Oh My 😩😩😩😩

red wine supernova photoshoot, chappell roan. 6/18/2023

I'm about to bust

Knight has to go in a trip, makes sure his beautiful lover is nice and satisfied before he leaves 🥰

BABE i was literally thinking of something spicy so i decided to merge it with this ask sksksk

CW: SMUT, different sex positions, breeding kink, marking

"Have you heard of the new book the king ordered?"

"No. Pray tell, what is it? Is it another bodice-ripper for the queen?"

The women around the table giggle in delight. You merely shake your head, continuing to peel potatoes.

"No, no, much more interesting. I heard it comes all the way from India." The women 'oo' and 'ah', sharing glances. "The wordsmith read it himself before the king paid. He said it was very interesting."

"Oh, please! Tell us! My heart can't take it."

"Alright, alright." She leans in to the group, the other women mimicking her action. "The wordsmith said that the book is about... sex." They explode with giggles as the first woman shushes them. "It is about pleasure for men and women, positions to try, how to make love—"

"Oh please, say no more, I feel as though a river is flowing from me!"

The women laugh as you finish peeling your last potato, taking the basket with you to the boiling water you started earlier. You ponder what the details of the book could say, but you have dinner to make.

There's a soft knock on your door that night. You know who it is before you answer.

"There is something I must tell you," he says as he begins unraveling your bodice.

"Go on."

He takes a breath, pulling down your underdress to kiss at your shoulder.

"I shall be leaving." You blink, your heart steadily sinking.

"For good?"

"No, no no, my sweet. I would never leave this castle permanently without you." Another kiss to your shoulder. "But I shall be gone for at least three nights."

You hum, pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the floor, leaving you bare.

"Well, at least it is not a fortnight."

"It might as well be a fortnight," he groans, wrapping his arms around you to palm at your breasts. "I hate the thought of being from you so long."

"Tis only a few days, Adam."

"A few hours away from you is already torture, my lady." You roll your eyes, turning around to face him. He is already straining against his trousers. His eyes glaze over you, tongue licking his lip before he hurriedly reaches into his pocket. "If I may suggest something—"

"Suggest something?"

"Please, just listen." He pulls out a folded paper. "The king has come into possession of a book, and—"

"From India?" you inquire.

"Yes—how did you know?"

"The ladies were spreading rumors of it. I did not know they were true."

"They are," he breathes, unfolding the paper. "I was able to see it for myself and—"

"Oh, please do not tell me you stole a page?"

"Of course not, my lady. I would never do such a thing. But," he turns the page towards you, "I did try to recreate the drawings."

You take the paper, staring at the drawings he made.

"They are not art, I know, but I wanted to remember the different positions... so I could try them... with you."

You blink, looking up at him.

"You wanted to try these with me?" you ask. He nods, a bit enthusiastically. You look back at the drawings. They are crudely made, mere lines for limbs, circles for heads. He has given you circles for breasts, and he drew his member quite large. You stiffle a giggle.

"If you do not want to, I understand, I—"

"Adam," you look at him, taking his hand. "It's alright. I would like to do this with you."

His eyes light up. His cock visibly bounces.

"I-I am not so sure about this position."

"Why not, my sweet? You look ravishing from here."

You are straddling his waist, his manhood poking your ass, hands resting on his chest while he strokes your hips.

"I... I do not think I look good from there."

"My lady, you look like an angel sent from the heavens to bless me this evening."

"I feel like a boar—"

He shushes you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing you tenderly.

"I hate when you speak that way. You are starlight in my hands." He kisses each fingertip before pressing his lips to your palm breathing in slow. "You are my everything. I hate when you insult yourself."

"I... I apologize. I will not speak in such a way again."

"Good. Now," he grinds his hip against yours, making you sway, "shall we continue the evening?"

"Yes," you breathe, lifting your hips. You grab his member, lining it with your entrance, biting your lip when the head slips in with ease. You lower yourself slowly, sucking in a breath, mouth falling open when your hips finally meet.

"I've never felt so full," you sigh, rolling your hips with a whine. His hand finds your hip, gripping tight, keeping you still.

"Please, don't. Not yet."

"Is... Are you alright?"

He glances at you, sighing and squeezing his eyes tight.

