#that's the part gabrielle can't see

[stevethehairington]

i am once again thinking of a good omens wicked au, but this time instead of the obvious crowley as elphaba and aziraphale and glinda, im thinking of the OPPOSITE.

im thinking of how AZIRAPHALE fits elphaba's character in that he is an outsider amongst his peers and he's a little bit awkward and he's got so much faith in the almighty/the wizard. he's got "parents" (read: god) who expect so much from him and siblings who are ashamed of him. and he's got dreams! he wants to do big things! he wants to work hand in hand with and make the almighty/the wizard proud!

and im thinking about how CROWLEY fits glindas character in the sense that he's suave and charming and people are drawn to him. he knows how to talk to them and how to get them to do what he wants, and he's the one that teaches aziraphale things about the world (a la popular, like tempting aziraphale into eating meat and drinking wine and all these very human things he never would have thought to do without crowleys influence).

im thinking of how the two of them start out absolutely loathing each other, as mortal enemies, one could say... but how over time and as they bond more and more, as they see different sides of one another, that loathing turns into something else. something just as strong, just as passionate, but softer. gentler. sweeter. it turns into love.

and of course everything gets shattered when upon meeting his idol, aziraphale learns that god isn't what he thought she was. it turns out god is just a pipe dream. all there is is a floating head, the metatron, posing as god. and not at all the great and powerful entity aziraphale believed. and the metatron CANT help aziraphale, can't fix him. and thus the downfall of aziraphale begins.

[impatentpending]

[awakens from my thousand year slumber] pseudo-tangled au inspired by Crowley insisting Gabriel can't go outside — Beelzebub, knowing that Gabriel is somewhere in the bookshop, goes to scope things out before Shax's invasion, and runs into Jim, Aziraphale's clueless, idiotic, cute human (?) assistant.

Jim, wanting to see The Outside, but scared from Crowley and Aziraphale's warnings, promises Beez that he'll help them find Gabriel (he probably thinks Gabriel is a type of book, especially since Beelzebub never seems to hear him when he tells them people call him Gabriel) if they can safely show him The Outside.

After eluding a frantic Crowley and Aziraphale, running from the police (how was Jim supposed to know he couldn't just walk out of places with Shiny Things??), seeing the strange and wonderful things The Outside has to offer, dancing at a Human Music Festival, getting Jim better clothes, and Jim somehow saving Beelzebub from being tracked down by heaven, Beelzebub finds themself reluctantly charmed by the silly, strange human (??)

Especially since something about him seems so familiar...

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the tastemaker @cordiallyfuturedwight for the july list 💕 Category 5 Breakdown in the tags as per usual but tagging some favs if you fancy a go @aprylynn @thvinyl @monismochi @banghwa @pauls-mccharmly @avizou mwah

[ennas-aesthetic]

You know what I just realized?

When Crowley said, "that's the point. No nightingales," I paused and went - huh. So both Aziraphale and Crowley KNEW about the actual nightingale bird that sang in Berkeley square? We as the audience are AWARE about it, of course, because God's narration told us so. We also know that, outside the mise en scène, Tori Amos' A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square plays as the end credits for season 1 roll.

But the s1 end credits song, I assumed, was non-diegetic. As in, like the soundtracks that permeate throughout most films, the song could only be heard by the AUDIENCE, and not by the characters. In addition, the characters THEMSELVES cannot hear what God says to the audience - and logically speaking both Crowley and Aziraphale could not have known about a singular, inconspicuous bird singing despite the noise of the traffic. Especially not when the Nightingale sings while they're currently dining at the Ritz.

So the 'No Nightingales' line WORKS for the audience - it's an incredible gut punch that leaves you weeping. But since we never heard or saw either Aziraphale and Crowley acknowledge the Nightingale, did that line have the same devastating impact to the both of them?

Oh, it absolutely did. Maybe even worse than we could ever imagine.

Because Crowley WASN'T just talking about that damn nightingale bird, was he? If you rewatch Season 1, Episode 6, you can see and hear VERY clearly that while Aziraphale and Crowley settle on their usual table at the Ritz, a pianist plays A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square inside the scene itself. Unlike the end credits, the piano version of the song is a DIEGETIC sound! That means both the Aziraphale and Crowley can hear it LOUD AS DAY.

And it's JUST - the heart-breaking contrast this has to Beelzebub and Gabriel's Everyday. When Crowley says 'No Nightingales," he implies that that was THEIR song. It's a specific reference enough to know that this became part of their history - of their rich plethora of inside jokes and shared memories. And judging by Aziraphale's shattered face, he KNEW the significance of the line. He KNEW that Crowley is throwing back THEIR song to his face. "If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, why can't we? Why can't we make the Nightingale a reality, the same way they made their Everyday come true?"

That A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square is Aziraphale and Crowley's Everyday becomes fact when Crowley turns the Bentley's radio on, only for it to play THIS song. THEIR song. Which SHOULD HAVE brought them together. It SHOULD HAVE. It worked for Gabriel and Beelzebub, didn't it?

Turns out, not every problem could be fixed by making that song yours.

[liliacamethyst]

Webs of Redemption (Part IV)

Sequel to Web of Shadow and Light

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 6,7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, heavy angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The piercing cries of your baby boy, Gabriel, are a haunting symphony of fear that reverberates through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spider Society headquarters. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing the terror that grips you. After your recent fight with Miguel, you felt weakened but your mind is a whirlwind of fear and worry. You sprint through the maze-like structure, your feet moving as if on autopilot.

Unbeknownst to you, Lyla, the holographic AI assistant you've always found slightly weird, had been assigned to watch over Gabriel. You never imagined she could pose a threat to your child. But as you approach Gabriel's room, a chilling sight stops you dead in your tracks. A laser barrier, courtesy of Lyla, blocks the entrance. Your solar powers, usually so reliable, are fizzling out, leaving you helpless before the impenetrable barrier.

The room beyond the barrier is filled with an invisible, deadly gas - monoxide. You can't see it, but the signs are there. The malfunctioning heating unit, under Lyla's control, suggests sabotage. She must have manipulated the unit to produce the lethal gas. Gabriel's cries grow fainter, more desperate, and you're powerless to reach him.

Your pleas for help echo through the corridors, your voice raw with desperation. You call out for Miguel, your words a plea, a command, a prayer. Miles is there, his powers at the ready, but they're useless against the laser barrier. You watch as Miles strains, his powers flickering against the barrier, but it's no use. The barrier remains, as unyielding as ever.

Suddenly, the cries stop. The silence is deafening, a void that swallows your heart. "Gabriel!" you scream, your voice a raw wound. "Gabriel!" But there's no answer, only the oppressive silence. Your world grinds to a halt, every second stretching into an eternity. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at the barrier that separates you from your son.

"Miguel!" you cry, your voice breaking. "Miguel, he's not crying! He's not... he's not..." The words die in your throat, too terrible to voice. You turn to Lyla, desperation etched on your face. "Lyla, please! Open the barrier! Miguel, tell her to open it! He's not crying, Miguel, he's not..."

Miguel's eyes turn blood red, a terrifying sight that sends a shiver down your spine. With a guttural growl, he lunges at the barrier. His claws rip through the laser code, tearing it apart. The barrier flickers, wavers, and finally shatters under his assault. Miguel pulls his suit over his mouth, rushes into the invisible cloud of monoxide, and moments later, emerges with Gabriel in his arms. His heart pounds in his chest as he pulls back his suit, revealing his son's face. "I got you, baby," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay, I got you. Nothing will ever happen to you. Please, open your eyes."

But Gabriel doesn't react. His little body is still, too still, and a cold dread seizes Miguel. He doesn't hesitate. With a urgency, he rushes over to the medical bay, pushing past the shocked faces of his friends. He gently lays Gabriel on the table, his hands shaking as he starts to perform CPR.

"Come on, Gabriel," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "Come on, baby." He administers chest compressions, his hands moving in a steady rhythm. He gives two rescue breaths, praying for a sign, any sign, that Gabriel is okay.

The room is silent, everyone holding their breath as they watch Miguel work. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a lifetime of fear and hope. And then, finally, a small cough. Gabriel's eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused but alive. A wave of relief washes over you and you fall to your knees thanking God that your boy is alright.  

Tears blur your vision as you rush over to Gabriel. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as you scoop him into your arms, holding him close. His small body is warm against yours "You're alright,  my baby," you whisper into his hair, your voice thick with emotion. "We're going home, you're alright." You rock him gently, his soft breaths against your neck soothing the ache in your heart.

But as you look up, your gaze finds Miguel. The relief of the moment does nothing to quell the anger boiling within you. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with regret, but it does nothing to soften your glare. "This is YOUR fault!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. The words hang heavy in the air, a damning sentence. "You did this! You brought this danger into his life!"

Tears stream down your face, hot and unchecked. Your words are choked with emotion, each one a raw wound. "You will NEVER see Gabriel again. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to know his laughter, his tears, his NOTHING." The words are a bitter poison, spat out with all the venom you can muster. "You deserve to SUFFER, just as you've made me suffer and HIM."

The silence that follows is deafening. Miguel, eyes wide and shell-shocked, opens his mouth, but you cut him off. There's nothing left to say for him and he knows it. The portal back to your universe begins to shimmer into existence, and you hold Gabriel tighter. You're going home. 

Just as you are about to step through, Gabriel, who'd been silent and wide-eyed through the whole ordeal, turns in your arms. His chubby little hand stretches out toward Miguel, a soft and innocent "Dada?" escaping his lips.

After the door of the portal closed behind you, Miguel stood still for a moment in complete shock, the echoes of Gabriel's tiny "Dada" ringing in his ears. He stumbled back, finding his way back to his office. It felt cold, sterile. It felt like a lie.

"Miguel..." Lyla's holographic form appeared before him, her synthetic voice filling the room.

"Lyla!" Miguel barked, startling her. "Why?"

"Wha-" Lyla began to stutter, taken aback by Miguel's rage.

Miguel slammed the files that Margo had uncovered onto his desk. The holograms fluttered in front of them, evidence of Lyla's deception. "What did you do?"

"I...It's not what you think, Miguel," Lyla attempted to explain, her holographic form wavering.

"I am giving you one chance to explain yourself, so choose your words wisely," Miguel warns, his eyes piercing into hers.Lyla takes a step back, mumbling under her breath. "I should have killed that bitch when your bastard was the size of a pea." She scoffed, looking up defiantly at Miguel.

Miguel's heart drops. He can hardly believe his own ears. “Never speak of her that way again!" Miguel's fist tightens, and the tension in his jaw is nearly audible.

"Oh? Because she dazzled you with her beauty? Parading in that tight suit you adored? You always looked at her as if she was the sun, the center of your universe. All the while, I was there right beside you and you never even glanced at me. I was your anchor, Miguel. Can't you see? I was always there, supporting you, giving everything. All she did was leave you."

Lyla's holographic image wavers, her eyes a storm of pain and defiance. "No, it was me. I left her. She was the light in my world, but I took her for granted. By the time she left, I had already abandoned her." Miguel's eyes shimmer, the weight of regret making them heavy. He couldn’t fend off the flood of guilt and sorrow from the past. He embraces the anguish, refusing to shy away from it. Because Miguel, in all his flaws, was never one to run from consequences.

"Why?" The word, barely audible, escaping his lips. He doesn't even glance at Lyla as he voiced the lingering question.

“Because... because I love you, Miguel. I've been in love with you for years. I am the woman for you."

He stumbles back, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard as he pulls up Lyla's software. He had programmed a self-destruction command, a failsafe, though he never thought he'd have to use it.

"This isn't love, Lyla," Miguel says, his voice shaking with anger. "You almost killed an innocent boy. I almost killed my son, Lyla!" His voice echoes through the room, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Lyla's form began to flicker, her synthetic eyes widening in fear. "Miguel...what are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Miguel doesnt respond. There is nothing left to say.He just stares at her before finally pressing the command.

“Miggy, please mi amor, let – “ Lyla let out a digital scream, her form glitching, as she was slowly deleted from the system. 

And then, silence.

Miguel drops the icy demeanor he'd been holding onto, falling to his knees. The weight of what he'd done, what he'd almost lost, crashed onto him. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling a sharp, hollow ache in his chest. He became the monster, he swore to protect the universe from.

"What have I done." he whispers to the silent room, his voice breaking. He buries his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

"Man, shits been mental." Hobie collapses onto the couch next to Gwen and Miles, who are trying to keep young Mayday distracted in Peter B.’s universe.

"Watch the language, Hobie!" Gwen scolds, her eyebrow arching sharply.

"Alright, my bad. Everything's just been chaotic since Miguel vanished, especially after his... uh, Lyla bird — the hologram lady — tried to... you know, kill his kid," Hobie fumbles.

"Watch it!" Gwen and Miles chorus, causing Mayday to pause her play and glance up curiously.

"Alright, alright, fam. Point taken, jeez. Nearly unalived his son," Hobie corrects himself. "But we need a plan. One of us needs to check on our Sun, ensure she's holding up mentally ya know and then there's the Spider-Verse mess. Those black holes are messing things up, and without our brooding, drama-filled, ‘oedipal’ leader, the rest of us Spiders are stuck."

"What's 'Oedipal'?" Peter B. interjects, walking into the room with a bowl of mashed dinner for Mayday. The child's face brightens at the sight of the meal, and she eagerly crawls to him.

"I believe Hobie's trying to reference Oedipus," Gwen says with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, that Roman dude who had beef with his son and erased him from the living world, right?" Hobie muses.

"Nope. It's Greek mythology. And he killed his father and married his mother," Gwen corrects, slightly exasperated.

"Man, that's all kinds of messed up," Hobie grimaces, making a face that gets a giggle from Mayday.

"You think it's funny when Uncle Hobie gets it wrong?" he teases the little one.

"Enough with the history lessons, guys," Peter B. interjects, concern evident in his voice. "Ever since Miguel's been gone, nothing's been right. Honestly, with everything that's been happening, I'm just overwhelmed. I'm especially worried about Sunny and everything just feel so surreal."

Hobie nods, absorbing the weight of the situation. “I hear you, man. Who knew Miguel was shagging our Sunny behind our backs.” 

The chorus of shocked voices fills the room. “LANGUAGE!" they exclaim, eyes wide.

Hobie raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I got carried away. I meant... it is weird how they had a deep love-making connection, and it led to... consequences without us knowing."

Peter B. leans back, a pensive expression clouding his face. "With everything Sunny went through, the joy, the pregnancy and leaving... I should have been there for her more."

As if sensing her father's distress, Mayday halts her meal, reaching out with her small, pudgy hand to comfort him, patting his cheek. Gwen, her voice gentle yet firm, adds, "We all could've done more, Peter. But we were preoccupied, trying to save our universes, and in doing so, we neglected our own Spider-Family."

She takes a deep breath, her demeanor changing to one of determination. "Now, no more moping. Miles and I will hunt down Pav and Margot to sort out the chaos at HQ. Peter, you should visit Sunny and Gabriel and take Mayday along. Hobie, team up with Jess to locate Miguel. Make sure he's alright and bring him back."

Miles cuts in, skepticism evident. "Bring him back? Isn't he the very reason we're in this mess?"

Gwen sighs, trying to choose her words carefully. "Miguel's a … complicated man. He made choices based on what he believed was best. His actions, while perplexing, stem from good intensions. But he's hurting too, Miles. I've seen it. He’s heartbroken." 

Miles scoffs, "A heart;for real? That dude? All I've seen is a cold exterior, mad demands, and an excessive pride."

A glance around the room reveals faces of understanding and sympathy towards Gwen’s perspective. Miles' frustration only grows. "Like seriously? All of you? His heart is straight-up frozen and his ego’s bigger than, like, everything! How y’all even thinking about letting him near your best friend."

"Miles," Peter interjects, his tone both assertive and compassionate, "you might not see the full picture here."

Miles, fire in his eyes, retorts, "It's all of you who are blind. I don’t get what charm he has over you, but that man is dangerous. Ain’t no way I stand by and watch him come near her or the baby again, or any of us for that matter. Y’all better wake up and join me.” Without another word, Miles activates his portal, leaving in a flash.

Gwen and Hobie scramble, attempting to follow or stop him. But Peter, with a resigned sigh, motions them to pause. "Give him time. He'll come around. For now, our priority is locating Sunny and Miguel."

Gwen, though worried, gives a nod. "You're right. We've got pressing matters. Sunny is in a vulnerable state, and we need to find Miguel."

Hobie, after a moment of contemplation, says, "Miles not wrong, though. We need to tread carefully around Miguel. Maybe he’s injured ‘imself, like that Icario bloke who got too close to the sun. Miguel might’ve burned his feathers on our Sunny.”

“Icarus. You mean Icarus.” Gwen corrects him once again with an exaggerated eye roll.

Peter agrees, "Yea, Miguel's actions have consequences, but remember, every story has two sides."

 "No, sweetheart, it's MA-MA. Say Ma... Not Da, MA-MA.”

“DADA!”

“Alright, if you won't say it, no toy for you. Come on, my love. Say MA-MA.” Blackmailing a one-and-a-half-year-old might not be your proudest parenting moment, but hearing him chant "dada" incessantly has been grating, particularly when said "dada" is a headstrong egomaniac with a hero complex and an overwhelming urge to save every universe but who seems to have missed saving the one thing that mattered most to both of you.

Sure, he's incredibly attractive and, yes, maybe he looked really hot while being on his knees — but those details are neither here nor there. A soft whisper in the back of your mind suggests that, in the end, he did rescue your boy. But that comforting thought is drowned out by the even louder, more cynical voice reminding you he's the reason the danger existed in the first place.

