#blessing my heaven trip with his angelic features | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mosaickiwi · 6 months

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Fall Unto Me

Meant to post this before Halloween except it got reaaaally long so I split it up. 🙈 It works as a standalone, though. I'll put the other parts up at some point hehe.

Actual!Angel and Devil!Ren AU (yoinked from da discord bot once again) One visit to earth turns into eternity. 1.4k words + GN reader

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

With pearly white wings and a halo of gold, you were a disciple in heaven’s endless library. Duty bound to organize records and histories of paradise and its worlds below. Though you’d never looked within those records, just being in their presence gave you curiosity about your god’s creations all the same.

Once every hundred or so years in your infinite lifespan, you sought to venture into the human realm before returning to your celestial duty. It was an odd request to your peers. None were as interested in mortals as you so each visit was a lonely affair. You never stayed more than an hour or two, merely observing how they had changed from a favored seat in the clouds above, lest someone spotted you. It was only meant to be a short trip as always. This time something felt different.

In the quaint seaside town you were fond of visiting, you'd sensed a devil and dared to investigate. Of course, you'd never met one, so you had no idea what that uneasy feeling even was until your feet touched the ground for the very first time.

The devil seemed to be asleep in a field of blossoms, butterflies fluttering about. Spring was always in full bloom when you descended to earth. Pastel pink hair blended with the flowers, only making the black horns atop his head and the symbols scrawled along his arms stand out even more.

You approached with caution and curiosity. Though they were meant to be your sworn enemy, heaven's few rumors about devils already appeared untrue. The fauna and flora around him weren't withered and rotting, but full of life. He didn't smell of burning flesh, nor was he covered head to toe in the blood of his victims. If anything, his form seemed almost angelic.

He opened his eyes as you came closer, and their sky blue color welcomed you further. "Ah, could I be dreaming? Or has an angel come to rescind my eternal punishment?" he spoke wryly.

"Nay, devil. I want no trouble from you," you said in response, caught off guard by his casual, relaxed greeting. You took a few fearful steps away when he rose to lean back on his hands.

"Hmm... You have some holy divination or blessing to bestow upon this land, I assume. I've no intention of interfering." He smiled up at you, and those angelic features seemed even more prominent. Were it not for the pointed tail swishing with vigor behind him, you'd think this devil was one of your own.

"There's no mission I've been given," you explained with a shake of your head, "I'm only here to observe my god's world for a few moments, out of my own curiosity."

"Fascinating. I've never known angels to take interest in mortal affairs before their passing. Then, if no duty calls for thee—" he stopped to pluck a white bud that hadn't quite fully bloomed from the sea around him. "Might you grace me with your divine visage for one moment longer, little angel? I've called earth my home for millennia—and damnation is dreadfully boring. I could help with those curiosities, if you so desire." He held the bud out to you as an offering.

Though his words sounded sincere, you felt unsure. “...Do you take me to be so naive? I know your kind favor trickery.”

“I only offer my companionship,” he gave an innocent shrug. That heavenly smile was still fixed on you.

Your eyes darted between his outstretched hand and his face. Eventually, you took the flower from him. You could sense no ill intent on their part, so it wouldn't hurt to stay a little while. Nonetheless, you’d do your best to stay on guard.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as you lost track of time. Ren, you learned, knew far more of humans than you ever imagined. Your interest in them grew with each story he told of the world. At his urging, you'd gone to the beach to wander up close among them. It was a bit of a struggle to prepare—you'd never been told that your wings could retract or your halo could be hidden. But he coached you through it, not so much as flinching at the sting of divine power when you accidentally hit his arm with a wing on the first try. For a devil, he was oddly knowledgeable of things beyond his damned realm.

“You said your visits were always over in the late morning. So you haven’t seen this time of day, have you?” he asked as you both walked along the shore, waves glittering in gentle reds and pinks you’d never known the sun to make.

“I haven’t seen this terrain either.” Even with the occasional pausing stares of young children and animals—the only beings who could see your true form, as they were without sin—you were thrilled at the new experiences you were having. Your footsteps painted the sand rather unevenly compared to his. It was impossible to get used to the sinking feeling, nor the coarse sand getting into your sandals. You laughed at the sensation. “Heaven is all clouds and gardens. Here… it’s so different. The sun shines differently. But it’s still just as beautiful.”

He took your hand in his to keep you steady, pulling you towards the water’s edge. They were all too comfortable with the action, but you didn't spare it a thought. The guard you were meant to keep up had been thrown aside long ago. “I’m honored to show you such new experiences. And I only hope to give you more.” Ren’s face was bathed in a heavenly glow as he guided you into the water.

It was a stark contrast. The once warm sand turned to a bracing cold, almost slimy texture as the water slowly rose up to your waist. You raised your other hand up high to avoid it, still clutching the late blooming bud he’d picked for you.

The pink-haired devil brought you to a stop and nodded out at the setting sun with an unreadable look, “I’m sure you won’t be able to take your eyes away from it. I couldn’t, my first time seeing the sun disappear.” At his suggestion you turned your head to watch, barely aware of the way their tail wrapped around your hips to keep you close.

It was captivating as the sun began to fall further beyond the horizon, the hues of the day gradually shifting both in the sky and sea before your eyes. Golds, reds, pinks, and purples all chased after the light, leaving behind a blue as cold as the water felt. In what seemed like an instant, it was over too soon—not a trace left of the glorious sun that never set back in the heavens you called home. Strangely enough, your body tensed with heavy feelings. As if you were saying goodbye to a part of you. You stood staring out at the graying ocean for a long while, until the cold water lapping against your skin felt no different from the air.

“How was it?” he gently broke the silence. You felt his hand move to rest over your own, cradling the flower still between your fingers. The heat of his touch guided you to meet his gaze.

“Breathtaking, I think,” you whispered with a frown as you looked up at him. “And a bit sad? All that warmth disappeared—I’m not sure how to feel.”

“Breathtaking as the sun is, you’ll find on earth that some flowers show their true beauty without its watchful eye, my little angel,” he said to reassure you. The bud in your shared grasp opened slowly at his words, its tapered white petals unfurling to reveal pale lavender edges as the sky darkened further. His fingers traced behind your ear before he tucked the flower among the strands of your hair, seeming to admire it. “You’d never have known if you’d only stayed those few moments.”

You searched his eyes as his hand lingered at your cheek. Just as when you first met, there was no malice in their voice. A devil who appreciated your god’s work felt unheard of. From Ren's intense gaze he looked as if he revered them. He must've been a kindred soul—or the equivalent of a soul in demons. You wanted to know more about him as well, not just mortals.

Their fangs gleamed in the faint moonlight when you quietly asked, “What else can you show me?”

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy ren #14dwy redacted #cw religious themes #momo writing #this feels vaguely different from my normal writing style i think?#i got too silly #who possessed me #i wanna infodump about my HCs in this AU so bad

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aziraphales-library · 1 month

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Hi! First off, I've been following you for a little while and I really want to thank you for this page, it's been so useful to me so bless you.

Now, my question. I've seen there's a tag for holy water, do you happen to have a similar one for hellfire? I've been meaning to read some fics with hellfire involved!

Cheers <3

Hello! We have both #holy water and #hellfire tags, so you can check both out. Here are a few more to add to the hellfire collection. Mind the tags on some of these!...

Don't Move (You Could Get Hurt) by Skywing80 (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley had been enjoying their day outside when suddenly everything went south. Now Crowley has to take care of an injured Aziraphale while also dealing with the guilt of not saving him from getting hurt

Jailbreak by Tigerphoenix (M)

Crowley was just relaxing in the bookshop when Muriel returned from reporting to Heaven. They bear horrible news. Aziraphale got himself into serious trouble. He's locked up, with the threat of being cast down to Hell hanging over his head. Crowley has to do something.

ignited by ineffableserpent (T)

As soon as they exit the office, Aziraphale suddenly freezes, midway to the main shop entrance. His nose wrinkles, and he looks around, eyes widening. “Crowley —“ he asks, turning to face him. “I’m terribly sorry to ask — have you made any recent trips Downstairs?” Crowley blinks at him, shaking his head immediately. “No, I ‘aven’t. You’d know if I did. Why d’you ask —“ Any further words die on the serpent’s tongue as soon as he opens his mouth. He can smell it, taste it; the smell of smoke, rapidly intensifying. Not just smoke, but sulphur. Dark clouds of it begin to envelop the inside of the shop, sending a flood of memories through the demon’s head that he’d tried everything to bury. OR; Aziraphale’s beloved bookshop is set aflame by a revenge act from Hell. Crowley is there to pick up the charred pieces, while taking care of loose ends.

Hell Hath No Fury Like Idiots in Love by Somewhere_in_Wales (M)

After Crowley drinks the laudanum, he gets pulled down to Hell for punishment. But what if a certain Angel still had a tight hold of his waist when it happened? In the depths of darkness, they face torturous beasts, HellFire, personal demons and a Lord of Hell in their bid to escape. Featuring a long-suffering Lord of the Flies, wall-pinning and (consenting) undressing (not sexual... okay, it's a bit sexual).

Inferno by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley’s assignments in the town of Herculaneum take a deadly turn. Earthquakes rock the area as angels and demons clash nearby, and something odd is happening with Mount Vesuvius. Soon, they’re struggling to survive a fiery cataclysm. Can they find a way to save each other?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #hellfire #hurt aziraphale #hurt/comfort #mind the tags #mod d

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

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Amoreena | chapter thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: fluff like unbelievably fluffy!

word count: 6.1

here's the playlist for the fic, the last song in the playlist if looped will lead right into Amoreena at the beginning and it works pretty well timing-wise if you like to listen while you read !!

from the beginning <3

All their bags were packed by Friday morning, Y/N and Amoreena waking up extra early with excitement for the weekend ahead of them, and they didn’t even know what was going to happen yet.

Y/N made sure everything was packed and ready for a 3rd time on Saturday morning, right before they left on the trip; making sure they had sunscreen and aloe vera, all her medicine and ginger ale by the pack for her random bouts of morning sickness that lasted all, day, long... And their dresses and his suit hanging behind the driver's seat, beside Amoreena, they all piled into Y/N’s car and took off down the road on their adventure.

Amoreena was awake for the first half of the 9-hour trip, singing like crazy as they drove through Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, it was so amazing she couldn’t stop cheering the whole time. It was more than she’s ever seen before, even though they lived so close to New York, she’s never been through it before.

Once they arrived in Rhode Island, Spencer pulled over at the closest gas station to make sure the girls were all prepared and ready for the big surprise he had for them. They filled the car, used the restroom and bought some lemonade before getting back into the car, he turned in the driver's seat to see Amoreena and Y/N better, looking at their wide eyes memorizing the calmness in their faces before he told them.

He didn’t want them to freak out too much, he was worried about Y/N’s blood pressure and how loud she might scream and any stress that a situation like this could put on her body. He’s seen how people react to Taylor Swift, he just didn’t know how they would.

“Now, I'm only telling you so you don't freak out," he repeated the same worry she had when she broke the news of the baby, "I didn’t have to rent a place on the water because my friend lives up here, so we’re going to stay in her guest house,” he explained it simply.

“Rossi's wife?” Y/N asked, confused about who it could be and if she knew this woman yet.

“No, actually I think you might know her, her name is Taylor?”

“No,” she shakes her head furiously, “no, nope, there's no way you did this, Spencer Walter Reid I am not kidding I’m going to pass away if I see her.” She's holding both her hands in fists as she tries to stay calm, closing her eyes quickly before letting out a deep sigh.

“Taylor who?” Amoreena yells, undoing her seatbelt and standing between their seats, she almost jumps into his lap as she leans over and grabs a fistful of his shirt, “Taylor WHO?”

“Go get in your seat and I’ll show you,” he teases, watching her follow orders and get back in the seat as quickly as possible, shouting at him to drive the second he hears the seatbelt click again.

Y/N is completely speechless for the next 20 minutes of the drive, eyes wide and a hand on her stomach as she stares out the front window. She’s like a statue, not able to hear anything Amoreena is saying but that doesn't stop her from going on and on with her stories.

“Mom!” She’s finally able to break her out of the haze, “pass me your phone!”

“Yeah,” she doesn’t even question it, handing her the phone back to the antsy 7-year-old so she could continue her internal panic.

They see her house on the hill as they approach, “holy shit,” Y/N whispers as Amoreena turns on the last great American dynasty, knowing exactly where they were going.

Taylor asked for his licence plate number and car model when they were emailing, letting her gate guy know to let Spencer right in so he could keep it a secret. But they knew the house, there was no point in not telling them. Y/N looked a little relieved that he gave her the time to freak out alone and not as soon as they crested the hill.

Her driveway felt never-ending as they got closer and closer, Amoreena was still in disbelief as she squealed in the back seat, hands flailing as she tried to calm the excitement inside her body with her favourite stim.

Then Taylor walked out into the front yard and Y/N was a mess. Crying as she waved her hand in front of her face, not wanting to be a mess in front of Taylor fucking Swift, “I told you nothing crazy! How did you do this?”

“Yes, but I said 'define crazy’ and you didn’t,” he reminds her with a cheeky smile.

She shoves him, “I didn’t think you could do this?!”

Once they’re parked the door automatically unlocked, and as much as spencer hated that non-safety feature, he's glad Amoreena can get out quickly before she's screaming bloody murder. Amoreena is out the door and in Taylor’s arms faster than they’ve ever seen her move, she should be a track star. It almost knocks Taylor to the ground as she takes her in, holding the sweet little girl against her chest with the biggest smile on her face. Amoreena snuggles right into her, with a hand on her cheek and her other arm wrapped behind her neck. She couldn't be any closer to her, it was like she was her favourite relative who she hasn't seen in a while.

Amoreena is talking her ear off already by the time Spencer’s helping Y/N out of the car and walking her to Taylor, she’s holding his hand like she’s going to pass out or something, “and this is my mom Y/N and my dad Spencer but somehow you know him already,” Amoreena introduces her.

“Hi, Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you, Spencer's told me a lot about you.” Taylor’s sweet voice saying her name alone makes her stutter out a bunch of nonsense, not to mention the fact Spencer's been talking to Taylor fucking Swift about her.

Amoreena moves out of the way for Taylor to wrap her up in a hug, and Y/N cries harder than he’s ever seen on her shoulder, “thank you,” is all she can say, it’s frightening to Amoreena at first to see her mom cry like that but she knows her mom just loves Taylor like family.

What she doesn’t know is just how much Taylor saved her life. If she didn’t have someone to listen to, someone to take the pain and replace it with hope, she wouldn’t be here and by default neither would Amoreena. Spencer owed everything to Taylor swift at this point, she was a blessing in his life that he took for granted. Not realizing until that moment just how much she meant to him as well now.

“Sorry,” Y/N finally says as she pulls off her, “I’m pregnant, I can’t help it.”

Taylor’s hands fly right to her stomach, “holy crap, you never told me that she’s pregnant in your emails, oh my god!” She’s genuinely so happy for them, “how far along are you?”

“6 weeks on Sunday,” she smiles, feeling like herself again even though it’s incredibly strange to be telling Taylor before her parents even knew. “No one really knows, it’s all very new but when you know, you know… y’know?”

For a woman with an English language degree, she sure knew how to make a sentence, all of them laughing at the words she chose, but they understood.

“We should have used paper rings!” Amoreena yells, holding her hand over her eyes in disbelief as she shares her head with a sigh, she couldn’t believe she forgot that song existed.

It made Taylor laugh, scooping the little one up in her arms and starting the walk inside.

“Well come on in, I’ve got a big lunch spread ready for us and then we can go to the beach for the ceremony whenever you want this weekend, does that sound good?” Taylor is beyond excited to make new friends, much like Amoreena, they got along famously.

“Where are the cats? Do they live here or in LA or Nashville?” Amoreena changed the topic in the form of a yes and proving just how much she knew about Taylor.

“They’re here, Olivia and Benjamin will probably find us soon, Meredith isn’t very open to new friends now that she’s an old lady,” Taylor explained as she set Amoreena down in the entryway, bending down to be at her level and pointing off into the living room, “oh, see, there one is!”

Amoreena saw one of them laying on the floor under a sunny spot, running to it and petting it gently, “hi Benjamin, I loved you in the ME video,” she whispers as she pets him, making Taylor swoon.

“She’s amazing,” Taylor swooned, “I can’t wait to have one.”

“You should!” Y/N agreed, reaching to take Taylor's hand on impulse, and Taylor held it back with a smile, “oh that would be so wonderful, I can just imagine the beautiful stories you’ll create when you discover what it’s like to love someone how your mom loves you.”

Taylor’s smile was priceless, "that's the best way to think about it," she beamed at Y/N the way Spencer did, she had that effect on people. They followed her into the dining room, taking a seat near each other and digging into all the food Taylor made for them.

“Ah,” Amoreena said as she finally joined them, sitting on her knees on Taylors nice antique chairs. “Shark coochie,” she whispers the words to herself, not able to stop her mind from repeating it, but still not wanting Taylor to hear it in case it was inappropriate. She was incredibly well-mannered for someone who had a hard time reading social queues.

“It’s a hard word to say,” Taylor agreed, making her feel less awkward. Spencer may have told her about her autism in advance, wanting his little girl to be respected by everyone she met, for who she truly was, “my mom called it a coochie spread once, actually, she's going to be over tomorrow for father's day.”

"Yes! Oh, I love Andrea," Amoreena laughed at how cool this day was, smiling at Taylor the way she smiled at him that first morning at breakfast like she just found yet another person to love. “You’re so wonderful, Taylor.”

“Oh, thank you, you're pretty enchanting yourself,” she smiles, “I take it you’ve known about me for your whole life?”

“Yep,” she smiled, reaching for a chocolate-covered strawberry and taking a huge bite, covering her mouth before she continued, “I was born a month after Red came out, November thirteenth, it really is a lucky number now, mom says so at least.”

“It is!” Taylor agreed with a smile, “I have some markers, do you want to wear matching 13’s today?”

“Mom, can I colour on my hand?” She turns so fast Spencer thinks she’ll get whiplash.

“Yeah, go for it!” She agrees, spreading cream cheese on a croissant and layering tomatoes on top, definitely pregnant.

So Taylor gets a marker and both their left hands now have matching numbers. Amoreena asks to take a million photos, eventually just taking Y/N’s phone from her, permanently, to take photos of all her favourite things around the house.

She runs off with the cats at a certain point, giving Y/N a chance to thank Taylor without tiny ears listening in. “Can I get really emotional and tell you how much you mean to me or is that too weird for our first chat?”

“Not weird at all, knowing you’ve used my music to raise that beautiful child makes me love you just as much, I’d love to hear why you picked me, of all musicians, to show her how to love,” Taylor replies, as regal and kindly as humanly possible.

“My first fiancé, Stephen, he was actually like an angel and our first kiss was quite literally in the rain, but he passed away in 2010,” she explained it with a smile so Taylor knew it wasn’t a touchy subject anymore, “I bonded with Fearless in a way I can’t even describe to you, it’s my life, he was my superstar, and white horse, I mean come on, I can’t tell you how many times I cried to that after he died but it helped me not feel alone. I wouldn’t be who I am without Fearless, and then Speak Now was there for me when I needed a good cry, Last Kiss really broke me but it wasn’t until Lover came out that I realized I could find someone again, and it’s always just like you released things as I needed them like you were helping me through all the bad things,” she’s never even told Spencer all this, it was special to him that he got to give her this moment.

“When you re-released it with the vault songs, I met Spencer literally a month later. I cried my eyes out to you all over me, but That’s When makes me think of Spencer and now the whole album has a new memory in my heart that’s better. It's just like why you re-released it, to replace the bad things that happened that took all the happiness out of something you cared so much about." Y/N took a second to breathe, shaky as she got to the end of her rant that she seemed to have prepared in the 20 minutes before she had to talk to her.

"I love you, honestly. You’re my best friend and you didn’t even know me then, but you’ve held my hand through it all, so thank you,” she cried a little, holding her belly with one hand as she tried to hold the tears in.

Taylor was out of her chair and in Y/N’s arms within seconds, crying into her arms as she held her. She rubbed Y/N’s back as she cried too, “I’m so sorry that happened, but I’m glad I could be there.”

“Do you want to be this baby's godmother?” She asks on impulse without even asking Spencer if he’s okay with it, he was, it made him laugh.

“Eleonora Taylor Reid,” Spencer says from across the table, making them both turn to him with wide eyes.

