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radiosandrecordings · 3 years

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Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.” He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

#My Post #Jonmartin #The Magnus Archives #I'm maybe pushing this one a little hard but I just. crave validation okay #And I want to see what the difference is between how a fic does as a tumblr post vs ao3 #lets call it science #My Writing #Martin Blackwood #Jonathan Sims

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maibi · 3 years

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Join The League

Dabi x Reader

Summary: guilt you had been building up inside of you was all a waste of your time and Dabi tried to comfort you

A/N: I have no clue why, but I have a feeling this is a little bith different than what I usually do,, tho I hope you enjoy it!!!

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“Join the league”, Dabi said as he held a dagger against your throat while laying on top of you.

“Never”, you spat with a smirk.

Dabi was always trying to convince you to join the league, but you always refused. He had acknowledged your power and found out that he wanted you and only you to join his team. He did his very best, going measures he didn’t even expect himself to go just so you could say yes to him. You always declined his offer, so naturally he didn’t ask it that much anymore. Though not in a nice way anymore. He’d challenge you and he said if he’d win you’d join, but you never agreed to those terms. He just started a fight and you always won, though a part of you was almost convinced he made you win on purpose.

Besides, you were already part of a group. It wasn’t a really known one, but it gave you the feeling of not being lonely and that was something you needed. Being completely alone was dreadful for you.

“Then you are a sworn enemy and I'll have to slice your throat now”, he said playfully.

“I’d love to see you try”, you whispered as you inched your face closer to his, your throat brushing against the metal blade.

You shot your head back the second he tried to slice you with it, creating an opening to attack him back. You pushed his shoulder hard with your free hand, making him lose balance. You gave him another push in his chest and he fell on his back, allowing you to escape his embrace.

With quick motions you took a blade, hidden around your hip, and pushed your way on top of him. When he tried to lift his equipped hand you pushed it back down with your foot, not caring about any imprints or bruises it would leave behind. with a swift movement you placed the blade against his throat.

You inched your face closer to his, breathing heavily. “You’re putting up quite the show. Entertain me the same way next time, will you?”

You slashed the blade in the ground next to his face and stood up. But before you could escape his embrace he pulled you flush against him. “Why not entertain you now?”, he whispered, placing his hands gently around your neck to pull you closer.

You had grown quite accustomed to this kind of behavior that you didn’t even show any form of reaction to it anymore. It would be you glaring at him because he’d always, in some way, make everything sound so sexual.

“Come on, don’t ruin the mood”, he said as he smirked, halting his movements.

“I will cut that smirk off of your face”, you said while trying your best you wriggle yourself out of his arms.

“Hmm, I’m quite interested in that”, he said while bringing his grip to your waist, making you jolt slightly.

“Go get your dick wet somewhere else”, you said as you were finally able to release yourself from his grip. His flirty behavior has been something that didn’t go unnoticed. He’d be like this all the time, but even if you didn’t like to admit it, you secretly enjoyed his flirt and teasing habits.

“You make me crazy”, he said behind you with a laugh.

“I know I do”, you confidently said, not turning back to look at him.

“Join the league”, he randomly added again.

“Perhaps in your dreams”, you said before really leaving him there and turning around the corner to have yet another exploring day in the city to clear your head.

It was every time you saw Dabi that he was provoking you in some way. No matter the occasion he would be all up in your business when in reality you had nothing to do with him. He was part of the league and you were part of your own little group. But he was certain. He was certain that the two of you would be an unimaginable strong team. He strived for power, is what you thought. But you had all the power you needed, so he was just a luxury you didn’t want to afford. He would be the start of a mistake you didn’t want to make.

You actually wished you could join his team, but working in a duo wasn’t really something you looked up to anymore. You had made that mistake once, so it wouldn’t happen again. And declining his offer, in your opinion, was the safest option.

You would walk down the street as if it was yours. Walking as if you didn’t have a care in the world, when in reality everything and everyone reminded you of a certain someone. A certain someone you didn’t ever want to be reminded of. But everything reminded you of your mistake in the past. Everything made you remember every piece of guilt you have inside your body. Everything and everyone, except Dabi.

It wasn’t as if you cared less when you were with Dabi, no, he just made you forget all of the mistakes you made and all of the things that made you feel any sort of guilt. And maybe that was just the reason you enjoyed being around him. Because in the end you did it all to just make you forget everything.

You walked inside your hide out, hours after you walked around the city and hours after your encounter with Dabi. The last thing you were expecting was to actually see him, yet there he was right in front of you. He was bent over a still laying body, his left hand around this person’s throat and fire spreading all over his right arm, ready to plunge an attack on the immobile person.

It wasn’t shocking to see Dabi doing this kind of stuff. It was the villain life, just like you had experienced till now. Stuff like this was bound to happen and wasn’t really ever stopped.

You tried to make out whoever it was trapped under Dabi, but the pillar standing right in front of their face was making that quite impossible. Out of caution that it wasn’t one of your team mates you called for Dabi.

“Dabi?”, you said questionable as you walked closer. “What in the world are you doing?”

His head shot in your direction and you immediately regretted asking him. His eyes screamed murder and for the first time in your life, you were terrified of him. You knew what he was capable of and pissing him off was always last on your list. His eyes bore inside of you as if it was you that had done something wrong and unconsciously you took a light step back.

questions were flooding in your brain, but no answers were given to them. What exactly was the reason behind Dabi acting this way? What caused him to look as if he was about to ring hellfire upon whoever was laying under him.

“I need you to leave right now”, Dabi said in a calm, yet serious and stern tone.

“But-”

“Now”, he repeated with with an even more serious look, making your insides turn. But you didn’t give in.

“I’m sorry but I cannot do that right now”, you said as you walked closer to Dabi and the anonymous person. “I need you to calm down for a second.”

The motionless stranger saw this as an opportunity and with all he got, he pushed Dabi off of him. You saw reds and yellows cover your vision and you didn’t need to think twice, or double check to know exactly who that person was. Your stomach twisted, your heart dropped and you swear that if you weren’t able to hold yourself back you would be passed out. But the only thing that came out of you was a deep inhale, almost a gasp, as your hands flew over your mouth.

“K- Keigo?”

The person you had sworn was dead. The person who’s death was supposedly your fault. The death that had eaten you alive, drowning you in guilt. The person you had once loved had died, but was right in front of your eyes now. No injuries and very much alive.

Your legs gave up on you and your hand flew to wall, trying to maintain yourself upright. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest, you could feel the throbbing pain in your head. Your head felt fuzzy and with every blink you were trying to reduce the triggering feeling in your eyes. “This can’t be true”, you whispered over and over until your arm was thrown over ones shoulder.

When you looked up you saw Dabi helping you. “I told you to leave”, he said concerned. His voice was low and his murderous eyes disappeared, leaving him with only an anxious expression.

You looked up again only to be met with the one and only Keigo Takami, also known as dead pro-hero ‘Hawks’. His eyes screamed guilt, but not even that could make you think of a reason for him to do this. For him to play such a dirty joke.

You slowly pushed Dabi away from you and walked closer to Hawks. Dabi reached for your arm to stop you, not wanting you to take a step closer to him. But you brushed it off. You knew what you were doing, but at the same time you didn’t.

You halted your movements when you reached him and you searched his face.

He didn’t hesitate when he came closer and he also didn’t hesitate when he pulled you in his embrace. You just stood there, hands to your side and face lifted upwards as you tried your best to not let out any tears. “You were supposed to be dead”, You said as your voice cracked.

“But I’m not”, he said while he pulled you closer, closing off any space that was left between you. That until Dabi placed his hand between the two of you and pushed Hawks’s chest. “That’s enough buddy”, he said as he looked through hooded eyes. “Don’t cross the line.”

“Let’s go, this isn’t good for you”, Dabi said as he turned you around and made you walk to the door.

“I still love you.”

You halted again. A shiver went down your whole body and negativity triggered your brain. “You still love me.”

It came out more as a statement than a question, because if he truly really did love you, then why did he leave? You turned around, face and eyes red. “If that is to be true, then why did you leave?” You walked in his direction again. “Why did you make me go through all the hardship alone?” You whispered while tears were running down your face. “I had no one. I had no one but you. But you left and I blamed myself for that. I ate myself alive with guilt because I had thought it was all because of me. I thought you had died because of me. And you still have the audacity to come here and tell me you still love me after ditching me”, you said the last in a whisper as you were barely a few inches from his face.

You hit him weakly in the chest. “You left me all alone”, you said as you hit his chest once more. Your head dropped, tears were flooding down your face and you softly hit his chest repeatedly. When you hit him one last time, he rested his hand over yours. “I know I did, and I am so sorry. But I had no choice.”

Your head shot up. “No choice?” you said with a crack in your voice.

“You were a villain and when we got exposed I had to fake my death for our own goods. Only the higher ups knew about me not being dead”, he said as he tried to hold your hand. His hands were shaking, but you were sure it was because he was scared. Scared of whatever reaction you were about to give.

You pulled your hand away from his grip. “So what? Were the authorities suddenly much more important? Much more important than the lives you have taken? I can’t forgive you, no, not when you are putting the blame on me. I lived my life like this and you accepted that. How can you expect me to accept the things I resent?”

“But if you had changed we could have figured this out toge-”

Blue flames covered your vision and a sudden heat made you lean back. Your back pushed against Dabi’s body and his free hand wiggled his way around your waist. His grip was firm so you allowed your weight to fall on his as your legs were giving up on you.

The flames had died down and Hawks was nowhere to be seen. The building had enough broken windows to let any bird escape, even the bigger ones.

You tried to stand upright, but it was particularly hard to do so. But Dabi’s grip didn’t loosen on you, so you once again allowed yourself to rest against him.

His other hand creeped around your waist and he held you like he never held you before. His hand touched your bare arm, and it was still warm from usage of his flames. It calmed you down. His head rested in the crook of your neck and he slowly pulled both of you to the ground, giving up all the support he gave while standing and letting you calm down on the ground.

He inhaled deeply and you could feel his breath on your neck and his heartbeat against your back. His touch felt intoxicating and you drowned yourself in his warmth.

Every memory of Hawks ran through your mind and your hand slowly went to your collar. You felt the necklace. It had a dove pendant and Hawks had given it to you. And he had said “Hope the wings will remind you of me every time you see them”. And you hated how it really did remind you of him every time. You played with it for a while until Dabi spoke up.

“Did he get you that?”, he asked as his hand made its way to the necklace holding both your hand and the pendant in his hand.

You slowly nodded your head.

You felt his grip loosen on you and he slowly made his way up to your neck. He fiddled with the chain and suddenly the necklace fell to the ground. You watched as the dirt and dust on the ground had already covered it lightly.

“I’ll get you a prettier one”, he said.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Will you make sure it has a tiny flame on it?”, you said as you rested your head against his shoulder and moved your gaze upwards, meeting his eyes.

“However you want it designed”, he said in a whisper. His hand creeped up to your cheek and he pulled you in.

His lips met yours and you automatically closed your eyes. His touch felt rough yet soft. As if he had been craving this for too long, but still didn’t want to ruin it.

When he pulled away he searched your face. A smile made its way on your face and you let out a laugh. “Exactly how long have you been waiting to do that?”, you said weakly.

He didn’t answer and a smug smile creeped on his his. “No clue what you’re what you’re talking about.”

But he did, he knew exactly what you were talking about. But his words alone wouldn’t be able to express the way he felt for you so his actions were his only approach to successfully show his feelings. He wasn’t good with wording his emotions, but words weren’t really something you needed to understand each other.

“Join the league”, he said silently asked.

You inched closer to his face, stopping right before your lips could meet. “In your dreams”, you whispered at him.

#dabi fanfic #dabi fluff #dabi #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #bnha #dabi todoroki #mha dabi #pro hero hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #mha

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Mesh’la - Rogue, Chapter 18| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

(I know the gif is Javi, but there aren’t exactly many Mando gifs that would fit this chapter.. I’ve also had this for a while so let me know if its yours and i’ll tag you♥︎)

Summary: After Din’s revelation, walls that have been crumbling for a while, finally break.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, smut, cunnilingus/fingering(f receiving),unprotected sex, p in v sex, flufffffffff finally. Let me know if I forgot anything!

AN: I have nothing to say but… enjoy.

Word count: 7.6k +

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @heyitsjaybird @mamacitapascal

Mando’a Translation: Mesh'la - beautiful

“I love you.”

Those three little words echoed around your mind, bouncing around the walls of your conscious and then travelling down to your heart where they curled up there, settled into the space that had been carved out for Din, long before you met him.

“You…” Your voice broke a little, so you cleared your throat and tried again, talking over the splash of the water that was no doubt going to turn cold any moment. “You love me…?”

Din was breathing heavily, the wet fabric of his clothes pulling over his chest and he nodded. “Yes. I love you.” His voice was still soft, but imploring you to understand him, to listen and stop saying such things about yourself. “I… I’ve loved you for a long time, sweetheart.”

Well.

His words rendered you… sort of speechless for a moment.

He loved you.

Din had loved you for “a long time”.

Just as you had loved him.

You blinked up at him, water rolling down your hair, making beads over your skin as steam floated about the small space. It probably wasn’t doing his helmet any good, but there was no way either of you could leave this moment. “I… I had no idea...”

Din laughed, it wasn’t cruel, it was more a sort of exhausted laugh, yet there was a level of love in it, “I know… You’re the most intelligent person I know, and you could talk your way out of anything... but when it comes to noticing what’s right in front of you…” His voice was a little teasing, “You are a little blind, princess.”

Despite the revelations and the shock – and elation - screaming through you, you did have to pout. “You can’t blame me… How was I supposed to know?”

Din leant against the wall, “Well, I know this…” He tapped his helmet, “Makes things a little difficult but…” He huffed a little, “I didn’t really know it myself at first. It wasn’t until people started to mention it… I realised that everything I’d been feeling...” Din seemed to stumble a little over his words again. “For weeks… I… I’ve just... needed to be close to you. After I sent you to Nevarro, I met Haran for the first time on Tatooine. He told me he knew who you were, that he was coming after you and I only had a week. I was… I felt something I haven’t felt in a long, long time. True fear. And when I got into that cantina… and I saw him sitting there with you…” Din shook his head, looking down. “I wanted to kill him. And then you started shouting at me…” He laughed a little, “You always have such a fire in you when you’re pissed at me… It’s like flying into the sun.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh of your own, “I’d say I’m sorry but…”

He lifted his head, tilting it and you could feel his eyes on you through the visor, “Then I’d know that fall had done more damage than it already has.” The laughter visibly drained from his body, his voice, “I thought I’d lost you… You were…” He seemed to almost choke on the words, “You were dead. In my arms. Your heart wasn’t beating… You were just… gone.” His voice broke and he sucked in a breath. “My whole world stopped.”

The feeling of darkness, of those icy bands wrapping around you and filling your lungs washed over you, and you shuddered. You wouldn’t be forgetting the feeling of having the air crushed from your lungs for a long, long while.

You could only imagine what it was like for Din, having to pull you out. Having to coax your broken body into living again…

“I tried and tried, but… it just wouldn’t work. You were dead.” His voice was stricken, haunted and you had a feeling you might be waking up to Din’s nightmares soon too.

He sucked in a hitched gasp of his own, touching his helmet like he would run his fingers through his hair – his hands were shaking, almost violently and he curled them into a fist.

“All I could think was... how am I supposed to go on? I let you down, in the worst way possible. I let you slip away, I let him take you and hurt you and then you died... without... without seeing my face, without knowing what keeps me up at night, the things I so desperately want to say to you. That threaten to come out every time I see and... and I have to change the subject or leave because I look at you and I just...” He lifted his head again, watching you, his chest heaving, “Lose my mind. Lose everything I know. It all just fills with you. And then I don’t know which way is up or where to go that isn’t by your side. I want to be there, all the time. I want to hear the way you think, I want you to shout at me when I annoy you. I want to watch you play with the kids and get them to do things when they don’t listen to me. I want to see the world through your eyes, see the beauty in every single thing.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but let these words, this outpouring wash over you and listen to the way he’d been feeling for… months.

“And to know that you would have died without knowing that, without me being able to tell you just how much you mean to me, how much I need you in my life and I want to protect you. How you make me a better man and-” He made a little noise, like he was winded.

“Din.” You limped across to him, cupping the jaw of the helmet, “Din, breathe.” There were tears rolling down your cheeks, your mind reeling at his sweet, meaningful words, but he was going to send himself into some kind of attack in a minute. You slid your hands down to rest on top of his shoulders, feeling the broad strength beneath the fabric.

At your touch, even with the layers, he groaned like he was in pain. “Whenever you touch me… I feel like I’m burning. Like… electricity is searing through me. It makes me feel alive. I… Mandalorian’s don’t really… we don’t really experience touch.” He motioned loosely to his armour, being careful not to bump you – or move you away. “We don’t get to feel the breeze on our hair… or the sun on our skin. We don’t feel a casual touch or a hug or… anything.” He sounded a little hesitant, speaking such words that he would never, ever have previously said aloud before. His tone was a little jagged and stilted, like he was torn between keeping the anonymity of the Mandalorian’s and telling you everything.

“But… When I feel your touch, your skin… It’s like... I’m feeling everything all at once.” He lifted his hand, brushing wet, gloved fingers down your cheek, but the touch still ignited you, “That night I felt your hair... and when you had your nightmare… I thought I was going to die. From how you felt around me, the way you were so… ready… ” Another ragged hitch of breath.

You turned your head into his touch, goosebumps rising over your skin, “So, touch me again.”

Din’s fingers stilled, and you almost heard his heart thud, “I… what?”

You lifted your hand, brushing your fingertips over the edge of his gloves, “Touch me.” You looked up at him, heat coiling in your belly, your very soul, “Din, touch me. Please.” Desire and pleading coloured your voice, your expression. A wildness came over you, and you shed yourself of your torn top, leaving just the thin bandeau around your chest.

Din’s hands curled into fists as you took off your top and he looked at you, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed, desire burning through your eyes and darkening them.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was husky and rough, equally desperate for you.

Without a hesitation, you obeyed, squeezing shut your eyes, barely able to restrain yourself.

You heard the sound of leather on skin, two wet plops on the floor and you expected Din’s touch on your skin but… instead, you heard him pick up your top.

A soft ripping noise was heard over the water, and then you felt the sodden fabric against your closed eyes. He was tying it behind your head, like a blindfold. “Din, what are you…”

“Shhh, cyar'ika.” There were some sounds you couldn’t identify and then…

Then the sound of air hissing – a little bubbly -, and then something hard and metallic being set down on the floor, then the wet plop of his top.

Your heart stopped. Everything stopped.

Something hard.

And metallic.

Oh, Maker and all the stars above.

“Din…” You whispered his name this time, your heart suddenly pounding a frantic beat in your chest, your neck, your wrists. Heat flooded across your body, your skin tightening in anticipation and it was a little harder to breathe.

He’d taken off his helmet.

You heard footsteps, and then Din’s hands cupped your cheeks, big, a little rough and always so warm. “Princess…” He whispered it back, and you had the sense of him coming closer.

The first brush of his lips consumed you.

They were a little chilly, but plush and unimaginably soft. And there was a scratchiness on your lips…

Oh, by the Maker, he had a moustache… That did things to you. Things that resulted in heat and warmth between your legs.

Din moved those lips over your own, like butterfly wings, checking you were okay with this.