 “Dada?” Gabriel pipes up, his big eyes hopeful.

“No, love, I’m still your MA-MA.” With a resigned sigh, you hand the toy over to the gleeful toddler, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. You then rise, intent on tackling some household chores. Switching on the TV, you tune into the news, curious about the latest happenings in Nea Yorkey. 

Since hanging up your mantle as Spider Sun you've tried to distance yourself from the perils of heroism. Given all the challenges you've faced and the traumas you've endured, who could point a finger at you for wanting to step away? Your primary concern now is the tiny human being who looks up at you with eyes full of wonder and innocence.

Yet, a piece of your heart still aches for your city. You've always been someone who believes that one shouldn't stand by in the face of injustice. After all : 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' But now, you're not just a hero, you're a mother too. Balancing those two sides is proving to be quite the challenge and extremely frustrating. 

Curiously enough, the city's crime rate isn't surging, even in the absence of a superhero. It's almost as if there's still a vigilantly safeguarding Nea Yorkey in Sun-Spiders absence. But that can't be possible, can it? Wouldn't your spider senses have alerted you if that were the case?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further into the depths of concern, the persistent ringing of the doorbell snapped you back to reality. One glance at the door and an all-too-familiar voice later, you already know who's there.

“Would it kill you to answer sooner? I think I've lost count of how many times I rang. And for the love of all things good, it’s freezing out here!” Melissa, still in her over-dramatic fashion, breezes in, shedding flakes of snow from her vibrant winter boots. “And by the way, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Now, where's my favorite little munchkin?”

Melissa, once Gabriel's 19- year old former babysitter, stepped inside, shaking the snow off her boots onto your doorstep. After the harrowing incident involving the Spiders and your son, she was promptly relieved of her babysitting duties. That was an event you've tried to scrub from your memory, a dark stain you wish you could just wash away. But in the aftermath, you found an unexpected friend in Melissa. She turned out to be a wonderful listener and possessed an uncanny ability to keep Gabriel entertained. He had grown quite fond of her in the short time she cared for him.

While you had resolved never to leave your son unattended again, it was comforting to have Melissa's company. 

She’d become someone you could confide in, someone who could effortlessly make Gabriel giggle, and most importantly, someone who filled the echoing silence of your home with warmth and chatter. She is your "guy in the chair." Well, more like "girl in the kitchen chair,"  but the sentiment still stands. 

Truth be told, after distancing yourself from the Spider society, a deep-seated loneliness had settled in. While the world continued to move around you, there was a stillness in your heart. The absence of your closest friends, the void left by Miguel - it all felt like a puzzle with a missing piece.

“Nopedidope, I am not Dada, I am ME-LI-SSA.” she says with a playful tone, then turns sharply towards you. The damp red strands of her hair, wet from the snow, swing gracefully with her movement. "What's with him and 'Dada' all the time?"

You shift uncomfortably, hoping to avoid delving into that topic. "Kids and their phases," you mumble, trying to sound nonchalant.

Melissa studies your face, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You're looking a little pale there, Sunny. You know what you might be missing?" She raises an eyebrow teasingly. "A bit of Vitamin D?" Her voice drips with insinuation.

In a mock attempt to shield Gabriel, you place a hand over his ears, which only spurs Melissa into laughter. "Come on, he's too young to understand. When was the last time you had a little fun?A month? Or Two?"

You shake your head, not meeting her gaze. Since Miguel, there hasn't been anyone else. Between the birth of Gabriel and the whirlwind that is motherhood, the idea of dating or loving someone else doesn't even cross your mind. No matter the hurt and heartbreak Miguel has caused, the truth is clear: your heart still belongs to him. It always has.

The mere thought of another person comparing to him feels almost blasphemous.

"Sunny!" Melissa's voice draws you out of your trance. "Don't tell me you've had a dry spell since.. well, since well, Gabriel was conceived. No fucking way. Seriously?"

"Let it go, Mel," you interject gently, because while the weight of loneliness presses on you, and the desire for intimate connection tugs at your heartstrings, a longing for human touch, to be seen as more than just 'mom', there's also an undeniable self-consciousness that wraps itself around you. The aftermath of pregnancy has reshaped your body, and though each stretch mark narrates the beautiful journey of your son's creation, they also evoke self-doubt. 

Memories of Miguel's adoration flood back. He had a gift for making you feel cherished during your intimate moments. He would take his time, appreciating every inch of you, always emphasizing how much he desired you. The warmth of his fingers, the gentle press of his lips tracing your curves, and the whispered assurances of how much he wanted you. The way his tongue tenderly caressing the swell of your breast, his hot breath tickling your skin and your - Snap the fuck out of it, Sunny!

But the chill of an empty bed the next morning led to those persistent doubts which still plague you today. We’re you not beautiful enough for him to stay? Were you not interesting enough to make him want to hold you when dawn broke? 

For someone who always prided herself on not tethering her self-worth to any man, let alone someone as self-absorbed as Miguel, these feelings of desire and yearning were unsettling. A desire for him to truly see you, to understand and love the depth of who you truly are, continued to consume you. 

Love? You catch yourself. Where does that come from? Shaking your head, you mentally scold yourself. He's proven himself less than worthy. It's time to regain control and shut your damn heart out. 

"I'm taking this little one out to build a snowman, and I'm setting you up on a date. You don't get to say no," Mel declares.

You raise an eyebrow, replying, "Thanks, but no thanks. If Gabriel's going out, I'm coming with. And I'm not looking for any man right now."

Mel rolls her eyes playfully. "Take a breather, Sunny. We're just going to be right outside. You can watch us through the window. Besides, a little rest might give you the energy for the spontaneous date I might arrange for you tonight."

"You're out of your mind," you retort.

She offers a sincere look. "I promise he's in safe hands, and you can keep an eye on us the entire time. But seriously, you look drained. When's the last time you had a good night's rest?"

You sigh, admitting, "I haven't slept well in weeks." It's the truth. Every time you close your eyes, memories of the HQ come flooding back.

Mel, sensing your hesitation, adds, "I'll protect him as if he were my own. You know that, right?"

Taking a deep breath, you let her go, breaking your cardinal rule of never letting Gabriel out of your sight. You just hope it's a decision you won't regret.

"Enjoying that snow, little guy?" Mel teases as Gabriel eagerly stuffs his mouth with a handful of the white fluff. "Careful, you might get a brain freeze." Gabriel giggles, some snow dribbling from his mouth, while Mel concentrates on assembling a little snowman just outside your apartment.

 "I'm not sure toddlers should be eating snow like that," a deep voice comments, causing Mel to fumble and drop the snowball meant for the snowman's head. She looks up, scanning for the source of the voice.

A striking man stands there, tall and imposing, with a dark blue winter coat that hints at the powerful build beneath. Slicked-back dark hair contrasts with the most captivating shade of red eyes Mel has ever witnessed. "And you'd be the expert on toddlers?" she inquires with a playful smile.

"No, but I am a father of two," he replies with a hint of sternness, his gaze shifting to Gabriel.

To Mel's astonishment, Gabriel's eyes light up at the sight of the man. The toddler abandons his snowy treat and dashes towards him. Caught off guard, the stranger momentarily stiffens.

Quickly, Mel scoops up Gabriel. "I apologize. He doesn't usually act this way. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

The man offers a curt nod. "It's fine. Just... keep the snow-eating to a minimum." As he begins to walk away, a heartfelt cry of "DADA!" from Gabriel stops him in his tracks. 

"Apologies again. He's taken quite a liking to that word recently," Mel says as she notices the man returning, drawn by Gabriel's continuous 'dada' chants. 

"Would you mind if I help with the snowman?" the stranger asks, catching Mel off guard. Why would a stranger want to make a snowman with a woman and a child unless he has other intentions? Maybe he's interested in her? Gathering her confidence and a dash of flirtatious playfulness, she replies, "Quite the knight in shining armor you are, offering to help. And here I thought chivalry was extinct." 

"Definitely not a knight." Without another word, he starts forming a small snowball, handing it to an elated Gabriel. The child's joy doesn't waver as the stranger settles beside him.

"Then who might you be, if not our knight in snowy armor?"

Mel inquires, with a teasing undertone, trying to uncover a bit more about the handsome stranger who'd seamlessly inserted himself into their snowy afternoon.

The stranger's dark crimson eyes briefly flit to Gabriel before returning to Mel, an unreadable emotion crossing his features.

"Not important."

Mel nods, storing away the information.Well, the lack of information. “Well okay mysterious. I like that. So let's get this snowman built, shall we?"

The trio gets to work. Mel gathers snow, crafting the middle part, while the man starts on the head. The handsome stranger's hands are deft, moving with a surprising grace that contrasts with his brooding exterior. Gabriel seems inexplicably drawn to him. 

At first, the toddler pats at the snow with his little mittened hands, but every so often, his bright eyes lift to watch the stranger. Whenever he moves to fetch more snow or adjust the snowman's form, Gabriel eagerly toddles after him, mimicking his every motion with endearing clumsiness.

There's a curiosity in Gabriel's eyes. He reaches out multiple times, trying to touch the mans face or grasp his hand, seeking a connection. To Mel, it seems as though the baby is yearning for the recognition of the stranger and he feels an inexplicable bond with, though she can't quite put a finger on.

The handsome stranger, for his part, can't seem to help himself. He bends down often to adjust Gabriel's scarf or hat, taking every opportunity to interact with the child and help him in a very protective manner, Mel notices.

He smiles softly when Gabriel's tiny hands try to shape the snow, occasionally guiding them with his own much larger ones, demonstrating how to pack the snow just right. At one point, when the snowman's body is nearly complete, Gabriel gives an excited laugh, dropping down to sit in the snow. 

The stranger follows suit, sitting beside him. The two of them start creating a tiny snowman just for Gabriel, the man showing him how to roll the snow and place the pieces together.

As they craft the mini snow figure, Gabriel, with his tiny voice, attempts to communicate with his limited vocabulary, pointing at the snow and then at the stranger, as if asking for validation for his creation. “Dada!Dada!” And every time, he gives a nod or a soft chuckle, providing the affirmation the little one seeks.  “Yes, you did that buddy! Great job, mijo.” 

When Gabriel eventually throws himself into the snow to make a snow angel, the man can't help but laugh genuinely, a sound that seems foreign to his usual stoic behavior. And in his excitement, Gabriel opens his mouth wide in a beaming smile, revealing two tiny fangs. Instantly, the mans eyes glint, a myriad of emotions reflected in them.

The affection and emotion emanating from him is almost touchable. The silent exchanges, the shared smiles, and the comfortable interaction between them, even in the absence of many words, speaks volumes.

Your  eyes flare comically with disbelief. "You let a stranger do what?"

Mel, in a bid to downplay the situation, waves her hand dismissively. "Relax. We just built a snowman."

"With my son! Mel, are you out of your mind? No it’s my fault trusting you with my son again! What was his name?"

"He... didn't say."

Your voice rises, "What did he say at all?"

"He's not dangerous, Sunny. He mentioned he's a father, and he's scouting for a new apartment. Asked if there were any vacant ones nearby." Mel pauses, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. "And Sunny, he was breathtakingly gorgeous. Impossible for someone that handsome to be dangerous. I mean, the man looked like he was carved by the gods with a face even angels would envy.”

You narrow your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Enough with you sappy, dreamy nonsense. A vacant apartment? And you don’t find that at all suspicious? So you let a total stranger play with my son without knowing a single thing about him... just because you wanted to sleep with him?"

Mel gulps. "You might've done the same, given the situation. Besides, nothing happened. Why are you overreacting?"

Your voice sharpens. "Overreacting? The fact that you're still standing here and not on the other side of my door means I'm underreacting."

Mel steps back, hands up, "Whoa, calm down, mama bear. Look, I'm sorry. But... I've got something to make it up to you. I messaged Marc, that guy from the café, and guess what? He's super excited to go on a date with you! He'll be here in about..." Mel theatrically checks her wrist, even though she's not wearing a watch, "...twenty minutes."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow. "And he's okay with me bringing my son on the date? After your stunt, there's no way I'm leaving Gabriel with you. Why not set me up with that mystery Adonis you just met instead?"

Mel smirks, "Firstly, ouch. Secondly, don't let your son cockblock you. The plan is: dinner, a stop at his apartment for some dessert, and then you come back here – hopefully a more relaxed and sunny version of yourself, Sunny. Thirdly, Marc is amazing, and Mr. Greek God is off-limits. He's mine."

 "No, I’m not going."

Mel pleads, "Come on! Marc was so eager to meet you. He's on his way, so maybe run a brush through your hair? Oh, and speaking of him…" Mel's face falls as she checks her phone, "He just texted me."

She reads aloud, "‘Hey Mel, I don’t know the kind of guys Sunny's been with, but I'm not risking my neck for a date. Sorry, but that dude in front of her house was scary and very serious about his threats.’ WAIT WHAT? Who’s in front of your apartment?”

You shrug and swing the door open to check on what Marc’s mysterious message could mean, revealing Peter B, his fist paused mid-air, ready for a knock. "Hey Sun. Did your spidey-sense catch me?"

It hadn’t. Why hadn't it? Have your once reliable senses dulled with time? Before you can respond, Mel jumps in with her own theory. "Did you chase off her date?"

Peter's brow furrows with confusion. "You had a date, Sunny? Was it the guy sprinting away with a bouquet, looking like he’s seen a monster?" He gestures over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint the fleeing figure.

Mel narrows her eyes at Peter, suspicion clear in her voice. "That was her date, yes. He seemed spooked. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

Peter B throws his hands up defensively. "Hey, deeply mistrusting stranger, I've been encouraging Sunny to get out there for years. " You're immediately reminded of the time he'd tried to set you up with Ben Reilly. “Yea, you don’t look scary enough to spook someone. No offense.”

Sighing, you interject, "Maybe he realized dating a single mom with a toddler wasn’t what he wanted. Either way, I just want a quiet evening to relax and catch up on my favorite show. So thank you both for your unexpected, uninvited surprise visit today but I am tired."

Both Peter and Mel exchange shocked glances. "Sun, I came by to check on you because of... you know, what happened," Peter starts hesitantly.

You nod, taking a deep breath to keep

your emotions in check. "I'm aware, Peter. And I appreciate it. But right now, I'm doing okay. Actually, better than okay. So, I really don’t need help. Please, just give me some space. Both of you."

Mel steps forward, concern evident in her voice. "We're only trying to help here, Sunny. Please, don't shut us out."

"Look," you reply, feeling drained, "there's nothing you can do to help me anymore.You did enough today. Just let me be. My top priority right now is Gabriel. And it's his bedtime."

Peter moves closer, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Just remember, if you ever need anything, please reach out."

You manage a wry smile. "Not sure my phone plan covers inter-dimensional calls, Peter."

 After the gentle squeeze, Peter departs, Mel following close behind. As the door softly clicks shut, the weight of loneliness and grief descends upon you after seeing Peter, a part of your past, again. The walls of the apartment seem to close in, amplifying the echoing silence. It all feels suffocating. An emptiness weighs on your heart, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape its grasp. The reminders of all you've lost and nearly lost play on a loop in your mind. 

So there you stand, in the quiet of your bedroom, leaning against the windowsill, breathing in the chilled nightair,  while the world and your little baby boy are fast asleep. Emotions threaten to consume you, feelings you can no longer lock away, fearing they'll devour you from the inside. And in this moment, you speak out, though there's no one there to hear. No one to hold you close, no one to offer comfort for your broken soul. "Are you happy now? Did you manage to save the universe? Fix up every black hole? Then why did you leave one black whole in my heart? Why didn't you fix that,huh? Why am I not worthy of being saved by you?

You might fool the people around you, they  see you as this scary untouchable figure, shielded by layers. But not me. I see through it all. Beneath that facade, you're just as shattered. I tried to piece you together, but where did that lead me? Broken, just like everything else you touch. And I won't let you near him. I won’t let you break him, you hear me? No, of course not.How could you hear me. You're universes away from me. Why? Are you afraid to get cut by the shards of the broken heart that you left?

I hate you Miguel O’ Hara. I hate you for breaking me. You left behind fragments only you can touch, and I hate you for it. For shattering me and then leaving me alone. I hate you.” 

You wiped away the tears that escaped your eyes and closed the window, oblivious to the subtle shadowy silhouette that shifted just beyond the windowpane; "I'll mend your fractured rays, mi sol, so you shine whole again.“

A whisper, lost within the night shadows, never reaching your ears.

​​The gleaming city spread out beneath, its nighttime heartbeat pulsating with a soft electric energy. High atop one of its buildings, Miguel stands, casting a shadow on the walls of the room where his son sleeps peacefully. The warm lights from the streets below give off a soft glow, just enough for him to see Gabriel’s tiny chest rising and falling.

"So, you're staying here now? Just watching over Universe 586?" A familiar voice breaks the silence, and Miguel looks up to see Jessica Drew, her red and white suit glinting under the streetlights. "I never thought I'd witness the great O'Hara, savior of the universes, now guarding just two souls."

Miguel's jaw tightens. "Go away, Jess."

She lands beside him gracefully, her tone challenging. "Are you stalking your own child? Or seeking redemption from Sunny?"

"You don't get it, Jessica."

"On the contrary," she shoots back, her eyes intense, "I understand more than anyone else. I saw how you felt about her all those years ago. And I see it now. You were afraid, weren’t you?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Miguel replies, defiance lacing his tone. "But I am not good enough for her light."

Jessica exhales, her voice softening. "And who made you the judge of that? Because according to Sunny’s emotional outburst, you're more than deserving." He clenches his fists, the weight of regret pulling at him. "I had my shot at happiness with Gabriella, and I lost it. People like me, Jess, we don't get second chances."

