#Hozier song fic

[flash-bastardd]

Remember once I told you about

How before I heard it from your mouth

My name would always hit my ears

As such an awful sound

And the first time that you kissed me

I drank dry the river Lethe

The Liffey would have been softer on my stomach all the same

Some part of me must have died

The first time that you called me 'baby' 'Angel'

And some part of me came alive

The first time that you called me 'baby' 'Angel'

To share the space with simple living things

Infinitely suffering, but fighting off

Like all creation

The absence of itself

Anyway

Some part of me must have died

Each time that you called me 'baby' 'Angel'

And some part of me stayed alive

Each time that you called

Each time that you called

The last time it was heard out loud

The perfect genius of our hands and mouths were shocked

To resignation as the arguing declined

When I was young I used to guess

Are there limits to any emptiness?

When was the last time?

C'mere to me, when was the last time?

Some part of me must have died

The final time you called me 'baby' 'Angel'

But some part of me came alive

The final time you called me 'baby' 'Angel'

(HOZIER - FIRST TIME)

[dizaryswrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: POV Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Vampire Spawn Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Astarion is Bad at Feelings (Baldur's Gate), Soft Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Canon-Typical Violence, Astarion's Past Abuse (Baldur's Gate), Pining, one night stand to lovers, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, Song: Sunlight (Hozier), Strangers to Lovers, Astarion Is Loved (Baldur's Gate), and shocked to find he can love in return

Kissing her felt like stepping from the nautiloid into the beaming sun. Gods knew why. He certainly didn’t pause to wonder at it. This was no more than one night of release. Here Astarion was in control, leading this dance he’d done for centuries.

Until it was all thrown off course.

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

---

Survive.

Survive.  

It was his singular purpose, his singular goal. Astarion choked on smoke and ash, stomach still in his throat from that horrible plunge from the sky, and head aching anew from smacking it against the pod. He clawed desperately at the spiderweb of cracks on the pod’s shell. Slammed his elbow into the epicenter again and again, shouting in frustration. Until at last pieces burst outward and the faintest whiff of fresh air crept in.

Survive. Escape. Be free.

Three well placed kicks later and he was stumbling out into more smoke and smoldering wreckage and–

Sun.

He was outside the nautiloid, breathing in a sea salt breeze, his skin burning, blistering–  

Astarion let out a cry and stumbled back, waiting for the delayed agony. But none came. His moon pale skin remained unblemished. How? Why? Turning his hands over and over, searching fingers across the half of his face that was exposed still revealed nothing.

A huff of disbelieving laughter escaped him. Could it really be? Cautiously, he stuck out just the tips of his fingers. A cool breeze and warm sunlight danced across them. He laughed again and thrust his whole hand out. Then the other. By the time he was standing fully on the sandy hilltop, arms spread, face thrown back to the glorious sky, he was laughing so hard his side hurt.

Who's stronger now, Cazador?

[Continue Reading on AO3]

[kit-o-nine-tales]

Sunlight

Read on AO3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Meg/Castiel

Rated M for canonical character death

Summary: They say that demons don't dream. Meg knows that's a lie. They say that demons can't change. Unfortunately for her, that turns out to be a lie too.

Aka: The demon known as Meg thinks about Castiel a lot over the years... and ultimately flies too close to the sun. A songfic using "Sunlight" by Hozier.

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She is a demon. She’s been a demon for longer than she can remember. She’s known all the different domains of hell intimately, been on both sides of the knife so many times that she imagines that nothing of who she’d been before remains. And she’s happy like this. She has a mission; something she believes in. Their father will walk the earth again, will rip the wings from all the angels and remake the earth so that his children can walk it without suffering under the cursed, purifying light of life and the sun. Angels and hunters would believe that demons can’t dream, but they do. And the one who calls herself “Meg” dreams of the day when she can leave hell behind forever, and stride across the earth in her true form without having to fear the light.

But whose heart would not take flight? Betray the moon as acolyte On first and fierce affirming sight Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

And then the Winchesters and their pet angel ruin everything, sealing her father back inside his cage, putting Armageddon on hold, maybe forever. Father’s trapped with one of his brothers, the one he’d meant to kill. Sometimes she sits outside of the cage, her head propped up in her hands as she listens to the sounds of them fighting. He’d been angry with her, before they put him there. She’d gone against the plan, wanting revenge on Sam and Dean. She failed, over and over. And she wonders if maybe this might be for the better. As much as she might wish otherwise, something changed within her during her encounter with Castiel, no matter how much she’d tried not to believe him, even if he did cast her into the flames and walk on her right afterwards.

She’s a demon, for fucks sake. What’s a little holy fire compared to countless centuries spent on the rack, having your own entrails fed to you, millimeter by millimeter?

Nothing, that’s what.

She sits outside her father’s cage, her chin in her hands, and she dreams. Meg, Queen of Hell has a nice ring to it —  if she can manage to get Crowley out of the way. And she knows just the people she can use to help her do that.

I had been lost to you, sunlight And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

When she next sees Castiel, she has her own goals now. Granted, they're fairly simple: kill Crowley and take over hell. She wants the Winchesters to owe her, she wants the Winchesters to help her. She wants — she wants to live. And she’s drawn to Castiel. She's not ashamed to admit it, because again, demon. What could be more demonic than potentially corrupting an angel, drawing it into the sin of lust?

She’s no stranger to using her attractiveness as a weapon, or corrupting the innocent (though the so-called "innocence" of angels is a crock; as far as she knows, a lot of them have just as much blood on their hands as the average demon, if not more, even if they do claim it's for righteous reasons.) But when she kisses Castiel to steal his angel blade, it proves itself more than just that. She actually enjoys it. And so, it seems, does he, if the way he presses her up against the wall and kisses her back is any indication. It’s at that moment Meg knows she’s completely fucked. The plan’s gone to shit, and she’s actually risking herself just to give the Winchesters and the angel a chance of winning. Clarence and the Winchesters leave her to the hounds and she chuckles at herself. That angel is a bad influence, and she’s hardly even spent any time around him. But he has her feeling. Wanting. Dreaming.

They say that demons don’t dream; but they only say that because demons shouldn’t dream. They’ll only start to get ideas. And that never ends well.

All the tales the same Told before and told again A soul that's born in cold and rain Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters don’t trust her. Smart of them, really. She is what she is, they are what they are — tales as old as time and all that. But they have little other choice, with Clarence’s noggin scrambled by Sam’s hell memories. Part of her finds it funny; the angel can’t withstand even a small taste of what would just be another Tuesday to her — but at the same time, she knows what it is to suffer under the artistic hands of her father, and it is not something anyone can just shrug off. She honestly kind of respects Sam for managing to hold himself together as long as he did.

