze in his heart.

"− sleep −" He whispered quietly, but she only smiled softly and shook her head as if she was happy to be with him. He felt hot in his heart, felt the need to touch her.

"− embrace me − I want to feel you close −" He murmured, moving closer to her, and she put her arm around him, lifting herself a little higher, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, brushing his hair. He murmured contentedly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, his nostrils filled with her wonderful, longed-for scent.

He slept a stony sleep for the next few hours.

A knock on the door woke them and they both shuddered, terrified.

"Aemond, we have to go to breakfast. I knocked on Wright's room, but I think she's still asleep too. Did you guys forget to set your alarm clocks or something?" He asked amused and they looked at each other with big eyes not knowing what to do, he could see that she was afraid to move from her place.

"− you go on your own, I'm almost ready −" He said loud enough for him to hear and Cregan just sighed heavily and said he would wait for them at the restaurant.

He ran a hand over his face as he heard his footsteps moving slowly away, and then he glanced at her. They looked at each other for a long moment without speaking, tenderness, warmth and concern in her gaze.

He touched her cheek and ran his thumb over it − she closed her eyes, cuddling her face into his hand, stroking it with her fingers.

"− come here −" He hummed tenderly, drawing her to him, sinking into her mouth in an innocent, warm, wet kiss that had nothing of sexual desire in it, only pure longing for the closeness of beloved person.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers and kissed her again, just as tenderly, purring contentedly when her free hand ran through his hair. She pulled away from him, pressing her forehead against his, trailing her fingers along the back of his head.

"Can I do that?" She asked softly, and he snorted at her question.

"You've been doing that all night at my request." He said softly, and she furrowed her brow, stroking him tenderly.

"I prefer to be sure. I don't want my touch to stop being…pleasurable to you." She mumbled, and he ran his thumb over her lips, not wanting her to say more, understanding what she meant.

"Your touch, your presence is the thing I crave most. I fear nothing so much than that you will no longer desire me after what you have seen." He said with a frown, and she shook her head hurriedly, kissing him quickly and lightly, looking at him again as if she wanted to show him with this gesture that he was completely wrong.

"I've never wanted anyone in my life like I want you."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[sillyrandomwriter]

Sinner!Adam meets Lute again and is utterly horrified her loyalty remains set. He is crashing at the Hotel but not because he believes it works. He simply is out of options.

And so, believing Hell is forever, he says something terrible. He wants to drive Lute away, to make sure she doesn't fall from grace for him or simply waste her afterlife trying to rectify what happened to him because he knows she 100% would. The conversation evolves into an argument, leading up to the point where Adam says something along the lines of "Look, I hanged out with you cuz it was fucking convenient to have a sidekick who would throw herself into the fire if I nweded her to. You were willing, so I stuck around and since I have nothing and there's no use for keeping that front up, why don't you make like a tree and leave? Now. Go. Shoo."

He is rewarded with a slap to the face before hurt Lute exclaims she doesn't know who he is but she's damn sure he isn't her Commander. Her Adam died a hero in the battle for Heaven. "I should've known it was too good to be true..." And when she leaves, the onlookers snap out of their shock. Charlie's first to speak

"Adam, what the Hell?! That was so cruel, how could you say something like that?!"

And the only response she gets from Adam watching Lute fly off is a huff as he clutches the front of his shirt before he just whispers "... Fuck..." And it's then that she sees his pained grimace and tears rolling down his face.

(Don't worry, they'll work this out, I'm sorry for heavy angst x.x)

(anon you are forgiven for heavy angst but you almost made me cry in public /gen)

anyway i can see this happening, and after this happened Adam would just barely talk to anyone at all and just have a breakdown in his room for quite some time in my opinion, but that’s just me

[villainsimpqueen]

Echos In Paradise Lost.

Chapter 3.

(My fics are 18+.)

summary: Gold itself is inert and does not tarnish or corrode, but it can be alloyed with other metals that may affect its appearance or properties. However, the purity of gold can be compromised if it is mixed with impurities during the refining process, resulting in a lower quality or different color of gold. Additionally, gold can accumulate dirt or oils over time, which may affect their appearance but can usually be cleaned to restore their original shine.