“Yes,” Y/N agrees fast, “that's the name if it’s a girl, if it’s a boy he can be Taylor as well?”

“Holy shit,” Taylor smiled wide, “yes, I want to come to visit the farm and buy them baby gifts and throw you a baby shower! I inadvertently helped make them so it’s only fair.”

“Hopefully she gets your voice too, Y/N,” Spencer adds and Y/N shoots him a panicked glance, “it’s the Taylor legacy to be a good singer.”

“You can sing?” The question Y/N feared coming past Taylor's lovely vocal cords, almost on queue.

Y/N can't help but glare at spencer, he had too many tricks up his sleeve and she was at her limit.

“Yes,” Y/N finally answers, “I was going to go to theatre school, but I switched to become a Librarian, I’m not good with crowds or competition and that's basically what the industry depends on. I like the quiet, telling stories on paper is just as easy as singing it to a crowd.”

“That's fair,” Taylor agreed, “would you and Amoreena like to sing some song with me? I have my guitar or the piano? I’m not used to having new friends over without sharing at least 1 song with them. I’m sure you’ve seen my listening parties?” She was really trying to convince her to sing, Spencer knew why and what she had planned.

Amoreena came running in then, “I can play piano too, can we do the long live new year's day from the tour movie?” She rests her hands on Taylor's arm, looking up at her with the biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Of course, come on,” she says taking Amoreena’s hand and rushing into the piano room. “Here, we’ll record it too,” she offered, setting her phone up on the music stand to capture the moment forever.

They sat side by side on the bench, Amoreena showing her how she could play the opening perfectly and surprising Spencer. He knew they had a piano at home, he’s just never seen her play it before.

“She has perfect pitch,” Y/N bragged, “she can play a song after hearing it once.”

“Really?” Spencer had no idea, unbelievably proud of her as he listened to her play.

She’s quietly playing the intro to Long Live as Taylor watches, joining in with the harmony of New Year's Day, “this one reminds me of my mom and dad.”

“Does it?” Taylor coo’s, smiling at her softly as Y/N tries not to cry beside Spencer.

“They’re the knight and the princess of our kingdom,” she explained before the two of them started singing the words together, like they always have, only Taylor was beside her and not just on the TV.

“I said remember this moment, in the back of my mind, the time we stood with our shaking hands, the crowds in the stands went wild,” Amoreena’s tiny voice lead-in, fearlessly as she played away.

“We were the Kings and the Queens, and they read off our names, the night you danced like you knew our lives would never be the same... You held your head like a hero, on a history book page... It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age,” Spencer couldn’t help but cry as she sang with Taylor.

This was on the concert movie, he showed her after school, this song came on and she was silent, listening to the words as she stared at him and then back at the TV. Her mind was connecting little dots, making a story about her mom and dad being the king and the queen, it all made sense now.

“Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you, I was screaming long live, all the magic we made and bring on all the pretenders, I’m not afraid,

Long live all the mountains we moved, I had the time of my life, fighting dragons with you, I was screaming long live, that look on your face, and bring on all the pretenders, one day, we will be remembered,”

Their fingers moved in sync on the keys as they harmonized almost perfectly, she wasn’t kidding about Amoreena having perfect pitch. She knew all the words and sang them almost louder than Taylor.

“And hold on to spinning around, confetti, falls to the ground. May these memories break our fall…”

The piano changes, the cords softer as they move into a new song, smiling at her mom and dad like she knew something. She had no idea what happened the night of the fake wedding, just that they had a party without her.

“And hold on… To spinning around… Confetti… Falls to the ground…”

Spencer wraps his arms around Y/N then, resting his chin on her shoulder as they sway to the tune, she’s barely whispering the words beside him as she smiles as her baby.

“There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby, candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor, you and me from the night before, but… Don’t read the last page, but I stay when you're lost, and I'm scared and you're turning away. I want, your midnights, I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day,”

Y/N’s hands rest on top of Spencer’s, she squeezes them three times, right before the next lyric.

“You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi, I can tell that it's gonna be a long road. I’ll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe, or if you strike out and you're crawling home,

Don't read the last page, but I stay, when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes. I want, your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day,”

“Hold on, to the memories, they will hold on to you,” the two of them chanting along with Taylor in beautiful harmony, Spencer felt like he was in heaven among the angels, but for real this time. “And I will hold on to you…”

The piano is so soft, it’s just Amoreena’s fingers hitting them as Taylor goes silent, letting her take the lead with a soft smile, “Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh, I, could recognize anywhere. Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh, I, could recognize anywhere.”

They stop for just a moment for Amoreena to smile up at Taylor, just like the break in the concert, “I really do love you,” she reminds them all before playing again.

“We love you, too, sweet girl,” Taylor replies for them using the same nickname for her because it was the truth. She was the sweetest girl, that Amoreena.

“There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby, candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor. You and me forevermore, don't read the last page, but I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes and I want, your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day,”

“Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you,” the girls all chant together, swaying back and forth to the rhythm before taking different parts in the song like they’ve planned it before.

“And Long live,” Taylor takes the one song, while Amoreena takes the other.

Please don't ever become a stranger…

The walls we crashed through..

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere…

I had the time of my life

Please don't ever become a stranger…

With you…

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere…"

Amoreena plays the rest, smiling wide at the best day of her life. Meaning every single word she’s saying. “And Long live, the walls we crashed through. I had the time of my life… With you…” Amoreena ends with a few extra notes, making Taylor smile as she held her in a side hug.

She turns back to the piano then, starting to play Amoreena by Elton John. “No way..” Y/N gasps, before getting ready to sing along with all the confidence in the world, alongside Taylor Swift of all people.

“It’s just that; Lately, I've been thinking, how much I miss my lady, Amoreena's in the hayfield, brightening the daybreak,” Taylor changes some of the words, much to Y/N surprise.

“Livin’ like a lusty flower, runnin’ through the grass for hours, rollin’ through the hay, oooh, like a puppy child! And when it rains, the rain falls down… washing out the cattle town… and she's far away somewhere… in her eiderdown… And she dreams of crystal streams, of days gone by when we would lean… Laughing, fit to burst, upon each other…”

Y/N turns to Spencer then, singing to him softly as she wraps her arms around him and sways her hips to the song, pressing against him like they were in the movie Dirty Dancing, something she’s always wanted to do, clearly, with the smile on her face as she sings.

“I can see you sittin’, eatin’, apples in the evenin’. Fruit juice, flowing slowly, slowly, slowly down the bronze of your body. Livin’, like a lusty flower, runnin’ through the grass for hours, rollin’ through the hay, oooh, like a puppy child.”

Amoreena’s voice was the loudest in the chorus, this was her song after all. She belted it out like it was made for her.

“And when it rains, the rain falls down! Washing out the cattle town! And she's far away somewhere… in her eiderdown! And she dreams of crystal streams, of days gone by! When we would lean, laughing, fit to burst upon each other…”

Spencer knew the words as well, who didn’t? It was Elton John's best song. He hugged Y/N, snuggling into the crook of her neck as they twirled in Taylor Swift's living room, swaying with her, forgetting they weren’t alone for a moment.

“Oh, if only I could nestle, in the cradle of your cabin. My arm's around your shoulder, oh… The window wide and open, while the swallow and the sycamore, whoa! Are playing in the valley. Oh, I miss you, Amoreena, like the king bee misses honey!”

“And when it rains, the rain falls down! Washing out the cattle town! and she's far away somewhere… in her eiderdown! And she dreams of crystal streams, of days gone by when we would lean! Laughing, fit to burst upon each other, oooh!”

Amoreena and Taylor playing the iconic piano solo together, Y/N can’t help but move in closer to watch over her little girls shoulders.

“Lately, I've been thinking… How much I miss my lady… Amoreena's in a cornfield, brightening the daybreak. Livin’, like a lusty flower! Runnin; through the grass for hours! Rollin’ through the hay, woah! Like a puppy, like a puppy, child…” Y/N’s voice loud enough to be on the recording Taylor was making as the song ended.

Taylor stopped it then, just as Y/N swore, “holy shit, that was the coolest thing that’s ever happened in my whole life.”

“Mom,” Amoreena looked at her like she broke the law or something, “you don’t swear in front of her…” she mumbled.

Taylor laughed, wrapping her up in another hug, “have you heard champagne problems? It’s okay for big kids to swear here,” she teased her.

They laughed like they were family like they’ve been there before and were always meant to return. Something just clicked with them, and without a doubt, they’d be returning. Taylor Swift of all people slipped right into their little life, filling the shoes of big sister, best friend and coolest aunt in the world all in one day.

It was the most perfect afternoon.

—

Just before the sunset, they all changed into their wedding attire. Meeting out on the beach for their small, extremely intimate wedding ceremony with miss Taylor Swift. Getting it out of the way so they could have the whole weekend for whatever Taylor had planned for them. She said she had a few surprises up her sleeve still.

They filled out all the paperwork required on Taylor's kitchen table beforehand, she had all the right documents from when she registered to ordain online. All they had to do was submit it at town hall and they’d be legally married.

But it didn’t matter to them, this was enough.

Taylor and Amoreena stood side by side at a homemade arch on the beachfront that Taylor owned, waiting patiently for Spencer and Y/N to walk down the fake aisle, hand in hand. They couldn’t stop smiling as they saw Amoreena at the end, a big smile on her face as she bounced with excitement.

They reached the end, turning to each other, Amoreena took Y/N’s bouquet, it was her duty as maid of honour and best man.

“Spencer and I have been emailing for 2 weeks about today, he’s been filling me in little by little about you both as he got to know you, I’ve really gotten to see his love for you in the form of letters,” Taylor described with a large smile on her face.

Y/N looks at him with an open mouth, shocked as she shakes her head in disbelief at him. “You’re kidding, is she who emailed you when we had lunch 2 weeks ago?”

Spencer nodded with another cheeky smile, “she emailed me as you told me not to plan anything too crazy.”

Y/N just laughed at the insanity, “sorry Taylor, please continue.”

“It’s okay,” she laughed along, “it’s actually kind of interesting how Amoreena picked long live and New Year’s Day to sing because from what I’ve learned about you both, the intermission poem from that tour really was written for you, somehow. Almost like by design or some violent, exquisite happenstance…”

Y/n’s eyed do that thing they always do when she’s remembering something she’s heard before, finding the exact filing cabinet in her mind and opening it. She finds the words.

“When she fell, she fell apart. Cracked her bones on the pavement she once decorated as a child with sidewalk chalk,” she starts the poem with a small nod, letting Taylor continue the monologue in the form of vows.

“When’s she crashed, her clothes disintegrated. And blew away with the winds that took all of her fair-weather friends, family and lovers. When she looked around her skin was spattered with ink. Forming the words of a thousand voices, echoes she heard even in her sleep: whatever you say, it is not right. Whatever you do, it is not enough. Your kindness is fake. Your pain is manipulative.”

Y/N hasn’t watched the concert recently, unlike Spencer. She didn’t realize how much it sounded like them. Spencer, however, spotted the coincidences the second he heard it that night with Amoreena. Telling Taylor, explaining in detail how Maeve and Stephen were their personal last kiss storylines, but they’ve found a lover in each other. Cheesy, but it was the best way he could describe it.

“When she lay there on the ground she dreamed of time machines and revenge. And a love that was really something. Not just the idea of something.”

She turned her attention to Spencer, replacing the pronouns to fit him for the next part, Y/N looked at him already knowing why, smiling as she made the connection in her mind.

“When he finally rose, he rose slowly. Avoiding old haunts and sidestepping shiny pennies. Wary of phone calls and promises, charmers, dandies and get-love-quick-schemes.

When he stood, he stood with a desolate knowingness, waded out into the dark wild oceans up to his neck. Bathed in his brokenness. Said a prayer of gratitude, for each chink in the armour he never knew he needed.

Standing broad-shouldered next to him, was a love that was really something. Not just the idea of something.

When they turned to go home, they heard echoes of new words: may your heart remain breakable but never by the same hand twice. And even louder: without your past, you could never have arrived so wondrously and brutally, by design or some violent, exquisite happenstance… here.”

“What she said,” Y/N says with a quick giggle, leaning in as she laughs, taking him down in a giggle fit with her.

Amoreena’s lightly tugging on Taylor’s dress then, “you have to say it, please you can’t not say it, I had this planned out before I even knew you’d beee here…” she whispers like Taylor has any clue what she’s talking about.

Y/N just starts to shake her head with a smile, “I think she means the speak now bridge,” she reminds her.

“Ahh,” she smiles, picking Amoreena up to be at eye level with them all, she sings. “I hear the preacher say speak now or forever hold, your, pee-E-eeace,” she sings it exactly like it is on the album, almost as if she’s been practicing to release it again…

“There’s the silence there’s my last chance, I stand up with shaking hands all eyes, on me,” Amoreena lightly signs right back. “Horrified looks from everyone in the room but I’m only looking at you!”

Spencer laughs then too, smiling at his little girl living out the fantasy of a lifetime, seeing her mom dressed like a princess and marrying the broken knight with rusty armour, while Taylor Swift of all people holds her. Nothing about the life they had together felt real, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I think it’s only fair if I get a say in who marries my mom because I’ve known her the longest,” she adds, “and I’m not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on this white veil occasion, but you happen to be the best dad in the whole world, so I think it’s cool that you love my mom.”

Y/N lets out a choked sob, she clearly had no idea that Amoreena was planning to say all that, but of course, she was. She knew all about every single Disney princess wedding, every fairytale ending and happily ever after, Taylor has helped her learn about love and vows and true feelings that cannot be stopped.

She knew what to say and she meant every word.

Spencer reaches out to take Amoreena from Taylor, holding her in his arms instead as Y/N snuggled in close to them, both his girls in his arms.

“I think it’s only fair I give some vows to you as well, I’m committing my whole life to this family, you should know how much that means I love you, too, Amoreena.” She snuggles in closer to his neck as she holds him back, Y/N’s head resting on his other shoulder.

“Till the day I die, I am going to be here for you: with unconditional love, with the best stories and the best morning cuddles. I don’t care if you pull me out of bed at 5 in the morning to feed the goats, or the chickens or just because you think the sun looks pretty and want me to see it too. I love you Amoreena, you’ve completed my life."

"Do you remember that day you asked me to be your dad?” his voice is so soft as he bumps her cheek with his nose.

She wipes her tears as she pulls away from his shoulder, overly emotional at the events of the day and extremely tired from the excitement she let out earlier. She nods softly, “I meant it.”

“I know honey,” he can’t help but start to cry a little as well, dropping his manly facade and being real with her. She deserved to see exactly what she meant to him, “I watched you pouring glitter glue all over that table, making the biggest mess ever, but it made me think… I had a hole in my heart for so many years, there was a part of me missing for so, so, so long, and then I found a little Eden by beautiful little kingdom, and the fairest lady in all the land took me in, and she patched up my broken heart with glitter glue.”

Amoreena tried to smile the tears away, sniffling as she tried to nod, “that's how I felt when you told me I could pick you to be my dad.”

Y/N was a sobbing mess, having to crouch down to her knees as she let it all out, steadying herself by holding onto Spencer’s leg like a child would at that height, “is she okay?” Amoreena worried.

“Your mom loves us so much, and the baby does too, so it’s making her a bit more emotional than normal,” he explains, wishing he could scoop Y/N up and hold her as well.

She wipes the tears from her face as she calms herself down and stands back up with help from Taylor, “thank you,” she manages to whisper to her with a smile.

She’s also been crying, watching the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. A family built on true love coming together, using her songs to form a bond that she’d never understand.

And she didn’t want to, some stories were best kept in families, to be sent down the line, generation after generation, to fall into the lap of someone like her one day and create a whole world with it.

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband, wife and daughter, the royal Reid family,” Taylor’s voice is soft as she plays along with Amoreena’s fantasy land, hushed to match the moment as Spencer leaned in to kiss Y/N.

Amoreena doesn’t cry out in disgust this time, instead, resting her head on her dad's shoulder as she watched them peck each other's lips gently. Watching a fairytale happy ending unfold in front of her very eyes, blessed to be the result of this happy union.

...

A/N: my anon is on now if anyone wants to come talk about the fic with me!! i love to share little hc's and things with you over here (also this was the original planned ending I wasn't going to continue past here but I'm probably going to write this for the next 10 years its too fun not to)

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

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lettrespromises · 3 years

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#LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

──➤ Atsumu Miya sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

the author sent a letter : ❝dear reader, first and foremost, i’m terribly sorry for being inactive— university and entrance exams are choking me in the least kinky way possible. so, in order to make myself forgiven, i shall deliver you a sinful atsumu letter. sealed with a kiss, nikki. P.S: sending tons of love to @newfriendjen for taking some of her precious type to beta-read this letter, thank you so much once again, you’re an angel!❞

──➤ Prompt used : A letter inspired by the song “Maneater” by Nelly Furtado— as Atsumu comes back from a volleyball-related trip, he’s greeted by the most enticing sight : yourself, on the bed, wearing the set of lingerie he had specifically bought for you. Atsumu knows he has you all to himself, or so he thinks? A battle for dominance caught between two lovers with prideful hearts. ─➤ Genre : Smut. ➤ Warnings : MINORS DO NOT READ THIS, 18+ ONLY. Switch reader and switch Atsumu, sexual intercourse, cunnilingus, cursing, degradation (both reader and Atsumu), overstimulation, daddy kink, mistress kink, vaginal penetration.

There are three rules to being a man-eater : make them spend hard, make them fall on their knees and make them fall real hard in love.

The first rule came natural, a flick of your hair accompanied by a sensually calculated flutter of your eyelashes was enough to make him bend under your charms, as if the requests leaving your lips had been laced with a spell rendering him unable to deny your demand. After all, Atsumu Miya would give you anything on a silver plate and more if it meant he could hear you say his name. He was particularly fond of the way you’d drag the last syllable of his name with the pad of your thumb gracing your lower lip, giving you the grandeur of a faux innocent façade, it was this meticulous marriage of faux innocence and lust that would, each time, sign his own end.

And yet again, he had dived head first into the abyss of your charms— not that he ever regretted it, the grin on your face and the gleam shining in the corner of your irises was the greatest reward he could have ever possibly asked for.

Atsumu had come home from yet another trip, a volleyball-related trip that is. He had the thoughtful habit of sending you different kinds of presents while he was away, hoping that the presence of these gifts would make up for the lack of his own presence. There was always a note attached to each package, if it was lingerie he often wrote something along the lines of how he’d wish time would fly faster so he could bask in the glory of your body, take mental pictures of how the red of the lace embraced your body so divinely well that he was convinced you were a muse taken from a renaissance painting who had come to life.

Whenever he’d come home, his first reflex was always to head straight to his room— because he was positive that he’d find you there either way.

And bingo. There you were, clothed in the latest set of lingerie he had sent you while he was abroad. Atsumu had an idea of how said set would look on you from the pictures he had seen online, but never did he once think that it would look that good. After all, you always exceeded his expectations.

A set so sophisticated, he had picked a black set this time (surely because his subconscious associated the color to the color of the Black Jackals and it was enough to send a rush of blood downwards at the thought of it) and, much to his pleasure, it left so little to the imagination. The fabric covering your breasts was transparent if it wasn’t for the embroidered flowers right above your nipples. Unbeknownst to him, Atsumu’s gaze had been stuck on the way your buds were peaking through the fabric whilst the back of his mind already imagined scenarios where he’d let his mouth would latch onto your breast to earn some of the moans he knew all too well but could never get enough of.

His throat tightened a bit when his eyes went south— the panties matched the bra, albeit the presence of the flowers were missing this time, allowing him to drink in the sight of your core already glistening with lust. He hadn��t missed the way you were seated on the edge of his bed either, legs already spread apart like a silent invitation for him to let those thoughts that would make a demon blush be set free, or the way your back was paying homage to a crescent moon from how arched it was. Fuck.

« You like what you see, baby? » The words left your lips in a suggestive tone.

He blinked once, then twice, to set himself free from the torment of his thoughts. « Is this all for me? » He questioned, taking a few steps forward to reduce the space between the both of you.

Alas, he was stopped by the red sole of the heels (courtesy of the expertise of Louboutin) planted on his lower abs. « What do you think you’re doing? On your knees. »

« Wh-… On my knees? » The smirk plastered across his facial features had fallen low into a look of disbelief.

« Didn’t you get in the first time? On your knees. Now. » You repeated, the imperative tone of your voice becoming clearer.