This altered Castiel is strange, which means something, coming from a demon. He’s got no filter, and has this… unsettling innocence. He looks at her and he sees her. The real her.

And he looks at all that pain, all the scars and artful carving that twisted up her soul, making it sharp, dark, and bloody — and he calls it beautiful. Looking back at him in these moments is like staring into the sun. Antithetical to the core of what she is, painful and altering, and yet... she can't tear herself away. Like something out of a dream... or a nightmare. She brushes it off with a dirty joke, but once again she finds herself being changed against her will by forces outside her control —  only this time, part of her... allows it. Part of her dreams of where this new path will lead.

And at last can grant a name To a buried and a burning flame As love and its decisive pain Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

He calls her his caretaker — and as much as she wants to reject it, the name has power over her. She kills for him, and she knows it’s not just out of pragmatism. Like this, he lacks the fire that drew her to him originally, but still she finds she can’t ignore him. Just as she can't ignore the twinges of pain as parts of her reshape themselves under the influence of their strange connection. It's nothing compared to being strung up and remade on the racks, of course. More like a sunburn, maybe.

She surprises herself with how well she’s come to know the habits of this altered Castiel. He comes when she calls, and she can’t deny that she gets a thrill out of holding that over the Winchesters’ heads. Whatever changes Castiel might be triggering in her, she is still a demon, after all.

She dreams, all the same. She’s always been quite the dreamer, for a demon. Azazel and Lucifer had said it was what made her special. Demons aren't supposed to dream, but they do. Still, her dreams have always been different than those of her of kind. And now she dreams of a recovered Castiel, of power and dominion and safety and a powerful angel at her side, sexy and dangerous and likely to be the death of her. She's a loyal creature, for better or worse. She is what she is, and he is what he is, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.  So after she saves him from Hester, she runs. She can only really rely on herself, despite everything. Still, she dreams, and avoids staring into the sun.

All that was shown to me, sunlight Was somethin' foreknown to me, sunlight, oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Of course, it can't be that easy. She makes it half-way across the world, where the local supernatural denizens have no connection to Crowley (demons from other cultures and religions have fairly different power structures) and Castiel, he of the pleading eyes and deep, disjointed thoughts pops up in front of her, scaring away the Kitsune she'd been bargaining with for some fresh virgin's blood to power her cloaking sigil.

"You know, lamb's blood would work just as well," Castiel says conversationally, "though I'd prefer it if you didn't kill the lamb. I could keep it calm, make sure it doesn't feel the pain or get scared."

"Why are you here, Clarence?" Meg asks tiredly. So much for avoiding the sunlight.

"It's gone quiet," Castiel says sadly. "But my fighting days are over."

"So you need a big bad demon to do the fighting for you, huh?" She pulls out her angel blade.

She'll do it, of course. She is what she is; loyal, for better or worse. She can't say who is using who here, anymore. But she supposes it doesn't really make a difference.

"I don't like conflict," Castiel says once again.

"I know, Clarence," she says, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

He places one of his own hands on her shoulder, and suddenly she's standing outside that extremely cliche hunter's cabin again. The only thing it's missing is a plaid flannel of its own.

Meg sighs, and goes to knock on the door, while Castiel zaps himself into the Winchesters's car, hiding. She rolls her eyes. The things she does for her cloud hopper.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters ask their questions, she redirects them to Clarence (she is still a demon, after all —  she's not going to fight all his battles for him. Especially not his ex-boyfriend drama.) Still, she keeps an ear out, telling herself she's not going soft. Though she can't lie to herself as well as she'd like.

Then it turns out Rocky and Bullwinkle were stupid enough to try and summon Crowley. She tries to run, calling for Cas, but it's too late. The Rat King of Hell arrives, and she can taste how badly he wants to kill her.

Her little problem only gets worse when Clarence steps in to protect her from Crowley. For all that he hates conflict, he's willing to step up for her. It... touches something in her. She can't remember anyone ever doing that for her, not since she became what she is.

And it's enough to scare away Crowley, at least for now. The Winchesters need Castiel, and Crowley wants the Winchesters to deal with Dick Roman for him... and as Crowley says, Castiel would be upset if something were to happen for her. When the King of Hell can see that there’s something there, she knows it must be real. Crowley can smell manipulable connections like a shark can scent a drop of blood in the water. For now, Castiel’s attachment to her keeps her safe. But there’s no guarantee it will stay that way.

There's proof enough of that in her dreams; more often then not, when her mind drifts, things take a darker turn. She sees herself, burning up in the light of Castiel. She sees herself dying for him, sometimes at the hands of other angels, sometimes demons — prophecy was never her gift, but she can feel which way the wind's blowing. Whatever this thing between them is, it will be the death of her. She knows it in her gut.

Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight Oh, all these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight

It's only more true when she agrees to help the Winchesters in their shitty plan to take down Dick Roman. If the demon she was seven years ago could see her now, it would stab her with her own angel blade. Meg, child of Azazel, student of Alistair, devotee to Lucifer —  once again willingly serving as a distraction on the Winchesters' behalf.

This is all Castiel's fault. Being around him... she can feel the sharpness of her fading, her thorns rounding out, slowly.

It's made her stupid — but then, maybe she's always been like this. Loyalty is loyalty. A cause is a cause. She'd started down this path planning to use Clarence and the Winchesters to her own ends, but now she's driving Dean's stupid, over-compensating muscle car towards a building filled with the kind of creatures that  angels and the first demons had nightmares about. Armed with just a knife and a jug of Power Clean.

She and Castiel exchanged glances right before they went their separate ways. He seemed... sharper. Like he got a little bit of himself back. They said a lot without saying anything. It gave her something to dream of.

And she's going to need that, she thinks, as Crowley's goons take advantage of the damage the leviathans did to her to throw her up against a wall and capture her.

Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Months pass. Meg endures. Meg dreams. Compared to Azazel, to Alistair, to Lucifer, Crowley and his goons' attempts at torture are nothing; drops of spit in the ocean. She lies, she acts, she lets them think they're getting information out of her, all the while she keeps them from finding what they're actually looking for.

She thinks about Castiel, lets herself dream through the torture. Sometimes she thinks of calling for him. He'd come, if she called. She still believes that.

She doesn't call.

Crowley comes to gloat a few times, tells her that her little angel is dead, along with Dean Winchester. She doesn't want to believe that. She doesn't want to prove him right. So she doesn't call. If she were to call, and he never showed, then it would mean that Crowley's right.

Even though part of her thinks that if he were alive, he would have come for her by now. Unless he doesn't know she's been taken. Maybe he's lying low, making plans, searching... if she called, it would put him at risk.