Like he wasn’t the one who had just removed his helmet for the first time, properly around you. Like you weren’t standing there with just a piece of torn cloth shielding your eyes. You could easily reach up and swipe it away and see his true face.

But you would never do such a thing.

Never even think of it.

And he knew that, which is why he trusted you so much.

It made your heart ache, in the best way.

But this soft kissing… it wasn’t enough.

You angled your head more into his, his rough hands still cupping your jaw and you kissed him with a little more pressure. Your hands reached up, fingertips brushing his bare shoulders and then you dropped them to his waist instead, and you grasped his hips, letting him know he could let go, that you needed him to let go as well.

Din made a little noise against your lips, and by the way he went still, you just knew it was with restraint. You could feel that tidal wave inside him, cresting and so close to crashing back down.

You wanted it. No… you needed to consume you both.

Needed him to consume you.

You pulled back mere millimetres, just enough to whisper, “Din… Let go…” You brushed your hands along the sodden fabric of his trousers, your thumbs brushing the bare skin of his hips.

That simple touch, that whisper of a caress on such previously untouched skin melted any restraint within him.

With a noise like a moan and growl all in one, he pulled you closer. His mouth came down on yours, kissing you with a sudden fierce intensity that seared through you.

It broke your own walls, and you curled your fingers into his belt, rising up on tiptoe and matching his frantic pace.

Within seconds, his tongue lightly traced your lips, and when you parted for him, he moaned low in the back of his throat, that proper taste of you nearly bringing him to his knees.

The press of his hot tongue against your own was a blessing, a curse, and a damnation all in one.

He tasted like… like cool water on a hot day, like fresh tea in the morning, like the best chocolate cake, all rolled into one and topped with his distinct, smokiness that clung to him.

Din’s arms snaked around your waist, sliding up your back, holding you into his body but it wasn’t close enough, not enough for how long this had been building between the two of you.

That intense heat never failed to take over, whether you were teasing each other, arguing, or doing delicious things like this.

It had been there from that very first moment on Sorgan.

You took the initiative, summoning the strength that had been building again and you pressed against him, pinning him to the wall just behind so you could lean your full body weight into him, so you could feel every inch of his body against yours.

It was heavenly, the feel of his bare skin, so new to you, against your own and the contact made your eyes roll back into your head a little bit.

He was solid, warm, and so familiar beneath your body, that every cell just cried out for more, no matter how close you were.

Din made a choked noise of his own, his entire body shaking with all the contact, a sensation he had never felt for years. It was like stepping into the sunlight for the first time, like sinking into hot water, or being electrocuted.

You felt him shaking against you, felt the ragged drag of his breath and you pulled back from his lips, “Din, if this is too much-“

He shook his head, chasing your kiss, his voice almost tortured, “No, don’t. Don’t stop, please. I… Just don’t stop.” He gasped a little, bringing his mouth back to yours.

You needed him, needed him in body, soul and mind and wanted to burn with him forever.

A torn sound of need escaped against his lips as you fought his tongue for dominance, tracing your tongue over his teeth.

Din groaned, his hands leaving their roaming over your back, just long enough to slide down over your ass and the backs of your thighs. He grasped them, bending his own knees and he picked you up, winding your legs around his waist.

He brushed against your core, and your moans of unison echoed over the pounding of the water. He rocked his hips against yours, the friction pressing against your burning heat, the rub of every hard in of him. He needed you, as much as you needed him and you were prepared to ask him, beg him to take you right here in the ‘fresher, against the wall…

Except, it chose that moment to go absolutely, completely, ice cold.

You squealed, pulling away from Din and ducking your head into his shoulder, trying to hide from the icy spray that was now hitting mostly the back of your head and neck. “Fuck me, that’s cold!”

From somewhere above you, Din burst into a chuckle, “Hang on, princess.’ His voice was low and husky, and only heated you even further, the icy water having no effect in diminishing the fire.

He turned off the taps, and the sudden silence was almost as loud as the water had been.

He gingerly stepped from the wet floor, holding you against his body still and he fumbled with one hand before a towel was swathed around your body. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

I can think of way you can warm me up.

There was a soft snort, and you knew your face had given away that thought, even with the blindfold. You rested your head back against Din’s neck, allowing him to carry you back to your room, just relishing in the feeling of being held by him – in more ways than one.

He made his way expertly through the ship, his feet making wet squelches on the floor that had you giggling.

By the time the doors to your room opened, you were both laughing, cheeks flushed and hearts stumbling over each other.

Din set you down carefully, his hands on your upper arms and the laughter faded away into something much more intense and serious.

You could feel his eyes on you, dragging over your skin like he was taking in every single inch. His breathing was ragged, his touch searing through your skin and warming your very bones. It occurred to you that you knew this man, inside and out. You could tell the change in his mood from his breathing, the tenseness of his body or what his head tilts meant.

You hadn’t seen his face, or any of his skin and yet… you felt like you knew him deeper than that, deeper than just what was on the surface. You could locate him in a dark room, from the sound of his breathing alone.

And he knew you too.

He always had.

His warm, broad hands brushed up your arms, over your shoulders, tracing a path. “Are you okay?” The rough cadence of his voice told you that he was holding back, everything in him that was still threatening to come out. But he was making sure you wanted this, wanted to cross the wall that had been crumbling ever since that night you broke down.

One word from you, and he would haul that wall back up and it would be fine.

Your lips parted at his touch and his voice, desire and a need for him coiling in your belly. You wanted to be close to him, to feel his skin on yours, his touch, map his body blindly and just… Rise to the stars and never fall back down, wrapped in him and everything he had bought to your life. “Yes… I want this… Din, I want you-”

No sooner had you finished talking, Din made a noise low in his throat and then he was on you, his hands sliding up your neck to your jaw, framing it in his hands like you were something precious and rare, and then his warmed lips came down upon yours. They were soft at first, dancing against your own with an almost shyness. And then it changed, his tongue brushing over your lips and then slipping inside your lips when you granted him permission.

His tongue danced with your own, and just the brush of his facial hair and the taste of him could have brought you to your knees. You moaned low, arching your body into him so you were pressed against his tall, broad frame, the bare skin of his belly and the tickle of his happy trail only making you wetter.

As you battled for dominance in the kiss, Din walked you backwards, pulling from your mouth with a tug to your lip and then he was planting kisses along your jaw, trailing them to your ear where he sucked your earlobe gently, earning a breathy moan in return.

He pushed you gently toward the bed, but not before pressing soft kisses down your neck – and then tracing back up the line of your throat with his tongue.

You felt that stroke of his tongue everywhere, the wet heat of it searing a line straight down your spine and you cried out a little, hand flying up to the back of his head to grip his hair by instinct.

And you froze.

You hadn’t asked for permission to touch him – if it was even okay, if he wanted you to. “Din, I – I’m sorry.” Your voice was choked with need, your fingers loosening.

“No!” Din shook his head rapidly, “No, keep it there – I... Touch me. Please.” His voice was hoarse again, his words hot and desperate against your throat.

His repetition of his words from the ‘fresher assured you it was okay, and you wound your fingers back into his hair, curling the locks around your fingers as he mouthed over your skin, dragging his teeth, “Din, I need you...”

The edge of the thin cot hit the backs of your thighs, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I know, sweetheart...” He kissed underneath your chin, then the hollow of your throat, “I’ve needed you, for so, so long...” His lips trailed lower, ghosting over your collarbones where he paused for a second, tracing a hot, wet line along them with his tongue again, “I think since the moment you tried to kill me on Sorgan.” The trail of lips moved over your chest, then your left breast, on the fabric of your bandeau, “When you teased me every moment after…” His words resounded with your soft, breathy moan, and he moved to the right, “And on Nevarro…”

He groaned a little, slowly sinking lower and his hands came up to your sides, as he bit gently on the skin of your belly, “Those words that came out of your mouth on Nevarro… You were killing me, you were seeing right into my head and telling me my dreams, like you knew them.” His tongue darted out, tracing a circle around your belly button and a shudder ran through you.

You dropped your hands to his shoulders, needing more grip and balance. And there was more than enough. You knew his shoulders were broad, but fuck, actually holding them was a completely different story.

Stars, you were going to fall apart and all he was doing was kissing you.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to do those things, how long I’ve wanted to… but… Most of all, I wanted this. To be able to take my time, and explore,” He kissed underneath your belly button, his facial hair scratching gently on the sensitive skin, “Every…” his hands slid down to grasp the belt loops of your trousers, and the waistband of your underwear, “Single…” He slid them both down over your hips, exposing your bare skin to him, “Inch,” He dropped down to his knees as your trousers reached your ankles, and he helped you out of them, “Of your body first.” He sat back on his knees, his voice sounding hoarse and choked again. “Look at you…”

Through the thin fabric of the blindfold, you could just make out the silhouette of him on his knees in front of you, a faint outline of his broad shoulder, a fuzzy outline of curly hair.

Your knees were trembling in anticipation, in fact your whole body was trembling as he just… admired you.

On his knees, worshiping you for the warrior goddess he believed you were.

His fingertips danced up your calves, your knees, grasping the backs of your thighs and then you felt his nose against your skin, his hair tickle your lower belly and then, finally, the press of his lips on your wet heat, but too soft, too gentle.

A ragged gasp emerged from your throat, and you lifted your hand back to his hair, pushing him closer, “Din.” You didn’t care how pleading your voice was, but you needed more than soft kisses.

A low chuckle rumbled against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and he nudged his nose to them once more before his hands tightened on your thighs.

The first brush of his tongue elicited a cry of relief from your lips, echoing with Din’s appreciative half growl at your taste, at how wet you were for him. He went in after that, dragging his tongue through your folds in broad strokes, like he already couldn’t get enough of you. “Shit, you taste...” he groaned again, burying his face further between your thighs, his tongue probing your entrance before sliding back up between your folds again.

You already couldn’t breathe, the moan getting caught in your chest and resulting in a soft, high whine and you leant into his touch, arching your spine. Letting your head drop back, you could do nothing but feel the hot stroke of his tongue, licking every inch of you.

He tilted his head back just slightly for a better angle, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue and your legs shook again, aching as they held you up and trembling.

“Din, wait-” You reluctantly tugged his head back, then half collapsed back onto the bed, and Din followed you like a magnet. He remained on his knees at the edge of the bed, and hooked one of your legs over those sinful shoulders, allowing him a better angle, a deeper angle to devour you like he was starving.

He pressed his tongue flat against you, before sucking on your clit with an intensity that made the room spin. It was like he was pulling electricity through your veins, making every nerve stand to attention, wait for his command.

You dropped your back onto the bed, both hands fisting into his hair and your hips rocking upwards against his lips. There was an ache within you, you wanted to feel more of him, needed just a little more –

Like always, he read your mind, and mere seconds later, he was sinking two long fingers into you, curling them up exactly as he had that night. Exactly as he knew you liked.

“Fuck, Din-” You keened his name softly, hips moving to match the pace as he pumped his fingers in out, curling them up into that spot that he found so easily.

He heard every noise you made, every reaction of your body and adjusted his pace and pressure in response, tucking away your reactions so he would always remember what you liked the most.

His rhythm wasn’t perfectly balanced, but it altered according to you. He learned fast and made sure that every single action provided the best possible feeling for you.

And stars above did he do a good job.

That electricity and fire was curling tense in your lower belly, singing through every inch of your soul. You were so desperate for him, your body crying out for him so badly that he had taken you to that edge already. “You… Shit, keep going, just like that…”

Din switched pace so fast you didn’t register it at all. One minute, his lips were sucking at your clit, his fingers stroking you – and the next, his tongue was pushing inside you and his fingers were on your bundle of nerves instead, drawing rapid circles and figures of eight that made you fully arch up off the bed.

“Din!” You cried his name, your whole body crying his name actually. It just felt so good, so devastatingly good that you weren’t sure how you were supposed to not want to do this all the time.

Your back arched further, your fingers wound so tightly in his hair as you shamelessly rode your hips to his rhythm, chasing down your high that he was holding you above. You knew you must be hurting his head, but he didn’t seem to mind, if anything, it was spurring him on, knowing that you needed to hold onto something to try and contain the pleasure.

His hands shifted to your hips, not to hold you down, but to pull you in closer, so he could bury his tongue deeper inside you, his own moans and growls of pleasure vibrating through the soft flesh. His stubble and moustache scratched against your sensitive skin, and that in itself was herding your body closer and closer to the edge, dangling you over.

Words were beyond you, the hot press of his tongue inside your walls was something you could never forget, and as he curled his tongue upward, brushed against that spot and pressed his fingers down harder, light exploded across your eyes.

The heat of your pleasure seared through every inch of your body, taking over with a pleasant hum, rendering you almost helpless as his name fell from your lips again and again.

Din didn’t stop, working you through your orgasm with that same pace, until your hips stopped rocking, your fingers relaxed in his hair and you could see again.

“Fucking hell…” You mumbled the words, shivering as Din cleaned you up, soft gentle strokes with a husky chuckle.

He pressed kisses back up your body, allowing you to catch your breath but by the time he reached your lips, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, you were ready, needing him again.

And by the hard line of his trousers, you knew he must be too.

As soon as his lips touched yours, you kissed him with fierce intensity. Your hands roamed down his back, mapping over his scars and bruises, painting an image in your mind of the man you loved, bringing him to life in the darkness.

He groaned into your mouth as you slipped your hands between your bodies, feeling the tenseness of his stomach muscles, layered with a softness that showed his age – which you absolutely adored.

This man wasn’t some young, bumbling fool. He was mature, devoted, and you loved every single inch of him. And he had never been touched like this before.

Sure, he’d had sex – as you found out one slightly drunken night when you were asking each other questions – but you knew that it was just… a release. No touching, no armour off, maybe not even his gloves.

Who knows how long it had been since this man had been touched like this on his bare skin, with love and passion? You could easily guess it was the same amount of time as you – longer.

And… you were the first person.

The first person to feel him.

To lay your hands upon his skin and show him how truly magnificent he was.

Spurred by his gasps of pleasure and surprise, you roamed lower, over the happy trail and began palming him through his trousers and pressing your hand into the hard length of him.

Then, quickly, you slipped your hand inside his trousers, feeling the tickle of short, coarse hair and then you gently grasped him, fingers wrapping around his thick, swollen length.

He moaned roughly against your lips, sucking in a sharp breath and you pumped him a couple times and his hips jerked forward against your touch.

Your mouth watered at the feel of him, and you pressed your thighs together at the thought of him filling you, being buried inside you and coming undone…

You had never been more grateful for stopping in a town a few years ago and shelling out the obscene number of credits for getting a contraceptive implant in your arm.

It was something you didn’t really need to bother with worrying about, but sometimes, the lonely nights got to you – and you didn’t want to have to worry.

And now, you could almost get on your knees and thank the Maker for that stroke of luck, because now you would be able to feel him inside you, every ridge, every vein, every inch of him.

Din only moaned louder as you brushed your thumb over his head, catching the drop or precum there and he rapidly pulled away.

You had no time to worry if you’d stepped over a line, because you heard him working at his belt, the sound of metal catching like it wouldn’t release.

Din swore under his breath and you realised the fumbling was due to his fingers trembling, in anticipation and the result of what was about to happen.

Heart melting, you sat up, reaching out blindly and finding the belt yourself, “Let me…”

You managed to undo his belt, even with your eyes covered and pop the buttons on his waistband, all the while feeling Din’s belly rise and fall unevenly as he watched you.

It felt like hours, but maybe it was only seconds as you heard Din rid the rest of his clothes and climb back over you, one hand next to your head. His breathing was a staccato rhythm and matched your own as your entire body held tight and coiled like a live wire.

He lined himself up at your entrance, nudging the head of his cock against you and he swore again under his breath as he felt how wet you were for him again, soaked and swollen. “Shit… You... you really want me…” His voice was full of wonder and surprise.

He still couldn’t get over it, that he had this effect on someone. That he made you half mad with need for him and he could make someone, make you feel that way.

You wanted him, wanted whatever he could give you and you were happy with it. Lying there, teeth sunk into your lower lip, cheeks flushed and your body open and yielding to welcome him home.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Din…” Your whisper broke him from his reverie, and then he was pushing into you, his hand curling into a fist in the sheets next to his head as if to hold himself back from going any quicker.

He was thick, and you felt every inch as he slowly sunk into you.

You both moaned in unison as he bottomed out, and he paused for a second so you could adjust to him, a slight sharp sting there but it felt absolutely delightful.

You would feel this tomorrow, feel that you had finally been joined as one, finally broken down those walls.

A few seconds later, sheer delight coursed through you and you slipped your hand up to his wrist, curling your fingers around it, “Move... Maker, please, move-”

Din pulled out slowly, before jolting back into you with a force that felt like your very spine would dissolve into nothingness. He felt so good, so perfect inside you and if you had any doubt that soulmates existed, it was gone now. It was like you were made for each other, slotting into one another souls and lives perfectly.

He started a slow, building rhythm, dropping his head into your neck to suck at the skin, rocking his hips into yours, “You have no idea how good you feel, sweetheart.” His words were a tight whisper into your neck, and you could feel the tense, rigid line of the muscles in his wrists from his clenched fist. He was still holding back, still afraid to hurt you or push you too far.

You tilted your head into his hair, your words clear, if not a little high with need, “Let go. Din, stop holding back – please, you won’t hurt me. You won’t scare me.” Fuck, you needed this just as much as he did. You didn’t want slow and gentle. You didn’t want to keep dancing around each other. It had been too long, and you had wasted far too much time trying to hold back in front of the other.

He was still hesitating, still unsure so you took initiative, hooking one of your legs around his waist and pressing the heel of your foot into his lower back to further emphasise your point. The angle opened you deeper, made him sink a little further in so you clenched around him, tight.

Din choked a little into your neck, his resolve breaking and then he lifted his head, grabbing your knee for grip and then he really began to move.

He snapped his hips faster, every few thrusts slowing down to push all the way into you, to hit that spot he was so acquainted with until you shouted his name, a prayer and a plea in one. “Fuck, sweetheart – you look… so beautiful, so fucking beautiful-” He moaned the words, watching you arch under him, your hips moving in tandem to match his pace thrust for thrust.

He dropped his head back to your chest, kissing and sucking at your breasts and nipples, adding new sparks of pleasure along with the deep fire of him pounding in you.

It wasn’t rough, not at all but it was raw, intense, your bodies syncing and moving with each other in a new dance, saying everything that needed to make up for the past few months.

Time ticked past as you climbed higher and higher together, your moans echoing with Din’s jagged praise, your nails scratching lines down his back as he pushed up even deeper inside you, hitting places you didn’t even know you had.

You lost sense of where you ended and Din began and you felt the threads of your lives tighten around each other, saw the golden threads strengthen with each rock of your bodies, further and further as you both flew up and up, exploding into light and stardust.

Both of you fell apart at the same time, your walls clenching tight around him as he exploded into you, filling you with heat as his hips jerked and stuttered. You both rode each other’s orgasms out, drawing them on and on until you were both utterly spent.

Din pressed open kisses to your neck, his rough growl still echoing in your ear as he mumbled sweet nothings against your sticky skin, his body weight heavy and welcoming into yours, “You are so beautiful. So, so beautiful.” Again, and again, he whispered these endearing things, until he eased out of you, leaving behind an incredible sense of loss.

You lay there blissfully, catching your breath, feeling a delicious ache in your bones that had replaced the dull pain from the week’s ordeals – and drowning.

How surprising such a day ended like this.