"No. I am not." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I feel as though I may fall apart any moment."

"Oh..." You glance over his face. "Is... Does it feel good?"

"Very much so."

"Why is it so hard to contain yourself?"

He scoffs, opening his eyes to smirk at you.

"Are you joshing me?" You shake your head and he scoffs again. "The love of my life is sitting upon my cock like it's a throne. How am I supposed to feel?"

You blink.

"I'm the love of your life?" you ask. He nods.

"Yes. This life, and all that follows after."

Your cunt clenches, causing him to groan, rolling his head back into your pillow.

"You torture me, my love."

"I do not mean to."

He takes a deep breath, letting it out slow.

"Alright. You may move, if you wish."

You are unfamiliar with this position, but Adam described it as riding a horse. You lift your hips, bringing them back down, gasping when his member presses deep into you. You do it again, sighing every time your hips meet.

"Faster, my love, please."

You brace your hands on his chest, steadying your legs before bouncing yourself faster, trying your hardest not to let out your moans. He does not seem to care about his volume, moaning low, eyes hooded as they gaze at you.

"You bounce so prettily for me, my princess." The nickname has you clenching hard, making his eyes roll back. "Lord in heaven, thank you for bringing this goddess to me."

Your legs are cramping, as if you have stood on them for days and nights. You whine, slowing to a halt. He furrows his brow.

"What is wrong, my sweet?"

"I-I'm sorry, Adam. My... my legs, they... oh, they hurt so."

"Oh, my sweet thing," he coos propping himself on his elbows. "Was it too much for you? Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I am merely exhausted." You sigh, hanging your head. "I feel as if I could not walk if I tried."

"Well, if you cannot walk anywhere, I shall simply carry you."

You shake your head.

"This is not the time for teasing—"

He suddenly sits up, almost throwing you off of him. He catches you, bringing your chest to his, nose to nose.

"Shall we try this position instead?"

You breathe shakily, cupping his face in your hands. You grunt as you reposition your legs to wrap around him instead.

"Better?"

"Better." You squirm in his hold, gasping. "Sir... you are so deep."

"I know." His lips ghost against yours. "This is where I belong, don't you think?"

He helps you grind your hips into his, the two of you breathing hard into each others' faces. There is a place deep inside that he has never touched before, but he is touching it now, kissing that spot with every jolt of your hips. You have to swallow your squeals.

"Kiss me, my love."

And you do. You kiss him so fervently that the heat between you is incinerating. Your tongues dance wildly, breathy moans swallowed by the other. Your nails scratch along his shoulders and he groans, pulling away.

"Yes, mark me, my love. I want the world to know I am yours."

You claw at him like a rabid animal, your cunt twitching with each growl he releases. He squeezes your ass, digging his blunt fingertips into your ample flesh.

Before you realize it, you are being lifted.

"A-Adam!" you whisper harshly, grappling onto him. "I-I will fall!"

"I will not let you, my lady."

He rests your upper back against the cot, but he keeps an arm wrapped around your hips, keeping them in the air. When he readjusts, he is holding your hips up by your ass with both hands.

He pulls back and thrusts forward. Hard.

His pace is brutal, deadly, you fear you will shatter if he continues fucking you so. Your hands scramble from his forearms to your breasts to the sheets. You can feel the coil inside you tightening far too quickly.

"I shall show them all that you are mine," he growls, giving a few slow strokes before speeding up again. "I shall let them know that you are spoken for by planting my seed and watching you grow with my child. Then no one can take you from me."

"A-Adam!" you whisper, feeling tears prick on your eyes.

"Does that burn you, my princess? Thinking about carrying my child and finally being mine?" His grip becomes tighter and, somehow, he goes faster. "I shall give you the fine things you deserve. I shall get you a farm, and a horse, all the jewelry and dresses you could ever want. Give me a child and I shall give you the world."

Your hand flies to your cunt, fingers working your clit swiftly, but he stops you, replacing them with his thumb.

"Only I may unravel you, my sweet."

And unravel you do. You fall apart around him, your hand clamped over your mouth to silence you, your cunt fluttering with desire. It must feel delightful, for only a few thrusts later, he stills and you feel a slurry of warmth inside you.