So she doesn't call. There's not much she can do to protect her cloud hopper where she is right now, but that much, she can manage.

She scoffs at herself —  when did she become such a damn softie? Nothing good ever comes from staring at the sun. Nothing good ever comes from dreaming. Not for a demon.

But she stared anyway. She dreamed anyway. And she just keeps dreaming.

Strap the wing to me Death trap clad happily With wax melted, I'd meet the sea Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She knows the end is coming, one way or another, when Crowley starts complaining that some one is killing his minions. Maybe it's Sam, out for revenge. Maybe it's both of the Winchesters; Dean turning back up like the bad penny that he is. Or maybe it's her Clarence, finally coming to find her.

Yeah right.

Even when Dean, Sam, and Clarence do show up, she knows it's not for her. It's for the Angel Tablet, same as Crowley. Still, she's glad to see Castiel again. He seems different. More focused. Better, but still, not quite the Angel she remembers. She can tell Dean notices too. But she doesn't say anything. She knows what she is. Hell, if she said something, Dean probably wouldn't believe her. Better to just get out of here, save her own skin.

But then Castiel turns to her. "We need your help."

How can she say no? "Any of you dummies got a map?" She chuckles.

This will be the death of her. She knows it. But she just can't seem to stop looking at the sun. Reaching for it, dreaming of it. She lets them take her to their temporary base, wincing in the light of day.

Sam and Dean leave her and Clarence alone, and he looks at her like... like she matters. Like he cares. He takes care of her, cleaning her wounds even though eventually they'll close up on their own.

"These wounds have festered," he says worriedly.

"You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?" She smiles at him and takes a swig of her booze. Trashy stuff, exactly what she'd expect from the Winchesters. Not that she really cares. She just likes to rag on them. Since, well... she's a demon. Funny how she has to keep reminding herself that, these days. Doesn't help that him taking care of her is actually really hot. Never thought she was one to get off on the touchy-feely crap. But here she is.

"I am aware of how to do that. Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds," Castiel replies, far too seriously.

She raises an eyebrow. Damn Crowley for the shitty bleach-job. She's much better looking as a brunnette. Funny, how body just feels like hers now. The girl from Cheboygan's long gone. She almost feels... bad about that. Ew.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" She asks. Even now, even when he clearly doesn't need her anymore, there's still something there.

"I don't know. And I still don't know who Clarence is."

She laughs. "Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?"

"A movie, no. But a book with the proper spells -- yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me."

He would give her a real answer for that. Funny though, she feels the need to tell him that he shouldn't be sharing that kind of information with a demon. She doesn't mention it. Instead, she keeps flirting, curious to see where it might lead. "You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up. So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model or crazy town?"

"I'm just me."

A lie, but one she'll pretend she believes for now. Not like she knows anything about deprograming angels. Aside from maybe doing it the old fashioned way, original sin and all that. "So, your noodle's back in order?"

"Yeah, my... noodle remembers everything. I think it's a pretty good noodle."

Even though he's better, he's still... cute. She shouldn't even be capable of finding things cute. What is he doing to her? "Really? You remember everything?" But like Icarus, she just keeps reaching for the sun.

"If you're referring to the pizza man... Yes, I remember the pizza man. And it's a good memory."

They let that sit for a moment, staring at each other. She winces a little. "What are you doing to me, Clarence?" She finally asks.

He cocks his head to the side. "I believe it's called flirting."

"Not that," she sighs. "Look at my true form."

He blinks at her. "I don't think that was my doing."

She rolls her eyes. "Who else could it have been, Clarence?"

"You," he replies.

She sighs, raising the bottle to her lips again. "You ever miss the Apocalypse?"

"No. Why would I miss the end of times?"

He just doesn't get it. It makes sense, she guesses. Not like the sun cared that it melted Icarus's wings.

"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks." An understatement. "And you're kind of bad -- which is actually all manner of hot. We survive this... I'm gonna order some pizza and we're gonna move some furniture around. You understand?" She might as well keep dreaming, though. She's come this far.

"No, I-I  — " He seems confused.

Meg gives him a sly smirk and waits, watching as understanding dawns on his stupidly kissable face.

"Wait —  actually... Yes, I — "

But before he can finish that thought, the cock-blocking Winchesters make their return. And joy of joys, they have another one of their shitty plans.

The dream was nice, while it lasted.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

They stand outside a warehouse after dark. She could run. She could tell them she's done, that she's given them what they want. Save herself before she gets too close to the sun.

But she won't. The light is inside her now. There's no running from that.

When Sam suggests that she watch their backs, she's ready to do it. They don't trust her, even after everything. Not that she blames them. Light or no, she is what she is. That's why it burns so much.

But Castiel trusts her. Castiel cares. "....You should stay here and protect Meg."

"Since when do I need protecting?" She wants, suddenly, to hear him say it. That she's worth protecting.

"Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."

Not quite what she was hoping for, but she'll take it. "Touché."

For all that the Winchesters talk about not trusting her, Dean does still leave her with Sam, which says more than words ever could. Even with the torture, she's pretty sure she could take Sam out it she wanted to, given the state he's in.

They're lucky that she doesn't want to. She's... fond of Sam, weirdly enough.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Not that he appreciates that.

"Wait -- so I took how many bullets for you guys, and you didn't even look for me?" She asks as they work together to ward the building. "Like, once?" She scoffs. Stupid of her to hope otherwise, really. Going soft sucks. "My hero. What's with all the "trial" and "being damaged" crap?" Even so, she's still concerned. Stupid sunlight, burning inside her, smoothing down her thorns.

"Look, no disrespect, but you haven't exactly been the most, uh, trustworthy person in our lives, Meg."

She can't deny that one, but still. "You're not gonna tell me? Seriously? How am I not team Sam?" She scoffs again. He doesn't get it. Or he doesn't want to. Fair enough.  "Fine. Whatever it is, you okay dying over it?"

He ignores her. Which, fair; but if she's going to die for these bozos — and she is, she can feel it, like a sudden free-fall in her belly — she's going to say her piece first. He's fighting for a cause —  she wants him to decide if he's really willing to commit to it.

"You don't want to say, fine. But remember, I spent time in that walking corpse of yours. I know your sad, little thoughts and feelings."

"That's creepy," he replies dryly.

It is. "You think I want to have little lingering bits of Winchester-thoughts bouncing around in my noggin? Honestly —  You should be paying for me to see a shrink." She shakes her head. Stay on topic. "Here's what I remember. Deep down, in parts you never let see the light of day, you want to live a long, normal life away from creepy old things like me."