Though you didn’t doubt you would be hearing about it later.

Din returned, flicking what sounded like a switch on the way back in.

You heard him kneel next to the bed, and then a warm damp cloth glide over your thighs as he cleaned you both up, before slotting himself against you in the thin bed, facing you this time.

You eased onto your side, curling up against the wall and his body, a sated smile on your lips, “I… That was…” You shook your head a little, unable to stop the huge grin on your lips.

Din laughed softly, a quiet, rough laugh that caressed over your body and settled up in your heart. “Amazing? I never knew you were such a cliché.” He tapped your nose playfully, and you could hear the grin on his lips.

You couldn’t help the slight ache to your heart, the longing of wanting to be able to see how beautiful that grin was, see it light up his face and spark in his eyes. But you would never ask, never even let the thought of asking pop into your head. You appreciated every single thing he gave you, and you were more than content with whatever he was willing to offer.

So, you shoved that thought away, and instead lifted your fingertips to his face.

“Uh, sweetheart, you’re about to poke my eye.”

Indeed, you felt the soft brush of his eyelashes on your fingertips like moths’ wings, and you mumbled a sorry before tracing the line of his eyebrows, up his temples and across the slight wrinkles on his forehead. “I told you to stop frowning.”

Din huffed softly at your teasing, his warm breath tickling your wrist.

You followed a path down his nose, feeling the gentle bump to it that added a new little unique feature to the blurry map in your mind. On your fingers went, over the hair lining his upper lip that you could still feel the ghost of between your thighs. “I like this…” You couldn’t stop the slight cheeky smile, your toes curling a little.

He chuckled again, his lilt to his voice letting you know that his smile had turned wicked, “Oh, I know. I tasted how much you liked it.” A warm lick of heat tickled in your lower back at his voice, and you shook your head adoringly.

Next up, his lips. Those soft, plump lips that should be made sinful. You ran the pads of your fingertips over them, then yelped softly as Din suddenly bit them, lightly and playfully. “Hey!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He didn’t sound sorry though, he still sounded like he was smiling, and you realised it was... the happiest you’d ever heard him.

You were about to say as much, when you heard him move and then suddenly, the blindfold was tugged off your head, disorientating you with the unexpectedness of it.

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut rapidly, “Din! You haven’t-“

“Relax, cyar'ika. Open your eyes…”

“But-”

“Open them, princess… Trust me.”

Hesitantly, you opened your eyes the faintest slit, and you were met with… Darkness?

Opening them further, you realised why.

Din had turned the lights off on his way back in from getting the cloth. That’s what that sound was.

The entire room was swathed in darkness, only the faint glow of the control panel over his shoulder. It provided the barest silhouette of light, allowing you to see the slight outline of those ridiculous shoulders, and just about the edge of his ear.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you keeping that blindfold on… I… I know this isn’t… me… but… That way… You’re not kept out entirely. I could never keep you out...” His voice was a little rough, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart. This was the barest he’d ever been before you, the most exposed.

The amount of trust he was bestowing in you was almost heady. All it would take is one tiny malfunction in the ship, for the lights to come back on and then you’d see him.

You swallowed, your own heart pounding and you gazed in the general direction of his face, seeing him but... seeing none of his features at the same time. But still, to know he was right there, to feel his breath on your skin and see the tinies outline of him… it shattered you nearly.

“Thank you… I… Thank you. This… all of this... I can never thank you enough, Din. For everything you’ve ever done for me. For throwing away the bounty puck, for keeping me safe, for rescuing me… You’ve kept me alive far more than you know. You saw something in me and chose not to give up. And that’s more than a lot of people have every done for me, ever. When I’m with you… I feel safe. To be myself and… I feel like I could conquer anything, as long as you were there.”

You felt his hand snake to your waist, tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin.

“There’s so much I have to thank you for, so, so much I want to say to you. I’m… not always good with words… And it’ll take me time to… to open up fully but…” You shook your head slightly, all of the words tumbling over in your head, and you didn’t know where to start or if you would ever end. So, you settled for the four words that would be just enough for now. “I love you, Din.” Tears sprung to your eyes as you finally said those sweet words aloud, “I’ve loved you since I saw you in that alleyway, pretending you didn’t know me to keep me safe.”

Din’s breathing stuttered, catching over itself as he caught his breath. You felt him shudder a little as you mumbled the words, he had so longed to hear. He leant in, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss that was so blissfully warm, so loving that it almost hurt. “You don’t ever need to explain yourself to me or feel like you need to tell me things. We’ll… we’ll work on it together, okay?”

Work on revealing yourselves to each other, bit by bit.

You smiled, breathlessly and teary against his lips, “Okay…”

It might have been hours later, but you were wrapped up in Din’s arms, your legs tangled, his arm over your waist and the other under your head – the bed was still extremely small.

You’d both drifted off to sleep now and then, in between the gentle kissing, the random conversations about Grogu and Duru’s mishaps or whether the best flavour of macarons was blue or pink.

But you were awake now, something floating around your head that was still there form a few days ago. Din was relaxed in front of you, his breathing even and deep, tickling your skin.

He had given up so much of himself to you already, even more so tonight allowing you to touch him, to see him in a way. And you loved him with every single fibre of your being, and... knew that he felt the same.

And… it was time.

You wanted to.

You wanted this.

Despite that, you still had a nervous writhing in your stomach, and it was a good fifteen minutes before you plucked up enough courage to speak, “Din? Are… you awake?”

His previously still fingers traced up the tattoo on your spine, “Mmm…” His voice was a rough hum, but you knew he was awake.

No more secrets. Starting now.

“I… I want to tell you something. About me… My past.” You bit your lip, fiddling with your necklace.

You heard Din nod against the pillow slightly, “Okay… Anything.”

Swallowing, you closed your eyes, like it might give you strength. “I want to tell you… why I have a bounty on my head. And why it’s so high.” Your words were a near whisper.

Din went very still around you, so quiet you might have thought he had gone back to sleep. Just before dread began to curl in your belly, the low rumble of his voice broke the silence. “I… I know what you’re going to tell me. And… I know.

At that, your eyes flew open, shock filtering though you, “What?

Maybe he misunderstood what you meant, or had heard another rumour…

Like always, he could read your mind, what you were thinking even in the darkness. “Sweetheart, I know.”

Previous| Next.

#soft sexy times for now because i have a smutty chapter written already that is utter filth #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #rogue

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Fireside

Leone Abbacchio x Gn!Reader

Warnings: sfw. mentions of violence and injury. pre vento aureo

Notes: how Abbacchio met his s/o + some relationship fluff

When Abbacchio heard that there was going to be a new member of Bucciarati's gang, he was less than thrilled.

Abbacchio hated when the group expanded. He hated the new faces, the new names to memorize, and how didn't know them yet. He had no way of knowing if they were reliable or not. He hated change. Every day for him was on repeat: get up, work for Bruno, drink himself to sleep. He was content with the way things were. He's never eager to see something change.

If you had any say in the matter, you would have never joined Passione. After a debt brought on by your family, you found yourself running out of options. It was join or die. You would be assigned to Bucciarati's gang after passing Polpo's test. The stand you gained wasn't strong enough for you to join the guard, or even the hitman team. For that, you often considered yourself lucky. Things could always be better; its them getting worse that worries you.

Passione was nothing like the old mafia movies you watched as a kid. You're not quite sure what you expected, but this was a lot worse.

Bruno was a decent leader- his teammates respected him and he only tried to kill you once. Compared to some of the others, you had it easy. Narancia and Mista warmed up to you rather quick. They were a bit hyper for your liking, but soon grew on you. Fugo took longer to come around, but eventually got used to you. When Abbacchio first laid eyes on you, he couldn't figure out why you were there. For as new as you were, you held your own pretty well. You weren't outright weak, but it was clear you had not been in the life for long. It was impressive, but not enough to say anything about it. Compared to the others, you were reserved. That didn't mean you were quiet. If the others got you going, you could be just as loud as them. Nobody was spared from your and Narancia's pranks. You grew into your stand. Bucciarati made the transition easier. They quickly became family; your annoying brothers and adoptive father.

Early on Abbacchio was a real prick.

Overall he was hostile and prickly. His personality was hard to get along with. In the beginning you kept your distance. You quickly became too consumed with work to worry about him, and pushed him to the back of your mind. Abbacchio gave you a week before you either broke down, or were killed. For him to respect a newer member, they had to prove themselves to the gang.

You lasted longer than he expected you to.

Over the year that you would work for Bucciarati, you had only been assigned on a handful of jobs with Abbacchio. Your conversations had been few, and only in passing. It pissed you off just a little bit. While you weren't the most personable either- at times you were outwardly hostile- you figured he'd have come around by now. With as aggressive as you could be, it shocked him just how easily you charmed the others. To him, it almost felt artificial; it was a skill bred from the need to survive in Passione's underground, not true charisma. He never failed to let you know that you hadn't proved yourself to him.

You two were only sent on the same assignment together because everyone else was busy. Despite your reservations about Abbacchio, there wasn't much you wouldn't do for Bruno. It was only one job. If it was that bad, you'd ask to not be partnered with him again.

Your job was to retrieve a dead drop, then return to the hideout. It wasn't anything high-stakes. Abbacchio sat the entire car ride in silence. It wasn't hard to tell when he was having a rough day. He was never the most talkative, but he always participated in whatever conversation the others were having- if only to insult them. Today he was quiet, which didn't seem like a good sign. If someone gave you an inch, you'd take a mile. Getting them to talk was a way to get the ball rolling. Any polite conversation you tried to have was shot down with a glare, so you quickly scrapped that idea. You figured he was hungover, and thought it best to leave him alone.

You suppose it was better than him complaining. There was only so much you could put up with.

It was really no fault of your own that things went wrong. Expect everything that can go wrong, to go wrong. The mission wasn't supposed to be high-stakes; there was no reason why another group would be after the dead drop. A rival gang spotted you and went for the package. Abbacchio took it and ran while you tried to hold them off for as long as possible.

As you were heading back to the car, you were cornered.

The kid couldn't have been much younger than you. He aimed a gun between you and Abbacchio, who was only a few feet behind you. He gives you two no time to respond, and only hesitates for a moment when he pulls the trigger.

He missed.

You still don't know how he missed, only taking a moment to thank whatever higher power that just saved your ass. That didn't stop your short life from flashing before your eyes. The bullet struck the ground just a few feet behind you, sending up a spray of dirt and rocks. Part of him couldn't believe that someone was willing to take a bullet for him. Really, you were just trying to protect the package, but it was probably better if he didn't know that.

On the trip back home he scolded you for being so reckless. Since the kid missed, you saw no issue in it. What he feels isn't a sense of pride, more than it is guilt.

He found you less annoying than he'd ever admit.

Whatever you did, it planted the seed of affection within him. Admittedly he was the last place to nurture feelings, and akin to planting flowers in a barren desert while refusing to water them, it didn't stop it from blooming.

There was a mutual respect between the two of you. The man was a mess, and rarely sober, but began to pick himself up a bit. This did not go unnoticed, though the others rarely mentioned it. You would go on to be assigned more jobs together. He was getting less and less vocal about how much he disliked you. While you didn't talk much, you spent a lot of time together. He often found your presence comforting. He'd grown to not only tolerate your company, but enjoy it. The two of you would never admit to being friends- he was too stubborn for that- but that's what you seemed to be.

On late nights he'd walk with you to your apartment. He claimed he didn't want you to get mugged, and that you lived in a bad part of town, but the act was dropped when you mentioned him being chivalrous. You would invite him in for a drink or two. While you didn't want to encourage his bad habits, he never said no to a glass of wine. He never said no to you. You'd had gotten used to being around him. The little spare time you had was spent with him- not doing anything in particular. It never had to be anything special, often times you just lounged around the hideout together.

One night he was out for a job later than usual.

He insisted on taking this one alone. Bruno raised an eyebrow to that, but made no comment on it. Abbacchio had been in a bad mood all day, and while they couldn't prove it was you, the others had the sneaking suspicion it was. You argued. Often. It was rarely serious. He showed his affection by bullying people. What he threw at you, you would send right back.

As much as you didn't like him going alone, you didn't fight it. Mostly out of spite.

By then the others had gone to bed- or gone home for the night. It was only you left at the hideout. On the few nights he'd go straight home, he'd shoot you a text. There wasn't any particular reason you stayed back for him. Maybe it was a gut feeling. It felt a bit childish to wait by the door. He was your partner and you weren't eager to see him sent back in a pine box. Unfortunately, he was important to you.

By the time the door opens, you're dozing off. You're on your feet the moment you hear it.

"You scared the hell out of me." You say.

"The front door. Scared you." He says.

"You scared me," dramatically you roll your eyes, "asshole. You always tell me when you'll be gone this late."

His heart races when you give him a once-over for injuries. While you don't touch him, the way your gaze travels over his body makes him a bit anxious. On his best days he doesn't want to be looked at, on his worst its unimaginable- he just doesn't want to be perceived. If he had any say in it, he wouldn't care about how you saw him. But you make him worry about how others view him.

"This isn't your blood I hope." You say.

Slowly he nods.

You motion for him to sit, before grabbing the first-aid kit from the other room. The wound looks better when all the blood is cleaned away, and doesn't appear to need stitches. Gently you set your hand on his. It's rather cold. When he doesn't pull away- or show any sign of discomfort- you wrap your arms around his neck.

"What are you-"

"Just let me have this." You say. "We don't have to talk about it ever again."

His arms awkwardly wrap around you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He can't remember the last time someone has held him like this. The smell of your shampoo is comforting. His heartbeat drops for a second before picking up in pace.

"I was worried about you." You say.

No matter how many times he goes over it in his head, he still doesn't believe it. It's not that he doesn't feel the same way- he's head-over-heels for you- but he's in denial about it.

"I love you."

It's under your breath, and so quiet that he almost has to do a double take.

"Say it again..." He says.

"I love you."

He doesn't believe it, but he's so content in your arms he won't question it. He could die happy in this moment.

It would take the others weeks to realize you two were dating.

To their credit, it was sooner than you expected. Not much changed when you made things official. Abbacchio wasn't a fan of pda. They were only tipped off because of Narancia. The prank was harmless- he did that sort of thing all the time- but god it pissed Abbacchio off. Nobody had seen him that mad in years. When you told him to calm down, and that it didn't bother you, he sat in the corner to brood.

You moved in together not long after that. The change felt natural, and took little effort from either of you. It was easy to settle into a routine with him, seeing as you spent so much time at his apartment anyway. Abbacchio always woke up first, although he stayed in bed until you woke up. He's not sentimental- nor will he ever admit to be- but he never passed up the opportunity to watch you while you were so at peace. His nightmares existed long before Passione. He rarely slept, and usually got four hours on a good night. Sleeping next to you helped.

On the rare days off you had together, you spent your time lounging around your apartment. When he was sober, he was a decent cook, and often made dinner for the two of you. He preferred dates at home, over going out in public. He'd bring you coffee while the two of you would watch Italian soap operas. If he was feeling particularly soft, he'd let you braid his hair. Physical touch was something he was still getting used to. It's not that he didn't like it; it was unfamiliar to him and that made him uncomfortable. If it made you happy, he'd try it, even if he personally didn't see the appeal.

He often finds himself thinking about the future. Before it never seemed too bright. Thinking about his past is an almost immediate slope into self loathing. He wasn't all better, but he was healing. Both you and Bruno made sure of that. There wasn't much that he wouldn't do for you.

Every day he wakes up slightly more in love than the last.

#jjba #jjba part 5 #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #vento aureo #leone abbacchio #leone abbachio x reader #jjba x reader #abbacchio x reader

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themoonandotherslikeit · 3 years

Text

Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

112 notes · View notes

imaginesbymk · 3 years

Text

“It’s 3AM, And I Miss You Like Hell.”

Peaky Blinders One Shot

Summary: Finn hasn’t been taking your death very well and has gone completely reckless, causing him to lose himself. Not even his brothers could help get him back to his feet.

Pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader

Tags: angst, mentions of death, swearing, smoking, heavy drinking + prostitution

Non Requested

Word Count: 1,344

Author’s Note: this is a short one shot but it’s sad hour </3 pls leave a like/reblog & some feedback!!!

[gif credit]

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

So I went to the Garrison and drank out of the decanter.

“Wake the fuck up.” Finn groans as soon as his senses detected the familiar migraine from last night’s hardcore partying and boozing, and even the harsh slap Arthur gave on his cheek. Another hangover he has yet to subdue for another repetitive day.

“Where the fu-” Finn groans again, rubbing the tensioned spot, the most painful spot he couldn’t just massage away. “What time is it?”

“It’s time for you to wake the fuck up and freshen up. Tommy’s already got the Garrison reserved for the next meeting.”

Finn didn’t like taking orders from Arthur. He was too tough on him while Finn was too stubborn to think he couldn’t do better without. He smacks his pockets for his cigarettes, and places one in his mouth, then smacks his pockets again for a lighter.

The sounds of heels clanging against the Garrison floors made Finn jolt right awake in fear. Polly was someone Finn didn’t wanna piss off.

Polly gives a side eye to Finn before taking her shades off. “Morning, Finn. Or should I recall it’s two in the afternoon.” She scowls at the state he was in. A groggy, hungover mess. “You look like your father.”

“When hasn’t the Garrison ever been reserved?” Finn wrings out his shirt before throwing it over his head.

“You’ve got two minutes to toss the attitude out the window, Finn. Come on,” Arthur smacks him in the back of his head before he could even have another second to fit his head through the shirt hole. “Rub your eyes, put your bloody shirt on, and get the fuck up.”

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

So I came to see you during the late hours.

You slumped your way to the front and turned the knob, finding no one but Finn standing at the steps, eager to just see you at such a late hour. You found your way into Finn’s sleep, and something unimaginable had happened in his dream. He woke up thinking it was a sign, and had a coat worn over his sleeping pajamas when he showed up at your front door.

“Finn, what is it?” you scratched your head.

“Sorry, I-” Finn cleared his throat, noticing how you were in your sleeping clothes, your hair in tangles from tossing around from side to side. Still, he looked at you like you were an angel above all.

You nodded your head, urging for him to respond quicker. “Yes, Finn?”

“I felt like something was wrong, so I came here.”

You raised a brow. “Finn?”

“I mean, something happened today, and I never got the chance to check up on you.”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“I know,” he nodded. “You mind if I rest on your couch? I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Despite his family being listed as dangerous to even be feared by anyone else, you wouldn’t wanna live with the idea of leaving Finn to drive back to his home late at night. You opened the door all the way to let him in.

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

The man with the shovel covered your coffin with dirt.

Finn was there when you died. Your cause of death was worse than what Finn saw his night terror. In his dream, you were pushed. In reality, you jumped.

In the clash, you were the last to chime in, helping Finn take down an enemy. Finn was the aim, but you were tagged by accident, opening up a fresh wound on your chest that could fit nothing else smaller but deadlier than a bullet. Finn didn’t scream like an animal, he didn’t lunge at the shooter. He could have crouched on the ground to hold you as you died in his arms - but could only stay frozen stiff while Isaiah and Aberama took over.

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

Even the girls who lay with me could never compare.

“You like it?” Finn looks up from the wooden floor. He could tell that the girl had done her own makeup, and her hair was down to her shoulders. Skin was visible, the silks of her dress were easy to tear off. She was pretty. She wasn’t you, though.

“Yeah,” Finn scratched his head, leaning back in his chair as the girl sat on his desk. “I like fuckin’ everything.”