The second rule to being a man-eater was to make them fall on their knees.

He sunk down to his knees as told, his eyesight facing directly your clothed core he so badly wanted to have a taste of. Your taste was like an addiction, not that he was interested in finding some kind of antidote anyways. Atsumu didn’t even notice the way his tongue was swiping across his lower lip in anticipation for the future sinful deeds he was bound to do.

Seeing he was stuck in a daze of lust, you just had to earn his attention back. How dare he not pay attention to you? With the help of your index and middle finger, you began to stroke your clothed core in vertical motions, a slow and methodic pattern to entice him even more and make him sink even more into an abyss of dark thoughts.

« Do you want it? Do you want to eat me out, mhm? » You half-questioned, already knowing the answer to your question was going to be positive.

Although he thought it was impossible, his throat tightened even more, the constriction of lust preventing him from forming any kind of a sentence, hence why he nodded instead of ridiculing himself with broken words.

« Cat’s got your tongue? »

« Lemme’ eat you out, please. » He replied after gathering enough strength to form a ‘normal’ sentence.

« Please who? » You demanded, leaning forwards to cradle his jaw.

« Fuck… Please mistress. » The words sounded so bitter, the price to pay to reach nirvana.

The way you had leaned back, propped on your elbows to obtain some kind of leverage, was a silent way to invite him to get a taste of yourself. Both of his palms roamed on the plush flesh of your thighs caging him into the sweetest hold, until his fingers reached the bands on the side of the panties which had been lingering on his mind more than he’d ever admit. Controlled by his unquenchable thirst to let his tastebuds be blessed by the sweet taste of your juices, Atsumu used his strength for good measure by ripping the fabric apart— a distinct testimony of the hunger casting a dark cloud over his irises.

And at this very moment, right when the fabric of your panties fell into an abyss of oblivion, Atsumu knew that the gates of heaven had finally opened up to him— his orbs were frenetic, trying to catch a glimpse of each centimeter of your body awaiting to be cherished by his lips and worshipped by his tongue, and you could’ve sworn his pupils had dilated when his gaze landed on your core, glistening in all of its lustful glory.

« You like what you see, don’t you? » You teased, knowing damn well the answer was written all over his face.

« I love it, I fuckin’ love it, mistress. » Atsumu answered, the desire to get a taste of you almost burning him alive.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awful lack of self-control, but oh well, at least he had the benefit of having tried… But was trying ever really enough? Your palm fell flat on his cranium, digits tangling with his bleached blonde locks that could rival the brightest rays of sunshine. « Go ahead… You have my permission. »

Those were the words Atsumu had been waiting to hear ever since he stepped foot in his bedroom, the words that triggered another wave of hunger in the pit of his stomach— in fact, said words had triggered the beginning of the end for him. And worst of all, he was aware of his own fatalist fate.

In a flash, the not-so foreign sensation of Atsumu’s mouth paving a trail of forbidden kisses from your inner thighs to your core awakened chills that ran down your spine. And there it was— the absolute devotion of his body to yours. He knew this was no place for teasing, the word reigning supreme here was ‘pleasure’, and he couldn’t allow to break the rules and not give his mistress what she desired, correct?

Like a man starved who was bound to eat his very last meal on Earth, Atsumu jumped head-first into a pool of lust and flattened his tongue to draw a long and fat lick of your core that would, for sure, coat all of his tastebuds with your taste. Fuck, this was heaven on Earth. He used his index and middle finger to spread your folds, thus obtaining a better view of your core and a clearer path to execute away the ministrations that would make a demon blush.

Kitten licks collecting any bits of remaining juice, sucking motions on your oh so sweet bundle of nerves that would be the key to your future orgasms, shoving his tongue directly into your hole that was clenching each time the tip of his tongue graced your inside— wasn’t he being such a sweet boy?

But it seems Atsumu had pulled out a fifth ace out of his sleeve when the same two digits that were spreading your folds open had taken a dive south to meet your core. He was getting drunk on the sight of seeing his fingers disappearing, inch by inch, into your hole that was clenching around him, a testimony of pleasure that was as clear as day.

Your back arched once more like the curve of a moon shining amidst a constellation, an iron grip maintained Atsumu in place and, at times, moved him a bit around when he was hitting that sweet spot that would make you cry out in pleasure. « Fuck, Atsumu! Nghh, right here, oh fuck, here! »

And so he did as told— he pumped his fingers in and out of your core and let his tongue flicker some more over your bundle of nerves with a newfound purpose, the most lustful yet most rewarding one of them all, making you come undone.

It wasn’t your first shared rodeo, and after quite a handful of experiences, Atsumu had gained enough knowledge to know when your body was about to give in to the sins of pleasure. He analyzed everything, knowing like the back of his hand how your moans would gain a higher pitch, how your hold on his hair would tighten more and more and how your breathing was gradually becoming more irregular. « Fuck, fuck— ah, fuck! I’m gonna, ‘gonna c-cum! »

And before the words had fully left your mouth, you were hit with ceaseless waves of pleasure that washed all over you, sending you into a state of pure bliss where you could discern stars behind your closed lid, much to Atsumu’s greatest pleasure. The latter hadn’t missed a bit, and as soon as the first drops of the awaited elixir of pleasure had poured from your clenching core, his tongue was quick to lick your entire cunt clean— he wasn’t the one to waste your sweet cum, after all.

Atsumu could’ve sworn that he could’ve come undone from the taste of your cum only, and the crimson shade of the tip of his cock, aching from an enticing marriage of pain and pleasure, seemed to prove this point even further. « Fuck, you taste so good. So, so good, mistress. »

The tip of his tongue had cleaned the last remaining bits of cum on the corners of his lips, tasting once more what he’d define as the sweetest poison on Earth whilst you were completely sent into a post-orgasm daze, eyes blurry from the pearls of tears that had threatened to fall earlier.

Your gaze was stuck on the ceiling, causing you to miss the ill-intentioned grin that had crept across Atsumu’s facial traits. « Are we going to play this game longer, huh? ‘Kinda tired of playing your personal slut. » He trailed off, his body now hovering over yours. « We all know for a fact that if there’s a slut here, it’s you, and you’re all fuckin’ mine. » He whispered right in the crook of your ear, having chosen to reduce the space between your ear and his lips to send chills down your spine.

« Atsumu… » You breathed out, barely recognizing your own voice from how weak it sounded.

« Two can play this little game of yours, ya’ know? But… We’re gonna play under my rules now. So start calling me by my name. » Words coated with lust fell straight into your eardrum. « My real name, doll. » He added, this time with a deeper tone.

It was the last warning he had given you before crashing his lips onto yours, tongue barely waiting half a second to force its way in your own mouth where your two tongues clashed in harmony. Despite your state, you still put up a fight against his pink muscle, well decided to win this fight for supremacy by tugging him closer by the neck.

« Dirty little thing, you never know when to quit, do you, huh? » He breathed out against your lips, a trail of saliva connecting your mouths.

« Fuck you, Atsumu. You wish I’d give you what you want! » You barked back, bringing him closer to shut him up with yet another kiss.

« Weren’t you just cumming on my mouth, like, two minutes ago? C’mon, I haven’t even fucked you stupid yet and you’re already losing your damn mind? » He seethed, deciding to shut you up on his own terms by planting his pearly whites into the yet untouched flesh of your neck where, later on, a bouquet of scarlet and plum love bites would bloom.

Atsumu created a path of open-mouthed kisses, intercut with repetitions of « mine » between each kiss, that led to the valley of your breasts. His hands were quick to set you free (quite the euphemism because he decided, much like your panties, to rip your bra apart) from the poor piece of fabric that was separating him from your breasts.

There again, he wasted no time sending another urge of pleasure coursing through your veins as his mouth was quick to latch onto your breast— the hypnotic rolling motions of his tongue and the small bites left on your nipple caused a flow of moans to fall free from your mouth. « Make those sounds for me, c’mon, don’t go shy on me now, princess. » He mused before giving the same treatment to your other breast while he was pinching your other nipple with his fingers, rolling it until it hurt pleasurably to the touch.

The whines and moans falling like a cascade from your lips had always been something he will never get tired of, it was like the best of rewards, that and seeing your face contorted by pleasure.

He knew damn well your core was still leaking from your previous orgasm, and prepping it once more would only please you too much, and now that the roles had reversed, he was not bound to give you what you wanted anymore.

His digits wrapped around his cock, throbbing in anticipation and the tip as red as ever and a trail of pre-cum was leaking down the side of his girth. Atsumu gave it a few experimental pumps, using his fingers to spread the pre-cum all over his cock although he knew that he didn’t need much of a lubricant given how soaked you were. « C’mon, Atsumu, don’t tease me! » You whined.

« Huh? What did you just call me? » He asked, ceasing the pumping motions on his cock which let you know that if you were to call him by the wrong name again, he’d just leave you on your own.

« Fuck you… Don’t tease me, please, Daddy. » You breathed out.

« See? Dirty sluts like you can turn into good girls. » He grinned at your obedience before resuming to his antics.

The tip of his cock was teasing your core, letting the tip run over your folds and your clit to give you a taste of the pleasure you were going to go through. And then it hit, the gradual pleasure conquering each inch of your body as he slid inch by inch the length of his cock inside your throbbing hole that was already sucking him like a vice. « Fuck, fuck you’re tight. »

The sudden stretch caused a moan to erupt from your lips in response to the sudden presence amongst your walls. The way your body responded to every experimental inch drilled within you earned a light groan out of him each time, that is until he managed to push his entire girth inside of you, you mutually reacted to the overwhelming sensation by a choked breath, as if every ounce of oxygen had been knocked out of your lungs.

And then it was a crescendo— not only regarding the rhythm of his hypnotic thrusts which never failed to cause the sudden appearance of a soft sound of pleasure from bursting out of your lips, but also regarding the rising level of ecstasy and pure bliss in your lower belly : the forming knots became a bit tighter with each slap of his testicles against your derrière and the stars shining behind your closed lids became a bit clearer with each thrust, sending you straight into a daze where you failed to tell the difference between reality and lustful dreams. « D-Daddy, please, ahh! Fuck me so good, fuck me so good… » You breathed out between moans.

You couldn’t help but dig your nails into the flesh of his upper arm which provoked a groan out of him, crimson colored trails colored his skin and the red tone of pleasure married the tone of his skin so effortlessly, as if your marks had always belonged on his skin.

« Who’s making you feel this fuckin’ good? Who does this wet cunt of yours belong to, slut? » Atsumu grunted, a trail of curses leaving his lips in the process. His perpetual quest of pleasure was ceaseless, never once stopping to fill his lungs with clear oxygen. Every thrust spoke volume, and said volume growing louder and louder with each passing second and each thrust given as an offering to the deities of lust. « Y-You, daddy! No one.. Fuuck, n-no one else! »

«Fuck, baby! ‘M gonna cum in that tight pussy of yours, better get every single drop for Daddy, fuck, fuck, fuck! » His lips were glued to yours, careless to allow you the right to breathe and that was all due to the lust that consumed him as he could already fill the welcoming breezes of his approaching climax against his skin.

The tip of his girth was kissing the panel of nerves designed for pleasure, each thrust caressing your cervix was as addictive as the last one. It signed the end of you, sealed the fatalist fate where you were bound to unleash a second orgasm although your body had barely recovered from the first one. This crescendo of lust had drawn more pleasure that your body could possibly handle, forced more reactions that your mind could follow.

Speaking of the latter, it was pitch black, and not even a beacon of hope had the chance to shine through the void of your thoughts, pierce through the darkness emanating from the open gates of your subconscious. Only unintelligible sounds that echoed to pleasure left your parted lips, head tilted to the side with a string of drool creating a humid stain on the pillow.

And then it hit you, your body had manifested the overdose of ecstasy for a second time, draining the last bits of energy you ignored you had. A dragged moan of his name, his real name, had left your lips at the occasion whilst the hand settled on his forearm had slid down on the mattress, taken away by the sudden exhaustion.

Atsumu’s salute came in the form of one final slam of his hips against your cunt dripping with the marriage of your juices and, after having colored the blank canvas of your walls with the color of sin, his own. « Good girl, see? See how nice you are when you obey? ‘Made a real mess, didn’t’cha? » He swore to himself that he could have come undone a second time at the sight of the cum leaking from your hole, pathetically clenching around his girth as he was pulling away from your hole.

Your breathing was everything but regular, oxygen seemed to fade away as soon as it entered your system and your brain fogged by this persistent daze of lust wasn’t helping much. Obey? The same word was kept on loop in your mind from the moment he had said it. « Atsumu, I thought you knew me better than that. » You breathed out, bowing your lips into an ill-intentioned grin at the idea that had just blossomed in your mind. Obey? Very well.

« What are you on about? » He interrogated, brow quirked up to emphasize his question.

With the leverage given by the support of your elbows, you managed (as efficiently as someone who’s had two orgasms in a row, that is) to get back on your knees, and before Atsumu knew it, you were sitting on your self-claimed throne in the middle of his lap, right where his erection was still poking your entrance. You had essentially caged him with your luscious thighs, the sweetest hold he could’ve asked for despite what his face may say. « ‘The hell are y’doin’? » He asked once more, growing impatient by the second.

« Raising your voice at me? » You mused, sarcasm lacing your every word. « Very well, then. » You added, shoving your index and middle finger in his mouth to prevent him from spilling any more absurdities— you were not one bit surprised to see Atsumu quickly warming up to the not-so foreign presence of your fingers in his mouth, his pink muscle coating your digits with his saliva. « Good boy. See how nice you are when you obey? » Atsumu’s pupils dilated even more under the spell of lust when he realized you had twisted his own words in your favor.

Atsumu wanted to scoff, to shove you off and regain the monopoly of control once more but the way you were enticing him into a game of back-and-forth, a constant fight for supremacy, made him crave you even more. He hated it, and loved it at the same time.

How convenient that the tip of cock, still reddened by pleasure and coated with a veil of sinful cum, was grazing the curve of your derrière. One could say that this position was almost… Strategic, mhm? However, just sinking down on his girth in a heartbeat would be giving Atsumu what he wanted on a silver plate, with a supplement of moans and whines on top of it.

« If you like control so much… » You trailed off, leaning to the side just a bit to reach the night stand right next to his bed where, of course, he’d hide his precious collection of toys devoted to pleasure. Your orbs scanned a bit, hands swimming through the myriad of strap-ons and others cock-rings with flashing colors, only to find the holy Graal in the form of metal-like handcuffs.

« You’re gonna love this, then. » You said, dangling from left to right the object of his torture, Atsumu’s eyes followed each motion of the handcuffs in a hypnotic manner, ready to be sent into a substate of delirium.

« Hands. » You demanded, the imperative tone coloring your words provoked a whimper of anticipation out of him. « Good boy. » you praised, taking one hand after the other and locking each of them to the bedding, tugging just a bit on his wrists to see if the material would resist just in case Atsumu would put up a fight— but he’s such a good and obedient boy, he would never dare cross the limits you have drawn yourself.

« Who’s my good boy? » Words filled with such sweetness hidden behind a mirage of lust, like a poisoned apple of some sorts, fell straight into his eardrums. Atsumu’s mouth was set agape, believing for one second that he had forgotten how to talk properly. « ’S me, I’m your good boy, mistress. » So sweet, you couldn’t resist letting your hand envelope his cheek in a caring manner.

« Mh, what do you want mistress to do to you, my pretty boy? » More enchanting words lingered in the air, echoing like the fallen promises of the sirens to lure martyrs into the depth of lust. « I want… » He began, pupils dilating further upon observing your hands caressing all over his chest and abdomen region, feeling each bump created by his muscles. « I want mistress to fuck me, fuck me so hard ‘till she milks me dry. » He breathed out.

« And why do you want that? » You cooed, reducing dangerously the space between your lips and his own, your breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. « … ‘Cause I’m your good boy, a-and your dirty slut. » He looked at you almost hesitantly, wondering if he had chosen the right wording.

The ill-intentioned grin painted across your face seemed to be the confirmation that, yes, Atsumu had said the magic words that had been housed inside the deepest, darkest parts of your subconscious. « That’s right, my dirty little slut. »

You retreated your hips backwards, your gaze never once daring to leave his face and how his facial traits were already torn with pleasure. His hips had buckled at the degradation falling from your lips, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his veins in a heartbeat— he was so receptive to your words and touch, it was almost pathetic. « You’re so impatient, aren’t you? But good sluts deserved so be fucked so well, too. ‘Want me to ride your cock until you can’t take it anymore, mh? ‘Want me to make you cum? » You mocked as the pad of your thumb was brushing in circular motions the tip of his cock, you’d continue this torture until the sacred words would fall from his lips with pity drooling from every syllable. « P-Please… Fuck, mistress, milk me dry… Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. My cock’s— Ahh, shit, shit, shit! My c-cock’s yours, mistress. »

He had begged so well, his pleas were on a loop like a broken record on your mind, getting drunk on the feeling of pity exuding his every pore shamelessly. You laid both of your hands flat on his lower abdomen to obtain some leverage, enough to tease him by gliding the angry scarlet shade of his cock in vertical motions against your folds. « Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please! » He pleaded once more, and as the words had died on his tongue like a secret prayer, you sank your hips down in a swift motion without warning.

Atsumu felt like every ounce of oxygen had left his lungs, as if his brain had ceased to function for a moment because he was secretly persuaded that he had seen a glimpse of heaven as your derrière ascended onto his cock begging to be used for good measure, begging to have its flow of cum be leaked into the tight grip of your walls, begging to feel resurgences of pleasure over and over again until his mind couldn’t keep up anymore and until becoming a whining, stuttering, drooling mess fucked stupid.

And then it began again, the ascension to heaven— a path he knew all too well, a path adorned with your name written in the finest gold lettering infused with the most sinful essence, a path illuminated by your face contorted in pleasure. The mere thought of it alone was enough to send him in overdrive.

The repetition of your hips gliding the girth of his cock was enough to make his tongue peak through the corner of his lips, not that he could muster enough force to shut his mouth anyways. But it was fine, so fine, because you were at the center of the echoes of his moans.

« C’mon, baby! Be my good boy, ah fuck, fuck! Good little slut! » You breathed out, neck tilted to face the ceiling in ecstasy. Atsumu wasn’t following much, the sight of you riding him alongside your breasts bouncing frenetically to the rhythm of your vertical motions was the greatest of gifts.

And on the other one hand, the greatest of gifts, for you, was being able to see him so weak and vulnerable, unable to put enough strength into his thrusts which led you to completely take control, unable to refrain any sound of pleasure from leaving the frontiers of his lips. « Ahh, fuck! Fuck me…! Fuck me! Nghh! » And there you were, drinking his enticing pleas.

Your fingertips left hot crimson trails on the skin of his abdomen, true testimonies of the pure essence of ecstasy coursing through your veins. Your breaths were growing more erratic, oftentimes they were cut with your own moans too. « Wanna’ cum, pretty boy? W-Wanna cum for your Mistress? »

« Please, please! P-Please just lemme’ fuckin’ cum in you! Lemme’... Fill your pretty cunt! » He breathed out in response.

Those were the sole little words you needed to quicken the pace of your ascensions, the latter caused Atsumu’s moans to grow more high-pitched. Although you couldn’t see it, you were entirely convinced that the tip of his cock had never been more rouge, he was breathing out pleas but ignored why on the long run, fully sent into a state of overstimulation.

« A-Atsumu! Cum with me! » And the magic of performative language happened, the familiar feeling of the warmth of his white shots of cum invaded in the sweetest way your velvety walls, coating them with sins and passion.

An elongated whimper fell free from your lips as it announced your own end, your own orgasm had been triggered with the one last fatal pump that untied all the metaphorical knots in your lower abdomen. Such a blissful sensation that never grew old, especially when Atsumu was the reason behind it all.

But alas, as soon as you had touched Nirvana with your fingertips, fatality hit you in the back— you found yourself deprived of your energy, feeling as if all the oxygen had been knocked off of your lungs, and your mind was caught in a daze which projected nothing but a white veil.

« Baby… You did so good, so, so good... » Your words fell like hot whispers against his chest, your sudden lack of energy had caused you to fall limp onto his chest while you were still cockwarming him.

Atsumu blinked once, then twice, only to realize that the pleasure that had enveloped him was very much real— and so were you. « Fuck that was good… » He whispered in response, not daring to move one bit because he knew his muscles would never forgive him for doing so. « You’re an angel, y’know that? » His gaze fell on you, the softest hint of a grin adorned his facial features.

