#and kept saying things insinuating that either I was a demon

[arrowpunk]

Definitely experienced more blatant directed homophobia today than I probably ever have before so that's fun

[herenya-writes]

Day 8: Toad

“Ignorant idiot!” Dorian growled to himself, stalking across the great hall. All he wanted was to get back to his books as quickly as possible. As he had once again proven to himself, there was no point in emerging from the library, at least not if he sought anything resembling intelligent conversation. Honestly, he wasn’t certain intelligent conversation could be found in the library either, but he wasn’t above holding a conversation with himself should things get desp—.

His thoughts were quite rudely cut short when he collided with something. He stumbled back, a sharp complaint curling on his tongue. Then he blinked and realized who was standing in front of him.

“Ah, my apologies, Inquisitor,” he said and gave the man a deep nod. “It seems I was lost in thought.”

The Inquisitor’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “Unpleasant ones, if your scowl is any indication.”

On instinct, Dorian smoothed out his features, settling into an expressionless mask. “Nothing to concern yourself with. I am merely becoming acquainted with the average person’s lack of magical knowledge here.”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, that not-smile still playing on his lips. “Tell me about it while I walk you to the library?” He said the phrase like a question, but it sounded like a command. Either way, Dorian inclined his head.

“If you wish.”

The Inquisitor began to walk, and Dorian fell in step next to him. “If you must know, I was venturing to the newly-furnished mage’s tower to return a tome I had borrowed from the Grand Enchanter’s personal library. On the way back one of the commander’s soldiers, a child really, insinuated to his fellows that I would turn them all into toads as part of some Tevinter plot.” He kept his tone light, which had the desired effect of making the Inquisitor chuckle.

“A toad?” The Inquisitor asked with a laugh as they began climbing the steps to the library. “I wasn’t aware you had that skill.”

“I don’t,” Dorian replied dryly. “Nor would I have any desire to learn it. My pyromancy and necromancy have served myself and the Inquisition well enough.”

They reached the top of the steps, and Arlaros turned toward him. “They have. I’m sorry you have to deal with this kind of ignorance and bad-faith. I’ll talk to Cullen about it.”

The sincere regret in the Inquisitor’s voice caught Dorian off guard. “There’s no need to bother yourself; that’s hardly the most biting thing I have heard said about me.”

That was the wrong thing to say, if the way the Inquisitor’s brows pulled together was any indication.

“You’ve left your homeland to fight for the Inquisition. You’ve trekked through the wilderness, fought Venatori, templars, bandits, and demons, and you spend your spare time researching demons and spells.” The Inquisitor’s frown deepened. "You’re surrounded by people who don’t understand your culture and customs and greet you with fear and suspicion instead of respect and gratitude. I apologize for that.”

Dorian’s skin itched, and he fought the urge to glance around to see if they were being watched. Instead, he plastered on a smile. “That’s hardly your fault, dear Inquisitor. Unless, of course, you’re secretly hundreds of years old and responsible for the bedtime stories people in the south tell about scary mages from Tevinter.”

The Inquisitor’s serious expression didn’t change. “You shouldn’t be expected to bear the sins of your entire country.”

Dorian let his smile fall. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But nor should you be expected to bear the sins of the entire Inquisition.”

The Inquisitor tilted his head, and he nodded. “Fair enough. But promise me you’ll let me know if things get out of hand. What’s the point in having this position if I can’t change things?”

“I will,” Dorian promised. “Now, I’m sure you have important things to do.”

The Inquisitor smiled, a proper smile that made his eyes sparkle even in the dim light. “I’m sure there’s a meeting happening somewhere that I’m supposed to be in. I’ll see you later, Dorian.”

Dorian echoed the farewell and turned toward his corner of the library. He settled into his chair and pulled out the book he had been consulting earlier, ready to dive back into his work of determining how to increase the effective range of the Inquisition’s warning runes. Something made him pause, though, and he leaned back in his chair, replaying his conversation with the Inquisitor.

It was true that he was surrounded by people who didn’t respect or understand his culture and customs, and it was also true that he tended to face more fear and suspicion than gratitude. But something about the way the Inquisitor had said those words...something personal. How much of what he said applied to himself? The Inquisitor was the figurehead of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste. But had anyone taken the time to understand him or his culture? How often was he met with fear and suspicion?

Those thoughts continued to nag at Dorian for the rest of the day, although no immediate solution presented itself. There was something wrong here, but he wasn’t sure it was in his power to fix.

[niiwa-angel]

Unable to Stop this Fight.

Blitz would later say that he’d known it was a bad idea. He was a lot of things, father, mercenary, amatuer cowboy, but class act was not one of them. But Stolas had invited him and Loona to some weird, ceremonial ball to be hosted at his palace and Loona had said that she wouldn’t mind seeing Octavia again and who was he to deny his baby such a small joy? Especially after how he’d treated her before Via got lost in LA, a city he would be happy to never go back to.

He had been trying to make good on his promise to Moxxie after all the bullshit with the human government. It seemed that being more open to discussion had made the smaller Imp a better assassin but he should have put his foot down when he mentioned talking to Loona. Since he had threatened to replace her, his poor daughter had been tender, her ears were often back, her fur was tangled like she didn’t care to brush it, and she spent most of the night pacing rather than sleeping. She wouldn’t even tolerate any touch from him either, he had ruined all the progress he had made with her, so if she wanted to see Via, damn it all he would make it happen.

He knew they were out of place before he even made it up the long driveway to Stolas’ house. All of the cars ahead of them were new and sleek, unchipped paint and bright lights, his noisy van was an eyesore without this kind of competition. The demons getting out matched their vehicles with expensive suits, spotless shoes, and all tall as fucking trees. Him in his tattered suit and Loona in her second hand dress, both of them just in their everyday shoes because they each only had one pair.

“Are you sure you wanna do this Sweetie?” Blitz asked, “Cause there is no pressure, we can turn around right the fuck now if thats what you want.”

“Are you kidding? This is gonna be so much fun!” Loona replied.

A cursory look over at her and any desire to leave faded, Loona was looking out the window at the expansive gardens with happy eyes and a wagging tail. If being around these hoity toity assholes kept her happy, then he was happy.

“Okay just, let me know if you change your mind. I mean it, anytime you want to leave, we’ll leave. Fuck all these guys.”

Loona just huffed and went back to staring, but she was happy and that was all he cared about. They finally reached the stairs, where a goddamn valet was waiting to take the car someplace out of sight so they could enjoy the evening. It was just some poor college kid, probably Loonas age, who wanted to make some extra cash before the upcoming exams. Remembering his own college days and all the blissful acid trips they had been hazed with, Blitz pulled out a couple of fives from his pocket to hand over with the keys.

“Here kid, the brakes seize up sometimes, just pump the pedal and it should be fine.” He said.

Said kid looked at his banged up van with relief, probably happy that he wouldn’t have to try to navigate another car that was worth more than everything he owned. Blitz clapped the keys and the cash into his palm and started up the stairs with Loona at his side, she was still looking at everything, deeply entranced, and he remembered how magical the Palace seemed back when he first saw it.

The illusion shattered when they reached the fancy bouncer, who took one look at Loona and wrinkled his nose.

“Sir, would you like me to call one of our servers to escort your hellhound to the kennels?” He asked Blitz, ignoring Loona completely.

“Hey! That’s my fucking daughter you’re talking about asshole!” Blitz snapped, “She isn’t going in any fucking kennel.”

“Sir, we don’t let Hellhounds in the palace, they shed on the rugs.” He tried again.

Blitz heard the small, muffled whimper from behind him. Loona was tough as nails, he was so proud of her, but even she would be hurt by the insinuation that she would make a mess of the place. He was already rolling up his sleeves, this wrinkled cumshot was gonna be sorry he’d ever opened his fat mouth.

“Why you asshole, I oughta-”

“Yoohoo, Blitz!”

Shit. It definitely wasn’t going to win him any points with Stolas if he beat up his staff, no matter how much they deserved it. Fortunately, the prince took one look at the scene, at Loonas laid back ears, and his own dad instincts kicked in.

“What is going on here? You two were supposed to join me ten minutes ago.” He asked, intentionally including Loona.

“Yeah well, your fucking doorman here wants to take Loona to the kennels. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to kicking his ass.” Blitz said.

He lunged at the guy again, only for Stolas to grab him by the jacket of his suit.

“Is this true? You were going to send my dates daughter to the kennels?” Stolas asked, furious.

“Ah well, you see your majesty, it’s just policy.” The doorman stammered.

“I thought I told you.” Stolas started, dangerously calm. “That my personal guest was bring his daughter and to let them both in. Did I not make myself clear?”

“Your majesty, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.” He begged.

“See to it. Now then, let's get you both inside.” Stolas said, beckoning the two further in. “I’m so excited.

Blitz climbed up Loonas side, gave her a quick kiss and a whispered ‘I love you sweetie’ and then followed his host into the ballroom. Via was quick to spot them and she raced over as fast as her beautiful gown would allow her. Loona perked up the minute she saw the owlet, and the two busied themselves in a conversation about the upcoming tour of a band they both enjoyed.

Stolas had a table with four chairs set aside for all of them in a quiet corner of the balcony and Via and Loona made short work of turning it into their homebase. Via seemed happy to not have to hang out with her older cousins, who apparently always made fun of her music and now the fact that her father was dating an imp, and she didn’t make any move to leave the table.

Blitz accompanied Stolas on his rounds, greeting the guests and occasionally the two of them would fill up a plate with snacks and bring it to their daughters. The two looked so happy that neither he nor Stolas could resist sneaking pictures on their phones. Sue them both, they were proud papas. The night was almost going to well until Blitz saw him.

~~~

Fizzaroli would later say that the night was supposed to be fairly routine, accompany Asmodeus to some fancy party, manage the dancers and other entertainment, give the audience a little comedy in between, enjoy some fancy booze, and call it a night. His early evening had been uneventful, nothing was running behind, his suit fit perfectly, and for once, none of his scars were giving him trouble. Everything was shaping up to be a good night.

He and Ozzie had set up their little stage, eaten a small meal together, and waited for all the guests to arrive. Asmodeus kept him up on his shoulder for most of the introductions so he didn’t get stepped on, his prosthetics were state of the art but also delicate, neither of them wanted to damage them. Besides, from the vantage point, Fizz could entertain Ozzies friends with his stretchy limbs, even grabbing three glasses of champagne across the room to the delight of the Ars Goetia demons they were talking to.

The shows were going well, the dances were watered down significantly since this technically wasn’t an adult only establishment and there were little kids watching the dancers drop into the splits and then pull themselves up with starry eyes. Thankfully, it was more of an acro routine now so their parents couldn’t get angry. He was getting ready to give another comedy speech to give the dancers a break when he saw him.

What Blitzo was doing at a party like this was beyond him, the bastard couldn’t even put on a proper suit. How dare he? Fizz had spent a lifetime trying to get past The Event, the one that cost him his limbs and horns. A lifetime trying to avoid his former best friend, the opposite of how humans avoided the plague of 2020. So obviously, when he saw the bastard here, in his new life, he was pissed.

“Blitzo! I should have known something was wrong when I smelt the mothballs.” He sneered.

“Oh great, it’s Fizzy.” Blitzo muttered, as if he was the one who should be offended.

“What are you doing here? Trying to panhandle enough to pay for sister dears next stint in rehab?” He jeered.

That was a low blow and he knew it. In truth, he also worried for Barbie and her habit and had anonymously given to the sobriety fund multiple times. Curse him, he was a sentimental Imp and he and Barbie had grown up together, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her to rot.

“I could ask you the same thing, let me guess, there’s a strong magnet around here somewhere?” Blitzo shot back.

A barking laugh interrupted their budding argument and Fizz noticed a tall hellhound in a stained red dress approaching with two flutes of champagne. She towered over the both of them, as hellhounds tend to do, but she was considerably shorter than Ozzie. The hound offered one of the flutes to Blitzo and took a generous sip of the other.

“What’s happening here?” She asked.

“Oh nothing Looney Tooney, just a bad memory who came back for a sec.”

“How generous. Tell me Blitzo, who’s this? Finally sick of dating girls who can leave?” Fizz asked.

“How dare you? That is my daughter you robo freaky fuck!” Blitzo snapped, getting right up in his space.

“Daughter? God the tanqs we took at concerts must have fried your brain worse than I thought.”

“You’re one to talk, mister “I’m sure I can mix ecstasy with meth” I only learned how to fireman carry because of you!” Blitzo snarled.

“At least those gave me content for my shows! You couldn’t keep a dead man entertained.”

“Oh, and everyone always liked your shows?” Blitzo shot back, “I seem to remember a lot of childrens tears at your Loo Loo shows.”

“You did too.” The hound added, her phone now in her hand.

Fizz laughed at the same time Blitzo yelled, “Looney! Don’t agree with the enemy!”

“Aww kid, if ya ever need a place to stay, you give me a call. After all, I couldn’t comfortably leave you with this creep.” Fizz offered, extending his legs and throwing a mechanical arm around her shoulders, ignoring her snarl.

“Blitz isn’t a creep and your shows suck too.” She snarled.

Fizz unwound from her and stepped away.

“Excuse you, I’ll let you know that I have made millions off those shows! Thousands of people are my fans!” He defended, noticing Prince Stolas’s daughter walking by with her headphones on. “Like her for example!”

He grabbed her and pulled her in close, some of her feathers falling by their feet. Teenagers moult a lot apparently. The young Goetia pulled her headphones down and looked at him oddly.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“You liked my shows, didn’t you kiddo?” Fizz asked, squeezing her tight, “You were always at my shows as a fledgling.”

The princess gave a full body shudder and leaned away from him.

“Oh god, no!” She gasped, “Those shows were awful!”

Blitzo laughed and the hellhound huffed again, a smile on her face.

“You ingrate!” Fizz screamed, pushing her away.

In hindsight, pushing the princess in her own home, in front of her very protective father was a bad idea. Fizz saw Octavia stumble into Blitzo, who embraced her warmly and then pulled a flintlock pistol out of nowhere, maybe his ass. The hound dropped the flute with a tinkling shatter and spun at him with bared teeth and flat ears. They were the least of his worries because all the candles within a fifteen foot radius blew out and an eldrich shadow rose up in front of him

“Who put their hands on my baby!” Echoed around the room

Fizz considered himself to be pretty brave, he had lost all of his limbs and horns, had most of his skin burned to hell, and been left behind by the only family he’d ever known but he’d come out of it with his humour and drive still intact. At this very moment, staring down a very angry father with the power to reduce him to dust with a snap of his fingers, Fizz would admit that he was a little scared.

“How dare you?” The voice echoed again.

“Sorry.” He croaked.

That was a last ditch attempt to repair the peace or at least give the prince enough pause for Fizz to run off, change his name, and find a new place to hide away. Maybe the Arctic. He could pass as a penguin if he tried hard enough.

The prince rose up further and Fizz closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts before he died. Walking for the first time after The Event, the first kiss he’d shared with Ozzie, the feeling of freshly laundered sheets on his bed. Except, death never came, instead, he heard Ozzie’s voice.

“My, aren’t you firm?”

Fizz opened his eyes so fast, quick enough to watch Prince Stolas lose interest in him and turn to his boyfriend. Ozzie had returned from pilfering the dessert table and now had his hand firmly grasping Blitzo’s ass.

Prince Stolas returned to his owl form, no longer a scary shadow but an angry bird. The hellhound and Princess looked equally angry, the hounds ears were back and her teeth were on full display while Princess Octavia had her fists closed and shaking.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the prince or hound who acted first, but the princess. Octavia threw herself forward and shoved Asmodeus as hard as she could, some angry tears in her pink eyes. In all honesty, it wasn’t a hard push but Ozzie took a few steps back anyway, mostly to placate her.

“Don’t touch him! My family broke up once, it can’t do that again!” She screeched.

Ouch. Okay, Fizz could admit that the statement tugged on his heartstrings a bit. He could understand a little what the poor princess was going through, though he didn’t like Princess Stella he understood wanting a safe home.

The hound acted next, leaping in front of Octavia and Blitzo with a dangerous snarl, her massive frame easily hiding them from Ozzies view. The rooster sauntered his way back to Fizz, lifting him effortlessly to put him on his shoulder and Fizz wasted no time hiding in his fluff. Stolas was still furious, raising his hand to the exit.

“Get out of my Palace!” He ordered.

“Absolutely!” Ozzie agreed, stepping around the furious misfit family. “We won’t bother you fine folks anymore!”

Asmodeus didn’t run, that would be unsightly, but he certainly got them to the garage with haste. Fizz slithered into the passenger seat as soon as the door was open, hunkering down on the pile of phone books that they needed to keep him in a safe position while they drove. If he died in an accident, it would be less painful that dying by Prince Stolas or that scary hellhound.

They were hardly out of the driveway, bouncing along at 100 kilometres when Ozzie turned to look at him.

“Fizz, what the actual fuck was that about?”

“Satan, I have no idea.” He mumbled.

~~~

Stolas was still fuming as he ushered his family down the hall away from the party. It was getting late anyway and he was sure the free food and alcohol would entertain the guests until they left. At least he wasn’t the only one angry, Loona was still growling quietly beside him, her lashing tail occasionally hitting his ankles as they walked.

His darling Blitz was oddly calm, hold Via’s hand and whispering comforts to her while they walked. His poor baby had been inconsolable since that worm had dared shove her and her outburst had left her particularly tender. Fortunately, Blitz was on it, already promising a movie night, just the four of them, with lots of buttery popcorn and caramel covered weasel tails and she was looking less sulky already.

While Blitz got Via settled on the couch with tons of blankets and Sinflix open so the Owlet could scroll through the movies, Stolas and Loona went to raid the kitchen. The hound was grabbing things at random, checking labels with angry noises and leaving claw marks on whatever she grabbed. Loona was normally a bit crusty but she hadn’t reached for her phone once, so she was clearly very emotional.

“What’s bothering you, my Moonstone?” Stolas asked quietly.

The nickname had come naturally the moment he’d learned his soon to be stepdaughter's name. Octavia was his Starfire, Loona was his Moonstone and they were both his girls. He had noticed that while Loona wasn’t one for touching, she always smiled when Blitz called her one of his hundreds of pet names for her, so obviously he’d come up with his own.

“Nothing.” Loona grumbled, rooting through the cupboard. “Just a bunch of assholely assholes acting like assholes.”

“I see.” Stolas said.

“It’s just! I know I’m a hound, I just wish I could go someplace without someone thinking I’m just Blitz’s pet bitch!”

Ah, the real problem. Loona was feeling upset because of how she was treated as a hellhound.

“My dear, I may not know your father as well as you do, but I have been spending some intimate time with him as of late.” He started.

“First of all, not my father. Second of all, ew.” Loona interrupted.

“And every time we are together, he always wows me with stories about how wonderful you are, how much he loves you. I cannot possibly understand your struggles, being a hellhound in this world, but you will never be alone.” Stolas said, careful to not touch her. “Blitz, Octavia, and I will always be there, we will never go where you are not welcome.”

Loona stood frozen, her ears still back but her eyes weren’t narrowed, in fact, they looked a little watery. Still, Stolas knew he wasn’t going to get further with her tonight, she needed to relax and not be grilled. So rather than pushing, he summoned a servant to order some popcorn and other movie foods and guided Loona back to the sitting room where Octavia had found an old horror movie that she wanted to watch for a while and now had a chance to.

Loona claimed an armchair, close but not touching to fit her comfort zone. Octavia stretched out with her head on her fathers lap and her legs sprawled over Blitz’s lap. The couple held hands over Vias back and Blitz kept checking on his daughter, who was comfortably curled in her chair with a blanket on her. They would be okay.

@uwufizzarozzieuwu hope this lives up to your standards!

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

the implications of language

Malec | Rated general | minor tw for mention of Magnus’ mother’s suicide | Canon Compliant, although it's a mix of book and show, you don't need to have read either, Canon Era, Non-Linear Narrative, Languages, Alec Lightwood Loves Magnus Bane,Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood Is a Nice Thing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i love them ur honour

Summary: The first time it happens, it’s only because Magnus is exhausted.

Or, Indonesian is Magnus' mother tongue — the language he slips into when he doesn't have the presence of mind for anything else. Alec wants to learn. 

A/N: I came up with this idea thanks to Li, so I'm gifting it to them!

Translations are from Google Translate and/or indolang.com; if there are any errors or insensitivities, please tell me so I can fix them!

Read it on AO3 or below the cut. (AO3 has translations, tumblr doesn't.)

The first time it happens, it’s only because Magnus is exhausted.

Between a series of demanding clients who he ranted about to Alec over text, not one but two rifts opening up and requiring a warlock to close, and then a horde of demons that had escaped through the second rift before Magnus had managed to close it, it makes perfect sense for Magnus to be tired out. Alec lent him strength to close the last rift, so he isn’t too magically exhausted, but the day was a long one, and Magnus doesn’t have the energy to keep up his usual walls.

“—kemarilah, sayang,” he murmurs half into his pillow, half to Alec. Sayang is something Alec recognises — Magnus started calling him that after they’d been dating a little while; he doesn’t know what it means, other than a probably-endearment in another language. He doesn’t recognise the other word, either, but he can wait to figure it out; for now, Magnus obviously wants Alec to come closer, and Alec obeys.

“Selamat malam,” Magnus mumbles, almost incomprehensible, curling an arm around Alec to pull him closer.

“Good night, Magnus,” Alec says, and he falls asleep with Magnus in his arms.

~

He looks it up the next day. Alec isn’t entirely sure how trustworthy Google Translate is, since it’s saying sayang is Malay for “dear” while kemarilah is Indonesian for “come here”, but he remembers that Magnus was born in Indonesia; when exhausted, he slipped back into his mother tongue.

It’s… actually kind of adorable, when Alec thinks about it; he’s sure that Magnus speaks more languages than he could ever count, and he speaks English impeccably, but it’s somehow heartwarming to know that when he isn’t watching his words, he still falls back on Indonesian.

Alec speaks fifteen different languages as part of his training in politics — enough to communicate easily with the Head of any major Institute worldwide; all of them speak English, yes, as that is the language of Alicante, but people are more comfortable in their native language and that can be essential. (Alec speaks six demonic languages, too, but that’s a different matter.) Indonesian, however, he doesn’t know — the Jakarta Institute is Indonesian, but a ley line fluke means that there aren’t many demons there and therefore not enough Shadowhunters to merit the status of major Institute. And even if Alec had learnt modern Indonesian, it probably wouldn’t match up with Magnus’ Indonesian, since a bit of research suggests the language had changed over the years.

He wonders if Magnus would like it if he learned, or if it’d be invasive — if Alec would be insinuating himself into an aspect of Magnus’ past where Magnus didn’t want him.

He plans to talk to Magnus about it, but between Valentine and the Soul Sword and Jonathan and all the chaos Clary brings, it never seems like the right time. I love you, he says, and Magnus says it back, but it’s only a few weeks later that Magnus walks away from him, from them, because of the stupidity of the secret Alec kept. Even after Valentine’s gone and they get together again, their relationship feels new, unsteady, uncertain; it feels like it might crumble if Alec steps the wrong way, so he watches himself and doesn’t bring up the question, though it hovers in the back of his mind. Especially when he sees all the pain that Magnus’ past has brought him; would Magnus want to be reminded of that?

~

Then, of course, there’s the Owl and Jonathan (again) and Lilith and Asmodeus, and Alec is too caught up in worrying over Magnus’ magic to ask. They go from exes to fiancés in under twenty-four hours, and then they’re married and Alec doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy.

Their wedding night, Magnus holds him close with a poorly-concealed desperation that speaks of days in Edom, not believing Alec would come. Alec hugs him back, because he, too, spent far too long believing that they were over. Magnus is here, in his arms, and yet Alec’s mind can’t quite trust in it, as though a breath of wind could shatter this perfect dream.

“Aku cinta kamu, Alexander,” Magnus says softly.

Those words, Alec knows. “I love you too.”

Magnus smiles against his chest, a hidden thing full of a love that, incomprehensibly, has been given to Alec; Alec’s own smile is pressed into Magnus’ — into his husband’s — hair, soft and silky against his face.

Alec wants to talk about Magnus’ past, wants to ask if he can learn Indonesian, too, but he’s exhausted and he’s barely slept since — he casts his mind back, trying to remember — since before Magnus broke down in his arms, the night of the failed proposal. After that, he’d been occupied with the pain in Magnus’ voice and the deal that he was considering; then he’d been unable to sleep for the ache where Magnus should be, combined with guilt for the pain he’d caused him; then Magnus had been in Edom, and Alec had been searching for a way to get him back, and— well. Alec hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in a long time.

Magnus isn’t much better, he knows, but the sleepy mumble Magnus gives against his chest quiets the aching fears and thoughts. Gently, they fall asleep.

~

“—tolong berhenti, tolong jangan sakiti aku,” Magnus is murmuring, soft and heartbreaking, voice cracked with pain. “Saya akan baik-baik saja, saya berjanji, saya tidak melakukan apa-apa, tolong.” 