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

But how were my brothers able to cope with it faster than I could count to ten?

“Finn.” This was the tenth time Arthur and Tommy had walked in the Garrison to see a blacked out Finn lying on one of the booths, his shirt buttoned open, his pants undone, barefoot, countless bottles of gin crowding the table. Did Finn even remember to lock his front door the night before?

“Finn!” Tommy slaps him so hard he awoke, and gripped him by the chin.

Finn reacted, immediately pulling his gun from the holster. Before a clicking sound could be pulled, Arthur was already pinning him against the walls. “Finn-”

“Fuck off, both of you-” Finn slurs.

“Oi!” Tommy smacks him in the cheek. ‘You stop that. I’m looking at myself when you’re like this. You stop it right now.”

“You’re talking to me like I’m still the child you, Arthur and John always excluded—”

“That is because you’re acting like one,” Tommy says. His blood turned cold after hearing his name. “And don’t you fuckin’ speak of him like that. He would be doing exactly what we’re doing.”

“I said both of you fuck off!”

“Arthur, put him down. He’s not a street kid,” Polly says from the front door.

“Dear God...” Ada and Lizzie followed behind her. “Tommy, we’ll wait in the other booths. Will Finn be joining?”

After hearing his name brought in the question, Tommy and Arthur turned back to Finn, who was still pinned against the walls, gasping heavily they could smell the mix of booze and something so foul that it had to be morning breath.

“Arthur, you’re starting the meeting. I’ll drive Finn home.”

Finn’s eyes trailed over to Tommy as he towered over him. “Tom, I-” Arthur releases Finn, and he drops to the ground with a loud thud.

It’s 3AM, and I miss you like hell.

But I see you in my dreams, or behind me when I look in the mirror, or even in the faces of women I pay to fuck.

At least that’s your way of sticking around.

Tommy and Finn never said a word to each other for the rest of the drive home. He was surprised he didn’t belch out any vomit onto the floor or even in Tommy’s car. It wasn’t that he was trying not to, he hadn’t felt a thing. No nausea, no migraine.

So what about the ache in his heart?

Tommy parks beside the lamppost in front of the townhouse. If he stood up, so would Finn. If he could yell at him like a parent punishing their child, he could. But Tommy wastes no breath unless he carried the facial features of his young boy.

But when he looks at the hungover and dead-souled Finn, his face softens.

“Finn.” All he saw was a boy trapped in a man’s body, or maybe the other way around. He meant what he said when told him he sees himself through Finn’s grieving. He could understand why, an endless cycle of grief was the worst kind of hell. If Grace never left Tommy’s heart, if Arthur will never see anyone else like a father, and if Michael is the only child Polly can call her own - then perhaps they could all understand why.

"It’s all right, Finn.” All it took was a hand on the shoulder. Tommy Shelby watched his youngest brother shamelessly break down in front of him and let out a soft cry. “I miss them too.”

—

TAGLIST: @ladyxblake @lotsoffandomimagines @amirahiddleston @thethyri @woahitslucyylu @myriadimagines @fangirlsarah16 @your-pixels-are-showing @lucillethings @sirkekselord @kaetastic @champagneholland @locke-writes

#finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby x reader #finn shelby #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #reader insert #oneshot #one shot #imagine #peaky blinders fic #mk's favs

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7soulstars · 3 years

Note

Hello ☁️ Can I request a Sherlock x deaf reader who is very shy and self concious? you're an amazing writer!

Omg thank you for requesting darling! I had a lot of fun researching this but it was quite a challenge ! I wasn’t sure if you wanted a fic or an hc so I decided to do a hc ! I hope you like this !

Sherlock with a Deaf S/O

- Now it is not new to everyone that Sherlock doesn’t do feelings.

- BULLSHIT

- WHO THE FUCK EXPLAINS HOW HE SOLVES A MURDER VERBALLY AND THEN IN SUPER FAST SIGN LANGUAGE SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND TOO ?

- He knew sign language, he had learnt it for a case years before meeting you.

- You kind of saved him from getting strangled by a murderer by knocking him out with a fire extinguisher the first time you two met at a library where he followed the murderous man.

- Why were you there ? Well it is a good place for an introvert to hang out. You were studying a bit of something related to your profession when that happened.

- John, Greg and his divsion had followed in a few mintues later .

- “Sherlock!” *looks at you who is staring down out the fainted body in absolute terror* “Thank you for helping him !”

- But you didn’t hear him, you chose not to wear your hearing aid that day either.

- “She’s deaf Gavin stop embarrasing yourself ! Really are you that stupid? ”

- You never thought you would see him after that but fate had it’s own gameplay.

- Next time you met him and John was when he scared off a creepy man following you.

- “Just a payback for last time”, he had signed looking at any direction but yours.

- You just stood their silently. You were too shy to talk so you decided you should take your leave from the undoubtedly handsome detective with a squeaky little goodbye.

- But he stopped you by saying that he needed help with a case related to your profession.

- He lied.

- He spent the entire night bothering Greg and Mycroft to find him a case involving you profession.

- Soon enough every single person who Sherlock was always around had to learn sign language even though you assured Sherlock you knew how to lip read.

- Sherlock speaks too fast so he always has to sign for you.

- You feel bad because you think it’s bothersome but your boyfriend doesn’t think so.

- “It’s quite entertaining keeps me alert and on my toes”

- Explains how he solved a case to you in rapid sign language because we all know that little shit will be all smug about it.

- Unspoken habit of not shooting while you’re at 221B because the vibrations startle you a lot.

- You are highly insecure and he read that out the moment he saw you but he doesn’t know the cause.

- So he asks. ( And has John by his side to whack some sense into him incase he blurts something rude)

- By the time you had finishing the duo had the biggest frowns on their faces

- The fact that you were rejected by regular schools for being disabled and were not accepted at a school for people like you for not fitting into the stereotype pissed Sherlock off.

- The fact that you underestimated yourself annoyed him even more.

- You are highly intelligent and Sherlock knew that very well, but your self conciousness always came in the way.

- He starts giving you little affirmations all the time.😭

- You often refuse to wear your hearing aids because they’re a bit uncomfortable but Sherlock insists you to wear them whenever he drags you out on a case.

- “Not everyonee is as smart as us darling”

- He doesn’t smoke anymore. Whenever he has a bad day he just gets home and stares at you.

- *stares*

- ”Need a hug ?”

- *wordlessly falls into your lap as you skim through his curls*

- Once did the same when you had a REALLY bad day and when you were extremely insecure.

- “You do this for me all the time you look like you need one today...”

- You cried in his arms and he said nothing. Just held you tighter because that’s what you needed the most.🥺

- IRENE WHO ? He figured out you felt like she was better for him than you and the man blocked the woman’s number and told her to not contact him again in the most polite way possible

- You’re the only one who can handle his childish tantrums when even John can’t.

- “You are MY GIRLFRIEND don’t side them !”

- “YOU ALMOST POISIONED MYCROFT !”

- “It was an ExPeRiMeNt Y/N !”

- You being the only one who is allowed to stay in the room while he is in his mind palace.😤

- “Anderson get lost, Y/N where are you going? Stay here”

- MUMMY AND DADDY HOLMES ADORE YOU !

- “Sherlock really loves you darling I just know it !”

- ”MUMMY !”

-”You better marry her”

- He makes you feel like the most important person in the room in the most subtle ways.

- Even his rivals know that you are a line they willl never dare cross because nobody touches Sherlock Holmes’ girlfriend or they will pay in unimaginable terms.

- Even though he would never dare to tell you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes was awfully and dreadfully in love with the local shy and deaf girl and the entire world knows of this.

Part 2

*Stops typing and wallows in self embarrassment because I think it's not perfect enough for my perfect readers*

Sherlock: it may be shitty but you tried

Me*nodding*: I tried😔

Moriarty: well, all you can do is pray that they like it.....

Me:*cries*

But in all seriousness I FINALLY finished this piece after battling with my writer's block. I know this is not at all accurate and that brings me to an important point. I research a lot for this hc but I was disappointed that there was rarely any information on deafness and experiences of people with disabilities and problems faced by them. What does that mean?

WE NEED MORE REPRESENTATION OF PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT ABILITIES AND AWARENESS ABOUT IT ON MASS MEDIA AND THATS ON PERIODT. WE NEED TO EDUCATE PEOPLE AND THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Again I really really really tried my best and I really hope you all like it. In case of any mistakes I've made or if I have written anything offensive or triggering please tell me in the comments so that I can make immediate corrections. Please like and reblog my work if you like it to support me. Comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Please do not plagarize my work I really work hard on it! I have 4 fics to be completed but I promise to finish it soon. Thank you guys for being patient.

~Love Hri! 😘

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xiuxiuthumbsucker · 2 years

Text

Men see other men as people, but they see women as Women, and their idea of a woman is a hole to shoot their fucking load in, and maybe use for some babies, and build this disgusting suburban life with. They see women as objects for sex, or romance, they don't think that men can socialise with women without there being ulterior fucking motives, thereby talking to an ugly girl makes you a pathetic loser. And on top of all that, they see women as irritable loudmouths without a single real thought and nothing good to say. Yet they get girlfriends, and wives, and act like they love them and truly see them as people, and live their capitalistic, hellish fucking lives with a Woman they hate until their stupid little life gets snuffed out in a care home full of old, middle class, white clones of themselves. Every moment of their miserable lives practically copied and fucking pasted.

#sjw feminazi #long post #sorry for the rant #i just saw something that made me unimaginably pissed off #and it wasnt like they were trying to be misogynistic it was literally a woman who said it #it just made me think about how ingrained into our brains and our society it is #and i know this makes me sound like some but it is a real problem #so like its not my fault if men and soviety and all that bullshit make speaking up about a genuine problem #a Hysterical Woman Moment #also fuck capitalism jesus

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bts-bay-bee · 4 years

Text

Jealousy

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4621

Warnings: dom!Tae, cursing, fingering while being clothed, spanking, dirty talking, begging, lip biting, vaginal fingering, hair pulling, honestly Tae is kinda cocky and I live for it, orgasm denial, edging, finger sucking, sucking at your own arousal, hickies, a lot of hickies, oral sex (male and female receiving), degradation (slut, cockslut), deep-throating, mouth-fucking, choking on dick, lowkey crying, riding, unprotected sex (use a condom), breast play, choking, cream pie, unedited work

Summary: You watch Hwarang with your friend, Taehyung, on one of his rare days off. After your not-so-subtle comments about your crush on one of his co-stars, Taehyung shows you how he really feels.

***

“I missed you so much, Y/N!” Taehyung coos into your hair as you laugh, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He still stood in the doorway of your apartment, too busy occupied with embracing you to step in.

“I missed you too, Tae Tae.” You replied, grinning at him while he pulled away. When he finally decided to come in, he followed the sweet scent of baked goods, which ultimately lead him to your kitchen. You couldn’t help but giggle at his actions. “I made you cupcakes.”

Smiling wide at you, he took one off of the counter, before peeling the paper off and feeding you a bite, before shoving the rest in his mouth. You rolled your eyes while chewing the sweet confectionary.

“Do you want some popcorn? I thought that we could watch Hwarang today. You promised that you’d see it with me.” You asked, hopefully. Taehyung smiled at you and nodded slightly.

Taehyung sat on the counter of your kitchen while you put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. There was a comfortable silence as he simply stared at you, completely mesmerised with the way you so effortlessly glided around the kitchen, pulling various snacks out for the pair of you. You glanced up at him, already finding his eyes on yours, which made you raise your eyebrow.

“What are you staring at?” You asked, a teasing tilt to your voice, as he continued to unapologetically stare at you, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand. There was a small smile on his plump lips, which made your heart beat a little faster. When you realised that he was still staring, you raised your eyebrow further. “Tae?”

“You look good.” He murmured, more to himself that anything else. Blushing slightly, you ignored him and continued making your hot cocoa.

Half an hour later, you found yourself and Tae sprawled out on the couch, watching the first episode of Hwarang. You hadn’t exactly watched it, since dramas were never really your thing, but you did let it play for background noise when you were doing your household chores – just because something wasn’t ‘you’ doesn’t mean that you couldn’t support Tae. As long as your view counted, you were satisfied. However, you really wanted to watch the show, even it was just for a few snippets of Tae.

During the second episode, Taehyung pulled you into his lap, while mumbling something about it being cold. So that was how you ended up cuddling: Tae was leaning against the couch, your back was against his chest, and his arms were wrapped around you tightly. You really didn’t mind though – you had always had a not-so-tiny crush on him.

When he finally showed up on screen, you gasped, hitting his thigh lightly. “Tae! It’s you!”

“Hmm…” He replied sleepily, taking a deep breath through his nose, and pulling you closer. You pulled away from him, frowning.

“Are you sleeping?” You asked, turning to face him. When you saw how tired he looked, you immediately felt bad. His eyes were half-closed, a small frown on his gorgeous features. You leaned back onto him, his arms immediately snaking around you. You placed a hand over his, smiling when he knotted your fingers together. “I’m sorry, Tae. Go to sleep.”

“Let me nap for a while. Then you can wake me up. Only for an hour, promise, Jagi.” He mumbled into your hair. As you heard the pet name, your heart started beating faster, a smile gracing your lips unwillingly. You don’t even think he called you that on purpose – it was just a result of his sleepiness.

You felt Taehyung fall asleep under you; his breathing slowed and became deeper. Every so often, he’d wrap his arms around you tighter, but never once let go of your hand. You started the forth episode of the drama, yawning slightly because you hadn’t moved in about an hour, when Tae brought you closer to him, yet again, but froze when his free hand cupped your breast and palmed it lightly. Biting your lip, you felt your nipples perk up, and due to not wearing a bra, it showed through your thin shirt.

“T-Tae?” You called out, pausing the episode, your heart beating fast. When he didn’t respond, you turned back lightly and saw that he was still fast asleep. Your throat going dry, you decided to just move his hand to your waist, so when he does wake up, it wouldn’t be so awkward.

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to admit it, but you loved how readily your body reacted to his slight touch. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to move his hand. As your petite hand hovered over his much larger one, you felt his hardening dick grow beneath your ass – you didn’t even realise it, but you were subconsciously grinding onto his length. Standing up abruptly, you walked to the bathroom, trying to calm your racing heart.

Taehyung woke up when you walked away, and he frowned, wondering why you looked so embarrassed. He shook his head, not realising that his dick was half-hard, from your barest touch. A few minutes later, you walked back, now seeing Taehyung awake. He didn’t act any different, so you just decided to roll with it.

“Where did you go?” he whined, making you roll your eyes.

“I – uh – went to the bathroom, silly.” You lied, sitting next to him. He whined again, before pulling you back into his lap with the premise of ‘still cold’. You sat so stiffly in his lap, not wanting to subconsciously grind on him again, especially now that he’s awake.

You felt there was an awkwardness in the air, but you failed to realise that you were the only one who felt it. Taehyung was still oblivious to his erection, which was slowly, yet steadily, growing harder and harder under your lower back. Trying to ease the atmosphere in the room, you started teasing Tae about his character in Hwarang, which was adorable, yet kind of… Slow. The overall effect was rather endearing.

“Aww, you look so cute, Tae!” You said, laughing lightly, as he got poked in the head with a wooden stick. He just hummed in response, but in the reflection of the TV, you saw him roll his eyes. A few moments later, Ban-ryu showed up on screen, making you hum with appreciation; he truly was a sight. Once again, in the reflection, you saw him raise his eyebrow. When Soo-ho had a scene, you once again hummed, making Tae poke your side. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re drooling a bit.” He replied, not answering your question. You scowled, knowing for a fact that he wasn’t serious about the drool. “And you’re basically eye-fucking them. Pay attention to the story.”

“So what?” You replied, rolling your eyes. “If they’re sexy, then they’re sexy. It’s not my fault they’re blessed with good looks.”

“How come I get called cute, and you call them sexy?” He snapped, causing you to sigh. If only you could really tell him what you thought about him.

Turning your attention to the TV again, you saw Tae clenching his jaw, making your heart beat a little faster. His jaw was so defined, it looked like it was carved from rock. Your eyes trailed down his gorgeous features, feeling your core getting a little warmer. You licked your lips, unknowingly, making Tae irritated.

“Now you’re thirsting after Hyung-sik?” He asked, clearly jealous. You would never admit it aloud, but his jealousy turns you on in unimaginable ways.

You turned to him, sitting in between his legs, biting your lower lip, then said defensively, “I wasn’t even focusing on the TV, Tae.”

“Then what were you licking your lips for?” He snapped, making you grow wet at the jealousy laced in his every word.

You lowered your eyes, looking down, then mumbled, “Your reflection. Your jaw clenched really hard, because you were jealous, and…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into his eyes; instead, you just focused on his chest. You felt your panties get wetter at the sight of his length, now so achingly hard that you could clearly see it. You heard Tae’s breathing hitch, before he sat up, his hand trailing on your thighs. Your eyes followed his large hands, gasping when you saw where it was leading to.

Without realising, you had completely soaked your panties, which in turn, lead you to start soaking your thin, grey leggings. You tried covering up the growing wet patch, but Taehyung slapped your hand away. He ran a finger over your clothed folds, making you bite down on your lip to contain a whimper.

“This for me?” he murmured, continuing to run a slender finger over your soaked leggings. You closed your eyes, not wanting to moan, which you so badly wanted to do. Taehyung clenched his jaw further, then spoke harshly, “Answer me when I speak to you!”

“Y-Yes, Tae.” You replied, your eyes snapping open to meet his own. You saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly. His fingers began to push into you deeper, making you release the smallest whimper, causing him to smirk.

“Such pretty sounds.” He murmured, continuing his assault on your folds. It was driving you crazy – not feeling enough friction to satiate your needs. “My pretty girl got so wet that she soaked through her panties, hmm?”

“T-Tae…” You whined, abandoning your pride. He slowed his actions, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Since you pissed me off so much by making me jealous of my friends, I’ll let you choose where I’m going to absolutely destroy this pussy.” He murmured, absentmindedly brushing hair away from your face. “Here? Your bedroom? The balcony?”

“Here.” You replied, breathlessly, moving closer to him, causing him to chuckle. Taehyung always knew that you loved rough sex, probably something you let slip after a drink too many, but he didn’t realise just how much you changed during sex.

“Take off your clothes.” He ordered, his authority only enhancing how wet you were. You scrambled to shed your thin shirt, then your leggings. Taehyung’s eyes grew darker and darker with lust as every inch of your body became exposed. As you reached to pull off your thong, his large hands stopped you; instead, hooking his fingers around the waistband on either side of your hips and slowly dragging them down. “Where’s your bra, baby girl? Do you enjoy teasing me that much?”

“I wasn’t trying to tease you – ” You began, breathlessly, but a sharp slap to your ass made you stop abruptly.

“Bullshit.” He snapped, his fingers running over your slick folds. “You think I didn’t feel you grind into me? Oh, I want to punish you so badly… Overstimulate you until you’re crying, begging me to stop.” At his filthy words, you subconsciously released another gush of sticky arousal over his hand, making him smirk. “You like that? You want me to fuck you senseless?”

“Please.” You whispered, looking up at him, pleadingly. Then, for the first time, Taehyung kissed you. His plump, soft lips that you had only dreamed about, were on yours, moving perfectly in sync with you. He forced open your mouth with his tongue, the roughness of it only making you want him further. His tongue skilfully moved against your own, the velvety appendage massaging every corner of your mouth. Due to lack of oxygen, he began to pull away, but not before biting your lip, sucking on it gently to relieve the sting.

