katrinthecat

[mimisempai]

My lovely trickster

Summary

"No kissing until tonight." In challenging her demonic lover, Aziraphale had forgotten that Crowley had more than one trick up his sleeve. Who will give in first?

Notes

Flash Fiction Friday  #202 - « The devil you forgot »

@flashfictionfridayofficial

On AO3

Rating G - 599 words

Crowley approached the sofa and said in a low voice, dragging out the last syllable, "Aziraphaaaale..." 

Aziraphale said nothing and continued reading his book as if he hadn't noticed Crowley, but Crowley knew his lover well and knew he was fully aware of his presence. As he continued to walk toward Aziraphale, he stated, "So you really intend to ignore me. "

Again, Aziraphale did not react but simply ignored him.

Earlier that morning, Aziraphale had become slightly irritated after Crowley had cornered him between the shelves of the bookstore for the umpteenth time to steal a kiss while customers were there. 

That's why he had challenged Crowley not to kiss him for the rest of the day. Crowley had accepted on the sole condition that Aziraphale do the same.

Aziraphale had agreed, thinking he was perfectly capable of restraining himself.

But the Angel had forgotten one thing.

The devilish nature of his lover.

Crowley leaned toward Aziraphale's face until he was between the book and his lover.

"Angel," he whispered, so close to Aziraphale's face that he could feel the demon's breath on his skin, "answer me...".

Aziraphale inhaled deeply, then leaned back to resist Crowley's seductive voice. 

But Crowley didn't let go, snatching the book from Aziraphale's hands and sitting on his lap.

"No escape..." he brought his face close to Aziraphale's until their lips were only millimeters apart.

In an attempt at self-control, Aziraphale closed his eyes. But it was even worse because with his eyes closed, his other senses were heightened and he became even more aware of Crowley's body, his scent so familiar, his lips so close.

"Aziraphale... please... " Crowley murmured against his lips, smiling as he saw the shiver he was causing in his lover. "Are you really going to ignore me?"

Aziraphale couldn't believe how close he was to giving in.

But he was, and it only got worse as he felt Crowley's hands slide gently down his shoulders to settle behind his neck.

At his wits' end, Aziraphale exclaimed, "You're cheating!"

Crowley shook his head and murmured against Aziraphale's lips without touching them, "You said not to kiss until tonight, you never said not to touch.

The clever little demon.

Aziraphale squirmed slightly beneath Crowley, who asked teasingly, "What's the matter?  Afraid you can't resist? Then don't resist, I promise your forfeit will be pleasurable."

Aziraphale sighed, pressed his lips together and replied stubbornly, "We made a bet. "

"So... you'd rather win a bet than give in to temptation?" murmured Crowley as he ran his fingers through Aziraphale's hair, not missing the way the angel leaned against his hand.

"As for me, I really want to kiss you, Aziraphale..." 

His name, whispered again in that warm voice, was all it took for Aziraphale to snap. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulders, flipped him over and slammed him against the sofa. Then, leaning over him, Aziraphale said against Crowley's lips, "I admit defeat, but the reward had better be worth my sacrifice." 

Then, finally, he closed the distance between them and captured Crowley's lips in a kiss that contained everything he'd been holding back for the last few minutes. 

When they pulled away to catch their breath, Crowley said to him with a small smile, "Admit it, it's a sweet defeat..."

Aziraphale grunted and instead of answering, he captured Crowley's lips again, determined to erase Crowley's victorious expression with his kiss.

But his lover was right, defeat was sweet and it didn't matter to Aziraphale whether he lost or won, either way he was victorious and had his lovely devil in his arms.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

[ngkiscool]

Next please

The weekly prompt of @flashfictionfridayofficial was FFF202 The Devil You Forgot

Fandom: Lucifer (Good Omens if you squint), 830 words, no cw

"Next please!" My station was empty, but no one approached it. On the one hand, if offered me a few seconds of relatively rest, but on the other hand, if forced me to shout. Can't be seen resting, not during the rush hour at the Higher Ground.

It was noon of a rather lovely day, finally a sunny day after a week of showers. People strolled in the street, couples shared brief kisses when they thought no one was looking, even the people with the really expensive suits walked a bit slower and enjoyed the rare weather.

Warm beams of sun filtered through the curtains and shed light on the coffee shop, colouring the place with picturesque shades. It also nearly blinded me unless I squinted, despite the many, many times I asked the manager to fix the curtains.

The queue was longer than I've seen in a long time, and not just because of the weather. As if the regular costumers weren't enough, there was a reinforcement – people from the comic con just around the corner.

All day long, I had to deal with costumers who gave me the most unusual names and throw a tantrum if I spelled their name wrong. Some, God forbid, had even asked me which costume they were wearing, and seemed genuinely hurt when I hadn't recognized which TV show it was from.