You couldn’t help but release a hush giggle at his answer « How dare you calling me an angel after all of that, hm? »

This time, it was his time to mimic you by giving life to his own giggle, « Hey, the devil was the most beautiful angel once… Or something like that, ‘dunno. » He grinned, keeping the groans of pain locked in his throat as he managed to lay his palm against your cheek— his touch was so familiar, leaning into his palm came natural. « But I didn’t know the devil came in sexy lingerie though. »

Oh, to you, dear victim of a maneater : you know you would do anything to keep them by your side, because when they say they love you, they love you long time.

#atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu hcs #atsumu smut #atsumu hc #atsumu miya #atsumu hq #hq!! x reader #haikyuu smut #atsumu fic #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu hc #atsumu oneshot

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

MASTERLIST

Simeon cannot see the shackles that bind him.

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. On the bright side, it allows him to forget that he is being held prisoner. On the downside, it forces the painstaking realization back down on his heaving shoulders every time he tries to lean forward.

He flinches against the wall, holding himself back as a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. Give in, a part of him says. Give in, answer all the High Seraphs' questions about MC, and be free.

But the angel knows that, even in this torture, he'll never be able to bring himself to spill the secret that you've tried to hide so desperately. After all, if Simeon tells them the truth, he may go free; but then you'll be brought down to this very room to be put through the same torture he's enduring.

And he'll never do that to you.

Simeon groans, eyes opening to see the six glasses of holy water in front of him. They're crystal clear, shining oh-so-softly in the darkness of this room, but after well over twenty-four hours without drink, he seeks them like a moth to a flame. He doesn't just want water, he genuinely needs it, and he can't help but wonder what the seraphs will do to him when this torture of dehydration becomes life-threatening.

At the back of his mind, though, he suspects that it won't come to that.

Slumping against the wall, he recalls the dream Father had sent him. Or rather the vision that had been sent to all of you. It was far from the first time Simeon had been allowed to sit in on one of the conversations between the High Seraphs and Father, and he'd almost wondered whether the Celestial overlord was going to demand that he be freed from this cruel imprisonment. When the subject of discussion turned toward your fate, though, a smile bloomed on Simeon's face.

Gods be good, he had thought, realizing that he had the truth of it. Father is merciful.

Even now, as Simeon sits, he can hear the sound of you arguing with the High Seraphs, demanding your freedom. He hears your terms echo down the halls, reaching his ears long after you've said them: orders to allow you the right to return to the Devildom, to freely see Lucifer for not just the remainder of the year but for the rest of your life, to not be held captive in these towers ever again.

A soft smile finds its way onto the angel's face when he hears you demand that he be released, wherever they're keeping him.

You're too kind, little lamb.

Not that Simeon is complaining, though. He had been passed out when Father sent him that earlier vision, and the same fate threatens to arrive in the near future if he doesn't get some water and soon.

Simeon reaches another weak hand forward, testing to see how far he can go before the invisible shackles snap him back against the wall.

The sudden darkness causes him to stop.

His breath hitches in his throat, quietly trembling at the unexpected absence of light. It returns not a second later, and his muscles relax, smiling when he realizes that it's you causing these fluctuations.

Simeon's not sure if he should be proud or worried.

A broken laugh spills from his dry lips—interrupted by hoarse coughing—and he tries his hardest to recover, but he must pass out from the effort because when he next comes to, the sounds of your continued conversation echo down and fall upon his ears once more.

It's weak, but he can just barely make out what you're saying.

"You promise?" The sound is distorted, but it has the unmistakable inflection of your voice, filled with a hesitant hope. "Do you mean it?"

Simeon raises his eyebrows, wondering what you're referring to.

"Yes, child." Ah, that's a High Seraph speaking. "You've left us with no choice. You'll only continue throwing this tantrum for the rest of eternity if you don't get your way, so be on with it and do not return, you aggravating child."

Simeon's eyes raise. The High Seraphs are giving in? A part of him wants to laugh, that you've managed to disturb them so greatly with your "tantrum" that you've actually managed to achieve your demands, but another part of him is worried. Only Father has the explicit right to banish people from the Celestial Realm, but the way they told you to "not return" is awfully concerning.

"You—you mean it?" Your voice again, though the hopeful tint from earlier is more prominent. "You swear? Do you swear it, by the eyes of Father and all that is holy?"

"Yes, you obnoxious child of light. We swear, before the eyes of Father, the light within our hearts, the holiness of the Celestial Realm, that you may join your wretched union with Lucifer. Curses be upon you both, if Father ever understands how foolish this is."

Simeon's eyes widen. The words are riddled with jabs and mocks, entirely deriding as the High Seraphs speak to you, but they've said everything that needs to be said. The seraph who just spoke gave you explicit permission not just to see Lucifer but to be with him, having sworn a blessing (riddled with insults) before the eyes of Father, the light in their hearts, and the holiness of the realm.

They've given you the permission to do the very thing you desire.

Be with Lucifer.

A warmth blossoms in Simeon's heart, overwhelmed with relief and happiness for your sake. A liquid joy spills from his eyes, and he doesn't even wipe it away as he understands that the little girl he's spent the past four thousand years protecting is in love, and that you can finally act upon those feelings without it being a sin against your nature.

The High Seraphs have sworn it, after all.

He rests his head against the coolness of the stone wall, not even hearing the sound of wings approaching. He's about to give in to the temptation of slumber when the door on the far end of the room is kicked in, revealing your holy form as it crashes (rather ungraciously) inside the room.

"Simeon!" You call, first in joy. But when you see the disheveled state the angel is, your second cry of his name comes in concern.

"Simeon?! What have they done to you?!" You run forward to cup his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "You're crying!" You exclaim, lip trembling and eyes threatening to leak their own tears.

"Not for pain, little lamb," Simeon murmurs, running a hand through your hair. "I...I heard what the High Seraphs said. For you. And Lucifer." He summons all the strength he has left to flash you a smile. "It is the most wonderful news in the world."

"I'm so sorry for not telling you about Lucifer," You whisper, eyes searching deeply for anger or resentment on Simeon's features. "I never should have kept secrets from you."

"Shh, little lamb." Simeon shakes his head. "It's alright, you did what you thought was necessary."

"I know, but you're my guardian, and all this could have been avoided if I just told you the truth! If I had, you wouldn't be down here, being punished for my wrongs!"

The angel shakes his head, sighing softly.

"This is the best outcome either of us could have hoped for. If you had told me the truth, this might have all been avoided, but then the High Seraphs never would have allowed you to partake in any union with Lucifer." His eyes soften. "And you mean to…"

"I mean to marry him," Comes your response, slightly abashed at the words. Everything after is said with burning cheeks, rushed and choppy. "One day. Far in the future. When we're both ready. If you allow it. If. And only if we have your blessing. And if—"

"Little lamb," Simeon shushes you, a finger on your lips. "I told Lucifer, but never you. The two of you already have my blessing."

He smiles, resting his head against your forehead calmly while you sputter in shock, trying to understand when all this happened. Alas, as much as Simeon wishes to answer your questions, the burn in his throat is growing too strong for him to resist any longer.

"Little lamb?" He asks, finger pointing to the six glasses that have been kept just beyond his reach. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me some water?"

You comply instantly, making three trips to bring all the glasses back. Simeon hardly waits once they're within an arm's reach, and he downs the first glass in mere seconds. He raises the remaining glasses to his lips so suddenly that much of the water spills onto his chin and chest, but by the sixth glass, his thirst is quenched and he can bring himself to put it down before turning back to face you.

"Go, little lamb." He gestures toward the door. "The High Seraphs will be down here at any moment to free me, now that you've confessed to everything. And Lucifer will be waiting."

"Lucifer? You want me to return to the Devildom without you?"

"If I know him, he'll be long gone from the Devildom," Simeon chuckles. "Follow his light. Sense his aura. You'll find him, little lamb. No doubt, he's nearby."

You motion to get up, still hesitant to leave.

"Go," Simeon repeats. But this time, he's not saying the words as your doting friend. They're an order, his first and his last command to you as your guardian, to go to the arms of the man you love.

You heed him.

***

There's absolutely nothing Lucifer can do.

He floats helplessly, teetering on the border that marks the heavens, staying hidden in the clouds as he remains just outside the Celestial Realm. He's close enough to the tower of High Seraphs that he could see the flashes of light and occasional bouts of darkness as you fought with them earlier, so close that he could even hear your enraged shouts every now and then—but the tower has been still for nearly the past half hour.

He bites his lip, hating how there's absolutely nothing he can do for you.

What if they hurt you? He wonders, flapping his wings hesitantly as he tries to get closer to the tower, to no avail. What if they've locked you up again?

The endless questions plaguing his mind never seem to end, and he's certain that if he's left waiting any longer, he'd actually go crazy. But then, right when he needs it the most, his eyes detect movement.

You.

There's no denying it, the signature splash of (h/c) tresses battling the wind as you approach, (s/c) against the pale fabric of your clothes, wings turned white as you grow closer and closer to Lucifer, a beaming smile on your face.

He isn't a man to cry for joy, but Lucifer truly feels like he might in this moment, and he holds nothing back when you fly straight into his arms, the momentum of traveling at top speed hitting him hard as he flies backward with you in his arms. But that doesn't even matter anymore, because you're finally back by his side.

"Lucifer," You murmur, arms wrapped around him tightly as you bury your head in his shoulder. "I thought they'd never let me go."

"They let you go?" Lucifer asks, disbelief prominent in his voice. "The High Seraphs? Willingly?"

You giggle and hold him tighter, and he watches as you pull back just the slightest. "They couldn't say no after Father yelled at them for making me unhappy." You peck his lips. "They've given me permission to be with you, Lucifer. Forever."

The breath hitches in Lucifer's throat. He expected, if you returned, that you would be permitted to spend the remainder of the year with him at most.

But…

He holds you numbly, too overwhelmed by this news to do anything when you laugh sweetly and wrap him in another tight embrace, closing your eyes and resting your head atop his shoulder as you pull him as close as possible to let him know that this is real.

The demon returns your embrace, staring into the clouds in a strange mix of shock and wonder. He's no longer the Morningstar, no longer the pride of the Celestial Realm. What has he done to deserve such happiness, such a wonderful fate?

Tears form in his eyes, though he never allows them to fall, and it's in that moment when his vision is compromised that he makes out the familiar shape of Father in the clouds overhead. His eyes widen. The lord's gaze isn't forgiving as he stares at the son he banished, nor is it kind. But Father's eyes are soft as he watches the two lovers embrace, as if—though he may not love Lucifer the same way anymore—he does love MC, and he trusts Lucifer to make her happy.

He blinks, and then the vision is gone, the clarity of the clouds and his Father's face dissipating as a Celestial breeze pulls it all apart.

But Lucifer knows what he saw.

It's for you, he understands. The future he's been given, the right to spend eternity with the love of his life—it's entirely unsuitable for a demon, one who's been banished from the heavens and sent to the land of eternal damnation. But a life of love is wholly fitting for an angel. It is a life you deserve, and the life that Father has given you. This union is entirely for you, not for Lucifer in the least—but the fact that Father has trusted Lucifer, of all people, with your heart speaks volumes about your shared future together.

Trust, he thinks. After everything he has been through with Father, the god still trusts you with Lucifer. Is that a testament to the god's previous love for the demon, or a statement about his love for you?

Lucifer does not know. But the one thing he is certain about is that this eternity he has been given to spend with you will be perfect. He will ensure that much himself.

Lucifer quietly pulls your head off his shoulder, and a single look into each other's eyes is all it takes for your lips to connect, pressing firmly against each other in a passionate molding of love, lust, and warmth.

"I love you," He whispers, suddenly realizing that he's never said the words.

"I love you too, Lucifer," You murmur, recapturing his lips in another ardent kiss.

He can hardly say how much time passes like that, the two of you wrapped in each other's arms and kissing each other over and over again, as if neither of you can quite believe that you will no longer need to separate at the end of this year. It's still so impossible to wrap his head around: the notion that, just as he had you for eternity in the Celestial Realm, he now has you by his side for eternity once more.

Never has he felt so blessed.

"MC," He murmurs quietly, once he notices that the sun has begun to set. His eyes widen when he pulls apart, noticing your altered appearance. "Your wings. I've…" Ruined them, he wants to say, but he holds back because he knows how much you hate it when he insults the facets of demon appearance.

"I didn't even realize," You murmur softly, glancing your black wings. You raise a hand to Lucifer's cheek, and a strange sensation powers through his body. He watches as the feathers on your back turn from black, to gray, to white, and then realizes that this is the very power Father talked about in his vision. Your power to radiate light.

Lucifer's eyes widen as you return his own dark light back to him, the aura he usually emanates fluttering through his veins as he's forced, by your hand, to absorb his light for the first time.

By the time you're done, your wings are paler than snow, your holy halo shining brightly to match.

"I can control it," You say, giggling. "I wonder, can I make your wings change color the same way?"

Not even waiting for his answer, you turn to Lucifer with a cheeky smile and continue radiating light. This time, though, it's not Lucifer's aura pulsating through his veins but yours, holy and precious as it beats in tandem with his heart.

The demon isn't quite sure how he feels about the sensation, but he finally decides that he'll put up with it if it makes you happy. As predicted, he sees his wings begin to turn gray, but the sight of four wings no longer black prompts him to stop you.

"MC," He murmurs, a hand flitting onto your shoulder. You cease your ministrations instantly, and the moment you're not actively balancing his inner darkness, it comes rushing black, his wings bursting ebony once more. At the sight, he sees your own wings begin to darken, as if when you're not radiating light, you instinctively begin absorbing it. He chuckles. "It's not meant to be. Just like you," He strokes your cheek tenderly. "Are meant to have white wings."

You pout, resting your forehead against his. You make no move to halt the spread of blackness over your feathers, and Lucifer suspects that you're consciously willing to happen faster. "But I like it when we match, Luci."

"You'll make Luke scream again if he sees you with black wings."

"Luke can scream all he wants. He'll have to get used to it when I return to the Devildom."

"You're coming back?" Lucifer pulls back, eyes slightly wide. "You'll be returning for the remainder of the exchange program?"

"Of course, Luci," You chuckle, pecking his cheek. You beat your wings once, spinning the two of you as you continue to float gently in the air. "The High Seraphs basically told me to get lost and do what I want, as long as I stop disturbing them and don't run to Father to complain. So…" You trail a finger down to Lucifer's chest. "I can stay for the year. Even longer, if you'll have me."

"Of course I'll have you," Lucifer whispers, a smile spread out on his features once again. Truly, this day cannot get any better. He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging you with him as he spreads his wings out atop a cloud that hangs just outside the Celestial Realm. Fingers intertwined, you join him, curling up on his sides as you rest your head on his chest.

"I want to stay here forever with you," He hears you whisper. "Right here. Right in between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. Under the stars, with no one other than us."

Lucifer smiles.

"I'll make it happen."

You raise your eyes at Lucifer's words, staring sweetly into his eyes.

"I'll build us a house, right here. A house in the clouds, where no one from the Celestial Realm or the Devildom will disturb us."

You laugh, and Lucifer feels almost insulted that you're finding amusement in his declaration. He's being honest.

"What?" He asks, ears a light pink. "You said you wanted to be here forever."

"How would that even work?" You retort with a giggle, pinching a lock of hair and tracing patterns with it along Lucifer's chest. He'd ask you to stop, but the adorable smile on your face prompts him to let you do as you please. Even if it tickles. "We'd have to fly an hour just to get to our home."

"Or we could enchant a door so that it takes us here, straight from the Devildom. I'm sure Simeon wouldn't mind erecting one in the Celestial Realm, as well."

"Hm," He hears you mutter, thinking. The demon can practically sense your complaint, that you're no good with object enchantments and something like that is far too complicated, but much to his surprise, all you say is: "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Let's build a house here. On this very cloud. And someday, when you're not as busy with Diavolo's work and Simeon is no longer my guardian, we can live here for the rest of our lives."

Lucifer smiles. It's a plan that can hardly be achieved within the next twenty thousand years, but the two of you are in no rush.

He silently watches as you mark the cloud with your light, radiating it smoothly until the cloud glows gently, setting it apart from others. "There," You say with a triumphant grin. "Now, we'll always be able to find this cloud."

You giggle softly, and Lucifer pulls you even closer, wondering how he managed to obtain such a wonderful lover.

It would be a stereotypical date, if not for the unique nature of the series of events that brought the two of you here. You're cuddling together, Lucifer's head resting just barely atop yours and your eyes are always locked on each other or on the mesmerizing scatter of the stars above you. The two of you have already spent so many nights at the House of Lamentation in the observatory doing the exact same thing, but nothing can compare to this moment.

"Do you think I can make a star?" Lucifer suddenly hears you ask. He blinks down at you, his hand brushing against the feathers of your wings in wonder of where this thought came from. "I mean, do you think I can radiate enough light to make a real star?"

"Of course," Lucifer answers. "But it might be a lot of physical exertion, so don't push yourself too far."

He glances down at you encouragingly, smiling as he senses you begin to channel your energy outward, and he can see a thin line of light stretch out of your figure. In your focus, you hardly notice when your wings fade to black, changing to match with Lucifer's own, and he doesn't comment on it either, opting to watch as a faint but unmistakable mark forms in the sky: a star. Tiny, and almost invisible if he's not explicitly searching for it, but it's a star.

"Lucifer," You gasp, fingers tightening around his hand. "I did it!"

"It's beautiful," He whispers into your ear, kissing the top of your head as you try to create another one. He doesn't complain about your changing the sky, knowing that the stars you send forth are so small and delicate that the humans probably won't even notice it.

But when you finally stop creating stars, he can't help but chuckle at your antics.

"Really, MC?" He raises an eyebrow, acting unimpressed. But in his heart, he finds it incredibly endearing. "A smiley face?"

"It's cute!" You exclaim, laughing into the demon's chest. Then, an idea seems to pop into your mind. "Close your eyes, Luci!" You exclaim, casting a glance up at him to confirm that he's following your instructions. "Don't open them until I say so!"

He hums quietly in agreement, taking this as an opportunity to continue tracing your body with the one hand that isn't intertwined with yours. He goes from mapping the outline of your wings to tracing the curve of your hip, quietly running his hand over the dip of your collarbone and then outlining the angles of your face. He keeps his eyes closed as his mind completes the visualization of your body.

Eternity, he thinks, a strange giddiness overtaking his heart at the word. It's still so hard to believe, but finally has you for all eternity.

And to think, I have Father to thank for that.

The demon suppresses a laugh, wondering how he'll tell his brothers.

"Lucifer?" The demon turns his head downward, eyes still closed. "Lucifer, you can open your eyes now."

He opens them, blinking down as you smile up at you. He almost wants to stare at you for longer, but your impatient gesturing up at the sky above prompts him to finally raise his eyes.

And when he does, he practically chokes on his own breath.

"You…" He mutters, eyes wide. How did you manage to do so much in so little time? "It's beautiful, MC. Truly beautiful."

He laughs in disbelief, his eyes smiling as he stares up at the stars above.

The sky is a work of art.

He has no idea how you managed to create so many stars in such little time, but you've created a constellation of your own, put together exclusively by stars of your own light. They're the faintest ones above, but they burn with the familiar light Lucifer adores. To his eyes, they stand out bolder than all the rest, proud and distinct against the blackness of the sky.

He smiles, his hand raising to trace the shape of what you've so meticulously laid out. "I love it," He whispers, staring even longer.

There, in the distance, hundreds of thousands of miles away but there nonetheless, is the constellation that outlines both of your figures in the night sky: your arms reaching out to Lucifer, wings outstretched behind you, and his own demonic form flying up to greet you.

Perfection, he thinks, wondering when in these past years you learned the mechanisms of art. Because what you've laid out for him in the stars is that: beautiful art, more stunning than any painting he has hanging in the House of Lamentation.

It's a scene that speaks not with the image it presents but the emotion it evokes, four thousand years of separation manifested in the yearning on both your faces; the joy of reuniting after so long hidden in the way your arms beckon to touch each other; the pain at being ripped away from each other once more locked in the desperation of your gazes; the sheer happiness at the prospect of the remaining eternity the two of you have together conveyed in the finality of your pose, as if you're about to embrace for the final time, never having to pull apart ever again.

It's your entire love story written in the stars.

Lucifer can't hold his pride over your skill as he marvels at your work. It's a perfect rendition of everything that has brought the two of you to this moment where you can finally be together, after thousands upon thousands of years of love and separation and more love.