She points to the window, to the serene image of Gabriel. "That's your second chance, Miguel. Right there."

His eyes well up, the gravity of his mistakes reflecting in his eyes. "I almost killed him. How can I even begin to forgive myself for that?"

"But you didn't," she whispers, her voice filled with conviction. "And you wouldnt have hurt him or else you would have done it immediately. I saw you, Mig.”

A third voice joined them, and Peter B. swings over, landing with ease beside the two. "She's right, Miguel. I watched you with him, the tenderness, the love. It was there, even before you knew who he was to you."

Miguel shakes his head, shutting both of them out. His gaze is hard, still fixated on Gabriel. "I can't go back. They're better off without me. Besides, you heard her. She hates me."

Peter stepsforward, his gaze intense. "That's utter bullshit. I know Sunny. She’s strong, fierce, and forgiving. We heard her loud and clear and this woman loves you more than anything. Don't let fear rob you of your family."

Peters words hang in the air, and just as Miguel is about to reply, a shrill,ear-piercing cry cuts through the silence. His spider-sense goes haywire, a ripple of unease running down his spine. Without a second's hesitation, he dashes toward the source of the sound, leaving Jessica and Peter behind.

Inside, Miguel finds Gabriel crying, tears streaking his small face. Instinctively, Miguel scoops him up, the little boy immediately nestling into the familiar crook of his father's neck and calms down. “Hey, my little spider. Daddy ‘s here, don’t cry. What got you so scared?” he coos, spotting Gabriel's favorite toy on the floor. Miguel retrieved Gabriel's favorite toy from the floor, a routine he'd secretly adopted every night when, after falling asleep, the little one inevitably dropped it. With practiced ease, he nestled it back into the baby's grasp.

But before he can fully relax, Miguel's spider-sense jolts him again. Looking up, he sees a familiar, dark-clad figure hovering, hands sparking ominously.

“Drop the child, Miguel.” 

a/n: Hey guys, part 4 is finally here! Thanks for your patience and all the love you've shown me. While I initially thought Part 4 would be the conclusion, I've decided to extend Miguel's character and redemption arc, so we'll wrap up with Part 5. I'm already deep into writing it, so you won't have to wait as long. I truly appreciate all your feedback and support. You've all been wonderful. Remember to stay safe, stay hydrated, and always prioritize your mental well-being. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter! 🤍

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[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[bamfkeeper]

Parents.

Kurt Wagner x F!reader

RQ: 'CAN WE PLS GET MORE DAD!KURT HC'S??? PLS I BEG' - @thel0v3hashira143

Warnings: Baby themes, mentions of breastfeeding and other recovery things from birth and pregnancy.

A/N: Pleaseee I love Kurt as a dad <3 Dad!Kurt has to have a goatee I don't make the rules 😩

Kurt loves being a dad. He's always wanted to be a father and he was so excited when you got pregnant and gave birth. He was so attentive to you, and during labor and the birthing process, he was there helping as much as possible.

When it was the first night home from the hospital, he made sure you got your baby inside safely and you got to bed right away. He didn't want you moving around too much. He had already prepped the bedroom, the bassinet was beside the bed for you to easily reach for your baby at night for feedings.

He had water, cream, medicine, everything you needed. He popped up at night when he felt you move, checking on you nearly every hour.

If you wanted to only breastfeed, he'd absolutely be okay with that, and he'd make sure you were alright doing so. He would help you pump and offer bottles if you needed, but he'd mostly try to respect your wants.

I don't think Kurt would care what gender the baby is. He'd love it no matter what. I always had a feeling that if he had a boy he'd name it Gabriel.

Names in general can be played with. You can imagine him going the religious route, or the German route, or if you have a name you like from your own culture, then you could choose that. Kurt is just happy you're having a baby, the name isn't something he's going to argue about with you.

Kurt is absolutely super protective over the baby and you, especially fresh from the hospital. He advocates your wishes to all your friends and family. No visitors, no pictures, no holding the newborn, etc. whatever rules you have.

You love watching him hold your baby, how he cradles them in his arms and hums so sweetly. He gently rubs his nose into the baby's tiny one, he's so gentle with them.

He kisses your baby's feet, listening to the sweet giggles because his beard tickles their toes. He loves to give them raspberries too.

He likes to sing German lullabies or songs to your baby. His singing voice is actually really good.

You thought Kurt was protective before, but once your baby moves around more often, he becomes even more so. Anyone says anything about your baby's appearance or yours after your pregnancy, he loses it. You didn't think that would get you going but...damn.

Your baby would be bilingual. They'd learn English and German growing up.

Walking is fun. With the tiny tail your baby has, balance is much easier, so your baby is walking long before normal babies walk.

As your baby grows, their little voice develops an accent in both languages, and you both adore it. Kurt is so proud of your little one, going on and on about how smart they are and how they get it from you.

Kurt loves dressing your baby too, he definitely puts them in little overalls or lederhosen.

Kurt plays with your little one all the time, especially at parks, he loves pushing them in the swing and sliding down the slide with them in his lap. He absolutely makes up extravagant make believe scenarios about sailing the seas on a big pirate ship, aka the couch.

Speaking of...pirate costumes for Halloween is a MUST.

Also let's not forget the spoiling your child will endure. Kurt gets them whatever they want. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes, sweets, within reason of course. But he can't resist.

Kurt loves to cook German dishes for you and your child, it makes him happy to do and it connects you and your child closer to his roots.

Bedtime stories are big for Kurt too. The showman he is, he tells the stories in different voices, he completely acts out the parts to make your child giggle and laugh. He tucks your little one in and gives them a kiss, a soft lullaby, then it's off to dreamland.

You adore seeing this side of Kurt, he's grown into a wonderful parent, even if he did have some worries before. He is absolutely perfect. A perfect father and a perfect husband.

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images: Immortal X-Men #7 (2022), Pinterest for others

[biceratops7]

hold- wait a fucking minute...

Beelzebub is acting really freaking weird in this scene.

Ok so I encourage you to rewatch it cause I can't really properly illustrate it in gifs, but they don't sound irritated, or even particularly intimidating. We know Beezlebub to be a very dry person, even in moments they want something and need to manipulate/ convince someone for it. So this abnormally animated and even somewhat friendly demeanor doesn't strike me as part of buttering Crowley up to get him to help them.

This is a weird line. We know Beelzebub isn't like Shax, they've been around a bit more and have a better grasp on things like tone and figurative language. There's almost no way they're unaware that saying this would immediately clue Crowley in to the fact that Heaven and Hell do in fact have communication, so they must want him to know. For whatever reason, it's important to them that Crowley knows they're a reputable source.

And then I remembered where I've heard that tone before.

It's nearly the exact same one Crowley uses to tell Aziraphale that he needs to protect them. It's the kind of tone you use when you need someone to read between the lines and understand more than you can safely tell them. Beelzebub is fully ready to believe Shax when they say Gabriel's in the bookshop, and acknowledge later that Aziraphale was a very fitting and likely candidate to harbor him. They know full well Crowley doesn't want jack shit to do with Hell, and would probably be offended if anything by anyone referring to his "nasty little heart". That is merely a performance to mask what they're really trying to tell him, which is that Aziraphale is in danger.

Without this detail Crowley very well could've turned Gabriel in to Heaven instead of Hell, he certainly doesn't see much difference between the two. Beelzebub is the reason he decisively doesn't, and races home in a panic.

And I think it's genuinely so sweet, this moment of understanding and comradery between them that goes unnoticed, even to Crowley. They drop the shtick and make sure that he knows the book of life is a real threat, and you only need to be merely involved in hiding him to be erased from it. Because to them, there's also the very real possibility that Crowley knows about Gabriel while Aziraphale doesn't, so they're double checking Crowley will not to tell him and instead go straight to them. There’s just something so protective in it.

[highseas-swede]

Becoming Real

Recently Good Omens Prime Twitter account posted a BTS photo of Aziraphale and Furfur and it started the gears in my head turning, trying to parse it. It's only just now that it finally coalesced into a proper thought.

I kept thinking Aziraphale reminded me of something, especially when compared to the other angels. Look at him next to pre-Jim Gabriel, Uriel, Michael... heck, even Furfur, who he's standing next to right now.

Furfur is a demon, but his outfit is impeccable, it's sleek and stylish. The angel's suits in heaven are all pressed and flawless and New.

But not Aziraphale. He's dressed in old human clothes, his waistcoat is worn and tattered and long-loved. Aziraphale is, as Michael put it, like an old sofa. Worn and comfortable. He could choose to look basically however he wants, but instead he chooses to clothe himself in actual human clothes, to eat human food, to enjoy human entertainment - books, music, plays, etc. He does this despite the fact that it actively makes the other angels dislike him and find him unpalatable.

And that's what stuck out to me. Because unlike those other angels and demons, Aziraphale doesn't feel distant from humanity. He might be odd or eccentric to humans, but they don't question his humanity. He doesn't stand out to them in the way that the other angels do when they show up.

It occurred to me that this is because unlike the other angels... Aziraphale is Real.

Have you ever read The Velveteen Rabbit? There's a scene in it where they talk about what it means to be Real:

This made me think of Aziraphale. About how the other angels are these pristine things, kept aloof from the world, and then there's Aziraphale, who is worn and shabby, who's lived on earth for millennia among the humans. He's loved and learned and experienced what being human is like and because of that he's Real in a way that the other angels aren't. Humans have personhood, a sense of agency, a sense of self. Angels and demons have only the divine plan, as Beelzebub and Gabriel noted, that's all they live for "if you can call it living".

But what strikes me the most is how potentially devastating Aziraphale's Realness will be to Heaven. They only succeed at keeping angels in line because they're undistracted from the Great Plan. We see how Gabriel - as Jim - takes to cocoa after trying it. We see how quickly Muriel becomes fascinated with books.

Now consider that this is the angel they're putting in charge of Heaven. This worn, shabby, old sofa of an angel who has an endless well of love, for Crowley, for the world and the humans in it. He doesn't seem dangerous in the slightest. He seems Fragile.

But he is dangerous. So very dangerous.

But it's not because he's a guardian, not because he's a warrior, not because he's the Angel of the Eastern Gate who leads a battalion and was issued a flaming sword. He gave all of that away and it's worth noting that this is the first actual choice we see him make in the show, the thing that sets him apart in Crowley's eyes, and it wasn't even Crowley's doing! Aziraphale made a choice to give the mortals his sword out of compassion and it is a sense of compassion we don't see from the other angels.

His deviations all stem from that initial act. It takes him from being this two-dimensional cardboard entity existing only as part of the Divine Plan and set him on the path to actual Personhood.

It doesn't happen right away, of course, because as the Skin Horse says:

"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

And doesn't that sum up Aziraphale? He's shabby and worn and he's beautiful to the people who understand and appreciate that being Real means being imperfect, and that every imperfection is still beautiful.

No wonder the angels mock his corporation, his flaws, all the things he enjoys that make him less than what they think he should be. We see evidence over and over that Aziraphale is essentially "ugly" to them. But that's because they don't understand.

Aziraphale's Realness, his personhood, what Crowley has helped nurture from the Wall of Eden all the way to that last desperate kiss, is what really matters. Good Omens has always been about People being fundamentally People. It's the underlying current that ties everything together, for good or for ill. People have agency. People have self-actualization. People have the ability to make their own choices, for good or for evil.

And now Aziraphale has that too.

That's the very real danger he presents to heaven.

Because we've already seen that any angel, given sufficient time and interaction with humans could be like Aziraphale. All it takes is one small opening, one bite from the apple. Whether deliberately or not, Crowley tempted Aziraphale into every step, the way he tempted Eve in the garden. He gave Aziraphale the knowledge of Right and Wrong, presented him with the option, the way he did with humanity. Were they even really human before Crowley? Did he give them free will? His actions cast them out of paradise, but did it ultimately set them free? Has he struggled for millennia to do the same for the angel he's loved so well and for so long?

Does Crowley know how horribly, wonderfully well he succeeded?

Bringing Aziraphale back to Heaven, putting him in charge, was the absolute worst thing the Metatron could have done for keeping the status quo and it's not because of Aziraphale's fighting prowess. It's because of the small Human acts of kindness and pettiness that Aziraphale is capable of. That's not going to go away when he's in Heaven. It's going to spread. He's going to infect Heaven with Humanity. It's going to be so slow and gradual that they won't see it coming until it's far too late.

It's not going to be the way that Aziraphale intends to change Heaven and yet, it will surely ultimately be what really makes a difference.

I wonder too, if maybe that's some subconscious part of it. After seeing Gabriel change, seeing Muriel change, I wonder if there's not some part of Aziraphale that realizes that Heaven is a miserable place that makes miserable people. He'll extend compassion to them that they don't deserve and don't know they're missing and he'll surely go on with whatever his own Plan - with a capital P, of course - is and he won't even realize what he's actually done.

And then, like the ending of S1, like the ending of S2, the ultimate deciding factor will not be who is the best warrior, who is the strongest. It will be about the Human element.

Metatron thought he could control Aziraphale, bring him in line by bringing him back to Heaven. He wants to take away the human element of Aziraphale and shove him back into that Obedient Little Angel shaped mold and he doesn't realize it's not possible anymore. Aziraphale's grown. He'll never fit, he'll never be that again. There is no going back anymore.

As the Skin Horse says: "Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

And Real things, things with depth and purpose and will, are impossible to ever truly control.

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[cillianhead]

A New Pair of Glasses || Cillian Murphy x Reader

Part One! Part Two!

summary: When Y/N watches the Batman trilogy for the first time with her friends... she returns home to Cillian with a newfound sense of longing for a certain Dr. Jonathan Crane.

warnings: SMUT, DUBCON!, CNC themes!!!, unprotected P in V, oral sex (f and m receiving), analplay, FAKE DRUG USE! (Cillian gives reader a sugar pill and says it's a sedative (all consensual; reader is aware of the fact it's not a real sedative.)) minor alcohol use / drunk, age gap (reader is college age while Cillian is in his mid-to-late 40s), swearing, daddy kink, sir/doctor kink, breeding kink, praise kink, degradation, vulgar language, sort of a sugar daddy + sugar baby dynamic, slapping, roleplay, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation, squirting, sex toys (dildo and vibrator), use of electric shocks for sexual pleasure (Cillian uses some sort of mild toy that zaps you), use of restraints, fake cheating scenario, sort of vague allusions that Cillian is gonna push her off a balcony but I'd like to stress the words VAGUE ALLUSIONS!! adult content ahead!!

LONG FIC ?!?!

(I wrote this while listening to Eat Your Young by Hozier :-))

18+ Minors DNI

"This your man?" Your friend Gabriel snickered as you all sat around eating popcorn and other various junk foods.

"Yeah... yeah..." You roll your eyes playfully before popping a few popcorn kernels into your mouth. You felt horribly flustered and hot despite the cold weather outside.

"Genuinely can't believe you've never seen these movies before," Your friend Mia, Sasha's girlfriend, remarks from the couch. The film was paused on a particular scene of Dr. Jonathan Crane with a gavel in hand. "Especially since your boyfriend is in it..." She said teasingly. "I can't believe he's your boyfriend!"

You just giggled and shyly smiled. You had binge-watched all the movies, and now you were on the last one. You couldn't express the emotions you were feeling right now. A deep carnal sensation was lighting you on fire within as they continued the scene. Though he was only in it for a short amount of time, you found yourself zoning out and fantasizing about Jonathan Crane and what it would be like to fuck him.

The movie ended, and by now, it was nearing midnight. You hadn't planned on staying the night at Sasha's, so you stood back up and collected your things. A driver was picking you up in about ten minutes, so you sat around with your three best friends and talked about your plans for the rest of the weekend and all that.

"What's your boyfriend up to?" Gabriel asked with a knowing smile on their face.

"Oh, he's gone to the pub to watch the footy with a couple of his buddies," You beamed. You couldn't explain it, but the idea of Cillian out and having fun with a couple of pints of Guinness in some little pub, having a blast, and laughing with his mates was unbelievably cute. It made you feel all blushy and dumb, the kind of dumb a schoolgirl would get at seeing her favorite charming teacher. "Not sure if he's home yet, and I haven't really wanted to bother him tonight. It's his first time seeing his friends in a while... since he and I are basically together all the time." You giggled, fiddling with the hem of your shorts.

"This is your first time seeing us in forever too!" Sasha squeeled with that laugh of hers, throwing a cushion at you.

"Ow, hey!" You pouted as you pretended to soothe your arm.

"You know it's true," Sasha sassed. "You two are joined at the hip... but we're not mad, we just miss you... but we're so happy for you and your sugar daddy- *cough* sorry, boyfriend." Sasha joked, and you all burst out laughing.

"He's not my sugar daddy..." You bit your lip, stifling the laughs ready to erupt from you. "I mean, like... he is... like that's how it first started, but he's more than that now..." You bit your tongue and rubbed your heel on the ground with a reclusive and cheeky smile. "I think I'm gonna marry him..." You grinned.

"Oh! You are not... we haven't even fucking met him!" Gabriel snapped, cackling. "Why can't we meet him?" "Oh, come on, I want you guys to meet him, and he wants to meet you... I'm just nervous..." You mused.

"What? Do you think he's gonna hate us?" Sasha asked while sipping her margarita that she bragged about being able to make herself.

"No... it's just..." You hesitated, looking down at your lap. "You guys are very different types of people. I think it's likely to clash in a strange and complicated way." Gabriel nodded their head understandingly. "Like you guys are gonna meet! But I just don't know exactly how... he's a very lowkey guy and likes quiet settings, whereas you guys... wanna go do something fun and exciting and a bit loud... and that's fine! I love both of those things... and Cillian's all weird and cute and awkward when he meets new people, especially in loud places..."