“Shh,” Alec says, pointlessly. Magnus can’t hear him; he’s deep in some delirium that Alec can’t penetrate, thanks to a particularly lucky demon that’d managed a hit before Alec had killed it. “Shh, love, I’m right here…”

“Aku tidak membunuhnya, pergilah,” Magnus continues. Alec doesn’t know the words — he wishes, more than ever, that he could’ve managed to learn more Indonesian than he has, and makes a vow to fix that as soon as possible — but he recognizes the tone. Desperation. Fear. “Maaf, ayah, aku tidak mau…”

He cuts himself off with a strangled cry, and Alec wants to gather him in his arms and hold him so tightly that nothing in the world can ever hurt him. To change the past so that nothing has ever hurt him; he doesn’t know which nightmare of Magnus’ past is running through his mind, but there are plenty.

Magnus is whimpering now, quieter, without words now. He’s been alternating between screamed pleas and terrified silence for three hours, and Cat said it’d wear off in four or five. Neither she nor Alec can do anything to speed up the process.

Seized by a sudden determination, Alec gets up from the chair at Magnus’ side and climbs into the bed with him, looping his arms around Magnus’ sweat-soaked body. He’s shivering, from cold or fear or the demon’s poison; it’s impossible to know, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. Magnus is suffering and Alec can’t help.

Magnus doesn’t react to his touch; Alec doubts he has any awareness of Alec’s presence, lost in hallucinations of his worst fears, his worst memories. Abruptly, Magnus stiffens.

“Alexander,” he whispers. “Alec, tolong, aku tidak bisa kehilanganmu, tidak sekarang, tidak ketika aku baru saja menemukanmu.”

Alec knows, with a lurch of the heart, what dreams are tormenting his husband now. Dreams of Alec, which means this pain is Alec’s fault. “It’s alright, Magnus,” he says. “I’m fine, I’m right here.”

Magnus can’t hear him. Might not understand Alec’s words even if he could hear them; he’s only speaking in Indonesian now, and Alec wishes he’d tried to learn more of the language. He’d been hesitant to bring it up, unsure if it would be welcome, but he wants to know what Magnus is saying, no matter how heartwrenching it would turn out to be.

“Aku cinta kamu,” Alec whispers, the only Indonesian phrase he knows, and hopes that it reaches Magnus somewhere in his dreams.

~

“Kamu menggemaskan, sayang,” Magnus mumbles sleepily. It’s been a week since the demon poisoning and Magnus is in perfect health again — or would be, if he hadn’t insisted on healing a young werewolf child who’d caught a rare magical disease. The illness was more entrenched than he’d thought, and by the time the child was cured, Magnus was stumbling with exhaustion. Alec had hailed a taxi to get home and practically carried him up the stairs. Magnus’ comment in Indonesian seemed to be a response to Alec tucking him into bed.

Indonesian is the language Magnus falls into when he’s half-asleep, when he doesn’t have the presence of mind to translate; it’s the first language he learnt, at his mother’s knee, and Alec knows it’s an integral part of who he is.

Alec has always wanted more of Magnus, even in the beginning, when he couldn’t face that truth. (Magnus feared — still fears, perhaps — that Alec will one day decide he’s too much and leave him for it, because so many others have done the same; Alec can’t understand how they could possibly want less of somebody like Magnus.) He wants to know all that Magnus is, impossible as that would be. He wants to know this bit of Magnus, too.

~

“That client,” Magnus says, as the door slams shut behind the man, “is a stuck-up snobbish irrational bajingan who I would happily see torn to shreds by the equally stuck-up pet dogs he seems to believe are better than any human being except, of course, himself.”

Alec, emerging from their bedroom where he’d been half-listening to the argument between Magnus and the client, snorts. “I can follow him and take care of that for you.”

Magnus huffs at him, waving a hand. “I’d rather not have you arrested for murdering a mundane, sayang.”

“I could be careful,” Alec suggests, approaching.

Humming in thought, Magnus tugs him closer. “I’m sure you could, but really, I’d much prefer to forget about him entirely.”

“I can help with that,” Alec returns with a grin, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s Alec’s day off, and Magnus has cancelled all clients except this one, so they’ve got enough time to curl up together on the couch and relax, trading kisses every so often. Magnus rants a bit more about the client, mixing English and Indonesian swear words; the Indonesian tends to come out only when Magnus is particularly upset, although it’s become more common with Alec. A sign of trust.

They’re quiet for a bit after that, a comfortable silence that Alec can relax in. It’s also a perfect opportunity to ask Magnus the question he’s been thinking about for months.

“Could you — I mean, do you — would you want to teach me Indonesian?” Alec asks, probably too abruptly, because Magnus blinks in surprise. He keeps talking rather than shutting up, which would be the sensible thing. “I mean, obviously you don’t have to teach me if you don’t want to, but it’s your first language and I’d like to learn it so I could talk to you in Indonesian — but if you don’t want to, we can totally forget about it, I just meant—”

Magnus raises a finger to Alec’s lips, and he quiets, just like he did the first time Magnus shushed him like this. “You want to learn Indonesian?”

“Yes.”

“I… don’t think anyone’s ever wanted to do that before,” Magnus says thoughtfully, something touched and delicate hovering under the surface of his words.

“I do.” Alec meets his eyes carefully. “I love you, Magnus, and that means all of you. Your language is part of that, as is your past.”

“I love you too,” Magnus returns, almost involuntarily, lips curving up into a smile. “And I’d be honoured to teach you.”

~

Alec’s never had an innate gift for languages — not like Jace, who speaks at least five more languages than Alec, and seems to pick them up with an impossible facility — but he’s worked hard to master those he knows, and he finds that the more languages he knows, the easier it is to learn a new one.

Magnus warns him before they start that he won’t really be able to speak to anyone but Magnus in the seventeenth-century brand of Indonesian that Magnus can teach him, but Alec isn’t worried; he doesn’t need to talk to anyone else. And he likes the idea of a language that only they know, like a secret held between them.

Verbs. Pronouns. Indonesian isn’t gendered — “he” and “she” use the same word — so that’s one less complication for Alec to deal with. Magnus is a good teacher; he clearly hasn’t taught anyone Indonesian before, but he’s taught hundreds of young warlocks, and the same skills apply. He stays up later than usual practising; he wants to get the pronunciation right, to figure out how to construct a sentence the way a native speaker would.

Progress is, of course, slow. Languages always are, Alec remembers; Magnus compliments him on every bit of progress, small as it may be.

A month passes. Two. Alec tries to speak in Indonesian whenever he can, and Magnus is delighted every time, which makes it more than worth the extra effort.

When Magnus murmurs “kamu adalah hatiku, jiwaku, cintaku. Kau adalah segalanya bagiku,” soft and gentle in the curved lines of evening, Alec knows what he’s saying: You are my heart, my soul, my love. You are everything to me.

He says it back, pronunciation faulty but improving, and Magnus smiles bright enough to outshine the sun.

~

The Clave event is abysmally boring.

Clave events always are — Alec knows that, intellectually — but that doesn’t change how particularly infuriatingly boring this one is. Perhaps it’s because the meeting that preceded it was an exercise in frustration; perhaps it’s because Alec’s managed to avoid the last two and so he’s no longer accustomed to the sheer mind-numbingness of it. Perhaps it’s because Magnus isn’t here.

Whatever the reason, Alec’s growing frustration with the fifty old white men (along with a few old white women, and perhaps fifteen simpering girls far too young for the husbands they’re here to accompany; Aline was here at the start, but she left an hour ago) means that making small talk with them is painful. Between the meaningless observations on the weather are a horrifying number of insensitive or downright discriminatory comments — or they ought to be horrifying, but the sheer number of them meant that rather than anger, all Alec felt was a deep-seated disgust for the people he was surrounded by.

He hates being here, hates being surrounded by them, but he needs their support if he wants to get anything done. He needs them to vote for the bills he wants to pass, needs them to respect him, needs them not to know how much he hates them. He can’t insult them in any way they might take offence at; he derived some pleasure earlier on from complaining to Aline, but she left, and Alec has to be polite alone.

This — these events, the behaviour required at them — shouldn’t be necessary. Small-talk, gentility, quiet polite cruelty — none of it is needed to function as a society. His success shouldn’t depend on how well he can pretend to be one of these people.

But it does, and unless he succeeds, he can’t change things. He can’t make these events obsolete unless he participates in them. Catch-22.

“Lightwood,” Senator Ashkeep says with a positively smarmy smile. “I must say I was fascinated by your analysis on Downworlder physiognomy. Such an interesting idea, that their demonic natures don’t affect their behaviour…”

During the meeting, a discussion arose — as it always seemed to — about whether Downworlders could be trusted without Shadowhunter supervision. Alec, perhaps wrongly, gave in to his impulses and declared that Downworlders weren’t demons by any means and could be trusted just as much as a Shadowhunter.

Ashkeep is one of the people Alec really does hope to get on his side; the man is old and bigoted, but can be swayed by the course of public opinion. “It’s growing in popularity at the moment,” Alec says, smiling politely. “I’m not the only one to have found that, in the majority of my interactions with Downworlders, they aren’t nearly as controlled by their impulses as some might believe.”

“I suppose you would have… personal experience with such things,” Ashkeep returns. There’s an implication in his smile that makes Alec’s hackles rise. “A warlock bedmate, hm? What’s that like?”

Alec changes his mind: perhaps he doesn’t need Ashkeep’s support after all. He lets the polite mask slip a little, just enough to make Ashkeep’s smile falter. “I really do believe,” Alec says, perfectly cooly, “that’s none of your business. And I might add that perhaps, if the Clave consisted more of those willing to actually interact with the people we’re supposed to be protecting with our lives, and less of ancient old fools who can’t see the necessity of cooperating with the Downworld from the pedestal they’ve decided they deserve to be on for no reason I can detect, the world might be a happier and better place than it’s ever managed to be under your rule.”

Ashkeep blinks, taken aback and perhaps not fully understanding Alec’s point; he’s realised that Alec is insulting him, though, and Alec almost regrets his outburst. Almost.

Before those regrets can solidify into consequences, however, the door to the room opens rather more dramatically than any Clave member would open it, and Magnus strides in.

Attention falls to him, almost by default; Alec is used to looking at Magnus whenever he’s in the room, and he doesn’t blame anyone else for doing the same. Especially now, when all the Clave members are wearing different shades of black to dark blue suits, and Magnus is dressed to the nines in a shirt that’s only barely opaque and glitters gold, a jacket covered in intricate designs that seem to shimmer and move as the light catches them, and pants so tight they look painted on. Add in the gold eyeshadow and the stripes of gold in his hair, and Magnus is undeniably the brightest person in the room.

Alec grins. Magnus had a client this afternoon, but he’d promised to come to the Clave party if time allowed. Clearly, time had allowed.

“Alexander,” Magnus says with a smile, swanning up to him, and then switches to Indonesian. “Seberapa menyebalkan mereka hari ini?” How infuriating are they being today?

“Sangat,” Alec returns. Extremely.

This is why Alec loves having Magnus at these events. It’s not just the pleasure of having him by his side, or knowing that Magnus is on his side, although that’s also something he’s desperately in need of right now. It’s because he can talk freely with Magnus, without having to watch his words in case one of the other attendees has a hearing rune activated. He can say what he thinks, and that is more valuable than ever surrounded by people like this, who thrive on lies. Alec can lie with the best of them, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Magnus sways into his side, comforting, and asks what happened. Alec replies in a murmur, the Indonesian he’s growing more comfortable with slipping from his lips in a stream of expletives and explanations.

“You didn’t need to defend my honour, darling,” Magnus comments, still in Indonesian, when Alec tells him about Ashkeep. “I’d hate it if you lost his vote because of me.”

“I don’t need his vote,” Alec huffs. “And honestly, I’m not sure if he understood enough of what I was saying to get offended, anyway.”

Magnus laughs, and despite the crowd of people Alec hates that surround them, the world seems a little bit brighter.

Yes, Alec hates these events; yes, they’re mind-numbingly boring. But he’s doing this for a reason, a reason who’s currently standing at his side to help him face all of this, and anything’s worth it to hear that laugh.

Anything.

~

“Bapak,” Max says, blue lips beaming up at Alec and Magnus. It’s his second word; his first was Da, for Alec, while bapak is for Magnus. English and Indonesian.

“Hello, little blueberry,” Magnus murmurs, smiling. “Anakku yang brilian.” My brilliant boy.

Max giggles, then claps his hands, blue sparks jumping out from his fingers. “Bapak!”

“Max,” Magnus says.

“Bapak!”

“Max!”

“Bapak!”

Alec huffs, shaking his head. “How did I know that as soon as he figured out how to say it, that would become his favourite word?”

Magnus shrugs, raising an eyebrow at him. “He’s been saying ‘Da’ for a month now. I think I deserve some attention.” Then, turning back to the blue boy in his arms, “Max!”

Amid renewed repetition of “Bapak!”, Alec grins, watching his family. He still can’t believe he gets to have this, sometimes — a family, one who he loves with all he is, one that speaks in a hybrid mixture of English and seventeenth-century Indonesian. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more; it’s the dream he never dared to hope he could have until, suddenly, it came within his reach.

“Aku cinta kamu,” he says softly, and his two warlocks look at him and smile, and this is all he’ll ever need.

~

“I swear I don’t understand half the things Max says,” Jace says with a huff, sitting down on Alec’s desk. “I was trying to have a conversation with him, and he kept saying ‘bebek’ and laughing. That’s not even a word.”

“Isn’t it?” Alec glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. “‘Bebek’ is Indonesian for ‘duck’.” Jace blanches, and Alec goes on, grinning. “I’m really proud to have raised such an intelligent son.”

Apparently determined to change the subject, Jace brushes that aside. “I didn’t know you spoke Indonesian.”

“It’s Magnus’ first language. Of course I learned it.”

Jace blinks, and then abruptly grins. “That’s adorable. And now you’re teaching your son to speak it, too!”

Alec rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know how adorable you find my family. I’m still not letting you babysit Max this weekend; he doesn’t need to learn how to handle a dagger quite yet.”

“But—”

Cutting him off, Alec goes on. “And I’m unwilling to have him spend any more time with somebody who thinks funner is acceptable language for a report. Really, Jace?” He holds up the report he’d been correcting, mostly red ink.

With a sigh, Jace jumps off the table. “Well, I’d best be off before you try to make me rewrite it, then.”

He’s out the door in a moment. Alec groans. “Bodoh.”

~

“Thank the Angel you’re back,” Simon says, pulling open the door.

Alec frowns. “The kids?”

“They’re not hurt,” Simon says hurriedly, “but Max kept asking for more ice cream and when I said no, he magicked me to the ceiling, and he and Rafe shared the whole tub, so they’re on a bit—”

Max runs past, screaming with laughter, Rafael tearing along at his heels.

“—of a sugar rush,” Simon finishes. “I’m really sorry, Alec, but I couldn’t really—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alec tells him. “I can’t really do much when Max does something like that, either.”

Jace, wiping ichor off his seraph blade at Alec’s side, made a noise of agreement. Usually, Alec wouldn’t leave his rather chaotic sons with a non-warlock, but Magnus is at a weeklong warlock conference which Cat, Ragnor, and Tessa are all attending; Alec wasn’t able to avoid this patrol, as the Institute is a bit short-staffed, so he left Max and Rafe in Simon’s care while he and Jace patrolled.

“DADDY!” Max yells, coming tearing down the hallway. “The monster is chasing me!”

“I’m the monster!” Rafe explains, helpfully. He’s wearing a headband with horns on it which Alec vaguely recognises from the Halloween outfit Simon wore last year.

Max jumps at Alec, who barely manages to get his seraph blade out of the way before catching him. “Careful, pequeño,” Alec tells him, settling him comfortably on the hip without a seraph blade on it.

Rafael growls. “I’m coming to get you, Maxie!”

“Daddy’s protecting me! I’m safe from you, raksasa!” Max crows from his perch, then switches into Spanish. “¡No puedes traerme aquí!” You can’t get me!

“But I can,” Jace says, grinning, and reaches out to tickle Max.

Squealing, Alec’s son pulls away, calling out in a torrent of hybrid English/Spanish/Indonesian for Uncle Jace to stop. Jace isn’t caught off guard by not knowing a third of the words anymore; everyone’s grown well-used to Max and Rafe’s tendencies to mix languages. Rafe’s first language is Spanish, and when he first arrived, Max spoke English and Indonesian to about the same degree; it hadn’t taken long for the two boys to begin talking continuously in a mixture of the three languages that gave a headache to anyone who wasn’t used to it. Fortunately, Alec knows Spanish fairly well thanks to Maryse’s Hispanic heritage, and he has little trouble keeping up anymore.

Max claps his hands, creating clouds of glitter that temporarily blind Alec and coat everyone present in a thick layer of shininess. Jace glances at Max, at Alec, back to Max, and hastily bids good-bye. Simon shrugs apologetically and follows, leaving Alec with the mess.

Alec turns to look at his two little troublemakers, both covered in more glitter than he would’ve thought possible before Magnus, and huffs. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

~

Three hours and only one tantrum later, Alec is sitting on the couch with an exhausted child leaning into each side. He’s sure there’s still a bit of glitter behind Max’s ears, but there’s not much more he can do; in any case, both boys have finally come off their sugar rush and are now crashing, which means at least they’re asleep.

Alec’s tired too, and he briefly debates moving the boys to their beds so he can sleep in his own, but they’d likely wake up again if he did and he doesn’t really have the energy to read Max the six bedtime stories that have become his normal. Which leaves him here until he gathers the energy to take them to bed.

He misses Magnus, who could magic them both to bed with minimal fuss. Who can walk into a room and make it feel brighter. Who smiles like sunlight and kisses like the answer to every question Alec has ever asked.

And now he’s being sappy. He’s tired; it’s justifiable. And it’s been four days since he’s last seen Magnus, which means it’ll be three more until he sees him again…

The door swings open, and Alec blinks, then shakes his head; it must be his sleep-addled brain, because for a moment he’d thought—

Footsteps in the hall. Footsteps he knows, the same way he knows by the pattern of Max’s breathing when he’s asleep or only pretending, the same way he knows if Rafe is just being his usual quiet self or if he’s upset about something. But Magnus is at a warlock conference; it couldn’t possibly be him, so who—?

Magnus stepped around the doorway, barely more than a silhouette against the hall light, but he’s unmistakeable and Alec’s lips curve up into an exhausted, delighted smile. “Magnus.”

He sits up, gently dislodging Max and Rafe, who shift slightly and then appear to fall back asleep. “You’re back.”

“The conference ended earlier than expected, and I… skipped the usual post-conference parties,” Magnus explains, coming closer. ”Aku merindukanmu, sayang.” I’ve missed you.

“Y yo te,” Alec returns in Spanish. And I you.

Magnus tugs him into a kiss, and it feels like coming home.

[folkloreguk]

an angel for a demon (3)

A/N: Here's the last part of this small series! You don't necessarily need to read all of them to understand this one, but it does probably make more sense if you do. As always, feedback is deeply appreciated! Have a good day x

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), demon!bias, angel!reader, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), reader gives her first bj

words: ~ 6.7 k

PART1 (M)

PART2 (M)

“I’m going out to pick up some food and stuff, do you want to come along?” you heard him ask. You had your legs up against the wall, your back on the bed, and a magazine in your hands. The women on the pages had you gushing, on the verge of hypnotization. You swore if you looked at those infatuating pictures one minute longer, you’d be swallowed whole by them.

When you had worked your way through some science books and were still hungry for more to read, H/N had brought you some magazines, mostly about fashion but also gossip and lifestyle tips. Turns out letting a clueless angel read about what’s supposed to be good for women was not a smart idea. Up in the clouds, from where you used to watch earth’s women, they had all looked equal to you – beautiful, intelligent, and capable. Now, down in the reality of it all, things appeared much more complicated. Which angel could have known it took diets, workout routines, anti-aging creams and the perfect outfit for your body type to be viewed the same way you had always looked at women from above? And most importantly, how did any woman manage to uphold all these expectations the magazines named? It was all too much and seemingly impossible. Abruptly, you were pulled out of your train of thoughts.

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” he asked, peaking his head through the door. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, putting down the magazine on your chest. “No, I’d like to stay here.”

“Alright,” he said, “Would you like me to bring you anything from the store?”

He walked over to you and sat on the bed. His hands softly brushed over your hair, down your cheek and neck, barely touching your collarbones. He was in his black, intimidating clothes, per usual, but his eyes held nothing but fondness for you.

“Actually, maybe there is something,” you said. “Look.”

You picked up the magazine and pointed at the page.

“Can you buy me a dress like this one? They say it would fit me best. And could you get some makeup for me? I don’t know much about it, but maybe you-“ you said. Usually, he was one to listen carefully to every of your words, as if you were the most interesting person he had ever met. This time, he interrupted you.

“Stop. Where is this coming from?” he asked. “I want you to forget all those things you’ve read in those magazines, okay?”

You were confused, thinking you were learning by reading those articles. Gently, he caressed your face. “You know I’ll buy you anything in the world, right? But only if that’s what youwant. Everything they tell you to do, everything they tell you to buy, it’s brainwashing. You will wear whatever dress you find pretty, and if you want to wear makeup, that’s fine. But you will only do those things if you want to do them, okay? There’s nothing you need to change about yourself.”

“But they say you need to start early to get a nice body, and to prevent aging,” you said. “They say men will admire me.”

“We’re immortal, my angel,” he said. “And even if we weren’t, what’s wrong with growing old? Wouldn’t you want the traces of your experiences to be visible on your skin? Those companies, they all just want your money and so they try to scare you into believing you’re not good enough. But truth is, you always are. All those times people tug on their skin in front of a mirror, or whenever they break a sweat trying to lose weight, or when they compare themselves to those who look different from them – they’re already good enough. They’re perfect. This worlds wants you to never be at peace with who you are. But you need to promise me you won’t succumb to those nonsensical tactics to make you hate yourself. And don’t you ever wait for a man to give you approval. That’s your job and your job only.”

You listened, wide-eyed and intrigued. No magazine could ever speak so honestly, and you believed every word he said. After all, you trusted him much more than some random author of an article that was trying to sell you the latest weight loss-magic-powder.

“Okay, I promise.” You sat up and leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’ve never even really thought about it, but I think I’m pretty.”

“Not thinking about it might just be the best way to go about it in this world,” he said, and placed a kiss on your forehead. The feeling of warmth lingered on your skin seconds after he had already pulled away.

“I change my mind, then,” you said, “Do you think you can get me a dress like this?”

You showed him a different picture this time. It showed a lot more skin than the one you had pointed out before. You only realized this when he was already smirking at your choice.

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said. “That’s an interesting option, angel.”

“Hey! I just like the color, alright?” you defended yourself, making him chuckle. Over the course of four weeks, you had come to know his insinuations and his little jokes better. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the incredible sensation his eyes on you gave you. When he goggled at you because you had decided to wear his shirt for a day, or the way he watched you welcome him with open arms when he came home.

You now understood that certain words or actions, or even just an article of clothing – or lack thereof – could conjure an insatiable hunger in his eyes. At first, it was a little scary, having a demon stare you down as if he wanted to eat you up. But now that you knew what his hands felt like on your skin, and that his lips were made for much gentler actions than to hurt you, you wanted nothing more than to coax the starving demon into playing with you, any chance you got. And perhaps that dress in the catalogue would do just that, and not only bring you joy. It was a win-win, really.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon,” he said. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“You know I always do,” you said.

“I’ll give you all the missed attention when I get home, alright?” he said, bending down to your ear. “You can have whatever you want, then.”

To be honest, half of the time you didn’t know what you wanted him to do. But with every time his hands explored your body you learned more. There were so many things humans did to make each other feel good, you doubted you’d ever be able to try everything. His promise made you wish he was already back home when he had barely stepped out of the door. One last grin and nod and he left you alone.

What did angels do on a Saturday noon? Usually, you’d be patrolling your village, entertaining yourself by watching children play tag, admiring lovers walking hand in hand or discovering a family that had just adopted a small animal. Their human eyes shined when they felt happiness, and it was infectious to you. You wanted to send your blessing to all of them, make sure they never felt anything but delight, but you knew that wasn’t how business worked down there. Some things were even out of your control. Now, on earth, you were ready to take whichever hardships were to come if it meant you could have been with your demon lover.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You had only gotten up an hour ago. Last night, you had been kept awake for long. He was untiring when he was between your legs. You had learned that he didn’t need nearly as much sleep as you did, and when he set his mind to making you come by his administrations, he didn’t waver to do so. But losing sleep in exchange for pleasure was okay with you. Time became meaningless, either way, when you had your face buried in a pillow, tears threatening to spill over from how good he made you feel. Sometimes he made you come while sitting in his lap, then you’d cling to him like a baby and muffle your whimpers by pressing your lips against the skin of his shoulder. He loved telling you ‘Look at me’ right when you were falling. It was hard to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head or not to collapse in his arms, but for him you would try your best. Often you found your thoughts lingering on the memory of his gaze when you came apart under his touch. It had something of fascination and protectiveness, and you’d never get enough of it.

Great, now you wanted him again. And he wasn’t here. How had you gotten this way? On occasion you wondered if one of the other angels had already spotted you and the sins you were committing. You wouldn’t call them sins now, or ever again. It wasn’t like you wanted to adapt to a demon lifestyle. But you felt at home for the first time, here on earth. It was the perfect grey zone between heaven and hell.