Chapter 3.

Branches, thorns and vines slapped against your body as you ran through the forest of the Gardens. Your heart pounding in your chest as you ran searching.

You were moving too fast, you needed to slow down and so you leaned against a tree heaving allowing you burning lungs to ease from their over working.

You needed to breathe and you needed to focus, You needed to find Adam, but if you rushed you may have missed him.

He had taught you to track.

You let out a shaky breath and took in the surroundings that were barely being lit up by the moon. The messy path proved that your dear husband had come this way and you kneeled down to rub your fingers into his tracks feeling how soft the disturbed soil was, it was still fresh, meaning you couldn't be far behind him.

You steeled your breath as you pushed up, your world spinning lightly as your head throbbed causing you to hold the wound.

“Adam!” You shouted in hopes your husband was still very near to hear you, that he would come back to you, to Eve.

Only the soft sounds of chirping crickets and the occasional chirping of night birds called back to you.

You moved slowly following your frantic husband's tracks as you shouted for him, hoping, praying that he would answer.

“ADAM!” you shouted with your hands over your lips to make your voice stretch longer.

"I stand close by thee, my dearest.”

Adams voice called, causing you to turn, your eyes straining in the darkness as you searched for your husband.

"Adam, I beseech thee to return unto me, my husband, I implore.” You called back into the nightly shadows.

"Pray, come hither, my dearest, and prove thou dost not harbor disdain towards me.”

You Husband sounded frantically worried and it pulled at your heart as you neared the shadows. You just wanted to comfort your husband, You needed him well in mind so that He could help free your dearest wife from the snake's hold.

"Never could I harbor hate towards thee, thou art my most cherished husband. I do perceive thy troubled mind, yet I have pardoned thee. Pray, emerge, come unto me, Adam.” You pleaded with him, nearing the shadows you saw a glow, perhaps a flash of your husband's golden eyes, and your chest ached as you saw they moved away from you. How could he not see that you could never hate him? That you fully believed in your husband and that you knew that he was good, pure and loving. That you had not seen the out wordly source that occurred during such an argument, Your husband was not cruel.

"Hither, I beseech thee.”

Adams' voice wailed, it sounded ugly, broken and torn and it was working like a lure to lead you into the shadows, into the darkest parts of the forest. Playing against your nature to comfort your loved ones, an act that it had learned to use against you.

You went to take a step off the path you were one, almost blinded by the need to reach your husband, that you didn't focus on how his tracks did not meet the path of the voice calling out to you. Begging you to come to it, Surely he must've turned somewhere up ahead? Perhaps he heard your calls and turned back another way?

"My beloved, I implore thee.”

You nearly entered the darkness, your lips opening to call out for Adam once again, to beg for him to come near you, to take your hand.

“My Husba- '' Your voice cut off and your shriek was muffled by a large hand covering your lower jaw as your backside was pulling into warmth.

“My Echo, that is not me..” Adams' hushed and panicked voice was low and gravelly in your ear. You felt your feet being lifted from the forest floor as You felt your husbands movements through his chest, the soft snapping of twigs and vines under his feet.

"Come to me, dearest"

The voice of your not so husband called from the shadows making you move your head back against Adams chest, Seeing how his scorching eyes glared stone blades out into forests Shadows. His chest rose and fell against your back quickly, a look of torment in your husband's eyes.

What was he hearing?

What were the snakes tormenting your husband with?

And for the first time, you prayed, You prayed to the heavens to the Angels above for you to understand what the snakes were doing to your husband.

And your prayers had been answered.

You heard screams of agony that came from.the voices of your beloved wife, screams from your own voice that was not in fact your own.

"Thou art naught, a mere vessel of ineptitude.”

such cruel words aimed towards your Husband, as the screams pierced through.

Taunting him and jabbing at your Husband, things you had not known that would cause him such pain. Adam had always seemed so confident, was your husband suffering in silence?

