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#fanfic is fixing what is broken
bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year
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Moon and Readerbot go to couples counseling (Chica is the therapist)
Pls forgive how shitty this looks I was streaming and basically I have 0% effort to put into anything atm dhdgdndhdh
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gods-graveyard · 3 days
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Ill never wear your broken crown-
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You say that as if you have a choice little one :)
Little gif inspired by my fic fix-it AU w/ Slytherin HP, also if your interested I have the link here or like 99% of my blog is just rambling about this fic (thats already almost at 70k and im just now reaching the christmas chapter lol)
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creatingmoments · 1 year
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I have been trying to figure out what episode Penelope watches hours of film that luke came to her office to ask for. She says something on the lines of "Oh we don't have time for my insensitivities" 😪
I want to work on a fic that continues that scene!
What episode is this scene from?
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dcxdpdabbles · 14 days
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DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop
Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.
Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.
They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.
Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.
The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.
It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.
Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.
Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.
Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.
He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.
He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.
"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.
"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"
Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.
"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"
Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."
"I'm sorry Charles"
"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "
Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.
This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.
No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.
Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.
Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.
But Danny didn't stop there.
Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.
People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.
Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.
Not a single staff member in sight, either.
Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.
Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.
If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.
As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.
Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.
He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.
Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '
Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.
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leidensygdom · 7 days
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The ways in which being asexual feels isolating
I've been pondering whether to post this or not, but I figured out I wanted to explain a bit of this experience.
So, I could go on a very long tangent on how being asexual is usually a lonely experience, and how much I've been otherized here and there- Specially in real life. How the same people that claimed to be queer (or allies) had been much weirder about my asexuality than they were about me being bi/pan or whatever.
But I think I wanna talk about how something like that bleeds in every aspect of socializing, even down to something like fandom. I stay away from fandom usually- I like to look at cool fanart and that's about it. I hate discourse, I hate drama, I hate reading people getting worked up because they're treating fanon as canon. But there's one thing I've noticed, over and over, that just sends me off my rails.
And it's how fandom tends to treat asexuality (or aromanticism). So, you get a character in some piece of media that explicitly, unequivocally, states they're either ace, aro, or both. "I do not have interest in a partner", "I don't desire to have sex nor do I enjoy the topic", whatever. And as an ace person, I do appreciate being able to see myself in media- There isn't many chases where something is established that bluntly.
Now, you decide you want to check some fanart for that. Fandoms have this tendency to make absolutely everything about shipping, even when the media they're basing it in does not revolve about that (and it's annoying, because a lot of times people aren't interested in the actual themes- It's all reduced to shipping). Suddenly, you notice people treating the aforementioned character as anything but aro or ace. It's all about shipping. "This person interacted with this other person in a way two friends would, but we gotta make this their entire personality now". Some people may instead go for "well, maybe the character is not having sex, but they're probably an absolute freak about it, studies it extensively, has encyclopedic knowledge about it-"
Now, there's of course sex-favourable aces, and that's completely valid, but it's already straying from what, canonically, the character had mentioned. Asexual or aromantic characters aren't really allowed to exist as themselves. People often see them as a blank slate to fill, to change, to fix. I could talk forever about how people react to real life aces like that. I've had people asking me incredibly invasive questions because they saw my lack of sexual attraction as something broken, something they could fix.
And I hate that! I think I'm allowed to say that I hate that! It's hard and unusual for media to cement an aro/ace character, because they're defined by the lack of interest for something, which is often hard to show. But when it does- No one seems to care. It's all shipping, it's all "well, he's gay in denial", "well, she's probably super repressed". If you took a canonically gay character and made them straight on a fanfic, you'd get angry people. Which is bound to happen when you erase representation that people identify with. But aro/ace characters are NOT even seen as queer, they're not even seen as "representation" by most people. You can erase that bit of it, put some god awful shipping on top, and people will applaud you. And it sucks!