You are panting, limp, wet. You kneed at his forearms and he lowers you to the bed, staying inside you. He kisses over your temple, your cheek, down to your neck.

"Did you mean what you said?" you ask a few moments later.

"Which part?" he asks.

"The part about making me yours." He smiles into your collarbone, nibbling the flesh there.

"I mean every word I say to you."

You can't remember falling asleep. You vaguely remember being twisted into other positions later in the night, but the exact memory escapes you.

You rise before the sun. He is not beside you when you wake up.

You feel empty in more ways than one.

[𝟐] 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 | angel 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 × female human 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: marriage of convenience; forced proximity; angst; domestic; crackfic; possessive Adam; he falls first and harder; misogyny; Adam being Adam; explicit language; religious imagery & symbolism; sexual tension; eventual smut; happy ending; not canon compliant.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,3k.

// holy necrogamy

𝐌uted purples and satiny gold dominate your current surroundings, giving them the dreamy, ethereal appearance of an evening sky. You blend right in as your face's colouration slowly reaches a similar hue to the wallpapered walls, a few shades darker than the plum carpeting you are clawing at. If you thought that it was difficult to breathe in Hell, then you are literally suffocating up here in Heaven. 

"I’m dying and you are just standing there." You wheeze out, rolling your eyes upward to stare through your eyelashes at your fiancé, who is leaning against a wall a few feet away. You can feel your chest expanding and contracting, creating the illusion of breathing, but no air ever fills your lungs, leaving you gasping like a fish out of water — which, in a way, you are. "Soon.. you will have no bride to marry."

"I told you that you won’t suffocate. It just feels like you are." Repeating himself pulls a disgruntled sigh out of Adam, but the thing is, you heard him the first time. It's just that his words don't bring any comfort.

"I hope.. I die.. go.. to Hell.. for mingling.. with.. the occult.. and.. reunite with.. the man.. that I.. actually.. love.." With your words coming in short gasps, you finally manage to voice out your sentence before lowering your forehead until it brushes against the coarse fibres covering the floor. You hope he will realise that you are not worth the trouble and send you back to Earth. You could start over, summon Lucifer through a chalky pentagram on the floor and talk it out with the devil in the comfort of your own living room this time. Just like normal people do.

However, your persistence only fascinates the man more.

"Don't be dramatic." Adam scoffs, reacting as if you are foolish for feeling and acting this way, but when you don't acknowledge him and refuse to get up from the ground, he has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. You feel his arm wrap itself around your middle, tugging you up and holding you close to him so you won't slump like a rag doll next to his feet. "If you had listened to me with those God-given organs on each side of your head and entered that room," he takes a step towards the door of said room and your legs swing like the controlled motions of a pendulum on a grandfather clock. "You could breathe just fine, but I doubt that would improve your cognitive abilities. God clearly prioritised beauty over brains with you."

The door slides open as though your arrival is highly anticipated to which Adam responds by stepping towards the darkness without a second thought. He knew where he was going while you, on the other hand, did not.

You writhe in protest and apprehension at having to face the unknown first, but ultimately your pitiful attempt at stopping him is useless.

Once the two of you are inside, the cloaking darkness swallows up everything around you, preventing you from getting familiar with your new surroundings and alienating you even more. At least he didn't lie about the air being more breathable.

Adam lowers you down onto your feet and with his touch no longer there, you feel like a tiny boat at night — lost in the middle of an unpredictable sea that hides its dangers in the dark while a big and scary monster lurks right behind you.

But perhaps sometimes it is better to not see.

A creature sits in front of you behind a dark wood table, illuminated only by an iridescent halo above his head. He appears to be human, with a handsome and familiar face, but you know he is not — this is Heaven after all. The unnaturally long upper part of the being's body peaks from behind the aforementioned furniture, so straight that it looks eerily unsettling. When he stands up, he appears to be even taller than the hulking presence behind you and when he gracefully glides through the room, his disciplined movements remind you of a statue that is being pushed on a drum dolly. 

Alarmed, you gasp, unintentionally bumping into Adam as you take an involuntary step back, but the creature doesn't seem to notice you.

However, he acknowledges the angel behind you.

"Adam, the first human." The being speaks with a flat yet modulated voice, although you are more taken aback by the information it presents than how it is delivered. "You were the last soul I expected to have in my presence."