Looking into his eyes, you saw a side of him that you only imagined – it was feral, lust clouding the surface of his gorgeous orbs. Without taking his eyes off of yours, he plunged two fingers into your dripping core, making you cry out at the sudden intrusion. At the sound coming out of your mouth, he smirked, enjoying having you at his mercy.

“Feel good, my pretty girl?” He asked, his fingers curling to stroke every inch of your silky walls. He brought his lips to yours again, greedily exploring every crevice of your mouth, biting and suckling at your already swollen lips, while his fingers fucked into you mercilessly. As his long, thin digits pistoned out of you, relentless in its pace, his free hand knotted his fingers in your hair, tugging on it slightly, allowing him to pull your mouth closer to him.

At a particularly deep thrust, you cried out into his mouth, causing him to let out a breathless chuckle. Your walls began to clench tightly around his fingers, indicating that you were close, so close. You felt him add a third finger into your core, making you whine at the stretch, the burning sensation only getting you more aroused.

You felt your thighs start to tremble, a sure sign of your oncoming orgasm. Taehyung continued to assault your pussy, not taking his eyes off of where his fingers were entering and leaving you. Needing to feel your release, you began to rock your hips against his hand, desperately trying to fuck yourself deeper with his fingers.

As you were about to reach your much-anticipated climax, your core was suddenly empty, pathetically clenching around nothing. You almost sobbed, the pressure in your lower body slowly ebbing away, guaranteeing that your orgasm was lost.

“Taehyung!” You cried out, the heat of your climax nowhere to be found. He ignored your words, simply kissing you again, the lewd sounds of open-mouthed kisses were the only sounds that filled the air. Your thighs trembled slightly, almost your body’s way of asking why your orgasm was denied.

“I get to say when you cum. This is your punishment for making me jealous.” He said, softly, stuffing his soaked fingers into your mouth, making you suck at your own juices. He pulled on your hair, tightly, bringing your face closer to his. “If I decide to stop you from cumming, then you shut the fuck up and deal with it. You’ll only cum on my cock, understand? Not on my fingers, not on my mouth, but my cock. I told you; you’re gonna be crying, begging me to stop, begging me to let you cum.”

You nodded slightly; eyes closed as you swallowed hard. Smiling at your obedience, Taehyung slipped his fingers out of your mouth, moving you to sit on the sofa, your legs spread. Seeing your dripping, pink pussy, he felt his cock twitch on his pants, desperately wanting to plough through your slickness. His eyes found your clit, swollen and red, probably from how roughly he had fingered you, paired with being denied your orgasm.

Spreading your legs further, he dropped to his knees and began to kiss, suck and nibble on the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. Leaving a garden of dark purple bruises in his wake, he took a deep sniff of your arousal, before attaching his lips to your clit and sucking harshly. Your moans and whimpers of his name only spurred him on, licking at every drop of your juices.

He ran his tongue around your soaked entrance, resulting in you letting out a breathy moan. Stiffening his tongue, he began to thrust it in and out of you, simulating what his fingers were doing earlier. He hummed at your taste, savouring the never-ending torrents of arousal that coated his mouth, some even dripping onto his chin.

“Fuck, you taste so good, pretty girl.” He said, stopping his actions to see the way your entrance clenched around nothing, practically begging him to resume his previous activities. He licked a stripe from your core right up until the top of your clit, then began to suck on it, his tongue pressing against the sensitive bud harshly.

He felt your heavily marked thighs began to tremble around his head, indicating your fast approaching orgasm, making him suck harshly, getting the last taste of your juices, before pulling away, making your chest heave, wanting nothing more than to cum around his prodding tongue.

“Did I not fucking say that you aren’t allowed to cum unless it’s on my cock?” He snapped, grabbing your hair so that you looked up at him. You felt yourself somehow, possibly become even more aroused at this side of Taehyung; you never thought that your cute, cuddly best friend would ever be such a rough, dominating man in bed.

Seeing you peer up at him with innocent eyes, flushed a light shade of pink, caused a rush of heat to make its way down to his dick. Wanting nothing more than to hear your voice, your moans and whimpers for him, and only him, he was quickly getting even more pissed off when you didn’t respond to him.

“If you don’t want to respond to me, put your mouth to better use.” He said, harshly, slipping off his shirt, trousers and boxers, mindlessly kicking them onto the floor. You immediately dropped to your knees, making him chuckle as he took a seat on the couch. “You’re such a pretty little cockslut, baby.”

Shining at his praise, you took his lengthy dick into your mouth, your hands behind your back. Swirling your tongue around the head, you licked off the salty pre-cum, before slowly taking more of him into your velvety soft mouth. He let out a huff, seeing how your ass and tits stuck out of your delectable body as you took bobbed your head on his cock.

“All of it.” He murmured, brushing your hair away from your face so that he could gather it in a ponytail at the crown of your head. You sunk your head lower onto his length, struggling to encompass his girth as well as the sheer length of his manhood. “Come on, you can fit me in that sweet, sweet mouth, baby. Be a good girl and take it all.”

Hearing his voice going down an octave, you pushed your gag reflex aside, wanting nothing more than to please him. Eventually, the tip hit the back of your throat, resulting in you gagging slightly.

“Now swallow.” He instructed, relishing in the way your throat muscles tightened and loosened around him when you did that. Your nose was nestled against his pubic bone, making your breathing a little difficult. When you couldn’t breathe anymore, you pulled away, tears burning your eyes from the lack of oxygen.

Once you had enough air, you sheathed him in your throat once again, the second time much easier than the first. He moaned out your name, pre-cum still coating the surface of your tongue. You felt him pull away from your touch slightly, only for him to thrust back into your mouth, going deeper. Holding your head in place, by pulling on your hair, he continued to snap his hips against your mouth, essentially fucking it.

He loved hearing you choke on his dick when he thrust a little too far in, the sound only encouraging him to go further and deeper. If possible, you enjoyed it more; you loved seeing Taehyung fuck himself into you, you loved seeing his mouth part, and most of all, you loved hearing his groans, especially if it was your name. But you could only survive without oxygen for so long. After a minute or so, your lungs were screaming for oxygen, tears running down your face, and your spit dripped down your chin, having spilled out of the sides of your mouth when he so vigorously fucked your mouth.

You tapped his toned thigh, his muscles flexing as they helped him rut into your mouth. He got the message and pulled out, running the head of his dick along the expanse of your now swollen lips, his pre-cum slowly ebbing out and joining the mess on your face.

Looking up at his face, you felt a sense of pride, seeing him look down at you with such adoring eyes. He reached down, brushing away your tears, which had only run down your face due to the lack of oxygen, not because you were in pain. Tae seemed to know this, and simply smirked. “I told you, I’ll have you crying, pretty girl.”

“Please fuck me, Tae.” You begged, your sticky arousal beginning to coat your hickie-filled thighs. You were desperate for his touch. “Please, I promise I’ll be good. I won’t make you jealous again. Just please fuck me. I wanna cum. I wanna come so badly on your thick cock, please, Tae.”

He smirked at how submissive you were, which was a complete 180 from your usual demeanour. Scooping you up effortlessly, he brought you up to straddle him, but didn’t slip into your aching entrance. Leaning in, he licked the mixture of pre-cum and your spit from your chin, collecting the liquid on his tongue, then deposited it into your mouth, making you moan.

When he sufficiently cleaned you up, he latched his lips to your own, kissing you deeply, running his tongue against your own. He quickly pulled away, the throbbing of his cock not allowing him to take his time with you the way he wished to.

“Gonna bounce that tight pussy on my cock, pretty girl?” He asked, lining up at your entrance, your mouth going dry at the thought of finally being able to cum. You were denied your orgasm twice, making the ache between your legs spread throughout your entire being. “Gonna cream on this dick?”

Every rational thought left you. The only word you seemed to know was ‘please’, which is what you whimpered to him repeatedly, needing him in you. Resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you slowly sank down on his length, whimpering as his head stretched your poor pussy. While you were taking in his cock, he began to suck harshly on your tits and neck, leaving numerous love bites as he moved over the expanse of your body.

Taehyung got impatient and abruptly thrusted into you, burying himself deep in you; deep enough for your swollen, sensitive clit to be pressed against his pubic bone. You choked on nothing, feeling your walls stretch, burning as your body felt it was splitting in half from Taehyung’s generous, girthy length.

It had been so long since you had been laid that you felt as if it was your first time again. Sure, earlier, Taehyung had tried to stretch you out, but that was about an hour ago, and your body had seemingly forgotten about the preparation that had been done to it.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N.” Tae groaned, feeling your tight walls stretch to encompass his girth. “So fucking tight for me. Such a pretty little slut for me.”

Swallowing slightly, you decided to ignore the almost-painful stretch and began to bounce up and down on his length, immediately feeling the burn ease. Taehyung had one of his hands on your lower back and the other on your upper back, holding you so that you wouldn’t fall as you arched your back, pushing your chest into his own.

Swivelling your hips, you began to grind down on him, enjoying how the curve of his cock allowed him to repeatedly hit against your g-spot, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby, use me to get off.” He groaned, feeling your walls clenched around him. You returned to bouncing on his dick, knotting your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck, biting down on the soft flesh harshly. His large hand began to roughly knead your breast, tweaking your nipple in-between his fingers.

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly, still bouncing on his generous length. He let out a breathy chuckle, seeing the completely fucked out expression on your delicate features. His eyes trailed down to the marks he left across your neck, tits and thighs, a possessiveness growing within him. Taehyung suddenly pulled your hair backwards, making you whimper.

“Whose pussy is this, Y/N?” He growled, now thrusting into you at a relentless pace. “Scream my name, you little cockslut.”

“Yours! Yours, Taehyung!” You whimpered, your body trembling as he pounded into you, panting heavily. You felt him remove a hand from your back, instead using his slim fingers to rub tight circles into your overly sensitive clit. Throwing your head back, you felt a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach, forcing you to clench tightly on Tae’s length.

“You wanna come for me, baby?” He groaned, his voice deeper than it usually is. Nodding in response, unable to speak coherently, you made yourself bring your eyes to his.

“Cum with me.” You choked out, feeling his hips stutter at your wish. You leaned in to kiss him, immediately slipping your tongue into his mouth. “Please Tae. Cum in me.”

“Oh, fuck!” He said, loudly, thrusting sloppily because he was so close. You knew you needed something to set you off, so you removed one of his hands from your hips and placed it around your neck. He got the idea, and squeezed gently, effectively shutting off enough of your oxygen for it to be pleasurable. You sobbed, feeling your orgasm race through your entire body, causing you to collapse on Taehyung’s strong chest; your body finally giving in to the euphoric feeling of climaxing. You felt your cum drip out of you, only to get fucked back into your core by Taehyung.

First making sure that you rode out the high of your orgasm, Taehyung soon came in you, moaning out your name as he buried himself to the built then released strand after strand of thick, hot cum deep in your pussy.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly, trying to catch his breath after expending so much energy. Once he had calmed his raging breath, he caressed your back lightly, leaving a trail of goose bumps down your spine.

You lifted your head up, using a hand to cup Taehyung’s face, then brought his lips to yours again, already missing his touch. Smiling lightly against your mouth, he playfully nipped at your lip, making you giggle.

“Is your pussy sore, baby?” He asked, gently, his openness making you flush red. He chuckled in response, rolling his eyes at your shyness. “I just came in you, Y/N, maybe you should get used to me asking you these prodding questions.”

“It’s sore.” You admitted, burying your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the flesh.

“Let me go run you a bath then, pretty girl.” He murmured, stroking your hair. You let out a noise of irritation, wanting nothing more than for Taehyung to remain buried in you, cuddling you and playing with your hair.

“No. Stay here.” You sighed, cuddling closer to his chest. “We’ll move later, Tae.”

“So needy.” He teased, but complied with your requests, wrapping his arms around you tightly and kissing you deeply.

***

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts #bts smut #v #bts fan fiction #bts x reader

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psychedelic-ink · 3 years

Photo

This is my commission for @some-piece ! Thank you so much for commissioning me once again and oh my god I hope you like this because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

Pairing: Law x chubby!fem!reader x Zoro

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Drama

Word count: 5 k

Warning: Fingering, anal, dirty talking, threesome

Summary: You, Law and Zoro go to visit Franky and Robin on Christmas everyone is there including Sanji. Zoro’s and Sanji’s constant bickering annoys Law and you so the two of you hatch a plan to end it all.

Commissions | Ko-Fi

There was a reason why you never invited anyone to your place and it was a good one. It wasn’t one reason though, it was two.

And the two reasons were standing right infront of you.

“Stop eating the appetizers you damn moss head!”

“For the love of god could you go bother someone else! Shitty curly ass eyebrow!”

“What did you just say!?”

Taking in a deep breath you apologetically looked at both Robin and Franky, you felt like you had brought a toddler who just wouldn’t settle down. But the older couple seemed to be happy with this since they both laughed along with Zoro and Sanji’s immature fighting. But sadly you and Law couldn’t be as cheerful, the two of you had grown tired of the constant bickering of the two at every goddamn gathering. It was embarrassing, especially since the both of them had no filter at all.

The evening continued, it was nice seeing everyone else, honestly the gathering of all your friends was the only reason you appreciated Christmas. Luffy was constantly shoving appetizers in his mouth, Usopp was talking about his new book with Franky, Robin and Nami were happily gossiping, you and Law were mingling, everything could be considered great but of course Zoro and Sanji’s constant fighting put you in a sour mood. Law placed his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, his warmth calmed you but you couldn’t stop from sighing constantly.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, looking at your raven haired partner. “I’m really enjoying myself but I just can’t seem to zone them out, they’re like mosquitos constantly buzzing in my ear.”

Law glared at the two, he had no idea why but Sanji had his foot against Zoro’s face.

“I get what you mean.” he muttered. “Hey dumbass!” he shouted. Zoro flinched and turned his gaze from Sanji’s foot to him. “You promised not to do this. Again.” he hissed between clenched teeth.

You couldn’t see Law’s expression but you were positive that he was gesturing towards you with his eyes, which you had no issues with since you just wanted the mosquitos to stop quarrelling. Zoro’s eyes went between you and Law, finally he pushed Sanji’s foot away from his face and clicked his tongue in annoyance as he walked towards the two of you.

“Yeah listen to you boyfriend.” Sanji cooed as Zoro left.

At that moment both you and Law knew that there was no way Zoro was going to spend the evening with the two of you. Beet read, Zoro turned back on his heel and they resumed their shout race they had with each other. You buried your face into Law’s chest as the two of you groaned.

“Yeah there’s no way they’re going to stop anytime soon,” Law said, annoyance latched into his voice. “Maybe we could distract them or something?”

“Zoro has a one track mind, I doubt we can distract the beast after he’s been awakened…” After a moment of silence a smile spread across your lips. “But I do have an idea that might work. We might not be able to distract Zoro but we can distract Sanji.”

“With what exactly? I already share you with one man, I ain’t sharing you with another.”

You laughed at the pure seriousness of his tone.

“No not like that but we could act like the most nauseating lovesick couple ever and annoy the hell out of him.”

“Are you sure that would work?” Law questioned raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll never know until we try my sugar bear.”

Law looked at you and as soon as you made eye contact with him you both started to laugh.

“There’s no way we’re going to get through this without laughing,” Law said wiping a tear. “If you ever with all seriousness call me sugar bear I will dump you.”

“Please do so, that just felt wrong.”

But even if both of your stomachs churned each time you made kissy faces and called cute little nicknames at each other, you continued your attempt to distract Sanji. Surprisingly, you both managed to do it without breaking into a laughing fit and you could tell that Sanji was starting to get annoyed. The fact that Zoro was in a couple and he wasn’t (maybe he could find someone if he just stopped drooling over every goddamn woman he saw) just made him angry in a petty way.

Honestly you’ve never seen Sanji like this before, he usually just called Zoro names or made fun of his hygiene but this Sanji, a Sanji enraged in seeing a lovey dovey couple at every corner… it frightened you. Of course he couldn’t say anything to you so that meant he focused all that rage towards Zoro which was the exact opposite of what both you and Law wanted. They started to get more violent, more verbal and to be completely honest their behavior threatened to ruin your whole mood.

You were hoping that dinner would be the solution to everything, everyone was gathered around the table, the smell of Sanji’s cooking enticing everyone's noses and stomachs. Momentarily you saw Sanji, he was oddly calm and much like the Cheshire cat his lips were spread out in a grin. Your stomach dropped at his expression, the cook had his gaze fixated on Zoro who was sitting right next to you, calmly scooping mashed potatoes into his plate. Law was on your other side and gently you nudged him with your knee, he followed your gaze and locked his eyes on Sanji as well. Ever so faintly you could hear the tattooed doctor groan.

“Zoro, how does it feel to not be able to make your girlfriend happy?” he asked, humming. “How does it feel to need another man’s help to satisfy her?”

Your mouth fell open at his words, never could you imagine Sanji hitting Zoro below the belt like that. Quickly your eyes switched towards Zoro, if looks could kill Sanji would be dead by now, he dropped the spoon and stood up, the chair falling to the ground as he did so. Law had his hand on your leg, his thumb going in circles as he tried to soothe your nerves. Everyone was dead silent and was holding their breaths. What would Zoro do? He would fight back obviously? Sanji was still smiling at him as Zoro’s glare intensified.

Then Zoro did the unimaginable. He walked away.

That seemed to take Sanji by surprise because momentarily you could see his smug look wavering and for a short moment you could see regret. But that didn’t stop you from lashing out.

“Good job Sanji.” you spat. “Are you happy now?”

“I...I…”

Before the cook could finish his sentence you stomped away and went to find Zoro, Law followed you after excusing himself from the table. You could hear Nami scolding Sanji but you didn’t care about that right now. The only thing you cared about was Zoro, he already wasn’t the most comfortable about the relationship and Sanji had hit him right where it hurt. You searched the house for the green haired man, he was in none of the guest bedrooms, finally the two of you heard a groan and followed the angry mumbling. You saw light coming from a door that was cracked open and well behold Zoro was in the third guest bedroom.

“How did you end up here?” Law asked, genuinely curious.

Zoro flinched at the voice and turned to stare at the both of you, quickly you closed the door as you entered the spacious toilet.

“I...don’t know.” Zoro grunted, turning his gaze back to the mirror.

You noticed droplets of water dripping down his face, it was clear that he was trying to calm himself down and honestly you were impressed by his tenacity. You placed your hand gently on his back, just as you were leaning in to check on his face he pushed you back. You gasped, surprised that he pushed you away. It wasn’t a strong shove but it still took you by surprise, Law took a step forward with his eyebrow furrowed as he glared at Zoro.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “Don’t take your anger out on y/n.”

“He’s right.”

“What?” you asked, your heart braking at the tone of Zoro’s voice.

Zoro averted his eyes and as a plea for help you glanced at Law. He sighed and placed his hand on Zoro’s broad shoulder.

“Look at me.” Law said firmly, Zoro, hesitant, lifted his gaze back up to face him. “You love y/n don’t you?”

Zoro nodded.

“You love me too right?”

Zoro sighed but nodded again.

“See this isn’t about not being able to satisfy y/n, the three of us love each other. Sanji was just trying to piss you off and you know that.”