It is, without a doubt, perfection.

Lucifer sighs softly when you raise your hand to his, slipping your fingers amid his and intertwining them so that his attention is focused not at the masterful constellation you've just created but on the sight of your hands locked together.

"I love you."

He's not sure who says it first, but neither of you bother repeating it. Why bother? The proof is in the stars, in the light you both radiate—dark and pure, holy and corrupt, love and lust.

It's a union unnatural, countering every instinct known to both angels and demons. It would even be a sin, if it weren't explicitly pardoned by Father.

This match is wholly aberrant, strange and twisted in the way this love has wedged its way into both your hearts, rooting itself so strongly that Lucifer wouldn't be able to get rid of it if he tried.

And yet, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.6k

Notes: I'm going to be straight with you guys, this is essentially the ending for this fic! the next chapter will be told from the POV of an outside character looking in on the evolution of MC and Lucifer's relationship. it will serve as an epilogue, if you will, and i currently plan for it to be significantly shorter than the usual chapters in this fic - so i want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading! this has been such a wild ride, and these past two weeks have been especially rough for me, just personally! being able to escape and write a soft, wholesome love story has done so much for my mental state, and i want to thank everyone who has shared this journey with me <3 the end is coming very soon, and i have enjoyed every step of this fic, from the annoying process of scrapping thousands of words to rewrite them (often multiple times in a row, god - my drafts for this series tell such a wild tale) to scrolling through every comment you guys have left, this has been an absolute pleasure and i thank you for joining me on this journey, whether you're reading this today as i continue to write or far in the future!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/16/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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chaoticdean · 4 years

Note

for the prompt destiel + roadtrip pls 💜

Well... It is common knowledge by now that I don't have any self-control when it comes to writing, but I think it's safe to say that I didn't intend on writing a full 4K one-shot laced with Zeppelin references when I received this prompt!

Regardless, I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[READ ON AO3]

“You ready to go, Cas?” Dean asks as he lowers his head to watch him, sitting shotgun inside his beloved Impala, “What are you doing with these?”

“I can’t find the tape, Dean.”

“What tape?”, Dean is fairly sure he knows what Castiel is looking for but he complies anyway, “there’s like, at least 30 tapes in there and I have another box in the trunk if we get tired of all of these”.

Dean smiles at the former angel as he raises his head from the box to look at him, a look of despair inside his eyes. His hair is a glorious mess (as per usual), he’s way more tanned than he used to be (probably from the long hours he now spends outside in the garden they’ve grown next to the bunker) and he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a dark t-shirt that have been borrowed from Dean, probably.

Every single time Dean looks at him his heart misses a beat.

“Your tape. I can’t find it. The one you gave me, with your top 13 Zeppelin tracks?”

“Oh. You still have that?”

Oh. The tape I put my heart on and gave to you so that you’d have something to remind you I still existed all these times you found a reason to leave me? You still have it?

God fucking bless.

Dean Winchester has a lot of good and enjoyable sides, but being smooth ain’t one of them.

“Of course I still have that”, Castiel answers with an exasperated sigh before he starts shoving things again inside the Impala’s glove box, “and I can’t find it. Dean, we can’t leave without it.”

“It’s that important?”

Well, shit. If Cas is ready to postpone the road trip they’ve been prepping for for weeks now, let alone over a cassette tape, it really must mean a lot to him.

Not that it’s making Dean giddy on the inside, thank you very much.

“Cas?”

“What, Dean? I’m not leaving without —“

He stops when he raises his head again only to see Dean holding said tape between his fingers, a smile on his face.

There are so many emotions roaming over Castiel’s face that Dean almost feels like he’s sitting on a rollercoaster.

“It was inside your trench coat’s inner pocket. You’re not wearing it all that much now, so I put it in the wash last night and retrieved the tape before it went all Nemo inside the washing machine”, he explains as Castiel watches him with a blank expression, "There, better?”

He extends his arms to give him the cassette tape, and Castiel suddenly retrieves control over his emotions again. He’s been dealing with this a lot recently, as his grace slowly fades away he’s had to come to grasp with humanity again.

Dean’s heart misses another beat as their fingers grasp lightly, Castiel taking the mixtape from his hand, and it takes a lot out of him no to reach out and keep his hand inside of his.

“Can we go, now?” Dean says as he finally hops in the driver seat

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to put it on?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean smiles as they finally get on the road, Robert Plant’s voice filling the space as they head on the open road. The next three days are entirely theirs until they reach California.

“Ah, sometimes I grow so tired

But I know I've got one thing I got to do

Ramble on

And now's the time, the time is now

To sing my song”

***

It’s close to 2 am when Dean finally gives up and finds a secluded spot to crash for a couple of hours. They've been driving at a solid pace since they left Lebanon 6 hours before, only making a pit stop for food and refreshments, and as much as he loves driving without stopping, he’s not 26 anymore and his body tends to make him bitchy if he doesn’t get his four hours.

Castiel crashed in the backseat for what feels like an hour already. When Dean finally stops the engine and look over at his partner, he can’t help but smile at the sight of several-millennia-old-Cas, sprawled in the backseat of his beloved Baby, dark hair splendidly tousled in 10 different directions, snoring soundly, pressed against Dean’s winter jacket that he’s somehow got his hand on.

“You’re going to get cold like that, Angel.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, judging by the way Castiel is snoring lightly, he’s pretty far gone already. Dean reaches for the blanket on the quarter-deck and drapes it around Cas. He lingers for a moment, his fingers finding their way to Cas’s hair, stroking nice and slow at his cheek.

There’s something tugging at his heart, a difficult feeling between sadness and love, a pain that he can never quite get to cease. Sometimes it breaks as he watches Cas struggle with his humanity, and suddenly breathing becomes difficult.

It’s not fair, what Castiel has to go through after everything they had to bear. They saved the world, they defeated Chuck, Jack had to return to Heaven, it shouldn’t be this way. It shouldn’t be on Cas to suffer, it shouldn’t be that easy for them.

Suddenly there are two pools of ocean blues starring at him, as his thumb makes his way through Cas’s jawline.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe the feeling of Castiel’s warm skin and light stubble under his fingertips is too tender for him to let go, so he doesn’t, and cups his cheek instead.

There’s a fond smile on Castiel’s lips, “you need to get some sleep, Dean”, his voice is heavy with sleep like he’s second away of drifting off again.

“I know, Angel. I just didn’t want you to catch a cold”, he smiles back at him.

And it’s true, there’s no lie in his words, but he also really wish he could just hop in the backseat and lie against him to keep him warm.

“‘mfine”, Cas grumbles, eyes shutting on impact.

He’s back to snoring in a nano-second, and Dean can’t help but release a laugh. He retrieves his hand then, still taking a moment to gaze at him, how the faint light from the road makes his features stand out in the relative dark.

“I love you, Angel”, he murmurs then, in the comfort and silence of his car, starring at the ceiling, “I know it’s tough, I know you’re struggling, but I’m here. And I love you. I love you, Cas.”

Because it’s easier to admit how much he feels for him in the darkness and soundless night, rather than having to stare at it in the bright light of day.

I love you, and it’s not fair that you have to go through all of this on your own, it’s not fair that you’re the one that has to suffer and lose your identity.

I love you, and I’m scared because I’m used to you leaving, and I don’t think I can make it through if you leave again.

I love you, and it’s dark and terrifying and I wish I had the nerve to tell you, but I’m too afraid, cause what if you laugh? What if I’m not enough? What if it’s one-sided? I can't lose you. Not now, not ever. And if I have to swallow this up and bottle my feelings back up again I will do it in a heartbeat. What’s more than a lifetime when it’s been more than a decade, anyway?

I love you, with all that’s left in me, with all the ferocity of the last decade we just went through.

I love you, Cas. Can’t you see?

He falls asleep then, to the sound of Castiel’s slow breathing.

***

It’s already been a day since Dean and Castiel left the bunker to join Sam and Eileen in California, and Cas is sinking into a melancholic state he’s never quite experienced before.

He used to think cars were slow and void of meaning, cold and loud when he could just use his wings to travel the world in a flap. But of course, that was long before, in a time where he was still a defender of Heaven in all his glory, before he fell, and chose Humanity, and betrayed, and loved.

Before the Winchesters. Before Free Will. Before Dean.

But now as he awakes lying in the backseat to the voice of the hunter softly singing, the sound of the engine rumbling firmly against his chest and the sun rising slowly?

Road tripping was the best idea they had in a solid couple of months.

“I've really been the best of fools

I did what I could, yeah

'Cause I love you, baby

How I love you, darling.”

Dean’s slightly off-key, as he usually is, but Castiel doesn’t mind and takes great pleasure in quietly watching him as he drums his way along the steering wheel, singing like he doesn’t give a damn if anyone’s listening. The edges of his hair look gold because of the way the sunlight catches his features, his eyes shining like tiny emeralds.

“Everybody trying to tell me

That you didn't mean me no good

I've been trying, Lord, let me tell you

Let me tell you I really did the best I could.”

He looks beautiful. Happier than Castiel has seen him in several weeks — actually, scratch that, months — and it makes his heart flutter.

“Hey, Sunshine. Did Winchester Motel treat you well?” Dean smiles as he finally catches sight of him being awake in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah… Although, I think my back might disagree with me”, he grimaces as he returns to a normal upright position, “where are we?”

“We’re somewhere in Arizona. I think… Do you wanna stop for coffee? I’m starving, and it's not like we’re in a hurry.”

“Said the guy who decided to drive all night instead of stopping in a motel”, Cas quickly replies sarcastically.

“I did stop, actually. I slept for like 4 hours. You were sleeping like a baby in that backseat, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I remember. You put a blanket around me.”

“Yeah. Didn’t want you to catch a stupid cold.”

Castiel can see the fond smile on the hunter’s lips and it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss it away.

It’s fresh, intricate, delicate even, this thing between them. Cas feels like it’s always been there, a tick veil inside his heart that he could never quite let go until a few months back, after they defeated Chuck, after Jack stepped up and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, slowly fade away.

It comes in touches and little things, from the way Dean will sometimes extend his arm over the seat of the Impala to brush lightly at the hair on the nape of his neck, to buying things specifically for him when he goes grocery shopping.

Or the way he gently touched his face and hair last night, the way his eyes glimmered with something dangerous and good. Cas wished he’d have reached out to him at that point, dragged him into the backseat, and fell back asleep against him, safe.

And of course, there’s this time both of them had a little too much to drink alone in the bunker, and Cas accidentally brushed his lips over Dean’s, his dirty blonde hair gloriously wild and his green eyes shimmering with something Cas couldn’t even comprehend.

It’s been weeks, and he still can’t forget. How soft Dean’s lips felt against him, how good it felt to finally let go of all the pretend, how hard he shivered when a deep moan escaped from Dean’s throat.

It’s been weeks and he still wants it all.

“Baby, since I've been loving you

I'm about to lose

I'm about to lose, lose my worried mind

Just one more, just one more, oh yeah

Since I've been loving you, I'm about to lose my worried mind.”

***

“Can we listen to your mixtape again?”

“Yeah, sure. What is it with you and that tape again?”

Did you figure out that I gave it to you to tell you I’d always be there, no matter how pissed I could be at you? Did you figure out it’s like I gave you my heart for you to keep, forever?

“You made it for me. It’s the first gift I’ve ever been given. It means everything to me.”

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, Castiel’s brutal honesty. It’s been years, but sometimes it still takes him by surprise.

He lets Cas fumble with the player, and then Plant’s voice is filling the space again, as they race their way through Arizona under pouring rain.

“Then as it was, then again it will be

And though the course may change sometimes

Rivers always reach the sea

Blind stars of fortune, each have several rays

On the wings of maybe, down in birds of prey

Kind of makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow

But as the eagle leaves the nest, it's got so far to go.”

***

“Do you wanna stop for the night, find a motel, or are we Winchestering in the backseat again?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, I don’t think we’ll find a motel.”

“Well, probably not for the next hundred miles, no, but I can keep going.”

“I don’t mind sleeping there again.”

“Okay, back to Winchester Motel it is, then.”

They stop for dinner north of Phoenix, stopping for a couple of hours to stretch their legs, enjoy warm food, and a couple of drinks.

Dean can see that Cas is tipsy when they stop for the night, finding a spot to park the Impala next to a gigantic field. It’s clear in the way he speaks, his voice slightly hoarse and his eyes shimmering differently than usual.

He extends his arm to brush at Castiel’s shoulder to get the angel to look at him.

“Are you in the mood for some star gazing?”

“We’re gonna be freezing.”

“Ah it’s alright, I’ll get a couple of blankets, and then we can crash inside when we’ve had enough. Deal?”

“Deal.”

There’s a faint smile on Castiel’s face as he exits the car to go sit on the hood of the Impala, Dean then climbing next to him with blankets minutes after. He’s already watching the sky when he joins in, his eyes staring in the distance.

“You okay, Cas?”, Dean asks, mildly concerned.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you’re… different.”

“I could say the same thing about you, you know?”

“Why is that?”

I’m the same I’ve always been, mind you Angel of the goddamn Lord.

“I don’t know. It’s like you’re a different person than when we’re in the bunker. You feel… lighter. Happier. I like this you.”

“Do I need to feel offended that you don’t like bunker-me?”, Dean asks with a smile, finally lying next to him, his eyes raised to the sky.

The night is clear and yeah, it is kinda cold, but blankets should do the tricks.

And if it doesn’t, well…

“No, don’t get me wrong, I like bunker-you, it’s just… Nice, seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well. Give me my car, my angel, and an open-road, that’s all I need.”

Did he really just said my angel?

“Not an angel anymore, you know that”, Cas smiles faintly, lowering his gaze to look at the hunter, locking-eyes with him.

“Maybe not semantically speaking, but you’ll always be my angel.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, Winchester, you don’t have any alcohol to excuse this on, you know that, right?

But Cas just smiles at him, and Dean’s heart just grows ten sizes watching his face light up. The former angel takes his gaze back to the stars then, a light smile still painted on his lips, but Dean can't tear his gaze away from him and the way the dull light of the moon makes his face stand out in the dark.

God, you’re beautiful.

“You know we’ve got you, right?”, he says after a while, finally taking his gaze away from him.

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean keeps going, “I know it’s tough but we’re always gonna be on your side. I’m always gonna be there.”

It’s not a promise, and merely a statement. Castiel knows, Dean is pretty sure, but he needs to say it out loud for him to comprehend.

“I know.”

They’re quiet for a moment, watching the stars without talking, the silence sitting comfortably between them.

But then Dean can feel Cas shivering.

“Okay, let’s hop in the backseat. I don’t want you losing any toe because I left you to freeze on the hood for an hour too long.”

“It’s fine, I like it here.”

“Cas, you’re shivering like we’re in the middle of Minnesota in January.”

“Oh.”

Dean rolls his eyes at that because of course, only Castiel wouldn’t realize he’s actually really cold and respond with a simple “Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He watches as Castiel lay in the backseat, and throws him several blankets to make sure he doesn’t get too cold. But no matter what he does, the angel keeps shivering. He’s got 3 blankets and Dean’s winter jacket on, but somehow it still isn’t enough.

“Let me grab some more stuff from the trunk.”

“Dean.”

He stops before exiting the car, Castiel’s baby blues locked in his.

“Just… just come here.”

“W—What?”

“The only way we’re both not freezing to death is if we sleep together in the backseat. I think you know that?”

“Yeah, but… Look, not like I don’t see the appeal of sleeping with you, but it’s not gonna be comfortable for you, Cas.”

Holy hell, do you even hear yourself, Winchester?

But Cas just smiles at him, grasping at his hand to urge him to join him.

“I’ll take sleeping with you in the backseat of the Impala and sharing the warmth to freezing to death alone in the backseat right in the middle of Arizona any day, Dean Winchester.”

“God, what a sap.”

It takes them a minute to find the right way to position themselves so that it’s comfortable for both of them. Dean ends up lying between Cas’s legs, his head resting in the crook of his neck. He can feel Cas steady breathing, his arms tight around his waist.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”, he whispers, his lips so close to Castiel’s skin he can feel his warmth on the tip of his tongue.

“No. No, you’re not. It’s actually quite enjoyable.”

“Yeah?”

Yeah, I fucking bet it is. It’s actual Heaven.

“See? I’m not shivering anymore.”

“Are you trying to tell me you were right?”

“I’m not trying, I’m telling.”

He knows there’s a smug smile on Castiel’s lips without having to check.

And suddenly there’s Castiel hand carding lightly through his hair, and he swears to fucking God it takes everything in him not to release anything resembling a moan.

He dives in the moment then, shifting closer, a slight shiver coursing through his body at the sensation of Castiel’s hand softly going through his hair.

“Is that okay?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I can stop if you want me to.”

And maybe it’s the moment itself that makes Dean feeling smug enough, or maybe he can blame it on his weariness later, but it’s then that he kisses Castiel’s skin where his shoulder meets his neck, where it’s warm and inviting and it smells like sleep and all the things Dean knows he does not deserve.

There’s a finger under his chin then, and Castiel lifts his face up to make the hunter look at him. Dean’s heart misses a beat when he sees the smile on his friend’s lips.

Dean has shared a lot of kisses in his life. Some were good. Many were great.

And not a single one can compete with this one.

Dean props himself up on his elbows, biting lightly at Cas bottom lip as he runs his thumb along the rough stubble of Castiel’s jaw. There’s a desperate moan rising from the back of Cas’s throat, echoing through his entire body as their lips press together again, sinking in shared pleasure.

For a few blessed moments, it’s like nothing exists outside of Castiel’s mouth, Castiel’s hands making their way over his skin, Castiel’s breathing syncing with his. There’s no one else in the world and they’re the only one left living in the instant, the world narrowing down to each and every single one of their touch.

Dean is almost sure he could sink and never make it back to the surface, and he wouldn’t even find it in him to care.

Cas breaks the kiss then, only to breathe Dean’s name, his voice frayed and gasping for air. Dean leans forward again, and they share another kiss; It’s deeper and perhaps more desperate this time, filled with a loud echo of love that carves its way into Cas’s heart.

And it doesn’t have to be fast, it doesn’t need to sloppy, or stolen, Dean realizes as he looks into the angel’s eyes. They have time, if they want to give themselves a shot.

They have all the time in the world, and nowhere else to go.

And kissing Cas? Kissing Cas feels like coming Home.

***

The morning light is soft, inviting even, as it frames Dean’s hair into golden drops. Castiel allows himself to think for a moment that every morning could be like this, waking up warm and safe, his body pressed up against Dean soundly asleep. For a fleeting moment, he thinks about how the first thing he’d feel would be the weight of Dean’s body on his own, the steady breathing of the hunter tickling his skin.

It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, does it?

***

Dean is in Heaven. There are no other possibilities, no way this is the real world.

“Hey.”

His voice sends shivers down the hunter’s spine as he shifts against Castiel to look at his face.

“Hey. How’s your back?”

I don’t give a shit about your back. What are we playing, here? Do we pretend like nothing has happened?

“It’s fine. Come here.”

It’s chilly in the car but Dean doesn’t even register, as Castiel captures his mouth with his. They both have horrible morning breath and he doesn’t give a flying fuck, because it’s Cas and he’s kissing him like nothing else matters.

“My head kind of hurts, though”, Castiel says as their lips parts, and Dean can’t help but rumble a laugh out.

“Tequila is a wicked thing, angel”, Dean answers, biting kisses into the cut of his jaw, “Wait until we get coffee inside of you and you should feel a bit better.”

“You’re not wrong.”

It’s 6 am and it feels unreal, and I’m lying here against you like there’s nothing easiest in the world. Do we have a right? Are we allowed? Are they gonna take it back from us if we even try?

Dean doesn’t know the answers to his own question, but as Castiel maps the contour of his mouth with his tongue, his hand clutching at his sides like he’s about to drift away to paradise, he doesn’t think it matters.

As long as they have each other.

***

They’re finally crossing into California when Castiel puts the tape on again, and his beloved favorite band starts playing again, words and melody echoing on the ridges of the Impala.

“If the sun refused to shine

I would still be loving you

Mountains crumble to the sea

There will still be you and me”

He smiles then, reaching out to take Castiel’s hand inside of his, raising it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles softly.

“You okay, Angel?”

“Yes. I just… I’m gonna miss this. You and me, the road…”

“Hey”, Dean interrupts and the angel looks up at him again, “we’re not going anywhere, you and me. And both the road and the car will be waiting for us to go Home in a few weeks.”