"Thou couldst not even retain thy first consort, wherefore should I deign to cast mine eyes upon thee?” Not Your dearest Wife speaks harshly to him, her words cold and sharp like striking him with a spear.

"The celestial beings should never have birthed thee. Thou art naught but an erratum of existence.” Your not voice cut into your husband deeply.

You felt how his breathing quickened against your back, how his arms trembled around you. His ragged breath quickening against your ear as his eyes stared into the shadows making you look back seeing a set of golden eyes scorn back at you both.

"Thou shalt ne'er be a good husband, doomed to solitude for eternity.” A voice speaks one you have heard failing to be of morning doves when it was singing birds.

You felt how Adam flinched and you looked back at him, feeling him shake around you as he held you. You could still hear a voice trying to lure you away from your husband, coaxing you to leave him, to join them in the shadows.

"Doth thou not crave the taste of being a virtuous husband?”

You jolted from the voice as it did not sound far away from you like before, you felt a shiver run up and down your spine as your skin blossomed with bumps and your hair rose as the voice whispered into your other ear that was away from Adam's hyperventilating lips.

"Doth thou seeketh a partner who would ne'er seek to wield dominion over thee?”

You felt a sick feeling overtake your chest as you could hear the whisper in your other ear, felt the faint lips that ushered them against your lower lobe.

“ To conceal no secrets? Dost thou ponder upon the veracity of Adam's words to thee and Eve?”

You felt as if something was wrapping around you in a tightening grasp, more so tightly than your husband's shaking arms. The feeling of leaving an unbelievable cold chill even with your husband's warm and burning chest against your back, and the fur cloak that kept you hidden did not shield you from this creeping chill.

“Why was Eve fashioned? And why were thou?”

You shook your head away trying to get the feeling of the lips away from your ear with a small cry.

"Thou art a pitiful creature, consumed by the lust for dominion over thy wife, so fervent that thou hast smote thy hapless spouse.” the feminine voice spoke hauntingly.

"Nay, nay, I ne'er wished for it... I did never yearn to cause them harm... I have learned... I am altering my ways…” Your Husband voice shook as he sputtered. His grasp on you weakened and you clawed at his trembling arms.

"I could reveal unto thee the essence of a noble husband. I shalt ne'er dictate unto thee as Adam doth, but rather set thee free unto realms yet unexplored.”

You yelped again squirming in Adams' hold trying so desperately to get whatever was whispering in your ear away from you, the feeling of something slithering around you and squeezing you only grew more causing you to cry out in distress.

"Hast thou indeed? Behold thee now, holding thy spouse captive against their volition. They yearneth naught for thee, for thou art but naught!”

You heard your husband let out a breath and it rasped away from his lips and a low weeping whimper left him. His arms started to unwrap from you, causing your feet to fall to the forest. You felt so utterly sick, as if you were being torn apart from your skin and flesh. This was pure Agony, this was..Was something you had not learned such words to describe but you felt your Wife and Husbands losing themselves, Losing faith.

These ugly creatures preying on them, preying on you, you did not understand why.

Why were such creatures ever in these gardens, in your home?

Why did they get to torment your loved ones and you so?

What right did they have?

To surround you and your husband with tormenting words, all around with screams and sounds that brought inducement to one soul.

What were their goals? Their ambition to cause so much distress?

Your love for each other was true, their love for you was true.

Pure.

YOU believed it with every single speck of dust and flesh of your being.

As you were sculpted and stitched together to be so for them.

Without their love, you surely could not exist in such a world.

How could these Snakes speak of such things?

“LAIRS!” You screamed and it was piercing, causing silence to overcome the forest, aside from your husband's ragged breathing.

"Liars hath no voice in this realm!" Your voice seemed almost booming, as it echoed through the shadows of the trees and it was

if on your command the heavens moonlight shone down brightly illuminating against the trees and brush, drowing away the shadows with its gentle relieving light.

You and Adam stood basked in the soft gentle light both breathing harshly, you turned to look at your panting husband watching how his eyes did not leave where the other scornful golden eyes had stood, now vanished away by the heavens light.