“Yeah.” you chimed in also taking a step forward. “It’s also kind of our fault since we edged him on with the lovey dovey crap.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah well, you were busy trying to choke Sanji.” Law said, an amused smile on his lips.

You also broke out into a smile when you saw Zoro finally giving in and chuckling. It looked like Law managed to get through his thick skull of his, taking a step forward you planted a soft kiss on Zoro’s cheek, he seemed surprised by that and gave you a confused look.

“That’s for not losing your shit in front of everyone.”

A faint shade of red colored his cheeks, Law patted Zoro on the shoulder and laughed.

“Yeah good job! You somewhat kept your promise to y/n and me.”

“We’re still annoyed at you though.” you said, pouting.

Law nodded at your statement. Zoro sighed and rolled his eyes, it was nice to see him starting to relax. You knew well that he always felt calmer with the two of you, and even though that could be said for the three of you it was especially true for Zoro since he wasn’t the most emotionally open person in the relationship.

Every beautiful rose has its thorns but when it came to Zoro it was worth it.

“How about we go back,” Law said, gently pushing Zoro towards the door. “I bet everyone is worried.”

You followed them both with a smile, Zoro had groaned a bit to Law’s statement but didn’t resist. When Law opened the door the three of you were surprised to see Sanji there, the blond flinched and quickly hit something behind his back, taking a step back he nervously started to tap his feet.

“I-I wanted to apologize,” he stuttered. “To all three of you, what I said was in bad taste.”

You locked eyes with Law and you could see in his gold orbs that he was as equally shocked as you were. Quickly your gaze fell back to Sanji who had his eyes locked to Zoro.

“Yeah it was.” Zoro grumbled as he crossed his arms in front of him.

“I especially wanted to apologize to you Zoro, I...I was just being an asshole.” he took in a deep breath. “I didn’t mean what I said, so here.”

Quickly Sanji pulled out what he had stashed behind his back and shoved it into Zoro’s chest, both you and Law peered over his shoulders to see what it was, much to your surprise it was a present. Zoro raised his eyebrow and gave Sanji a confused look as he held the gift.

“I got everyone a little something for Christmas, this is your present. I really didn’t want to make you upset, especially on Christmas.” Sanji said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Zoro sighed and started to tore away the wrapping paper. Your curiosity grew.

“Just because you bought me something doesn’t me— WHAT THE FUCK?”

Zoro’s hands were shaking as he held a black shiny box, Karuizawa Vintage Single Cask Malt Whisky was written on top of it in gold. Behind it there were big red kanji symbols that you had no idea what it meant but apparently it was a big deal because Zoro’s hands were shaking and his mouth was agape.

“Ohh fancy.” you here Law humming.

“How did you get this you dumbass?” Zoro blurted out his eyes back on Sanji, the cook seemed amused by Zoro’s reaction. “Did you sell an organ or something?”

“I have my connections,” Sanji replied with a smirk. “I’m guessing you like your present?”

“You’re such a piece of shit you know that right?”

From Sanji’s expression you could see that he wasn’t expecting that, his eyebrow twitched but he quickly took a deep breath and walked away muttering something about ungrateful moss heads. Zoro smirked and called out to him as he left.

“Thank you!”

Without glancing at their direction Sanji waved and disappeared from view. Your eyes went between the supposedly expensive bottle and Zoro, you could swear you could see sparkles in his eyes.

“Should we leave you two alone?” you asked, teasing.

“Oh shut up,” Zoro replied, hugging the bottle. “Alright let’s go back.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You let yourself fall on to the bed, it dipped under your weight and you sighed happily at the coziness of it. Franky and Robin sure as hell knew how to spoil guests. The rest of the night had gone, much to your pleasure, swimmingly. Sure Sanji and Zoro bickered now and then but it was more on the soft side, you could tell Sanji was holding back his vulgar mouth and Zoro’s teasing had become more playful after receiving the very expensive bottle of japanese whisky.

Law quickly made his way to the shower, despite looking like a homeless college student he did shower quite often and Zoro had laid down on his stomach right next to you. He placed a kiss on your cheek, and grazed his lips against your skin making you giggle at the sensation.

“Hey y/n,” Zoro whispered, his lips inching closer to your ear. “Let’s have sex.”

“What?” you snorted. “Why now?”

Zoro propped himself on his elbow and came closer to you, you could easily sniff the alcohol coming from his breath, a devilish smile spread across his lips.

“The cook is next door, let’s make some noise.”

“For the love of god Zoro,” you groaned. “This is you master plan to annoy him? It’s a pretty shit one. Besides you know I don’t moan.”

“Come on, for me?”

“No,” you said again, furrowing your eyebrows. “Besides I don’t want to be included in this childish game.”

Zoro flashed you a grin as he climbed on top of you and you rolled your eyes as you guessed what was going to come next.

“Fine I’ll just have to make you moan then.”

“Yeah good luck with that.”

He ignored your annoyed tone and snuck his hands under your shirt, his lips latched to your neck, Zoro’s fingers traced your body as you continued to lay down on your back. You let out a shaky breath when his hands brushed over your nipples. Zoro started to squeeze and knead you breasts, it felt good of course and small whines left you but that was pretty much as far as noise making went for you.

Zoro left open mouthed kisses as he rolled up your shirt, exposing your breasts, he took a hold of each nipple and started to roll the sensitive nubs between his fingers. Your back arched with his touch, and he nibbled on your flushed neck.

“Come on I want to hear you.” he muttered against your skin.

But your lips were sealed shut, Zoro clicked his tongue in annoyance. Swiftly he lifted you up and pulled down your sweatpants followed with your underwear, you gasped when he shoved in two fingers.

“You’re so wet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Look how easy I can slide my fingers in to you y/n.”

Your back arched as he fiercely started to thrust his digits in and out of you, your heart was beating madly in your chest as you let out shaky breaths. Zoro disappeared between your trembling legs and left a trail of open mouthed kisses up your thigh, occasionally he would nibble on your soft flesh as he traveled towards your heat.

You weren’t going to lie, the man was really going all out for you to make some noise.

“Zoro…” you whispered as you felt his breath ghosting over your clit, his fingers still thrusting in and out of you.

“That’s a good start,” he chuckled. “But how about we get a bit louder?”

Before you could snap back with a snarky remark, he wrapped his lips around your clit and started to suck on the already overly sensitive nub. Zoro hummed as he tasted you, your juices overflowing around his fingers. The lewd noises echoing inside of the room turned you on even more, your whole body shivered and you bit your bottom lip. You placed a hand behind his head and started to roll your hips accordingly to the rhythm of his sinful fingers.

You weren’t sure but it felt as Zoro was smiling at you for slowly coming undone, he continued to suck, nibble and push in your clit with his tongue. He scissored his fingers inside of your, spreading your insides, searching for that sweet spot that he was sure that would make you scream.

Too bad that you were one stubborn woman.

Your toes curled, you flinched, trembled, occasionally whined and whispered his name but that was pretty much it. Zoro gradually became more annoyed at your silence, suddenly he pulled out his fingers strings of your juices following his digits, you gasped at the sudden emptiness. You glanced up at him and noticed that he was glaring at you, you raised an eyebrow to that.

“This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.” you said, challenging his glare.

“We’ll see about that.” he growled and shoved down his sweatpants, his cock slapped against his abdomen and needless to say you were impressed by his stubbornness.

Zoro grabbed your hips and squeezed your love handles, aligning his cock with your hole he buried himself inside of you with one swift motion. Your eyes teared up a bit by the sudden feeling of being stretched out, your back arched and you gasped for air. Without giving you a chance to adjust he continuously slammed his hips in and out of you, your breasts bouncing and hitting you in the chest with each thrust.

“Just make some noise woman.” Zoro grunted as he leaned in and buried his face into your neck, biting and sucking on your skin.

You closed your eyes and started to lose yourself in the bliss, you couldn’t care less about Zoro’s ambition to make you scream and shout, you were just going to enjoy the ride. Just as you were losing yourself you opened your eyes back up as you heard a faint creak of a door opening.

Law came out of the bathroom and steam followed him, with a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist, he was dabbing the excess water out of his hair with another towel. Momentarily he glanced at the top of you, unfazed he continued to dry his hair. An idea popped into your head and before Zoro realized that Law was out you furiously started to wiggle your eyebrows at him, he noticed and gave you a puzzled look. You turn your head to the night stand and look at the lube with such intensity that it looked like you were trying to summon the bottle to move towards you. Law understood the message, of course he did, he understood everything and with a grin he quickly grabbed the lube and dropped the towel flashing you a glimpse of his semi erect cock.

You watched as he stood behind Zoro, pouring a generous amount of lube over his fingers, he spread Zoro’s cheeks and pushed in the tip of his two fingers. Zoro immediately jolted up and his thrusting slowed down, he turned enough to see that Law was behind him.

“What the hell?” he hissed.

“I want to join in on the fun too.” Law hummed.

Grabbing Zoro’s chin with his free hand, he pushed his finger deeper as he grazed his lips over Zoro’s. A smile spread across your face when you saw how red Zoro was getting as he parted his lips, wanting a kiss from Law. But instead of a kiss, Law smirked instead and curled his fingers, stealing a rather loud moan from Zoro.

“Tell me what you want Zoro.” he whispered, his voice dripping with lust.

Zoro swallowed as his eyes widened, you could swear you could hear his heart racing in his chest, you licked your lips at the sight and felt yourself becoming slicker at the scene playing in front of you. Unwillingly your insides clamped around Zoro’s cock and he let out a soft whimper.

“Kiss me.” he breathed out, his voice trembling.

Law placed his lips over Zoro’s, you watched intently as Zoro parted his lips allowing Law to slide his tongue inside. He moaned into the kiss and he slowly started to roll his hips, making you throw your head back as his shaft grazed against your puffy clit. Law continued to suck on Zoro’s tongue as he scissored his fingers inside of him, preparing Zoro for what was about to come. You could feel Zoro quivering inside of you, your mouth watered knowing how good he was feeling.

Law broke the kiss and with a string of saliva connecting them he grinned at Zoro’s flustered state. He pulled out his fingers and Zoro whined at the loss of them, Law gently placed a kiss on the side of Zoro’s chin and aligned himself with his hole. With both hands squeezing Zoro’s hips, he started to push in. Zoro gasped at the feeling of being stretched open and his cock twitched inside of you. Law clenched his teeth.

“You’re still so damn tight Zoro,” he breathed out. “I need to fuck you more often.”

As a reply, Zoro let out a groan, you chuckled at that and saw Law move up his hands towards Zoro’s chest, he grabbed both of his breasts and squeezed them. Your eyes widened as Zoro’s back arched and let out a throaty moan. Law started to play with Zoro’s nipples, rolling the erect nubs between his slender fingers and pulling them occasionally. Zoro’s head fell back and Law continued to push in until he was fully sheathed.

Law let out a shaky breath and decorated Zoro’s skin with open mouthed kisses, his hands fell back to Zoro’s hips and he pushed the green haired man forward so he would drop on all fours. Zoro’s face was an inch away from yours and his hands were on each side of your head. He was breathing heavily, the scent of alcohol and yourself still lingering in his breath. Pushing yourself up you captured Zoro’s lips with a kiss, you felt Law starting to thrust in and out of him, effectively making Zoro thrust in and out of you as well. Zoro moaned into your mouth as you sucked on his bottom lip, wanting to hear more of him you let go of his intoxicating lips.

Zoro’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as Law’s thrusts became more intense, sweet moans left him nonstop, you could relate to him, getting fucked by Law was no easy task. The noise of skin slapping against skin was like a sweet serenade to your tainted ears, each time Law thrusted, Zoro thrusted deeper into you. You clawed Zoro’s back, you couldn’t stop watching him, Zoro was looking down at you between half lidded eyes, his cheeks a beet red and his tongue dangling with each thrust, his moans were gradually becoming louder.

“Ahh...ahh...Law…” he mewled, pushing back into the doctor. “This is too much.” his voice trembled and you could swear you could see his eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m just starting Zoro.” Law purred and as a demonstration he pulled his hips all the way back and snapped them back, pushing his throbbing cock in all at once.

Law rammed his cock into Zoro’s deepest parts and it was just too much for him to handle. You could tell that he hated how good Law was making him feel, hated how he couldn’t stay quiet and hated how he was already coming undone by Law slamming into him, lewd noises of his balls slapping against his flushed skin was enough to make him want to disappear.

Lost in the pleasure, Zoro didn’t notice Law grabbing his green hair. He pulled at Zoro’s hair, and as a response his hiss could be heard.

With each thrust Law was able to rip a throaty moan from Zoro, he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Without a hint of shame in his voice Zoro screamed out, he moaned, he groaned and he begged Law to let him cum.

His voice echoed throughout the whole goddamn house and by the end of the night everyone would know who was making him feel good. A wicked smirk spread across Law’s lips.

“Law!” Zoro shouted, his voice echoing.

“Yeah that’s right, scream my name.” Law teased, grinning at you and winking.

Zoro didn’t reply and instead continued to moan out Law’s name, he sometimes even moaned yours as well, his arms trembled as he struggled to keep himself up so he wouldn’t end up squashing you. You felt yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm, Zoro’s cock throbbed inside of you, his length now drenched in your juices, you slightly lifted your hips so he could hit that special spot inside of you, normally you would ask but you weren’t sure he could even hear you over his own moans at this point.

Also wanting revenge for earlier, you lifted yourself up as much as you could, you licked a stripe down Zoro’s neck and ended on his breasts, with one hand you rolled his erect nipples between your fingers and with your mouth you sucked on the other one.

“Y/n what are you— Ahh!”

You bit into the sensitive nub and violently sucked on it, Zoro shivered and pressed his chest further into your face. He always did like to have his nipples teased. Your tongue went in circles, the way he whimpered and moaned on top of you made you want to tease him further. You took another bite and sucked, hoping to leave a mark. Falling back you witnessed your masterpiece, even now you could see a dark circle forming around Zoro’s nipple. Just as you were going to suck on the other one, you were pushed back as Zoro basically fell on top of you. Momentarily your gaze landed on Law, he was looking down at both of you, his eyes dark with lust.

Law’s grip on Zoro’s hips tightened, his movement grew sloppier as he chased his own orgasm. Law flashed you one last grin before plunging himself deep into Zoro groaning, as he came and of course him plunging into Zoro meant that Zoro was burying himself into your deepest parts as well, you saw white as you came, you juices dripping on to the sheets. Zoro was twitching inside of you, his mouth wide open and his eyes crossed as he screamed out Law’s name over and over again.

Law pulled Zoro out of you, his cock was still hard as a rock. Law motioned you to get on your knees, which you did, Law wrapped his fingers around Zoro’s cock and stroked him until he was cumming all over your face, thick ropes of cum shooting out of him. Your eyelashes felt heavy with his cum, you darted his tongue out and gave it a little taste, it was bittersweet. You looked up to gaze at Zoro, he seemed completely out of it, he was still panting looking down at you with awe, you grinned and stuck your tongue out showing him that his seed was still lingering in your mouth. He shivered.

“Let’s get you into a shower.” Law said as pulled out, softly slapping him in the ass.

Without saying anything Zoro let Law and you guide him to the bathroom, his cheeks were still beet red.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Breakfast was certainly more entertaining, at least it was entertaining for you and Law, Zoro much like an embarrassed child kept his gaze on his plate, Sanji on the other hand...he couldn’t even look at either of you. Whenever he did, he would look away and blush. It was amusing to see them both so silent, it pleased you.

And of course it pleased Law as well.

Law wrapped his arm around Zoro’s shoulder and placed the weight of his body on to him, forcing him to press down further into the chair. Zoro let out a yelp, you hadn’t noticed right away but it seemed like Zoro couldn’t quite sit down right, both you and Law chuckled as all eyes turned to the three of you. Your poor green haired partner blushed and tried to cover up his yelp with a cough, this seemed to work on all of them except for Sanji who was now blushing furiously as he excited the kitchen.

Zoro’s master plan had worked after all.

#one piece #one piece x reader #writing commission #commissions open #some-piece #trafalgar law x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #law x reader x zoro #demonetized #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #zolaw #zoro x law

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lunewell · 3 years

Text

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 1

Finally, finally I can show you guys a preview of the horror book I’m publishing in October (:. You can find chapter 1 below, and if you’d prefer, you can read it on ao3 by clicking here!

Chapter 2 is now out and can be found here (:

Enjoy!

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery.

Chapter 1:

Thorn’s Antiques and Restoration, tucked away in the tall trees that encircled the small town of Lunewell, wasn’t the place where one would expect a woman like Zarifa to work. The building was merely a converted two-story brick house, though even then the antique shop itself only operated on half of the ground floor and the basement, and the employees could consider themselves lucky if even so much as a single soul wandered in.

From an outsider’s perspective, it made no sense. Zarifa did not originate from Lunewell, had little to no interest in antiques, and had a Bachelor’s in English of all things, whose only tie with antiques was the pompous, ivory tower assholes pestering both fields. However, if said outsider were to ask Zarifa herself, or any other of the two working in the building, why she had this job, she would have said that it was the only path she could have ever imagined herself working.

Though even she had to admit, for as much as she loved her job, it could sometimes be… tedious.

Very tedious.

“How many crates of… art did we receive again?” Zarifa asked, white patched ebony fingers holding one of the many, many paintings of eerily realistic human eyes shoved haphazardly in a box. The crates had arrived this morning, heavy and worn, and were sitting in the off-white ‘employees lounge’, that only equated to a singular desk, a sofa, a microwave that never heated all the way through, and two uncomfortable plastic chairs.

“Only two,” Bruin responded, not bothering to look up from the wooden desk, where he had his nose buried deep in a black title-less book. Zarifa would have asked what he was reading, but stares through dark thin eyes and sighs had long taught her not to. “Bought in by an Anthony Bell earlier this morning.”

“Thank you,” Zarifa said, giving Bruin a warm smile that didn’t go noticed. She then turned to her other coworker, who had been sitting sheepishly on one of the back-destroying white chairs. “Why do we have two crates of creepy eye-paintings, again?”

“Okay there’s actually a good reason this time boss,” Grant said hastily, chestnut brown hair messy and glasses half sliding off his face, “I was taking a walk to that cosy little bakery- you know, the one owned by that very sweet elderly couple on the other side of town, which by the way makes cakes straight from the heavens-”

“So you were walking to the bakery, and then?” Zarifa interrupted.

“Oh right. I had walked a little ways from the house, when I saw a white van stopped up by the road with a man looking quite pissed off outside. I went up to have a chat with him and found out he was an absolutely fascinating art major named Anthony who had run out of petrol. To make a long story short, I invited him in for a cuppa whilst he waited on the towing truck, found out he was getting rid of these absolute gems, and bought them off him.”

Zarifa and Bruin, who had finally looked up from the pages, both stared at him. Bruin was the first to break the silence; “you bought antiques from an unverified source, in a van out of petrol, who you also invited inside my home for tea?”

“Hey! I pay the rent too!” Grant defended, “and besides, I got, you know, the feeling off him. There was already a description of the antiques inside the box, meaning they’ve been passed around a little. If you two don’t want them here, I can take them.”

“We can keep them,” Zarifa decided, looking at the realistic paintings once more. They were all extremely similar, each one having a blue iris and white pupils. As she moved around the box, it almost felt as though they were all following her movements. She shivered and put the lids back on; “I’ll carry this down. Grant, go open shop, and Bruin, go register these in the system, please.”