Honestly, I don't have anything against adult people who dress up as creatures who only exist in a fantasy world. Some of the costumes were pretty, and it was clear that making them required a lot of time and skills. But, just like I don't go around and show my latest sewing art to bus drivers, I don't pay too much attention to my clients' costumes. All I want from them is place a not complicated order and leave a big tip. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Next in line!" I called again, a bit louder this time, and it worked. A costumer approached me, and I started the usual drill of taking their order. Things went smoothly, or as smooth as can be expected when one orders coffee, and I started to relax. Maybe that costumer will act normal through our whole interaction, and won't demand me to guess what was his costume.

It was a good one, I'll give them that. The suit was expensive looking, but nothing a person of means can't find easily. The wings, thought, they looked almost real. They were white, and big, each feature moved separately, and the wings even moved in coordination with his shoulders. Even after seeing a parade of costumes all day long, they seemed special. Like I said, I'm not interested in cosplays myself, but as an artist (and yes, sewing is an art, thank-you-very-much) I can appreciate craftsmanship when I see one.

Usually, people love to get compliments on their costumes, but something vibed weird with this person, so I decided to refrain from commenting. The opportunity, thought, rose when he finished the order, and I asked for his name. The voice matched his outfit – silken, strong, and confident.

"Lucifer".

"I see you are really in the character, even the wings and everything!"

"In character?" A red glint shone in his eyes, gone before I had the chance to complain about the curtains. Maybe if the manages received complaints from customers, not just employees, he would do something about it. One can only hope.

"Yes, with the wings and everything. Very impressive, if you don't mind me saying. Are you participating in the cosplay contest? I'm sure you will win first place."

"Cosplay?"

The temperature in the coffee shop dropped suddenly, and I shivered despite being all hot from being near the oven. The air conditioner hadn't changed, and it didn't look like the other clients had noticed it. Weird.

"Never mind, it's been a long day. I'll just make the order, and here is a piece of lemon cake, on the house".

At last, the coffee was ready, the cake packaged and together napkin and utensils, the take-away bag was handed to him. Our fingers touched briefly, and I felt a chill running through my body, but it was very short. Long day indeed.

I turned to clean the coffee machine, and when I finished and turned to the till again, I was surprised to find a twenty note on it. It was unexpected for two reasons: firstly, it was quite a large sum, as usually people left a fiver or a tenner. Twenty was very rare. Secondly, and even more unusual, was the fact that I hadn't served any costumer in the past few minutes.

Anyway, as my experience at costumer service taught me not to question money, I took the note. Attached to it was a small, white feather, but that hadn't helped to explain how it got there.

Confused, I shook my head, and got back to my work. "Next please!"

[theoriginalsapphic]

death's other kingdom

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: death's other kingdom

Word count: 543

She always show up at nine on the clock. She comes in, dressed in white as the rest of the orderly working there, but whereas the color make them look frigid and austere, on her it makes her appear like an angel coming to save him from this place. He doesn’t belong here; he knows that much.

He doesn’t know where he is, locked in a sterile and morose enclosure like a wild animal that was abducted from his habitat in some faraway land. Everyone either looks at him with a murky, tenebrous look in their glassy eyes, with just pure detachment and scientific curiosity, or with a fixed gaze that tints their irises with scarlet that reveal their subdued thirst for blood whenever they see him.

Everyone but her.

She is not like the rest of them, with her sweet, auburn eyes, and her delicate, diligent hands and the tired but determined look settled in her features. Anytime her coarse fingertips touches his knobby hands, he gets her message: trust me.

Every once in a while, the harsh, fluorescent lights overhead provoke greyish smudges in his vision and blur parts of the woman in front of her— her pleasant smile turns into a grimace stretched painfully in horror, and her friendly eyes become wide and lachrymose with dread.

It doesn’t matter because she is beautiful anyway, with the pronounced lines of a permanent frown between her brows and the tinges of white ash on her fingers from her early smoke breaks. Trust me.

The windows are barred as to forbid any natural light from coming in, the artificial lemon smell from the detergent used to wash his clothes burns his nostrils, and the constant squeak of sneakers on tiled-floor functions as the soundtrack of his daily life. He is trapped in here, and she is his only true ally in this inhumanity.

He taps his skeletal, gnarly hands, and he catches his reflection on the glass outside his room, looking pale as time-worn bones but he isn’t scared; he doesn’t feel fear anymore. He is a patient man; he can wait for her to break him out of here and save him.