Of course, that's an easy one. She doesn't even need the Winchester leftovers to know that.

"I do," Sam scoffs. Then he sighs. "You know, I spent last year with... someone, and, um... ...now I know that's actually possible." He looks like he doesn't even know why he's telling her this.

Frankly, she doesn't either. She's said what she wanted to, so maybe she should quiet while she's ahead. "Wait —  that's how you spent your last year? With a chick? Lame."

"You know, how about we just wait quietly?" He shakes his empty spray can.

She almost laughs. That's the Sammy she remembers having so much fun with. He's always at his best when he's being a little on the bitchy side. Whoever said blondes have more fun got it wrong; bitches have more fun.

"What was her name? You don't even trust me with a name? Cut me, do I not bleed, Sam?"

Surprisingly, she genuinely wants to know. Did this woman change him, like Clarence has changed her? Did he fly too close to the sun too? Or did he shed his wings and save himself?

"So, some chick actually got you off hunting, huh? That's one rare creature. Tell me —  how'd you meet this unicorn?"

Demons aren't supposed to dream, and neither, she thinks, are hunters. It never ends well.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight

Even more surprisingly, Sam tells her. Maybe part of him senses the light in her, burning away at what she ought to be. Or maybe he just wants to tell someone, and figures nobody cares what Meg has to say. Maybe he senses the end coming for her too —  prophecy was his thing, even if he doesn't do it anymore, now that Azazel's blood's gone dormant with the demon's death.

"You fell in love with a unicorn. It was beautiful, then sad, then sadder. I laughed, I cried, I puked in my mouth a little. And honestly, I kind of get it."

Her dreams never have a happy ending. Castiel is the sun, and it's going to destroy her in the end. It might be warm, it might make her feel nice in all the right places and the wrong ones, but that doesn't change what it is. What she is.

"Really?" Sam sounds like he might actually be willing to believe her. Like he might want to hear her story too.

But they're out of time. "We've got company."

Crowley's goons come out in force. And she's sure that the King of Hell himself won't be far behind.

But it is sunlight

And of course, she's right. Maybe she's got more prophecy in her than she thought. Bitching isn't as fun when Crowley does it. And she can tell that Sam doesn't have much more fight in him. She's gotta get him out of here. She sighs internally. Sunlight might be the biggest bitch of them all. Sure stings like one.

"You gonna talk us to death or get down to it already?" She taunts, drawing Crowley's attention away from Sam. She knows how this ends. But Sam doesn't have to die here too.

Crowley pulls out an angel blade, and Meg feels like she's seen this moment a thousand times since she let the sunlight in. Yeah, she knows how this ends. She's fucked. Damn that angel. Damn her. Damn everything.

Meg steps up to the plate, looking back over her shoulder at Sam. "Go. Save your brother... and my unicorn."

"Did Timon and Pumbaa..."  Crowley asks tauntingly. The door to the warehouse closes behind Sam. "...tell you their big plan? Did they share that little chestnut with you? They mean to close the Gates of Hell, sweetheart. They mean to kill me and all the demons -- you included."

She figured as much. One way another, her dreams were doomed from the start. It doesn't change a thing.

"You had me at "kill you," Crowley," she drawls with a smile.

He raises his fists. She braces for impact.

Oh, your love is sunlight

She does her best not to laugh at him as he lands another brutal hit on one of her kidneys.

"I could beat on you for eternity." He says. Dumbass.

Oh, your love is sunlight

"Take all the time you want, you pig." They hear the sound of car doors closing, and they both look up.

Meg finally lets herself laugh. "No Cas in the back seat. Your stone is long gone." She knows how this will end, but she's going to go down fighting. She stabs him in the shoulder.

But it is sunlight

Crowley gasps angrily, pulls out the blade, and drives it into her. Lightning sparks. Time slows.

Sunlight, sunlight,

She’s always wondered where demons go when they die. She knows it’s not purgatory, and even though it would make sense for them to just wind up back in hell, she knows that’s not how it works either. Maybe there’s just… nothing.

sunlight,

Can dead demons dream? She doesn’t know, but dying ones can — because even in the milliseconds she’s has left after Crowley stabs her, she’s still dreaming. She dreams of Castiel, finding her body and grieving. She dreams of Cas, showing up in the nick of time and healing her, rounding away even more of her thorns. It would hurt, but she’d live.

But she knows her dreams won’t come true. She’s a demon, and demons aren’t meant to dream.

sunlight,

Maybe dead demons don’t go anywhere. Maybe it’s just dark, quiet nothingness.

Once upon a time, she might have welcomed that. But not anymore.

Now… her last thought as the blade in her chest sparks its last, tearing all that she is to shreds, is that she’s going to miss the light of her unicorn.

sunlight

[lesbicosmos]

when hozier said "if im a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight" and when hozier said "no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her" and when hozier said "i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door" and when hozier said "heaven is not fit to house a love like you and i" and when hozier said-

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

No crumbs left.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

almost sweet music

words: 900

warnings: 18+ only, smut, thigh job, clit rubbing, brief tit play, childhood friends to lovers, kinda somnophilia?

your eyes are open, but they might as well be closed as you look at nothing but pure darkness. you shift ever so slightly, pressing further into rafes hold.

it's not the first time you've shared a bed. he's been your friend for years, and you used to have sleepovers every weekend before your bodies developed and it became awkward.

you would still occasionally fall asleep in rafes bed, usually when the movie he picked to watch was too boring, or when you were waiting around for him and ended up taking a nap enveloped in his scent.

tonight is different. even when you share a bed, rafe never cuddles so close to you like this. yeah, you'll wake up with your head on his chest or a leg slung over his, but rafe is pressed right against your back.

his chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but you can't tell for certain if he's asleep or just relaxed having you against him.

you close your eyes, relaxing back into his hold. his soft breath fans over your shoulder, barely covered by your tank top strap.

you're about to fall asleep when you feel something poking you. your eyes open again, wider this time as rafes hip press forward.

his obvious erection grinds against your ass, slow movements fooling you into believing rafe must be asleep still, body acting on its own, much like yours does when you seek him out in your sleep.

rafe let's out a soft moan, then a mumble of your name, and now you're certain he must be awake since you've never heard him sleep talk before.

his hips begin to move faster, like he's testing out how far he can take it before you wake up. how much movement will it take for you to stir, testing how much he can get away with.

you stiffen for a brief moment before relaxing again. you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to keep your breathing regular. you don't want rafe to stop. 

to others, it's been a clear (and long) game you've been playing, both pining after each other while claiming to just be best friends. this is the first time rafe has shown any clear evidence to you of his sexual attraction. what you don't see is his longing looks whenever your back is turned, or the way he's quick to go after any guy who looks at you for a little too long.

you let out a silent curse in your head. of course he's only doing this because he thinks your asleep as he moves faster against you, barriers of fabric in the way but not stopping his light moans, almost sweet music against your ears.

you wonder how long he's been pushing up against you before it woke you up. you consider your options. sit here silently, let him cum in his pants, or take action, show you're awake, and change your life forever.

you're done with the game as you reach down, startling rafe as he lets out a curse, but you simply pull your shorts down along with your underwear, revealing your bare ass as you spread your thighs, pussy on show and already starting to get wet.

you wait for rafe to continue. when it's clear he won't, you reach behind your back to pull his cock out of his pajama pants.

rafe follows your motions, taking your lead and going as far as you will allow as you rub his cock through your folds before closing your thighs around him.