As an attempt to appease your needy mind, you picked up your magazine again. Just because you shouldn’t believe everything they said didn’t mean you shouldn’t have read it at all, right? You flipped through articles on fitness and the newest fashion, but after skimming the pages for only a few seconds, you were done with those tips. He wanted you because of who you were – an angel – and you doubted than any beauty routine could make him more obsessed with you than he already was. But then you read something most curious to your angel eyes. ‘How to make him feel best – tips from a porn star’ the title said. Whatever in the heaven a porn star was, they seemed to be some sort of expert on pleasuring men, and you, always eager to learn something new, were intrigued from the very first word.

But soon you had to admit, you weren’t at all sure what they were referring to with those words and actions. When you and your demon boyfriend had sex, he usually did most of the work, while you took whatever teasing or pleasure he inflicted on you. He had said he liked it this way, but now you weren’t so sure. Or was this ‘10 things to do become a blowjob-pro’ – list just another attempt of society to brainwash women? You weren’t one to initiate talk about sexual stuff, but maybe you’d try to question him on the meaning of what you had read.

You flipped another page and finally you had arrived at a page you could work with. It was a bunch of comfort food recipes. Right away you fell in love with the picture of the freshly baked cinnamon rolls in the top right corner. H/N had promised you to teach you how to cook, but so far you hadn’t made much progress. The difficulty level read beginner, and five minutes later you stood in the kitchen. With some music in the background your enthusiasm only sparked more. Baking was new and came with slight overwhelmingness and the stress of making sure you weren’t forgetting to add any ingredient. But the Christmassy scent of cinnamon and the feeling of making something from scratch made you happy, and with rapt attention you finished your first completed recipe ever.

You wiped some flour off your forehead. Hopefully H/N would like the cinnamon rolls too, because as tasty you found your creation, there was no way you were able to devour them all by yourself. As if on cue, you suddenly heard the key slide into the lock of the front door. Probably prompted by the heavenly scent, he called your name.

“Here,” you answered, mouth full of a bite of cinnamon roll. When he walked in, he already had his famous smirk on his face. It was your favorite. You knew it was reserved only for you.

“What did you make?” he asked. But he had his answer when he saw the baked goods in front of you. He set down the bags and put his arms on your waist from behind. With a hum, you lifted the cinnamon roll to his lips, and he took a bite. He almost moaned at the taste and you grinned.

“Do you like them?” you asked, already knowing the answer but still awaiting more praise. You squealed a little at how quickly he spun you around. His nose touched yours and your heartbeat raced.

“It’s like they came with you straight from heaven,” he said. “Hmm…I missed my angel.”

His lips when he kissed you tasted like sugar and spice and you melted straight into his touch. You only noticed he had run his finger over the gooey leftover icing when it was already too late. He was a demon after all. And if demons were good at one thing, it was causing mischief.

“Hey,” you protested at his hands on your neck. Then your reaction quickly altered as his finger slid lower, down to your collar bones and to where your low-cut shirt started. “Great, now I’m all sticky.”

You didn’t understand at first that messing with you wasn’t his full intention. But he tilted his head to the side and ran his hot tongue over the icing on your skin, and you gasped suddenly. This wasn’t just a joke. He wanted you. He made a humming noise, as if the sweetness combined with your own taste were only complimenting each other. When he pulled down the neckline of your shirt a little, so he could have every last drop of the sugary substance on your skin, you couldn’t help but whimper. You wanted so desperately for him to do it again, that you thought about sticking your own fingers into the bowl of icing and smearing it on your chest. His eyes were playful when he looked up at your reaction.

“Oh no. If you’re all sticky I guess you’ll need a shower, will you?” he said, “What a coincidence. I was thinking of taking one, just now.”

You had never taken a shower with him, or anyone, for that matter. But you had a feeling that the both of you wouldn’t be keeping to yourself, standing naked in front of each other. You didn’t mind. And you guessed your approval was written on your face, because he pulled you in and kissed you hard. Again, you remembered the article you had read. Was now a good time to ask him about it?

While you were contemplating, his tongue slid over your bottom lip and met yours. You had been too shy to ask before, but now you were speechless. Gently, he grabbed your hand and led you out of the kitchen and into the hallway. You were a mess of lips and tongues and hands and feet stumbling over each other. Every few meters you stopped to push yourself close against him. It was like a game of who could go without kissing each other for longer. And you were both lousy at it.

He loved pushing you up against the wall, trapping you between his arms on each side of your head. This way, he could brush up against your shaking body and you had nowhere left to go. Needless to say, you had no intentions of getting away, no matter what. He knocked the breath out of your lungs, and you kissed him back like you could breathe him in instead. As if he had become your new source of oxygen, or whatever it was you really needed to survive. It these moments, air seemed like a subsidiary matter. So long as you had his hot tongue licking down your neck and his busy hands on your ass under your dress, nothing else truly mattered.

Your kisses were open-mouthed and far more confident than they had been only weeks ago. You now knew how much he liked when you grabbed his hair tightly, or when you whispered his name against his devouring lips, as if it was the only word you had ever been taught. Like it was the only word you ever wanted to know. Before you had even made it to the bathroom, half of your clothes were scattered somewhere along the way.

“I can’t believe I just had you yesterday and here I am already missing you this much again,” he mumbled against your earlobe, teeth playing with your soft skin. “You really are otherworldly. There’s no other explanation.”

His words made you feel proud. The pleasure was one thing you had come to love quickly, but then you noticed the power you could have over him, by merely existing. It was almost unbelievable, but there he was, hard and needing you, day by day. Again, your mind wandered off to the magazine article.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice must had been different from your usual timid tone when you were in the middle of something unholy.

“Anything, angel,” he said. He let his lips linger on your cheek, half an inch from your mouth, and your stomach twisted in how badly you wanted him to sip on your lips like he was starving.

“Do you like always doing everything when we- ,“ you said. He gave you a puzzled expression, so you tried to explain yourself better. “I mean, if you ever want me to do more, you can ask me to. I don’t know everything yet, but I can learn.”

You weren’t even sure if you understood what the heaven you had just stammered. His look reminded you of the one he had when you asked him to buy him the dress and the makeup that morning.

“I love what we have, little angel,” he said, “What’s making you think you need to do anything differently?”

How were you supposed to explain what you had read when you hadn’t even properly grasped it yourself? You opted for taking his hand and walking him to the bedroom. There the magazine still lay, like an ancient cursed book you weren’t sure you wanted to know front to back. You picked it up and quickly handed him the article. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you opted to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

His lips curled into a devilish grin upon eyeing the page, and you thought the ground might swallow you whole. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all and spared yourself the embarrassment. But at the same time, you were eager to know.

“I thought I told you, magazines are just trying to make you doubt yourself,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I know, but if there’s anything I can do to make you feel as good as you make me feel, I want to do it,” you confessed. He bent down, cupping your face.

“No one’s ever felt as good to me as you have, angel,” he said, “You’re heaven to me. Do you understand that?”

With your mouth squished together slightly, you nodded your head that was in his hands.

“By the devil, you’re so adorable,” he said. “If you really want to know, though, I’ll show you.”

Even more eagerly, you nodded again. He chuckled. You couldn’t handle how handsome he was – all messy hair, bare chest and black eyes that made you dream of the most unholy things possible.

“You remember how I kiss you…down there?” he asked. You hummed, cheeks on fire. “And how I’ve asked you to put your hands on my cock before?”

You did. But it had been brief, only a few pumps and small touches, until he had become too needy. You had been whining so deliciously for him to fuck you and so he had to have you on the spot.

“In the way you touched me then…you could use your mouth on me. Make me come with your perfect lips and sweet hands,” he said. “If that’s what you want, too.”

“I do!” you said with enthusiasm that only an angel at the feasibility of making someone’s day could bring on. “Let’s postpone that shower.”

The pride in his eyes lasted for approximately two seconds before the raw hunger replaced it. He climbed onto the bed and pat his thighs. On command, you settled on his lap. The simple feeling of his bulge under your center, even if interrupted by some fabric, made your head dizzy and your stomach drop. You kneaded your hands, not sure where to touch him first. But just as he always did to you, you had the impulse to start by his head and go lower from there. Although you were on top of him, he looked amused at your shy eyes.

“Can I kiss your neck, like you always kiss mine?” you asked.

“Be my guest,” he said, grinning like he had just won the lottery. Your lips met his skin and you used your tongue the way you had felt him do it. His scent was intoxicating. It made the empty bedsheets you breathed in sometimes, when he left in the middle of the night for his demon antics, seem like nothing. You used your hands to stabilize yourself as you moved lower. The hiss he let out when you felt up on his abs and waistline almost scared you. Then you realized it was a good sign. Only for the blink of an eye you dared to graze your teeth on his skin. His reaction was immediate.

“Shit,” he cussed, “That’s my angel.”

So, he liked that. You couldn’t wait to tease him by biting him in the future. Provoking a demon would have sounded like something close to a death wish to you, had you thought about it months ago. Now, with a demon as tame as they come beneath you, the thought only excited you. As he liked to do, you touched him through his boxers while you continued your journey down his chest and stomach. The guttural moan he released made your head spin and you never wanted him to be quiet. Usually, you weren’t in a mind state to notice his groans, or your own noises were covering his.

“You’re doing so good, little angel,” he said, short of breath. Once again, your effect on him surprised you. Where was the intimidating, big bad demon you had been taunted by?

“I’m gonna fuck you so well for this,” he said, “Even the angels in heaven will hear you scream. Wouldn’t you like that?”

There he was. You pressed your legs together at the simple mention of him inside of you, but if he thought you were going to answer, he’d be waiting endlessly. You still had enough respect for your angels not to think of them in this moment. Nonetheless you hummed weakly. When you got to his hipbone, you hesitated. You drowned out your doubts by kissing him there, while you contemplated what to do next. Your hand was still wrapped around his clothed cock. It was rock hard, and a wet spot had formed on the fabric from how much he needed you. When your touch became softer, and you pulled your hands away slowly, he lifted his hips, not wanting you to stop. You supposed this was the part where you took off his boxers. At least he didn’t complain when you pulled them off his legs, so you assumed you were still on the right track.

Watching his face for signs of approval, your hand wrapped around his length. He almost seemed electrified at your touch. His jaw dropped slightly, and his hooded eyes somehow appeared even darker than usual.

“Just like that,” he said, “And now move your hand up and down.”

So you did. As you regarded your hand around his shaft, all you could think about was how it used to be. How did your hands, that were usually folded neatly in your lap while you looked down on earth, end up doing such ungodly things? And how come you didn’t even for a second feel guilty?

“Angel, you’re so good to me,” he moaned. Angel. That’s what he loved to emphasize. But was that what you were, still? Maybe you would simply stop putting yourself in a box. Perhaps you were just you, doing what you felt was right and would make you happy. And right now, having a demon clench his fists in your hair and saying your name in that tone, you couldn’t think of a lot of incidents that had made you happier. Was this the part where you should use your mouth? You weren’t sure, but your eyes jumped from his cock to his face and it caught his eyes.

“You can take me in your mouth if you want. If you ever feel like stopping, just do so,” he encouraged you, “But remember, no teeth there, okay?”

You grinned and nodded. You parted your lips and your tongue placed kitten licks on the underside of his member. When you reached the top, you took him between your lips, mirroring the motion of your hands around him. You were surprised at how comfortable you were, when ten minutes ago you were ready to personally descend to hell from embarrassment. There was something enticing about the power you possessed in that moment. You understood humans just a little better, once again. Knowing that the way he bucked his hips and his groans were caused by you and only you had you smiling inwardly. It was a way you had never caught yourself smile before. You felt brave, and like you could do anything, with a demon so at your pity.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out where he was most sensitive. Whenever you pressed your tongue against the tip of his cock, he let out a sigh. It was almost like relief, as if he had been waiting for you all his life. And now here you were, granting him all his wishes. You bobbed your head, but kept your attention on his sweet spot, his moans just too delightful not to evoke them on purpose.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said. Often, you looked up at him. His lids fluttered from the pleasure, but he seemed to like it when you made eye contact. For a moment, you lifted your head, needing some air. Gently, he caressed your face, like you were made of precious porcelain.

“Which one of my dreams did you escape from, little angel?” he asked. You smiled sheepishly, lowering your head. Again, you wrapped your lips around his length. You wondered what he was thinking about. Was his mind as free from any worries as yours whenever he fucked you? Was he able to form any coherent thoughts or was his brain going into the same mental blackout you always experienced?

You continued the way you had, sucking the tip of his cock while your hand pumped him. From time to time, you took a breather and pulled away. Little did you know what you were doing to him. With the short intervals of your lips on him and the pauses in between, you unknowingly made everything more intense for him. It was a dangerous game of edging him you were playing, and you were outright unaware of it.

But why would he have complained? In that moment, you were his personal guardian angel, making sure all his needs were fulfilled. When he saw your lips, all red and puffy, he asked himself where you had been hiding all this time. You peeked up at him through your angel eyes and he felt his entire world become whole in front of him. He was completely and absolutely at your mercy, inebriated by your entire being. Never in his long time on earth had he seen someone so ravishingly beautiful, yet so unaware of their might. He swore to himself in that moment, he’d do anything to make you love him forever.

As divinely as you were treating him, he suddenly wanted you in a different way. And if you continued your sweet actions, he wasn’t sure if that would still be possible. He gently cupped your head, making you look up. You hummed in question.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, “Let me give back to you, won’t you? Does my angel want some attention, too?”

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t practically touch-starved at this moment. And having been taught to always be truthful, you nodded before you even knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, “Why don’t you take off the rest of your clothes?”

When you got up to slip out of your dress, your legs were weak. You hadn’t even done anything, and yet your body felt heavy. All you wanted was to go back to him and have him so close, it felt like he could have been a part of you. As much as you had felt on top of the world minutes ago, his hungry eyes made you shrink inwardly. But it wasn’t out of fear. It was almost admiration, or rather anticipation. You knew he knew your body inside out, and you couldn’t wait for him to prove it to you.

“Come here, angel,” he said. You climbed back onto the bed. “Turn around for me, okay?”

You were on your knees, sitting up right, facing the headboard. His breath on your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine. Then his hands snaked around your body from behind you. A small whimper left your lips when he ran them down your chest, fingers drawing small shapes on your breasts. They continued their way down your stomach and to your parted thighs. The cold air was hitting your dripping core, and had you not had enough self-control, you would have moaned at the mere sensation of his fingertips on the inside of your thigh. But maybe that was just what he was waiting for. After all, he was still taking his time with you. But in this instance, you knew what you wanted, and more importantly when you wanted it.

“Please,” you said. You weren’t sure what to say but starting with a ‘please’ was never a mistake.

“Please what?” he asked. You couldn’t see his face, yet you knew his devilish grin that must’ve been plastered on his face. He never missed a chance to make you shy. “Is this what you want?”

He slid two of his fingers down your slit slowly. It would forever be a mystery to you, how such a simple touch could put you in such a mental state of disarray. You whined at how needy you were, fighting the urge to press your legs together. In a second, his fingers were coated in your juices. When he pressed them against your opening, but didn’t push any further, your head spun with frustration. An impulse yelled at you to grab his hand and show him how you wanted him, but you sensed there was a specific aim in his teasing. Above that, you weren’t close to that brave. Purposely lightly, he rubbed circles onto your clit. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your breaths came out in little, desperate noises.

Before meeting him, you never knew this sort of inability to control your body. Having power over your motions was an obviousness to you. But as with so many things in life, you had been wrong. Or rather, you had not known better. Now, with his lips brushing over the side of your exposed neck, you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to do to you. If there was a noise or reaction he wanted to coax out of you, he could do so. And if evoking your little melodic whimper was his aim, he was on the right path, fingers teasing your pussy and flicking over your clit. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. In fact, he had a head so full of ideas of things you could do together, you doubted you’d ever start to get bored here.

“I want you…inside of me,” you said, surprising yourself. This was your desperate body taking control of your motor speech center, that little region in your brain that allowed you to let out what you wanted to say. Your cheeks were hot for only a moment, then you realized if it got you what you wanted so badly, speaking your mind was probably a fantastic idea. You should really do it more in the future, you thought.

“What my angel wants, my angel gets,” he said. Just for a few seconds, he moved his fingers much faster. You yelped at the sudden pleasure, your hand wrapping around his wrist. His other hand reached for your hand, softly taking it away as you became a whimpering puddle in his arms. You were ready to fall, give in to the pleasure and let go. It was what you so desperately wanted. But as quickly as it had begun, he removed his hands. His attention was gone, and you were left yearning for more.

“Lift your hips,” he said, softly touching your sides. A part of you wanted to cry out, hold him responsible for denying you your sweet release. But you knew it would be no use, and he would tell you to wait either way. You were still on your knees, but straightened up, arms hanging by your sides, waiting for his touch. He was right behind you, his upper body against yours. When you felt his cock run over your slick folds, you sighed at the awaited sensation. The stretch when he filled you up felt so perfect, so out of this world, you reached for his hand to hold on to.

“Why didn’t you ask me earlier if you wanted me so bad?” he asked. He squeezed your hand as his other pulled you flush against his back while he pushed himself further into you. He’d thrust against you for a while, only to pull out completely, and repeat the whole process. It was sending you into complete overdrive.

“Because I wanted to make you feel good,” you said. “Only you, for once.”

You moaned when he snapped his hips against your ass, picking up the pace. In an attempt to support your jittery legs, you grabbed the headboard in front of you. Your breathing came out in short huffs, uneven and a little shaky.

“You’re so sweet and selfless…my patient angel,” he said, his fingers coming in contact with your clit again. His touch was an allure to you, and you wished you could have stayed this way forever. No thoughts, just his body and his dark voice to sedate your mind. “I’ll give you anything you want. You know that, right?”

You hummed and nodded. “Yes. And I’ll do the same for you.” Your words were interrupted by your small whimpers. There had been a time you didn’t know what it felt like, when you didn’t even know there was a such thing of having someone inside of you. Now you couldn’t get enough of him. You were already so sensitive that every time he quickened his thrusts and moved his fingers on you slightly faster, he had you hanging right over the edge. And he could tell by the way you held your breath when you were close. He didn’t want you going there just yet.

“As much as I love your mouth around my dick, this is my favorite way of having you,” he said. He used both of his hands to dig into your sides, pulling your hips closer to him every time he dragged his cock through your walls. You agreed. Should any of your angels ever catch wind of this, they would ban you to earth – or worse, send you to hell. So be it, you thought. You’d be like your lover. One of the creatures of the darkness, thought to be the personification of sin. Even if they ripped your angel title from you, they could never steal away what you had now.

Yes, you were meddling with a demon, but also having the time of your life. It was vastly better than spending your days judging humans for being themselves and for humans living the true way they want to live, instead of abstaining from the simple pleasures of life. Their true colors shown, they weren’t harming anybody, but rather making the world a more acceptable and open-minded place. You aspired to be like them.

“This is my kind of heaven,” he said. It’s what he always called you. Heaven. He groaned when you clenched your walls around him, your inevitable high drawing closer.

“This is my new heaven…you are,” you replied. He chuckled darkly, probably relishing in your confession. The thought that he could make an angel reject the very place they should have belonged filled him with a sense of superiority.

“Look how well you’re taking me,” he said. His hand wrapped around your body, pulling you tighter. He slipped his hand between your legs again, and you almost felt like collapsing, had he not held on to you. On instinct, you closed your eyes and let the feeling crash over you.

“Let me see you come, little angel,” he spoke in your ear, just for you to hear. You would do anything for him. You quivered and buckled at the severity of the feeling, but he had you. Your moans were high and dragged out, as his digits pressed harder onto the sensitive nub on your center.

“Take just a little more for me, can you?” he asked. You obliged willingly, nodding your head while it was still full of nothingness. Even as he kept fucking you, it was pure bliss for another while. It made your legs shake a little, but you felt so safe there, in his embrace, the sensitivity was alright to handle. You could tell by how sloppy his thrusts were becoming that he was almost there, too. He was pressing you against his chest as if you were all he ever wanted. His moans sounded like home to you as he came. He said your name and bent forward, reaching for the headboard, but you both tumbled into the bedsheets together instead. You giggled at your shared clumsiness and you could feel his chest move from laughing as he was lying on top of your back.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said, “You’re amazing.”

You turned your head and his lips brushed along your temple, kissing you softly. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes so you could look at him. Seeing his beautiful face had you falling into an even deeper state of serenity.

“I want to cuddle,” he said, and it was probably the sweetest thing you had ever heard a demon say. As he rolled off you, you followed his movements and settled in his embrace. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on your skin, but neither of you cared enough to get up just yet.

“I love what you’ve done to me,” you said.

“What is it I have I done to you?” he asked, fingers drawing nonsensical patterns on the side of your bare hips.

“You changed me. But not in a bad way. You let me be who I want to be and showed me that that’s okay,” you said, “You made me understand. Some sins aren’t that sinful at all.”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Paws

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: (picks up S.O. turning into a cat fanfics) I just think they’re neat. Shinobu might not like it, but it's better than those toy-story-looking-baby-head-spiders from Natagumo Mountain, am I right? Word Count: 7,999

Shinobu had a choice variety of things she’d have liked to say in that moment. Many were colorful, but few could be said in polite company. Still, Shinobu let the words fly free, for she knew it didn’t matter what she yelled out to the universe. Not unless someone could translate the pitiful meows that fell from her whiskered maw.

Yes, Shinobu knew that demon she had destroyed the night prior had done something strange to her with its blood art, but she had prepared herself for every probable poison or venom that had entered her skin. She wasn’t careless, there just wasn’t an antidote she had that could cure the ailment that had befallen her as she slept.

When she had awoken in the unfamiliar surroundings of the inn she was boarding, she didn’t notice an immediate difference. She stretched groggily, yawned, exhaled... but when went to muss up her hair to scratch an itch tickling at her scalp, she caught sight of a little black paw instead of her hand.

She darted backward, getting caught in the sea of covers and clothing, ensnaring herself like a roll of fish and rice encased in seaweed. She struggled for a moment, groaning to herself. At least, it was supposed to be a groan. The sound that met Shinobu’s ears sounded more like the warning sound of an agitated alley cat. She ceased her wiggling immediately, frozen. She tentatively opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“Meow...?”

No. Oh no, that was not at all what Shinobu had wanted to say. She tried again.

“Mew.”

Different, but no less depressing.

“Mowww.”

Now that just sounded down right pitiful.

Shinobu wiggled against the weight of the fabrics around her lithe body, somehow managing to, quite literally, claw her way free.

She took a look at her surroundings. Her haori was draped over the hanging rack near the room’s desk. On the desk sat her uniform, neatly folded with her butterfly hairpin sitting on top and her nichirin blade propped up against the worn, wooden chair. Below her she saw the yukata she had worn to bed crumpled in the sheets of the futon and the little black paw she had seen before had been joined by another just beside it.

Shinobu skittered back a meter, dismayed when the paws followed the action. She spun around on the futon and caught a glimpse of a fluffy black tail and blanched. Well, as best she could in her current predicament.

‘No, no, no...’ Shinobu thought to herself as she clumsily made her way to the desk. She recalled a small hand mirror she had seen the night before. Surely that would clear this whole thing up, right? She shimmied, preparing herself for the first jump, making it to the chair. She cringed at the sound of her blade clattering to the ground before jumping again to the flat surface of the desk. Shinobu spotted the hand mirror and cautiously pawed towards it. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before leaning over the glass. Then she cracked an eye open, peering down.

Purple, yes, that was familiar. Those were her eyes, but she certainly didn’t have shiny, black fur and whiskers and little black, triangle shaped ears on the top of her head and—

“Mowww!” Shinobu cursed aloud, finding some strange feeling of satisfaction in knocking the hand mirror to the floor below. Yet that was quickly doused by the sense of dread that hung over her.

She, Kochou Shinobu, had been turned into a detestable, furry little creature. A cat.

“Is everything alright in there miss? I heard a couple loud thumps coming from here.”

There was no human reply of course, but Shinobu leapt off of the desk and padded towards the door, pawing at it, hoping the innkeeper’s daughter would let her curiosity get the better of her and open the door.

“Miss? Are you well?”

No, Shinobu certainly was not well. But if the girl could let her out of this room she could see herself feeling just a small fraction better. She clawed at the wooden frame. If she had to pay for the damages so be it.

“Miss, I’m coming in. Pardon the intrusion...”

The door finally slid to the side and the innkeeper’s daughter peered inside.

“Hello?”

“Meow.”

The girl startled, her head snapped down to her feet. Shinobu sat in front of her expectantly, waiting for what she wasn’t sure.

“Tou-san?” The girl called down the hallway, stepping back from the cat, “Tou-san, the woman who checked in last night is gone. She left all her stuff and, and there’s a cat in here!”

“What are you saying child? Huh.” The innkeeper appeared in the doorway and blinked before frowning deeply. “I didn’t discuss lodgings for a pet with her. Was she trying to shorthand me?”

Shinobu’s tail twitched at the insinuation.

“Well, looks like she’s long gone now. Nothing to do about it now.” The innkeeper sighed.

“But, her clothes are still here and her katana... I can’t imagine she left them there on purpose.”

“Well, we have her address in the book. We’ll have someone take her belongings there and get the money we’re owed for their safe return... and the money for any damages this animal may have caused,” he reached out to pet Shinobu, but understandably the Hashira turned cat batted the hand away. “I’ll get Daisuke on it, that boy’s been getting too comfortable anyway. Gather up all her belongings will you, Hibari.”

“Yes, father.”