I wish people would see being aro or ace as an identity worth respecting, not an identity that needs overwriting. It feels a bit too close to how people often treat aro/aces irl, and it sucks. It reeks of this sort of exclusionism, where "aro/aces are technically queer but it's queer lite at best, it's less interesting than being gay, and we kinda don't want them near us anyhow". Again, I've had far worse experiences about being ace than I have about not being straight.
Sorry if the post got long, but I hope this experience may at least resonate with other people who have been struggling with this, too. It has always felt just kind of lonely to be ace, and see how little people do even consider it an identity, even when it comes down to something like fandom.
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fiendishfables · 1 month
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Hello! Can I plz request Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x reader where he meets the reader and is attracted to her but after he sees her transform into a beautiful Light Fury dragon (How To Train Your Dragon) he's like: they have to be mine.
pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Female! Lightfury Shifter! Reader
summary: ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴇxᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ; ᴡʜᴇɴ ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ ꜱᴜꜰꜰᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ɢᴏᴏɴꜱ, ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴢᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ. ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴍᴀɢɴɪꜰɪᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ…
warnings: cursing, slight angst, fluff, Lucifer + reader are secretly in love and are complete dorks about it
words: 6k+
a/n: I saw this request and immediately got to work; I love HTTYD, so I hope you enjoy its inclusion in this fanfic. I was thinking about adding 1-2 more parts to this; just let me know in the replies if you guys even want a second part to this; wanna give y'all what you want. Thanks again, anon, for requesting this! ^_____^
A Dragon's Vow
(Part 1?)
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Lucifer had been standing in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, speaking with his daughter, Charlie, when he first met you. He had come by the morning after extermination to check on her, as well as the other residents of her hotel (for whom he didn't particularly care for, in all honesty; especially not that Alastor fellow).
They had been speaking about renovations to the hotel after the events that took place prior and during the extermination. The hotel had suffered many damages to both its interior and exterior; damages that normally would take one a while to fix if they weren't in Hell. He promised Charlie his help with fixing whatever needed fixing.
And that's when he first saw you.
Everyone was gathered in the hotel lobby, residents and all. His eyes had begun scanning around all the potential bodies that would be helping with the reconstruction of his daughter's life-long dream of a project, when he had spotted a head of pure white hair in the group's mass. He squinted his eyes, as he couldn't remember seeing such a color that stood out as much as it did, but when he saw your face it was all over for him.
You were absolutely stunning.
Your hair had to have been a result of your transformation into the afterlife. He had never known any being to have such a pure color for hair while still being alive. At least, not naturally.
Your body, from what he could see, appeared to be dusted with white glitter markings, highlighting your already beautiful skin. The light coming through the broken windows of the hotel seemed to gravitate towards your figure, as if sensing the need to accentuate how unique your presence actually was.
In Lucifer's mind, it was almost like looking straight at an angel.
Only was he shaken from his thoughts when he finally noticed the pair of snapping fingers that had been in-front of his face for who knows how long. They belonged to his daughter.
"Dad!" Charlie exclaimed, continuing the snap of her fingers in-front of his eyes until he finally gathered his bearings with a blink, turning to look at her.
"Huh- oh, did you need something dear?" He asked, blinking his eyes slowly, like a toad who'd been sitting on a log all day without interaction. Charlie gave a sigh and put her hands together as she then tried again to reach her father with words.
"I said," She began, a smile creeping its way up onto her face, "Dad, I would like you to meet our newest resident to the Hotel! Her name is Y/N! And, Y/N, this is my dad, Lucifer!"
Then, "I just wanted to introduce you both since we will all be spending lots of time together, trying to rebuild the hotel! I want everyone to get along!"
It was just then that he had realized that you were now also standing in-front of him, alongside his daughter. Your beautifully colored eyes were pinning him under their gaze. Your sparkling skin looked even more enticing up close. It really made him wonder what sort of hybrid you must've been to be able to adorn such a naturally beautiful look. Your eyes had looked at Charlie with such a softness, before turning their now piercing daggers onto him.