"Well, Danny, for a marriage-related matter, it was only wise of me to visit the angel of marriage first! Isn't that right, babe?" Adam pinches your cheek and you silently glare in that direction, praying that you could burn his leathery claw off. When your prayers fall on deaf ears and you shift your focus to who you now know is Archangel Daniel, you find his empty, unblinking eyes already staring down at you, further solidifying his likeness as a statue in your mind. For an angel of love and marriage, he looks very cold and clinical.

Your breathing quickens as you hold eye contact with the archangel while he stares straight into your soul, then switches his focus above your head. His face doesn’t betray any of his emotions or thoughts, but you are certain that he is at least curious about the fact that you happen to look very alive.

"Do others know you want to marry a mortal?"

And that's when your face lights up with hope. An archangel — a messenger of God himself — has to put a stop to this and save you. Adam might be an angel, but ultimately, he is a human soul. Archangel Daniel is a divine entity who should protect not only the sanctity of marriage but also the people involved. You are not a willing participant; he should be able to tell that just by simply looking at your terrified face — so sickly pale that you might be on the verge of passing out or dying altogether.

"They don’t, but will. Promise."

Just like that, the archangel shatters your hopes for rescue by unostentatiously nodding at Adam. He doesn't even spare you another glance, as if the previous ones were already too much, before turning away to prepare for the marriage ceremony. If you could even call it that.

You attempt to swallow down the lump in your throat, but your mouth is dry. Why did this holy being, who was supposedly created with the sole purpose of protecting humans from evil, assisting the perpetrator? Why did you get more compassion from sinners in Hell than from angels in Heaven? Hell wasn't as scary as it looked, but Heaven is terrifying. Here, you have no one in your corner.

"Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get you dressed." Adam's loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts, cutting your pity party short.

You are dressed, even if the dress you put on this morning is now dotted with burn holes. The charred article of clothing is still yours. You made it! You chose the colour of the fabric that matched your eyes and suited your skin tone the best. You cut the skirt to the perfect length and sewed the pieces together until the pads of your fingertips were numb and bloody. It was made specifically for your first official date with Marcel and you wore it today, hoping that he would wake up from his coma and see you in it. You plan to wear this dress when you get Marcel back to the living world — you will mend the holes and wear it many more times.

But before you can speak your mind, in a literal snap of a finger, you are wrapped in what you can only describe as an embodiment of pristine purity — a toga-style dress as awe-inspiring as the first snow. Long pieces of silk wrap around your body like vines, hiding your skin in a false illusion of modesty. The tight fit makes your bust and curves more pronounced, and— did he make your underwear disappear?!

Embarrassment-red paints your cheeks, while the golden curve of his mouth spells out mischief. You cross your legs together, covering yourself protectively with your hands, but it does nothing to sway his unapologetic focus away from your body. Substituting hands for eyes, he traces every curve with keenness, but before you can make a remark, Archangel Daniel returns, signalling the start of the ceremony.

You tune out most of what is being said, trying to distance yourself from the situation as a whole — it wasn’t like you were needed as an active participant either way. No vows are exchanged, and no I do's are said — only a recitation of an ancient speech spoken by the archangel. A ritual that binds your souls into one.

You snap back to reality when you feel a soft touch grab your left hand. 

"What are you doing?" You jump a bit, pulling your hand away in the process. Adam's touch is unwelcome at the moment. You wish to spend these last moments alone with yourself.

"Where else do you want me to put your ring?"

Inside your ass, preferably. "Where I’m from, women wear it on the right."

As if having a mind of its own, your right hand throbs painfully, reminding you of its unfavourable condition, but you quickly silence it by pressing the burning palm into the lower part of the wedding dress.

"What’s so special about that hand?"

"The same question goes both ways."

"Ever heard of the 'vein of love'?"

You audibly scoff at that. What is the point of the gesture when there is no love involved? He doesn't need to make this poor excuse for a matrimonial union more of a spectacle than it already is.

"That a vein from the ring finger runs directly to the heart? Science proved that that’s nonsense—"

"Give me your fucking hand."

And you do, simply because your right hand is in no condition to wear anything.