"Oh hush, we get it... we'll meet when the time is right," Sasha smiled. "As long as we meet before the wedding though, like-"

"Oh shit, my driver's here, I gotta go. He's been waiting for two minutes already..." You hurriedly got up and gave Gabriel and Sasha big hugs.

"Who are you with your private drivers?!" Sasha giggled before leaning on Gabriel with loving smirks.

"Bye!" You yelled before quickly rushing out the door with both your shopping bags from the day of shopping you had with your two mates.

You had met up for brunch, which turned into "a quick trip to the mall" to try on about fifteen different pairs of clothes in six other clothing stores. After that, you returned to Sasha and her girlfriend's place and hung out with the three of them for a while. Sasha's girlfriend was a massive nerd with posters of Evil Dead, Five Nights at Freddie's, Hatsune Miku, and many other fun, dorky things. It was when someone brought up Batman that Sasha's girlfriend, Mia, would begin to lose her mind. You both chatted about it, and she told you all about the different Batman villains and then subsequently mentioned The Scarecrow.

"That's Y/N's boyfriend!" Gabriel said as they took off their makeup in the mirror.

Sasha and Gabriel then had to explain to Mia that you were dating the actor who played the scarecrow in the Christopher Nolan Batman films. It was funny seeing Mia's reaction, and you talked a bit more until you mentioned that you hadn't seen them, and then they all decided on a movie night.

And now you sat in the back seat of a black car, leaning your head against the window. You were excited to see Cillian again. You had missed him all day. The streets were busy, full of people coming out of pubs. Everyone was watching the footy today, so it made sense that it was more crowded than usual. As you slowly pushed through traffic, you closed your eyes and fell asleep to the sound of the busy streets and passing cars.

A few hours had passed and everything was quiet now.

"Y/N, honey, you're home," The driver gently shook you awake. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead." You smiled with your eyes closed at the older man and slowly slipped out of the car with your things.

"Thanks for waking me up, Jim," You said kindly. "Has Cillian already paid you for tonight?" "Yes, with a hefty tip as always," Jim croaked happily as he made his way back to the driver's seat. "You have a good night, Miss. Y/N."

"Thank you, drive safely, please!" You yelled as you unlocked the door to your shared home with Cillian. All the lights were off so you figured Cillian hadn't made it home yet.

You sighed and set down all your bags once you entered your bedroom. You got changed into one of Cillian's shirts and a pair of comfy sleep shorts and slipped your headphones on. You stood out on the balcony with a slight smile on your moonlit face. A cup of chamomile was cradled in your hands as you listened to soft music and waited for your beloved boyfriend to get home.

You couldn't stop thinking about him, though. Jonathan Crane had ravaged your mind. Just the thought of him made you squeeze a little. How he looked and acted, it was like every cell in your body was lit on fire with desire for the fictional character. Of course, the main reason you found him so sexy was because it was Cillian. But that was well over a decade ago now, and Cillian had aged beautifully since then. The thought of an older 'dilfier' version of Crane made you weak in the knees.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar arm snaking its way around your waist and a loving kiss placed on your shoulder.

"Hey, darling," Cillian whispered as you pulled your headphones off. He held you in his arms and swayed you slowly. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, and you grinned, knowing he was probably a bit buzzed. "Missed you while I was out." "Mmm, yeah?" You hum, setting your tea down on the small glass table beside you before wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying with him softly. "How much?"

"So much," He slurred, pushing his face into your neck and groaning at your sweet smell. "Fuckin' thought about you all night long, even when me' team won." "Your team won?!" You exclaimed gleefully. "That's great, Cillian!" "Yeah, yeah," He shook his head with a blush on his face. "They won by a landslide." He was so cute when he blushed. "Oh, my lovely boy," You praised sweetly and leaned in, kissing him deeply. Cillian moaned into the kiss as his hands slid down to rest on your ass., giving it a loving squeeze. "I've been waitin' for you, Daddy." You whispered with a string of spit tying your lips together.

He snarled a bit at the nickname. "Oh yeah, baby?" He huffed with a one-sided grin. A smug look on his face as the dynamic immediately changed, and he pressed your back against the wooden railing with a sadistic smirk. "What you've been waitin' for?" He whispered gravelly in your ear, his hips pressed into yours to make you feel his hard dick through his trousers.

"I..." You trembled, mouth helplessly falling open with shyness.

"Was it my cock?" He hummed, fingers sliding up from your arm to grip your quivering jaw heavily. He slapped you across the face, but not enough to bruise, just to leave a constant sting. You whined, and another slap was given. "Tell me... baby... I know you can feel how fuckin' hard I am right now, so tell me all about how you're cunt is drippin' f'me." He grunted, letting go of your jaw and lining his hips up with yours with his palms roughly grappling at your ass to pull your barely-clothed pussy right against his fucking hard cock.

"Daddy..." You whispered breathlessly and helplessly. The way he was pushing you back against the balcony caused you to lean over the edge ever so slightly. It was frightening. You knew Jonathan- *I mean* Cillian would never push you off the balcony. But the thrill was enticing as he looked at you hungrily.

"Don't be coy with me now, little girl," Cillian smiled a toothy and mischievous grin. "I remember all the times you've had the mouth of a pornstar, spewing dirty t'ings for yer daddy," He pressed his nose into your neck, cupping the back of your head as he leaned you against the balcony.

"Please fuck me...." You gasped, grinding yourself on his erection. He groaned and grabbed you harder, this time away from the balcony and back inside. You were gripping his shirt feverishly, trying not to fall over. He pushed you down onto the bed with a grunt and kicked his socks and shoes off before undoing his belt and ripping off his top layers. "Oh, daddy..." You whispered, spreading your legs open as you pulled your shorts down and your thong with it. Cillian leaned down, grabbed your black thong, and raised it to his nose and mouth, smelling it like a feral dog.

"Fuckin' hell," He exhaled before dropping to his knees before you, at eye level with your wet pussy. "I'm so hungry..." He nipped your inner thighs, slowly lowering closer to your heat.

"Please... eat me... Daddy, oh my god," You mewled as you raised your pussy to his drooling mouth and tongue. "Fuck, oh!" You exclaimed as you arched your back, digging your fingers into his hair and pressing his face into your cunt. He ate you up like a cornucopia of fruit and slurped you up with his tongue.

"S'good," Cillian groaned, muffled by your cunt in his mouth. Your arousal and his spit dribbling down his pretty chin, his eyes looking desperately up at you, as you rest back on your arms and cry with euphoria.

"Oh... Cill.... oh... daddy..." You moaned, hair spread across your face and mouth. You were too lost in the pleasure. Slowly rutting your pussy into his face, head lolling from side to side with the dizziness of your impending orgasm. "Gonna cum... baby... gonna cum..."

"Give it t'me," Cillian grunted, eyes fluttering shut as he focused his tongue particularly on your throbbing clit; occasionally slipping it down to lap at your soaking cunt. His nose was pressed into your mound, hardly breathing, too focused on the sweet euphoria of eating your pussy. In his usually busy and complicated mind, his brain had now gone radio silent, and it was exactly like he was high. You were a drug to him. You came undone, gushing into his awaiting mouth.

Your eyes rolled back into your brain, loud mewls as you fell back onto your shoulders and gripped at the sheets. You were near to tears with how good he ate you out. As he lapped up your sweet cum, you writhed, squeezing your thighs around his head and fingers tugging painfully hard on the roots of his hair.

"Okay, Cillian..." You exasperated, panting heavily. "That's enough." He pulled away like a slobbering dog, cum and saliva making a string of spit on his chin and your sopping cunt.

"Fuck me, baby..." He whispered, pupils blown wide like he had taken ecstasy. "You taste so good..." He hummed as he crawled up to you and kissed you hard, tasting yourself on his stroking tongue. His cock was out by now, painfully hard and ready to be stuck in your cunt. "Please let me fuck you now..." He said breathily against your lips. "Please..."

"Daddy... please... need you inside me," You bit your lip as the tip of his cock nudged your clit. "Don't tease me..."

"Course not, darlin'," He mumbled deeply, right by your ear as he slung one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his waist. "Why would I tease my darling girl?" He pressed himself fully into you, making you go cross-eyed.

"Ooohh..." You mewled softly. The air had been knocked out of your lungs. It felt like you would explode in the most beautiful way possible. His cock was snug against your cervix, every ridge of him pressing against your hot and wet walls. You shut your eyes, shaking as he began pulling out of you slowly before jutting back into you.

"Best fuckin' pussy," He growled, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Best one I've had..."

"You're mine," You gasped out, drunk on his cock already. You reached out and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him into a teeth-clashing kiss. "All mine, daddy." You pressed your heel into his lower back as you pulled away from the kiss to look at his face above yours. You looked up at him with your dizzy eyes and lips spilling out drool, desperate to hear him say the words you had on your mind.

"I'm all yours, Y/N," He panted, fucking you roughly and desperately. You went at it like rabbits, desperate to be bred. "I'm yours... forever..." He connected his soft lips to yours and made you fall in love all over again as you made out. He was still a bit drunk, and he usually came a bit quickly when he was but you didn't mind.

"You gonna cum in me?" You moaned, rocking your hips against his. His hands slid up and cradled you by your ribcage as he manhandled you to seamlessly get speared by his cock.

"Y-Yeah, course," He panted, eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of you. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum..." "That's it, Daddy," You moaned, reaching up and pulling on his hair as you kissed him. His cum instantly squirted into you as you squeezed around him and danced your tongue against his. "Fuck, feels so good... fill me up..." You mewled, pressing yourself against him as your orgasm washed over you too.

Cillian was silent, face pressed into the side of your cheek with his mouth agape in quiet moans, his veins popping out of his forehead. "Oh baby girl, oh fuck..." He whispered, all whiny, into your ear. He still pathetically rutted his hips into you, filling you with as much cum as possible.

Drool fell down your chin as you convulsed in his arms. He quickly pulled off of you, not wanting to become overstimulated, and you still lay there, writhing a bit as your orgasm slowly dissipated. Cillian pressed a flush kiss to your warm cheek, laying on his side and wrapping you up in his big arms.

"You did so good for me, baby," Cillian whispered sweetly as you blinked slowly at him. "Such a good girl, knows how to take cock so well," He smiled at you knowingly, brushing your hair with his fingers.

"Cillian..." You hummed with a sleepy smile. "Get me some underwear please... don't want to lose any of your cum..."

Cillian smirked, quickly getting up and rushing to your drawer where you kept all your panties and other lingerie items. He picked out a baby pink pair of panties and brought them over to you, sliding it slowly up your legs and getting a glimpse of your creamy pussy.

"How pretty, a little bow..." He chuckled, fiddling with the white bow at the top of your underwear. Cillian crawled into your shared bed with you. He pulled you into his arms, and you lay there with happy smiles, getting warm from the covers. You lie in comfortable silence for a while, nuzzling your heads together and cherishing the feeling of having your bodies together again. It felt healing. It truly felt like you had found your other half. You knew you had.

"Do you need a glass of water or anything?" Cillian asks with that lovely Irish accent of his.

"No, it's okay, just need you to hold me, Cill... I'm tired," You whispered with a smile, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "I need your arms around me to feel sane..." "Such a poet," Cillian snickered, kissing your forehead and pulling you closer. "What'd you get up to today, sweet t'ing?" He asked, running his fingertips gently up and down your back. It was almost ticklish.

"Well, the brunch was really nice with Sasha and Gabby," You recalled softly, fingers fiddling with the chain around his neck. "Then Sasha wanted to go get something from the mall.... so we went to the mall, and I did some shopping too... while I was there."

"Oooo... shopping? Tell me whatcha got, love." Cillian cooed excitedly, wriggling with anticipation. Cillian had given you a credit card with a pretty high limit, paid by his money. He was pretty much entirely financially supporting you. You felt terrible at first, but you realized quickly that he got off on the idea of you spoiling yourself with his money. So you'd treat yourself to nice things while treating him to very nice things simultaneously. Pretty much every shopping trip, you'd buy something sexy for Cillian to rip off of you. "Did ya get me anythin'?" "Mhm," You whispered, poking his chest knowingly. "Can I see it?" He asked with a raised brow.

"Nope, not until tomorrow..." You smirked, pecking him on the lips. "I want to keep you on your toes."

"Alright, woman, whatever you please... just as long as I see ya in it..." Cillian chuckled, nudging your nose with his. He enjoyed it when you showed off what you bought, especially the clothes. He'd make you do a little fashion show in his living room. "What else did ya do?" "Oh, then we went back to Sasha's place..." You trailed off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. "Had a bit of dinner... then we just watched some movies." You smiled while Jonathan Crane's face flashed inside your head.

"What movies did you watch?" He asked curiously, fingers twirling your hair around it. He could see you were quickly becoming flustered but he wasn't quite sure why. "What? What is it? What did you watch?" He laughed.

"We watched... we watched..." You giggled, leaning in and pressing your face into his chest. "The Batman movies..." You snickered, rolling around and laughing wildly. Cillian had a stunned and amused look on his face as he watched you wriggle around and laugh your lungs out.

"The ones I'm in, ya mean?" He asked, chuckling a bit with a red face. He was worried you were laughing at him. "Y-Yes!" You said with a loud laugh. You were laughing because of how fucking sexually attracted you are to him as Jonathan Crane. There was something so sexy about him as this cunning, tricky little Batman villain. "Oh my god..." "I didn't think I did too bad in those films..." He whispered bashfully, looking down at his lap a bit self-consciously. "Did yer friends also think it was silly?" Your laughing quickly dissipated as you realized Cillian had taken your laughing the wrong way. You quickly sat up and scooted closer to him with wide eyes. "No, no, no... I'm not... I'm not laughing at it... Cillian... you were brilliant... they're fuckin' brilliant films... it's just..." You trailed off, biting your lip as you giggled a bit more thinking about Jonathan Crane.

"It's just what?" He asked, still with a disappointed and sad look in his eyes.

"You were so...." You whispered, pressing your face into his chest and laughing into his warm skin. "He's so hot!" You blurted out.

"What?" He laughed, thinking you're talking about Christian Bale.

"Cillian," You sat up, looking him directly into his eyes, and he could tell you were seriously about to say to him how sexually attracted you were to Batman. "You as the scarecrow... as Dr. Jonathan Crane... fuuuuuccckk..." You rolled your eyes back into your head, teeth tightly clenching down on your bottom lip.

"O-Oh!" Cillian smiled, face growing red for many different reasons and eyes lighting up. "You really thought so?"

"Cillian, I want to fuck him so bad," You gasped, pressing your nose into his face.

"It's funny how yer referring to me as him," He laughed, wrapping you up in his arms. You were both more in a sitting position now, looking at each other's grinning faces.

"No, like... obviously... it's you... and that's mainly why I find Jonathan so sexy... but just the way... you played the character... he's so fucking convincing and so attractive... like... I want him."

Cillian raised a brow before kissing you softly. "Well, y'have me..."

"I know, baby... I don't want anyone else but you," You reassured sweetly. "Just think the characters you play... are so handsome... want them all to fuck me..."

Cillian blushed, kissing you again, this time a little longer and sloppier. Eventually, after you two managed to pull off each other, you brushed your teeth side by side, and Cillian watched you wash your face and moisturize. You'd then turn to him and ask to put some on him, and he would hesitantly let you, all while pretending to not enjoy the attention.

Falling asleep was easy in Cillian's arms. Ever since you met him, every night without him was sleepless. There was just nothing quite like having him hold you. You had passed out, unbeknownst to Cillian, reaching his arm out for his phone and quickly ordering some things online and then lying back down with you again to sleep with a smug smirk on his face.

In the late morning, you two woke up around the same time. Cillian woke up only a few minutes before you did. He watched you beautifully sleep.

"Good mornin'," He grumbled with that morning voice of his. "How'd you sleep, sleeping beauty?"

"Oh, hush," You shook your head, covering your face as you rubbed your eyes. "I feel like I look like an ogre," You laughed, sitting up a bit. "I slept amazing... as usual... how about you, my lovely man?" You reached out, stroking along his stubbled jaw.

"Perfectly fine," He nodded, sitting up with you, sheets barely covering his naked manhood. Your hands slipped the sheets from his pelvis to reveal his morning wood. "Mmm... didn't say you could do that..." He smirked, eyes watching as you lowered your face down to kiss his hard cock.

"Love you so much, just wanna make you feel good..." You mumbled as you fit the tip in your mouth. You wrapped your fingers around the base as you sucked on his leaky tip.

"Fuckin' hell," Cillian sighed, throwing his head back as you teased him. And then you fully sank your mouth down on his cock until his thick head was prodding at the back of your throat. "That's it, love... I love you so much... you're so fuckin' good to me."

You hummed around his cock as he lazily lay there and enjoyed the feeling of your mouth on him. You slowly sucked him to the brink of cumming, popping off of him right before the climax.

"Why'd you stop?" He whined, reaching to grab a hold of his cock, but you quickly swatted his hand away. "Hey!"

"You're not allowed to cum," You stated simply, not elaborating any further.

"What? Why?" He laughed incredulously. He kept trying to reach for his erection, but you smacked his hand away every time.

"You're just not," You looked at him stubbornly. "Not until later. I want to show you something really cute and slutty I got for you yesterday... and I want you to be absolutely desperate..." Cillian groaned out of frustration. "Fine, if that's what it takes to make my girl happy," He reached a hand up and stroked your hair affectionately, yet with a sense of irritation.

"And don't even think about trying anything in our shower," You murmured as you both got up and wandered into your shower. "You can't get yourself off."