“keep going.” you say. 

the words is all the encouragement rafe needs as he begins to thrust, the slick between your thighs growing as he pushes against you.

a hand that was holding you close to him travels to your pussy, rubbing you with a single finger, the pad rough against your sensitive clit.

the sound of slapping skin is a telltale sign of what is happening in the dark, as rafes hips meet your ass with every thrust.

you long for him to press into your cunt, but you know you need to have an actual discussion about what this is before allowing him to fuck you properly. the thighs will have to do.

rafe rubs faster, with a clear purpose as his cock swells. you can tell he's not far off, and the pure excitement from finally being with rafe also has your high growing.

you press further into his chest as your thighs squeeze together as tight as you can force them, letting out a moan when rafe spills, cum spurting through the gap onto the bed sheet.

he leaves his cock to soften between your legs as his finger keeps working on you, free hand coming to grab your chest over your shirt, hand possessively gripping your tits until your back arches, a strangled moan leaving your lips as you cum.

rafes hands disappear from off of you. you turn to face him, but can't see his expression.

“im-im sorry.” his words are enough for you to pinpoint where his mouth is as you lean in, pressing your lips together in a heated kiss.

“we can talk about it in the morning.” you say, tucking yourself back into his side. “we will cuddle and sleep and be in a much clearer headspace.”

rafe hesitates for a second before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, a soft smile on his face as your breathing returns to normal, not allowing himself to fall asleep until he hears your gentle snores.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @akirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[jackshiccup]

if i could hold you for a minute darling, i'd go through it again

inspired by chapter 42 of OTNWAS by @jjackfrost

[scealaiscoite]

unreal unearth prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

⋆ "i'd still know you."

⋆ "i'd block the sun if you want it done."

⋆ "some part of me must have died the first time that you called me baby."

⋆ "come here to me, when was the last time?"

⋆ "when i was young, i used to guess."

⋆ "do you think i'd give up?"

⋆ "do you think i'd give up? that this could've shook the love from me?"

⋆ "how could you think i'd scare so easily?"

⋆ "my life was a storm since i was born."

⋆ "if i could hold you for a minute, i'd go through it again."

⋆ "heaven is not fit to house a love like yours and mine."

⋆ "i feel lighter than i have in so much time."

⋆ "how could i fall when i am lifted by every word you say to me?"

⋆ "if you need to, darling, lean your weight on me."

⋆ "but if we fall i only pray, don't fall away from me."

⋆ "i do not have wings, love, and i never will."

⋆ "i'm starvin', darling."

⋆ "honey, i wanna race you to the table."

⋆ "two outfits then to my name, and you'd end up in one when you'd stay."

⋆ "we'd go out with no way to get home."

⋆ "but I know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done."

⋆ "we knew what our love was worth."

⋆ "hold me like water- or christ, hold me like a knife."

⋆ "it's who we are."

⋆ "darling, we sacrificed."

⋆ "if there was anyone to ever get through this life with their heart still intact, they didn't do it right."

⋆ "we didn't get it right but, love, we did our best."

⋆ "there are some things that no one teaches you, love."

⋆ "but it came easy, darlin', as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame."

⋆ "so far from home to have a stranger call you "darling"."

⋆ "i would do everything if you'd hear me."

⋆ "the feeling came late, but i'm still glad i met you."

⋆ "i knew i'd no choice but to love you."

⋆ "i thought you were like an angel to me."

⋆ do you know i could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, i still carry for you?"

⋆ "it's like i lived my whole life before the first light."

⋆ "the sun's coming up."

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste. 

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home. 

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression. 

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries. 

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly. 

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later. 

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever. 

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

[rock-in-robins]

so like reverse robins, if done right, i love em. anything reverse robins i ever write will never have Steph become Babs. it doesn't make sense to her character for her to become oracle, would she be great at it, absolutely, but it doesn't make sense.

there's always debate on whether it should be Steph or Tim to die and more or less become Jason. my answer is that Tim get's joker jr'd and kills himself (+ the joker if your so inclined (but joker would have to be revived somehow for plot reasons) (you can make it Bruce if you want more angst)) then Steph becomes robin because Tim always talked about how gotham needed a robin and she wanted to honor him in a way only she could. then the thing with black mask happens and she still fakes her death travels, heals, grieves, and comes back when she heard bruce picked up a new kid. (Jason wasn't robin yet, just living in the manor but Steph new it was only a matter of time)

so she comes back to gotham and decides she's gonna take care of crime alley her way, and revamps her old spoiler costume. (she may not have grown up there but she was a few streets away and she knew what a place like that did to kids) (she also has no ties to Bruce anymore so her no killing thing gets a whole lot more lax)(she kills her father - that's how bruce and the others found out shes back in town). and openly feuds with black mask over territory and brutally maims him but like just a bit.

Then Jason becomes robin and six months later Tim is back. he's different and definitely a bit more unhinged, but efficient as ever. he quickly takes over the drug trade and helps Steph get rid of the worst of the worst. But doesn't do the whole try to make Bruce kill the joker thing, instead he makes Bruce watch as Tim does and warns him that if he tries to revive the joker again (damian aka nightwing def killed the joker & Bruce brought him back) that they Will Have Problems. Tho he is going as Joker Jr. as a fuck you and a threat to pretty much everyone, after all they all knew what happened to the 2nd robin.

In summary Tim & Steph split up the Red Hood traits

Duffle bag of heads - tim, he's dramatic

Died (like burried in a grave and crawled out died) - tim

Guns - Steph

The joker - tim (but steph will shoot the fucker on sight so help her god)

Black mask war - steph (obvi)

Crime alley - steph mainly (but tim lurks around and every crime alley kid & sex worker knows that if they ever need something JJ will take care of it no questions asked)

Drug trade - tim

Scaring/pissing B off - both, they make it a game

Murder - both as a treat

[angelofsmalldeaath]

you'll always find me in the kitchen at parties — a.h.b.

a/n: this is based on one of the songs mentioned in this interview. the prompt is "a song for when you're getting ready to go out, but you actually want to stay in"

cw: suggestive, kissing and making out

“red or pink?” i hold up two tubes of lipstick in front of him. he frowns. 