You feel the cold metal slide down your skin, and even though the band fits perfectly and quickly warms up with the help of your body heat, the delicate piece of jewellery feels heavy on your ring finger. You can't make yourself look down.

"In the eyes of God, you are now husband and wife."

Everything is going too fast, you scream inside your head while sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent yourself from saying that out loud. But when you think the worst part is over, you feel Adam's cold fingers lift your quivering chin up, and his thumb pulls the delicate flesh away from the sharp incisors.

It’s fine, just close your eyes and imagine Marcel.

Adam takes a step closer and your eyes intently follow his every move, looking away only when you feel something tug on your wedding dress. Your now husband's long fingers are playing with a longer piece of fabric, caressing the silk with care while looking like a predator toying with his meal.

He raises his hand with the piece still in his grasp and your intense gaze moves with it. You stay silent until he brings it in front of your face and is about to tie it around your eyes.

"Hey, whoa, what do you think you are doing?" You put your hand in between your face and the would-be blindfold, your wedding ring catching the light from Adam's halo and glimmering like a star in his face.

"Do you need step-by-step narration of my every move? I’m tying your eyes."

"No, you are not."

"Don’t be difficult."

Your eyebrows arch in bewildered astonishment. "I think I’ve been pretty compliant so far. And who even kisses with their eyes open?"

"I don’t trust you to keep them shut."

"And you married me? Make up your mind." You scoff while Adam sways your hand away and goes in to tie the piece. Somehow, the deep blackness disrupting your vision only makes you lippier. "Thanks, now I can imagine that I’m kissing Marcel— OW!" Adam tightens the blindfold with a bit more force before you can even finish your sentence, painfully tugging on your hair after a few errant strands got caught in the knot.

"Did you say something?"

You scrunch your nose and frown, but remain quiet.

The toga dress and blindfold combination probably make you look like the statue of Lady Justice — the only thing missing are the freaking scales. Pitty, those would be immensely useful for thwacking the angel in the head.

Silence befalls you when Adam steps back, and you are left to anxiously await his next move.

But nothing happens.

Your ears become hungry to hear something, anything. There is a soft, muffled sound akin to the rustling of clothing, as though Adam is walking away from you and your fingers twitch to extend your hand to grab him before he is gone. At the last minute, you stop yourself. Did you read the room wrong? Was Adam about to sacrifice you to some hungry, biblical entity instead of solidifying your union with a kiss?

Somewhere in front of you, you hear it — a faint click, followed by a heavy clank near your feet. You twist and lower your head in the direction of the sound as if you could see anything, until you feel what has now become a familiar touch — frigid and leathery. Gently, Adam takes hold of your chin and tilts your head upwards. A gust of breath fans your lips as they part with a faint gasp. Is he—

Warm, plump lips cautiously brush against your own, causing your heart to plummet into your stomach and your voice box to produce a low moan, which gets eagerly swallowed up by the other soul. Both of your lips move in tandem; the action itself is sensual, not sexual, but it goes on for way too long to be considered a conventional wedding kiss.

Your partner's hand sits nicely on your waist, fingers holding onto you as if you would disappear otherwise. This couldn't be Adam kissing you. It's unfathomable that the smug bastard you had the misfortune of getting to know in such a short time could show such care for another soul. And if you remember correctly, his demonic face didn’t have any lips to begin with.

Being deprived of one of your senses with the help of a blindfold, you resort to using what you do have. Your hand lifts to caress his cheek and brush against the soft skin, familiarising itself with something foreign to you. You try to sculpt the man’s face in your mind, wondering what colour his eyes are, the hue of his skin, and the placement of his beauty marks — that is, if he has any. Your thumb glides across the supple flesh as if through wet clay — as if he is malleable.

Your inquisitive touch elicits a grunt from the man and by the sound alone, you can instantly tell that it's indeed Adam who is kissing you. A very human Adam.

But as Adam's fingers travel downwards towards your supple hips, he quickly pulls away as if you bit him. Your lips detach with a wet pop and while you gasp for air, Adam opens his eyes to look at his hand, which is now saturated with blood.

Satin threads of your wedding dress voraciously drink the blood out of your palm, mimicking veins by quickly spreading the crimson fluid throughout the right side of the garment. This wasn’t angelic ichor. This was metallic, vital, impure blood. The kind that a sinner bleeds after being touched by the exorcist's blade — a reminder of your mortality and of the original sin of which you were not cured because you were still alive.