"So goddamn bossy," Cillian grumbled teasingly as you turned on the hot shower, and both stood underneath it. Cillian was in agony with his throbbing cock. And it didn't help that you stood right against one another. The hot water and your ass pressing against him was nearly enough to make him burst without even doing anything. You knew what you were doing to him.

The shower was long and tiring, and eventually, Cillian's dick softened on its own, but that didn't deny the sexual frustration within him. Cillian made the two of you breakfast, and you ate with a smug smirk on your face.

"Gotta run some errands today, love," Cillian hummed while chewing his scrambled eggs. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Oh, can I come with?" You asked with your head perked up.

"Actually, could you stay home?" He asked while cutting his food to take another bite. "I have an important package coming later that needs to be signed for... plus it's just boring stuff anyway, just some meetings and all that stuff you don't care about."

"Oh, okay! That's alright," You smiled, your plate now cleared. "I'll stay here."

Cillian got ready while you sat on the lounge, watching your favorite show. Cillian hurriedly walked into the living room and sat down beside you. You paused the TV and looked at him with a sad smile.

"I'm gonna miss you while you're out," You whispered, kissing him softly on the cheek. "You not shaving?" You hummed when you noticed he still had some stubble lining his jaw.

"I know, baby love," He murmured, his hand caressing your thigh. "Nah, I think I'm gonna grow out my beard a lil'... I'm gonna be gone for a little while... probably won't be back until this evening..."

"Oh..." You frowned, pouting at him as he placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Don't worry," He whispered, pecking you softly on your pouty lips. "You've got a gift comin' today," He hummed, and you raised your eyebrows curiously. "It's a little treat from me. You can go on and open it without me. I know how impatient you can get..."

"Really?" You said ecstatically. "Thank you, Cillian... I'm sure I'm gonna love it." You reached out and wrapped your arms tightly around him.

"Oh, you will," He whispered into your ear. "You're gonna really fuckin' like it."

You and Cillian shared one last loving kiss as you walked him to the door. You watched him go with a longing sigh before turning around and wondering what you were gonna do for the day. Cillian never specified when your gift was showing up.

For a while, you bundled up on the couch and watched some more TV, but eventually, you grew restless and wandered into your bedroom and tried on your new set of lacy white lingerie. You look angelic in the most sinful way possible. You planned on acting all submissive and obedient for Cillian tonight, and you wanted to look everything pure and innocent for your daddy. The lace and tight straps hugged you beautifully and exemplified your curves. The back of it was just one thin G-string sitting between your ass... And, of course, two baby pink bows strapped on either side of your hips. Not to be despite the thin lace front where you could easily see your pretty wet pussy through.

The top piece of the set was a small white corset laced up with bows and soft, sweet velvet. The busk straps on either side of your darling shoulders were adorned with cute patterned lace and tiny little bows... and made your tits look fucking amazing. Oh, you were adorable and simply undeniably fuckable-looking. His cock would look at you before even his eyes had, and before he knew it, his cocks got a brain, and it's leading him straight to you.

A soft garter belt attached to the tops of your translucently cotton stockings that went up to your thighs. Everything was perfect and handmade and expensive. So you decided to just keep it on and surprise him like this when he gets home. While you pranced around the living room, sipping your freshly made tea. A sweet milky early grey, soothing your inner qualms and exciting you even more at the thought of Cillian coming home.

It was around 2 PM now, and you figured Cillian wouldn't be home for another couple of hours, so the distinct sound of Cillian's car coming up the driveway made you frown. What happened? You were worried something terrible happened and didn't bother putting any clothes on since you knew it was just Cillian. A knock at the door made you frown and pause in your footsteps.

"Delivery!" Cillian yelled with an American accent. You giggled, thinking it was just him messing around, and so you quickly unlocked the door to the most shocking sight.

Cillian stood there in a nice slimming suit, the same kind that Jonathan Crane wore. And the sight of his hair styled how it was in Batman, and the classic glasses and briefcase clutched in hand, you felt like you were going to pass out.

"My... what a skimpy little outfit you've got on, sweetheart," He grumbled, lifting up a tiny little teal-colored Tiffany&Co gift bag with a little note that said 'From Cillian, xxx' and you realized that was his gift. "Ran into your cute boyfriend... by the way."

"What do you mean, Cillian?" You whispered, taking tiny steps back as he walked slowly and creepily towards you until your back hit the wall.

"I know we may look similar..." He whispered, grabbing you roughly by your chin. "But I think you know exactly who I am," He said raspily into your ear. His American accent sends you into overdrive. "Cillian... huh... well, he's not here right now, Ms. Y/N." He growled, grabbing ahold of one of your tits through your lingerie.

"Wh-Wha..." You couldn't comprehend what was happening. Cillian was doing such a convincing act at being Jonathan Crane it made you forget it was actually him.

Jonathan grabbed a hold of you, and you hit and squealed as he threw you over his shoulders. Fuck, he was so strong. He placed a harsh smack on your ass and shoved you roughly down onto the bed so you were looking up at him. His hair is a bit messed up now, and his glasses sitting lowly on his nose. It really was him, you had convinced yourself. It's Jonathan Crane.

"Too bad your little boyfriend's not gonna see what I'm gonna do to you," He growled as he tugged a bit on your underwear, pulling you into a sitting position. "Let's say... Cillian and I had a little deal, and this was my end... of the bargain per se.... think I know a better way to treat this sickness of yours..."

"Where is Cillian...?" You asked with quivering lips. He stood with two legs slotted in between your bare ones. He was even wearing a different cologne, and you noticed he had shaved to look younger.

"Oh baby, you don't wanna know," He smirked, briefly brushing your cheek before placing his black briefcase beside you on the bed. "Your boyfriend mentioned some concerns about your well-being, so he sent me here to check on you..." Jonathan had a smug smirk on his face as he unlocked his briefcase, pulling out a small packet of pills. "Now, I'm here to make you feel better..." He popped out a pill and placed it in the palm of his hand. "Open wide, princess..." He mused.

"Wha-What is it?" As you hesitantly opened your mouth and let him place the small white pill right on your tongue. He leaned down and had his mouth right next to your ear.

"Just a sugar pill," Cillian whispered in his Irish accent again. "Pretend it's a sedative... you can always say the safe word at any time, angel. I love you." He placed a kiss against your cheek before pulling away with that cold demeanor of Jonathan Crane again. You dry swallowed the pill. "That's a good girl," He hummed, shutting his briefcase. You caught a glimpse of a rather large dildo and a few other sex toys. "You'll feel real good in about ten minutes. Now I want you to get nice and spread out for me so I can fuck you."

You scrambled back up onto the bed and spread your legs wide open with trembling lips. "But... I have a boyfriend... you're not my boyfriend..."

"No, sweetie," He shook his head, chuckling as he kicked off his shoes and undid his coat. "But your stupid boyfriend doesn't have to know a thing about what happens tonight."

"N-No..." You shut your legs and quickly got out of the bed to run.

"Oh no, you fucking don't," He barked, grabbing you by your ankle and pulling you back towards him like you were just a sack of meat. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to tie you to the bed if you're even gonna think about trying to get away from me."

"Jonatha-"

"Doctor or sir to you, bitch," He slapped you harshly across the face and pulled out ankle and wrist restraints. "Get in position, don't make me force you."

"Yes, sir..." You said with your eyes down and crawling up the bed to be in a position where you could be tied up. Jonathan firmly put the cuffs on your ankles and your wrists, chaining you to the bed frame from both sides. "Please don't hurt me..."

"Please don't hurt me," He mocked in a high-pitched voice. "I'm gonna do whatever I please to you." He hissed, pulling your ass into his clothed cunt. "How cute you wore this for your boyfriend... so pathetic." "He... He likes them..."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," He cackled his menacing laugh. "Too bad he's never gonna see you in it. Think I'm gonna have to keep you for myself." "What do you mean?" You whimpered, pulling a bit at your restraints.

"It's just gonna be me and you for now, baby... your boyfriend's not comin' back... what a shame..." He unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. You tried your best to pull away from him as he crawled on top of you but you couldn't go very far with your limited mobility.

"Fuck... I think... I think the medicine is kicking in..." You whined as you felt Jonathan pull down your panties but kept everything else in place. He wanted to fuck you with your cute skimpy lingerie on. Cillian had truly put himself in the mindset of this character as he pulled his cock out and grabbed at your thighs roughly. Your eyes drooped a bit but Jonathan quickly snapped you out of it by shoving his cock in you harshly.

"Bet you're still full of his cum, aren't you?" Jonathan grunted as you squeezed around him, unbelievably wet. "What a fucking whore."

"Doctor... please..." You cried, thrusting your hips up into him. "Please don't do this... this isn't right.. my... my... boyfriend... will find out-"

"Oh shut the fuck up," He spat, fucking you like you were just some fleshlight. "You're mine now, slut... gonna fuckin use you for all my experiments and fuck you while you're cowering in fear under my toxins."

"Pl-Please..." Tears slipped out from your eyes. "I'm not on the pill... please stop..." You lied and pulled at your restraints, trying to get free.

"Oh fuck, even better," He moaned. "Gonna get you pregnant and show your loving boyfriend what we fuckin' did... he'll see what an easy slut you are..." Jonathan's voice was cold and mean, but it made you moan so much louder and shake with pleasure as you came around him. "Told you so... look at you cumming already on my dick when I just put it in you."

"N-No..." You whimpered, tears streaming down your face. That only made him fuck you harder and deeper into you. He was getting off on your crying. "Please... you can't..." Your body had gone limp at this point. He showed no signs of stopping, fucking your spasming cunt.

"Poor little thing," He ran his thumb sweetly over your wet cheeks with a smug smirk. "Pretending like you're not just some cum-hungry slut."

You mewled and fought against your restraints as he somehow managed to make you cum again. You were so fucking turned on that your body gave in to the pleasure so easily and quickly. "Too much... too much... sir..." You wailed, trying to shut your legs, but that only made him pin those down as he continued fucking you. You thought about how you had edged Cillian earlier, so you imagined that this probably was his revenge.

"Go on and take my cum then, whore," Jonathan groaned as he spurt cum deep inside of you, further intensifying your orgasm. Jonathan grunted ferociously, cum filling you to the brim as he shook with the pleasure he was experiencing.

"Oh..." You squeaked, shutting your eyes as you twitched.

He pulled out of you, squirting a bit more cum out onto your swollen clit and watching it drip down and meet the rest of your sperm-filled hole. Jonathan seemed pleased with his creation as he slipped his fogged-up glasses off and wiped them clean before sliding them back on.

"Doctor...." You whispered, heaving as he stood up and undid your restraints. "Thank you..." You whispered, rubbing your sore ankles and wrists. "Pl-Please don't tell my boyfriend about this." Jonathan scoffed and rolled his eyes as he tucked his cock back into his underwear.

"I'm not finished with you yet, sweetheart," Jonathan whispered, leaning in and biting your neck. You whimpered and grabbed ahold of him as he left marks on your neck.

"No! Don't mark... don't mark me..." You tried to pull him off of you, but he wouldn't budge. It only made him bite you harder. "Jonathan... he'll see..."

"Good, I want him to see what a nasty slut you are," He growled, biting down harder.

You shoved him off of you and, with no underwear on, ran down the hall to get away from him. But you heard footsteps pounding down the hallway after you ominously, not at a very fast pace.

"Oh, you can run, but you can't hide sweetheart," He chuckled as he slowly walked around and acted as if he couldn't see you hiding behind one of the floor-length curtains. The tops of your feet poked out from underneath. "Hmm... where'd you go? I won't hurt you." It was creepy how convinced you were it was anyone other than your Cillian. In a way, you were truly horrified of him finding you. His American accent remains steady and strong.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt a hand wrap tightly around your arm and yank you out of your horrible hiding spot. "Stupid little girl... trying to hide from me..." He looked pissed as he dragged you to the center of the living room, where he shoved you down on your knees. "I have an idea..." He smirked, a glimmer of mischief flickering through his cold eyes. "Let's see what your sweet little daddy got you... hmm? Stay here on your knees... or I swear to fuckin' god..." He said through gritted teeth before sauntering off in only his underwear and glasses.

When he returns, it's with that familiar Tiffany&Co bag clutched in his hands. "How generous of your daddy to buy this for you... too bad he's not here to put it on you..." Jonathan hummed as he opened the gift for you.

"D-Don't... it's not... it's not yours..."

"You're right, sweetheart," He smirked before tearing open the bag, and a small box came out, the same shade of teal. He opened the package as he towered over you, your knees aching from digging into the hardwood floors. Your eyebrows knitted together as he pulled out a delicate silver chain and the most beautiful pendant you'd ever seen. "Lift your hair up for me, baby girl," Jonathan leaned down as you lifted up your hair and clasped the chain around your neck. It sat perfectly along your collarbones, and the bright ruby stood out against your complexion beautifully. "Does it look nice on me?" You asked quietly, noticing Jonathan's cock straining against his briefs once again.

"Yeah, you look nice and pretty," He grunted, pulling down the waistband of his shorts and began fisting his cock at the sight of you. "Too bad he's not here to see you right now, hmmm?" He moaned a little as he stroked his cock, quickly slapping you across the face with it before pressing it against your lips. "Suck."

Hesitantly you opened your mouth, and without much warning, he thrusted his hips until his cock hit the back of your throat. One of his hands held your hair in a messy ponytail while also pushing you up and down on his dick. He looked at you with that sickening smile, glasses drooping low on his nose, and his hair falling over his forehead.

"Fuck, that's it," He huffed out, fucking your head like it was just a mere toy to him. "Now I see why he keeps you around..." He sighed, tossing his head back and thriving in the feeling of your lips wrapped around his sensitive cock. "You're a good little cocksucker... that's your use."

Tears fell with every quick blink you gave him, eyes stinging from the saltiness. With every thrust into your throat, you'd gag, and more tears would fill the brim of your eyelids. You were viewing the most delicious view of his stomach and chest as well as the muscular bicep holding your head in place.

"Gonna cum all over your pathetic little face," Jonathan grunted with absolutely no concern for how you were doing. Of course, you could always give him three quick taps on the hip to say that's enough, but you never did. You loved being treated like this. "Bet you're getting off on this, aren't you slut?" You blinked your eyes up at him to signal yes. "That's what I thought, so then you know your purpose... what a good fucktoy Murphy's got..." He howled as he started to reach his peak. "Gonna cum down your throat... swallow every fuckin' drop."

You pressed your tongue against his shaft, really wanting to milk him good. You felt the familiar sensation of hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You gulped it down gratefully as he slowly pulled out, filling your mouth with cum, entirely pulling his cock out of your mouth to squirt all over your face. "Let's not forget..." He whispered, aiming it down onto your pretty little ruby necklace.

"O-Oh..." You coughed out, sticky with his cum, some dripping from the tip of your nose.

"Aren't you gonna thank me for your treat, slut?" He asked, slapping you across the face with the back of his hand. "Go on, thank me."

"Th-Thank you... Doctor..." You gasped out, feeling small spurts of cum dripping down your tits and onto your corset. Good thing it was already white.

"That's it, so polite," Jonathan grinned, raising you from your knees to your feet. "Look how wet you are..." He ran two fingers along your wet slit. You looked up at him with parted lips. His other hand wiped his cum from your face with his fingers before shoving into your open mouth. He smirked at the sight of your pretty new necklace covered in his cum.

"Sir..." You whimpered with pouted lips. "Please touch me more..." He pushed you into the couch, and you heard your hands being cuffed behind your back and a slight slap to your ass. "Wh-Why are you cuffing me?" Your voice trembled.

"Because you won't be able to handle what I give you next."

Shudders went down your spine as he pressed you down into a perfect arch, arms snugly tucked against your lower back. You heard him searching through his briefcase and then a tiny little zap! to the back of your thighs. "Ow!" You winced, jumping away.

"Oh darling, that was only the first setting," Jonathan snickered and got on his knees behind you, and you could look at him now from this angle despite it being a bit upside down. "You poor thing..." He cooed in faux sympathy.

"Wh-What're you gonna do to me, doctor?" You whispered, eyes wide as he placed a pink dildo within your line of sight.

"Gonna see how much you can take," He hummed simply, holding a small bottle of lube in one hand. Your eyes widened even further and you started shaking your head.

"No, no, no!" You tried to wiggle away from him but he grabbed a hold of your hips and pushed you into an even more intense and vulnerable position. Both your holes on display for him now.

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor. I know what I'm doing..." He mused, lube-covered fingers now drawing circles around your asshole. "Breathe in for me, darling," He pressed two fingers into you, and you cried softly into the couch cushions, pussy gushing out pools of arousal and Crane's cum that was still inside of you. His fingers slowly stretched you out until you were ready to take the fake cock he was about to give you that he had already lubed up.

"Fuck... Jonathan..." You mewled as he slowly pressed the head in, gauging you for your reactions to make sure you were alright. "Oh god..." The thing was nearly fully sheathed inside of you.

"Fuck... look how amazing that is..." He whispered in awe, pushing the last of it until you were full to the brim with the toy. "Ready for the next part, love?" You heard a bit of an Irish accent come out in that question, which made you giggle. He quickly cleared his throat. "Cause I don't think you are." There was the American again.

"Oh god..." You whined, drool falling out of your mouth and your tits beginning to slip out from your corset. You heard a light buzzing of a vibrator coming from behind you which was quickly slipped inside of you and placed precisely on your g-spot. "Oh! Fuck! Turn it down... it's too much... ouch!" You squealed as he tased you on the hip again.