Wait...did his daughter say...Y/N?
That had to be a coincidence, he was sure. Such a familiar name, it was just making him think of those he used to know.
Yet, the leap of his heart in his ribcage didn't fail to go unnoticed.
He wasn't given much time to delve deeper into his confused thoughts, because he was already being pushed slightly closer towards you, as a means to encourage him to introduce himself instead of just standing there like an oaf, he assumed was Charlie's idea behind it all.
A goofy grin overtook his face as he took a step forward on his own accord, without any help from his daughter. He was going to nail this 'introduction'. Or so he thought.
As he began the simple motion of extending his arm for a polite handshake, he was surprised to see that, once he re-opened his eyes after a blink, you were no longer standing in-front of him.
Rather, in your place now stood a white, glittery colored dragon, lips pulled back in a snarl, baring your teeth, snout wrinkling with the motion.
Lucifer hardly had any time to react, let alone back up, before you let out an earth-rumbling roar; the sound caused him to instinctively reach a hand up to steady his top hat atop his head, to make sure it wasn't blown off by the force of your bellowing sound. He shut his eyes against the harsh gust of wind that suddenly swept past his face following the noise; the complaints and confused murmurs of the other hotel residents were barely audible as he was the one experiencing this head-on. More to the face than head, but same thing for him.
Once the whirlwind of noise had stopped, he opened his eyes just in time to see you turn tail and flee, going up the main stairs and off to one side of the staircase, disappearing deeper into the hotel. No one went after you. He supposed from that reaction he got just from trying to shake your hand, that was what you most preferred.
In that moment, he realized that Charlie was once again trying to tell him something, but his eyes were still trained on the last spot you'd been.
"Heh...sorry, Dad." Charlie said, rubbing the back of her neck with her big, awkward smile that he knew so well; she got it from him. "I-I forgot to mention that she's still a bit skittish. She was pretty banged up when we first found her during extermination. I've noticed that she doesn't seem to want to be touched or even remotely looked at for too long, for that matter. I shouldn't have pushed her or you, I'm so sor-"
"Charlie, it's fine." Lucifer assured, finally turning his body towards his daughter as they talked, leaning on his cane nonchalantly. "New sinners always need time to warm up to things down here! I can...always say 'hi' later." He assured, giving her a big grin of his own.
His eyes found themselves instinctually looking back over at the stairs and railing, then down the dark hallway where you had disappeared deeper into the hotel. A soft glimmer lit his eyes.
So it was true. He had thought you looked a little familiar...maybe a bit too familiar when he first laid eyes on you. The white hair might have been what threw him off to start, but there was no mistaking it now. The Lightfury form was a dead giveaway for anyone who knew you personally.
It was you.
Y/N. His acquaintance; the person who had tried to help him rebel against God, prior to his falling. Always he had wondered what had happened to you, being his helper in his schemes, after he fell. What had God done to you? Were you punished as well? He had never known and still didn't, for that matter.
At the time he had hoped, even though it was selfish to wish and he knew it, that you too, would be cast from the clouds and bound to join him in the afterlife down in the various cities of Hell.
What he had gathered from your sudden appearance here, at his daughter's Hotel, told him that you were most likely still living in Heaven, and probably against your will. Whether you were still an angel or not, he didn't know.
All he knew was that you weren't where you were supposed to be.
But he was determined to find out why you were here, and how on Earth you were still managing to be as beautiful as the last day he laid eyes on you.
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Whilst everyone else was out helping with fixing hotel damages, Lucifer had snuck back into the hotel; he was searching for you, to put it plainly. You had caught his interest earlier, and he just wanted to apologize to you for being so forward and making you uncomfortable enough to scurry away like you had. He was also terrified that he had already made a horrible impression on such a beautiful woman, which whom used to work right alongside him back when they both spent their days in Heaven. He had lost you once; he couldn't afford for that to happen again, especially not when he could help it.