The feeling of whatever foul trick the snakes played to enrapt your body had left you, once again freeing yourself to move and breathe.

You hadn't even hesitated, moving towards your Husband hiding your face into his chest, your arms wrapping around him as much as you could clinging to him as tears stung your eyes.

“No….Y/n…I…I shall only bestow upon thee anguish.” Your husband's voice sounded broken as it trembled as much as his own body did within your grasp, and it itself had brought you more pain than the throbbing wound on your head.

"My husband, my dearest, my Adam, Thy heart harbors no malice, I perceive and trust that thy deeds were not wholly thy own, just as Eve's are not solely hers. We are beset by adversaries, endeavoring to erode our trust in each other and our love.” You spoke wholeheartedly believing your words were true as you squeezed your arms even tighter around your husband looking up at him with love and empathy understanding in your own eyes looking into his fear filled golden ones.

"They have ensnared our wife, weaving deceitful words around her, I implore thee, my husband, expel them from her midst, Shield her from their influence as thou hast shielded me." You pleaded with him, begged your husband.

"That serpent...Lucifer, he is much grander than I... y/n I am but a mere man... in comparison to him, I am naught…” Your husband so dejectedly murmured, You could only stare up at him in disbelief.

Your husband was nothing?

The husband you had taught you how to hunt? Your husband that had provided you and Eve such splendid meals each night after spending hours hunting? Your husband who had fought a large snarling beast that towered even above him? A Bear that was somehow bigger than your husband, as big and tall Adam was? Your husband who had turned that bear into the softest of beds for your wife and you to lay on next to him?

Your husband who had held you so tightly and safe in his arms as you cried into your wife's chest that dreadful night? Your husband who had left spear in hand so confident and determined to keep you and your wife safe when they had preyed upon you?

Adam, Your Adam was nothing?

Blasphemy. Lies.

You moved cupping your husbands cheek making those normally intense scorching eyes which now looked so dull as if those snakes words had sullied their shine.

But gold can not tarnish. Gold was pure, just like his soul.

Nay, my love, thou art far greater than thou dost perceive. Thou art more than a mere man in my eyes. Thy worth surpasses his, for thou art my husband, my protector, and my beloved.” You spoke so softly, so lovingly to your husband, showing your affections and devotion to your husband, listening to how his breath hitched as he listened to your words.

"Thou art stronger than aught I e'er did know, swifter than aught mine eyes e'er beheld, and brighter than the sun at its highest peak. And I doth believe it so, for I believe in thee with all the love in my heart.” You whispered to him, only allowing him and him alone to listen to your confession, watching how those intense sourcing golden eyes sharpen with each word, arising with each one of your breaths. It was as if you were breathing the fire that forged him into the sharpest of blades, as each word you spoke was utterly the truth of your beliefs, repairing the bends and dents the snake's blows had delivered against him.

Feeling his sturdy arms wrap around you securely, protectively.

His eyes burning directly through your soul as he looked at you so intensely it would bring the bright scorching sun envy.

Then you watched how they melted, softening on you as he pulled you closer to him, bending his head down, and your eyes fluttered shut feeling your husband's lips pressed against your own for the first time.

It was short but it sent a million tingles through your spine as he pulled away, his lips placing on top of your head as he held.

His eyes stung as he held them close tightly, his inhales sharpening as he steadied himself, breathing in the sweet and yet smokiness that came from you always reminding him of the meadows Eve loved and the Fire he liked to play with.

How foolish of him to ever doubt.

He was made in the Angels perfection, He was made to protect his wife and spouse and any children he fathered.

This was his very purpose.

How could he believe the words of the banished?

The ones that had to sneak into the gardens to weakly lure his innocent wife, his one and only true bright sun.

The ones that torment his precious spouse, His paradises perfect Echo.

He was more than just a Man.

Adam was the First Man ever made.

He was made with perfection and he was never to be tarnished to flawed.

How could he ever allow some lowly cast away from heaven and heavens first failure ever sway him from his true path? Allow them to tear apart the ones he loved more than anything?