The innkeeper nodded then continued on down the hall. Hibari cautiously made her way past the threshold of the room and Shinobu eyed her warily from the doorway as the young girl, probably around Aoi’s age, gathered her belongings and folded them all together with care before setting them into a travel bag. Shinobu was pleased that her privacy was kept largely intact. The only thing the young girl openly scrutinized was her nichirin blade.

“This is so cool.” Hibari mumbled to herself before laying the blade across the opening of the bag. She then turned to Shinobu, couching to the floor with the bag outstretched in front of her. “Here kitty kitty, want to go for a ride?”

Shinobu’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t much appreciate how the girl cooed at her like she was a child. She stayed in place, her nose upturned.

“Oh don’t be like that. I’m sure it’ll be a long journey home. I’d sit in the bag if I were you.”

Shinobu stood firm. If she had to have four legs, she was going to use them. Hibari sighed and stood with the bag over her shoulder.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Hibari made to exit the room, “come on, little kitty.”

Shinobu resented that, yet she pawed after the girl. They exited the inn and found a young man stretched out in the grass.

“Daisuke-nii, here are all the traveler’s belongings. Tou-san gave you the address, right?” Hibari asked.

Daisuke groaned and sat up with his hand outstretched to take the bag, “yeah,” he noticed Shinobu sitting near his sister’s feet and sneered, “do I really need to take that thing with me too?”

Shinobu’s tail swished, agitated.

“Don’t be mean. The poor thing is probably homesick,” Hibari pouted, “I can’t believe that lady would just leave her here.”

Homesick, yes, Shinobu had been off on missions for the better part of three weeks. She was finally meant to go home today but like this, as a cat of all things, was not how she wanted to do it. She just wanted to walk home like a normal person, hug all her girls and catch up with the goings on at the estate, and spend some much needed alone time with her (Y/n). Was that so much to ask for?

“Whatever, it’s just a cat Hibari.” Daisuke groused. “If it decides to run off before I get to the place, I’m not taking responsibility for it. I’m just gonna drop this off, and get our money.”

“You better take good care of this cat, Nii-chan!” Hibari frowned, crossing her arms, “I’ll never forgive you if something bad happens to her! Just look at how sweet she is.”

Daisuke looked into Shinobu’s eyes and found his distaste for the feline mirrored back at him.

“There is nothing sweet looking about that thing.” Daisuke grunted as he stood to his full height, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Just try to be nice, okay?” Hibari asked.

“Sure, yeah, yeah, come on vermin. The sooner we leave, the sooner I can get home.” Daisuke made to scoop up Shinobu, but she side stepped away, slapping his hand for good measure.

“Ow! You mangy little—“

“Daisuke!” Hibari warned, giving him a pointed look.

“Fine! Just don’t slow me down. I’m leaving.” Daisuke rubbed his hand and turned to start his journey. A journey Shinobu had no intention of sticking around for.

Shinobu was surely faster than the ornery young man. She was not particularly fond of his presence either. She decided she would go off ahead of him. If he tried to do anything funny with her belongings she would easily find them again and give them all hell. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could figure out how to revert to her true body.

“Ah. Good riddance.” She heard Daisuke say snidely as she hopped ahead and into the brush once they made it to the edge of town.

‘I could say the same about you.’ Shinobu thought to herself, ‘if anything happens to that haori especially, the problems you have now will be child’s play to what I’ll put you through.’

Though she traveled faster, leaving the innkeeper’s son behind her, Shinobu still had plenty of ground to cover. She was already tired from weeks of duty, not to mention she wasn’t used to traveling on four paws. However despite these difficulties, Shinobu managed to reach her estate’s beautiful gardens  just before dinner. Her little paws ached, but she was home.

She walked through the garden, admiring the blooms and foliage as she steadily made her way to the engawa. The weather was fair, so hopefully she’d find an open door somewhere.

Then the flowers ahead of her started to shake and she stiffened momentarily before relaxing as the voices of Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho registered in her ears.

“And then— oh! A kitty!” Kiyo interrupted herself, awestruck as she and the other two girls made their way to the end of the garden where the vegetables were grown. Sumi and Naho were quick to join in, cooing at Shinobu causing her light embarrassment.

“How did you get here, little one? Are you lost?” Naho smiled, presenting her hand for Shinobu to sniff. Obviously, Shinobu didn’t go for it.

“Mow.” Shinobu shook her head, trying to show the girls she was no ordinary cat. They didn’t seem to catch on unfortunately.

“It’s so cute! Do you think we could keep it?” Sumi asked.

“Shinobu-sama would never let us. She thinks furry animals are messy.” Naho replied dejectedly.

“You’re right.” Sumi pouted.

“Well...” Kiyo spoke up after a moment of silence. “Shinobu-sama isn’t back yet. What if we could get (Y/n)-sama to agree to let us keep it?”

“Good idea!” Sumi jumped a bit with excitement, “Even if Shinobu-sama doesn’t like the idea, she’ll accept it if (Y/n)-sama said it was okay.”

‘My my, Kiyo, Sumi. I did not think you would try using my own lover against me in such a way.’ Shinobu thought to herself, begrudgingly allowing herself to be picked up by Sumi as the other two gathered at her sides, gently stroking her fur.

“I don’t know, aren’t you two worried it might strain their relationship if they don’t make the decision together?”  Naho asked nervously, though she eagerly patted the top of Shinobu’s head.

“No way. They love each other too much to let one cat get in the way of all that.” Kiyo shook her head, “Besides, we’ll take care of it. Shinobu-sama won’t even have to see the kitten if she doesn’t want to.”

‘My, what schemers these girls are growing into.’

“Girls? Is everything going alright out there?”

Shinobu’s ears perked up and she wiggled in Sumi’s arms to peer over her shoulder, absorbing the sight of (Y/n) standing on the engawa with her hand acting as a visor to shield her eyes from the setting sun as she squinted at the garden. Shinobu thought it was a crime that she couldn’t perceive colors as she could when she was human. She was sure the light of the setting sun bathed (Y/n)’s figure in a heavenly way. Oh how she had missed her.

“(Y/n)-sama!” The three girls cheered rushing towards the young woman standing on the engawa. Shinobu winced at the jaunty gait, the pace Sumi had set was throwing her around more than she would have liked.

“Oh dear,” (Y/n) smiled warmly, turning Shinobu’s heart into mush, “that doesn’t look like a vegetable.”

“(Y/n)-sama, can we keep her? Can we keep her please?” The girls pleaded. “We promise we’ll take good care of her. It will be like she’s not even here. Just give us a chance!”

“I have no doubt you three could take good care of a cat. You’re all very responsible, but you know Shinobu wouldn’t be happy living with a sheddy cat under her roof.” (Y/n) said, her smile becoming more sympathetic as she stared down at the youngest residents of the Butterfly Estate.

“Please, (Y/n)-sama. Shinobu-sama doesn’t even have to know. It can be our secret.” Sumi whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m sorry girls, but I’m just not comfortable making such a big decision without consulting with Shinobu first.” (Y/n) shook her head.

Upon seeing the dejected looks of the three girls before her, (Y/n) sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “You can come in and fix something for her to eat, but she can’t come inside, okay?”

“Okay...”

Shinobu would have been very pleased with (Y/n)’s decision, except she needed to be the exception to the verdict. She needed to get inside and get to her lab, not live out the rest of her days as a garden cat getting fed scraps while she watched all her loved ones mourn her sudden disappearance.

“Don’t forget to pull out some fresh veggies. Aoi and Kanao are waiting too—ah!”

Shinobu had wiggled free from Sumi’s arms and flung herself into the air, catching on the fabric of (Y/n)’s clothes and scrambling up to her chest as surprised arms moved on instinct to hold Shinobu up.

‘I could charm you as a human, I can do it in this form too, (Y/n).’

Shinobu butted her head against (Y/n)’s chin, her cheeks, wherever she could reach. She felt a rumble start to build at the back of her throat and realized she had begun to purr. (Y/n)’s scent seemed to be all encompassing, so much stronger than what Shinobu’s human nose could smell. It made her press harder, realizing just how much she had missed that scent, how she craved the familiarity.

“Oh, hello there. You sure are friendly, huh?” (Y/n) scratched behind Shinobu’s ear, Shinobu purred louder.

“Aw, she must really like you, (Y/n)-sama. You have to let her stay now!” Naho spoke, watching the cute scene with unrestrained joy.

“Naho, you know we can’t.” (Y/n) shook her head, now trying to dodge Shinobu’s bumps of affection while also trying to loosen Shinobu’s claws from her front so she could put her back down.

‘Come now, (Y/n). Don’t start playing hard to get now.’ Shinobu continued working her charm as best as she could, continuing her nudges and purrs, gently lapping (Y/n)’s knuckles with her tongue when her hands attempted to push her away.

“Affectionate little thing, aren’t you?” (Y/n)’s smile twitched, a bead of sweat roll down her cheek as she tried to pull the cat away from her body only to have her clothes pulled with her, the cat’s claws were secured and unyielding.

‘Only for you.’ Shinobu’s eyes glinted. She could see (Y/n) was wavering, if she could keep this up, she’d let her stay in no time.

(Y/n) looked down into the cat’s eyes. They felt strangely familiar. The way the cat stared back up at her made her feel small, not in a negative sense, more like they eyes reminded her of the vastness of the universe. Maybe they made her feel safe, unconditionally loved... (Y/n) shook her head, blood buzzed faintly through her cheeks and the tips of her ears. This was a cat. She really needed to pull herself together. She hoped Shinobu’s letter detailing her imminent return home was accurate.

“Mew, mow.” Shinobu mewed sweetly, the sound, paired with the sweet kitten licks penetrated deep into (Y/n)’s heart, making her sigh and slump her shoulders in defeat.

“Okay...”

“Yay!” The trio cheered, bouncing around (Y/n) as she held onto a pleased Shinobu with a guilty expression on her face.

“But!” She added quickly, “I’m not promising anything. When Shinobu comes back we’ll come to a final decision together. Don’t get your hopes up too high, alright?”

“Okay, (Y/n)-sama.” The girls were a little more subdued, but no less excited that the cat could stay with them, if just for a short time.

As soon as (Y/n) crossed the threshold into the estate, Shinobu loosened her kitty death grip and jumped out of (Y/n)’s arms to pad off to the kitchen. Though she was yelling at herself to go to the lab to try to fix herself first, hunger seemed to be driving her body in the direction of the aroma coming from the opposite side of the building.

“Look at you. You walk around as if you own the place.” (Y/n) spoke, a sound of amusement preceding her observation.

‘Because I do. Hopefully you’ll realize that soon enough.’

“What took so long, (Y/n)-sama?” Aoi asked, a small frown of concentration shaped her lips as she carefully prepared the food. Kanao turned to stare at (Y/n) and the sleek little shadow trailing behind her with a puzzled expression.

“Sorry. Um, Sumi, Naho and Kiyo had made a new friend in the garden who’ll be staying the night.”

“I see, shall I start preparing a room?” Aoi asked, not yet looking up from her cooking.

“I don’t think that will be necessary...”

“What do you mean, oh.” Aoi caught a dark movement at (Y/n)’s feet, the seeing the cat for the first time. Although she found it undoubtedly cute, her respect for Shinobu was not so easily swayed. “(Y/n)-sama, you can’t keep a cat in here!”

“I know,” (Y/n) pressed her hands together, “it’s only for a short while, I promise.”

“I can’t believe you let yourself get manipulated so easily. What would Shinobu-sama say?”

‘That (Y/n) trying to resist me would be like someone trying to stop an oncoming train with their bare hands. It’s just not plausible.’ Shinobu silently answered with a purr, sliding past (Y/n)’s ankles.

“I know, I tried, honestly! I really did.” (Y/n) swore.

“Fine. Remove it from the kitchen please at the very least. It’s unsanitary.” Aoi said, turning back to what she was doing.

“Right, sorry. The girls should be back from the garden soon. I’ll be back in a minute to help.”

(Y/n) scooped up Shinobu and took her out of the kitchen just as Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho were coming in with their basket from the garden.

“Great timing. Could you three take care of the cat while I help Kanao and Aoi finish up dinner?”

“Yeah!”

“You can count on us!”

“Here little kitty!”

Shinobu tried to latch onto (Y/n), but was quickly plucked from her arms by Kiyo. After Naho handed (Y/n) the basket, they ran off down the hall with (Y/n) calling after them.

“Be back in twenty minutes! Everything should be done by then.”

“Okay!”

***

Shinobu sat on the tatami floor, watching with amusement as the girls tried to get her to play with the crudely tied together cloth on a wooden pole. They even went as far as to demonstrate what they expected her to do with the device, pawing at it and rolling around on the floor.

“Come on, kitty. You can do it!” Sumi encouraged.

‘I love you children, but there is nothing you could say or do that would make me act so foolishly.’ Shinobu turned her nose away from the flopping cloth and made to leave the room, hoping (Y/n) and the others would have dinner ready by now.

Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho followed after her talking amongst themselves. Occasionally asking the black cat where she was going with such purpose.

When they made it to the dining area, (Y/n), Kanao and Aoi were already there. (Y/n) had only just knelt down at her spot at the table when Shinobu claimed the space in her lap, causing (Y/n) to jump in surprise at the sudden dark flash that rushed at her.

“Ah!”

“Wow, she must really, really like you, (Y/n)-sama.” Naho observed.

“Yeah, we just followed her here. It’s like she knew exactly where to go.” Sumi spoke with awe.

“I see...” (Y/n) smiled down at the black blob curled in her lap, it’s intelligent purple eyes looked back up at her. “I bet you’re hungry, hm?”

‘Yes, I haven’t eaten all day.’ Shinobu sighed to herself.

“(Y/n)-sama, we shouldn’t feed animals at the table.” Aoi pouted. “What would Shinobu-sama say?”

‘I’d say let’s make an exception just this once. Please, I’m starving.’

“Just this once, Aoi, please,” (Y/n) asked, setting up a little bowl of cat safe food before setting the bowl beside her on the floor. “More likely than not the cat will have to go when Shinobu comes back. Try not to let it bother you too much.”

Shinobu wiggled out of (Y/n)’s lap to the bowl of food next to her whilst Aoi released a resigned sigh, and waited for everyone to get situated.

“Ikatakimasu!”

“Meow.”

Everyone blinked and turned to the cat. Shinobu stared back, unblinking, waiting for someone to realize she was no ordinary cat.

Kanao tilted her head, flipped her coin, and shrugged slightly before turning back to her food. Aoi was mildly impressed but made no comment. She thought perhaps it had just been a coincidence that the feline happened to meow as they thanked each other for the work that had gone into making dinner tonight. The youngest girls made sure to voice their amazement, praising Shinobu for being such a smart kitty. (Y/n) let out a surprised giggle, calling the moment unbelievably cute before returning her attention to her food as well.

If Shinobu could adequately roll her eyes, she would. Instead she sucked it up and ate the food in the bowl (Y/n) had provided for her. She felt silly and unrefined eating in such a manner, face first in the ceramic, but the food was good and filling, making her feel much better.

After dinner was finished and everything was cleaned up, Shinobu ignored the younger girls’ pleads to come back to their rooms and trotted behind (Y/n) to their wing of the estate.

“You’re making me out to be some kind of villain, cat,” (Y/n) spoke to Shinobu as she waved sympathetically to the younger girls pouting at the opposite end of the hall, “Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho would really like to spend more time with you.”

‘As would I, but I need to be in the lab tonight if I’m ever going to figure out how to reverse this.’

As they approached Shinobu’s lab, she was pleased, but also annoyed to find that the door was already partially open. Making a mental note to find out who had been rustling around in her sanctuary, she made to enter the room only for the door to be slid shut in front of her.

“Sorry little kitty,” (Y/n) smiled down at Shinobu, “Shinobu would be less than pleased with me for not only letting a cat into the estate, but for also letting it have free reign of her lab. Can’t have you breaking any vials or toppling plants.”

“Mowww.” Shinobu moaned pitifully, pawing at the door. She looked up at (Y/n) with hope that she’d let her in. ‘You don’t understand, (Y/n). It’s me!’

“Aw, sorry buddy. That room is off limits.” (Y/n) then continued to walk around the corner.

Shinobu looked between her lab door and the corner (Y/n) disappeared behind a few times, her tail twitched in agitation.

‘Alright, no work is getting done tonight. I suppose it will feel nice to sleep in a familiar location with the warmth and comfort I’ve missed so dearly, even if she is actively blocking my progress with her good intentions.’ Shinobu quickly followed (Y/n) to their room and made to enter the space but was blocked by (Y/n)’s foot.

“No no, see? This is why you should have followed the other girls. I share this space with Shinobu, I can’t let you get fur all over the place and gods forbid anything happen to the goldfish. You’re a smart kitty, I’m sure you can figure out where to go.”

“Mowww, mew!”

“Goodnight, little kitty.” (Y/n) slid the door shut and Shinobu slumped against the floor, pathetically pawing at the edge of the door.

‘Why must you be so responsible and considerate?’ Shinobu meowed again, ‘I would kill to cuddle you right now. I would sit in a room full of writhing balls of sentient fuzz just for my welcome home kiss.’

Shinobu did not move from her spot, continuously clawing at the door, trying to hook a claw in the crack to nudge it open. Her persistence paid off and she managed to wiggle through the small opening she created and slip into the darkened room.

Shinobu was a bit embarrassed, had she tried to get into her lab as hard as she tried to get into her own bedroom, she might actually have gotten somewhere with an antidote. But now she was tired, and all she wanted to do was lay in that perfect space she saw between the curl of (Y/n)’s arm and her face.

‘It looks like I’m not the only one who misses someone.’ Shinobu simpered inwardly, noticing how (Y/n) was sleeping on the side of the futon that Shinobu usually slept in. Shinobu purred, walking across (Y/n)’s side and eliciting a sleepy laugh from the girl without waking her. She slid into the space she had staked claim of and curled up, rubbing her face against (Y/n)’s cheek. She couldn’t help but purr louder as (Y/n) unconsciously pulled Shinobu closer and buried her face in her furry side.

“Shinobu... be safe.” (Y/n) mumbled before stilling once more.

‘I’m safe, I’m right here with you. I hope you realize it soon.’

***

The next morning Shinobu woke earlier than (Y/n). She didn’t want to make (Y/n) worry about the cat somehow getting into the room so she gave her a few quick kitten licks before slipping out of the room. If she had to be a cat for an indeterminate amount of time, she didn’t want (Y/n) trying to find a better way to keep her out of their room.

She trotted around the corner to begin working her lab door open again but was quickly thwarted by Kanao who had happened to be walking by. The quiet girl had picked her up by the pits of Shinobu’s front legs and held her out in front of her with her head tilted to the side as if searching for something.

‘Yes, Kanao. You can tell can’t you? You can tell that I’m your sister and not some common stray.’

“Cute.”

‘Kanao!’

The young Tsuguko put Shinobu in a more comfortable hold and continued to walk away from the lab until she happened upon Nezuko and Tanjirou. The Kamado siblings coddled Shinobu. Nezuko was particularly entranced and hummed happily as she patted Shinobu’s soft head. The Hashira was rather tired of all the touching, but with the firm hold Kanao had on her small body, escape was not an option. At least Inosuke and Zenitsu were out on missions. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle them in this state.

Within the next hour, the rest of the butterfly girls joined in and they moved the little get together outside. Even Aoi gave a tentative scratch behind Shinobu’s ear as they all enjoyed the warmth of the day under the shade of the engawa. That is, until they heard (Y/n) speaking to someone near the estate entrance sounding very distressed. Kanao and Tanjirou went to investigate while the others stayed behind.

Shinobu had been passed off to Aoi, but she wriggled out of her arms to sprint in (Y/n)’s direction to give whoever was making her so upset a taste of her claws. She slowed to stand just behind (Y/n) when she realized that the person she was talking to was the boy from the inn with her belongings.

‘Took him long enough.’ Shinobu thought.

“What do you mean you don’t know where she went? You just saw all her belongings sitting there and thought it was perfectly normal for someone to disappear without warning?” (Y/n) spoke, yelling more out of worry than anger as she pressed the bag to her chest.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger okay?” Daisuke asked, a lazy smile on his face. His eyes wandered over (Y/n)’s figure in a way that made Shinobu furious. “People come and go all the time. Though I gotta say, it’s a real shame she left you hanging. I would never keep a pretty girl like you waiting.”

“Shinobu isn’t like that!” (Y/n) shot back, her eyebrows knit and jaw set. “Did you not even think about contacting the local authorities, anything?”

“Listen, sweetheart,” Daisuke took a couple steps forward, looming over (Y/n), “Unfortunately, it’s my dad who calls the shots and he sent me here to return these belongings and retrieve a lump sum of yen for the service. Now, on the subject of payment... I wouldn’t mind turning a blind eye for a night on the town. What do you say?” He reached out, presumably to tilt (Y/n)’s chin up, but his hand quickly dropped and he shouted in pain. He and (Y/n) looked down at their feet to witness Shinobu biting the ever loving shit out of Daisuke’s ankle.

Daisuke hopped around from one foot to the other, trying to dislodge the cat from his feet. It was like Shinobu was a liquid shadow of teeth and sharp little claws like knives. When Daisuke reached for her, she scrambled to the other leg to give it the same treatment.

(Y/n), now fully joined by Kanao and Tanjirou, watched in stunned silence as the small terror weaved through the young man’s legs.

“Sh... should we stop it?” Tanjirou asked hesitantly.

Kanao shrugged and (Y/n) let out an exasperated sigh.

“Little kitty, please stop!” (Y/n) asked half heartedly, it was a cat after all. It’s not like it would stop just because she— oh, it stopped.

Shinobu batted the man one last time with her claws before sitting before (Y/n). The little shimmy of her hind legs and tail were enough of a sign for (Y/n) too quickly pass the bag off to Kanao so she could catch nightmarish feline who now seemed as docile as a lamb, purring up a storm and lapping at (Y/n)’s jaw.

“What the hell?!” Daisuke hissed, applying pressure to a particularly nasty scratch on the back of his ankle.

“Sorry, I’ll have someone patch you up right away.” (Y/n) said, adjusting her hold on Shinobu so her sandpaper kisses wouldn’t rub the delicate skin of her face raw, “Tanjirou, could you find a kakushi for me? Tell them to bring water, bandages, and disinfectant. Kanao, take Shinobu’s belongings to our room, then come straight back. We need to figure out what happened and where she could be.”

“Meow.”

‘I’m here, (Y/n). Please don’t look so worried.’

“Wait a minute,” Daisuke had moved to sit fully on the ground to hold his cuts and shredded pants. He squinted up at the cat in (Y/n)’s arms, “I know that scrawny little— I thought you would have gotten eaten by a hawk by now you mangy pain in the ass!”

“You know this cat?” (Y/n) asked.

“Yeah, it’s yours, isn’t it?” Daisuke spat. “Your little lady friend left it at the inn with the rest of her shit.”

“That can’t possibly be true, Shinobu dislikes furry animals. She wouldn’t travel with a cat.” (Y/n) shook her head, not even allowing the notion Daisuke brought forward to fully process in her mind because of how ridiculous it sounded.

“My lady, you called for assistance?” The kakushi called as they made their approach, Tanjirou still following.

“Yes, please see to this man’s injuries,” (Y/n) balanced Shinobu over her shoulder so she could take out her money pouch. She counted out the yen, adding a bit extra for the physical damages and presented it to the innkeeper’s son, “After they have taken care of you, please leave the premises immediately.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Daisuke growled, roughly snatching the money out of (Y/n)’s hand. Shinobu glared at him, an unhappy noise gurgled at the back of her throat that made the young man flinch and cower.

Once (Y/n) was sure the kakushi had everything under control, she headed back to the engawa with Tanjirou just as Kanao re-emerged. The other girls who had been sitting and watching from a far questioned (Y/n) with worried expressions.

“Is it true? Is Shinobu-sama missing, (Y/n)-sama?” Kiyo asked.

“Yes,” (Y/n)’s voice wavered, yet she kept a brave face, “we need to prepare a search party immediately.”

“Nezuko and I will help in any way we can. I have a good grasp on Shinobu-san’s scent. I’ll find out if Inosuke and Zenitsu are close enough to help too.” Tanjirou offered, ever helpful. Nezuko hummed in agreement with her brother.

‘What, I don’t even smell the same like this?’ Shinobu signed.

“Just leave it to us.” Kanao spoke up, she patted (Y/n)’s arm, trying to comfort the older girl.

“Just be careful.” (Y/n) replied, cradling Shinobu in one arm so she could give Kanao a hug with the other. “If you need any extra assistance, supplies... we’re just a crow away.”

“We will find her.” Kanao spoke softly but no less seriously, giving (Y/n) a slight nod of determination.

Tanjirou loaded Nezuko into her box and Kanao prepared some supplies and they headed out, leaving the rest of the girls to finish chores and tend to the infirmary. Worry over what fate had befallen Shinobu hung heavily in the air. If only they knew that she was right there at their feet.

The rest of the day was eerily quiet. (Y/n) did her best to keep everyone’s spirits up. When night fell, all the girls held in a little tighter when they came to give (Y/n) a hug good night. Even Aoi, who often wouldn’t participate in the little bedtime ritual, came looking for a bit of comfort before heading to bed.