He practically skipped up the stairs two at a time to the second floor of the hotel, as that was where he had watched you disappear an hour or so ago. He assumed that meant your room was somewhere nearby.
It surely didn't take him too long to find your room. The side of the door exposed to the hallway had some unique-looking, luminescent vines hanging down from the top of it; some tiny glowing crystal shards were embedded into the wood of the doorframe.
Lucifer stood outside that door for a good five minutes. He swallowed many times, as if trying to physically push the nerves back into his body.
What was he supposed to say? What should he do? How should he act? Would you even let him near you? Did you remember him at all? Did you...hate him?
He remembered receiving some pretty angry sounding letters from you when he fell from Heaven. Claiming to him about how the angels, as your side of the punishment, had started using you for tests to try and better understand your hybrid anatomy; forcing you into executing angels who refused to follow the rules with your plasma blasts. He had then sent a letter back, asking why they didn't cast you out like they did him. You told him it was because the angels deemed you 'too valuable' to just be thrown down into 'that wasteland', as they put it.
Lucifer shook his head. He was still stalling. You were just on the other side of this door, someone who he used to call his partner in crime; his friend. He sighed, straightened his outfit whilst taking a deep breath, then knocked a total of three times.
He waited patiently, tapping his foot outside the door silently, mentally willing for you to open the door and possibly (hopefully) greet him with open arms.
But like all the other things pertaining to your complicated relationship status, he knew that was amongst the many things that was very unlikely.
He raised his fist to knock again but there was no need. The door opened a crack. He stiffened in surprise, moving his head to peer into the small crack the sudden opening provided. A soft glow could be seen within the room but besides that, the interior was shrouded in darkness. Although you yourself had not physically come to the door to let him in, he took this as an invitation rather than a deterrent. Stepping inside, wincing at the small creak of the door on its hinges, he shut it behind him without so much as a sound.
Lucifer looked around, taking in the interior design of your room. The half shrouded in blacks and greys looked like any of the other hotel rooms. It held a fancy, well-kept king sized bed; a nicely crafted wooden desk with a chair, a small carpet under it additionally to avoid scratching the floors; a large dresser; a decent sized standing mirror beside the bed; a small nightstand on either side of said bed.
The other half of your room was a totally different story completely.
And he had to admit, it was pretty amazing.
The second half was an expanse of forest-like figures. It held high rocks that seemed to stretch to the endless ceiling of the room, while the original half of your room had a short-stopped ceiling just high enough for five-star comfort. Said rocks held many various colored crystals on them, each which glowed a slightly different color than its neighbor, each bearing that welcoming yet cautioning signal to any beholder.
The wooden floor gave way to a grassy texture; the grass was glowing lightly, looking more like an expansive patch of algae rather than everyday grass. He could tell it was most likely very soft though, as it swayed lightly, subtly, as if a draft were coming through from somewhere not visible to the naked eye. There was even a little pond in the distance he could see!
As he thought to himself more and more, he realized that he did know what this stuff was. Landscape one would see in The Hidden World. In your Heaven days, the both of you would sit around for hours and swap stories with one another, going all the way back to the times when you were alive and what life was like for you. You always spoke to him about The Hidden World; the homeland and birthplace of all the dragons of your kind. From what you had told him about it, he had deemed it pretty amazing in his mind. He remembered you speaking about the glowing necessities, the luminescent markings on dragons, the crystals you sometimes liked to collect, and the overall peaceful atmosphere. He was able to get a general image in his mind of all the things pertaining to the homeland that you mentioned; looking at this area of your room now, he told himself it was probably safe to assume that this whole area was a resemblance of where you come from. He felt as if he could almost puff his chest out in pride for remembering something so important to you. Of course, he had to stay humble now if he wanted any chance of getting you to talk with him once again; maybe not like old times, but a greeting would be nice, surely.
You had said that The Hidden World was truly a place that you felt peace for the first time in your life whilst you were alive. Then you had proceeded to tell him after that, that he now provided that same feeling for you. That sense of safety. Security. Belonging.