Adam was already causing trouble for the elders of Heaven. That was nothing new. But now, as he looks at his blood-covered hands, Adam realises how dangerously he is toeing the line by inviting something so impure into such a holy space. And worst of all, you didn't even want to be here. 

He looks at you — a white sacrificial lamb, tied with satin and ready for sacrifice. But instead of being gifted to God as a sign of love and devotion, you sacrificed yourself for a sinner in Hell, and Adam, even as he grappled with himself in his moment of clarity, still craved such love for himself. He is fucking Adam! He was entitled to love and when he wasn’t given that, he had the right to take it. He is the first fucking man!

But this meant that Adam was no better than Lucifer — no, he was even worse — he blackmailed you to be with him.

"Um.. Adam?"

Your voice is small, but it brings Adam's attention back to you all the same. Lips, red and glossy, are parted just a tiny bit as you take hungry breaths to sate your human lungs. What was he doing?

Adam quickly scrambles to put his mask back on before clearing his throat. "Why didn’t you say anything about your hand?"

You perk up at the sound of his voice and finally tug the blindfold away from your eyes, only to see yourself reflected in the dark, glossy finish of what you now know is a mask. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget how you got into this situation and for what or whom. All you could think about was how maybe, just maybe, being Adam’s wife wouldn’t be so bad until you figured everything out. 

"There wasn’t a good time to bring it up."

He chuckles sardonically, "You had time to argue about which hand the ring should go on. The wound is literally dripping. The side of the dress is covered in blood."

A wedding is supposed to be a joyous event in a woman’s life, but the blood only serves to remind everyone that this union was anything but. It was kind of poetic, in a way.

"Sorry."

"No, it’s— I will take care of it when we get home."

His words don't bring you comfort. This wasn’t your home. Your home was on Earth, but for now, you could be content with at least staying in your current location. You wanted to stay here in the dimness, where it was bearable to endure your new life and where your new husband didn’t seem so bad. You liked to think this was a dream, you didn’t want the reality to set in fully. And maybe that's why you wanted to kiss Adam again — to lose yourself in the feeling for a few more seconds so that you wouldn't think of everything else. 

"How will I be able to live here?"

"Don’t worry your little head about that, hot stuff. You've been doing that more than enough. Let me deal with the boring bureaucracy while you play a good little wife for me at home. How does that sound, hm?”

Like a life sentence.

Adam doesn't wait for an answer. He snaps his fingers, producing golden sparks that turn into a big whirl of light in the same colour.

"After you."

Begrudgingly, you walk towards it. It takes you a few steps to reach the portal, but when you step through it, you get instantly teleported to Adam's intended destination — a spacious and tidy apartment. Too tidy. No one lives here type of tidy.

Yet, somehow, it still feels queerly homely. Maybe it's thanks to the pastel evening skies — spiling through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the open-floor apartment like watercolour on paper. Or perhaps it has something to do with Adam's scent permeating the whole space.

The portal closes behind you and only after taking a deep breath do you build enough courage to finally turn around and face Adam. The setting you are now in is more intimate and it's just the two of you here. 

When you turn around, his glowing eyes are already on you. Adam's gaze momentarily flickers towards your lips and you can feel your face grow hot.

But before either of you can move, a knock echoes throughout the room.

"Fuck, what is it now?" Adam whines but goes to see who it is anyway. "What, Lute?"

By moving your head a bit to the side, you can see more clearly who's at the door. Feet spread apart and arms behind her back, Lute, as Adam addressed the female angel, stands proud even if her uniform is marred with red blood, matching you in a way. You recognise her as one of the many similar-looking angels that were in Hell at the time of your descent. The last time you saw her, she had a mask on.

"Sir, the Seraphim wishes to see you. Immediately." Her voice is unwavering and without her mask on, the white-skinned angel's face seems to be stuck in a perpetual frown. You catch her eye from way across and it's obvious she's not a fan of you. You don't blame her.

"Fuck. Yeah, okay." Adam turns to you. "So, I gotta go for a bit. You know, duty calls. Your husband is a busy guy, but, um, don’t be afraid to explore. See you in a bit, hourglass."