—

The police sirens blare in the distance. He can only stare at his slender hands painted crimson and the blood-stained cleaver to testify for what he has done. He stares at his wife laying on the hardwood floor, with her mouth wide open in an aborted scream and the accusatory betrayal of her dilated pupils glaring at him.

He didn’t do it— he could never harm the woman he loves.

He didn’t do this. Someone must had walked in when he didn’t notice, murdered her, and then put the knife in his hand. That is the only way to explain it.

He didn’t do this. The Devil must have tricked him, manipulated him, and forced him to take away from him the one woman he ever loved.

He would never do this; he would never hurt anyone, let alone his wife.

He didn’t do this.

He didn’t do—

He didn’t—

He—

As the walls of the living room are casted in shaking hues of blue and red, he stops existing, leaving a hollow carcass to deal with the fallout.

[renee-writer]

Forget

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 202 prompt.

We forget

In the wonder of being His

We forget

That we still live in a fallen world

We forget

When we are surrounded by others that believe

That most around us don’t

We forget

That Satan is still active on this earth

That, right now, it is his

We forget

In our bubble

That there are so many trapped in his lies

We forget

In our pride, our self worship

Our contentment to be in church

We forget

That we are to be the church

We forget

The ones seeking, the ones hurting, the ones hungry,

For the very Bread of Life

That lives in us

We forget

The devil we once knew

The one that enslaved us

In our freedom

We forget

The ones still in chains

We forget

We have the key to unlock them

How can we forget?

[uraniumwriting]

Much More Dangerous

For @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘s prompt “The Devil You Forgot”

Someone makes an incorrect assumption about Melandra’s ability to commit violence.