Dean Winchester has a lot of good and enjoyable sides, and most of the time, he makes good use of it.

And maybe it’s Castiel’s hand firmly linked inside of his, or maybe it’s the way his eyes linger on the side of his face as the angel watches the landscape change, or maybe he’s just not so afraid anymore, so he lets it go.

“I love you.”

Castiel smiles, his eyes still fixed on the outside world, but his voice is steady, unwavering.

“I love you too, Dean.”

“And so today, my world it smiles

Your hand in mine, we walk the miles

Thanks to you it will be done

For you to me are the only one

Happiness, no more be sad

Happiness, I'm glad.”

Send me a quick prompt, and I’ll do my best!

#i......... did a thing? i think?#i’m really apprehensive of what you guys are going to think so please let me know #deans top 13 zepp traxx #destiel #deancas #destiel ficlet #deancas ficlet #led zeppelin #jus writes #a tumblr prompts collection

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yamisnuffles · 4 years

Text

Dig Down

Part 9 of Too Much of a Good Thing

Hell comes to congratulate Crowley on the Spanish Inquisition. When Crowley's curiosity gets the better of him, he ends of shaken to the core.

Read on Ao3

“You, my friend, are a terrible model.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at Leonardo. “What? How can anyone be a terrible model? All I have to do is sit about. Maybe you’re just a terrible artist.”

“Maybe so.” Leonardo laughed and set his sketch aside. “But I would hardly call what you do sitting.”

Crowley had one foot tucked underneath him and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. He was reasonably certain he hadn’t started in this position. He’d done his best to channel Aziraphale, back straight and hands folded neatly on his lap, when first Leonardo had started his drawing. He flung both of his legs out and used the momentum to stand. His floor length braid swung pendulously behind him.

“Can’t help it,” he said with an easy shrug. “Sitting around that long is unnatural.”

Leonardo gave him an appraising look. “What’s unnatural is the way you walk.”

Crowley stilled instantly. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. Really, it’s quite pleasant to watch but it does make me long to see the muscle and bone beneath. There is certainly something intriguing going on there.”

Aziraphale had commented a few times on the way he walked. Then again, Aziraphale had also commented on his hands, his nose, his hair, his eye, his freckles, his knees, his teeth, and everything else about him. To hear it from another, he worried he didn’t look as convincingly human as he hoped. It made him conscious of every step to a degree that very nearly caused him to trip. He saved himself by leaning against the table where Leonardo’s sketch had been cast aside.

He plucked the red chalk drawing up between long, spindly, ostensibly human fingers and examined it with eyes he knew were not a color found amongst mortal men. The face was cleverly rendered but everything from the shoulders down was decidedly more gestural.

“Mind if I take this?”

Leonardo dismissed the image with a wave. “Go right ahead. I can hardly use it for anything, though perhaps you can repay me by sitting for a portrait. Your face makes for a good study, even if the rest of you refuses to behave. You’d make an interesting angel, I think.” When Crowley sputtered incoherently in response, Leonardo laughed again. “A piece I was commissioned for,” he explained. “Or, part of one, anyway. For now, I have other work to do and I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your angel.”

Crowley felt his cheeks burn. Rather than try for a reply he knew would only come out as a garbled mess, he carefully rolled up the drawing and bobbed his head in thanks. “Well, whenever you want to get that portrait done, you know where to find me,” he said as he hastily made his exit from the studio. He could only take so much embarrassment in one day and he was sure Aziraphale had stored some up for him back at their villa.

Once he was out of the busy streets of Milan, he snapped his fingers. A note appeared, tucked into the drawing. A gift from our mutual friend, it read, to help you anticipate my return home. A grin and another snap sent it ahead. He could have gone with it but he enjoyed walking the Italian countryside. It put him in mind of breathless, startled confessions of love and kisses under the stars that added a spring to his step. He couldn’t bring himself to worry if that walk was passably human or not. He was all but skipping down the sun baked road when the smell of something putrid wafted through the summer air. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid tripping over Hastur as he rose up through the hard packed dirt.

Crowley scowled. He should have miracled himself home and saved himself the trouble. He could very well still leave but if Hastur was bothering him, it was for a reason. It always was. It was also always something miserable that he didn’t want Aziraphale dragged into. He’d had a few hundred year’s peace after their initial meeting and, while Hastur hadn’t come around with any more job offers, he usually bore information. Wretched, gut wriggling stuff that Crowley was probably better off not knowing but could never seem to resist.

He had enough time to collect himself, to cross his arms and pretend at calm. Annoyance. He knew he could fight if he needed but he really preferred not to. Luckily it had been some time since a demon had forced him to it. Chances were today would be no different. All the same, he’d keep himself wound and ready, should it come to it.

Hastur emerged fully with a sneer already on his face. Crowley resisted the urge to push him right back down into the earth and instead asked, “What do you want? You’re sort of ruining my attempt to enjoy the fresh air.”

The corners of Hastur’s mouth widened slow and sloppily as the filth he reeked of until it formed a too wide smile. “Just came to congratulate you, Crowley. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Crowley merely blinked. He couldn’t think of anything of note that he’d done in the past couple of centuries. Really, he’d been remarkably good, even by his own sometimes nebulous standards. He’d helped inspire a saint or two, been a patron of the arts, and had handed out the occasional blessing. Mostly he whiled away the time with Aziraphale, wherever they found themselves living as Aziraphale did jobs for Heaven. He’d even taken on a few of Aziraphale’s jobs, first as a way to let Aziraphale chase his own pursuits and then simply because he’d wanted to. Aside from helping a fellow angel skip work, he’d practically been a model angel.

“Hit your head on the way up from Hell, did you? I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t be so modest. Weaponizing questions, really. Everyone Downstairs is impressed with this one. I’m almost jealous.”

Crowley felt a prickling down his spine. Something about this put his teeth on edge. Other than the obvious, that it was Hastur speaking to him, he didn’t know what it was about this that made him so uneasy. He wanted urgently to be home with Aziraphale. It wasn’t just the usual desire to be with his husband but something deeper than his bones. Deep as his very essence. This was the sort of warning urge that had sent him deep into the stars, once upon a time, a warning that things would shift irreparably if he did not act.

He shook the stiffness from his limbs. No need to be tense. No need to run. It was just Hastur and whatever he was babbling about. He hadn’t done anything- he really hadn’t- and nothing the demon said would change that. He took a step to walk around the demon. “If you’re done…”

Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”

- - - -

Crowley wasn’t sure what day it was. He wasn’t sure where he was but the near empty bottle in his hand implied a tavern or something of the sort. Usually drinks were poured into cups, though, so there was a chance he’d grabbed a bottle and taken it somewhere. That, or someone had let him simply drink from the bottle. Either way, probably not any sort of fine establishment. He wasn’t sure if he felt good or bad, either, but that was by design— don’t feel anything, don’t think. Seemed to be working fantastically judging by the fact that he could neither see, sit, nor think straight.

“There you are.”

That voice was familiar. Made something warm settle into the sloshing sea of alcohol in his system. “Here I am,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you should stop drinking a moment and look at me.”

Crowley sank down to embrace the bottle. The glass was cool against the side of his face. It felt nice. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay like this,” he said. Or, tried to say, judging by the slurred garble that slipped out of his mouth.

There was a long sigh. “Crowley.”

The bottle was carefully pried from his grip. He tried to resist, muttered a few choice curses, but was easily left slumped against his own folded arms. A gentle hand landed on his right elbow and when he turned to look at it, a face came into view. It took a moment for him to focus well enough to bring any of the features clarity but it could have stayed a bright, blessed blur and he would have known that face anywhere.

He picked up his head and beamed. “Ziraphale, s’good to see you.”

“I’m surprised you can see anything, judging by the state of you. Why don’t we get you home?”

Crowley shook his head. He abruptly stopped when the whole world seemed to shake with it. “Nope. Too drunk. Would probably discorpra- discapor- die if I tried a miracle.”

“Well then, why don’t you sober up?”

Aziraphale’s voice was low, sharp, and even. It was the sort of voice that in any other situation would have had Crowley worried but he’d done too good a job of getting rid of silly things like worries at least half a dozen bottles ago. Maybe more. He’d lost track after the first five or fifteen.

“Told you,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, “no miracles. B’sides, I don’t wanna.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You don’t want to?”

“Nope.”

Crowley popped the ‘p’ and then repeated the sound until he fell into a fit of giggles.

“Then allow me—”

Everything was too murky for Crowley to remember why exactly the idea of sobering up sent his heart pounding and his stomach plummeting but he instantly snatched Aziraphale’s wrist to stop it from happening.

“No.”

“If you really feel so strongly about it, I won’t. Can you at least tell me why?”

Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. Every time he reached toward the source of that feeling, something fractured and threatened to fall away completely.

He heard another long sigh. An arm wrapped around his back and another under his legs. Suddenly he was being carried. The lift into the air made him dizzy. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest. His shirt smelled nice. Like… flowers or something. Something pretty and nice. Like Aziraphale.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale replied flatly. “Do you have a room?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t— where have you been staying all this time?”

“Dunno. Has it been a long time?”

Yet another sigh. Crowley felt like he should start taking count.

“It’s been over a week since I expected you back.” They started moving and Crowley had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop feeling dizzy. “Well then, if you don’t have a room and you won’t let me sober you up, what do you say to me bringing us both back home?”

Home. For much of his existence that had been a moving target with Aziraphale as a constant center. It didn’t need to be a physical place, the heart of it would always exist someplace beyond, but at the moment it was. More importantly, it was somewhere away from here. Whether he could articulate why he didn’t want to be here any longer, he knew how happy he was at the thought of leaving, particularly in Aziraphale’s arms.

Crowley hummed appreciatively and pressed in as close as he was able. There would always be a part of him that worried he would forget this form if he shifted back into his serpentine one but he missed the simplicity of it. He could never feel quite so much as a snake and he could instead rest easier, coiled around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Maybe he still would, when he sobered. He knew that Aziraphale would love him no matter his shape. It might not be better but it would be easier and, at the moment, that sounded very tempting.

There was a feeling of compression and then expansion as a miracle sent them both home. Instantly Crowley was inundated by the rich smell of oak from Aziraphale’s heavy wooden desk with a whiff on top of ink and parchment. He remembered the sound of wind rustling through the olive trees and the scratch of a quill as Aziraphale passed the nights writing while Crowley slept. Or tried to, anyhow. Oftentimes he would lay with one eye open and watch Aziraphale work by candlelight.

He thought of those nights as Aziraphale laid him on a bed that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Apparently neither of them was willing to break the silence that had fallen between them. Instead, Aziraphale quietly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Or tried, as he got caught in hair that had managed to tangle despite being braided.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” Aziraphale asked as he drew his hand back to himself. “Or bathed? Or did anything to care for yourself?”

“You said I’ve been gone over a week? Then, uh, yeah. Probably something like that. S’not like we need to bathe or anything. Not like humans do.”

“You do if you’re going to soak yourself in alcohol and drunken humans.”

Crowley groaned and buried his face in a pillow. As it happened, an angel’s metabolism didn’t allow for passing out drunk, or that had been his experience over the last however many days of attempting to reach blissful oblivion. Maybe he could sleep, though. That might be alright.

He forgot why he’d been avoiding sleep until it overcame him. He’d gotten complacent since his marriage to Aziraphale. Even in the worst of times, life with his Principality had been a waking dream and the sleeping world had shaped itself accordingly. But the world wasn’t painted in only soft shades of cream and powdery blue, sometimes it was the harsh, steely grey of cruel human ingenuity or the slick scarlet shine of blood. The blood wouldn’t wash from his hands no matter how ferociously he scrubbed. It gathered under his nails, stained his skin, and blemished the band of gold around his finger.

Then there were the screams. They were never ending. If he pressed his palms tight as he could over his ears, they still rattled through his bones. He suspected he would continue hearing them even if he banished his ears altogether with a miracle. He just wanted them to stop. He screamed for them to stop. He begged and pleaded like he had for little else in his long existence.

Silence returned with two words. “Wake up.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. He breathed in gulps through a raw and ragged throat. He looked impulsively at his hands but they were clean. The screams had been his own, the blood imagined, and yet he couldn’t seem to free himself of the sensation of either. He rubbed senselessly at his forearms until a pair of arms encircled him like a vice and forced him to stop.

“It’s alright, dearest. You’re alright.”

“It’s alright? I’m alright?” he repeated, each statement transforming into a question in the mouth of a non-believer.

“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”

This time there was no doubt. There never would be, not in Aziraphale. He relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms. “Yes.”

“How about a bath?” A snap and the scent of lavender filled the suddenly humid air. “I’ll take care of it. All you’ll have to do is relax.”

Crowley let out a hollow puff of laughter. “Is that all?”

Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders and sat him up so that they were face to face. There were tears obscuring his storm grey eyes. “Then you don’t need to do even that. Simply let me take care of you as best I can, alright?”

Crowley nodded when his throat tightened too much to make a reply. He loathed seeing Aziraphale cry.

Aziraphale helped him to his feet and out of his clothes. Each article of clothing was removed with more care than it deserved, stiff and smelling as it all did of a week’s worth of drinking in whatever establishment would have him. If he thought too closely on that he was liable to consider once more what had driven him to drink in the first place and, for Aziraphale’s sake, he was determined to at least try to relax.

He set his eyes on their bath. It was a lovely thing made of delicate white marble. Carved on the outside were scenes of angels dancing and drinking and generally having a lot more fun than real ones did. Bathing came and went in vogue with humans, but Aziraphale had developed a special fondness for it in Rome and so they’d kept a private bath wherever they settled since. Such, he supposed, was the luxury of not worrying whether the locals had plumbing anymore or not. One quick miracle and they had a full tub with steam that rolled in easy clouds off the surface.

“Come now,” Azirphale said as he took one of Crowley’s hands, “let’s see if this helps you any.”

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the bathtub and then climbed in without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand until he’d lowered himself most of the way down. Aziraphale carefully undid the braided hair that trailed after Crowley like a train. Once done, he gathered it up into a careful coil and deposited it in the water with Crowley. The water rose to the edge but didn’t spill over. It was just enough for Crowley and not a drop more.

Crowley let out a long, trembling breath as the hot water worked its wonders on him. He wasn’t quite as fond of bathing as Aziraphale but he did very much enjoy the act of being bathed. It was a bit like sleeping, without the danger of nightmares. Instead it was the very best sort of dream, shaped by the one he loved the most. Strong, calloused hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders and scented water poured over his head from a glittering copper vessel. The ritual of it was a comfort bordering on the sacred.

Aziraphale rubbed a small dab of scented oil on Crowley’s temples. “I got Leonardo’s sketch,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Crowley replied, “or I would have to worry my miracles are starting to go awry.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley into a seated position so that he could better comb out water loosened tangles. “It was quite lovely. I do hope that you told him that and that you thanked him for his patience. I could tell you were as restless as ever at your sitting.”

“Er—” Had he thanked Leonardo? He couldn’t remember. “Oh! He asked me to come back for a proper portrait. Said I’d make a good angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “At least someone thinks so.” The comb hit a snag and was replaced for a moment by careful fingers. “I don’t know how you managed this.”

“Dunno.”

“You do have a talent for finding trouble.”

When one segment was finished, Aziraphale moved to the next and the next in meticulous fashion. Crowley’s eyes fell closed as he sank into the comfortable rhythm of it. He felt like a bit of flotsam tossing gently in the waves without a care in the world.

“I suppose this hair is what put Leonardo in mind of angels,” Aziraphale continued. “I don’t think you’ve had it this long since Eden.”

Crowley opened his eyes again as he pulled himself from his quiet reverie. “I mean, I was a snake for quite a while after that, so hair was sort of off the metaphorical table.”

“Indeed. But… it’s nice. I like it quite a bit when it’s this long. Of course you know how I love it no matter the length—” Crowley ignored the burn in his cheeks and Aziraphale continued to comb. “—but it’s nice to remember simpler times.”

“For the, what, handful of minutes we had them?”

“Even so.”

Simpler times. Crowley hardly remembered them. Yes, he’d forever recall his first sight of the delightfully soft Principality, high on the eastern wall of Eden, when he’d been nothing more than an out of place Seraph with perhaps a few too many questions on his lips. But any memory of that time was overshadowed by what came after. And then what came after that. And after that. And on and on and on despite all the good mixed in.

Crowley pulled his knees up and hugged them close. “Hey, so, uh, with my rude awakening earlier, I think I’ve sobered up enough to, er…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and pressed extra hard on his left incisor, which had always run a bit sharper. He didn’t want to talk about it but it was a dark and hungry secret that he worried would devour him from the inside out if he didn’t. “I remember everything, if you wanna hear about it.”

Aziraphale stilled for a moment and then continued combing Crowley’s hair. “Only if you want. You can take whatever time you need.”

“No, I should— I want to now. Maybe then I can start to forget without an ocean of alcohol to help me along.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but when he did, he could see that faces of humans contorted beyond recognition by unfathomable pain. It was no wonder Hell was impressed. The humans were up here serving up the sort of punishments even demons might not have dreamed of. He looked instead at his hands beneath the surface of the water and reminded himself that they were not stained in blood. He tried to remind himself also that they were clean of any guilt in this, but he was less successful on that count.

“So,” he continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any response, “ran into Hastur on the way home.”

“What did that wretched demon do this time? If he’s the one that caused all this, I’ll… I’ll… well, let me think on it but it will be suitably ghastly, I assure you.”

“No, it’s not— he didn’t do anything. Well, guess he did but not like that. Not that I’m against the idea of you laying down some holy wrath on him, if you’re so inclined. But I’m—” Water splashed as he gestured broadly at himself. “Because, well, how much have you heard about the Spanish Inquisition?” He only waited half a heartbeat before charging on. “Hell thinks I cooked it up, since it’s all being done in Her name and with the whole, you know, inquisitive nature of it. Aziraphale, it’s awful.” He emptied his lungs into that word and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “Monstrous. Wretched. Abominable. Really, really… bad. I’d say hellish but apparently they hadn’t even thought up half the things these humans have. Got the impression they’re taking notes.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded so small behind him. “Oh, Crowley. Why did you go look?”

“Had to, didn’t I? If everyone thinks I did it, I should at least know what I’m getting my name on.”

Aziraphale’s hands fell away from Crowley’s hair as he rushed around to the side of the bath. “But you didn’t have anything to do with it! You know you didn’t, my dear, so why torment yourself over what a pitiable bunch of damned creatures think?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re completely out of bounds thinking I’d gone and corrupted the humans again, are they?”

“It’s not— Crowley, how many times are we going to have to have this argument? You can’t take all of humanity’s sins on your shoulders.”

“I can try.”

“You certainly can and I know that you do, but I wish you wouldn’t. The humans will do whatever they will do, for good or ill. You know that. Not even the Almighty can stop that.”

“Why the blazes not?”

Aziraphale froze except for a sudden fluttering of his lashes. “What?”

“Why can’t She put a stop to this? They’re committing atrocities in Her name. She’s fucking well put a foot down in the past, drowning a whole load of people and—”

“Stop!” The walls of the villa shook at the command and for a moment Aziraphale seemed much larger. He shrank back down as he grabbed either side of Crowley’s face. “Stop, please. Not another word like that.”

Aziraphale crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. He kept kissing until Crowley no longer had the mind or breath to argue further.

“Please,” Aziraphale said once more. “Not this. If there’s one thing in the entirety of existence you don’t question, let it be this. For me.”

Crowley could feel the drip of tears onto bath wet skin as their foreheads pressed together. He wanted for all the world to agree to that. Even being able to lie about it felt like it would be a weight off his shoulders. His life— their lives— would be so much easier if he could. If he could just trust in whatever damned plan there was, he might not have spent the last week drunk out of his mind.

He pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes and frowned at what he saw. “I made you cry again.” He bent forward and kissed the tear tracks off round, ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel. I won’t say anything like that again. Not to you.”

Aziraphale’s brows lowered over watery eyes. “Not to anyone.”

“Right. Not to anyone.” Crowley sank into the bath and deeper into himself with a hunch of his shoulders. “I promise I’ll try not to even think on it, not ever again. I just want to be with you and to be happy with that.”

Aziraphale laced their left hands together so that their rings pressed together. “You have me and you always will.”