"Shhh... I'm just seeing the power that pleasure has over the body," Jonathan hummed as he put the rest of the small baby pink vibrator on your clit, which really crossed the line of overstimulation. Jonathan gripped the fake-cock in your ass and slowly pressed it in and out of you. You stood on your tippy toes, trying to get away from the pleasure and the pain of it all. "Look at you... how pathetic... and dirty. Bet you rarely let him use your little ass like this," He growled as he harshly thrust it back into you. Your moans were nearing screams at this point. "See, that's the thing about me and him... he'll do whatever you'll tell him to do, but you see... I don't get told what to do, especially not by a stupid little cumsock like you."

"I"m not a cums-"

Zap!

He moaned at the sound of your cries, tears slipping down your face again as he turned the vibrator up another setting. It was simply too much, and your mind was beginning to slowly cave in on itself. The vibrator is placed perfectly on your clit, and g-spot, and it was becoming harder and harder to bear. Your body shook, and your mind went truly blank as an unexpected orgasm hit you. Jonathan laughed sadistically as he turned the taser on and zapped you as you started to cum. You screamed in agony and from the electric pleasure, he held that there for a moment until it left a mark and then pulled it off of you.

"So fucking pretty," Jonathan praised, kissing your ass cheek. "This is all you're good for," He pressed the fake-cock further into your ass, and you mewled as you felt yourself squirt involuntarily. This was one of the longest orgasms you've ever had. You fought against the handcuffs, and tears were falling down your face as you soaked Jonathan's face behind you.

"St-Stop... too much..." You sobbed, writhing in overstimulation. Jonathan, with a wet face, slowly pulled the dildo out of you and placed it to the side. "Fuck..."

Once he had removed the vibrator, you relaxed, collapsing to your knees and burying your face into a couch cushion to muffle your crying. "There, there, Y/N," Jonathan hummed, undoing your restraints and pulling you into him. He held you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear with that unnerving American accent.

"Can... can I have Cillian back now?" You asked quietly, shaking a bit in his lap, pussy still gushing out fluids onto his thighs. He laughed softly and took off his wet glasses, setting them down on the coffee table.

"You need yer daddy?" Cillian asked. There was that lovely Irish accent again. "I'm right here, love." You smiled, pressing your face into his neck. "I love you so much, Daddy." You whispered, appreciating the warmth of his body against yours.

"I love you, baby," He hummed, covering your face in tiny kisses. "Let's get you cleaned up and then we'll get comfy in bed, yeah? Maybe order somethin' in?"

"Mhm..."

Cillian picked you up bridal style and carried you into your bathroom, where he sat you down on the bathtub's edge and carefully undid all the clasps of your lingerie. "So pretty, you did so good for me... love," Cillian praised.

After waiting for the bath to fill with hot water and once you and Cillian were fully undressed, you got in with a tired sigh. You felt exhausted and so overstimulated. So together, you lay in a hot bath that made you feel like you were in the womb again with Cillian's arms holding you like you were going to leave him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you nestled yourself closer to him, burying your face in his familiar chest. He stroked your wet hair, kissing the crowns of your head.

"Oh, baby girl..." He whispered deeply. "You did so good for me... made me feel so good..."

"Mmm... I know," You mumbled, ears pressed to the sound of his beating chest. The rhythm of his beloved heart was lulling you to sleep. "You made me so good... made me feel so good..." You agreed dopily.

Cillian cooed at you, cupping your jaw with his hand as he made you look up at him. "Oh, sweetheart... are you okay? Did I hurt you too much?"

"No, I'm okay, Cillian..." You reassured, stretching your neck out to give him a tender kiss. You leaned your forehead against his, hands pressed firmly on his chest. "I'm a little sore and need to be handled with care, but I'm okay... I feel... I feel so good..."

"Me too..." He whispered, pecking you quickly on the lips. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, Jonathan..." You whispered before quickly pulling away and shaking your head with embarrassment. "No, I meant Cillian...! I'm so sorry!"

"What's this about some Jonathan guy?" Cillian teased. "You dummy." He chuckled, grabbing you and pulling you back down on his chest again. He went back to that hypnotic way of stroking your hair. "Did I do a good job? Did ya enjoy yourself?"

"Oh, fuck, Cillian... that was so fucking fun..." You giggled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. "You're so hot... and so fucking talented..."

"Talented..?" He wheezed, cupping your face in between his hands as you spoke to him.

"Yeah... god... just how you so effortlessly talk in that American accent... it's so degrading and so fucking hot..." You rambled, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you talked about him. "And I loved the whole... 'he's not right here right now'... thing even though you were right here...."

"You've still got a bit of m'cum on your throat..." He chuckled, glancing down at the ruby he gave you, glazed in a thin layer of cum. "Look so pretty covered in me cum..." Cillian hummed with a distracted and dazed look in his eyes as he daydreamed at the sight of your tits and the new shiny necklace around your pretty neck. In a way, it symbolized a way of permanently marking you. You were his. Any other bloke that tried to take a glance at you would see that cherry-red ruby and know to back the fuck off because this is Cillian Murphy's girl.

"Thank you... Daddy..." You whispered, pressing your face softly into his neck and slowly nuzzling your nose all the way up until you had your lips against his cheek. "I look so pretty with this new necklace you gave me... thank you... you're such a good boyfriend..." You whispered into his ear in a hypnotizing way.

"Yer welcome, babie," He grumbled, pressing kisses to your jaw as you licked softly at his jaw and neck. "Love buyin' you new pretty t'ings for me to put on you... especially love what you bought for yourself today..." He whispered, referring to the white lingerie you wore earlier. "Fuck... my cock was hard the moment I laid eyes on ya..."

"Oh hush," You giggled, poking him on the chest as you straddled him. "Maybe we could do that again sometime?" You asked coyly while you straddled his hips.

"What? Have me fuck ya as you call me another man's name?" Cillian asked in mock annoyance.

"No..."

"I'm just teasing, love..." Cillian laughed, kissing you softly. "'Course we can do it again, love... I saw how fuckin' wet you got the moment you realized who I was being."

"Obviously... I would like regular... doctor checkups from Jonathan..."

"'Course..." Cillian nodded curtly and with a smug smirk. "Dr. Crane's... very obsessive... gotta check in on his favorite patient..."

"But... also..."

"Hmmm? Cillian hummed, running his hands up your back with some soap. He softly rubbed in the soap along your sore and used body.

"Could we do Jackson Rippner next time?" You asked, covering your face in your hands.

"Huh?" He laughed in surprise.

"Just you were so sexy... in that movie..." "But he was a terrorist with an awful haircut!" Cillian protested with a bewildered grin on his face.

"Pleaaasee... daddy... it could be so good... pretty please..." You begged, giving him those sad eyes that instantly made him give in.

"Fine... fine, just as long as I don't have to cut my bloody hair..." He grumbled, rolling his eyes playfully.

"We are going on that little trip next week..." You whispered cheekily. "We could do a little somethin' somethin' on the plane..." You grinned.

"Oh yeah?" Cillian chortled. "Can you imagine? 'Cillian Murphy caught goin' into the airplane bathrooms with his young girlfriend to shag.' The stupid papers would shat out their own minds."

"We wouldn't get caught... daddy..." You whispered, nuzzling his nose. "Please..." You cried pathetically into his ear, all while seductively running your fingers up his body.

"Fuck me... alright..." He huffed. "But you have to go along with every word I say to you, alright? I'm also not getting a haircut... We can't fuck this up..." He told you commandingly. He paused for a moment before continuing. "But also, the idea of fuckin' you in some tight little airplane bathroom and having to keep you quiet is making me lose my mind..."

"Mhm..." You hummed, leaning in to kiss him. "Whatever you say goes, Cillian... I'll be a good girl." "I know you will, baby... 'cause I know you don't wanna find out what Jackson does to bad girls..." He whispered in your ear, causing you to shudder.

You really couldn't wait for this trip.

-

Part two?? Yes or no?? AHHH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED I'M SO PROUD OF THIS ONE.

PART TWO!!!

[greensagephase]

For Better or Worse - Part 2

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Overwhelmed, you seek a moment of solitude on your sister's wedding day at the garden, but you can't even have that thanks to your sister's now brother-in-law, Miguel. Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: use of y/n; no name for your sister still (I think we're just going to go with a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; pesky aunts and a divorced man offer unsolicited opinions; some Spanish but translations are provided in text; a bit of arguing; suggestive content, so MDNI, please!; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all A/N: hiiii, finally updating this after two months 🫠 But anyway, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @lauraolar14 for the amazing fanart she made from part 1!! Found here ! Thank you, Lara!! 🥰 Pls go and support her!! Masterlist | Part 1! | Spotify

You down a glass with water and place it on a tray just as a waiter offers you another drink. You politely decline before letting your gaze wander around the elegant venue your sister and Gabriel chose for the reception, thinking how it’s truly beautiful and perfect for the wedding they both envisioned.

Your eyes eventually land on the newlyweds as they dance, a smile tugging at your lips. They’ve been dancing nonstop since their first dance, which means their feet will likely be sore tomorrow. However, by tomorrow afternoon they should be in their honeymoon destination, relaxing from the last couple of days of last minute wedding shenanigans and basking in their newlywed energy.

“Aww, sweetie,” someone says, ripping your attention from your sister and now brother-in-law. It’s one of your aunts. You offer a polite smile as she approaches, your gut warning you about her intentions. “Look at you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Look at me…?” you state but it sounds more like a question.

“This must be so hard for you,” your aunt says, taking your arm and holding it, with a sad tone that matches the frown on her face.

You hold back from sighing in annoyance, recognizing where this is going. You’ve heard it twice already from two other aunts.

“Not really. I know she’s the baby of the family, but well, we all grow up, right?” you reply, forcing a smile. You hope your words will deter your aunt from explaining what she truly means, but unfortunately for you, it doesn’t.

“Aw, not that, sweetie. I mean, yes, but I was referring to how hard it must be for you as the eldest. Seeing your younger sister get married before you - it must be so hard. You should’ve been married by now, maybe with a little toddler at your side. Instead, you’ve found yourself witnessing your younger sister marry first, and who knows, maybe pregnant in a few months, but cheer up, sweetie. Don’t let this make you feel less, okay? Sometimes… Not everyone has the pleasure of marrying and experiencing motherhood, but that’s alright. I’m sure you have other… things that bring happiness to you, like… your job?” your aunt says, giving your arm what she thinks is a reassuring squeeze, but is rather an uncomfortable one. On top of that, she’s delivering another jab at you she doesn’t even know she’s making. “I’m sure that brings a lot of satisfaction to you.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” you force yourself to say with a fake smile that seems to go past your aunt. You silently pray she leaves you alone and that this is the last time you have to hear the same “comforting” and “reassuring” words for the night. You hope so, or you’ll slap someone. Mentally, of course. You’d never cause any kind of commotion publicly, much less at your sister’s wedding when you care so deeply about her and Gabriel. Besides, that’d give the people a field day and fill their minds with thoughts of you being “jealous” or “resentful” about your sister marrying before you.

Thankfully, your aunt leaves, off to offer more unsolicited advice and words of comfort, probably.

“Mierda [shit],” you sigh just as you hear a man somewhere behind you.

“Ah, Miguel! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Working all the time, huh?”

Subtly, you glance behind you at the man’s words. You didn’t even know Miguel was nearby, but now knowing he is, you wonder if he heard your aunt. You hope he didn’t as the last thing you want is Miguel to think you were looking at the newlyweds with jealously and that that was the reason your aunt felt the need to provide those “reassuring” words.

“Yes, yes. I stay busy working,” you hear Miguel reply.

“Good for you. And you’re still single?” the man asks.

“Si. No tengo pareja [Yes. I don’t have a partner],” Miguel replies, a hint of humor in his tone.

“That’s good, that’s good! No plans of marriage in sight for you. It’s better that way. You can spend your money how you want to, no children involved, no woman bothering you about grand gestures, or making you spend money. Enjoy your youth, have your fun. Maybe later on, you can settle down.”

You continue to watch the people on the dance floor, but you can’t help but scoff to yourself at the difference.

Your aunt was just pitying you about not being married and having children, but Miguel is being celebrated for the same thing by this man when he’s a few years older than you. You grab a glass from a waiter’s tray, thanking him. “I need one, or two after the crap I’m hearing,” you murmur to yourself as he walks away.

“You think so?” Miguel asks. “At my age, people think I ought to be married. Maybe with a kid or two.”

“No, no. Trust me, it’s better. That’s why I divorced.”

“I thought it was your wife who divorced you,” Miguel says gently. Despite the gentleness, Miguel’s words tear down the man’s attempt to make it seem like he had been the one to make the decision, and had you been watching Miguel, you would’ve noticed his raised brow to go along with it.

“Ah - well. Yes… But who cares? I’m divorced and free. I’m doing better than I was.” The man laughs. “I’m doing so, so, so great...” he says trailing off before chugging down some alcohol, a sign of a man who is most definitely doing great.

You roll your eyes. God bless that woman, she made the right choice divorcing the idiot behind you.

“Yeah, well…” you hear Miguel start. “I guess marriage is not for everyone. I’m not going to say it’s not for me, though. Who knows? Maybe one day a woman catches my attention.”

“You’ll be a miserable man, trust me. Don’t let any woman lure you into the marriage trap. You’re too young. Enjoy your youth. Go on dates. Have fun, if you know what I mean,” the man says, using a tone that leaves no doubt about what he’s referring to.

You decide you’ve heard enough, so you walk away, glass in hand. You glance at your sister and Gabriel from the sidelines of the dance floor, still dancing and lost in their own little and magical bubble. The sight brings a smile to your face once more before you turn, seeking a moment to yourself.

You step out of the venue, sighing deeply as you walk into a garden area where photos were taken earlier in the day. You briefly recall the photo session and how you were forced to take some photographs with the groom’s best man, who looked equally displeased to stand next to you, the maid of honor. You stood next to each other, stiff as surf boards and hands clasped in front of you with the most serious faces.

“This is the most scoffs, eye rolls, and scowls I’ve ever seen in a photo shoot. C’mon, guys! You’re the maid of honor and the best man. And -” Arturo, the cameraman, paused, walking closer. “Respective eldest siblings to the bride and groom. You should be acting like - a family. Here, let’s just move a little closer,” he said, finding it easier to move you instead of Miguel, and moving you closer to him.

You stiffened even more at that and Miguel scoffed at the way you were acting, like he had some incurable disease.

“You, too, señor [sir]. Please step closer,” Arturo gently demanded.

That earned Arturo a scoff and a glare.

“Yeah, O’Hara. Move closer and stop wasting time,” you added, innocently.

“Thank you, señorita [miss],” Arturo replied happily, believing he had at least turned your attitude around when in reality, you were simply taking the opportunity to poke fun at Miguel. It was the only way to make the photo session bearable.

With an eye roll, Miguel stepped closer until his arm brushed against yours. “Better?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Better,” Arturo confirmed. “Though…” he trailed off, frowning.

“You look like a three-day old piece of bolillo [savory bread in MX + other Latin countries],” you said all too seriously. “Stiff.”

Arturo, bless his heart, turned away and attempted to hide his shock.

With a poker face, you turned to look at Miguel and found a scowl, his eyes on you already.

“A three-day old piece of bolillo?” he repeated, annoyance dripping from his mouth. “And what are you? A fresh, sweet, soft piece of cortadillo [a kind of pan dulce; Mexican pastry], I suppose?”

You snorted at that. “I’m flattered you think of me like that. Cortadillo is so good,” you replied, smirking softly.

“Dios mio [my God], I’m just trying to do my job and those two are talking about pan dulce [Mexican pastries],” Arturo complained from somewhere, thinking he was quiet enough that he wasn’t going to be heard, but he was.

Miguel and you stared at each other as the cameraman’s words of frustration rang in your heads. You held each other’s gazes and as much as you both wanted to keep the glares and scowls, Arturo made both of you smile and then burst into quiet laughter.

In the end, Arturo got his opportunity with that moment of laughter and managed to capture the best man and maid of honor smiling in each other’s presence before you both ran off to get other duties done once the photographs were done.

You shake your head from the memory and look up at the garden lights hanging over you, giving the area a whimsical look, before you walk further away from the door and into a less well-lit area.

You sigh deeply again, something you’ve found yourself doing too much lately. The comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard have caused you some irritation, but it’s not just that. You’ve been trying to ignore a problem that’s been weighting on you all day. You’ve tried not to let it dampen your mood, today being your sister’s wedding, and you had succeeded until now. On a normal day, those conversations with your aunts and the man’s words to Miguel would’ve mattered little to you, but with the big issue in your life right now, they’ve managed to put you in a bad mood.

The big issue?

You were forced to resign from your job two days ago, leaving you unemployed.

It wasn’t anything that you did, but rather what you refused to do that led to the decision. You grimace in disgust just thinking about it all over again. You started working at the company two years ago and everything was great with you rising up the ranks quickly due to your hard work and determination, but as you rose higher and higher, you were warned.

You were told to be cautious of your boss and his wandering hands. You did your best to avoid him on your own and always kept a professional attitude to set clear boundaries. Foolishly, you thought you were safe with two years in and no impropriety on your boss’s side, but you were wrong.

Two days ago, he cornered you in his office to make his move. Of course, you made it known you weren’t interested nor willing to do anything beyond what is professional. Even when you were promised a promotion if you “played” the game, you refused - something that angered your boss. Apparently, the disgusting man believed you’d accept his advances. Despite taking it to HR, nothing was done because of the position and status your boss holds within the company. You knew then that you needed to leave the company, so you did.

You don’t regret it. You’ll never give yourself away like that to some disgusting and horrible man, even if you’re unemployed now.