Adam could never thank the heavens Angels more for them blessing him with such a perfect spouse like you. For if it wasn't for your words of pure incorruptible truth, he would have forgotten himself by their wretched words.

"Let us hence and chase them away from our wife.” Adam spoke to you in a low voice, pulling away allowing you to see him. See his unwavering unafraid gaze as he stood up tall, taller than you have ever seen him stand before, his shoulders Broad as he moved a gentle hand to your back as to guide you back.

And you could not help the overbearing feeling of pride as you took in your husband, now ready to defend against evil attacks.

As your belief was ever true

Gold can not tarnish.

-----

@seriouslyaverage

@jinisblad1

@dovespancakes

chp 4

[gayometer]

Hi! Sooo, I was browsing the # of snv/ror x reader and found your blog. - I loved! I was wondering if I could get some headcanons for Gods and Humans w/ a strong personality y/n? Like the idfg y/n, pls. Sorry for my bad english & kisses from Brazil! ^ - ^ [ btw, could you please tag me if you do? My Tumblr aren't showing me notifications those days T v T ]

Not tired, just doesn't care

Glad you like my blog! Your english is fine! Kisses from P.R. ❤

💚Ask💚

💚 @msnightmare777 💚

POSEIDON who tries his best to not show his frustration, how dare a mere human like you be so casual about him? It takes him a while to understand it's not disrespect it's friendship and you just have a strong personality, tough love if you will.

HADES who sees so many similarities between you two yet so many differences, you're not mean you can be pretty caring. But the way you so casually talk and even slap gods is amusing to him.

ADAMAS who tried to be all angry and grumpy with you but ended up being the biggest puppy. He comes to you when Hades isn't available, he doesn't know what it is but you kinda remind him of his big brother.

ZEUS who pokes fun at you just cause he knows you won't do anything, he doesn't try to "break" your facade and annoys you the same way he does Odin....by making you babysit him and essentially give him scary dog privileges.

APHRODITE who tries to get any reaction out of you, she isn't used to someone looking at her and not at least smiling.

HERMES who pokes you just for fun, he says it's to get a reaction out of you but we all know he does it for the funsies.

HERACLES who rants to you about anything that comes to his mind, he likes your strong personality and how you so casually talk to him, it's a breathe of fresh air.

ARES who started off with seeing you as a disrespecting mortal to then come to the conclusion that you're a glorified babysitter taking care of beings much older then yourself, including him.

LOKI who bugs you on a daily to try and get a reaction out of you, he obviously fails miserably but at least give him points for effort. He hasn't had this much trouble with a mortal since Jack bamboozled him about tea.

THOR who doesn't pay much attention to you, he doesn't mind your "attitude", high chance it's Forseti causing more noise about respect then Thor himself.

ODIN who much like Thor doesn't mind all that much about hoe indifferent you are however, unlike Thor he has limits. His crows are still the ones causing way too much noise about respect and shit, but if he does eventually get bothered by the "disrespect" he'll just get up and leave. He's not a child and can leave places if he feels like it, so shut up you two bird brains.

SHIVA who can and will make you join him and Rudra dance. He also tries to break your facade but that doesn't work. Shiva is pretty chill about most things but is still slightly irked that you have absolutely no reaction to being face to face with a god that uses the earth as his animal crossing island.

BUDDHA who just vibes under a tree with you, you both don't talk and just enjoy being close to each other.

ZERO who is basically your unofficial child, he's the only one who can make you break away from the tough love and "indifference" just by being himself.

BEELZEBUB who tries to keep his distance from you since he's afraid he'll get attached. He doesn't hate you, he just doesn't want to kill his new friend.

SASAKI who's normal cheery and laid-back attitude made you gravitate to him. His grandpa vibes give you more then enough comfort.

QIN who is adamant in making you his friend, no you can't escape him and the power of friendship shall be blasted upon thou.

ADAM who has the same nature and therefore doesn't mind, you're his child and that's that.

TESLA who took your silence as the greenlight to go on a rant about science and his latest inventions, you two have an odd friendship, he rants and you listen.