The door shuts behind him, leaving you all alone with someone you didn't want to be isolated with — yourself.

Now, in the dead silence, your inner thoughts are the loudest — eating you alive alongside the corrosive feeling of guilt. Every single one of your choices, made throughout this one miserable day, is being scrutinised and the verdict is unanimous. It was all your fault and you had no one to blame but yourself.

You were so selfish with your actions that you didn’t stop to think of your loved ones, managing even to put an already dead Marcel in danger. You don’t even have any way to know if your sacrifice paid off. What if Adam is finishing the job right now? You would be none the wiser. And Seth, he was probably blaming himself for not trying harder to persuade you to let him take you home.

You slide down to the ground — virgin white pooling around you like bloody sea foam — and give yourself a hug. God knows how much you need one right now. You never felt as alone as you did at the moment.

Calling your mom would be nice. She always knew how to help. But you will probably soon meet her here because she wouldn’t survive your disappearance, your cruel mind supplies.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and run your fingers through your hair, imagining that it's your mother's soft touch instead. You can almost imagine yourself back at your childhood home, playing in the big garden barefoot and without a care. When you were little, you were always very inquisitive, wanting to know how everything came to be. And while your grandmother would shut you up by simply saying that God created everything, your mother spun all sorts of otherworldly tales that made your big eyes sparkle with wonder.

"Why is it called that, mommy? The trembling aspen? " You asked one day.

In hindsight, the answer is simple: because of its leaves, which tremble in the lightest breeze. However, you remember your mother smiling at you and whispering the tale as if it were the biggest secret.

"There once lived an old farmer whose three daughters went to bathe in the sea one day. When the youngest returned to the shore to get dressed, she found a serpent in her clothes. Speaking in a man's voice, the serpent demanded that she promise to become his wife in exchange for her clothes being returned. Faced with an immediate need to get dressed and not thinking about possible future consequences, the girl agreed ."

Now that you recall the whole story from the very beginning, it sounds a bit too familiar. Funny how Adam, a man who was once tricked by a serpent himself, acted the same as the reptile in the story your mother has told you. If only he knew that he wasn't superior to the creature he harbours the deepest hatred for.

"A few days later, a brood of serpents showed up at the girl's house to claim the promised bride. The girl's family tried to trick them, but they were unsuccessful. The serpents took her to the seashore, where the serpent king she promised to marry was now a handsome young man who took her to his palace under the sea."

You pause the memory to reminisce about your own wedding and how, like the serpent king, Adam wasn’t some sort of creature but a human soul underneath a mask. How warm his skin was compared to Heaven’s thinner atmosphere and his abrasive tongue, or how his stubble tickled your chin.

"Years passed and the couple had three sons and a daughter. One day, the girl became homesick and asked her husband to let her and the kids visit her childhood home. At first, the serpent was against it, but in the end, let them go. The girl's family was overjoyed to see her and didn't want her to leave, so her brothers decided to kill the serpent. They demanded that the children reveal how to lure their father out of the sea and while the sons refused to betray their father, the youngest daughter became frightened and revealed the secret. The brothers rushed to the seashore, called for the serpent and once he revealed himself, slaughtered him. In her grief, the girl transformed her brave sons into strong trees — oak, ash and birch — while she turned her cowardly daughter into a trembling aspen, cursed to shiver day and night from the slightest breeze. And then she turned herself into a spruce."

You lay your head on the floor, chilling your burning cheek against the cold ground as you gaze ahead, mulling over the story. It would be nice if you could turn yourself into a spruce, then maybe Adam could make new floorboards out of you if he liked to walk out on you that much.

Why you even cared, you couldn’t say. You guess it was loneliness speaking, and although this whole arrangement wasn’t born out of love, you deep down hoped that you could somehow make the best of your predicament.

But then he left you all alone, which quickly shattered your naive hopefulness. 

You have no idea how long you stayed in that position before finally finding the energy to peel yourself away from the floor and sit up straight. The next step is to stand up, but before tackling that daunting task, you really need to do something about your god-forsaken hand.

Doubtful that an immortal being would have a first-aid kit lying around in his home, you rip a lengthy piece of cloth from your dress and wrap it tightly around your palm. When that's taken care of, you rise to your feet and venture further into the house.