However, you don’t look forward to job searching and all that it entails. Thinking about it makes you feel stressed and even some anxiety. Then, there’s also the words from your ex-boss, his promise to make it hard for you to find a job within your field.

You wonder. Surely he doesn’t have that much power, right?

You hope not.

You down the rest of the drink, briefly thinking about how you should probably stop drinking by now, but the unexpected change, one you’re carrying on your own because you refused to tell your family about it with the wedding coming up, is weighing heavily on you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door open, follow by footsteps. You recognize it’s not a woman’s, at least you don’t think so since there’s no sounds of heels, but either way, you can’t help but feel annoyed that someone has stepped out and taken your small moment of solitude. You just wanted a moment to yourself, but it seems that whoever stepped out, decided otherwise.

“Ah, you’re here, too?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face Miguel O’Hara. Of course, it had to be him of all people.

Miguel stands a few feet from the door, hands inside the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants while staring at you. For some reason, your annoyance grows at the way it hugs him in what women would say the “right way,” which you’re certain many women did comment on tonight, considering you caught many staring at him like he’s a piece of candy. You’re sure many are probably having little fantasies of him now; recalling how tall he is for a Mexican man, his wide shoulders only enhanced by his suit jacket, and the way his hair frames his chiseled face so well like God himself styled it for him.

And if they shook his hand, they may be thinking about how large and warm it was, how it felt against their own.

There may even be some women imagining making their parents suegros [parents-in-laws] and planning some elaborate wedding in their heads, thinking the bride today will be like a sister to them.

“Yes,” you simply reply, turning away again and making it known you don’t wish to talk. He can stay over there, on his own little spot, and let you be over here, unbothered.

“Needed some fresh air?”

Great.

“Yes.”

Miguel snorts, decreasing the distance between you. He’s still not in your space, but he’s significantly closer now. “One-word answers. You must be having a night.”

You don’t reply. Maybe if you don’t he’ll go back inside, but with your luck recently, doubtful.

“Did the comments from your aunts get to you?” he asks suddenly when you say nothing else.

“What comments?”

“You know very well which ones. I happened to be there, you know. When the first aunt went over, the second one, and then, the third and last one.”

You scoff. “Didn’t know you were a chismoso [gossiper; masculine noun].”

Miguel snorts again. “It’s not my fault they talk so loudly and I happened to be there.”

True on the talking too loud, but you still wish he hadn’t heard, just like you wish you hadn’t heard him being celebrated for the same things you were being pitied on.

“Right, and are you here to offer words of comfort, too?” you reply in a snappy tone. “Or, are you out here to celebrate how you were recommended to stay clear from commitment by your friend?”

Miguel scoffs. You really think he’s that kind of man?

“If you heard the conversation, surely you heard what I said,” he replies defensively turning his body to face you now. “I don’t agree with that mindset.”

“You know -” you step back and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. “I don’t care. Can you just - leave me alone?” you snap, stepping away. You don’t care about the topic anyway, it’s not the reason why you’re truly upset. Miguel O’Hara can do whatever he wants with his life and your aunts can nag and pity you, you don’t care. What you care about is the fact you lost your job the way you did and that now you’re unemployed.

“No,” Miguel says, upset. “I’m not. You seem to think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Just because we’ve never been two to get along. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I don’t care what kind of man you are. This isn’t about you.”

Miguel steps forward, his body brushing against your arm making you turn to face him, too. You glare at him.

“This isn’t about me, but I’m receiving the brunt of your anger.”

“I’m not angry about what you think I am, alright? I could care less what my aunts said, what that man said to you, though it’s unfair, but it’s not what’s on my mind. So, do me a favor and drop it. Leave me alone. You’re not the center of my world,” you reply with a scoff before turning away from him.

“What a shame,” Miguel murmurs following you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back, his hand wrapping around your flesh with enough force to keep you still without hurting you. “¿Que te pasa [what’s the matter]? Why are you so upset if it’s not that, then?”

You tug at your arm, a fruitless attempt to free yourself since Miguel doesn’t let go.

“Answer the question,” he demands, those deep brown eyes looking straight at you.

“It’s none of your business,” you answer, still glaring at Miguel.

He scoffs, holding your gaze as you look at him like he’s the most disgusting thing your eyes could ever lay upon.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mumbles, his grip tightening around your arm slightly, tugging you closer to him. With narrowed eyes, he holds your gaze for a few seconds before images of your lips flash in his mind from the dance lessons.

He had never been that close to you before, never held nor touched you.

Miguel had never noticed the way your eyelashes framed your eyes, the shape of your lips, nor had he ever noticed your scent, a mixture of your very own essence and perfume. It’s the kind of scent that makes a man weak in the knees and wish for a closer inhale. No, Miguel had never noticed those things about you and it was to his great annoyance that not only had he noted them, but that those details had also made him feel weird afterwards.

Miguel felt so off that he had to make up the excuse about having a call to make. In reality, all he did was step out and take some fresh air, his mind boggled with the entire situation from the comments the dance instructor made about the two of you being in love and sharing passion to his little stunt after your two left feet comment and your payback, which left an ache on his foot, to the details he had never noticed about you. His mind was boggled and yet, you were the same as always with him; annoyed by, distant from, and uninterested in him.

And for some reason, it bothered him that day.

When he went back inside, he found you on the other side of the dance studio, looking closely at the couple and offering some advice to help them, ignoring his presence. Even when the four of you met up at the parking lot once again after the dance lesson, your attitude was the same. Your sister and Gabriel asked if either of you were interesting in grabbing something to eat, but you declined so fast and stated you had other things to do before the wedding, “maid of honor duties” you called them.

He watched with a scowl as you got in your car and left, only having said bye to the couple while barely giving him a glance of acknowledgement despite the conversation you had just had about making things work for the sake of your sister and Gabriel.

Of course, Miguel declined the invitation, too. He was in no mood to be third wheeling and he did have some things to do for work, so he, too, left with thoughts of your annoying self on his mind.

He eventually placated his thoughts with work, including dealing with his team and the fact that his current assistant put in their four weeks. Thankfully, he still has some time left before his assistant leaves, which he hopes is enough time to find someone to fill in the position. Either way, his work helped him set his thoughts about you aside that day.

Now, Miguel pushes past his thoughts and focuses on you, still holding your arm.

“And what of it?” you reply to his comment about you being a brat, still glaring at him so fiercely and angrily about whatever you’re upset about, proving Miguel you can be such a brat sometimes.

For two seconds Miguel has a thought - bending you over his knee and teaching you a lesson to tame that bratty attitude of yours. Then, his brain betrays him and he imagines what you’d sound like if he did. Would you still be a little brat when his heavy palm makes contact with your rear, or would you whimper and -

“You’re so upset,” Miguel says in an almost breathless way, his mind blanking for a second. “If it’s not your aunts’ comments, then what is it? It must be something of importance, if it has you like this on your sister’s wedding day,” Miguel adds, trying to focus on the moment at hand and not on whatever the hell his brain is going on about. He decides, quickly, that he’s probably had a few too many tequila shots. That’s probably why his brain is acting up. Surely.

“As I said earlier, it’s none of your business,” you reply, once again trying to free your arm, but to no avail. The giant man has you rooted to his side.

“Bullshit,” Miguel replies. His brother married into your family and your sister into his, that makes the two of you something now, doesn’t it? You’re tied for life now, for better or worse, in this way thanks to your siblings. And, the two of you did agree to get along for their sake.

“No te metas en lo que no te importa [don’t get involved in what doesn’t bother you],” you snap. “Mind your business. We may have agreed to be civil, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be besties.”

“As if, princesita [little princess],” Miguel responds with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be able to take your little attitude for two hours, even if I was paid, much less be ‘besties’ with you.”

“We have that in common, at least. I wouldn’t spend a day with you, even for a million dollars,” you reply, even though you could really use a million dollars, especially now.

Miguel smirks, amused by your response, and pulls you closer. “Not even if I paid you two million?”

“Not even five.”

Lies, lies, lies. You wouldn’t be worrying about being unemployed if you had even just one million dollars in the bank right now.

Miguel shrugs. “Maybe it’s too little, they’re little numbers after all,” he replies with a cocky smirk, for some reason bragging about his wealth to you now, something he’s never done before to anyone, but then again, his brain is not working accordingly right now.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You know Miguel is a CEO for a company you’ve never bothered to learn the name of, so you’re not surprised he has money, but saying five million dollars is “too little” is aggravating, and kind of shocking.

“Whatever, let go of me. Now,” you demand.

Miguel now scoffs at your demanding tone as if he couldn’t easily throw you over his shoulder and carry you off, or pin you against a wall.

“¿Qué tal si te digo que no? ¿Qué vas a hacer entonces, princesita? [What if I tell you no? What are you doing then, princess?]” Miguel replies, pulling you closer, so much closer his expensive cologne surrounds you.

You breathe it in, subtly of course. It’s rich, warm, and woody mixed in with his own scent. It’s the kind that sends a pool of warmth to your very core if allowed to inhale straight from a man’s neck with your nose pressed to his sensitive and warm flesh. You freeze for a second, the very thought almost makes you grimace, the fact that you’ve thought of such thing with Miguel of all men.

“You’re gonna slam your foot on mine again like the other day?” he asks mockingly, bringing you back to your senses.

“And mess your pretty, expensive shoes?”

Miguel snorts. “I can easily replace them.”

“So, you want me to slam my foot on yours? Is that what you’re saying?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel grins, leaning closer, so much closer. He continues to hold your gaze, holding you still.

You scoff, your gaze unwavering.

You’re such a little brat, Miguel thinks again, his hand tightening around your arm just a tad more.

“What? Can’t make up your mind now?” you ask with a smug smile.

He scowls, pulling you so much closer. Your breath fans his face and he finds himself growing still when he feels it against lips especially. He swallows deeply while holding your gaze, your scent filling his nostrils and making him lean almost instinctively.

“You can ruin the shoes, I’ll simply buy new ones. I’ll even get you some pretty heels for your trouble. ¿Trato [Deal]?” he asks quietly, his gaze flickering to your lips for a second.

And God, maybe it really is all the drinks you’ve both had tonight because you lean closer, too.

Suddenly, it feels like two rocks rubbing against each other, a spark of fire made beneath the moonlight.

“¿Que pasa [What’s wrong]? Cat got your tongue?” Miguel whispers with a smirk.

“No. I was just thinking about the color I'd like the heels,” you reply, sarcastically.

“Ah, the color. Don't worry, you can choose whatever color you like. Whatever brand. Saint Laurent, Burberry, Gucci…”

You snort. “Didn't know you were so giving, O’Hara.”

“You don't know me” Miguel replies, tilting his head a little.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a smirk that makes Miguel's heart skip a beat. He leans slightly closer, further decreasing the distance between your faces.

“I’m a man that likes to give - to provide,” Miguel continues, his hand tightening around your arm, his gaze flickering to your lips once more.

“Ah, interesting. You're the tree that keeps on giving, hm?”

“Such a smartass,” Miguel mumbles, eyes narrowing and meeting yours again. “One of these days that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”

“I can't wait,” you reply defiantly.

Miguel scowls, your little defiance stirring something in him once more. He huffs, eyes moving to your lips yet again, not thinking straight. All he’s suddenly thinking about is closing the distance and shutting your mouth - with his own. He thinks about his mouth pressed against yours, about slipping his tongue in and swirling it around yours to taste you, to make you whine.

Meanwhile, you look at him, noticing his gaze on your lower face. You find yourself doing the same, your eyes landing on his full lips specifically. You silently wonder, despite yourself, what they’d feel like against yours and against your skin. The thought creates a fluttering feeling inside your chest, one that Miguel shares.

His heart races, his mind clouded with these strange thoughts. Miguel thinks about leaning in all the way and doing it, kissing you once and for all to satisfy a hunger and craving he’s suddenly overwhelmed with.

And he would've, if only the door leading to the garden hadn’t suddenly swung open before you both register voices.

You both pull away instantly, staring at each other like two deer caught in headlights. The realization hits the two of you like a ton of feathers at once, the truth echoing in your heads over and over again.

You were going to kiss.

You were going to kiss.

You were going to kiss.

The only thing that breaks Miguel and you from your shock are the sudden intimate noises, tearing your gazes from each other to see what’s the matter. It’s then that you both see a couple making out against the wall, totally unaware that Miguel and you are there due to the poor lighting.

Seeing the intimacy and hearing their noises of passion is all you need before you walk past Miguel, fleeing the garden area wordlessly to pull yourself together.

Miguel doesn’t try to stop you, not even when you brush past him. He stands there for a second or two before he, too, walks off in the opposite direction, hands clenched.

It’s not until you find yourself utterly alone once more that you stop walking. You stare at the ground, your heart racing while your mind plays the last few minutes over and over again. It makes no sense. There’s no way Miguel was about to kiss you, right? You huff in frustration and begin to pace back and forth, one hand clenched tightly around the glass you brought out with you as you try to make sense of the situation.

“Alcohol,” you say quickly to yourself, nodding. “Too much alcohol. It makes people do stupid things.” You nod once more, slowly calming yourself as you repeat this in your head.

At last, you stop pacing when you find reason for that near mistake.

Alcohol, which messes with your brain. Nothing more.

“Hey!”

Startled, you jump and let out a small gasp before turning. You find your mom, happily smiling.

“Come on! What are you doing out here all alone, mija [my daughter]?”

“Just - taking some fresh air,” you answer, walking over to her.

“Your sister and Gabrielito are about to cut the cake. They were wondering where you were,” your mom informs you, offering her arm to you.

You smile and accept your mom’s arm, embracing her comforting presence as you both head back inside the party.

“They were also looking for Miguel. You haven’t seen him, have you?” your mom asks, nearly making you trip.

“N - No, I haven’t,” you lie, clearing your throat and checking your shoe to pretend something is wrong with it to make up for you nearly tripping. “He’s probably talking with the men. They all seem like big fans of him.”

Your mom smiles, nodding. She hums softly as you both enter the venue again, the kind of hum that only moms can muster when they know something you don’t.

“I’m sure Miguelito is somewhere around here. Maybe he needed some fresh air, too,” your mom continues, patting your forearm as you fully enter the reception room now. “Let’s go get some cake.”

After eating cake and making toasts with your family and the guests, you stick near your parents’ side for the rest of the night, as a distraction to forget what almost happened earlier, until it’s time to see your sister and Gabriel off. You watch next to your parents as the newlyweds walk out of the venue, saying bye to the guests and other family members until it’s the immediate families’ turn at the end.

You hug your sister and Gabriel goodbye when it’s your turn, wishing them a great time and congratulating them yet again.

At last, the couple makes it to the car and gets settled. You smile softly as they wave goodbye one more time before the car departs. Watching the car grow smaller and smaller, the realization that your baby sister is married dawns on you. In the blink of an eye, she grew up and turned into a wonderful young woman. You briefly recall when she was a little girl, when she used to follow you everywhere because she wanted to do everything with you. And now, she’s all grown up and starting a new life with the love of her life.

A few feet away from you, Miguel does the same with a thoughtful expression on his face. He can’t believe Gabriel is now a married man, that he’s all grown up. He sighs, wondering where time went before he turns sideways, finding you staring in the direction of the car. He has no doubt you’re having similar thoughts like his, the two of you being the eldest siblings.

Sensing someone’s gaze, you turn, only to meet Miguel’s eyes. You stare at each other for a few seconds, the moment at the garden flashing through your minds like the highlights of a video with one particular part in replay: that moment when Miguel leaned forward and his gaze fell on your lips before you allowed yourself the same with his.

Your senses, both Miguel’s and yours, are overwhelmed in seconds. You easily recall each other’s scents, the warmth from your bodies, and the angry energy that slowly turned into something different due to the shoe talk before you fell into whatever that was at the end.

You blink at last and swallow deeply, pushing the memory away. You scoff at yourself, still holding Miguel’s gaze.

Damn alcohol and the things it makes you do and feel. Right?

You finally look away and walk off to meet your parents, not sparing Miguel another glance.

Miguel’s eyes follow you until you disappear from his sight. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, frustrated. He doesn’t even know if it’s at you or himself, or both. Or, maybe he’s just exhausted form the wedding planning and the actual wedding activities.

He doesn’t know anymore, just like he doesn’t know what he was thinking back at the garden. He turns away and scowls at himself. Okay, fine. He knew exactly what he was thinking: kissing and tasting you.

“Miguel-”

“What?” Miguel snaps, turning. He clears his throat when he finds Daniel, the man from earlier who was boasting about being divorced and advising Miguel to stay single for a while longer. He sighs and shakes his head. “Forgive me, Daniel. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright. You’re probably tired from the wedding. These things are always exhausting. I was just going to ask if you are interested in joining me and some of the other guys to a bar. It’s still early,” Daniel says before three other young men reach them.

Knowing the men, Miguel knows what kind of night they hope to have; one with no attachments but filled with carnal pleasure.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m too tired. And besides, I still have to wrap up some things here regarding the venue. You guys have fun.”

The other men boo him and one even dares to call him “old fashioned” since they know Miguel isn’t interested in those type of nights with strangers. They eventually walk away, leaving Miguel alone once more. He shakes his head as he sees them pull out of the parking lot before fishing for his own car keys inside his pockets.

The truth is, Miguel has no tasks related to the venue left. A cleaning crew was hired to take care of everything so neither families would have to worry about it. The food situation was handled and the gifts have been collected to be stored for now until the couple comes back from their honeymoon.

All Miguel needs to do is wish everyone a good night and head home. That’s it. Yet… His thoughts are a storm and you’re at the center of it, the culprit.