Shinobu had tried all afternoon to give some sign that she was the silky black cat, but to no avail. At bedtime she was much more desperate to get into her lab. She tried to work the door open, but found in was much more sturdy, heavy, than the door to her bedroom.

Just as Shinobu was starting to give up, she heard muffled sniffling coming from around the corner and her heart twinged. She quickly turned the corner and began working the corner of the bedroom door, her sharp ears caught every devastating sound (Y/n) made.

“Oh Shinobu, where are you?”

‘I’m here! Please don’t cry!’

Another pull of her claw edged the door open just enough for Shinobu to slip inside. The scene before her broke her heart.

(Y/n) was curled up on Shinobu’s side of the futon, now with Shinobu’s haori draped over her as she tried to keep her tears and shuddering, hitched breathing to herself.

Shinobu wasted no time hopping into the bed. She butted her head against (Y/n)’s hands, willing her to remove them from her face. (Y/n) startled, taking in a particularly loud breath of air before sliding her hands down her face to look at her intruder. Her eyes closed momentarily when Shinobu bumped heads with her again, bopping her forehead and the bridge of her nose.

“H-how did you get in here, huh?” (Y/n) sat up, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She tried to regain even breaths but it wasn’t coming easily.

“Mrroowww.” Shinobu whined, trying to form sounds that her vocal chords could not create. She circled around the arm (Y/n) was using to prop herself up, wishing she could just hold her and tell her everything was alright.

“I just love her so much. If only I was a demon slayer too, then I could—“ (Y/n)’s back racked as more tears squeezed passed her eyelids. “I’m so weak— ah!”

Shinobu bit (Y/n)’s wrist, not hard, but with enough pressure to stop her lover from continuing her spiral. She soothed the small indents she left in (Y/n)’s skin with a few rough licks, looking up at her with pained, purple irises.

(Y/n) didn’t kick Shinobu out of the room and the Hashira did her best to soothe her. Eventually (Y/n) laid back down and fell into a restless sleep, her tear stained face shone in the moonlight that cascaded through the window. As she slept, Shinobu’s mind raced for a solution to this puzzle. She absolutely refused to allow this to carry on through another night.

Shinobu sat protectively curled around (Y/n)’s head. Her ears twitched with every little sniffle and shaky sigh that came from the unconscious girl. Shinobu scanned the room as she pressed her mind. How could she get their attention?

Her eyes wandered over to the desk near the door. (Y/n) had insisted it be put there after Shinobu had spent consecutive nights in her office or her lab writing reports or doing research. She had told Shinobu if she wanted to read and write all night, she could do it in their bedroom so (Y/n) at least had the illusion that Shinobu would come to bed when she was finished.

Ah, Shinobu had teased her about that for days afterward. It turned out to be a great idea though in Shinobu’s book. Whenever she got frustrated with her materials she would simply turn to watch the object of her affections sleep for a moment and a peaceful smile would claim her lips. Then she’d get back to her correspondences or research notes until her hands hurt and her fingers were smudged with ink. She recalled one all nighter in particular when she had flopped into bed around dawn and was awoken three hours later to (Y/n) scolding her for getting ink all over her.

Ink...

Shinobu’s eyes flickered across the desk, settling on the ink bottle tucked neatly in the corner. Yes, why hadn’t she thought of this before? Careful not to jostle (Y/n), Shinobu padded passed her little goldfish aquarium and leapt onto her desk, rustling a few papers but largely without incident.

Shinobu sighed inwardly at what she would have to do next. She walked up to the ink bottle and batted it to the floor, it’s contents spilling and staining the matted floor below.

‘I’ll need to replace this floor when I’m done here, won’t I?’

***

When (Y/n) woke up early the next morning, it was to a wet, slimy pressure on her cheek. She had initially tried to bat it away, but the force came back down on her lips and she turned away and spluttered, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

She looked down, her mouth fell open with surprise as she processed the black, sticky smudge that stuck to her skin.

“Meow.”

(Y/n) turned back around and gasped. Initially, you wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was out of place, but on closer inspection (Y/n) saw how the black cat’s fur appeared matted and wet on its front legs and if that wasn’t enough, the little black paw prints that littered the white sheets was certainly a give away.

“Oh my... bad kitty! Very, very, very bad kitty!” (Y/n) huffed, trying to roll out of the bedding without getting too much ink on herself.

Shinobu smirked inwardly, if she could laugh she would have. Despite the situation that led up to this moment, it was amusing to hear (Y/n) try to scold her. It was not at all her forte it would seem.

“Such a bad kitty! I’m going to punish you for this... ah! How do you even punish a cat?” (Y/n) fumed, taking in the extent of the damage.

Satisfied that (Y/n) was up, Shinobu made her way back to the desk, little black paw prints followed in her wake.

“That’s quite enough! I’d like to not have to replace the whole floor if I can help it, you little...” (Y/n) followed after Shinobu and scooped her up, she happened to glance at the floor near the base of the desk and the words died on her tongue. At first, she thought it was just the scene of the crime where all went wrong, but after a second glance, she noticed swoops and slashes that looked suspiciously like hiragana characters. (Y/n)’s lips fell open as she finally took the whole scene in.

‘Demon blood cat poison. I’m Shinobu.’ Was painstakingly written on the floor.

“Shinobu...?” (Y/n) stared down at the cat in her arms with manic eyes scanning over every inch of the small cat.

Shinobu blinked slowly and nodded.

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) cried, holding the cat closer to herself, uncaring of the inky paws that pressed into her yukata. “I was so worried! I’m glad you’re alright!”

“Mow.”

“You need to get in the lab, don’t you? I’ll get you whatever you need, dear.” (Y/n) carried Shinobu to the lab and slid the door open. Closing the door behind her, she set Shinobu down on a clear table and nervously wrung her hands. “Okay, what do you need?”

Shinobu took a moment to ponder. Really it couldn’t be much different than the antidote she created for the slayers who had been turned to spiders on Natagumo Mountain. She walked to the edge of the table and pointed a paw in the direction of one of her medicine cabinets and (Y/n) opened it, pointing at every vial until Shinobu nodded at the one she wanted. After an hour more of awkward directing, they had a few new solutions to try. (Y/n) prepared the first syringe and looked at Shinobu with concern.

“Are you sure about this?” (Y/n) asked.

Shinobu held out her front paw in reply.

There was no immediate change, but after a few minutes, the small cat began to grow and bubble. The fur melted away and before long what remained on the table now was a naked young woman with severe bed head covered in sticky, partially dried ink.

Shinobu fell forward, exhausted by the change, but (Y/n) caught her and straightened her back into an upright position and hugged her tightly.

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) cheered, she couldn’t help the tears that came to her eyes and she sobbed into Shinobu’s neck.

Shinobu smiled tiredly, her voice sounded like it would when she woke up first thing in the morning as she chuckled and pulled (Y/n) closer to herself, “I’m sorry I worried you. I’m okay. Please don’t cry, you know I hate it when you do.”

“I’m trying,” (Y/n) hiccuped, “I just missed you so much!”

“I missed you too.” Shinobu said, kissing the top of (Y/n)’s head.

They stayed there in each other’s arms for a few minutes quietly swaying before (Y/n) pulled back a bit, remembering how everyone was worried sick and needed to know that Shinobu was alright.

“I’ve got to send word to Kanao and the others that you’re okay! We have to tell everyone! Oh, but you should put on some clothes first.” (Y/n) added sheepishly, seemingly only just noticing Shinobu’s current state of undress. Shinobu giggled.

“I’d prefer to wash off this ink before putting anything on. Wouldn’t want to ruin anything.”

“You certainly did enough of that.” (Y/n) laughed, recalling the mess Shinobu made of the floor and their sheets. “But the bath is much too far to try to get by undetected. We’d have much better luck running around the corner to our room.”

“Mm, I suppose you have a point.” Shinobu slid off the table and stood on slightly wobbly legs, cupping (Y/n)’s face with her stained hands. “But before we go, can I have my welcome home kiss? I’ve been dying to receive it.”

(Y/n) smiled, interlacing her hands behind Shinobu’s neck and pulled her in. The first couple seconds were great, but when the kiss got more involved, both girls broke apart with small grimaces. The taste of ink on their tongues was not at all pleasant.

(Y/n) peeked around the corner and down the hall and after a moment she nodded at Shinobu, signaling her forward. They slipped out of the lab and quickly shot into their bedroom. As Shinobu got dressed, (Y/n) prepared a crow to deliver the good news to Kanao that she and the others could return home. Then the couple left their room to visit the younger girls.

“You don’t think the girls will be too disappointed to realize they don’t have a cat anymore, do you?” Shinobu asked.

“To have you back? They’ll be ecstatic.” (Y/n) grinned, bumping sides with Shinobu.

And true to (Y/n)’s word, upon seeing Shinobu, Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho jumped at her and smothered her with hugs and relieved tears. After they had calmed down and learned the story, the youngest three started to giggle.

“(Y/n)-sama, you have a paw print on your cheek.” Sumi pointed out, gleefully.

“And your mouth has ink smeared over it too, like Shinobu-sama.” Naho added.

“How did that happen?” Kiyo wondered.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Aoi rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as (Y/n) and Shinobu laughed.

After they caught up with the girls, (Y/n) and Shinobu veered off to the bath, washing off the ink as best they could from their bodies.

Just before nightfall, the search party returned with the added bonus of Inosuke and Zenitsu being as rambunctious as ever.

“I can’t believe you got turned into a cat! Dumb Shinobu! The Great Inosuke would never!” Inosuke cackled, abruptly stopping only when a dark aura swirled around Shinobu, a plastic smile on her lips daring Inosuke to continue.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Kanao spoke quietly, allowing herself to relax as Shinobu pulled her in for a tender hug.

After such an emotionally exhausting day, everyone returned to their rooms prepared for a much better night’s sleep than the last.

“No paperwork tonight?” (Y/n) teased as Shinobu practically dove I to the fresh bedding with a tired moan.

“Come here so I can cuddle you properly tonight.” Shinobu said, motioning (Y/n) over.

“Gladly.”

When (Y/n) was settled in Shinobu’s arms both girls blinked at each other as the sound of purrs permeated the air. Shinobu touched her throat, feeling the flesh rumble below her fingers.

“Lingering side effect?” (Y/n) tilted her head.

“I suppose... hopefully this doesn’t persist for long.”

“I think it’s cute.” (Y/n) smiled, kissing Shinobu’s cheek.

Before long the couple fell asleep to the quiet rumblings that resonated from Shinobu’s throat, happily tangled in each other’s limbs at last.

[staywhelmedbatfam]

Reunited

~Damian Wayne/Reader~

Summary: You had thought things were going well between you two. That is until he up and left the city without a single word. When he suddenly appeared one night, you made it your mission to get answers.

Hello all! It's been a while since I've posted any fics. The spring semester was kicking my butt and my work is really lacking in employees (as I'm sure a lot of other places are) so I didn't really have time nor the energy to get a lot written. On top of that, I've got plenty of one shots started but no idea how to end them😅

I wasn’t really sure how I wanted to end this one, but I think it’s satisfactory. Enjoy!

***

“Damian?” you asked in a tone of disbelief as you stared at what you thought was his back. He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. A blade quickly found its way to your throat, dangerously close to breaking the skin.

“You will only address him as The Demon’s Head,” the blade wielder growled.

You kept your focus on the person unknown to you, watching from your peripherals, as Damian turned around. Many emotions overcame you now that his identity was confirmed. He raised his hand and made a gesture while walking forward. The blade lowered, the wielder taking a step back from you. With your life no longer in immediate danger, you shifted your gaze to Damian.

His eyes bored into yours as he got closer and finally came to a stop a foot in front of you. He briefly looked away while he spoke to his subordinate, “Leave us.” As they were leaving, Damian’s senses remained alert until he was sure they had exited the room. Now that the two of you were alone, his facial expression softened as his hands came up to hold your face.

“Dam–” you started, only to be cut off by lips meeting yours. Melting into the kiss, you squeezed your eyes shut and your hands found their way to his chest. Tears began to run down your cheeks.

He pulled away all too soon for your liking. Wiping the tears from your face with his thumbs, he continued to hold your face and you stared up at him. “(Y/N)… I apologize for leaving so suddenly. I should have told you. I’m so sorry, Beloved.”

“It’s been months, Damian. I thought something terrible had happened to you, but I never heard from your family. When I finally asked them, they told me you’d left. They never mentioned anything to me because they thought you had said something to me already,” you expressed, eyes shining with new, unshed tears. “And they didn’t get into specifics either. Then I see you and, suddenly, I have a knife to my throat. What in the world is going on?”

“I never imagined this would be how I tell you about any of this. Me leaving without a word was supposed to be the best way to protect you, but I ended up hurting us both instead.” He shut his eyes in anguish for a moment and let out a sigh before continuing. “My mother and grandfather were part of a group called The League of Assassins. I was raised in the League, training to become the perfect soldier and succeed my grandfather as leader. As you know, I went to live with my father at ten years old. The only reason I did was because of an attack on the League’s compound. Mother thought that was for the best at the time. Father never even knew I existed until we showed up in Gotham. While I lived with him, he showed me a better way than what the League had instilled in me. I ended up patrolling the city as Robin alongside him.

“When Mother came to take me back, I decided I would remain in Gotham. The first couple of years in Gotham were rocky, to say the least, but I eventually came to like it. Then you came along. I was instantly drawn to you, no matter how much I told myself I wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship – romantic or platonic. You lit up every room you walked into with that bright, gorgeous smile. I was in deep before I even realized it. You were the light I needed to counter all the darkness in my life. Then, a couple of months before I left, my mother insinuated that she would harm you if I didn’t return to the League. I tried to delay it as long as possible, but then I realized I was only hurting you more.”

Learning all of this new information at once and overcome with emotion, you stammered, “I–I would have come with you–”

“That’s precisely why I didn’t want to tell you. The League… it’s not a place for someone as generous and kind as you, Beloved. Had you come with me, there is no doubt in my mind that my mother would have done something to you anyway because you didn’t meet her standards. Regardless, I didn’t want you to waste the rest of your life being involved with a group of assassins when I know you are meant for so much more.” He leaned down, touching his forehead to yours, and closed his eyes. You shut your eyes too, relishing in the closeness.

Opening your eyes, you sighed before speaking, “So what happens now? I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to leave for now, but I promise you – this won’t be the last time you see me.” Damian lowered his voice as he continued, “It’s going to take some time, but I’m working on disbanding the League.”

“Just… be careful. Come back to me in one piece.”

“Your wish is my command.” He brought you in for another kiss, this one lasting a bit longer than the first. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Dami.”

***

After Damian told you about everything he had been keeping secret, you talked to his family. Since then, you’ve gone to the manor on occasion for dinner or even to help with their nighttime activities when they asked. At least the help you provided them never required you to leave the safety of the Batcave.

Even though you knew the details of Damian’s whereabouts now, you were still anxious. He had promised you that you would see each other again. That didn’t stop you from worrying or missing him. You felt empty without him beside you but pushed through each day with the thought that no news was good news.

As time passed, so did special occasions like birthdays, Valentine’s Day, and your anniversary. On the day of each occasion, you received a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Sometimes there was no occasion. You would cry every time, but the flowers weren’t the cause of your tears. No, it was the hand-written note that always came with the flowers. Just seeing Damian’s handwriting was enough to bring tears to your eyes. His words made you cry even harder.

After the first couple of notes, you bought a keepsake box and a journal. The notes got put in the box and you wrote a new entry in the journal after each one. Sometimes you would write an entry even when there was no letter – when you felt like you missed him more than usual.

Your coworkers tried to set you up with someone at one point until you told them you were in a long-distance relationship. They seemed to understand but were confused since you never talked about him. The longer this went on, the more skeptical they became. Questions were asked and you tried to answer them as best as you could without telling them anything they shouldn’t know.

“Seriously, it’s complicated. The circumstances we’re under don’t really allow me to share anything. I appreciate your concern though,” you told them right before leaving work for the day. They all watched you leave and gave each other worried glances.

When you returned to your apartment and unlocked the door, you set your purse and keys down on the entryway table then kicked off your shoes. Letting out a heavy sigh, you entered your bedroom and changed out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. That ended up being shorts and one of Damian’s sweatshirts that you took from his room a few months ago when you were at the manor. You tried not to wear it too often so his scent would last longer. Today, you just felt like you needed to be wrapped up in it.

Exiting your room, you headed for the couch to sit down and watch one of your weekly shows. You almost made it to the couch when a voice made your anxiety skyrocket and your heartbeat speed up.

“You always did look better in my clothes than I did.”

Whipping your head in the direction of your balcony, your eyes began to water. Damian stood inside your apartment, dressed as Robin. “I’m not dreaming, am I? It’s really you?”

“It’s really me, Beloved,” he replied with a serene expression on his face.

Running to him, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest as the tears spilled down your cheeks. He hugged you tight and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he whispered against your hair.

You shook your head against his chest. “You’re here. That’s all I care about.”

***

I was thinking about doing something extra with the notes and the journal. Is this something you guys would like to see? Let me know! I appreciate any comments!

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[akirascrybaby]

the ghosts within

pairing: pieck finger/hange zoe (pikuhan)

tags: fantasy, gender neutral hange, ghosts, memory loss, mentions of death, mild violence, smut & more smut!

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36179584?view_adult=true

There they were, driving through the pouring rain, a thick fog blinding their sights, on their way to the next big thing in their lives. The car was flooded with their mutual feelings of happiness and excitement, they were close, so close, but before they knew it all they could see was a flash of light, bright enough to blind them and-

“Did I tell you that this whole place is haunted? Legend has it that it’s crawling with ghosts, vampires, werewolves and the whole shebang.”

“Shut up Porco.”

Pieck winced as she got out of the car, her legs limp from the lengthy journey and her arms heavy from the boxes she was carrying. She should have been happy, this move was a fresh start for her and Porco, and it was as if the universe was rewarding them both after putting them through a carousel of failures.

Pieck and her close friend Porco had gotten the opportunity to work in an university in a small town about 4 hours north where they had both lived. Despite it being such a huge opportunity, quite a few people had turned down the chance to work there, since the entire town was plagued with rumours of being haunted by every supernatural being one could think of. 

Pieck and Porco were initially apprehensive about the move, Pieck because the idea of living in such a small place in nature seemed off putting, and Porco because he was genuinely terrified over the possibility of being possessed by a demon, but both of them needed the money and neither of them were in a position to turn down any job thrown their way.

The apartment wasn’t what either of them suspected. It was in a vacant part of the small town, which was saying something since the entire area felt like a ghost town. The building also seemed miniature, containing only 3 other apartments. Pieck was hesitant to go inside on her own, but Porco grabbed her by the arm, and in true paranoia fashion, he slowly walked into the apartment holding one piece of garlic and reading passages from a variety of religious scriptures. 

A small part of the petite dark haired woman wanted to take her camera out and show all their friends just how paranoid “tough guy” Galliard was, but not wanting to argue with Porco on the the first day of moving in, she decided to hold back. 

“Right, so I’ve checked everything, and I don’t see any ghouls or whatever.” Porco stated, almost looking proud for doing, absolutely nothing. 

“Thank you ghostbuster, but have you given any thought as to what we’re going to eat?” Pieck replied dryly, trying so hard not to bring up the fact that she gave Porco one job and he screwed it up by bringing nothing but beer and garlic. “It’s not exactly like we can order in.”

Porco bashfully scratched the back of his head, before digging his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and pulling out $20. “Do you reckon this will be enough for groceries?” He asked, waving the notes in Pieck’s face.

“I guess you’re going to have to find out.” Pieck dryly replied, waiting a moment for Porco to understand what she was insinuating, before reminding him to buy the essentials and nothing else as he slowly walked out of the building, still muttering things to ward off any supposed supernatural beings.

Pieck slowly strolled into the apartment, the wooden floorboards creaking below her while the lights kept flickering, clearly in need of a fix. She could have sworn she heard a faint voice in the background, but the rational side of her quickly dismissed it as nothing. “I’m probably getting caught up in Porco’s paranoia.” She thought to herself.

She walked into the only room with a functioning light, and placed her phone on the table before throwing herself on the crimson sofa, only to be instantly drowned in an array of dustclouds. Wincing in digust, she jumped back up with the intent of moving the sofa away to the corner, but as she slowly began to move the sofa away, she felt two hands on her hips, and she could have sworn she also felt wind in her ear, warm and breezy, almost like a whisper.

Pieck doubled back in fear, and rushed to grab to the broom in the corner to defend herself, and began slowly pacing around her apartment; dishevelled, waving a broom, and inspecting every single corner her eyes fell on.

“Is there someone here? Hello??” She yelled, waving the broom around in her petite hands, clearly biting off more than she could handle. Pieck briefly caught her own reflection in the mirror, and realising just how stupid she looked in that moment, she slowly lowered the broom, only to hold it back up again when she heard footsteps pacing.

She tiptoed towards the sounds of heavy feet, hoping to catch whatever intruder, or ghost, as the irrational voice in the back of her head put it, that was lurking around. In true horror flick style, the lights flickered on and off before blacking out for good. She heard a deep grunt in the darkness, and without thinking, hit the blur with full force.

“Who the fuck are you?” She screamed, ready to swing another shot, only to see a phone on the ground with the light reflecting on the face of the person she hit. Pieck looked around to see shopping items all over the floor, and in the centre of it all, a confused and angry Porco, looking up at her in shock.

“Are you insane?” He yelled, rubbing his shoulder, since Pieck was too small to actually reach his head. “Why the hell did you hit me for?”

Ironic how it took Porco being the voice of reason for Pieck to realise just how paranoid she was acting. She murmured a brief apology, before helping him put the groceries away, very clearly avoiding why she hit her best friend on the head with a broom.

Later that night, while Porco was passed out on the couch and the apartment was decked out with candles, a sleepy Pieck began to reflect back on the events the transpired that evening. The lights flickering on and off was very clearly due to the faulty electricity, the hands she felt on her waist must’ve been because of the way she jumped off the couch, the “wind” in her ear was obviously just wind, and the footsteps had to have been Porco coming back home.

And that weird shadowy figure with an eyepatch she can see out of the corner of her eye had to be something cooked up by her sleep deprived mind, while the faint calling of her name as she lulled into a deep sleep was just her imagination, of course.

______________________________________________________________

It seemed pretty typical that Porco and Pieck would be late for their first day of work. The stress of moving in and starting a new job was beginning to get to them. They wouldn’t be paid until a month later, and they barely had any money to their name. Luckily for them, their landlord, a bizarre man named Zeke, genuinely did not seem to care at all, and was pretty content with the pair of them “paying whenever”. If anything, he was certain they wouldn’t even last till the next month.

Pieck had gotten a role as a TA for a Literature professor named Erwin Smith. He was a no-nonsense man, but despite his serious demeanour, he seemed genuinely lovely and the pair quickly grew a rapport. Porco wasn’t so lucky, he ended up as a TA for a Chemistry professor named Levi, who was, by all accounts, absolutely terrifying.

The first week went by fairly smoothly, and the pair found themselves settling in just fine. Aside from a few stress induced breakdowns from Porco due to “working for the scariest man alive”, the overall experience seemed great.

One evening after work, Pieck made her way to the local store, with the intention of buying extra milk, since Porco had amped up his coffee intake since working for Levi. She made her way to the checkout, and it wasn’t until she heard a familiar voice speaking that she looked up to see that the cashier was none other than-

“Zeke?” She asked, genuinely shocked as to why her landlord was also manning the till.

“Ah, yes, if it isn’t Pik?”

“Pieck.” She quickly corrected him. “I didn’t know you worked here?” She added, bagging her groceries while ignoring the vibrating sound of her phone, which was undoubtedly a phone call from Porco, crying.

“It’s a small town.” He shrugged, locking up the till and putting on his coat, “would you like me to drop you off home? I’m done with my shift.”

Walking home with your landlord was awkward enough, but even more-so when your landlord was Zeke. He kept rambling on about everything and anything, ranging from his so called sightings of werewolves to his conspiracy about seeing a UFO with his own eyes, and how the government hid that from everyone.

“You know.” He began, leading to a not so subtle eyeroll from Pieck, “it’s a wonder you and your boyfriend moved into that empty apartment, everyone I’ve ever seen either run away terrified or are too fucking spooked out by the story about it.”

“What story?” Pieck asked, for once genuinely interested in what Zeke had to say.

The large blond man gave her a coy smile before fixing his glasses, which Porco has said reminded him of a 70s serial killer, and looked around, almost as if he was worried about being overheard.

“Around 200 years ago, this writer named Hange Zoë had moved into the town. Back then it was fairly small and the people weren’t exactly firm believers of literature, science, or common sense. They found her horror stories to be satanic, so they suspected Hangë of being a witch, and burnt them alive with their books.” Zeke took a deep breath, almost as if he was afraid, before continuing.

“Rumors say they turnt into a ghost and began haunting everyone in the town, as well as that specific apartment.” Zeke paused in front of a surprised Pieck, before pointing to their apartment window.

“Is this true?” Pieck mumbled, finding herself caught up, and somewhat upset, in the entire story. Zeke simply shrugged, before bidding her goodbye, saying he was late for his shift at the laundromat.

Pieck tentatively walked back to her apartment, slowly looking around, with Zeke’s words replaying in her head. She tried to shake off the possibility of there being a supernatural being in her home, vampires, werewolves and witches don’t exist. She thought. Neither do fucking ghosts. She felt bad for Hange, but surely they weren’t a ghost.