“neither,” he takes them out of my hands one after the other and hides them behind his back. “i’d rather you stayed.”

i click my tongue and look at him, exasperated once again. he’s been on our bed for the past twenty minutes now, watching me ritualistically put on my makeup, once step after the other like i’ve done for years. 

“baby, don’t be like this,” i get off the chair and stand in front of him, between his legs. then i cradle his face. “it’s a work thing. i have to be there…”

truth is i’d rather be anywhere but at the work thing. i know it’s going to be one of those events that goes on and on and on until every last person is sleepy and bored out of their minds. then there is shitty food. 

“will you return my lipsticks, please?”

“and what if i said no?” he puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my sternum, effectively trapping me in place. 

“i’d have to wrestle you for them,” i smirk, indulging him.

“you’d never win against me,” he declares, his voice all confident until i scratch his scalp with my nails. whatever words he was about to say dissolve on his tongue as he sighs, practically melting in place. 

“you sure about that?” i tease and drag my nails through hair once again. 

once his eyes flutter shut, he shifts, squishing his face in my boobs, tightening his arms around me some more. 

“i’ve got you now,” his voice is muffled, i feel the vibrations in my chest, “where will you go?”

the clock on the wall ticks, inching closer and closer to when i have to leave. the more the seconds tick by the more my feet feel frozen in place, my body rooted in his arms, my brain unwilling to do the ‘right thing’. i should untangle myself from his embrace and step away. instead i climb onto his lap.��

“oh?” he looks at me with renewed interest, mouth curving into a smug smile. 

i take my chance and reach behind him, closing my fist around one of the lipsticks. quickly i yank my arm back and hold it up in front of him. it’s the pink one, the one i didn’t want. “gotcha!”

he looks at the bullet then back at me, moving his hands from my hips to my waist. a confused frown makes its way onto my face. “what are you—”

i yelp before i can finish my question. in an instance i’m off his lap and somehow under him on the bed as he flips us both, faster than i could have imagined. the lipstick goes flying halfway across the room.

“gotcha…” he whispers, close enough that our breaths mix together. “do you still want to leave?”

no. no no no. i haven’t wanted to leave all evening, not when he looks at me with so much longing and want and love. not when he looks like that…

the other lipstick tube rolls against my thigh, within my reach now. instead, i place my hand on his cheek, crane my neck until i can press my lips against his.

barely a second passes before he deepens the kiss, moves his hand from my waist to my ribs. 

his familiar weight on top of me is comfortable, safe. i fist his t-shirt and giggle when he does the same to my dress, wrinkling it instantly. 

“you won’t let me go, will you?”

he clicks his tongue, kissing my jaw, “not a chance.”

“i should just tell them i got food poisoning, shouldn’t i?”

“absolutely. oh, you are deathly ill right now.”

i giggle again, letting him slide away the straps off my dress and kiss the bare skin of my shoulder. 

“for the record,” he murmurs, “i would have picked red.”

“yeah?”

he nods, pulling away slightly so he can look at me properly. “looks the best on you. looks the best on me when you kiss me…”

“and pink doesn’t?” i tease. 

this time it’s his turn to thread his fingers through my scalp. i sigh and almost close my eyes. “well now that you’ve decided to stay…” he swoops down and captures my lips in another lingering kiss, “we could test out all the shades.”

“i think that’s a good use of our time,” i laugh, and kiss him once again. 

[flash-bastardd]

Snippet from Almost (Sweet Music)

It might have been months now since Aziraphale had left, Crowley still wasn't sure and he didn't want to ask Muriel. It was hard to believe, but Muriel actually enjoyed spending time with the demon. They had said so every time the two had shared space.   Crowley had slowly started showing Muriel the wonders of Earth and the temptations of human delight.  They had enjoyed the walks Crowley had started taking them on, the meals they would have at the Sucre Restaurant (hell knows he couldn't step foot in the Ritz), they would walk around St James Park. They would never sit on a bench, Crowley couldn't bare that yet. But they would walk around, bags filled to the brim with frozen peas - throwing them to the ducks swimming around.   Muriel loved ducks. They really, really loved ducks.   After Crowley had introduced them to ducks, real ducks. Not just the one's they had read about, or seen from heaven - they had become obsessed.    "Did you know that ducks have three different eyelids?! And they can see in colour!?" Muriel had said excitingly. "No Dove, I had no idea." He did.    "Mr Crowley did you know that there are different types of ducks - diving ducks, sea ducks and dabbling ducks!" Crowley still couldn't get Muriel to drop the mister. "Really Dove? That's amazing." Crowley had said, though he also knew this fact.   "Oh! Did you know that when ducks clean themselves, it is called ‘preening’. They put their heads into funny positions and use their bills to clean between their feathers." Muriel was practically buzzing with the information they were learning. They had enjoyed telling Crowley all these facts and tidbits they were learning about Earth. "Oh Dove, sorta similar to Angels then. With the preening and taking care of your wings and such." Crowley had responded and watched as Muriel kicked their feet happily.

Rest of the fic here 👇

[mrm0rgansw0man]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

re-uploading this fic on my new account because im planning on making a second part of it! should be out soon :) Xx

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[mrmorganswoman]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[hazbinwhoree]

reader that is related to one of adams band members. but has no interest in adam due to his reputation (at first) since she only bothers with long-term and committed stuff. tends to hide behind her sibling and snitch if adam ever tries to make a move. at some point its more to fuck with adam than actually avoid him, I assume it eventually works out, after more effort than expected from adam

My Bandmate’s Sister

A/N: The song is Like Real People Do by Hozier, my lord and savior.

Adam and his drummer, David, had beef. Was it because Adam constantly pursued David’s sister? Well that was David’s beef. Adam’s beef wasn’t exactly clear, but he had started pursuing David’s sister for the sole purpose of pissing David off.

(Name), David’s sister, came to all of their shows and had a free pass backstage due to being family. She had absolutely no interest in Adam. Every time Adam flirted with her, she would tell her brother and hide behind him, smirking as he and Adam got into a fight.

But Adam was nothing if not persistent.

His reputation was working against him, his fuckboy persona not benefitting him for the first time in his life. (Name) was a conservative girl, only interested in the long term and unconcerned with hookups and all things shallow. And in her mind, Adam was a shallow as they came.