As he made his way across the normal part of the room to get to the additional beauty, that's when he noticed you there. You were, hanging from a bare tree by the tail, it looked like. Your beautiful, white wings were wrapped around yourself except for a tiny crack in their merging.
And in this crack between your wings, was a thin-slitted pupiled eye staring straight at him.
The sight caused him to freeze in his tracks, with one foot now in the glowing, algae-like grass. He gave a nervous smile your way, which only caused you to narrow said eye further and uncurl your wings. Like the most skilled acrobatic, he watched as you unfurled your long, slender dragon body; walking along the branch, you then jumped down to the grass below.
Your eyes were still slits as you approached him now, slowly, cautiously. Almost as if he were the prey and you the predator. Honestly, that's how Lucifer felt right now.
But then, instead of pouncing, you just stopped and stared at him. Your long, elegant tail lashed slowly, barley touching the grass as it swayed freely, yet with a controlled fashion. Eyes still narrowed, you let out a snort of annoyance, rolling your eyes, before tossing your head in an irritated gesture and finally coming to sit on the grass, still a ways away from him.
"...You're ruining my grass..." You huffed, narrowed eyes taking him in, raking over him as if you could pick him up and toss him out of your proximity with just a gaze.
He blinked at your dragon form, confused. Then he looked down, seeing how one of his shoes was sunken slightly into the delicate, glowing grass. He gave a sheepish smile, quickly removing his foot and placing it back on the hardwood, rubbing his neck with a nervous chuckle. Although he knew there was a human soul beneath the dragon you were currently transformed into, he also knew that you could probably reach him in a faster time than he could scream. So, he wanted to try and keep you happy, especially if it meant you would keep talking to him, even if in a condescending tone. And especially since he didn't know your current feelings towards him.
"Sorry, I-"
"Save it. I don't want to hear your excuses, Lucifer. Don't you think you've given enough of those already these past hundred years?"
He looked up at you, eyes shining with a little bit of hurt. That might be the first time you had ever used his full name since he first met you. He was so used to you calling him Luci.
Lucifer just...didn't sound right. Not coming from you.
"I-"
"Then, you come in here and trample my grass; the same grass of my homeland; the grass my ancestors before me walked on!"
"I-its just grass, darling-"
Your head snapped in his direction quite violently due to the nickname and his response. Your body stood up on its own accord and began slowly stalking over to him.
"Just...grass? Just GRASS?! I was born on said grass-"
You continued walking towards him, pupils back to those dangerous slits that signaled your current emotional state; upset and angry. You kept rambling to him about the grass and its importance to your true home. You got so close to him to the point that he had to start taking steps backward, until there was no room left to do so. He was at the door to your room, back pressed roughly to it as your dragon form prowled closer to him, flat snout right in-front of his face; he could practically feel the hot air being emitted from your nostrils. By this time, you were nearing the end of your rant.
"and at the end of the day-" You let out a hiss, baring your teeth. "...it really is just grass."
Your face relaxed almost immediately. Your wrinkled snout became smooth again, the luminescent glows from the vines on the door making it sparkle lightly. Your bared teeth dropped their snarl, turning your dragon lips into a sly smirk. You turned tail and lazily sauntered back to the grassy expanse of glowing vegetation. Doing a few circles in one spot you then decided to lay down on your side, eyes never leaving his. Almost as if you were taunting him to draw nearer.
"I- oh. Wait, what? W-What-"
Lucifer sighed and awkwardly leaned on his cane, rubbing his temples. He knew you to be intimidating back then but holy shit, now? Now thinking about it, he never really had experienced your fury head on before. He hoped he never had to.
Seemingly sensing his hesitation, you sighed.
"Oh for fucks sake, Lucifer. I was kidding. You of all people should know how dramatic I like to be."