LU BU who normally wouldn't go out of his way to befriend some, but he hasn't had someone who doesn't run or worship him immediately in a while. Can you fight? Cause he wants to fight you.

RAIDEN who takes his time to stare at you, he yaps your ear off but he's also staring at you without blinking to make sure you don't "make a cute face" without him seeing....apparently it's not fair Thrud can see you crack a smile or giggle.

JACK who would normally stick to himself will try to socialize with you, he ended up enjoying you silent company and is one of the few who managed to get a smile and full sentence out of you.

[divine0rdainment]

Adamsapple Love In Paradise Au

(This is all Epic the Musicals Fault, blame them!)

Trigger warning for Yandere-ish Lucifer, show death, kinda kidnapping, and mental illness.

In this au, Lilith went to hell alone, and instead, Lucifer was trapped in the Garden of Eden since Eve ate the apple. Lilith became Queen of Hell on her own and when Adam and Eve had kids, lost Cain and Abel, had more kids, than died of old age, Adam went to heaven, and Eve fell to hell. She married Lilith, and they are the ones who used magic to make Charlie. Eve later goes up to heaven, leaving Lilith and Charlie in Hell for seven years, and most of what happens in HazbinHotel happens, but with Lilith being the parent left at home and Eve abandoning them.

Adam, as always, looses in a fight to the leader of hell and gets stabbed to death by Nifty. However, when he wakes up, he finds himself on a beach with someone looking down at him in wonder. It's a familiar face that it takes him a moment to recognize. It's...it's Lucifer. Someone he hadn't seen in thousands of years. He was still an angel, pick cheeks, golden help, white unblemished wings, and long long hair that runs across the ground as Lucifer walks. He wore silk robes that held off his shoulders and he's covered in jewlery. Adam on the other hand was exactly as he left except his robes are covered in blood and his chest is covered in scars from being stabbed, but at least he wasn't dead.

So it turns out Lucifer wasn't killed or anything like Adam thought, instead he's just been trapped in Eden, unable to leave. Whenever he tries, he runs into an invisible barrier that keeps him from going far, and Adam is the first person to ever walk on this island that wasn't Lucifer. Yes there are animals, and all of them are harmless, as that is how Eden was designed. And some animals even just walk up to Lucifer asking for pets (Cheetahs, Wolves, raves, rats, Sharks, Ect.) And Lucifer seems so excited to see him...a little too excited. He keeps touching Adams arm and face and hair and wings. Staying very very close to him.

Lucifer built himself a huge white castle with his magic, and inside it are many bedrooms that are all designed differently, a bath house, a garden bedroom with living flowers and a swinging bed from a tree, a room full of pottery, a room full of paintings, a roomie for Sculptures and rock collecting and basically many many many hobbies to keep Lucifer as sain as possible.

There's a room with a magic mirror that shows things on earth to Lucifer but he can't interact with anything he sees in it. Just watch. He calls the mirror his best friend. As crazy as that is. The longer Adam is stuck with Lucifer the more he realizes just how crazy the little angel has gone after being here for so long utterly alone. He even finds a room full of clay statues of people that he tried to breathe life into and failed every time. The longer he's there the more attached to the hip Lucifer gets, and the more desperate he is to make Adam like him...dangerously desperate...

And the more Adam pushes away from him, the tighter Lucifer's grip gets. Going so far as to lie to Adam, make him anything he wants including a guitar and food, slap Adam when he gets too aggressive and argumentative, and even locks Adam in a room a few times just to stop him from trying to find a way off the island. Lucifer told him it's impossible! He's tried for thousands of years! Why does he keep trying to leave him?! But one day...Adams is going to love him back and stay willingly. It's only a matter of time. He will do whatever it takes. Adam is all he has now.

[melanieathene]

In Purgatory

The mind is its own place and, in itself can make a Heaven of Hell or a Hell of Heaven.

— Paradise Lost, John Milton —

Purgatory was no place for humans. Nor was it meant for angels. It was a repository for the souls of demons, vampires, Leviathans, and other monstrous beings who were fit for neither Heaven nor Hell. But here Castiel was, an angel trapped in a place he had no right to be. What was worse, Dean was here too.