“Oi, Pieck.” Porco called, walking into the living room from the shower, his hair still drenched. “Where have you been? I brought you some pizza.”

“Pizza? How did you manage to afford that?” Pieck questioned, “we’re on a budget.”

“Zeke gave me a discount.” He shrugged, grabbing a pizza and shoving it into his mouth. “He’s fucking weird, but decent.”

“Zeke works there as well?”

“Yeah I also saw him at the bike store downtown. Small town huh?” He replied, his mouth full of food. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Pieck’s mind just couldn’t focus on the movie at all. She couldn’t tell if it was because it was a favorite of Porco’s and not to her taste, or if it was because her mind kept wondering to Zeke’s story, about the young writer being threatened by an entire town, before fucking disappearing.

She took out her phone and shot a look at Porco, who was too busy laughing at Jack’s death in Titanic as a way to hide his tears, and quickly typed in the name “Hange Zoë” in the search bar, curious to see what would come up.

The first few searches were links to their horror short stories, a few pamphlets and a critical essay they wrote. Interesting, Pieck noted, but what really caught her eye was one link titled “Hange Zoë: sightings of the Vampire?”

Vampire? She thought. How bizarre. She clicked on the link and read through multiple testimonies of people swearing they swore her, with stories ranging from “I saw them disguised as an old man” to “Hange bit me!”. Surprisingly, there was no picture of Hange attached to any of the links she could find, and for all she knew, the entire thing could just be a legend gone wrong. It had to be, she thought.

She kept scrolling through her phone, before freezing as she felt the sensation of a cold, breezy air above her right ear. She quickly turned around, only to see an open window behind her.

Pieck felt like she really was losing her mind.

______________________________________________________________

Having a day off as an university TA was rare. If she wasn’t working, she had to help plan lessons, mark work or help Professor Smith with a variety of tasks. It felt nice to finally have the day off to herself however, and she decided to spend the day at the library.

She initially wanted to spend the day at home, but Porco had invited a girl he had met from the university up to the apartment, and the last thing she wanted to do was idly sit there while Porco and his new girlfriend were moaning to the heavens.

The town’s library was small, almost a fraction of the size of the one back home, and the books mostly centered around a fantasy theme, which made sense considering how all tourists come in hoping to catch their own bigfoot.

Pieck made her way to the front desk, only to double back in shock after seeing who the librarian was.

“Excuse me, where is the horror section- Zeke?”

“Oh hi Pieck! How are you?” He smiled, seemingly unaware of why she was so shocked.

“You work in the library as well?” She asked, genuinely trying to figure out if there were multiple versions of this man.

“Small town.” He shrugged. “Horror section is back there.” He pointed, still nonchalant as to why Pieck was so confused.

Making a mental note to investigate Zeke later, Pieck made her way to the horror section and began scanning for any works by Hangë Zoe. She failed to find any, but did come across a book entitled “A collection of spooky short stories!” which did contain some of their works. Pieck quickly began scanning through the book, desperate to read Hange’s work.

“That’s a good book.” A voice muttered, leading Pieck to look up and lay her eyes on the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

They were tall, then again everyone was tall to Pieck, slightly tanned, had brown hair, of which some partly covered their left eye, wore glasses, and was dressed in a brownish suit, all the while wearing a super enthusiastic smile on their face.

“I guess so, I haven’t read it.” Pieck replied, looking down in an attempt to hid her fierce blush. “I’m not the biggest horror fan, I’ve never understood why people write or read it. I’ve always preferred romance.”

“When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.” The stranger replied, pulling up a chair and leaning in towards Pieck. “Dawn of the dead, that’s one hell of a book. Some people just like to get in touch with their dark side. Not all of us believe in love.”

“Through literature?” Pieck replied, feeling herself burn and blush from the physical contact.

“Nothing wrong with exploring one’s dark side and sexuality through words. I do it all the time.” The stranger laughed back, fixing their glasses, before leaning in to Pieck. “You’ve never done the same?”

“You’re a writer?” Pieck asked, turning around so her and the stranger’s lips were practically hovering over one another. “I work in literature, and I aspire to be one.”

“Maybe I could help you.” The stranger replied, as their fingers, which were stone cold, began slowly rubbing Pieck’s lips. She could feel her body light with fire from the soft touch. She noted the variety of rings of the stranger’s hands, it looked old, antique and practically stuck of wealth.

Pieck never got a chance to reply back, since the pair were interrupted by the sound of someone rushing towards them.

“Angeh!” A voice called out. Pieck turned around to see Zeke walking towards them, already dressed for his whatever role he had next. He froze when he saw Pieck, and for a brief second, Pieck saw a flash of emotion gloss over his eye. Was it fear? Shock? Anger? She couldn’t tell.

“Ah, Pieck.” He smiled, clearly aware of something she wasn’t. “I see you’ve met my friend Angeh.”

“Angeh?” Pieck questioned, turning around to face them. “That’s a strange name.”

“It’s an old rare family name darling.” They replied, winking at her. “Say, I’d love to meet you again sometime.”

“I’ll give you her number, anyways Angeh, we should probably go now. Let me check that book out for you Pieck.” Zeke remarked, dragging Angeh and quickly checking the book out for her. Something was being hidden, but Pieck couldn’t tell what.

Zeke handed the book over to Pieck, and bid her goodbye. Angeh shot her a wink and the pair began talking, or rather arguing, quietly, as soon as Pieck was out of earshot.

Pieck made her way out with her book, and briefly looked at herself in the large mirror, noticing how tired she looked. Surprisingly, she couldn’t see Zeke or Angeh in the background, so she had assumed they left.

She didn’t understand why she could still hear them talking behind her, however.

————-

Angeh and Pieck had developed an.... interesting relationship to say the least. Angeh began teaching Pieck about how to write horror stories, while Pieck taught them the beauty of romance literature. They were polar opposites, yet seemed to work so well. While Angeh was hot, Pieck was cold. While Angeh was witty, Pieck was dry. While Angeh loved the dark side, Pieck saw colour.

For the next month, the pair developed a tentative friendship, spending as much time together, and even going on a few dates. To no-one’s surprise, they slowly began a romantic relationship, with the word relationship being used loosely.

Pieck noticed how Angeh hated daylight, rarely touched her and despite being official lovers, they never had any physical contact. Pieck usually pinned it on Angeh being eccentric and reserved, but it did get to Pieck, and began feeling like there was something wrong with her. Usually, Pieck would be the one her friends would go to for advice, and on the rare occasion she wanted to speak to someone, she’d usually go to Annie, Marcel or Jean, but she couldn’t get in touch with all 3, which meant that she was forced to seek romantic advice from the worst possible source available.

“Porco?”

“‘Sup?” He replied, putting his book down and giving her an inquisitive look. “Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to ask you something, related to Angeh.” She whispered, clearly embarrassed about asking something so private to a man who barely understood emotions. “I don’t think they’re into me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Porco began, ruffling Pieck’s hair. “They’re fucking weird but they most definitely have a thing for you. They’re always staring at you like you owe them money, it’s creeps the hell out of me.”

“Yeah but, they don’t want to touch me at all.” Pieck muttered back, turning away as to not see Porco’s concerned, and confused, look. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me?”

Pieck expected a dry remark from Porco, maybe a dark chuckle, or maybe just a stupid point to come out of his mouth. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for Porco to look at her solemnly, and to lean forward to her, placing his hand above hers and looking her deep in the eye. Strange, Pieck thought. Why was Porco’s hand so fucking cold?

“You’ve gotta make peace with things. Go talk to them.” He muttered, before turning his attention back to his book.

______________________________________________________________

Pieck walked towards the small library where Angeh and her usually had their dates. For the first time since she moved here, it was raining, raining so hard that Pieck genuinely couldn’t see anything before her. She didn’t know why, but she always hated the rain. It just made her nauseous.

She walked into the library and deep inside the quiet and empty building, was Angeh, reading their horror stories with a rather enthusiastic expression on their face. Upon noticing Pieck, they put the book down and walked over to her, brushing the wet hair out of her face. “Is everything alright?” They asked, noticing Pieck’s forlorn expression.

“Yeah, I just-“ She began, wondering if she was being a tad dramatic, “I just wanted to know if everything was alright between us. Sometimes I feel like you’re not really into me, you know?”

“Oh darling.” They whispered, “I wish you’d come to me before.”

Angeh began to pepper Pieck’s face with butterfly kisses, while their ice cold hands roamed around her body, tentatively removing any article of clothing they could find, until Pieck was left in her laced black panties. “No bra?” Angeh laughed, their lips now attaching themselves to Pieck’s neck, leading her to arch her back.

“I find it so restrictive.” Pieck muttered, her petite hands tangling themselves in Angeh’s hair. She screamed a little when Angeh bit down on Pieck’s neck, leading to a small trickle of blood to fall out, which Angeh quickly licked.

Angeh never replied back to Pieck’s response, instead continuing to explore every inch of Pieck’s skin with their mouth. The sensation made Pieck’s skin burn with desire, every time she felt Angeh’s ice cold lips or fingers touch her she swore she could see an array of stars, and hearing Angeh softly whisper her name felt like she was being called by the heavens themselves.

Angeh’s mouth hovered over Pieck’s firm breasts, and they briefly raised their head to meet Pieck’s dazed eyes, which were swimming in delight and love. Angeh shot Pieck a wink before latching her lips over Pieck’s breast, sucking like a man starved on an island, their tongue flickering over her nipple in an erotic dance. “Angeh-“

“Quiet, I didn’t allow you to speak now, did I?” Angeh ordered, slapping Pieck’s thigh as a punishment.

Pieck instantly shut her mouth, only mumbling a “I’m sorry sir, ma’am, fuck.”

“Good girl.” Angeh cooed, placing their hands on each of Pieck’s legs and slowly opening them. Pieck noticed that Angeh’s hands suddenly felt warm, a stark contrast to their usual icy touch, but as a result of her pleasure infused brain, she put it down to it being cause of their increased physical contact.

Angeh slowly removed Pieck’s panties, and began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of her thighs, while their fingers continued to rub on both of Pieck’s nipples. Angeh gave a dark chuckle on noticing just how wet Pieck was, and gave her clit a firm slap, leading to a rather large moan from the petite dark haired beauty.

“How pathetic.” Angeh began, their fingers now rubbing over Pieck’s entrance. “I’ve barely done anything and here you are, absolutely dripping for me like a little whore?” Angeh continued their taunt by slowly placing a finger inside Pieck, followed by another one, leading to Pieck let out a muffled groan, which was quickly silenced by Angeh’s other hand slipping into her mouth.

Angeh’s fingers began moving at a rapid speed, grazing above that oh so sweet spot inside her, and just when she felt like she was on the verge of exploding in pure pleasure, Angeh removed their hand and quickly placed it with their own mouth.

Pieck was gliding through heaven, she was certain of it.

Angeh’s mouth lapped over Pieck’s now swollen clit, spitting on messily on her cunt while shoving their face inbetween Pieck’s legs, all the while swallowing all her juices like they have never eaten anything in over 200 years. Their tongue was buried deep inside of her, and Pieck could have sworn she could see the actual entire universe in front of her, and she felt herself on the edge, so ready to explode in complete pleasure as she completely fell apart.

“Say my name.” Angeh ordered, their mouth still lapping hungrily over Pieck’s sore cunt.

“Angeh-“

“Hange.” They corrected her. “Call me Hange.”

So caught up in her own pleasure, Pieck didn’t realise she was lying there on a table in the middle of a public library, moaning out the name of a long dead writer, as she came undone all over Hange who rose their head from Pieck’s legs, completely covered in her juices.

It took Pieck a while to put two and two together, and as she slowly came down from her high, she realized that not only was Hange’s hands on fire, but Angeh’s name wasn’t even Angeh in the first place.

“Wait, fuck.” Pieck jumped up, throwing herself off Hange and covering herself up. “Why the hell did I call you Hange?”

“My love, surely you’re not that stupid. You knew all along who I was, right?” Hange smiled, placing their hand over hers. “You need to make peace with your ghost within and remember.”

Like a reel from an old 80s VHS video, Pieck began to vividly see everything. Her and Porco receiving their job offers, her and Porco driving to the small town, pouring rain, a flash of bright light, pain, oh God the pain.

Pieck began screaming, her body remembering the entire incident, God, why was there blood dripping down her face?

“It’s okay.” Hange whispered, “keep remembering, you’re so close.”

Her and Porco were drenched in blood, her family and the Galliards were torn, heartbroken over the loss, their souls, still intact, continued their journey to this town, and Zeke, Zeke? She remembered, wasn’t he Eren’s older brother? The one who died in that house fire? Wasn’t Porco’s brief girlfriend accidentally shot years ago? Her mind burnt with old memories coming back.

Erwin and Levi, the lovers who drowned over a decade ago, and Hange, who had been following Pieck this entire time. The first night, Hange was there, they hugged, they spoke, they laughed. Why did Pieck forget this?

“Hange,” Pieck began, the pain slowly leaving her body as the blood began to evaporate, “I’m beginning to remember.”

Hange held her closer, their hands stroking her hair as Pieck’s memory began coming back all at once.

Porco, she thought. He found out the truth. Did Zeke tell him? Hange? Levi? She wondered, her mind now racing as she felt her skin become ice cold to the touch.

And Hange, Hange told them who they were at the library at day. Pieck was shocked, but Hange told her the truth, that they were a horror writer who was murdered over 200 years ago. Why did Pieck block that out? Why did her mind resort to calling them Angeh?

“Pieck,” Hange mumbled, placing their hands on Pieck’s face. “You’ve done it, you’ve remembered. You’re one of us.”

“What will happen to me now?” Pieck asked, suddenly feeling a sense of intense dread.

“Nothing. You’re just stuck here with the rest of us undead, doomed to wonder around here in this town until the end of time. I’ve been going on for over 200 years.” Hange laughed, placing a small kiss on Pieck’s head.

Pieck, realizing where she was, and who she was, began to slowly relax, sinking her face into Hange’s shoulder, gently crying, lamenting the loss of her life. It was over, she thought.

“It’s just us now, Pieck, for the rest of eternity.” Hange whispered, wiping the tears off Pieck’s face.

“Just us and our ghosts within.”

[just-antithings]

novel-length ask warning! also a lot of discussion of sex negativity and sex in general fyi, plus some homophobia/transphobia. i have an anti-adjacent horrifying story the vestiges of my brain spat out that i just totally forgot, please buckle in...some details might be off but i'm certain most of this is accurate. how could i forget such a trainwreck?

so i was in this fandom some years ago, like 7-8 years i think, and there was a popular blog. it was run by a few people iirc and they would accept submissions of fanworks to show off. pretty typical. but they created a nsfw blog to keep stuff separate for people who didn't want to see nsfw content of this fandom.

all good so far, right? but then came trouble. at first the nsfw blog was just featuring saucy art and fics. then people started coming to the blog with sex questions. and that's a little odd to ask a fandom based blog but nothing inherently harmful since it was on topic, and i feel there may have been some younger people trying to anonymously get resources from a familiar space. it started out pretty innocuous, like how do you be safe while with a partner, how do you learn what you like, body safe materials etc. the responses by the mods were pretty standard, and they'd give a link or two to some useful info.

then it started getting fuckin weird. their responses were pretty much devolving into all fearmongering sex negative bullshit. off my head they argued (paraphrasing): anal is disgusting and it will cause you to get sick and die so if you're not a cis gay man don't do it and even if you are don't do it you nasty demon. you shouldn't need a sex toy to get off, you're just poisoned by porn if you can't experience enough pleasure by using your imagination and a hand. (nevermind anorgasmia right) don't look at porn if you're in a relationship but don't have sex with your partner either because that's what society wants from you and it's bad. they said you should 'explore your body' but also masturbation was horrible and sinful and having desire means there's something wrong with you.

maybe the blog switched mods? i have no fucking idea. i'm like, you guys were doing okay before then the vengeful spirit of a puritan ghost fucking possessed the blog???

they had an anon write in and she was asking about tips for dealing with dysphoria as a trans woman and not being able to shave. these absolute idiots were like shaving is a construct forced onto women to get rid of natural body hair, so 'just don't be dysphoric dummy!!' as if it's that simple! it was so cruel and dismissive. and they were kind of insinuating she was less of a woman bc of her discomfort with body hair. it made me so fucking pissed at the time.

but they continued to reblog nsfw fanart of characters and guess what? some of em were having sex in the pics, just what the mods said you shouldn't do!! holy fuck!!

and even more, on the main blog they fucking publicly shamed this person for creating a fanwork inspired by their headcanons, saying it was disgusting torture porn and they should be locked up. best part of all--it was extremely mild gore. pg-13 movies have more violence. like the fic had one character stab the other in the shoulder iirc and they tussled a little. that's all. wowie. the canon for this fandom HAD MORE VIOLENCE.

i hope that person kept writing, but i doubt it after being so summarily rejected and having their name shared around...fucking hell man.

so for anyone reading this please do not get sex ed from fandom blogs unless they're really competent but i have never seen such a thing so yeah no. try scarleteen i think they're good?

but like these mods had to have been radfems right? right???

i will step down from my podium of horrors now but whoever posts this i would love to hear your thoughts on my batshit little tale.

my thoughts are that was a wild ride from start to finish

also yeah you should never get your sex ed from fandom, get it from somewhere reliable like scarletteen

[sparkkeyper]

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic. 

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

-------------------

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

[eternally-drifting]

Eclipsed (Jungkook FF) - Ch.2

Discovering the kings biggest secret leads you into understanding the way he is, and how perhaps you have been just a bit too prejudice. After all, who are you to judge anyone.

pairing: Demon King Jungkook x Reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, inspired by the anime Inuyasha, slight e2l, then f2l, and some angst cuz why not, future smut, oh and a hint of gore.

warnings: mentions / descriptions of blood loss, insinuates d34th of character

word count: 1432

parts: <prev 2 / next>?

a/n: so this ones a little shorter and it’s not edited (nothing ever is). But i have written and re-written this chapter SO many times that this is the first time I’ve actually felt content with it. So... yeah

Without further notice, hope you enjoy this.

Feather light touches skimming across your face sent a shudder through you. The cooling breeze carrying the scent of morning dew, leaving a calming sensation as you inhaled and exhaled. You laid there in the soft, overgrown field of grass, not a single worry clouding your mind. It’s been so long since peace has been in your reach, this being perhaps the longest you’ve felt it. Desperate to stay in this… this realm.

Not having to worry about the usual troubles that occur in you day to day life. The usual weight in your chest – lifted. Never have you felt so light before. Reality doesn’t exist here, there are no mistakes, no judgments, no fears, no responsibilities, no doubts, no regrets!

Here, in this realm, you are whoever you choose to be. Wander however far or close you choose to go, and not have to answer to anyone but yourself. This realm, in this realm, you can be an ordinary woman, or the free wind. In this realm, you can just be.

“___,” it’s so soft, just as the breeze carrying it’s sound to you.

You open your eyes and are greeted with shades of purple transitioning into hues of coral, orange, and light blues. As the breeze continues its dance with the grass, you hear it again. Ever so soft and soothing in the wind.

“My darling ___.” The weight is settled back down. Feeling heavier than when it was lifted.

Sitting up, you turn your body around in the direction of her voice. Her image clearer than when you last saw her. “Mama…”

She smiled and yet; even in this realm it was sad. “You have to wake up now darling.”

“What?” No! not again. You disagreed, frantically shaking your head.

“Wakeup ___.” She reached her hand out towards you, but it was quickly fading away.

“N-no, please don’t. Please, stay here!” You pleaded, but you knew that it would do no good. Anytime you did, it always turned out the same.

“Forgive me ___,” and when you blinked, there she stood again. Drenched in her own blood, barely able to stand, and wheezing with every step she took. The final blow being that she continued to smile, even as her tears flowed down her face, the light in her eyes slowly dying out.

“I’m sorry ___,… I’m so sorry…” She collapsed to the ground, her blood having caused a puddle at her feet splashed, droplets landing on your face. You ran towards her in a frenzy.

‘This can’t be happening, not again, no! Please, not again!’ But when you reached to where she had fallen, her body wasn’t there. Any sign that she was even there in the first place – gone.

‘Wake up ___.’ What?

You twirled around to try and find her, but there was no one there. Even still, the voice continued, echoing through the open and empty space.

‘Wake up ___’

‘wake up… wake up… wake up… wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup’

BANG!

You jumped awake, skin slick with sweat that your clothes and hair cling to you, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. Your arm throbbing in pain again from the sudden jump. Looking around, you realize that it was another bad dream.

‘Another nightmare mixed with reality.’ You huff out a scoff and shake your head at it all. “Suppose I can’t escape it even in my sleep.”

There was another bang and only when you calmed down enough, did you realize that it was coming from the front door.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you grimaced at the thought. ‘Don’t tell me that he’s here already.’

The banging suddenly stopped, and you dared hope. ‘Maybe he le-‘

“I know you’re in there and awake ___, I can hear your heart beating, open up!” Wretched demon!

Laying back down for a second and closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing an internal groan. Now that you were awake, the pain in your arm was amplified. Images from last night flash through your mind. The horror it was to stitch up the wound on your own nearly knocked you out. With a pitiful sigh, you made to throw your robe on with care to not further injure your arm.

The knocking continued and seemed to only become more and more obnoxious. ‘He waited who knows how long till I woke up, he can wait a few more seconds.’ Grumbling to yourself as you reached the door and opening it just a crack.

Greeting you was the sight of a very flustered and aggravated advisor. His eyes a luminescent ruby and pupils’ slant like a feline, sent daggers at you so sharp – that you’d be chopped into fine pieces. Oh yes, he very much was glaring at you with a scowl etched onto him. You’ve grown accustomed to it. The look of disdain whenever he came over to your humble home.

You assumed he had enough of you as he barged into your home as soon as the door opened. ‘You could at least let me invite you in first! No, just barge in and make yourself comfortable you bast-‘

“You reek of blood.” You can hear the disgust in his voice. Pausing by the door you let your shoulders drop. Quietly closing the door and locking it. ‘Of course, no wonder he was banging on the door incessantly. He must’ve caught the scent of it as soon as he crossed the river.’

As you made your way over to the stove to prepare tea for your interrogation, he turns to your nightstand and begins to rummage through it. You rolled your eyes and returned your gaze to the kettle, too tired to stop him.

‘First, he nearly knocks my door down, then he says I reek, now he goes through my stuff like he knows me. The audacity of these demons!’ Thank goodness he wasn’t one of the demons that could read minds – he’d never let you live all the stuff you’ve said down.

“Found it.” His footsteps laid heavy on the old wooden floors, creaking with each step he took, until he was a few feet away from you. Refusing to look at him, you kept your gaze on the steam that pushed its way through the kettle. The whistling being the only thing that was keeping the room from silence.

“___, let me see it, please.” He did not command you, but he was not asking you either. Grabbing the kettle, you made to the table by the window, setting everything down and gently removing your robe. Leaving you in a loose buttoned sleeved shirt, one of the sleeves having been torn off.

He’s subtly sniffs the air and tries to pinpoint what else besides your blood it is he’s smelling. Once he figures it out, his eyes harden and flash a bright pink before quickly returning to their usual ruby hue. “…You’ll have to come to the palace.” Your eyes widen, head snapping towards him as he puts everything back and reaches for your cloak. Head shaking vigorously, you beg him, “Please, no. Yoongi, I know that I’ve made a few mistakes, but I swear that I have it under control now, I swear!” Even you know how pathetic and desperate you sound.

Standing hastily, you winced at the pain, “Yoongi, I just need a li- “you jumped back as he abruptly turned towards you, face set in a slight snarl, light jagged markings appearing underneath his eyes. Stunned, you slowly stepped back and gave him space to calm down.

The snarl dropped immediately, markings fading away completely. He sighed, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to rub his eyes. “Your flesh is being eaten away by the poison, which I can now see you haven’t even figured that out yet.” Poison?

He looks at you, waiting for something. Your face must have given away to your confusion as all he can do is shake his head in disbelief. “Didn’t you find it unusual that after you purified the wound it continued to seep miasma.”

You felt your stomach drop, skin going cold. You didn’t smell any miasma whatsoever. In fact, all you felt was pain but thought it was normal from the wound being too big. Now that Yoongi mentioned it, the wound should have healed properly overnight…

The situation only seemed to get worse each second.

“Besides, you would have had to be at the palace anyways.” The way his eyes held nothing but dread, made you even more sick.

“The king has ordered council.” And your heart stopped.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

@cayeeast​ 🥰 You are never too late, my inbox is always open. :) I hope Damirae?! I have to preface this:  I apologize in advance. I don’t really do fics like these—this is the first. But I want to grow, be a better writer, and try new things. I have never written anything like this before, so honestly, THANK YOU.

Prompts

--------------------------

"More sauvignon blanc, Miss?"

A bottle of wine was withdrawn from the metal ice bucket, lifted by their waiter's practiced hands. Beads of ice cold perspiration were congealing, beginning to travel downward as Raven swallowed another gulp of air. Though it was slight, her grasp began to shake around her cutlery. She had done her very best not to look at the bottle during the duration of the meal.

Now it was practically in her face, sweating.

Her breath hitched in her throat, as she watched the condensation continuing a steady drip.

It was quite possibly mocking her.