“There are 206 bones in my body. Want to help me grow another one?”

Unimpressed, (Name) turned to face him. “I’m shocked you know how many bones you have in your body. I figured you were too stupid to know a fact like that.”

Adam placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Babe, you wound me.”

“Leave me alone or I’ll tell David you’re trying to fuck me again.”

Adam pushed a little more, and true to her word, (Name) spun on her heel and marched over to the drummer, tapping his shoulder. She whispered in his ear and David looked over at Adam, pissed.

He stood up and just like that, he and Adam were in another fight.

See, maybe Adam would have given up by now. It was funny the first few times, but the constant fights with David were getting old. The problem was, Adam had legitimately started catching feelings for (Name). He supposed he’d just have to try harder.

Maybe heavy flirting wasn’t the way to go.

Instead of heavy flirting, Adam started asking her questions about herself instead. (Name) seemed skeptical and sometimes she’d tell on him to David just to fuck with Adam, but it was working much better than the heavy flirting was.

(Name) actually enjoyed having normal conversation with Adam. Once you got past his flirting and ego, he was actually a good conversationalist. (Name) came to learn more about him too. He only takes his mask off to sleep. He can’t cook. Doesn’t have any STDs (surprise), how that conversation even came to be, (Name) didn’t know.

It was kind of nice, but Adam could tell her guard was still up. He started ignoring his groupies in lieu of talking to (Name) after every show, much to David’s chagrin. If David had it his way, Adam wouldn’t interact with (Name) period, but she was more than capable of making her own decisions and if she wanted to talk to Adam, he couldn’t stop her.

(Name) felt slightly special that Adam blew off easy lays just to pursue her. Still, she was sure it was an act to get into her pants, so she was cautious.

Adam started dedicating sets to her at shows, and David hated it. (Name) found it kind of sweet that he was pubic about liking her. He was getting in his own way when it came to getting laid and he didn’t even care.

One night, after a show, (Name) was talking to her brother when Adam approached her. “Hey babe, can I steal you?” David scowled. “No–” (Name) silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. “Sure,” she agreed.

Adam grinned and led her away while David glared after them. He led her outside the venue before abruptly picking her up bridal-style and taking flight. (Name) shrieked. “I can fly by myself, asshole!” Adam just laughed at her.

They weren’t in the air for too long before Adam reached their destination. It was an open field, a beautiful clearing, where the stars and moon shone brightly. Adam carefully set her down on her feet before pulling his guitar off his back.

“I learned a new song, I want to play it for you.”

“Did we have to come all the way out here?”

“I needed to set the mood,” Adam rolled his eyes. “Just listen.”

He began to strum his guitar.

“I had a thought, dear, however scary

About that night, the bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging? What did you bury

Before those hands pulled me from the earth

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask and neither should you

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do.”

(Name) was silent. Adam had such a nice voice. She’d never been serenaded by a guy before.

“I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking

Was there in someone that dug long ago

So I will not ask you why you were creeping

In some sad way, I already know

So I will not ask you where you came from

I would not ask and neither would you

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do.”

(Name) couldn’t believe a metalhead like Adam had learned a love song just for her.

“I could not ask you where you came from

I could not ask and neither could you

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

We could just kiss like real people do.”

(Name) was quiet when Adam finished the song, and her heart fluttered when she noticed how nervous he looked. “Did I get the message across?” he asked.

“That you want to fuck me? You’ve made that very clear.”

“No,” Adam said exasperated. “That I like you.”

“Oh.” (Name) was quiet. He seemed so genuine she found herself believing him. It scared her.

“Oh?” Adam repeated. “Is that all you have to say?” (Name) shook her head. “I’m just… processing.” “I thought I’ve been making it pretty clear,” Adam said.

“Well sure, but you’re a fuckboy,” (Name) retorted.

Fair enough.

“Which is why I did all this. I wanted to ask you something and make it special.”

“Ask me what?”

Adam put his guitar back on his back, reaching his hands out for (Name) to take. Cautiously, she did.

“To be my girl.” “What?” “I’m asking you to be my girlfriend,” Adam said, tone devoid of all humor. “Are you serious?” Adam nodded. “Dead serious.”

Now (Name) looked unsure. “What is it?” Adam asked. “Anything you’re worried about, any questions you have, I’ll answer. Put your mind at ease.”

“I’m just having trouble believing the great Adam wants a serious relationship.”

“You’re forgetting I’ve been married twice. And I really loved Lilith and Eve. They left me, not the other way around. Fuck, Eve cheated on me. So I know that pain and I’d never be unfaithful. I know I’m kind of a man whore but who cares what I do when I’m single? I’m a man who can commit. To the right woman.”

(Name) had to admit he plead his case well. She couldn’t deny her own feelings for him any longer, not with that reassurance.

“...Okay.” “Okay?” “I’ll be your girlfriend.” “Really?” Adam almost looked like he didn’t believe her.

(Name) smiled. “The song kinda sold it. Did you really learn it just for me?” Adam blushed. “Yeah, I know you like Hozier and I figured that was the most applicable song so…”

(Name) took her hands in his. “That was sweet.”

They stared at one another, faces illuminated by moonlight, before Adam bent down and carefully connected their lips. He’d waited for this for so long.

The stars twinkle above they as they kiss like real people do.

[icarryitin]

Psychopomp

spencer reid/gn!reader

besides having a crippling pepsi max addiction and being insufferable on this website my main hobby is Hozier Fan so pls enjoy some trauma bonding

series masterlist

word count: 1.6k // warnings: like two swears, canon level blood and injury, victim death, new colleague awkwardness

summary - You could have saved her, you’re sure of it. If you’d been quick enough. Instead, you’re just the grim reaper.

Stakeouts are not fun by anyone’s standard. Less fun when you’ve only known the person in the passenger seat for nine days - to make things even worse, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t like you.

Okay, that might be a bit presumptuous.

And maybe you’ve been awkward too, just a smidge. You’re trying so desperately to be cool about it, because he’s the cute guy at your new job and you don’t want to be that person. You’ve worked your ass off far too hard to get where you are, to even have a shot at the prestigious unit, to ruin it with a silly little crush on a coworker. Even if the glasses are absolutely doing it for you.

The woods are quiet through the windscreen, treeline barely visible past the raindrops falling heavier and heavier with every passing minute.

“Anything?”

The walkie talkie on the dashboard flickers to life to pierce the quiet. Reid’s eyes are still on the trees, so you lean over the steering wheel to pull it towards you.

“Nothing yet,” You press the talk button, “Any signs of life on your side?”

“None, cabin’s quiet.”