Grant gave her a mock salute, before trudging out of the door and into the shop room, whilst Bruin nodded and turned to the big, archaic box of a computer sitting on the desk. Zarifa stacked and grabbed the two worn crates, surprisingly light in her arms, and made her way to the spiral staircase. They were narrow, seemingly ever looping steps falling into darkness that made walking down them almost impossible. She had once tried to convince Valour to install some lights over the stairs, to reveal the actual length of them and to make sure Grant would stop tumbling down into the abyss, but she had only received a stern no and an icy glare that could kill.

So her only options were to walk down carefully, whilst gripping onto the wall for dear life, like she was currently doing. The stairs went on for what seemed like minutes, nothing in her sight as she was swallowed in complete darkness, with no way to judge her surroundings except her shoes hitting the steps. Finally, a flickering light made its way up the stairs, and she saw the start of grey concrete.

To say the archival basement was lit, was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. There was precisely one dim and occasionally flickering lamp in the room, slightly illuminating cobwebs glued to the walls and dusted shelves of antiquities, but not much else. However, the room was like a scorching desert sun compared to the void Zarifa had previously descended.

Making her way between the shelves, past the bag of hand-sewn doll-heads, slightly cracked vases, and mirrors so ladened in dust that one couldn’t see the distorted reflection anymore, she found a small group of paintings. Paintings were one of the rarer antiques for them to receive, so there was plenty of space for the two crates.

Before slotting them in, she opened them, quickly counting the amount. There were fourteen in total, seven in each box, all in a roughly similar condition and all painted in the same way. Oddly enough, there was no signature nor name, but there was a little slip of paper at the bottom. She picked it out of the crate, and stuffed it in the pocket of her blazer, before closing the lids again.

Zarifa slid the boxes between a painting of a single red rose titled ‘Chaos’, and a two-hundred-year-old painting titled ‘A Girl in Field’ containing a suspiciously girl-less field. There had been a debate on whether they were all just missing her, whether it was a mislabelled piece, or if it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, but seeing as it was hardly the weirdest thing in the basement, they had all just grown to accept it. She shivered once again, the basement giving the feeling of being watched, and grabbed the golden butterfly that hung around her neck. She fiddled with the wings, every touch calming her slightly as she began making her way up the stairs.

The ascent up the spirals always seemed to take a considerably shorter time, perhaps because the imminent danger of falling had disappeared. Zarifa was up at the top in the blink of an eye, walking into the lounge to see both Bruin and Grant inside. Bruin turned to her from the computer; “‘Antique Eye-Painting x14’ has been written on the document,” he informed. “Did we have any other information?”

“I couldn’t find any signature or date on the painting itself,” Zarifa said, reaching into her blue blazer pocket and pulling the paper with a heavy brown tint out, “but there was a note accompanying it. The paper looks old enough to consider it an antique, at least.”

“Well, go ahead,” Grant piped up from the couch, “tell us about dear Anthony’s creepy eye pairings.” Zarifa nodded, unfolding the paper as carefully as she could, and began reading.

‘The Grey Man’ by Elizabeth B.- 1885

He is watching from the water. Watching with the trees.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The Grey Man is knocking

“Grey Man?” questioned Zarifa, “that’s not a reference to anything, is it?”

“Not as far as I know,” Grant said, sitting up from where he had flopped on the couch, “help us out Bruiny?” She heard a sigh from the corner, and a slight grumble, but he did eventually speak.

“The Grey Man isn’t a reference to any historical event, no,” Bruin began, “but it isn’t something we haven’t heard before. I believe it’s referenced somewhere in Valour’s notes”

A heavy silence fell over them at the mention. “Oh no,” Grant began, “no, no, no. The weirdly detailed cult worshipping cows with inverting eyes was enough, and the murderous glare Valour gave me afterwards almost made me piss myself. I am not going through those notes again, I don’t want to be skinned alive by our own version of Leatherface.”

“That’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Zarifa said, “We shouldn’t go around accusing her of being a murderer, just because she’s a bit…”

“Mental?” Bruin quipped from the back.

“...peculiar,” she settled on, “she’s a bit peculiar.” Zarifa knew, of course, that calling Valour peculiar was a massive understatement- and even calling it a massive understatement was a massive understatement, but she would not be the one to speak ill about her boss with a potential murder streak thank-you-very-much.

“Need I remind you of that day Valour came covered head to toe in ‘red paint ’ that smelled suspiciously like copper?” Grant said, “she obviously did some serial-killering-“

“Killering?” Bruin asked with a cocked brow, turning Grant a salmon shade of pink and bringing a bright smile on Zarifa’s face that reached her dark brown eyes.

Grant made sounds akin to a drowning man. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally sputtered out, “what matters is that our dear creepy landlord was covered in what was clearly blood, passed it off as paint, and we just acted like it was normal!”

“I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to be the one to call her out. Besides, maybe it’s a good thing. At least the days here are... interesting.” Zarifa said with a smile. “If we stopped the weirder stuff from happening, these days would pass slower. Especially since we don’t have any custom-“

The sound of the bell that hung above the door, a loud and horrid thing, rang through the building.

“You were saying?” Bruin said, looking as amused as Bruin could be. Meanwhile, Grant shot up like a puppy, sprinting in an unprofessional manner towards the counter. Zarifa joined him, though her walk was much more slow and graceful.

She crossed through the shop door, which always stood wide open nowadays, and turned the corner. However, she stopped before she could reach Grant, who was staring at the stranger as much as she was.

Now, what needs to be said and understood about Thorn Antiques Shop, and the town of Lunewell in general, was that strangers were one of the rarest sights. Sure, occasionally one could find one of the neighbours’ relatives, or a gang of cyclists and hikers, and even tourists that had gotten hopelessly lost, which was impressive considering landing in Lunewell was a skill within itself, though these were few and far in between.

The customer, who was scanning through the shop with what Zarifa could almost call interest, didn’t look remotely like a relative, a hiker, a cyclist, or even a lost tourist.

She was short, with strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails by two baby pink ribbons, pale but warm skin that made the light freckles on her cheek pop, and a stark black leather jacket which was visibly well-loved. There was something incredibly familiar about her, though Zarifa couldn’t pin down exactly what it was.

The customer’s fingers trailed over one of the antique chairs, before she sprawled over the priceless thing like a rag-doll. The violation snapped Zarifa out of her trance; “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t sit in those chairs!” she informed the customer, her voice raising a pitch higher when the blonde started fiddling with a lighter suspiciously close to the fabric.

The customer’s head snapped up like a predator hearing prey, and for the first time, Zarifa noticed the woman’s eyes. The irises were a bombastic explosion made of hues of bright green, though it was almost impossible to tell from a first glance, as the pupils were blown so wide as to make the colour but a ring around a black hole.

There was both something incredibly dangerous about the way she stalked over, sizing her up with those void eyes, but simultaneously, something incredibly intriguing- dare she say attractive- about the girl that made Zarifa want to keep her eyes on her forever.

“Waste of a good chair, really,” the customer began, leaning over the counter, “what the fuck kind of shop doesn’t allow you to test the chair before you get it?”

“I know!” Grant exclaimed, turning to the dark-skinned woman. “That’s what I keep saying! How can I know if the chair is good if I’ve never tried it!”

Zarifa shot a disapproving look at him, irritated that he would encourage this girl. “What can we help you with, miss?”

“Oooh, miss.” the woman drawled, “I’m looking for a collection of very… special papers that I left in the hands of one Valour Thorn a few years back.”

“Special?” Grant asked, a look of confusion passing over his face. Zarifa was sure she mirrored the same puzzlement, but the woman merely grinned- an expression that yet again invoked that familiar feeling.

After a few seconds had passed, and it had been made clear that she would not elaborate, Zarifa grabbed the notepad and pen on the counter and asked for her name. Maybe she was registered somewhere in the frankly ancient system. Assuming they even had a sort of registering system. She had never been the one to handle the technical aspects.

“Lottie. Lottie Rose,” she said, and Zarifa’s hand froze on the paper. She glanced back up at the blonde, eyes wide and mouth dry. Of course, how hadn’t she seen it earlier? The clothes, the eyes, the lighter everything suddenly made more sense as her memory flooded back.

“Lottie?” she whispered, faint as the whispers of a breeze, and there must have been something in her tone, because the striking green eyes widened comically, before the blonde suddenly burst out into a tension filled laugh.

“Should’ve guessed it,” Lottie said after calming down, “can’t be that many Southern old-book nerds with vitiligo around. You should get name tags, I would have recognised Zarifa anywhere.”

Her name was said in a smaller tone, filled with… with something that melted Zarifa’s insides like molten lava. They stood there in silent pressure, eyes on each other but gazes not quite meeting. It was for the better, as Zarifa’s heart was hammering hard enough that she was worried her ribcage might break. Whether it was from fear or something much scarier, she couldn’t quite tell.

Grant snapped his fingers, both of them practically sighing in relief as the tension lifted; “Oh”, he began, smiling widely, "exes or childhood friends?” And just like that, the tension was back to crushing.

While Zarifa wasn’t quite sure of the state of her own face, Lottie had gone a complete shade of tomato red. “We’re neither,” Zarifa squeaked out curtly, Lottie nodding frantically along. “Can you give me a description of the papers?”

Lottie straightened out at the request. “Can’t miss them. They’re in an ornate wooden and gold box, with a leaf engraved in the front,” she said, “it’s locked, as far as I know. Don’t know where the key is, but that’s hardly a problem.” She made yet another predatory smirk.

“I-I’ll go look for the papers, uh, in the back... miss,” she pushed herself from the counter at an almost inhuman speed and paced into the lounge. On her way, she bumped into one of the chairs, toppling both herself and the object. The sound alerted Bruin, who looked at her quizzically.

“Was she your ex?”

“No!” Zarifa exclaimed exasperatedly, “Not every woman I know is an ex!”

“No need to get defensive,” Bruin said, flipping a page, “I was just wondering if Grant’s observations were correct.”

Zarifa took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I suppose her visit just… surprised me.” she straightened the chair, and looked at Bruin, “You haven’t seen a wooden and gold box engraved with leaves around here, have you? I can’t recall it, but you’re usually the one sorting the items, so I figured you might have seen it.”

Bruin hummed, putting down his book and looking pensively at her. “I might have,” he said, after a quiet moment, “though if we do- or did, at any point, it’s not anywhere in the basement.” He glanced up at the ceiling, before returning to the book.

“I suppose it’ll be upstairs, then,” Zarifa said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ll make Grant call Valour, see if she can bother to show up from… wherever she’s gone.” And try to explain to Lottie that those papers might be inaccessible, she thought, but didn’t add. Lottie was a lot of things, but patient and calm, she was not.

As she made her way back to the counter, gripping the golden butterfly hung on her neck tightly, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts. A part of her still refused to believe Lottie was here, after all these years, in an antique shop of all places. It almost felt taunting, in an odd way. The life Zarifa had tried so hard to run from and avoid sneaking through the door, looking more dangerous and simultaneously more intriguing than ever.

What life had Lottie led? What had happened since that last night? How did she know Valour? What did she want with the papers? All the questions buried themselves into Zarifa’s head, burning and begging for answers. And as Lottie, drumming her fingers on the counter as Grant rambled off about something, came into view, she realised what Eve must have felt like looking at the apple.

Lottie perked up as Zarifa entered the room, though as her eyes drifted to the empty hands, her smile fell. “Thought I asked for a box,” she said, a raised eyebrow and mean glare that would have been intimidating, had Zarifa not had to deal with years of Valour, and not known that for her, Lottie was all growl.

“We do, most likely, have the box,” Zarifa began in her most soothing voice, placing her hands on the counter, “but, it’s currently upstairs, in Valour Thorn’s flat, to which none of us has the keys.”

Lottie sighed, in an exasperated and slightly overdramatic way; “‘Course you fucking don’t. Guess she hasn’t changed at all, still closed off, disappearing, and secretive.”

Pot meet kettle, thought Zarifa, though kept her cranberry painted lips sealed. “Grant will give her a call in the morning,” Zarifa said, pushing over a blank slip of paper which had Lottie R- half-written on it in quite nice penmanship. “Just write down your number, and we’ll call you when she arrives.”

Lottie pulled the paper closer to herself, though made no move to write. “Think she’ll even show up?” she asked, turning to Grant, who smiled at that.

“Valour actually seems to like me,” he said, proudly, “or, tolerate, at least.”

“Huh. Didn’t know people still practised witchcraft around this part.”

“It’s all in my muffins, cakes, and pitiable nature,” Grant said, only half-joking, “I’ll give you a taste one time if you decide to stick around.”

Lottie nodded, before scribbling onto the paper, and sliding it back. It contained no number, but the name had been completed, albeit with a much sloppier if artistic handwriting. “I’ll know when she returns,” Lottie said, bouncing from foot to foot. There was a firmness in her voice, and she said it with such confidence that Zarifa almost believed her. Almost. “How’s the nightlife here? Worth sticking around for?”

“Horrid, simply dreadful,” Grant butted in, before Zarifa had the chance to give a quick answer and an even quicker goodbye, “but we do have a lot of pretty places to take a midnight stroll. Trees are lovely here, especially now in the autumn.” He paused, a contemplative look over his face, “Come to think of it, I do know quite a lot of dealers around here that can hook you up, if you’re up for it.”

“Grant!”

Lottie chuckled, amusement painted in neon on her face. Seeing some of that flame inside her come to light filled Zarifa with a sense of joy, that she pushed down with a strength bodybuilders would be jealous of.

“Oh, I like him,” Lottie declared to Zarifs, jabbing a finger in Grant’s general direction. Her green eyes- which Zarifa had to stop looking at, traced down from Zarifa’s own eyes before landing on her neck. Lottie’s posture, previously energetic and bouncy, froze. “You kept the necklace,” she whispered, though the sound felt louder than all the explosions of the universe.

Zarifa’s hand was instantaneously on the golden butterfly hanging around her neck, shielding it from the world. The metal felt cool against her skin, even if she could feel her racing heart where her hand rested. “Felt it was a shame to let it go to waste,” Zarifa murmured, technically true, “so I just kept it.” She shifted in the silence for a while, doing her best to ignore Lottie’s eyes glued to the necklace, before clearing her throat and putting on her best ‘professional’ tone; “Was there anything else you needed?”

Lottie shook her head, leaning back from the counter and adjusting her leather jacket. “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, before speeding towards the door. She knocked into the vases, making them wobble like jelly, before pushing the door open like she was assaulting it, and leaving nothing but the sound of a bell and the distant thrum of a motorbike.

“Lottie, huh,” Grant said, his tone dazed as though he was lost in a daydream, “she was certainly interesting. I’m a fan. Think we’ll see her around more?”

“Hopefully not,” Zarifa said, running fingers over the butterfly, “hopefully not.”

#original writing #book excerpt #bookblr #writeblr #writing wip #The Lunewell Saga - Natura #the lunewell saga #natura

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topazy · 3 years

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The Fierce And Broken

2.02

Masterlist

You groaned when you hit the ground, the pain radiating from your hip was almost unimaginable. But you had to grind and bear it.

"Next time, we need to check the room out beforehand.” You whispered to yourself and looked up at Clarke who was staring at you wide-eyed.

That was when you noticed the deadman’s hand leaning against your leg. You grimaced and pushed the hand off of you, bracing yourself on the edge of the cart you landed on to join Clarke and Anya, who had already gotten off.

Clarke spotted a pile of clothes on the ground as Anya glared at you both, “we should take what we can.”

“I’m not leaving my people.” Anya practically hissed, while shakily getting to her feet again.

Clarke shook her head while steeping towards her. “We will come back for them, but you can’t help them right now. We need to escape and get backup.”

“There is no ‘we’, all I see is Skaikru. Not an alliance.”

The sound of nearby shouting caused you all to freeze on the pot. You recognized the loud rumbling sounds.

“Reapers,” you whispered.

Clarke pulled you back with her as Anya picked up a weapon to fight with. You all climbed back into the cart with the dead bodies. Better to be with the dead than the living. You closed your eyes when the reapers dumped more dead bodies into the cart before pushing it further onto the cave. You bit down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a whine of pain. A body had landed directly onto your pelvis.

“Come on. We have to go.” Clarke whispered before she sat up. You noticed a dying man groaning in pain when Clark helped you get out of the cart.

“Yu gonplei ste odon.” Anya said before snapping the man's neck.

The three of you made your way through the tunnels, trying to find any way to the outside but it was starting to feel impossible.

“What were they doing with us? What do they want with my people?” Anya asked.

“They’re using your blood.” Clarke answered her with a frown. “Your blood is healing them somehow. They took bone marrow from Alba.”

Anya looked you up and down, before she started to walk in the opposite direction. You stared at her in disbelief, “where are you going?”

“You go your way, I’ll go mine.”

Clarke tutted as Anya walked off, leaving you to escape without her. Neither of you spoke as you walked down each tunnel, you sighed sensing Clarke’s guilt. You didn’t need to be psychic to know what she was thinking about.

“I’m sorry you had to close the doors to the drop ship,” you thought of Octavia, you had no idea what happened to her. You were so preoccupied with saving Raven that night you neglected to know where your other friend went. “Finn, Bellamy, and everybody else will understand. It was the only thing you could do.”

Clarke nodded and opened her mouth to reply when a high pitched screeching caused her to snap her head back. A handful of reapers suddenly appeared and lunged towards you, but all of them hit the ground before they could attack.You both saw guards pointing guns in your direction.

“You’re coming with us.” One of them ordered as you and Clarke exchanged worried glances.

They stormed forward as you stepped back to the wall, pressing your back against it as one of them grabbed your arm and pulled you roughly. “We know what you’re doing to them here! To us, the grounders! Everything!”

“That’s why you’re going right into the harvest chamber with them,” he smirked.

Clarke let out a cry as she was being dragged backwards when Anya reappeared. She ripped off the guards head, causing them to scream in pain. You copied the grounder and reached for the other guards mask. As the men screaming in pain turned to face Anya and Clarke. “We need to run, now!”

You followed Anya as she led you to a clearing within the tunnel walls. You stopped running when you reached a large pool of water below you.

“There has to be another way.” Clarke shouted over the sound of the sounds of the rapid waterfall.

“We don’t have a choice!” You yelled.

When different guards appeared you made the decision for your companions. You decided to jump, but not before grabbing hold of Clarke and Anya’s hands. They would most likely be pissed, but at least they would be alive.

The feeling of water filling your lungs was horrible, you gasped for the hope of air that never came.

“Come on Al!” Clarke yelled as she pulled you out of the water, and dragged you to the shore. She hit your back as you coughed up water.

“Thanks,” you groaned before collapsing onto the ground. The only sound you could hear was your own heartbreak. “What now?” You asked between gasps, not getting an answer. You turned to see Clarke now laying on her side, with red streaks mixing with her blonde hair. “Clarke?”

Anya leaned over you, “you burned three hundred of my warriors and I can’t show my face without a prize.”

______

The rope cut around your wrist cut into your skin, making you wince a little. You were sure you’d have horrid painful marks across your body that would last a while.

“Anya?” She ignored you, until you stopped walking and pulled on the rope. “you’re bleeding. Let me bandage it before it gets infected.”

The grounder eyed you suspiciously before letting her guard down, and agreeing. When she stood in front of you Clarke stabbed her in the neck with a needle, you watched wide-eyed as Anya’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Clarke let out a sigh of relief before stepping towards her. “I can take it from here, you’re my prisoner now.”