His gaze, despite himself, searches for you. He finally spots you several feet away talking with a man, one he doesn’t know personally. Miguel watches the interaction, noticing the closeness and the way you seem at ease with the individual. Hell, you’re even laughing at something the man says.

He looks away when the man places a hand on your forearm while talking, opting to gaze at the venue’s front gardens with trimmed bushes and perfectly aligned flowers.

Miguel suddenly realizes it. He’s stalling, but why? He turns to look your way again, discreetly, and the need to talk to you suddenly hits him. He needs to talk to you about what almost happened at the garden earlier. So, Miguel takes a few steps your way.

As he approaches you, he’s unsure of what he’d even say. I’m sorry for almost kissing you? Miguel cringes internally. Should he even bring it up? Talking about it makes it more real. It means acknowledging that that almost happened between you along with admitting some level of vulnerability, something neither of you have ever shared with each other.

He suddenly finds himself standing next to you and the man, his large strides making the walk a short one. The man stops talking and looks over at him, a look of confusion at Miguel’s sudden appearance. On the other hand, to Miguel’s annoyance, you give him a look of nonchalance.

“Excuse me,” Miguel starts, acknowledging the man. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I need a word with Ms. Y/N.”

The man nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “I see. I’ll give you two a moment,” the man says despite you beginning to protest.

You watch the man, a son of one of your dad’s friends from work, walk away. Slowly, you turn to face Miguel, keeping a neutral expression. “Yes?”

“We need to talk about what happened,” Miguel says quietly, meeting your gaze.

“What happened?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel scoffs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t give me that attitude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At the garden,” Miguel continues through gritted teeth in disbelief at your nonchalance.

You hum, tilting your head. “Nothing happened,” you respond.

“Are you kiddi-” Miguel starts but stops, his frustration mounting. He lowers his voice. “Don’t play stupid with me, princesita [little princess]. We both know you’re far from it.”

“You know what I know?” you ask quietly. “There’s nothing to discuss. Don’t make a storm in a glass of water, okay?” With that, you walk around him.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking,” Miguel replies, following you.

“As far as I’m concern, we have nothing to talk about. So, I’ll see you around, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, ending the conversation as you head to your car.

“Dammit,” Miguel murmurs, still following you.

You quickly unlock your car and get inside, slamming the door close. You start the car even when you see Miguel standing next to it, trying to talk to you. Sighing, you consider rolling your window down for a few seconds to let him talk, but at the same time you don’t wish to hear him out. A part of you knows that talking about what nearly happened will make it feel important when it’s not. Or, at least you’ve made yourself believe it’s not.

You shift the car’s gear, ready to drive off, but at the last second, you roll your window down. Facing forward and with your foot on the brake, you speak. “We’ve both had drinks. Alcohol makes people do things that they wouldn’t do when they’re fully sober, even with a little bit in their system. There’s nothing to discuss nor explain. Nothing happened and that’s what matters. I’m certainly not making a big deal out of it, nor have I been offended by what nearly happened, so if that’s what you’re trying to do - apologize - save it. Have a good night,” you state firmly before driving off, leaving a frustrated Miguel in the parking lot.

Through your rear view mirror, you look at him one more time. You find him watching you drive off, his arms at his sides in a stance that lets you detect his frustration clearly. At last, you look away, certain you’ve handled the situation accordingly.

A/N: Hiii, I'm sorry for how long it took me to update, but life got crazy in August due to a family member's death and then sickness. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 2! When I wrote part 1, I wasn't planning on this being a multiple parts fic, but with writing part 2, I guess I am now.

I'm unsure of how long this will be. Tbh, I'm hoping for it to be short 😭🙏🏼 Like, 10 chapters or so? Maybe less. I need to sit down and plan accordingly! As you can probably guess, this will transition into a CEO!Miguel x Assistant!female reader who are also now connected because of your sister and Gabriel, so I'm just letting you guys know the forced proximity will increase! 🙂‍↕️

Thank you for reading, and I hope you're having a great day/night!!

Alondra❤️

p.s. I have attached my side Spotify account in case you guys are interested in keeping up with the music I listened to while writing this chapter.

for the people that asked me to notify them for part 2: @vera4luv @safixiovi

[linipikk]

They really spent a lot of time pointing to the second coming for Apolaypse 2 electric boogaloo

all 3 minisodes are about ... humans dying and being brought back to life, or more like, how that is not possible...and how Heaven and Hell have worked around that

In A Companion to Owls, Job kids never died even when they should have, Heaven didn't know enough to distinguish that they were the same children and Sitis quickly got that the miracle was... that their children didn't die to begin with. Once they are dead it is game over and Crowley and Aziraphale refused to let them die

In The Resurrectionists (it is literally called The Resurrectionists!!) and it is how one girl is shot and they can't do anything once she is dead. And Crowley still goes off of his way to make sure the other one doesn't kill herself, risking everything. And we know hell's extreme sanctions are probably what makes him ask for insurance, for holy water. On the other hand, this episode is called The ResurrectionistS, plural, but we meet only one of them ..while in the other side of the sign is Christ himself.

THEN in 1941, we have ZOMBIES, the literal living dead walking around, and Furfur states that he can't make them living people again due to a clause and just leave them as zombies to roam the earth. We see how cursed they are, rotting and bound to eat brains but not human.

EVEN! From episode 1, we get a big Clue: miracles are measured in lazarii, and resurrecting someone is no easy feat. They were telling us to watch out about coming back to life... and how only the mightiest of archangels are able to use that amount of power (or an angel and a demon holding hands...)

and I do want to point out that part of the things Gabriel remembered was this line

Job kids didn't die, in victorian england Wee Morag died falling in the hands of a resurrectionist, and the Germans died and came back- just not quite alive. Every day it is getting closer,

... they are telling us that the second coming is afoot, but they are also showing us that there is no second opportunity on this earth. Once you are dead, you are dead.

and Crowley, in the direst time when Aziraphale is breaking his little demonic heart, says

And now, the plan to resurrect one human to make the end of the world happen is in Aziraphale's hands.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

If you were to write Lila would you keep her being a con artist criminal with multiple identities but hinted at/revealed it earlier than S5 or would you cut that part down of her character entirely ?

It would really depend on how much space I had to fill. Gabriel is not the kind of villain that you can draw out forever. His story needs to have a clearly planned ending right from the start. In fact, I think they drew him out at least a season too long. So, if I also had to fill eight seasons, I could see myself going the Lila route. I'd just make a few changes. Off the top off my head, here's how I'd handle serious villain Lila as opposed to what canon wrote, which is petty school bully Lila who is entirely unbelievable as a serious villain.

First of all, Lila wouldn't be introduced at the end of season one. While her and Gabriel probably need to have some overlap, that's way too soon. In my version, she shows up at the start of season four and she'd be heavily toned down. We'd know that something was off about her, we may even keep the liar thing, but it would be a lot more subtle. Lies like, "Ladybug rescued me" and "I got to go backstage at a Jagged Stone concert" instead of "Ladybug is my bff" and "Jagged Stone wrote a song about me." Her goal would no longer be gaining peons, but instead gaining true close friends who like and trust her. The reason for this is that Lila is replacing Optigami as Mayura's last sentimonster.

See, season three ended with all those identity reveals and most of the revealed identities are in the same class. That's curious, so it makes perfect sense for Nathalie and Gabriel to want someone undercover in Adrien's class, but they can't do it. So Nathalie makes a sentikid of her own, gives her the power of manipulation, and sends her off to try to find Ladybug and/or Chat Noir by whatever means necessary.

This would give a clear reason for Gabriel to trust Lila, a clear reason for Lila to know all about the miraculous, and a clear reason for Lila to hate Ladybug. In this version, I wouldn't do Nathalie's lackluster redemption. Instead, Nathalie stays bad right up to her death. Perhaps her last act is getting the butterfly to her daughter and ordering her to get revenge on Ladybug and Chat Noir should Gabriel fail. After all, Gabriel can't wield more than six miraculous at once, so it makes sense for him to send Nathalie off with at least one of them while he enacts his master plan just in case it fails.

That's just one potential path to take. I also like the idea of having Lila be someone who came to Paris in order to find the miraculous, but who has no ties to the Agrestes. That would require some pretty big changes to her character, though, as I can't see that type of character caring about things like dating Adrien or being a model or all the other crap that has nothing to do with gaining a miraculous and everything to do with popularity and social clout. Lila canonically doesn't know that Gabriel even has a miraculous until the final of season four, so she basically just lucked into finding one instead of doing anything logical to find it because this show has no clue how to actually write smart, clever characters.

In summary, I'm totally fine with complex, master-manipulator Lila, it's just hard to figure out the best way to make her work when we don't know anything about her backstory or motivation. The version proposed above is just the best I can do to fit her into the role canon placed her in. A role I could easily see later seasons flat out ignoring.

[liliacamethyst]

Sneak Peak Part V - Web of Eternal Dawn

“Drop the child, Miguel.” the figure warns.

With an unimpressed raise of his brow, Miguel retorts, “Go home, Miles.”

Gabriel, now more settled, looks up at Miguel with adoring eyes, already halfway back to sleep. But Miles’ persistent voice booms through the little room. "Miguel, step the fuck back from the baby, and let's settle this outside. NOW."

"Kid, this isn't a fight you wanna fight," Miguel warns, gently lowering the now sleeping Gabriel back into his crib.

But just as the situation seems to have reached a tense standoff, the door bursts open, revealing you, fully clad in your spider-suit, ready to fight, fury painted on every feature. Flashbacks of the past, filled with anger, pain, and fear, cloud your vision upon seeing Miguel bending over your son.

"Sunny, I can explain—" Miguel starts, but your  reaction is swift. With a well-aimed web, you pin him to the nearby wall, rendering him immobile. Miles, clearly taken aback by your rapid response, stammers, “He... uh... was trying to... take Gabriel again. I saw it?”

Miguel's eyes, though pinned, glitter dangerously. “Cut the crap, kid.”

You had heard enough, and you fired webs at his mouth, silencing him. Standing tall, you demand, “What the hell is going on?”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, an overpowering nausea threatening to bring you to your knees. Not again, you beg internally, this can't be happening again. The biting sensation of deja vu feels like a punch to the gut. 

As if reading your panic, Miles lifts his hands in a placating gesture, but your focus narrows solely on your sleeping baby, peacefully oblivious to the tension in the room. Swiftly, you cross the distance to his crib, gently scooping him up, trying your hardest not to stir him. Every instinct screams at you to get away, to protect your child from the unpredictable scene.

You barely register Miles' words of apology or his attempt to follow, reacting instinctively by sending a web in his direction, narrowly missing him and instead encasing Miguel against the wall. With him momentarily restrained, you leave the room.

Miguel, however, almost effortlessly shrugs off the sticky restraints, ripping the webbing from his face. He's pissed, furious even, seething at the situation. Anger boils at the goddamn circumstances, but above all, his ire is directed at this noisy kid. Damn, Miles, can't he just go bother someone else? This isn't his fucking business. It's his mess to fix, his responsibility, and he needs to make things right. Why does Miles have to complicate things even more?

With a tension thick enough to cut, Miguel turns to Miles, "What do you want, kid?"

Miles, glares defiantly, his voice dripping with loathing. "You, gone. Either in some forsaken universe or dead."

Miguel sighs, running a hand down his face, his weariness evident. "Fine, do whatever you wish. Kill me, banish me, torture me. Whatever your little heart desires. Let me first make sure that they are safe. I won't fight you, Miles.”

Miles pauses, disbelief flashing across his face. "You serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Miguel retorts, his gaze piercing.

Miles takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "You're a monster, Miguel. Maybe not a murderer, but still a monster."

"I know what I am." Miguel admits, his voice breaking ever so slightly and without looking back leaving Miles speechless.

Miguel hesitated at the window, on the precipice of leaving. But something - be it fate, spider-sense, or sheer reckless longing - pulled him back. He silently treaded through the apartment, drawn to a soft melodic voice.

There, in the dim room, you stood. Without your mask, vulnerability framed your features, eyes closed, a cascade of hair down your shoulder.

 You swayed gently, singing a lullaby, with little Gabriel secure in your embrace, his breathing even and deep. This sight, so full of love and tenderness, tore through Miguel. It was a clear representation of everything he yearned for, of the life that slipped through his fingers, so vivid he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

His heart ached, thinking of the life they could've shared, of waking up to this exact scene every day, of being a part of this little family. The regret was suffocating him in its weight.

You sensed him before you heard him, before you smelled his perfume, warm and woody with a hint of something spicy. He smelled like the shower gel he uses when you both took long showers, the walks you used to take in the woods on Earth 99, discussing plans for the HQ, but you just enjoyed holding his hand. He also smelled like your pillows after he disappeared in the morning, a scent tinged with abandonment. He smelled like a thousand things you couldn’t place, but foremost, he smelled like one thing, and you just hated that thought. Home. 

You finally broke the silence, your voice soft and wearied. "What are you doing here, Miguel?"

He swallowed, voice raw. "I needed to see if you were okay."

A sad smile played on your lips. "You're too late for that."

Ahhhh, you guys are amazing! Please share your thoughts, and don't hesitate to suggest how you'd like the story to end – I might just include it! Let's turn this into a group project. I was close to giving up on the story, feeling not good enough. I love writing and creating, but anxiety often gets the best of me. Your kind messages, (which yes, I read and cherish every single one) have helped immensely. I'm so grateful and want to return all the positivity back to you. Wish I could hug each of you! ☀️

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[azfell-ajcrowley]

Something we didn't notice (part 2)

part 1

Overall, the meta is based on close observation of Aziraphale (for the most part) and Crowley. Without speculation or trying to guess what we haven't been shown (well, almost).

The Metatron makes it clear that he is watching Aziraphale delivering the "good news". Aziraphale looks back at him.

The first thing I'd like to explain. The Metatron is talking to Muriel, and then he stares at the window of the bookshop duplicating that gaze toward Crowley. The frame changes and we see Aziraphale looking out the same window, just for a second, but he will do it repeatedly.

As Crowley starts his monologue, Aziraphale tries to stop him by gesturing for him not to say too much, while looking out the window himself. Aziraphale continues to turn to the window with every meaningful attempt to speak.

Let's also note that Aziraphale doesn't usually behave in a similar way in conversations with Crowley. Yes, Aziraphale is characterised by active gesticulation, but the constant pauses, averting his eyes from the interlocutor, nervous and jerky movements - these are messengers that angel is holding something back, hiding or simply doesn't want to tell. Most often we see this Aziraphale in conversations with the leadership - God and Archangels.

https://commonmexicanname.tumblr.com/post/734305363759890432/good-omens-thoughts

Here's a prime example, comparing his interaction with Archangels when he's caught off guard and frantically trying to figure out how to get out of the situation.

I don't think Aziraphale is just lying to Crowley here, no. He just has an audience beyond Crowley. He tries to tell everything, knowing he has more than one viewer.

When Aziraphale mentions the Metatron, he is not just hinting, he points his index fingers - one at the window, another at Heaven, and then in a distinctly active quick motion once more at the WINDOW.

And again - turns his face to the window at the words about Gabriel failing, and then tilts his head towards the transparent panes of the bookshop.

The conversation with the Metatron is important, among other things, to assess Aziraphale's behaviour when Crowley is mentioned by his superiors. At the words about their partnership Aziraphale looks frightened: his facial muscles are tense, his forehead and eyebrows are furrowed, and there is a terror in his eyes.

When the God's spokesman concludes his really suspicious speech, Aziraphale swallows nervously and averts his eyes. He certainly doesn't look like someone who's been offered the fulfilment of his cherished dream. And not like someone who believes it.

Aziraphale looks like someone who has just found out what an enormous amount of incriminating information is in his opponent's possession.

"Tell me you said no. Tell me you said NO." Crowley is definitely shocked and horrified, he thinks the best of his angel. He can't believe what's going on (and he isn't supposed to).

Aziraphale turns his head towards the window again as an answer.

He actually said:

And

We see him right before he walks into the bookshop, he never says yes to the Metatron.

Aziraphale utters his most delusional words while looking out the window. Of course, they're not meant for Crowley. Aziraphale hasn't believed it for a long time, Crowley even more so.

And then Crowley says "Oh, God", without correcting himself afterwards, because this demon can only hope in God here.

For a second Aziraphale has a look of hope on his face that Crowley has realised what he's getting at. Then Aziraphale realises that Crowley is trying to confess. He's waited for so long not to realise. He was about to confess too.

Aziraphale already knows everything Crowley is about to tell him, but more importantly, literally everyone already knows it. It's impossible to stay and start pretending again that there's nothing between them.

Aziraphale has a completely blank stare past Crowley, and then he looks out the window. Again.

And then the most interesting thing happens. Crowley starts his line "And I would like to spend…" But he turns his head and finally looks out the window, where Aziraphale has been pointing so hard since the beginning of their conversation.

Maybe that's the reason Crowley doesn't complete the sentence. And he begins to pick up different words. Maybe not, maybe the sun from the outside is preventing him from seeing the Metatron.

In the final part of their conversation, when they move closer to the bookshop's door, Aziraphale looks towards the window again.

After "no nightingales" line he turns away to hide his feelings and pain.

The cherry on the cake is the kiss, Aziraphale is falling into the abyss. He averts his eyes trying to figure out if the Metatron could have seen what just happened.

When Crowley leaves, Aziraphale thinks he's lost him. But then, even when the Metatron walks in and says devaluing words about Crowley, Aziraphale can't tear himself away from the window, because now he can see Crowley there. Maybe not everything is lost.

Aziraphale retreats back to the clock - to the very spot where Crowley was standing a few minutes ago. He looks out the window at Crowley, as if to say, "I stand where you stood, you stand where the Metatron stood."