The moment seemed to stretch on before veering into uncomfortable, until both gentlemen glanced down at her untouched white.

"Malbec, sir?"

"Please."

The waiter gently replaced the white before disturbing the red. He swept around the table to refill another glass for Damian, who murmured a polite thanks.

Damian fingered the long, thin stemmed wine glass and turned it towards himself in circles. Several rotations were completed to air out the liquor. He guided the blackened magenta beverage to his lips and sipped thoughtfully.

"Raven."

Though Raven didn't immediately glance up, she was focusing on her meal rather intently. She shuffled slices of swordfish steak and capers to make them chase her chanterelle mushrooms and root vegetables around the triangular shaped plate in different patterns.

Of course, the half-demon was sure to select the appropriately suited silverware as she did so. Her efforts were starting to slow, however, as the lemon cream sauce became nearly nauseating when paired with seafood vapors.

Did fish always smell quite so pungent?

"Is there something wrong with the food?" She refocused on the handsome face of her dining companion, flickering in and out of the candelabra light.

"No, it's wonderful," Raven insisted. "Really, wonderful—great... presentation." His emerald eyes parsed the perfectly placed parsley and the latticework of sauce that was now a soupy mess saturating a plate of parsnips and fish.

"Oh, well it must have been." Damian exhaled sharply out of the corner of his mouth. "But, I'll always say nothing is too beautiful to eat..." He drawled.

"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought..." she mumbled, flushing a little more than delicately.

"I hope our waiter doesn't insinuate to the kitchen that the meal fell short of perfection tonight. If the chef doesn't already know..." He scanned the perimeter of the dining room, as if expecting to be ambushed by the staff or a number of dining guests.

"I'm willing to bet if it wasn't so busy, he'd be out here himself, demanding to know what's wrong with the food." He cut his steak as he reminisced. "Remember what happened the time you asked for salt...?"

"It could just be me." Subtly, she slid her plate nearer to the center of the table. "Even though, I'll never be fully assured that fish is the best idea on a Monday... Are you sure it's fresh?"

"Is it fresh?"

A part of her was teasing, but Damian physically recoiled an inch. To insinuate that he would frequent an establishment that would serve his fiancée day old fish? His face was drawn with his jaw so set, it was as though he had been slapped—or someone in the vicinity had insulted his mother.

"I called ahead. That swordfish was caught earlier today. They're in season, sustainably sourced, and delivered directly to the restaurant—"

And with a menu that read: price available upon request, where other establishments printed dollar amounts, they all but prepared it table-side.

"But... you didn't follow them to the docks?" She asked in a deadpan. "You didn't call the fishmonger either? And I'm guessing, you didn't stand in the kitchen and observe the process?" Raven folded her arms. "Well, I don't understand how someone who takes shortcuts manages to run a billion-dollar corporation."

Raven wasn't at all new to this and she wasn't sure she would ever fully get used to it.

But sarcasm always helped.

"I was under the impression it was your favorite... You enjoyed it so much when we were here months ago." Damian's eyes darkened and then shone, like a man accepting a challenge. "Have your tastes changed already?"

"It's just... It's a little strong—the smell." Raven cleared her throat with her cheeks draining of their remaining color. "It's much stronger than I remember."

"Tell me... Is it work?" He surveyed the tail-coated waiter standing at the ready and lowered his voice accordingly. "Is it...something else?"

This was meant to speak of their nightly activities, the ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime.

Well, the other ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime—no safe words.

Inwardly, Raven groaned, because once again she was reminded of how much harder this could become.

By Azar's blood.

"It's not...that either. My stomach really is too unsettled for fish today." She took the napkin from her lap to wipe her mouth. "Normally it wouldn't be, but maybe... I'm a little unsettled, too."

"Tch... Well, I knew there had to be something." A half frown stole across Damian's full lips. "It's me, Raven... And this is us. We don't hide things from each other. Not anymore."

"I know." She heard her voice wavering. "I know that..."

"If there's anything at all, you'll tell me." He reached across the table to brush her hand. "If you're unhappy, tell me. I'll do whatever I can..." he whispered, lifting his eyebrows to punctuate his next words. "And I mean... anything."

Now Raven couldn't contain a crude snort. "I know, Damian."

"We can stop by a jewelry store - that engagement ring looks awfully lonely by itself." She sucked her teeth in a manner that was less than refined.

"Shoe store then... You can never have too many pairs of those very similar—" Haughtily, Raven blew air up through the side of her mouth to ruffle through her hair. "—but different, black pairs of boots..."

"We can take a trip..." His voice grew lower still. "...have a threesome." But, that one might have been a question rather than a suggestion. And as he pondered his words, his fork went sailing straight through the remainder of his steak without the aid of the knife. "Well...maybe not that last one."

"You're incredible...suggesting a ménage à trois at a French restaurant? Coquin." The half demon shook her napkin at him. "I'd laugh if this fish wasn't making my eyes water."

"Well, I'd do anything for you..." he replied evenly. "If it would make you happy, I'd even consider thinking about that last." And Raven shot her lavender eyes straight up towards the domed ceiling. They both knew the truth. "Maybe someday in the far, far future..."

As if he would ever share her.

That was exactly right, wasn't it? As if he would ever share her, or their lives with anyone?

Why would he?

They lived on the top floor of an elegant building in Gotham with a vintage lift whose golden grills led straight out into their penthouse apartment. But, it could be argued that the building wouldn't have been complete without their elderly doorman, Tom.

On the daily, he hailed cabs for Raven. Semi-weekly, he handed Damian hangers of dry-cleaning that refilled their twin walk-in closets of the numerous suits, trousers, and shirts and monochromatic dresses, blouses, and skirts.

Each morning, he bade Raven good morning as she went off to work and each night he held the door as he bade Damian good evening, a spectator in the lover's lockstep.

Weekly, Damian and Raven maintained long-standing lunch dates clustered in his corner office at Wayne Technologies. Monthly, the couple attended Sunday brunch with the extended clan of brothers, sisters, partners, kids, and pets all assembled together at the Manor.

Yes, there were others in their lives.

Even though Damian would argue they existed more or less on the fringes of a tapestry, while he kept her framed at the center.

Still, he seemed to love everything exactly as it was and he was in no hurry to change it. Especially when every night ended with them tangled together in their king-sized bed.

Two.

Plus one dog.

Titus was the only exception. Unless things changed in the far, far future.

"Do you mind if we cut dinner short?" Raven suddenly suggested. It must have been abrupt because Damian seemed caught off guard. "I think I want to go home early, curl up next to you, and finish those final pages of my book."

"Alright." He signaled for the check. "I'd like that... We'll get you home and I want your final thoughts on the ending. They better be scathing." The waiter reappeared instantly and it was like he'd never left. And even though his eyes remained lowered to the ground, she knew he had to be appraising her.

Raven mumbled something about the ladies room. She considered splashing her face with water and giving herself a pep talk. But to what end? The evening had already gone array. Something unexpected had cropped up.

Unexpected.

How was she supposed to tell him this?

Damian was a planner and for the most part, so was she. They didn't do unexpected.

"Actually, I'm going to grab my coat."

She excused herself and placed her napkin next to the untouched glass of wine. Her feet were pinched tighter in the heels with every step towards the exit. Raven followed the partition around the perimeter of the dining room, arriving at the stairs to the entrance hall.

As she waited in the queue for her coat, her eyes wandered past the sweeping architecture and up the wrap around staircase, where Damian was probably talking to the head chef and the owner. Just as he predicted.

She handed over her ticket, her heart leaping towards her chest as the end of the evening dawned on her. And as Raven grabbed the coat, she wanted to whirl around in her uncomfortable heels and march back up those stairs. Uncaring of her rudeness, she'd steal Damian away, tug him towards the hallway with the row of chandeliers and kiss him.

And tell him absolutely everything.

She would tell him why La Chandelle wasn't at all appealing tonight. She would tell him why she'd suggested going out to dinner in the first place. She would tell him why things had changed so suddenly.

And why everything could.

Instead, she slunk away. Out of the restaurant. Onward. The best she could do now was hope: hope they could get home, hope she could get out of these heels as soon as she could. And then, Raven would figure out how to tell him tomorrow.

--------------------------

"Raven?"

Damian was racing down the stone front steps of the restaurant to meet her at the curb.

"There you are." He was hurriedly slipping a pea coat over his suit jacket and he sounded nearly breathless. "Where did you go?"

"The coat check. Did you get the car?" Her voice sounded small and defeated. "I really, really want to get home..."

"I can see that," He deadpanned. "But that's not what I meant and we both know that." His brown-black brows began to knit together. "You were somewhere else for most of the evening. I know when you slip into your mind fortress and this is different from that. So where did you go, Raven?"

She swallowed and held out her hand for him to take. They walked a few steps in silence, turning towards a side street. The sound of laughter, music, and chatter faded away and for the first time all evening, she felt like she could finally think. Raven exhaled, deciding this was far enough.

"Damian, when I asked about dinner," she began. "I wasn't expecting this... I figured we were going somewhere with a little less wine and a little less fish—less wine cooked into fish..."

He blinked, processing slowly with his hands in his pockets, his head pointed down towards the cobblestone street, coated in a mixture of oil and water. It had to have rained recently. "Well, it's not too late, we can go somewhere else—nothing French, I promise."

He licked his lips before he continued, probably sensing her apprehension. "We can go to that noodle place and ask for two pots of oolong tea instead of the usual one... Or we can just grab tea?" He offered. "But if you're too tired, we can always make it at home. I'll make yours with the biggest, widest mug and saucer we have."

"So you're just...not going to give up on tonight, are you?" Raven murmured, her lavender hair moving as she shook her head from side to side, as if wondering who this man was.

"No, I don't think I will." A smirk started up on his face. "That's the thing about having a fiancée. You can't get rid of me that easily." He tapped her cheek good-naturedly and ghosted over her forehead with his lips. "I'm always going to be here."

"Didn't we...just get engaged?"

"Is that what this is about...?" Her husband-to-be searched every single inch and orifice on her face. "We can slow things down or postpone the wedding for a few months. The last thing I want you is for you to be stressed about this."

"What I mean is..." She ran a hand across her damp forehead. "Gods, I had this whole speech planned—how I was going to tell you..." Raven's unease fell away when she felt warmth radiating in waves, like he was lending her strength.

"Anything," he whispered. "You can tell me anything." He placed his arms on her shoulders.

Raven took a deep breath, her eyes locked on his, and—

"I'm pregnant."

The words froze suspended before them in midair. Damian continued to stare at her, but without blinking. Then, Raven nodded. And then Damian started to nod too.

She couldn't believe she said it aloud; she couldn't believe that it even happened. "I know it should be impossible... And not just that it's too soon."

"You're..." Damian breathed. "You're pregnant."

And he was taking her hands with his own to squeeze them tight. He started to smile—not just smile, he was beaming in a way Raven had only seen once before: when she said yes. This was more than elation, he was in absolute awe of her. He lifted her from the rain-soaked street in a generous hug to sweep her right off her feet.

Damian was holding her, lifting her. Supporting her from below. He was staring up, as his breath streamed sweet steam swirling against the seam of her lips. From somewhere inside blooming outward, was a warmth that no amount of healing or surge of power or strike of hellfire could ever compare.

And he too was giving himself over to this sensation.

With fingers gliding through his hair, eyes welling emotion, she nodded again. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew closer to connect. Deeply, gently, then sweetly, they kissed into the night.

--------------------------

Damian feathered his lips over hers, placing her gingerly onto her feet. And he was grinning madly at her. Then, his grin slid down a little. And then a lot.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something. He started to talk and stopped. Started and stopped.

"The wine—"

"The fish—"

He ran a hand down his face while he replayed the events of tonight. "I'm such a goddamned idiot. I'm so sorry, Raven."

"It was a nice meal. I had a great time. So, I couldn't eat anything or drink anything—so what?" Raven chuckled. Whatever cruel sense of irony there was in the world, it was a wonderful night. "You know, it's actually hilarious in hindsight, and now we have a funny story to tell our friends... A-and our—our—"

She was enveloped by the warmest, safest embrace Damian could manage as he was trembling. He rocked her and held her tight, inhaling deeper and exhaling harder until they both relaxed. "I am sorry. I should have sensed something more was going on."

"Well, neither of us thought this was even possible. Up until three days ago, I didn't know it was," Raven blurted. And it felt so good to blurt around him again. "We live together. I could have said it at breakfast. Or at the movies on Sunday... When we were in the shower together, last night. I'm the idiot. "

"The shower..." he repeated. "So that's why you were a little touchy about your body." She groaned loudly—this was not happening. "Raven, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about," Damian insisted. "And besides, you're not even showing yet."

"That's what you think," she grumbled.

His lips curled up. "Habibti." Raven raised an eyebrow. She knew as well as he did, that he had better choose that next sentence very carefully. "Habibti... you've always had an aura glowing about you, only now it's just going to grow brighter."

"Pfft," Raven muttered. "Right. As I grow bigger and rounder."

"You know what, yes," he scoffed. "You will get bigger and I don't care. For that matter, neither should you." Gingerly tilted her chin towards him. The way he was gazing at her, with unconditional love, understanding. "You'll be just as beautiful—equally exquisite."

Who could ever doubt Damian?

"And you'll be even more sensitive in all the right places." His low voice was filled with the darkest promises of sin. "I can hardly wait."

"You're dangerous," Raven murmured, knowing she was turning pink.

"Dangerous?" His nose traced the curve of her neck, as the skin shivered.

"As if you didn't know," she said flatly. "It's probably how you managed to conceive with a half-demon in the first place."

She felt him chuckle into her skin, then it morphed into something like a groan. "So, I botched dinner... And sex in the shower... I should have drawn you a nice, hot soak in the tub... Gone down on you for an hour at least...gone a few blocks past the park to grab some slices of 99 cent pizza..."

"How did you know about the pizza?" Raven's eyes widened on her flushed face. "Did Tom tell you?" Whenever Raven said she was going to 'feed the pigeons in the park', what it really meant was she was going to cut through the park to grab a slice of the cheapest pizza she could get her hands on.

So much for the code.

"You actually thought that was a secret?" And when Damian rolled his eyes, he looked less worried and more like his usual surly self. "Please. I've seen the napkins and the pathetic excuses for paper plates... Really, I should have known something was up, there were a few more than usual."

Through the ovens of pizza and pregnancy, he knew and he loved her.

And Raven threw herself forward and held him tightly to her. "You're sort of perfect, you know that?" she mumbled into the hard chest, smelling the usual amber and spiced apricot. She lifted her head and he brushed an errant strand of lavender from her eyes. "I don't want to cut tonight short. Actually... I kind of want frozen yogurt."

"Fro-yo it is."

And as they walked, he bent his head towards her. He touched her face and murmured, "I...can't believe you're carrying my child..."

Damian began to kiss her so avidly, so impatiently, they had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She was moaning and pulling pomegranate and malbec from his lips until they were both breathless.

Damian gave her a final peck and they walked back to the restaurant. It was all such a daze, Raven barely remembered him asking the valet to bring their car around. She made a motion towards the door and she noticed he'd already held the passenger side ajar for her.

"I can still do that myself."

"Hmm..." He stared off into the distance with a vague smile, as though contemplating their future. "You're going to fight me at every turn aren't you?"

"No," Raven said quickly. His eyes flickered faintly with amusement. "Not frozen yogurt—I want ice cream. Real, honest-to-goodness, ice cream made with cream, and all the toppings. Whipped cream, hot fudge..."

--------------------------

"Birdie's Diner?"

"Ignore the name, it's a good restaurant. I used to come here all the time, even before we were—" Raven was trying to pull his fingers aside to see his flushed face lit by the bright neon sign. "All diners serve eggs, alright? I'm sure that's all it means."

"And that's the only thing that drew you here?"

He hung his head in defeat before holding the door. "After you."

There were low lamps hanging over the booths and classic rock stringing out of a jukebox in the corner. Raven hadn't been to a diner like this one in well, ever. The hostess handed over two laminated menus and told them to seat themselves. So Raven sat in a red vinyl booth in the back corner, and very discreetly, slipped off her heels.

Instantly, it felt much homier than La Chandelle.

"Raven, we're getting you the best OB in Gotham—that's non-negotiable," Damian was saying. One coffee down and he picked up exactly where he'd left off in the car, driving and planning particulars. "Or Kori can recommend us hers - they're probably accustomed to working with unique cases."

Demonic blood or not, Raven sincerely doubted there was any OB-GYN in the city that wouldn't pass off a patient or two on a colleague, to quite literally, bag a Wayne baby.

The caffeine had fully set in because he was drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table while he spoke. "It'll cost us another Sunday morning, because you know Kori will want to do an extended brunch when we tell her and Dick the news."

And the second they told her, Raven would promptly conjure up an extra-strength, soundproof barrier around her cellphone to contain the joyous shrieks. And she'd probably have to buy a new phone.

"But it'll be worth it... You know what, it's not too late, I can probably call Dick right now." His left hand darted towards his pocket.

"No. No, you won't." She placed her hand over his. "We'll do it in the morning. Tonight, you're going to sit here with me and eat ice cream, okay?" Then, her ears perked up in a way that Titus would have been proud of. Hearing the sound of a whipped cream dispenser, behind the diner counter, she was almost gleeful. Her ice cream was in transit and was arriving on a round, plastic serving tray.

"Here ya go, sweethearts." A waffle-printed glass dish and two spoons were deposited onto the smooth, scrubbed surface between them. "Enjoy."

"Thank you." She smiled back at the kindly woman in the light blue waitress uniform, with a name tag that read Shirley.

Cookies and cream on a bed of bananas, crushed oreos. Whipped cream and hot fudge. Even one of those radioactive-red cherries on top. And it was absolutely wonderful. She passed Damian one of the long, thin-handled spoons, which they both knew was ill-suited for ice cream. According to Alfred, it was technically for iced tea, but appropriate cutlery was far from her mind. She tapped her spoon to his.

Cheers.

Raven dug in and moaned. In a word it was: heavenly, and far better than she could remember of ice cream. Six more bites and she could just imagine the tip of her spoon about to hit the bottom of her half. That cherry was hers.

"Hey Damian," she nudged his spoon with her own. "Now you're not eating."

"I was thinking..."

"You can think later... You've done more than enough." They would deal with the rest tomorrow. For now, she chose to think of this as a little celebration of the news—just between them.

"Come on, don't let me eat this alone... Sympathy weight starts tonight." She swallowed another spoonful while he glowered at her. And Raven knew full well he'd already had an entire steak earlier. "Don't worry about abs, your aura will just glow brighter."

"Tch—I wonder what genius said that..."

Raven snorted, but didn't argue. In fact, she was absolutely fine with riding Damian's abs—and hard body—straight into the next two trimesters.

"But I have to agree about one thing." Damian drew up his thumb, using it to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from her upper lip. "There is something about real cream..." He held her gaze as he licked his finger slowly.

The blood in Raven's core was warming, the temperature forming liquid fuel for an ache of a different kind. Officially, they had been together for over a year. And this man was now her fiancée. How did he always manage to turn her into some sort of sticky mess?

It had to be unnatural because it was utterly unfair.

Not so subtly, Raven tilted her head at the space next to her. And Damian joined her on the other side of the booth. The diner and the ice cream were so much better with his thigh lined against hers.

"Raven, can I...?" He hesitated, waiting for her approval. He held his hand up to her stomach.

"Of course you can."

Softly, he stroked the skin over her shirt, where the tiny swell would eventually grow. "Raven," he whispered at last, and she opened her eyes. "I want us to take that trip."

"A trip?" Her eyes were so wide only a sliver of purple remained. "A moment ago, you were talking about baby-proofing the apartment." He seemed unfazed. "Nannies? Au pairs? Daycare? What happened to buying every pregnancy and parenting guide our devices will permit? We can't take a trip, wouldn't that be an irresponsible start?"

"We can make time for something important like this," he insisted. "It could be good for you. And for us."

"Why in the name of Azar and all her disciples would this be a good idea?"

"Hear me out... A mother and father-to-be take a trip before the baby actually comes—a baby-moon. That's what they're called," Damian murmured. "I propose we take one, before our lives, and bodies change." He spooned a dollop of whipped cream and slid it between his lips. "What do you think?

"Oh..."

"We don't have to..." He said quickly and dropped the spoon in the dish.

"I think...it could be an interesting idea."

"If you think it's not for us," Damian reached for her and stroked her hair calmly. "I understand."

"No—Damian—we should do this." She searched his eyes. "I want to do this with you."

"Yes." Damian kissed the top of her head. "Just you and me, Raven. We can go anywhere you want."

[luci-four]

Tug-o-War {Leviathan x Reader/MC}

A/N: Just something I thought would be fun. I can definitely see Levi being the kind of asshole to pull on the string just to get more room for himself asdklfh plus, I’m a big sucker for soulmate aus :sob:

{Leviathan x Reader/MC}

Leviathan didn’t enjoy socializing.  

He actively avoided leaving his room, and didn’t waste his time with trying to get close to the “normies” who surrounded him in the universe. He was alone and didn’t mind it so long as he had his passions to keep him company—and Henry. He liked Henry’s presence.  

The tug on his finger was annoying, and at times he would find himself enraged by the fact it caused him such an inconvenience. Rhythm games were almost impossible to do and if he dared to knock over any of his figurines again, he just might call upon Lotan to punish him for his own crimes. Levi would trip over nothing, run into door frames, and worst of all, there were times this stupid string of his would pull so suddenly he’d fly out of his chair. It had him enraged, and he was ready for it to be gone. The taut string was infuriating and limited his movements far more than he liked, but no matter what he attempted to do to cut it some slack, it never seemed to work. Scissors would break under the sheer pressure he put them other, and magic simply backfired if he used it on the red line between him and whoever else.  

He was told it was supposedly attached to his “soulmate”, or whatever. He was well aware of the trope—he's seen enough anime to get the gist—but he didn’t care to find out who was on the other end. Sure, the idea of a soulmate was enticing; someone who was perfectly crafted to be your match while you were crafted the same way? The two of you meant to be together in some way, shape, or form, enriching each other's lives and making each day worth living—he wasn’t interested. All he cared about was what surrounded him and made him happy in his present state.

Levi had gotten used to the limitation on his movements; he could reach the corner of his room if he stretched as far as possible and duck underneath his desk to plug something in so long as he stuck his other hand out from underneath it. Lately, however, he found it severely odd that he was able to move a bit more freely. He was able to do whatever he wanted; spin in his chair, go wherever he pleased (his idol meet-ups were the only places he died to go, however), and found that he could even pull on this annoying little string of his. He’d yank on the cord sincerely hard at all hours of the day, hoping to inflict some sweet revenge on whoever had caused him to struggle for so long. Every time he watched the string drop a bit more, indicating the person on the other end may have fallen on their face, he couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. Levi would admit it did make him feel a bit frightened to know it insinuated that the person on the other end could potentially be much closer to him than they were before.

No, he didn’t care about soulmates. His soulmate was the very love he had for his anime, his games, his idols—for Ruri-chan! Levi couldn’t care less about the person on the other end. They were probably some normie anyway, and he had no time for that. Late at night, however, while he looked at his reflection in the loading screen, he wondered just what they might have been like. It didn’t mean he would seek them out, just... curious. Months had passed; he no longer paid attention to how the string seemed to neither pull at him nor wiggle about.  

Dammit, he needed his money back from Mammon. Luckily, he could hear his older brother’s annoying voice ring out from downstairs so he reluctantly made a move to meet him there, moaning and groaning about how disgusting he thought Mammon’s greedy actions were. Orange eyes were trained on his feet as he walked, his thoughts wandering between the idea of forcing the money he needed right then out of his brother, or demanding everything that was owed to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the stupid string around his finger once again and sighed, playing around with it a bit; what he realized made him stop in his tracks, however.

He could see the string. Well, he could always see the piece around his finger, and every so often a glimpse of a piece just a bit away from him—but never so much of it at one time. It didn’t give any sort of strain nor slack either. An overwhelming sense of panic took over his body, and he decided to give it a bit of a test; as he had done several times before, he grabbed a hold of the red cord and pulled it back, hard. Below him, he heard a loud thud as someone had fallen to the floor and Mammon call out to whoever it had been. Quickly, his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear pounding in his ears as each step he took towards the two bodies downstairs were so shaky he wondered if he could even do it without falling down.

The person on the other end was there? In the hallway? In his house? In Devildom? It was a fact he just couldn’t fathom. He didn’t care—he had been saying it for what felt like forever-- but why did the pit of his stomach feel so jittery that it hurt? He felt like he was waiting in line at a handshake event with his favourite idol; his hands were shaking and sweaty and he couldn’t quit fidgeting. It was as though he could feel every cell in his body at once and they were all shouting to the point his body felt like old TV static. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care. With each step closer to the mystery person, the louder the ringing in his ear seemed to get.

Levi couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes for a moment when he heard Mammon call out to him; instead of looking towards the person with him, he trained his gaze onto the white-haired male and put all of his focus into blocking out his peripheral vision. As his brother spoke, his mind easily snapped back to the task at hand—chewing him out for his money back. He hounded him, threatening him as he normally did, only to be blown off as he attempted to inch his way down the hall; calling after him was useless, Mammon had taken off running, leaving Levi with the so-called “soulmate”. Their presence behind him was heavy, and he faced away from them as long as possible. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it was him? Maybe they wouldn’t realize and rather fear him, knowing he was a demon? Maybe they didn’t care—he sure didn’t. Not at all.  