Clarke pulled the ropes off your wrists, “how long ago did yours become loose?”

She didn’t answer your question and used the rope to clasp Anya’s wrists together. She tried to get the grounder to walk but she fought against it.

The sight of fresh dirt sinking into the grounders bare feet made you grimace. You weren’t a grounder, you weren’t the mountain men. You were better than that. “Clarke, we need to give her a moment to rest. We can’t drag her along without torturing her.”

The blonde nodded as Anya glanced at you curiously, you knelt down beside her. “Before we got you out of the cage, what did you call me?”

“Heda kom bàsmhorachd.”

You wanted to ask what I meant so badly, but decided against it. Your gut feeling was telling you to just leave it. You walked away and sat on a nearby rock, giving in to your basic need to rest. Clarke, who still had hold of the ropes, walked towards you. “I just need a few seconds,” you gasped. “I’ll be ready to go...my hip it’s-”

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” Clarke cut you off, you could tell she was hesitating. “There’s something I should have told you a while ago...but I just didn’t know how.”

“Clarke? What’s going on?” You asked her as she finally met your eyes, you could see a hint of sadness and guilt behind hers that made you feel nervous. “Clarke?”

She stared at you with a sorry look, “your dad...he’s dead.”

You felt like she punched you in the gut, and ripped out your heart. “What?”

#the 100 #Raven Reyes #raven reyes/reader #raven reyes x reader #the 100 x oc #the 100 imagine #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 season two #anya the 100 #clarke griffin #slow romance #slow burn #mount weather #grounders #the 100 x reader

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel ~ Lucifer x Reader

"I told you to close your eyes."

The phrase that haunted Lucifer’s every day, every night and every dream since back then, during the Celestial War.

He can remember everything vividly, as if it happened just yesterday - The nightmare that happened to him, the one that he relives every time his mind isn’t focused on work, those bloody flashes before his very eyes.

He closed his eyes ready to die ... He knew he screwed up when he declared a rebellion and his siblings and beloved followed him, fighting to escape the Godly shackles that bound them together, depriving them of free thought, free will, free movement.

It had to be done - After all, who knows what He would have done to poor, little Lilith...Maybe, if it wasn’t for that, they could have stalled the riot, prepared better, gotten stronger, strategised finer...

Were the consequences worth it?

He’d ask himself that every day he had to see Diavolo’s feign innocence and smug face.

His brothers were around him, around and well. Lilith was turned into a human and lived a happy life with the human she loved...

But his beloved S/O was killed in The Falling, and he had a fight with Belphegor recently just bad enough to have to confine him in the attic, afraid of Diavolo’s punishment.

“Lucifer, close your eyes.” he heard a gorgeous, feminine voice that always managed to sooth all his worries and fears.

He didn't feel any pain...He wandered what went wrong, how come he's alive even though he’s the mastermind behind the rebellion, and his eyes saw the Seraphim Arrows being shot his way...But when he opened his eyes, he was struck with a worse kind pain.

It was unimaginable.

It was heartbreaking.

It was devastating.

Lucifer gasped for air while the tears forcing their way, he saw the love of his eyes in front of him, smiling while shielding him from the enemy with three arrows impaling her torso, barely able to keep herself afloat.

Somehow, however, she managed to look him in the eyes...With that gentle smile of hers...That only made it much worse.

“Keep on living, Lucifer. For me, for Lilith, and for your brothers. Promise me you won't shed any tears for me, my love, and instead, live a happy life, together, and remember me. Keep on smiling, for your smile had saved me a thousand times before...And should you do so, I promise you, with every smile on your face, I will smile as well.” she confessed, prompting her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep herself conscious to have her last goodbye.

Lucifer could feel her blood splattered on him, but seeing her immaculate white dress, now resembling a bed of red azaleas, he was sure the world was going to end. His face was wet from weeping, shock having taken over his senses completely, and for those few moments left together, that were so fast, yet felt like an eternity stopped, he saw S/O’s tears slowly falling down, resembling delicate zircons in the blinding light of the Sun.

“Why....?!” was the only thing the raven haired Seraph could utter, not able to grasp reality from the scene playing in front of him, still praying hard that it was nothing more than a night terror.

“Because, my darling...Dying is better than seeing you dying. They need you, honey. You are their leader, so lead them towards a better life. You deserve it. I promise you, you are my life after death. Now, Lucifer, promise me this...Close your eyes, and remember all those beautiful moments we spent together. I will be there for you, in the next time...I will be missing you so much, my dear...So please, don’t forget me. I will be with you in your heart, protecting you.” her words were soft, painful, and it was clear she was barely able to hang on to her last drops of life.

But the last spark of life was abolished from her eyes as soon as more Arrows were cruelly shot through her, some ripping her majestic Serpah wings, much more beautiful than his, he always believed.

“I love you.” was the last words Lucifer heard as all the remaining strength left her body and she free-fell from graces like a ragged doll tossed away by a spoiled child.

When he finally snapped to his senses, he realised that the rebellion wasn’t going too well, as his orange-haired younger brother went to save his twin, and Lilith fell victim to the Angels’ arrows, falling as well...

This is not what he wanted.

He wanted everyone to live, to be safe and smile again, without having to endure HIS arrogance and power hunger any longer.

He wanted to be able to hold S/O in his arms tightly every night and kiss her, to show her how much he lover her. He wanted to be allowed to feel her, to tell her everything his heart felt, what his mind was forcing him not to disclose, despite being so desperate to...

And yet, in the end, here they were...

Fallens, in Devildom, on the horribly dry and disgusting soil, the broken form of the love of his life in his arms, laying there lifeless, while his sister, barely alive, was hanging to any second of her burning life spawn.

And that’s how he wakes up every time, whenever he has the misfortune to have restless sleeps, which unfortunately for him happens more often than not.

The same voice, the same lines, the same images flashing through his mind for the whole day, without pause.

He was the only one who truly knew what happened to Lilith, and he was the only one whose heart broke, without any chance of healing, as his lover died in his arms, because she was reckless enough to save him.

Why did she have to be so egoistic?

Dying is better than you dying, she said...But what about him?! What about his feelings?! Did she think it wasn’t the same for him, as well? That he’d rather die than have her perish, with such agony...

But what did she care...

She saw herself a martyr, doing reckless things without thinking...

She has always been an idiot.

Lucifer wanted, with all his heart, to hate S/O for leaving him alone for so many millennia, stealing away his heart with her, never to be returned...How thoughtless of her!

...But no matter how much the Fallen wanted to blame her, to hate her, to strangle her for the torture she so selfishly brought upon him...

He couldn’t.

She will forever be the only one he will ever love, until the day the world collapses, the armageddon befalls, the skies crumble and Hell freezes over and the Earth explodes.

His unusual demeanour was easily noticed by everyone around him, as he was more silent than usual, almost as if he was mourning, brooding, and much more focused on his work, not wanting to interact with anyone. Whenever he was like that, he would barely eat, sleep or take care of his health - Not that demons need too much pampering - But regardless, he never talked to anyone about the reason before this behaviour of his.

Diavolo was the only one who knew, since he was there when it happened, and Mammon, as he was told a few cryptic words. Of course, the rest of his brothers knew the reason, but could never hope to get even close to understanding what was going on through Lucifer’s frozen heart.

That is...Until one day, when he was desperately trying to settle for the second human exchange student for Diavolo’s program, and through the files, there was this girl...

This girl that made him freeze.

Same hair colour and hair style, same eye colour with the same gentle glint, same soft smile of her pink, plump lips, same skin shade...And her picture made it look as if she held some kind of divine aura behind her...Or maybe he was imagining it? Was he so exhausted that he was starting to imagine things? Was he thinking too much of her recently?

He had no idea for how long he stared at the piece of paper before his very eyes until Diavolo got in his study, picked the paper from his hands, and with a low chuckle, told him to pick her for the exchange program...Which seemed to piss him off, but nonetheless, he couldn’t go against the word of the one he pledged his loyalty to, so he merely nodded.

...And it got worse, when she was brought forth in Devildom, and she looked just like her...Almost as if she was a copy. Lucifer couldn’t help himself, he could only stare at her from afar, not believing his eyes.

What was worse, however, was that as soon as he began his speech to her, she stepped right in front of him, looking up, right into his eyes, and with a confused, yet soft look, she said “Have we met before?”

Those words...Those very words made him feel his breath hitch in his throat, and his brothers knew very well was was going on, so for the first time in centuries, they tried to save him from this stiff situation...Only for her to ask them, sans Satan, the same question.

“Have we met before? Some of you seem so familiar to me, but I can’t tell why.” she said, only for the brothers to freeze just as bad as the elder brother.

Something was definitely off, but nobody knew how to solve this issue, so it was up to Diavolo to wake everyone from their trance and tell S/O about the reason for being so mysteriously brought here...Also, assigning Lucifer as her guardian...Which almost made him unleash and strangle him. He could already imagine himself ripping the Demon Prince limb from limb, putting him on fire, throwing him in acid, and other inventive torture methods that quickly came into his mind.

She was so sweet, so nice, so mindful, so respectful, so attentive with him...How can a mere lamb behave with such kindness towards the ferocious, starving wolf?

He was going insane.

For the duration of the year he had to look out for her, to make sure she was okay, that his brothers were behaving okay with her, and that she won’t be a target for the lesser demons.

But it was torture for him now, having to constantly stare upon a person who resembled his long dead lover, having to be constantly reminded of his failure to take care of herself, having to see her pained smile addressed to him, her broken form, her ravished wings, her dull eyes, her dissolved light...

Diavolo was truly a demon.

And she was too much for him.

Every move she made, it was with an unbelievable grace, as if she was a princess, and wherever she stepped, flowers would grow. Her smile was dazzling, almost blinding. Her kindness was so warm, so powerful, creeping into the cracks of his frozen heart. Her hair was so smooth, as if it was some higher cloud from the Celestial Realm...And her voice...Her singing...Angelic...Just like hers...Like the Seraphim started singing their hymns and playing the harp.

Whenever she’d sing, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d laugh, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d dance, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d play with one of his brothers, he’d leave the room.

No matter what she did, he would disappear like the mist, which made the poor girl so upset, thinking she did something to make him hate her.

But the worst came once again during the TSL quiz when Levi went to attack her from him blind rage, and without realising, she created a shield of light around her, which made everyone speechless...As she resembled an angel...THAT angel...

And poor Lucifer could only stare at her, with his heart scrunched up and stomped on, and he left the room faster then anyone could realise, and Mammon on his trail, wanting to help his dear older brother, knowing very well how he was struggling to keep himself composed and whole.

“Lucifer, talk to me. Y’know you can. I know why you’re behaving like this...She ain’t her, man. Even though she looks just like her...She ain’t her. She can’t be her. She died long ago, just like Lilith...They’re gone, no matter how much we want them back.” Mammon’s voice was long and soft, squeezing his brother’s shoulder to calm him down. “Did you see that magic of hers? That is angel magic, without a doubt...But she isn’t one...And do you remember what was the first thing she said when she saw us? Have we met before? This cannot be a coincidence...It just can’t be...” Lucifer muttered, holding his head in his hands, almost tugging at his hair from desperation. “Uhm...I don’t really know how to help ya, but...Maybe if ya ask Simeon to talk to Michael or somethin’...Maybe he knows somethin’? Maybe she reincarnated or somethin’? Ya never know with these things, right?” the silver haired man spoke, making Lucifer sneer for a split second, thinking about cooperating with the very beings who killed S/O...And yet...His words held truth. “...Thanks, Mammon. I will see what he says.” Lucifer nodded, already taking out his phone and texting Simeon about this problem.

But things weren’t so easily solved in the Devildom, as Lucifer’s brother were always up for mischief, and now, they, for some unknown reason, decided to play Hide and Seek in the House of Lamentation, and the eldest was the seeker...

Until, at the very beginning, wanted to cheat while counting, he turned around, only to see the girl casually sitting on the couch, eyeing him with a giggle.

“Lucifer, what are you doing~? I told you to close your eyes!” she teased him, only for him to grit his teeth, punching the wall in front of him, before leaving to his room. “I’m not bothering with childish games of yours.” he scoffed, shooting her a look of disgust, not having the heart to look at her crestfallen expression.

Weeks continued to flow one by one at a rapid pace and Lucifer’s worries grew even more when he realised that, once she willingly stepped inside his room, he could barely control his urges.

“Lucifer...Do you hate me? I don’t know what I’ve done to make you upset at me...But I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to hate me, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” she spoke in such an innocent and genuinely concerned voice, that it made Lucifer kabedon her, her back glued to his door. “It’s nothing personal, but if you’re so curious to know, you are an exact copy of my dead lover from the Celestial Realm. Everything you do, is just like her. You look exactly like her. I don’t hate you, quite the contrary. If I could, I would smother you with affection, I would suffocate you with kisses, I would break every bone in your body with embraces, I would ravish every inch of your body with touches, and many more, that only a demon would know. So, for your own good, little lamb...Stay as far away as possible from me. Your year here is almost done...Don’t try to get yourself killed freely.” his voice was low, almost sounding like a growling threat, but instead, she cupped his face, shocking him. “I don’t understand what is going on...But since I was little, I kept getting weird dreams. Everything is fragmented, nothing is really coherent...But I can see a man with dark hair and dark eyes...And his voice is like velvet. I can see myself holding his head in my lap in a beautiful glade, under a Wisteria tree, and I can see myself dying to save him. That’s why...I was confused when I first saw you...You look just like the man from my dreams...Lucifer...? Are you...Crying...?” her eyes widened, her bottom lip quivered, seeing a single, shiny tear escape his ruby like eyes. “Get out. Now.” he pushed himself on the door, turning his back to her, waiting to hear her leave so he could unleash his pent up emotions that he has been hiding for so long.

This can’t be happening...How is that possible? How can she be having the same dreams as him? It’s not...It can’t...It just can’t be...

Why, S/O, why would you send to him someone who is your exact copy?

Is it to spite him? To anger him? To mess up with him? To taunt him? To mock him? To tease him? To torture him? To kill him with such agony, to mimic the way she died?

Doesn’t she already know his heart will only ever belong to her, and her alone?

No cheap imitation will ever be able to take her place.

From then on, no matter how much she tried to talk to him, he’d go out of his way to avoid her, knowing very well that any glance her way would only send more painful shocks to his heart, and he’s definitely not a masochist.

He’s suffered enough as it is.

So stop it.

Please, stop it.

Just get the hell out of here already and let him be a grumpy demon in peace.

You’ve done enough.

...

A weird occurrence happened, and a beam of light came from the halls, followed by a pitched, almost banshee-like screech, and as he rushed to check it out, he saw S/O’s limp form in Archangel Michael’s arms. In a burst of rage, Lucifer transformed into his demon form, blasting the angel away and cradling the human’s small form into his arms, his wings wrapping protectively over her.

“What the hell did you do to her? Do you think you’re entitled to kill all the people I care about?!” Lucifer’s dark, booming voice echoed throughout the House of Lamentation, that was met with a mere chuckle. “Luci, my dear old friend, you should know that I wish you no ill-will, despite all the hate that you have for us. You called to ask me about her, and I got intrigued, so with your Prince’s approval, I came over to see what was the deal with this little lamb here.” Michael spoke calmly, making his old friend lay down his guard. “And what did you find out and why did she scream like that?” he mumbled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I gave her back all the memories she had jumbled and lost. She is the S/O you used to know, without a doubt.” the Archangel spoke in a gentle voice, realising that the demon was close to exploding. “Don’t make fun of me, Michael, or I will rip you apart limb from limb. S/O died in my arms. You, filthy angels, did it. So stop lying to me, it’s a sin.” he sneered at him, only to receive a smile. “She didn’t die. From her memories, I saw that she was impaled by the arrows before she fell from graces. Her heart was pure and just...And, although this would be impossible by our rules, S/O became your Guardian Angel. You know very well that as long as a subject is alive, a Guardian Angel cannot be killed...And they certainly cannot be killed by items in the Celestial Realm. This is your S/O, I guarantee it. Look at her...She’s starting to glow again. Take care of her, Lucifer.” he got up, ready to leave, only to be stopped by the demon with one last question. “Where was she all this time...?” he asked, his voice now much softer and emotional. “At first, she was laid in a bed of flowers...But then, she was found by humans and put in a ward, waiting for her to wake up. When she did, she got rehabilitated, taught and integrated into the human world...And from there, you already know.” the answer was shocking...Guardian Angel...Laid on a bed of flowers...How fitting for a Seraph. “...Thank you, Michael.” stomping on his vanity, the Avatar of Pride uttered those words to the Archangel, before taking the girl in his arms and bringing her to his room, placing her on the comfy bed, holding her hand and waiting for her to wake up.

Seconds were passing like centuries, and Lucifer’s heart kept beating fast for the first time since the War, expecting her to open her gorgeous eyes, to hear her angelic voice, to feel her gentle touch...

He needed her so badly, he could almost feel his sanity slipping away rapidly, thinking that maybe she won’t wake up, for whatever reason.

He was desperate, he felt like he was drowning, that he was suffocating, that he was getting strangled by an invisible form, and for the second time in his life, he felt absolutely powerless in front of the hated fate.

“I told you to close your eyes...” a weak voice was heard, making the raven haired man feel a lightning going through his veins. “Never say those words to me again, S/O. I don’t know what I would do.” he said, yet the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “I’m sorry...I’ve been selfish, haven’t I? You must truly hate me for leaving you alone for so long...Actually, I don’t know how long it’s been...How long has it been?” she asked, holding his hand. “Every second spent without you lasts longer than an eternity. Never leave me again, please.” Lucifer muttered, kissing her hand gingerly. “Aww, Lucifer...You’re as sweet as you’ve always been. You haven’t changed, even though you’re a demon now. You are still as beautiful.” she spoke, getting in a sitting position. “And you will remain an Angel until the day I am no more, my love. To think that you will become my Guardian Angel...Maybe fate wasn’t so cruel with us, for in the end, we are together now, again, as we should have been all this time.” he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, barely able to hold himself back, afraid that, maybe, he is still dreaming, and she will vanish from his arms when he next opens his eyes. “Lucifer...I can feel the storm of emotions in your heart. I’m sorry I caused you so much distress...But I am real, my darling. I am alive, and I will be every time you blink. I promise. So don’t hold back. Do what your heart tells you to. Let your feelings flow. It will be okay.” she spoke, kissing him with more and more passion with each kiss, leaving him breathless. “Those are bold words, little angel. Don’t you know that demons cannot hold back when such a delicious temptation crosses their path? We’re not up there anymore...And I have a millennia worth of emotions. Be careful when you say such words, for I will take advantage of them.” Lucifer’s angelic face was tainted with a demonic, smug smirk, which made the girl grin in amusement. “I see, so that’s how things roll down here, hm? Well, great thing that He isn’t staring at us anymore, ready to punish us for any little thing. We can finally be together...Like those human couples...Right?” she asked, gazing down bashfully. “Anything we want to do, we can. There are no rules, nor regulations. This is the Empire of Sin...As Asmodeus would say...Go big or go home. Better to get in Hell for committing all sins, then for just one.” the demon cupped her face, kissing her, with more fire each time, more love, more passion, more desperation. “We deserve it. After all this time...We truly deserve this.” she answered, feeling herself floating, the physical sensation of pleasure, love and heat foreign to her. “...You better not be closing your eyes, my darling. I want to see your gorgeous eyes, and every reaction you have to offer.”

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