Morgan and Hotch are settled further up the track, carefully watching the suspected Unsub’s cabin. Your car is tucked off of the track entrance, in case the guy tries to make a break for it. It’s something out of a horror movie - creepy guy, cabin in the woods, the dark, the rain. You’re half expecting a werewolf to lumber out of the low hanging branches, dripping with blood and howling. But none such creature appears. Instead, it’s just quiet. Painfully so. You find yourself consciously keeping your breaths shallow and silent, you don’t want to disturb Reid any more than you’re sure you already are. Except, as you lean forward to slide the walkie talkie back onto the dashboard, your body betrays you.

The rumbling starts low, and for a second you’re hopeful that he won’t hear it at all. And then your stomach growls something awful.

You press your lips together and let your eyes close for a moment, let the embarrassment wash over you, before you open your mouth to apologise. He beats you to it.

“Yeah, me too.” There’s a sly little smile on his face, though he’s not looking at you. His gaze is still firmly stuck on the trees ahead. Still, it’s nice to know he’s not judging you. So you feel a little less self conscious about turning in your seat, about the eyes that follow when you lean through the gap to reach the backseat to unzip your bag.

It’s lunchbox time.

You’re not avoiding Reid’s eye per se, as you settle back into your seat with the plastic box on your knees, but you’re not exactly making any effort to meet it. He’s peering over at it - the sun bleached red box with a patchy kids show logo on the front, so scratched up that you can’t tell what it used to be anymore. But it holds more stakeout snacks than it feasibly should be able to, and that makes it perfect. You pull out a snack sized packet of jelly beans before turning it to face your teammate.

“You brought snacks?” He sounds surprised, but there’s no judgement in his tone, so that’s something. A tiny step forward.

“Always,” You glance up from the selection to look at him, “You don’t?”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s a professional. He’s old hat at all this, you’re the one fresh out of Academy packaging. Still, he leans over the centre console and snags a bag of dried fruit snacks for himself, pinched between two long fingers - he’s still got his arm stretched out halfway when the thud sounds against the hood of your car. The vibration of it reverberates through your seat, your gaze snaps up to spot two bloodied hands where they’ve slammed against the metal.

You know this woman. You know this woman because her face is in the file in your bag, her missing persons poster is front and centre on the board back at the local precinct. Time freezes when her eyes lock onto yours through the rain streaming down the windscreen, wild. And then she’s gone, tripping over rocks and twigs and her own feet, into the undergrowth. It doesn’t matter at this stage whether or not it’s a trap by the Unsub. Right now, Sheila Jenkins is running around in the dark and the cold and the rain. Terrified, injured, miles from home. You have no choice but to follow her into the darkness of the trees, you have to try. You’re out of the car and into the downpour before you can really think about it.

Reid’s voice carries your name through the trees after you, but it’s lost amongst the thunder in the clouds above.

She’s not far in front of you, injuries and rough terrain slowing her - but she makes up for it with sheer desperation. Fight or flight, and this woman can fly. Vaguely, there’s another set of footsteps somewhere behind you. Loud and uncoordinated, shoes wholly inappropriate for a trek through the woods, you know it’s Reid without looking back. Sheila is your sole focus, a frantic dark blob and shock of blonde hair just ahead through the trees. Her sole focus is getting the fuck out of the woods.

So she doesn’t see the break in the trees. She doesn’t see brush turn to tarmac, doesn’t feel it under her feet. She doesn’t see the approaching headlights at all.

You do, you see everything.

Reid’s hand shoots out to catch the back of your vest, rocks at your feet skitter out onto the road as he stops you in your tracks. And it all plays out, right in front of you, like a sick movie.

Even over the rain, over the thunder, over the rumble of the engine and the squealing of the brakes - the crunch of Sheila’s body against the hood of the car is loud. It echoes, reverberating as her body bounces off of it and lands ten feet further down the road. The driver is already out of their car, screaming, but it’s all background noise. You leave them to Reid, who’s already radioing for an ambulance. Because she’s not dead just yet, she’s a fighter. Her mother told you that only this morning.

Her breath is shallow, quick, and you already know that any help will come too late. The last human touch she knows shouldn’t be a violent one, it can’t be. Your feet are already carrying you to the crumpled heap of her in the road. The ground is cold when you hit it, rain soaking through your jeans. But it doesn’t matter.

“It’s okay,” You’re mumbling as you pull Sheila’s torso into your lap, her head resting in the crook of your elbow, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She shakes in your arms, blood stains the sleeve of your shirt where she grips it with broken fingers. Green eyes wide, bloodshot, terrified. You can only hold her closer. Shushing her, rocking her like a child. Her mouth opens and she croaks, you think she’s trying to say something to you - but she chokes on blood before she can get a word out, bubbling up and leaking from the corners of her lips. It spatters onto your vest, your face. It doesn’t matter.

“Mom.”

It’s the only sound Sheila can muster, garbled by the blood in her throat. God, she must be in so much pain.

“I’ll tell her.”

There’s a flicker in the green of her eyes, somewhere under the agony, you think she might be grateful. And then she’s done. Another twitch, another gasping breath against your vest. Sheila Jenkins dies in your arms. In a storm, on a backroad in rural Oregon, after escaping a serial killer. You’re blinded by the emergency lights that round the corner ahead of you, refracted in the rain, too fucking late.

A shadow falls across your face, illuminated from behind by red and blue light. Reid.

His hands are careful, almost nervous, as they hover over your shoulders before finally settling themselves solidly on the straps of your vest. He says nothing, only watches you for a moment. Watches you finally let a tear fall. Watches it mix with the rain on your cheek. He’s even more careful still when the paramedics approach, hands sliding down your arms to pry your grip from Sheila’s body to let them take her. It’s only now you can look him in the eye. His are sad, but steady.

“They’re not all like this.” Reid says quietly. He pulls a clean tissue out of his pocket, the rain soaking it almost instantly, but he dabs at the blood on your face with it.

“Sometimes we win.” He presses on when you say nothing, shifting slightly to allow you to see the rest of the team arriving on scene. The Unsub is in the backseat of Hotch and Morgan’s SUV, cuffed and on his way to justice. But your eyes slide back to the ambulance, to Sheila Jenkins getting zipped into a body bag.

“We do?” You know you look pathetic. Soaked to the bone in the middle of the road, covered in blood, looking at him like he’s the oracle. You can barely see for the rain in your eyes anyway, best not to know how pitifully he’s watching you.

Spencer doesn’t answer, but there’s such a certainty in his face that you’re inclined to believe him. Something tells you it won’t be the last time you treat this man’s word as gospel.

lou finish a wip on time and don’t make it sad challenge: impossible edition🫡