#good omens #good omens au #go au: tmgt #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #angel!crowley #my writing #fic

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

Tiger By The Tail

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Taehyung x Gardener!Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,5k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Obsessiveness, possessiveness, implied death

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"The taste of love is sweet. When hearts like ours meet, I fell for you like a child. Oh, but the fire went wild.” - Ring Of Fire [Johnny Cash]

A human’s desire knows no bounds.

It was a fact that Taehyung used to deny when he first laid his eyes on you.

You were a young woman; having been fired from your recent job and short on money. You didn’t have any particular skills, yet by some pure luck, you managed to land yourself as a new gardener in Kim's estate. It was laborious work, but the payment was worth it. As expected from the prestigious Kim family. Moreover, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so you’d be a fool to miss it.

Due to your inexperience in gardening, you were prone to small accidents like scratching on a thorn or spraying your shirt with the hose. You weren't necessarily a klutz, as told by his butler when he recounted your interview.

However, Taehyung was well aware that he was the cause of your sudden clumsiness. Or rather, paranoia.

Taehyung had been watching you since your very first day of working through the window of his room; initially intrigued with the new addition in his house. Although he might seem aloof and indifferent, Taehyung still paid attention to his staff. He was, after all, the oldest son of the Kim family. Sooner or later, he would replace his father as the head of the family. If he was ignorant of his own servants, then how would he be a good leader for the employees later? Never mind that he wasn't particularly fond of his father's decision, but tradition is a tradition.

Yet the fact how you were still oblivious to his figure that kept standing behind the glass like a watchman was surprising and amusing at the same time.

But Taehyung was a straightforward man. He was never the dreamer, nor was he taught to be one. He was the doer; the one who actively made decisions. He wasn't the one who 'go with the flow'. He was the maker of his destiny.

Taehyung needed to see you in person; to stand and breathe in the same air as yours. It was funny how he seemed to be worshipping the ground you walked on when he could have any other woman with a flick of his fingers. He had the perfect face to make them drop their skirts off and the covetable wealth. Besides, you were just as plain – even unnoticeable – like the rest of his servants.

But of course, he had a tunnel-like vision when it came to you.

Ah, the effect of love at first sight... Something that he used to scoff at for its silliness.

This unquenchable desire was what prompted him to approach you for the first time after weeks of observing and wondering. Noticing and studying every little quirk you consciously and unconsciously did. Wishing and daydreaming about the future that included you, him, a couple of kids, a cozy house in the countryside, and a pet or two. You could even plant some plants if you wanted, or trying your hands in simple farming.

And God, he didn’t regret his choice one bit. The prelude of the many encounters to come.

Even though you wore a green apron over a plain white shirt and blue jeans, there was something remarkably attractive to you. The way your bare face – free from any makeup he was used to seeing in his everyday life – was sweaty, you still looked ethereal. Like an angel that descended from Heaven just to bless his sight with her beauty alone.

“Hello,” he spoke up with his deep voice that never failed to surprise anyone, including you. You clumsily dropped the hose that you used to water the plants and bowed.

“G-good afternoon.” you stuttered. It wasn’t until you noticed just who had personally come to see you until you stood with mouth agape like a fish out of the water. Taehyung was no stranger to such expression, but to see you act like that was strangely endearing. It made him feel... proud.

It wasn’t as if he was planning to impress you either, yet he still felt happy for some reason.

"You'll catch a fly if you keep opening your mouth like that." he teased. An indescribable warmth spread across his chest when you blushed and looked away bashfully. Just as he predicted you to.

Ever since that day, Taehyung had taken the time in his busy schedule to get to know this amazing woman that had captivated him. He learned that you were fired for exposing the company’s secrets, despite your fruitless attempts in defending yourself. It wasn’t until a few days later that your boss finally captured the real culprit, and had issued a formal apology to you. You’d forgiven them, regardless of the tiny resentment that still lingered, but refused their offer to work for them again.

Although Taehyung was exasperated with the unfair treatment you’d received - how did they just blame you for such a cruel crime without proof? - your rejection had eased his burning anger. Taehyung discreetly relaxed, satisfied with your decision. How could he not? Had you accept their proposal, then surely he wouldn’t be able to meet you. And that was something he couldn’t and refused to imagine.

You also told him a bit about your past - after days of insistent coaxing from him; you didn't know why he was so adamant about learning it - like your mother’s illnesses, for example. It broke his heart when he saw your eyes teared up a little at the mention of her laying in bed, tended by your siblings. Through this revelation, Taehyung could see the exhaustion that sagged your eyelids or the occasional glaze in your beautiful irises.

You were exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Taehyung bit his lower lip. Why didn't he notice this before? He felt like a terrible boyfriend now...

In an attempt to 'fix' his mistake, Taehyung offered you a job as his secretary with double payment. You were honestly tempted to take it – with such a high salary, you could pay the hospital bills quicker – but something in you had prevented you from doing that. Although you admitted that you felt a bit paranoid lately, you didn’t know if you were ready to take on such a huge responsibility.

Or maybe you were just lying to yourself because really, there was something suspicious from him. Sure, he was nice and all, but this little voice inside your head kept telling you to watch out for him. And frankly, his presence alone always made your nerves skyrocketed despite him regularly accompanying you.

But of course, you being you, ignored all the little hints until it was too late.

It was one gloomy day when Taehyung noticed a silver ring on your finger. Particularly the ring finger. You told him, with a small yet jubilant smile in your face, that you were happily engaged. Taehyung fell silent, speechless with the answer despite having been dreading it beforehand. You were his girlfriend after all, and obviously, he wasn't prepared to hear that kind of response.

But if there was one important thing he learned from being a businessman aside from the boring stuff, was that you couldn’t always wear your emotions on the sleeves. And Taehyung did exactly just that.

He smiled the same boxy smile and congratulated you, paying no heed to your surprised countenance. Only those who look deep into his eyes would notice the hidden and dark intent behind his so-called 'support'.

In the next few days, you came to work bleary-eyed. You made a lot of mistakes more than usual, and you were sensitive to even the slightest scold from the butler. Taehyung, noticing your depressing mood, pulled you aside, and gently asked the reason. You couldn’t even say more than three words before you broke down in his embrace, the reality of your fiancé being dead becoming too much for you to bear. Taehyung happily accepted the inevitable breakdown and cooed comforting words into your ears.

You were so vulnerable; so deep in grief until you missed the tiny smirk that graced his exotic features. Or the brief beeping sound that notified him about the successful mission of killing a certain man.

But Taehyung didn’t care. As long as he had you in his arms - caressing your messy hair like this - nothing else mattered anymore.

To hell with sins and guilt. You were the love of his life. His soulmate. You were lucky that his love was the only thing that prevented him from forcing you to watch your fiancé's horrifying torture.

Because Kim Taehyung was cruel like that. His mysteriously handsome face disguised a wicked man, willing to do anything it takes to make the love of his life as his.

At least, you could learn to love him now. Even if you didn't, then he would have no problem threatening you to stop paying for your mother's hospital bills, essentially killing her with stress and deteriorating health. Or even guilt-tripping you for everything he'd done for you.

Whichever worked the best.

Outside, the sun finally showed herself in the overcast sky after she went into rather long hiding.

#yandere taehyung #yandere kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #yandere bts #yandere bangtan seonyeondan #yandere au #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #yandere kpop #yandere one-shot #yandere v x reader #v x reader

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amuseoffyre · 5 years

Text

October Prompts - 23

Note: I’m still running a day behind, but should catch up over the weekend :)

Prompt - “Fear is the dark room where the Devil develops his negatives.”- Gary Busey

It took time and careful planning, but Aziraphale was nothing if not infernally patient.

One had to calculate the time, the place, the precautions one needed to take and, when the glorious day came, make sure that a certain angel had no suspicions of both where you were and what you were up to. Bribery had played no small part in the affair.

Aziraphale tapped the flat of his knife against his palm.

He was seated in a non-descript alleyway, not far off one of the main roads of Mumbai. It was grimy and grim, but even in the worst places, one could be surprised by a blessing, which was certainly the case for a poor unfortunate lad called Arush.

Arush was… gently taken care of and sent on his way with a full belly and a miraculous change in fortunes only seconds before the Heavenly light filled the alleyway.

A split-second later, diabolical light flamed from below, smothering it, the sigils etched into the ground glowing with terrible brightness. A precaution upon a precaution. One could never be too careful, after all. Angels could be such dreadfully twitchy creatures.

Aziraphale rose from the barrel he had been sitting on and ran his hand the length of his blade, Hellfire springing in its wake. The flames cast dreadful shadows on the face of the panicked angel he had snared and he smiled, all teeth and malice.

“Hello, Uriel.”

“Demon Aziraphale.” The angel’s face twisted furiously. “I should have expected this of you. Cheating to win.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, you think this is where I kill you?” He shook his head. “Oh no, my dear. I just thought we ought to have a little… chat, don’t you?”

“A chat?” Uriel echoed derisively. “Why would I choose to waste words on a foul creature like you?”

Aziraphale smiled happily, dragging the knife across his palm as though it were a whetstone, the blade glowing brighter and harsher with every stroke. “I don’t think you really have a choice, do you?”

The angel bared their teeth defiantly, but said nothing.

All the better, really, for Aziraphale didn’t care much what they had to say.

“I find it amusing,” he said mildly, paring his nails with the blazing blade, “that you… you lot, really, profess to be such paragons of virtue.” He flicked a piece of nail at the angel. It sizzled as it bounced off the barrier around them. “Hypocrites, the lot of you.”

“And you would know what it is to be virtuous?” Uriel snarled, as Aziraphale knew they would. No one that self-righteous could keep their trap shut for long.

He smiled. “I know what it is to lack it,” he replied. “I also recognise anger, cruelty, malice towards those who are good. All traits ascribed to me and mine, you know. And yet, from all I’ve seen and all I’ve heard, you have quite the collection of them as well.”

Uriel snorted in disgust. He could see the way they were picking at his defences, trying to find a way through and no doubt very eager to unsheathe the blade at their belt. “What would you know about it?”

Aziraphale tossed his knife casually from hand to hand. “It must really rankle you that he never fell.”

He could see the light go on for the angel. “Raziel,” they spat. “You’re here because of him?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale kept his eyes on their face. Lord, it was still so tempting to rip every one of their angelic scales off their arrogant face. “Technically, yes. But at the moment, I would rather concentrate on you. It annoys you, doesn’t it? Everything he did? Everything he got away with?”

Uriel hissed. “Shut up.”

He leaned closer to the sizzling cage. “I think I know what really gets your goat,” he said, smiling like Satan. “I think you hate the fact that the Almighty likes him. I think you’re jealous that no matter what you do, you will never be cherished like he is by Her.”

The angel tried not to flinch, but their features tightened. “You can’t know that. No one knows what the Almighty’s will is.”

“True, true,” Aziraphale agreed amiably. “Can’t argue with that.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his knife. “But then, wasn’t She the one that returned his book after you ripped it to pieces?” He feigned a wince. “I imagine that was quite the humiliation. After all, you made such a pantomime of destroying it.” He shrugged. “I can’t really say what She was thinking, but…”

And the ‘but’ was enough, hanging in the air.

But She undid everything you did. But you destroyed it when She intended it to be for the humans. But you were wrong and She made sure you knew it. But Raziel’s treachery was clearly Her will along. But, but, but… round and round spins the wheel. So many signs of Her will, so much shame, so much anger.

“He betrayed Heaven!” Uriel snarled, slapping against the defences like a frustrated animal.

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “And in doing so, fulfilled the Divine Will, which Heaven tried to prevent which means… Heaven betrayed Her?”

“No!”

He raised his eyebrows. “It seems rather clear-cut to me, my dear.” He bared his serpent’s teeth, his eyes gleaming. “The War was never Her will. She made that abundantly clear, didn’t She? And She used him to do it, didn’t She?” He wrinkled his nose. “Tell me again, Uriel, when did you decide Heaven was superior to Her?”

“I–I didn’t!” Their eyes blazed furiously. “You won’t trip me up with your manipulative wiles, demon.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the demon sighed, then blew softly on his knife, extinguishing the flame. “Perhaps I’m only tempting you. But it’s worth considering, isn’t it? I mean, if I were you, I’d have a good long think about where your priorities lie. How many more times are you going to piss on the Almighty’s parade before you get the message?”

“You’ll regret this!” Uriel’s distress was palpable.

Aziraphale widened his eyes. “You know, my dear, I really won’t.” He scraped the tip of his blade along the shields. “And keep that in mind if you continue to hang onto outdated vendettas like first editions: he and I are no longer fettered by Heaven nor Hell. Touch him, harm one hair on his head, and you won’t simply die. You will suffer.”

The angel stared at him, retreating a step. “Why not kill me now?”

“I’d wager it’s the same reason you were never punished for what you did to the Book,” Aziraphale said, slipping his knife away. “Because he wouldn’t want that. For his sake, you are spared.” He smiled darkly. “Don’t imagine that I have stayed my hand out of mercy. Only his wishes protect you now. Don’t underestimate how precious his kindness is, especially when you don’t deserve it.”

“For what I did to the book…” Uriel clearly had never given that any thought before.

“Well, you did destroy Her Word, didn’t you? Tore it to ribbons, as far as I understand.”

He waited for long enough to see that realisation sink in and anger turn to horror and despair, then stepped back into the ether, leaving the angel to deal with the concept of conscience for the first time in their long existence.

#fic: inverse omens #october prompts #good omens fic #demon crowley #uriel #reverse omens

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the-record-newspaper · 4 years

Text

The killing of Rhonda Hinson Part 49

James "Flash" Pruett and his wife Rhonda, as they embark upon a trail conducting them to the petroglyphs discovered near their home at Pahvant Butte in Fillmore, Utah. It was snapped in July, 2015 by Ruth Riddle Jones.

An Encomium

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

Editor’s note: This is the continuation of a series on the Dec. 23, 1981, unsolved murder of Rhonda Hinson.

To James “Flash” Pruett—a foremost champion of the law of his generation…whom I shall ever regard as one of the best and wisest men whom I have ever known.—Adapted from, “The Final Problem,” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

As a tear trickled down his cheek, Detective James “Flash” Pruett silently slipped away into perpetuity on Saturday, March 14, 2020. The time was 7:15 p.m.

His wife, Rhonda, was by his side, as she has been over the last heart-rending months, weeks, and final days of her husband’s life struggle. “I know he heard us,” Rhonda Pruett averred during conversation with this writer. “He had been out of it the entire time. So yes, I talked to him and gave him jobs to do when he left….”

Ironically, the 69-year-old lawman died on the birthday of the Pruetts’ beloved dog, Paiute, that they lost just weeks ago. “He died on her 14th birthday, Pi day,” Rhonda informed friends on her personal Facebook page.

The former detective will be missed by a plethora of appreciative admirers for the impeccable, incomparable investigative work that he did relative to the Rhonda Hinson murder case—the proof of which can be found on the Remembering Rhonda Hinson Facebook page. As of press time, over 9,400 friends and followers of the page have read the post announcing his demise, with over a hundred respondents offering their commiserations to Flash’s family and friends. And condolences continue to come.

Jill Turner-Mull—Rhonda Hinson’s best friend and lifelong activist for obtaining resolution for the 38-year-old murder case—was one of them. “This saddens me deeply but I do find comfort in knowing heaven gained an angel. Big hugs and prayers sent to Rhonda and the family.”

Connie Barnes—Rhonda Hinson’s friend and indefatigable advocate for justice for the slain 19-year-old—agrees with Jill, “Heaven gained an angel for sure.” Then she adds, “Thinking of his family and praying for their comfort in the days to follow. You are our hero, Flash…your dedication to Rhonda’s case was the best.”

Mark Perrou—a friend of the Hinson family and activist for justice—directly addresses the detective who worked diligently to solve Rhonda’s case: “Thanks, Flash for being a loyal servant to the community. Godspeed, Sir.”

Janis Mullis—a Hinson family friend and outspoken advocate for the resolving of Rhonda’s case—offers, “Many, many prayers for his family and much appreciation for his hard work that will live on!”

Others write descriptively of Mr. Pruett’s professional prowess:

“--Absolutely the very best, trustworthy awesome intelligent detective I have ever known and I had the honorable luck of calling him and his equally precious beautiful and talented RN wife for my friends.”

“--I had the pleasure of working with Flash at BCSD. He was a Great Detective and a very honorable man. This world needs more men like him. He will be missed greatly.”

“--So sad to hear this. I met Flash and worked with him as an electrician. A very smart and proficient individual not to mention a great guy.”

“--He was a very caring and kind officer, enjoyed working with him.”

“--I’m sorry to hear this. He tried hard for Rhonda and her family to solve this murder. God Bless you Flash—you were one of the good guys for sure!”

Still other respondents—far too numerous to enumerate—sent condolences, prayerful commiserations, and expressions of love to Detective Pruett’s wife, Rhonda, and the rest of his family.

For Bobby and Judy Hinson, the detective was more than just a lifeline back to the investigation into the murder of their daughter, he was a friend. Judy Hinson writes articulately about the man whom they felt cared the most:

“Flash was one of the finest people we have ever met. There was never a time that he was too busy to talk to us. He always answered any questions that we had. He never made us feel like we were bothering him when we called the department and the times we called him at home. Flash was always so kind and so caring. Not only his family but all the people who knew him have lost someone that can never be replaced.”

Detective Pruett’s comprehensive investigation into the killing of Rhonda Hinson has become legendary. As previously reported, Flash was officially assigned the case by Major Robert Lane and Lieutenant Greg Calloway on Friday Jan. 20, 1995, during the Richard Epley administration. Gene Franklin was tasked with the responsibility to assist Detective Pruett in the continuation of the investigation.

Over the next five-years, Flash applied a systematic, logical approach to the conduction of his investigation—in contrast to the often inconsistent, inconstant efforts of most of his predecessors, as reflected in case documentation. In an interview with News Herald staff writer, Jen Pilla, three-years after his assignment to the post of lead investigator for the Rhonda Hinson case, the detective articulated the course he would pursue throughout: “When I was assigned to this case three-years ago, I decided it was time to go back to the basics and back to the crime scene itself.”

And back to the basics it was as he conducted interviews, tracked leads, and continuously examined and re-examined the totality of accrued evidence. Moreover, on the morning of Wednesday, Oct. 15, 1997, he initiated and assisted in the performance of an SBI ballistics assessment for the expressed purpose of ascertaining the trajectory of the projectile that killed Rhonda Hinson on the early morning of Dec. 23, 1981. He, along with a team of SBI agents, utilized a 1982 Datsun 210—similar to the 1981 Datsun 210 driven by the decedent—that the Hinsons had acquired and ceded to BCSD to be used to perform whatever testing deemed necessary.

The results obtained from the ballistics assessment, as reported in the summary, forever dismissed any possibility that the shooting was done from Interstate 40, from Elmer Buff’s property, or from either embankment along Eldred Street/Hwy 350. The conclusion? Only a person standing on ground level and behind Rhonda’s car could have fired a shot that matched the calculated trajectory of the missile that extinguished her brief life.

There were some “firsts” accomplished by Detective Pruett: the assignment of significance to the articles found in Rhonda Hinson’s Datsun 210 that were not present when she left her parents’ residence to attend a company Christmas party on Tuesday evening, Dec. 22, 1981, and the first-ever interview of Mark Turner—Jill Turner-Mull’s boyfriend and Greg McDowell’s friend—over fourteen-years after Rhonda’s murder. Flash seemed convinced that the gray-hooded sweatjacket, belonging to Miss Hinson—that she left in Turner’s automobile, yet managed to be prominently displayed on the sundeck of Rhonda’s Datsun 210 on the morning she was murdered—was as a key to cracking this case. Turner, however, told the detective that he could not remember how it got out of his car and into that of the slain 19-year-old—an asseveration that Flash clearly did not believe.

Detective Pruett also applied surveillance equipment to the investigation, as he leveraged the relationships that Mark and Faith Turner and Jeff Hinkle had with Greg McDowell, in an effort to capture incriminating statements offered by Rhonda Hinson’s former boyfriend while engaged in casual conversation.

On Tuesday afternoon Dec. 23, 1997, Detective Pruett—along with Sheriff Richard Epley and an entourage of others—interviewed Greg McDowell in his engineering office in Hickory. He noted that the 34-year-old engineer admitted—for the first time—that he knew that Rhonda had called him from Sherry Pittman Yoder’s house, in contrast to his statement to law enforcement, proffered immediately following the murder, in which he maintained that he thought Rhonda was at home. McDowell also informed Flash and the others that a pink snake, acquired during a Myrtle Beach trip and among the items found in Rhonda’s Datsun 210 on the day of her death, “stayed on his dresser at home.”