Purgatory was even less of a place for a human in an angel’s company. Castiel was a beacon of light, drawing monsters to him as nectar draws a bee. He knew this. Dean knew this. But Dean had spent the better part of a year searching for Castiel after the angel had fled upon their arrival in Purgatory, vainly hoping to draw danger away from Dean. Now that he had finally found Castiel, Dean was adamant that they stay together and make their way home. It was useless to protest, futile to try and explain that he had to atone for the sins he had committed. Castiel told himself that he would comply simply to ensure Dean had not misplaced his trust in his vampire companion. But the truth ran deeper than that. Castiel had no real desire to distance himself from Dean. He had missed the hunter terribly in the time they’d been apart. It was an ache that had crept deep into his bones. A temporary salve to such a spiritual wound was worth the risk... or so he hoped. After all, it would only be until he saw Dean safely though the portal.

Of course, his worst fears were soon realized. His presence drew a horde of Leviathans. The ensuing battle was brutal, intense and damnably prolonged. Even the vampire was tired by the time the last Leviathan lay lifeless on the ground.

Breathing heavily, Benny surveyed the gory remains, his eyes widening in dismay. “Where’s Dean?” he said.

~~~*~~~

They decided to split up, the better to cover more territory. Benny chose to retrace the route the Leviathans had taken to find them. Castiel headed in the opposite direction, towards the river, fear lending wings to his heels. Brambles tore at his clothing and branches slapped his face as he ran, heart pounding with the fear that he’d be too late. That Dean was already dead... or, worse, that he’d been carried off to face a slow, torturous death.

He almost ran straight into the river before catching himself on its brink. He stood staring blankly at a decapitated Leviathan whose head had rolled into the water. Two other bodies lay nearby in the tall grass. Yet a fourth was sprawled under a tree, several yards downstream.

“Cas,” Dean said, stepping out of the shadow the old tree cast. Weary. Bloodied. But alive.

Castiel froze, rooted in place for the count of one heartbeat... two... And then he was again in motion, running, running not in fear this time, but with a swell of emotion that drew him forward like a magnet. Running to Dean. Folding him into his arms. Holding him as if he’d never let him go.

“Dean,” he sighed, pouring all the relief and love in his heart into the utterance of the name.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean murmured, his arms coming up to return the angel’s embrace. “I’m okay. It’s all right. We won.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeated helplessly. And kissed him.

So entranced was the angel by the taste of Dean on his tongue, by his joy at savouring the very essence of the man, that he failed to notice Dean’s hands had dropped down to his sides; that the pliant body in his arms had stiffened in shock, in surprise... god forbid, in horror. But as his mind caught up to his runaway body, trepidation replaced rapture. Castiel stepped back, ashamed of his impetuous behaviour; ready to recant, to somehow try and make amends for his audacity. Conciliatory words trembled on his lips, words he never had the chance to say. Because suddenly he was the one who was shocked into immobility. Because Dean Winchester’s heart had finally kickstarted his brain. And it was Dean’s turn now to draw Castiel in, to fold him back into a tight embrace and return his kiss with unbridled enthusiasm.

Not that it took the angel long to respond...

They drank each other in as if they were dying men who, parched by the desert sun, had finally found a source of water. Their lips parted only when Dean had to draw a much needed breath. Their eyes locked, then; their fingers read the Braille of each other’s face, until neither could stand another second without the taste of the other and they fell together once more. Time and place ceased to have any meaning. They were lost, lost to the wonder of finally, finally coming together.

Who knows how far passion might have carried them had not Benny’s increasingly anxious cries of “Cas! Dean!” interrupted the moment.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I detest that vampire?” Castiel said, resting his forehead against Dean’s.

“A time or two.”

“And have I ever said how much I love you?”

“Every day. With every look you give me, with everything you do. But it’s nice to hear the words.” Dean placed a tender kiss on the angel’s nose and reluctantly stepped away, moments before Benny pushed his way through the last of the tangled vegetation and joined them at the water’s edge.

The vampire stared at them suspiciously. “You could have answered,” he grumbled. “I thought you both were dead.”