If Adam really is the first man, you understand the choice to have an open floor plan for the apartment. Seamlessly merging the living room and kitchen areas makes it more spacious and easier to breathe in. Spending the majority of one's life in the vastness that is the Garden of Eden and then having to make do with living surrounded by walls must be a difficult thing to adapt to.

The kitchen looks more like a showroom — all that’s missing are price tags and descriptions. The cabinets are empty, as is the fridge, and the small dining table has a thin coat of dust on it.

On the other hand, the living room area at least stays true to its name. It looks lived-in — the coach has a few throw pillows and a blanket on it, and there is clutter on the coffee table, as well as a few pieces of trash. Then something draws your attention.

You pass by a bunch of potted plants that you can't imagine him taking care of, and you stop in front of a television stand, its bottom shelf filled with vertically stored jewel cases. Where the spines are usually in a variety of different colours, these ones are all clear, and after further snooping, as you drag one out of its place, you understand why — they are all made by Adam and not purchased. Amidst the real, living-world bands that you recognise, there are also CDs with his own music.

Popping a random CD into a player that sits only a shelf above the cases, you press play and listen. Even though this one in particular had no vocals, you couldn't deny that Adam knew his way around the guitar. He does have long fingers that are able to reach certain cords.

You shake your head, trying to snap out of it, and when you quickly stand up after turning off the player, you spot something that would be a huge help in forgetting — a fully stocked wine display lodged into the wall near the TV.

Your bare feet scurry across the floor faster than your brain can think. However, you hesitate before actually reaching for a bottle. Adam did say it was your home, too, but somehow it feels like stealing. Then again, you are celebrating your wedding, so why not?

Without a struggle, the smooth redwood rack departs with the bottle of your choosing. It feels heavy in your hands as you turn it to look at the label. Brushing away any dust, you break off the seal and twist the cork to work it from the neck of the wine bottle until it comes out with a deafening pop.

"That’s not enough to scare me. If you only knew what kind of day I had today.” Your lament is directed at the bottle as you take a swig of what’s inside. The wine burns your throat, leaving an acidic aftertaste behind. You lick the tartness from your lips and go for another gulp. And then another one.

And one more.

Clutching the half-drunk bottle to your chest, you grab another one from the rack and resume your trip around the place. The wine kicks in relatively soon on an empty stomach, making you bump into the furniture in a matter of minutes.

Even if there is more than plenty of room for your own stuff in the apartment, all of your personal items, trinkets with tied-in memories, and hobby supplies are not here with you but somewhere far away. You have nothing to put there to make you feel like you are at home. You are an outsider, and as you recall the way Lute was glaring, you are not the only one who feels that way.

After you open the second bottle, you are no longer interested in getting familiar with the place. You exit the open area and move towards the dark corridor, where you stumble through the first door on the right into a bedroom.

You take the last sip and place the empty bottle near the door before walking towards the bed. The clock on the bedside table reads half past eleven, and the sky outside has only now started to darken. Everything is now spinning, but at least your head feels as light as a feather. You can’t be bothered to think about anything. 

Good.

You lie on the soft comforter and roll further onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows. The clean and fresh smell envelops you, and you let out a yawn. 

You will do your best to make the most of this situation, starting tomorrow.

Thesis:

Sometimes I be forgetting that Alastor is a BLACK man (or mixed or whatever), and I, as a fellow BLACK person myself, see a lot of missed potential for some Alastor x black! (and/or poc but I’m mostly thinking about black) reader fanfiction, in this essay I will-

WHERE is that fic where Lucifer asks reader to have his kid and she dies and then she literally decapitates Adam omg I just remembered it and I wanna reread it 😭🤞 I lost it 💔

RIP to all the 10/10 fanfics that I LOST 😭💔

Jesus Christ allmighty

Deadpool & Wolverine Honda Odyssey fight slowed gifset

You husk simpers gotta be the most DIRTY NASTY FREAKS on the whole planet. Y’all motherfuckers be getting my coochie sore.

My right hand can only move so fast y’all 😭

This old ass man got y’all ERECT

OH MY GOD 😭

I watched Deadpool and Wolverine teehee THE CAR SCEEENEEEEEE UGHHHHH