Unfortunately, subsequent to a near-fatal automobile accident that occurred during Winter 2000, Detective Pruett’s days as lead investigator and employee at the BCSD were numbered. While he was having back surgery to repair damage sustained in the accident, Flash was supplanted by Sheriff John McDevitt when he hired former SBI agent, John Suttle to head his criminal investigations division. It was News Herald staff writer Cheryl Moose Bollinger [Shuffler] who reported the action in a Nov. 19, 2000, article entitled, “Retired Agent Back in Law Enforcement.”

Shortly after his return to the BCSD and not completely rehabilitated, James Pruett was afforded the option to resign or face the prospect of termination, according to statements that Flash made to this writer across several interviews. A similar scenario was recounted by former Sheriff McDevitt when he admitted to the Hinsons, at a local restaurant in the Fall 2019, that he had to get rid of Flash because he didn’t think that he could do the work any longer.

Though Mr. Pruett admitted to being treated badly under McDevitt’s administration, he refused to castigate his fellow law enforcement colleagues who were instrumental in effecting his departure from the BCSD.

One singular feature of Detective Pruett’s investigation that distinguishes it from those conducted by others, was his detailed notes that he assiduously recorded at the conclusion of every day that he worked the Hinson case. They not only offer descriptions of actions, procedures, and factual summaries of interviews with principals, they also provide insight into the detective’s hypotheses and questions yet to be answered.

Whether intended or not, Flash’s notes are reflective of the measure of the man himself—his characteristic dedication and compassion; and his respect and caring concern for Bobby and Judy Hinson. Sometimes they bespeak his own very human, personal feelings which were otherwise masked beneath the stoic façade of a seasoned law enforcement officer. None illustrates his inherent character better than the final paragraph of his detailed description of activities on what would have been the day of Rhonda Hinson’s birthday –Wednesday Dec. 13, 1995:

“The last thing I did today was to go by Rhonda’s gravesite. I spent about five minutes there in prayer. I could see the pain in Judy and Bobby’s faces when I was with them today, Rhonda’s 33rd birthday. I could feel the weight of that pain on me at the gravesite. It was especially hard on all of us today.

Though he was criticized for his “obsessive” attachment to the “most investigated case in Burke County history,” Detective James “Flash” Pruett persevered. Some of his last sentiments expressed to this writer indicated his desire to leave the rehabilitation facility and continue—on his own time—the investigation into the killing of Rhonda Hinson.

“There are things that I should tell you,” Flash declared to me. “But I can’t tell you right now and not here.”

In his final two months of life, while in the throes of Parkinson’s Disease, the quintessential detective was ready to resume the work toward achieving resolution to the 38-year-old murder case and obtaining a modicum of peace for the Hinsons.

This is the “stuff” of heroes.

James “Flash” Pruett

August 16, 1950—March 14, 2020

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itsrabbitual · 5 years

Link

What if this Storm Ends?

as you are now

—

There was something New in the air about them. They both could sense it, Crowley could tell. Keen eyes are well trained in the art of disassembling: he saw it in the way Aziraphale now held himself with a cautious rigidity, the way his eyes fluttered around and he clasped his hands just that much harder. Perhaps it was this new Earth - yes, it must’ve been. And yet, as they settled into the cushions of a well-worn couch with an equally worn bottle of wine, it was entirely the same as it ever was. Aziraphale produced the very fine vintage from his back room and Crowley did not conceal his delight, certain he’d dried up the best of the collection eleven years ago. The angel poured into paired glasses and pushed one by the neck across the coffee table with a pinched smile, a smile that was a damn ready to burst forth.

—

Chapters: 1/? Words: 2,308 words Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Additional Tags: Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Many Liberties Are Taken, References to Paradise Lost, In Fact Heavy Reliance on Paradise Lost, More Reliance on Paradise Lost than the book version of Good Omens, Ex-Archangel Crowley (Good Omens), Literary References & Allusions, Quotations, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: 'What a coward you are', the reflection seemed to say to him. But he had eternity left to sort it out now - or at least until Heaven and Hell gave the apocalypse a second go. 'Angel isn’t going anywhere.'

—

Welcome to the first chapter of my Ineffable Husbands/Good Omens fic featuring Fallen Angel Aziraphale and what will turn into a Paradise Lost quotation spree.

—

So I know this blog is pretty much exclusively a slenderverse fandom and adjacent aesthetic blog, and that I’ve been promising a new chapter for my Marble Hornets fic for like THREE MONTHS and in the meantime you guys have blessed me with 400+ hits but oops I tripped and I wrote this instead. I am horribly ungrateful. But I thought since I did make this, that I could at least try to post this here since it does, in fact, now exist. Life is hard and I’m just trying to follow what small passions I can find. I’ll return to my other fic again too, intermittent with this.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #fallen angel aziraphale #aziracrow #fic update #fic: storm #ineffable fictober

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vanxcks · 5 years

Text

we’ll be fathers, sort of

Featuring temperatures, out-of-earshot declarations, and a fair amount of panic.

masterpost (links to all chapters)

Read chapter 8 on AO3 (link in notes) or below the cut:

Aziraphale wakes up in the middle of the night to a frenzied wail coming from the crib at the end of the bed. He sighs as he sits up—he’s already gotten up once, just a couple hours earlier, and he’s completely not ready to do it again. He snaps his fingers, turning on the little light on his bedside table, and walks over to the crib.

“Oh, good lord,” he mutters, picking Arthur up and trying to bounce Arthur like Crowley does when he wants Arthur to stop crying.

“Arthur, what am I doing?” he asks, quietly, and wishes he could be wringing his hands.

Arthur stares up at him. Aziraphale can’t tell if he’s fooling himself or if there’s some wisdom in Arthur’s wide eyes.

“See, he’s a demon. And I suppose you don’t know what that means, either. But we’re enemies. At least, that’s what Gabriel says.” Aziraphale purses his lips, worried. “Actually, no, that’s what I know. I’ve known that forever. One side is demons, and the other side is angels. Evil against Good.”

“Gah,” Arthur says solemnly. Aziraphale smooths his sweat-soaked hair off his face absent-mindedly.

“But he’s not evil. I mean, I think he’s not. He’s saved my life, Arthur. So many times. And I think that he—well, I suppose I don’t know about that. I just don’t know how to do any of these. How to be friends with a demon, let alone—” he cuts himself off again and sighs. “I know you don’t understand, because you’re a baby, but sometimes you have duties to a higher power. And sometimes you’re ordered to do things that you don’t understand, or that you don’t think really follow the code at all. Drowning a planet, for one. And that makes me think that maybe everything they taught me wasn’t right, that maybe there are some things they got wrong.” Then, “Look at me, this is ridiculous. I’m talking to a baby.”

“B...bay,” Arthur says, opens his mouth, and promptly throws up all over his blankets.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, no.” Then, louder and a little frightened, “Crowley?”

There’s a crash downstairs, and Aziraphale rushes down, trying his best not to trip on the steps in his haste. He’s not used to hurrying, but oh dear.

And Crowley’s on the ground, of course, seemingly by accident, blanket wrapped half around him, and a lamp fallen down with him. “Damn these blankets,” Crowley grumbles, trying with little success to disentangle himself.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley looks up like he hadn’t noticed he was there.

“Aziraphale, was that you making all the racket?”

“I—it was Arthur; I think he’s sick.”

Crowley stills. “Sick—how do you mean?”

“I mean—he vomited. It’s all over him.”

“Yeah? Are you sure it’s not just spit-up?”

“He last ate hours ago.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t know, Angel bodies don’t do sickness,” Aziraphale says wretchedly.

The crying goes several decibels higher, and Crowley’s face goes from irritated to rather panicked. He leaps up, but gets caught up again in the fabric, and tumbles back to the ground. “Ngk—I want to—agh—damn it!”

“Alright, slow down, my dear,” Aziraphale says softly, putting a steadying hand on Crowley’s shoulder (he stills under Aziraphale’s touch) and trying to quell his own growing panic. Aziraphale takes hold of the blankets, unwrapping them himself.

As soon as he’s done, Crowley shakes himself free and scrambles up the stairs, Aziraphale rushing after him. “Oh, Arthur, what’s happened?” Crowley murmurs, reaching in and taking Arthur out of his crib.

“Is it bad?” Aziraphale asks, wringing his hands. “Oh, heavens, if it’s bad—”

“Does it look like I have a medical degree?” Crowley asks, but Aziraphale can tell it doesn’t come out quite as sharp as it might once have.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale says helplessly.

“I don’t know, angel, I haven’t had to deal with sickness before either! Satan knows a demon doesn’t get fevers.”

“Fever? Is that what this is?”

“That was just—that was just an example. I don’t know, what are the symptoms of a fever?”

“I don’t—I don’t remember!”

Crowley groans, peeling back Arthur’s soiled clothes. “Are you serious? You recited the entirety of Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road yesterday, and you don’t know what fever symptoms are?”

“You know, I might have a book on it,” Aziraphale says, and turns to go to the door, then pauses and looks back.

Crowley takes a little towel, wets it, and starts to clean Arthur, then holds him to his chest when he starts to cry. He bounces Arthur up and down a little, murmuring words of comfort to him, and the cries turn to happy gurgling. Aziraphale tries not to smile fondly.

Not this again, Aziraphale. Whose voice is that? Gabriel’s? Or is it Aziraphale himself? Focus.

Apparently the observable symptoms for a fever are nausea, a heightened temperature, chills, and excessive sweating, all of which Aziraphale finally finds in one of the few medical books he has, tucked away in the back of a bookshelf. He hurries upstairs to find Arthur in Crowley’s lap, sparse blonde hair plastered to his forehead, burning up.

This should be a relief. It’s just a fever, apparently common in humans. A simple thing. But is it that simple for Aziraphale and Crowley? They haven’t dealt with sickness before, not for centuries. What if they do something wrong?

Aziraphale’s had countless opportunities to learn things about humans, to learn how to cure them and how to heal them. But he’d never thought it necessary when he can just miracle people out of harm’s way. And now he’s completely useless. He’s always useless.

Aziraphale puts a hand on Arthur’s forehead again, just to make sure.

“We need a wet towel. A cold one.”

“Excuse me?” Crowley asks.

“It—the temperature. It’s higher than it should be, for humans, and I read that we should cool his forehead.”

“Here,” Crowley says, placing Arthur in Aziraphale’s arms and hurrying off in search, presumably, of a wet towel.

“Wait, don’t—” Aziraphale protests, but Crowley’s downstairs already.

Arthur decides it’s a good time to vomit all over Aziraphale’s jacket.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale groans. “I’ll never get this out. And you,” he says, looking down at Arthur, “now we have to clean you up again.”

“I’ve got the towel—and it is, frankly, ridiculous-looking, by the way—oh, no,” Crowley says, stumbling up the stairs and freezing when he sees what happened.

“I’m sorry, I was just watching him, and I’m not sure if I—”

“No, your jacket. You just got it cleaned.”

“I—you remembered?” Crowley doesn’t answer. “It’s fine, I’ll just go in again tomorrow.”

“Here,” Crowley says, reaching out and taking the jacket off of Aziraphale’s shoulders for him. “I’ll try and get the stain out, you clean up Arthur.”

“Oh, that’s all right—” Aziraphale starts, but Crowley’s already heading over to the sink. Aziraphale opens his mouth, shuts it, and turns and starts undressing Arthur.

For a few moments, the only sound is the sound of Crowley scrubbing away at the jacket and Arthur’s quiet whines. Then, Aziraphale asks, “What if we mess all of this up?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we try to raise this child and then we ruin it? What if we drop him? What if we can’t raise a child right?” He looks at Crowley. “What if he gets sick and we can’t make him better?”

“Oh,” Crowley says, with a wry smile, “you’re an Angel, I don’t think you can mess something like this up.”

Aziraphale laughs a little. “You said that, in the garden.”

“I did.”

“Do you mean it?” Aziraphale asks, voice a little uncertain.

Crowley leans back on the counter. His sunglasses are downstairs by the couch, and his eyes are exposed and unreadable, even to Aziraphale. He opens his mouth, then shuts it like he’s changed his mind, and shrugs. “As long as we keep Arthur away from your closet, I’m sure this’ll all work out fine,” he says, turning back to the jacket.

Aziraphale tsks and turns back to Arthur, who, bless his little soul, is now trying to stuff his whole hand into his mouth.

@a-nerdy-artist

#good omens fic #ineffable husbands fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #parenting au #we'll be fathers sort of #my writing #fic

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imaginarydaydreams · 5 years

Text

Another Autumn, New Beginnings

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Saeran x MC - Autumn Date Written: 10/3/18 Thoughts: For the @2019loveforallseasons Mysme Calendar! Not gonna lie, I had a hard time writing this due to personal and health reasons, but I hope you guys enjoy the taste of the changing seasons! Also thank you so much to my collab partner, @heyasa17, for their beautiful art that gave me the motivation to revisit this piece ;u; You’re the best; thank you so much and it was such a pleasure working with you!

Autumn. The time of year in which the seasons begin to shift from the hot summer days to the snowy chill of winter. When the leaves, once lush green, exchange their hues for the warm and vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows that flutter to the ground. It is said that autumn often brings forth welcomed changes. The color shifts in the trees as they prepare for their slumber during the winter is often celebrated, people from all over coming to watch this fantastical event. And in preparation for the incoming holidays, there are special events or signature items that trend. All for the sake of basking in the chilling of the weather for colder days to come. However, to Saeran, autumn represented a completely different change. One that is far from what is typically thought.

Both he and his beloved MC were strolling through the park, side by side, arms littered with various shopping bags from their date in town. Holding a steaming cup between her hands, her eyes darted back and forth between the tall trees that surrounded them, watching as the breeze carried warm hues through the wind before gently drifting them down upon the soft ground. His gaze was trained on her, love and adoration shining in his eyes as he reached an arm over to pull her closer and wrapped their shared scarf slightly tighter to protect against the drafts. She simply smiled at the gesture and snuggled into his side, careful not to spill her drink. "Another season has passed, my love," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple as they continued to walk, bundled next to each other as the leaves crunched under their feet. "So many things have happened in these last few months...and with the leaves changing color, it only serves as a reminder of how lucky I am to have you in my life." She merely hummed, taking another sip from her cup before looking up at him. "Oh? And what are those things?" "Well, for starters," he said, shifting some of the bags in his arms and reaching a finger over to tap against her cup, "I now know what the famed 'Pumpkin Spice Latte' is, thanks to you." She giggled and playfully batted his hand away, turning away from him to take another sip. "Hey, don't you dare go making fun of my favorite drink," she said through her laughter, "It's really good, I swear!" She tilted her cup towards him, almost inviting him to taste the rich flavors of her fall-festive drink. He leaned towards the cup, accepting the invitation. But right as she was about to hand it to him, he tilted his head up towards hers, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss that only served to tint her cheeks the same shade as the crimson leaves. When he pulled away, there was a mischievous grin plastered on his face, running his tongue over his lips to taste the lingering sweetness. “Hmm, you’re right. It does taste good.” “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She playfully shoved his shoulder, the sounds of their laughter echoing in the space between them. The trees carried their laughter on the winds, filling the air with joy appropriate for the season. Autumn truly was a time of change, but it was in that moment that Saeran realized just how much his life had changed upon meeting her. After all, it wasn’t long ago that he sat in front of a myriad of computers, letting his hatred fester and fuel him to work beyond what any normal person should endure. It was all for their Paradise, he had told himself as his fingers danced across the keyboard. And the harder he worked, the faster his Savior’s goals would be achieved. But it was only after she had come to Mint Eye that his life turned upside down. Before, the world had seemed cold, stained in only monotones—greys, blacks, and whites were what composed Saeran’s little world and he was content in living as such. Just content that he was able to be useful to those closest to him. But she had managed to bring with her the colors of spring, summer, autumn, and fall—the swirls of seasons that he never thought would be so rich and beautiful. Their whirlwind romance over the course of those eleven days painted the world in such a new light; he never wanted to let go of the colors, chasing after her light as she guided him away from the darkness. And now, months later, he felt like he was staring at a completely different future from what he imagined. His hair, once a pure snowy white, was back to its original fiery red while minty eyes shone like the sun with their honey golden hues. He never thought that he would receive the love and affection he craved for so long. Hell, he didn’t even think—after abandoning his old identity of the weak boy who loved the sky and flowers—that he would return to such a state. He wasn’t lying when he had called her his angel. Having her by his side was a blessing, in all sense of the word. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Speaking of having her by his side… When he was finally pulled out of his reveries, he noticed the lack of presence next to him. The scarf felt colder, as did his hand, almost as if something, or someone, was missing. Saeran panicked, looking around rapidly for his missing love. He only zoned out for a few seconds--at least that’s what he thought--so she shouldn’t have been able to get far? Right? A tight feeling in his chest began to constrict his breathing, his anxiety starting to get the better of him, when the clear sound of her joyous laughter rang through the silence. His eyes quickly traced the sound, feet seeming to move on their own, as he followed the sound of her voice. Past the colorful trees, to the left of the benches, and in a...pile of leaves? Sure enough, he found her resting in a large pile of fallen leaves. The bags she had been carrying, along with her drink, had been carefully set on the ground next to her. But there she lay, hair spread out in a halo decorated with scattered oranges and yellows. A serene, closed-eyed smile graced her features as sweet giggles left her mouth, almost as if she, too, was amused by the childish antics that she had just done. And with the light of the sunset softly illuminating her facial features, she seemed to absolutely radiate with youthful warmth. She looked absolutely happy, at peace. A true angel come from heaven that somehow graced him with her presence every day. A slow blush rose to his cheeks as he basked in her beauty. The look on her face practically screamed adorable that he just...couldn’t help himself. She was just too beautiful for this world. Quietly, he set his bags down next to hers and pulled out his phone as to not disturb her. He brought up his camera and quickly snapped a picture, desperate to not miss this moment. However, much to his chagrin, the sound of the shutter cut through the tranquility and her eyes snapped open, meeting his wide gaze with an equally confused look. “Did you just...take a picture of me?” She questioned, lips pursed and eyebrows slightly furrowed. She shifted to sit up from her position, gazing up at him as he stood speechless, silently gawking at her and trying to grasp for an answer. Welp, he was a dead man. He didn’t know exactly how to cover what he was doing, nor did he really want to lie to her. But what was he supposed to say? “I...couldn’t help myself,” he mumbled, sticking his phone back in pocket. A hand reached behind his head, nervously pulling at the baby hairs and rubbing his neck. “You just looked so adorable that I just really wanted a picture to capture the moment. I’m sorry.” Wait. Shoot, he said that out loud, didn’t he? His eyes darted back to meet hers, his blush growing rosier as he just stared at her. A soft shade of pink began to tint her cheeks, a shy smile spreading across her features. He sputtered, trying to clarify that he wasn’t trying to be weird--“Anything but that, MC, I swear!”--and tripping over his own embarrassment that he didn’t notice her slowly standing and reaching out to take his hands into hers. It wasn’t until he felt her breath tickling his ears, the sweet sound of her laughter ringing through the air, as he was being pulled forward. He barely had enough time to register that the two of them were falling--her pulling him with her as she leaned back--until the soft poof of leaves flew around them into the open air, drifting down to scatter across their figures. He didn’t realize his eyes were closed. But when he opened them, he saw that she was still clinging to his arm, her body nuzzled up against his side as that silly smile was still plastered across her face. She was staring intently at him, mischief dancing behind her eyes as she reached over to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You dork,” she murmured, snuggling closer to him, “if you wanted a picture, you should have just said so. After all, you still owe me a selfie together.” She wiggled around, moving this way and that, as she dug around her pockets before pulling out her phone. Her smile brightened as she scooted closer to him. With one hand holding the phone raised above the both of them, slowly positioning them into frame, her other hand reached for his. She rested her head against his shoulder, her pinky finger reaching out to wrap around his own, as she grinned, clearly happy with the image. “Alright, ready? In three, two...one!” As the shutter of the camera clicked, their pinkies intertwined in a silent promise, the both of them beamed. Like this moment, now preserved within their shared memories, the renewed promise of their love for each other would forever remain constant against the changing seasons.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme fanfic #saeran choi #saeran x mc #mysme saeran #mysme ray #stories weaved from the stars

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