“Still alive and kicking,” Dean replied. “Unlike my friends over there, who thought they’d captured a prize. Guess the joke’s on them.”

“Then may I suggest we get a move on. The sounds of battle carry, and the stench of death will draw more unwelcome attention.” Benny tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. “If you’re quite done here, that is.”

“Are we?” Castiel inquired, also tilting his head.

“For now,” Dean said, and smiled. “Let’s go home.”

“Amen to that, brother.” Benny turned and walked away. “It’s not far now. A day or two at most before we reach the portal.”

Castiel’s answering smile faded.

“It’s mutual, you know,” Dean said, casually continuing their earlier, interrupted conversation. The back of his hand brushed against the angel’s, deliberate, lingering, and the fire the simple touch ignited in his veins made Castiel want to turn his hand and lace their fingers together.

But he didn’t, of course. Instead, he let Dean go, trailing along behind as the human followed after the vampire, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. Castiel understood this was but a small foreshadowing of the pain he’d feel when Dean was truly gone, safely back on Earth where he belonged, and he would be left alone in this nightmarish place, with only the memory of their kisses to sustain him.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured softly to himself. "But now I do. And that’s what makes it so hard to honour my resolution."

Knowing he was loved; knowing he didn’t deserve that love; knowing he couldn’t keep it, but wanting to with all his heart... He was being pulled in two directions at once, torn between elation and despair.

It was its own special kind of Purgatory.

And he knew there was no hope of escape.

Originally posted to AO3 on 2022-08-14. Just thought it might be fun to post some old stories here. :)

[ask-adamsapple66]

What happened in the Garden with Lilith?

Adam sighs: Okay, so when Lilith was first created and I was told she was my wife and we were to have kids as you know, obviously free will wasn't a thing yet so I thought that I wanted what the angels wanted and tried to get her to help me with everything from naming things to having kids. She didn't like any of it so I gave her space thinking she just needed time to adjust but that pissed her off too. Nothing I did made her happy.

Adam: One day I wanted her to give an honest to God try at one of the jobs we had. All I fucking wanted her to do was name a flower and she hauled off and slapped me in the face. To say I was shocked would have been an understatement, because abuse wasn't even a thing at this point in time I didn't know what it was. That was the first time and she eventually ended up naming that flower after herself. The Lily.

Adam: After that she was more verbally abusive, telling me how much she hated me, how she wished I looked different, could be different, just fucking putting me down anyway you can think of. The physical abuse got worse too but it all happened when no one was around. I think the worst she did was blacken my eye. I was so afraid of her at this point.

Adam: So, the angels were breathing down our necks to have at least one baby by now and I didn't want to have sex with her anymore. Couldn't even pretend to want to. So I was very surprised when she came to me saying we should try and get it over with to get the angels off of our backs.

Adam: I flat out told her no. I may not have known what abuse was but I knew what she was doing was not right. Which that pissed her off

Adam: So later that night I went to sleep under my favorite tree. I woke up in the middle of the night to her tying me up with vines tightly, I remember actually losing some feeling in my arms. She....... Fuck this part is harder to talk about.

Adam: She worked my dick until I was hard and forced herself on me. She covered my mouth with her hand so no one could hear me......... She said that if I wouldn't willingly give her a baby to make the angels stop hounding her then she would take it for herself....... This happened like 5 or 6 times because she never got pregnant.

Adam: And because she never did she would blame me saying I'm defective and that it was my fault.

Adam: I finally came to the idea of telling Luicfer about what was going on between us, he had been such a good comfort and distraction from her. But she must have known somehow I was working up the courage to tell him because she went to him first and made herself the victim and said I did all those things to her.

Adam: Which kickstarted their relationship and I...... Was so fucking heart broken to see him kiss her in our spot..... And to have him give her everything he promised me...... Because she lied.

Adam: Not long after that Eve was created from my rib. You guys know the rest.

Adam: I think...... I think I need to lay down now.....

@the-king-of-hell-66-6