(CW: some violence)

~~~~~

When I finally woke up, the room I found myself surrounded by darkness. My wrists ached, but any attempt to move them proved futile. They were tied tight against an incredibly uncomfortable chair, almost to the point where the blood wouldn’t flow properly to my hands.

For a while, I sat like that. I didn’t dare make a noise or struggle fruitlessly against my bindings. Whoever brought me to this dark room didn’t deserve that pleasure.

“Mel?” I heard Caspian’s voice behind me, and then a groan. “Mel, are you here?”

“I’m here,” I whispered. “Just hold on, okay?”

Something brushed against my hand, and I stiffened.

“That was me.” Caspian cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

My head pounded and my dress was wet against my side (probably the blood), but I said, “I’m fine. We just need to be patient.”

“Who, who even attacked us?”

I thought about the cloaked figures who ambushed us in the street. They weren’t the green-robed cultists we usually had been dealing with. They were nastier, though. None of them seemed to particularly care about how badly were injured.

“I don’t—”

The lights turned on.

Immediately, I shut my eyes to protect myself from the sudden brightness. Even with my eyes shut, though, the change led to my head pounding even worse than before. If I had the ability to lay down, I would’ve.

“I apologize for the lack of warning.” As I heard the woman’s face, I half-opened my left eye. “You must understand, though, you’ve made this my only option.”

Instantly, I recognized the woman. “Emeri.”

“Melandra Godfrey.” Emeri grinned. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy but functional bun, and she wore dark leather from head to toe. It only accented her ghostly-pale skin.

“You clean up nicely,” Caspian muttered sarcastically.

“Of course, you would like a woman in work clothes over a fancy dress.” Emeri gestured to a cloaked figure beside her. “Shut him up, will you? I need the girl to talk first.”

I glanced back at Caspian, specifically at his hands. He still had his rings on, and the last time I checked with him, they were the magical ones.

“I’m not going to be a pleasant conversationalist,” I said. “At least, unless you start explaining.”

“Explaining what?” As the cloaked figure went over to Caspian with a rag, Emeri slowly walked over to me, then reached out and gently smoothed my hair down. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory.”

“You ordered some people to knock us out and drag us to a room with no windows.” I shied away from her touch, but I couldn’t move far while tied up. “But why?”

“Poor, innocent thing.” Emeri dragged a sharp nail down my cheek with enough pressure for me to feel it, but not enough pressure to hurt. “I wonder how much he’s told you, then.”

“Who?”

“The man sitting behind you.” She held my face to keep me from looking back. “Don’t you know he’s trouble?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I tried to keep my voice steady. “Cas is a journalist. I guess they’re all trouble, but—”

Emeri laughed and shook her head. “Your father never told you about the dangerous Flame Thief?” She leaned closer to me. “Tell me, what is Cas doing here in town?”

Caspian grunted, then quickly said, “don’t believe a single thing Xavier told you.”

“Stay quiet or else we’ll knock you out again,” Emeri snapped.

I used the opportunity to scoot my chair back a bit. My hand pressed against Caspian’s. “He got away from the thieves’ guild. He just wants a new life.”

Slowly, I reached out and felt for one of Caspian’s rings.

“A new life poking around a party full of rich people?” Emeri took a step forward to close the gap again and loomed over me. “What was he doing there?”

I hesitated. Of course, I did know exactly why Caspian was at the party the day before. But letting her know would likely mean pain for both of us. “I know he wanted to speak to Janette Natale.”

Thankfully, Caspian didn’t fight me, and I pulled one of his rings off and slipped it onto my own finger.

I just had to hope my assumptions about the ring were correct.

“Oh, the councilman’s daughter?” For a moment, Emeri almost looked surprised. “Odd choice, but I can see why he would go after you, then?”

“What even is your business with knowing?” Gathering my courage, I leaned forward as far as I could. I was nearly nose-to-nose with Emeri. “Who actually are you?”

“All you need to know is his boss is not a friend of ours.” She stroked my cheek with her thumb, and if I hadn’t been worried about her hurting Caspian, I may have actually liked it. “Did he tell you why he wanted to speak to Janette?”

“It’s funny, because I know exactly why.” I focused on the ring. It burned, but I leaned my finger against the rope and did everything I could to focus the flames onto the rope. “I don’t know how much you know about Janette, but she’s had her spats with people in the past. Including Caspian.”

“He probably deserved it.”

“No, he didn’t.” I tilted my head and quickly blinked to keep myself from crying. “Because I’ve met his boss before. Eden’s terrible. Cas isn’t.”

Emeri furrowed her brow. “When did you—”

“Cas just wanted to see if they could get off on better footing.” I managed to get through enough of the rope to where I could wriggle out my hand. “Honestly, he was probably the one person there without some morally gray motive.”

“Ma’am—” One of the cloaked figures spoke up, but I didn’t let them finish.

“And I wonder, why aren’t you curious about why I was there?” I asked. “After all, we did dance for a long time, and you didn’t ask once.”

Emeri dug her nail into my cheek, and her grin turned into a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be nice, but honestly—” I pressed against the rope binding my other hand and quickly freed it—“if you threaten the people I care about, I’m much, much more dangerous than Cas.”

“We can speak about this.” Emeri backed up, which gave me the room to stand.

“I already tried that.” I kicked the chair away. “Next time, have this conversation on our terms, not yours.”

I brought my hand forward and let the fire out of the ring. The flames hit her side (I couldn’t bring myself to aim for her face), and I held the fire just long enough to get her off-balance.

Thankfully, Caspian got the hint and managed to get himself untied. He grabbed my shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

I looked back at Emeri and messed with the ring on my finger. “Just wait—”

“No.” As if he knew what I was about to do, Caspian reached over and pulled the ring off of my finger. “We’re leaving.”

I gave one last look at Emeri, then dropped my shoulders and let Caspian guide me out of the room.

The element of surprise may have been useful, but I secretly hoped she wouldn’t forget about my willingness to fight back if we ever crossed paths again.

[thesorcererspen]

The Devil You Forgot

@flashfictionfridayofficial FFF202 'The Devil You Forgot'

In shadows deep, where nightmares dwell,

A tale I weave, a grim farewell.

With ink of dread and words that rot,

Behold the tale of the devil you forgot.

Once, in realms beyond ethereal bounds,

A being rose, in darkness crowned.

With fiery eyes, a wicked grin,

He whispered secrets, stoking sin.

In nights long past, he reveled free,

A mastermind of treachery.

He danced with souls, a macabre waltz,

A symphony of sorrow, haunting halls.

But time did pass, and memories fade,

The world moved on, a new crusade.

The devil's name, a distant dream,

Lost in the folds of forgotten screams.

Yet deep within, he bided still,

A slumbering darkness, a malevolent will.

For memories may fade, but the essence remains,

And the devil's thirst, it knows no restraints.

He waits in shadows, patient and cold,

As twisted tales of horror unfold.

Through shattered dreams and fractured minds,

The devil lurks, where hope unwinds.

Beware the night when conscience sleeps,

When virtue trembles and darkness creeps.

For in that hour, he'll rise anew,

The devil you forgot, his purpose true.

He'll whisper doubts in your weary ear,

Planting seeds of dread and fear.

He'll taunt your soul, make sanity rot,

Rekindling memories of the devil you forgot.

In dreams, he'll twist and rend your peace,

Unleashing horrors that'll never cease.

He'll claim your thoughts, a wicked puppeteer,

Tainting innocence, breeding despair.

Oh, wretched soul, beware his call,

For once entangled, you'll surely fall.

In depths unknown, his grip so tight,

The devil you forgot, his dark delight.

So heed this warning, embrace the light,

Shun the darkness, refuse his invite.

For in the shadows, he yearns to play,

The devil you forgot, forever to stay.