“Um, excuse me...” their voice was heavenly. Levi could feel his ears turn red and a shiver crawl painfully slow up his spine. “Leviathan... right? Your brothers mentioned you--”

Their voice wavered, the words dying in their throat. Were they nervous? He wasn’t. He wiped his hands on his pants before turning to look at their feet. Orange eyes dragged up their frame to meet theirs that looked like they gleamed like the stars were supposed to. He didn’t care.  

“I’m MC,” they played with the perfect little bow wrapped around their finger. He watched them bite their lip ever so slightly and subconsciously mirrored their movements. He didn’t care.

He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. They could be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, as though they fell from heaven alongside him, so terrifyingly perfect he couldn’t even wrap his head around it and he wouldn’t bat an eye. His throat was dry—he was gaming all night beforehand, that was why. It was hot in the house, that’s why his hands were sweaty; no, it was cold in there, that’s why he was shaking.  

Deflecting their question, he put a bit of disgust behind his voice as he spoke to them, telling them to make a pact with Mammon. He didn’t care if they did, he just wanted his money. He didn’t care if they got close to his brother. Levi ignored the pain in his chest as he thought about it. He ignored the confused, and somewhat sad, look to their face as he kept talking.

He doesn’t care about meeting some stupid normie that would be his “soulmate”. He didn’t care at all. He just wanted to go back to his room and watch the new episode he’d been waiting for, maybe get some food since his stomach had been churning the entire time he stood there. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t--

Why did his heart beat so loudly in his ears, then?

[bungou-stray-dingus]

Closed Doors

Pink November Day 6

Pairing : Mori x Reader

A/N : It’s almost four am, Saturday morning, and I’m trying to write this so that I can finish it by tonight so I can queue it up for Sunday. :) I’m doing great! 

T/W : Some NSFW tones, but nothing descriptive, like, nothing actually NSFW at all, it just insinuates... also non-con insinuations, never actually mentioning it, but it might be triggering to some. Angst.

 You slipped your jacket back on, standing in front of the mirror in his office and fixing yourself up before having to walk back out. He was your boss, and you were nothing but an assistant to him. Your place on the totem pole for the mafia was so low that you weren’t even on the pole at this point. You were a useless asset to the company that he ran, but he kept you around. There was only one reason for him keeping you there, and you knew exactly what that reason was. You were ashamed of yourself for letting it happen, for letting it start and letting it continue. You were better than this, you knew your worth as a human being, yet, you were too scared to make it stop. 

Voices in the hallway filled your ears, you didn’t know what they were talking about, but it felt like their eyes were following your movements, watching you as you walked down the halls out of Mori’s office. “They’re not talking about you... they’re not...” You told yourself, walking faster to try to avoid their glances. This needed to stop, you couldn’t keep going like this. Your nerves were shot, you were humiliated. “Hey, Y/N!” You heard a voice call out behind you, and you turned to see Chuuya following you down the hall. 

“Y-Yeah? What’s up?” You kept your head low, scared of what he’d say, what he might ask. Your gut was telling you that he knew, and that embarrassed you more than anything. You were ashamed of yourself for letting it happen. It’s not like you said no... but... how could you say no? He was the head of the entire organization, it didn’t matter what you said. You would possibly lose your job if you asked him to stop, and if that happened, you would have nothing. You couldn’t let that happen either. 

“I need you to deliver some papers to the boss. You wouldn’t mind doing that, would you?” You froze, gnawing on your bottom lip as you thought about going back into that room. Would he try to go at it again? You didn’t have it in you, you didn’t want to do it anymore. “Uhm... I was actually on my way to go... the complete opposite way. So...” You clasped your hands behind your back, crossing your fingers and staring down at your feet. Would he believe you? Would he still send you off to Mori with those papers? 

“Oh, it’ll only take a second though. You’ll be able to get back to what you were doing when you’re done.” Chuuya said, holding out the papers to you. You couldn’t just, not take them. You grabbed them with shaky hands, you felt the sweat building up on your body as you turned back around. Even the door to his office seemed menacing, you didn’t want to go in there. Maybe if you could just slide the papers underneath the door. You didn’t want to seem strange though, surely people would find it odd if you did that, they might assume things, and that’s the last thing you wanted. 

The walk down the hall seemed to take forever, your legs were wobbly and you felt lightheaded, everything seemed to be spinning around you. Your nerves were shot, you didn’t feel okay. Things went black, and the last thing you remember was the feeling of the cold tiles of the hallway floor against your cheek. 

“My, my, darling. I was worried you’d be asleep forever. You gave everyone quite a scare there.” His voice filled your ears, except it wasn’t like the voice of a choir of angels, or the beautiful twinkling of wind chimes, it was like a demon. Your eyes slowly opened, you saw the room around you, the all to familiar furniture, and his face. You had surely woken up in hell. 

His body hovered over yours, the smirk that he would wear when it happened adorned his face. “I’m glad your here, I was beginning to feel lonely...” He leaned in closer and you held your hands out, pushing him away as you curled up on the other end of the couch. “N-no. I’m done doing this.” Your words were shaky as you said them, the fear washed through your body and it was the only thing you could feel. He sat back, confusion filled his face as he stared at you. “Oh? I thought you enjoyed it... it seemed like you did.” The way he said it... he didn’t care that you didn’t want to continue anymore, he didn’t care about you at all. You felt foolish for thinking that he could possibly care about you, or anyone other than himself for that matter. 

“It needs to stop. If... If anyone found out about it...” His chuckle was sinister as he moved to hover back over you, his lips dangerously close to yours. “Only I know what happens behind these doors, my love. Don’t worry.” 

It would never end... You had to take control in the only other way you knew how, pushing him away from you again, forcefully this time as you moved off the couch. “No! No more... I’m done with this. I’m done.” 

[inkandpen22]

Beautiful Angel of Darkness (7/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader 

Warnings: Mild swearing 

Word Count: 1.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to improve and live by Angel’s lifestyle. Then, someone pays her a visit. 

Masterlist

Six months later... 

Who would've thought working at the law firm as one of Angel's team members would be so fulfilling? Granted, it took a moment to get settled... more like a month. There was a withdrawal period, not pretty. Angel sort of locked me away in his basement for a few weeks. After that, I bounced right back and started fresh! Now, I'm Angel's assistant, much better than Harmony. I gave her the boot as soon as I got released from the basement cell. 

I step off the elevator to Wolfman & Hart with Angel's usual blood bag in a cup and my iced coffee. I drink my blood bag on the way here. 

I set everything down at my desk in front of the firm's sign. The normalcy of having a daily routine again is nice. When I was with Spike, I thought normalcy would bore me to death. I guess Angel was right, there is some humanity left in me. 

I knock on Angel's office door, blood cup in hand. When he announces for me to enter, I greet him warmly and immediately get into the day's agenda. 

"Morning Boss, we have a busy day ahead of us!" 

As per usual, he wears a crossed expression as he stands behind his desk shuffling through some papers. 

He sighs in frustration, "Y/N, have you seen the-" 

I place his mock coffee cup in his hand so I can grab the case file from under my arm. He glances between me and the file in amazement. 

"You left it on my desk when you were leaving last night," I explain with a light chuckle. 

"You're a lifesaver," he thanks as he eases down in his chair. 

"It's what I'm here for," I shrug and lean against his desk beside him. 

"Sorry for keeping you here late this week. I'm sure you much rather be home," he apologizes as he reviews the contents of the case. "I just... I don't know how to go about this." 

"Maybe a fresh pair of eyes?" I suggest, reaching for the file. 

Angel hesitates to hand it over. He doesn't like me working directly on cases. He believes I'm not ready for the gruesomeness of them and that the blood may trigger me to regress.

"Angel, I'll be fine!" I assure him confidently. 

Reluctantly, he hands over the papers and I begin to skim the crime scene photographs.  The police are involved, believing it to be a violent murder. However, Angel and the others are pinning it with a series of animal attacks the last few days. They suspect a werewolf. Angel wasn't wrong, these images are rather unsettling, but nothing I can't handle. 

"Based on the slashes on the neck, I would agree with you and say it's not cut wounds. There are no signs of forced entry either," I analyze. 

"But all of the damage..." He debates. 

"It's from the attack. If you were being attacked by a werewolf, you'd toss a lamp and vase at it, wouldn't you?" I reason. "The front door is in perfect condition, except for the blood, of course. I suspect the victim knew their attacker," I determine and hand the file back to Angel. 

He leans back in his chair, deep in thought. Humming, he considers my predictions. "That would certainly narrow down the suspect list." 

"Was she single?" I question. 

He frowns in confusion, "I think so, why?" 

"Check her calendar, see who her latest date was with," I suggest as I rise from my leaning position against his desk. 

"You got all of that from looking at one photo?" Angel remarks in astonishment. 

I glance over my shoulder as I head toward the door. "Told you shouldn't let me help sooner," I wink. 

_____________________________________

At noon sharp, Angel likes his second cup of O Neg. It sounds tedious, knowing exactly when my boss likes his blood. If someone told me months ago that I would be fetching Angel everything he needs, I would've killed them. Ironically, I've never felt never more human than when I'm at Wolfman & Hart. I feel like I have a life of my own, my existence. Before...Before Spike, I belonged to my family. Then, I belonged to Spike. Now, I belong to myself. Granted, Angel watches me like a hawk, but he's easing up. 

Angel and the others hold a team meeting at the same time I'm supposed to deliver his refreshment. More and more lately, Angel lets me sit in on the meeting.  It's usually so that I can act as a scribe while they talk, but I still appreciate the invite. 

Carrying my files, notepad, and Angel's drink, I back into his office door as I'm handless at the moment. Right when the door gives, I immediately announce his dinner plans with a major banker to discuss his Greed Demon issue. "Don't forget tonight, the meeting with Stuart Lawrence! You have to be at his residence in Brentwood at seven o'clock sharp and-" 

I stop dead in my tracks as my eyes flicker toward Angel's desk. Instead of just seeing Angel stressing over some papers, as usual, I see a bleach blonde vampire reading over his shoulder. 

The paper coffee cup falls from my hand and spills on the floor by my feet. The substance coats my left heel, staining it crimson. 

"Y/N..." Spike utters my name with his smooth accent. 

"Oh my God..." I whisper breathlessly in awe. 

Angel flies up from his chair and points to the door. "Y/N, get out of here!" 

"Never took you for the lawyer type," Spike smirks mischievously as he slithers toward me. "Gotta admit though, loving the working woman style." He gestures at my body up and down like I'm a mannequin in a store. 

Behind me, the other members of Angel's team enter for their meeting. 

"Lorne, take Y/N home!" Angel instructs. 

"Right away, Boss," Lorne complies.

"Take one step closer to her green goblin and I'll bite your head off!" Spike threatens sharply. 

"Spike, stop it!" Angel barks. 

"Oh come on, Angel," Spike dismisses as he closes in on me. His fingers comb through the ends of my hair. "It isn't like you to ruin a perfectly good reunion!" 

My body tenses under his touch, much to Spike's dismay. It wasn't long ago that his embrace was the only thing that kept me tied down to Earth. Now, it makes me shutter. 

"You shouldn't be here!" Angel growls as he rushes over to us and yanks Spike away from me. "She's been doing great without you!" 

"Have you forgotten? She was mine before she was yours," Spike chuckles wickedly. 

The English vampire turns to me again and caresses my cheek. His eyes continue to linger in my memories late at night staring at me intensely. 

"Did you really think I was going to let you go?" He mumbles to me and the words make my heartache. 

"Get away from her!" Angel hisses warningly, on the verge of throwing Spike through the top floor window.

Spike ignores Angel and continues to admire me. "Did you miss me, My Love?" 

Yes. 

I shake my head while I slip my hand over his to remove it from my cheek. "You hurt me. I can never forgive you for what you did." 

Spike's face falters immensely. "Y/N... Let me explain! I-" 

"No!" I stand my ground, something I never used to do when we were together. "You deceived me, used me, broke me!" I switch my gaze between Spike and Angel frantically until I find myself overwhelmed. "I... I can't do this... I'm sorry Angel, excuse me." 

Thus, I hurry out the door past my coworkers before anyone can stop me. Both Angel and Spike call for me, but I ignore each of them as I gather my things and disappear onto the elevator. 

________________________

After today's cluster of events, a long shower was much needed. I have no doubt Angel will be visiting me once the workday is over, just to check-in. I can't believe Spike is here in Los Angeles. It all felt like a dream or perhaps a nightmare. How dare he come here after half a year and expect me to act as though nothing happened. 

Immediately after my shower, I go to my kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea. I stick the kettle on the stovetop before I get dressed. At first, living alone startled me, but since then I've grown to prefer it. I like the peace. After long days at the office, time alone and space alone is what I need. 

"Y/N," a voice makes itself known. 

My hand flies up to my chest as I pant. "Spike! Jesus and Mary! What the actual fuck?!" 

"A vampire scared of the dark... how ironic," he teases with a smirk. 

"Get out!" I shout, pointing toward the door. "I'm not even dressed you feen!" I start to march back to my bedroom which makes Spike follow. What part of 'get out' doesn't he understand? 

"Oh come on, Love. It's not like I haven't seen anything before," he insinuates. 

"Get out!" I repeat. 

"No, not until you hear what I have to say!" He insists. 

"You love Buffy! Congrats! Now, go be with her!" I urge him away. 

Abruptly, Spike grabs my forearm and yanks me to a halt. His free hand flies up to my chin and forces me to meet him in the eye. I fight him off, prying at his arms, but nothing works. 

"I never loved her!" He barks at me. "Well... maybe a little once... but that was before I met you! That night I didn't cheat on you! I swear it! I went over to her house to kill her and when I got there she was crying! Her mother has been ill! That's why I couldn't come sooner... plus I... I..." 

"You what?" I growl in disdain. 

"I got a soul for you," he remarks calmly, nearly solemnly. 

I frown, how is that possible? 

"You what?" I question. 

"I went to the desert, got my soul back so I could be like Angel..." He explains. "To be like someone you'd want to be with," he adds. 

He softens his grip on my face. To my surprise, I don't pull away. I stare into his blue eyes with astonishment. How could he get back his soul? Is that why it took him so long to come and find me? For months I wondered if he would ever come... but he never did. When I finally started to get settled and moved on he shows up. Spike's hand falls from my face with a sigh.  

"Forget this. Never mind," he starts to back away. "Have a good life, Y/N." 

I stand frozen, speechless, and unsure what to do as Spike struts away toward the door. Thus again, he has disappeared from my life. 

________________

Masterlist 

Tags:  @currently-obsesed-with-spike @mx-pibbles @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard

[edge-lorde]

the religion of the galactic horde

“You seem reluctant to help me. But I only wish to use your weapon to bring peace to the darkest corners of the universe. (Glimmer: Peace? If you activate the Heart of Etheria, there will be no one left.) Yes. No war, no pain. Old worlds swept aside, a new beginning for the universe.” --Horde Prime explaining his motivations to Glimmer

the horde in shera was definitely inspired by Christianity and uses a lot of its imagery, the most iconic being the baptism scene. it certainly gives off the vibes of a christian or christian adjacent cult, but what is its actual doctrine? i have some thoughts about that. 

first here are what i consider to be the 3 main differences between real christianity and the horde: 

Their jesus didn't ascend to heaven. He's still with them.

They don't have a larger creator god. They worship horde prime like he is a living god but they don't believe that he created the universe.

They have no focus on the afterlife

this is going to be long.

before i begin heres the sparknotes version of christianity for anyone not familiar. I am not evangelizing this, just think of it as LORE. 

Once upon a time there was a guy named Jesus. He was the son of the one true god, who both created everything in the universe, is everywhere and knows everything, and controls the afterlife. Jesus is god born as a mortal person, sent by god to teach all of humanity the errors of their evil ways so they can repent and go to the good afterlife when they die. There're two afterlives, a good one and a bad one, heaven is the good one and its run by god and his army of angels, which are divine beings that god can send to earth to do things. The bad one is called hell. 

Anyway, in his time on earth jesus was the only person ever to never do anything bad ever (called sin). He tried to teach people how to be good but was Too Good for this Cruel World and was killed. 3 days later he came back from the dead, proving his divinity. Some time after that however, he ascended into heaven without dying, telling his followers to spread the word because hes going to be coming back. Christians today are still awaiting his return. In the meantime, christians follow his teachings left behind in holy texts. 

The crux of christianity is to get to heaven when you die, and this can only be done by following the teachings of jesus christ, believing in god, and believing that jesus was the son of god. Its a given that everyone will do bad things at some point in their lives so you're supposed to pray to god and ask for forgiveness regularly and if you really mean it then god will forgive you. 

thats the basics. 

to my first main point from above, if we posit that horde prime is the jesus equivalent of the horde religion, because hes treated as a living god, his goal is to spread his philosophy throughout the universe, then in the horde religions jesus never ascended into heaven. this would be like if jesus in our world rose from the dead and just picked up where he left off, and never died after that and was alive today. that would be pretty good proof of divinity. 

to my 2nd point, theres nothing in the show that suggests that horde prime thinks that he created the universe. this means that he did not get his divinity from anywhere but inside himself, hes not claiming that hes the rightful ruler of the known universe for any other reason besides his ideas are the best. 

the 3rd point is that the show does show horde prime or the horde caring one bit about the afterlife, save for one line from wrong hordak.

"Brother, I hope you, too, are full of only love for Horde Prime and have no crippling doubt eating at your soul."

meaning that they have the concept of the soul. which is very interesting and ill get to it, but on the whole the hordes focus seems to be on the here and now. this is a huge departure from christianity because chrisitanity is all about getting to the afterlife. that is the reason that christians are supposed to follow christ and recruit as many people as possible to do the same, because if they dont, they or other people will supposedly go to hell when they die. i say supposedly because at funerals, even if the person who died wasnt a believer, in my experience no christian would ever ever ever insinuate that someone went to hell. 

but the difference still stands. following real christian ideology is supposed to have benefits for the individual in the afterlife, while in the horde religion salvation seems to only be found by submitting to prime in this life and being either a tool that he can use to further his goal of purifying the universe or by letting him remove you from it. 

on top of all that, horde prime has the hive mind, which he uses to control the thoughts of all his followers. this means that theres no room for a bible study, no need of a holy text at all in fact, and no room for interpretation. horde prime delivers orders to your brain directly and can tell if you think anything out of line. real Christianity does have the idea that a sin that you just think about doing is as bad as actually doing it, but in the horde these thoughts can be easily discovered and punished. 

the horde religion seems to me to be a strangely secular version of christianity with only the bad parts remaining; the control, the blind faith, the certainty that you are right and everyone else is wrong, the not questioning authority. with none of the good aspects like community, and good deeds. it is a cult in the truest sense of the word, a religion that begins and ends with one person only, that person being horde prime.

so, if you take horde prime out of the equation, what, if anything, would be left? 

i find the plight of the horde clones here to be the most interesting. we know that they do have thoughts about their religion, as it was hordaks belief that he could earn his way back into horde primes god graces that kept him going all those years in despondos, and wrong hordak is distraught when he discovers that horde prime lied about krytis. 

unlike both the chipped people we see in the show and real religious converts, the clones were born into this cult that values blind obedience only, and have no prior ideology or cultural identity to fall back on when they are taken out of it. 

so to answer this question, i must add some conjecture to horde primes backstory and how the clones see themselves in horde primes universe. I already wrote up a brief backstory idea for horde prime/the clones and have it posted on here somewhere. I'm not going to dig it up but you could probably find it in the #horde prime tag on my blog if you dig hard enough. 

To summarize it though, I have it as horde prime was once a regular (bad) dude who became a cult leader under the premise of preaching peace --> he becomes disillusioned with people and even his own followers because he doesn't actually like people, he likes manipulating them. --> this and the power of being a cult leader go to his head and he starts to think that he is the only person in existence capable of living a moral life and everyone else needs to be saved from themselves, the world would be a better place if he could just make everyone's decisions for them. --> he somehow gets a hold of the technology needed to set up the hive mind, be it by inventing it himself, stealing it, finding it, or being gifted it. 

I'll pause here to address the theory that horde prime was originally an eldritch being that simply possessed a dude who would become the template for the clones. I think there's enough stuff in the show that this is a valid read and might even be canon but i don't really care for it. For me, what makes horde prime a compelling villain is that he's a very human evil, so having him actually be an evil demon thing instead of a really bad but believable dude who got near ultimate power weakens his character. BUT, i’m not going to address it in my comic so i'll leave it open as to whether he's got that going on or not. If he is, the clones don’t know about it and neither they nor the other characters have any way of discovering it. IF he is though, it would happen here. I could see it being a cool idea for him to get the hive mind from the eldritch being that would then possess him and haunt his lineage for time immemorial as a deal with the devil sort of thing, but he has to be a bad person before that.

Anyway he gets the hive mind--> he gets all of his followers to chip themselves --> gets those people to chip everyone else on his home planet --> use his planet wide army to harvest all resources on the planet and build his first space fleet and take to the skies and start his conquest--> realize that if he is to succeed hes going to need to both become immortal and find a steady source of new followers because chipped people die eventually and he doesnt care about people enough to figure out a way to keep a self sufficient population of followers alive, he just wants people around to adore him and do his bidding--> invents his cloning system-->

and heres the big one,

his original body has to die so he can upload his consciousness into a new clone.  

and THAT, to the clones, would be the moment that horde prime becomes a god.

his reliance on the hive mind and vast network of followers are what give him his godly abilities, but just as the horde clones could not exist without being cloned from horde prime, so too could horde prime not exist as he does in the show without them. 

i see it as both a christlike sacrifice and a cyclical system of debt and sacrifice. horde prime dies for our sins, so that he might continue to purify the universe so that there will be no more death and more clones will be born, while the clone hes possessing has to essentially die by giving himself up entirely to become the new prime so all this can happen too, and to repay primes death. not all clones can become the next prime however, but all must be ready to die for him, hence horde prime having clone infantries despite also having robots he could send instead. 

i dont have clear thoughts about what the green goo is, but horde primes words about his brothers lending him their life force go along with this idea. the clones give him theyre life force, so he can give it back to them.

another interesting aspect of this is that prime always portrays himself as a brother to his followers, never a father as christ is portrayed as in christianity. i know this is from hordak and horde prime being actual brothers in the 80s show but ive seen this trope come up a few times in media before, where a man raises a kid but has them call him their brother instead of dad. it seems so deliberate. because a parents job is to take care of you, but a sibling, might take care of you sure, but thats not their job. its like hes deliberately trying to place himself on the same level as his ‘sibling’ so he can demand the same amount of respect you would give to a parent without taking on the responsibility to not... ya know... screw them over in the head? idk it seems very slimy to me. but that says more about prime as a character than how the clones see him.

and we still have the concept of the soul to fit in here somehow, and do they have an afterlife? im going to say no to the afterlife. theres just not enough in the show to go off of and everything that we do know about horde prime points to him only caring about himself in life. HOWEVER, there is nothing more quintessentially christian than the concept of hell and i think that will be of use here. 

since the creation of the clones is tied with the creation of their religion, this would put the clones themselves less as allegories of people who need to be saved and more as the horde version of angels. in my telling here, horde prime views all people who do not submit to his will as net negatives to the universe who have to be removed for peace to exist, so by this view the chipped people are the saved, the people that horde prime kills are the sinners, and his military campaign is one long apocalypse slowly working its way through the universe, with the clones carrying out his righteous judgement. but the afterlife isnt involved in this, so even if some chipped people are left alive, eventually they will all die out, and then it will be just horde prime and is clones in a perfect, peaceful starless sky, and thats what heaven is. 

getting to heaven is the main goal of real christianity and it is the same in horde religion, but heaven isnt a place in the horde cosmology, its a physical goal that has to be created. not all clones will make it to heaven of course, because most will die before they reach total destruction of the universe but the clones arent supposed to think of themselves as individuals anyway. they have to be willing to die for horde prime and die for the cause or be cast out and thats hell. 

i dont see prime as someone who would kill his own followers outright too often even though he could. plus they arent supposed to value their individual lives the same way normal people do anyway it doesnt seem like a real punishment, they need something worse than simple death to fear. so by my view hell for the clones is separation from prime. it can be in life or death. no matter how bad it is in the horde being on the outside of it has to seem worse, and thats where the concept of the soul comes in. when one is a part of the hive mine, their soul is with prime. they are not supposed to have a will or any thoughts beyond love for prime, its essentially the same as not having a soul but they think of it as being at peace. being cast out is to be never at peace and would be told to them as being the worst possible thing that could ever happen to someone because it corrupts the soul. 

“a lot of unpleasant things happen in the horde so just imagine how terrible it must be outside of it! you cant because i protect you from that. now get in the goo, this is for your own good” - horde prime probably 

this is why outsiders are so resistant to submitting to primes light and also why its ok to kill them, in the hordes view. 

so, to start wrapping thigs up, there is no horde without horde prime. the religion starts and ends with him. because he is supposed to be the only person ever to be able to make true moral and just decisions, without him is followers cant take any actions without worrying that they are going against primes will. since they have no holy text they cant extrapolate and try to figure it out either. its up in the air whether or not they are going to find a way to get the horde to make the jump from cult to regular religion.

its late i got to go to bed now