Seeing as he still didn't move a muscle, as if wanting to respect your personal space and not get any closer if you really didn't want him to, your cylinder-shaped ears flattened against your head, an almost worried look overtaking your features.
As if he didn't believe you were real.
"Am I really that scary?"
As soon as that question left your lips, he was by your side. Having teleported, it made you jump a little when he so suddenly appeared by your side on the grass, sitting cross-legged.
You let your muscles relax once again, letting out a silent breath. You offered him a toothy, cute dragon smile. He gave you his big, signature grin right back.
"No, no, no. You're one of the most beautiful dragons I have ever seen! Absolutely no one can compare to your beauty, light one!"
With the way he spoke, as if he was presenting a speech, it made you let out a huff and a snort, which was also the dragon equivalent of a laugh in most cases. It also made your heart thump rapidly in your chest, hearing him use the nickname he often used for you back when you both resided above the clouds together.
Light one.
You figured it was only fair to change back into your human body, since it had been so long since you had seen one another in person, that he deserved to talk with you face-to-face and not to the face of a dragon, no matter how much he claimed you were beautiful both ways.
In a span of seconds, there was no longer a large dragon sitting beside Lucifer in the grass, but rather another individual, just as himself. Your legs were crossed just as his were, mimicking his body language. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, although throughout it all you could feel his eyes on you. With how quick he was to reassure you of your beauty, you knew he must be dying to ask you a bunch of questions; catch up on all that you had missed of one another's life since his falling and sparse letters in between.
You sighed and folded your hands in your lap, looking at your soft, glitter-dusted skin. It was hard to think of things to say when you really need not say anything at all. The silence, for you at least, said all that words could not and so much more beyond that limitation.
"Look, Luci, I-"
A sudden force knocked you onto your side, arms wrapping around you in the span of a second, squeezing you tightly. You yelped in surprise, although it was quite obvious the only person it could be.
"Oh my goodness, it really is you!" Lucifer exclaimed happily, eyes shut tight as he buried his face into your neck as your hug proceeded. "I knew it! Oh, I knew it as soon as you transformed back in the lobby- when you called me Luci just now. Oh my gosh, it really is you!"
He sounded exactly like a little kid might on Christmas, just getting their first train set, with many more to come after that within the following years. Alongside that excitement usually followed laughter, and oh was that universal sound flowing in the room at this moment.
You were both hugging and laughing to your hearts content after you had gotten over the initial shock of him bowling you over. For a little man, he surely had strength, that was for certain. Yet you knew best that he was not to be underestimated.
"Shit- yes, yes, it's me, I promise! I know the looks a bit new, but its me!" You said, trying to speak coherently through his own rambling and excitement of having finally found his friend after so long. The person who had been by his side through all his rights and wrongs whilst in Heaven. His wingwoman. His ride or die.
The person whom he had loved since first glance, but was too much of a coward to ever admit it. He always knew you deserved better.
"I-I'm sorry, I just...I can't believe you're really here! After...after all this time. Oh, Y/N...how I've missed you..."
Lucifers voice had dropped to a whisper at this point. You had to strain your ears to hear him, but made sure you did. You always heard him, whether he thought so or not.
"I've missed you too, Luci...really. I'm so sorry we got separated. I should've fought harder for your safety, I should've tried harder to convince the council, I-"
A finger found its way to your lips, shushing you with one, quick motion.
"Stop. Just...stop." Lucifer said, brows furrowed, a sad look overtaking his features as he sighed, eyes closed. "It was my fault for even convincing you to help me in the first place. I should've just kept you out of it."
He sniffled softly, turning his body away from yours a bit, not wanting you to see how emotional he was getting. He could still remember the way you cried his name as you got a front-row seat to watching him fall, courtesy of Adam.
Adam. That son of a bitch. He could only imagine the cruel and unusual punishments the sadistic man had thrown at you in return for helping the Devil himself (although he hadn't had that role back then just yet).
"What have they done to you...you know, since I left? They knew we had a good connection. I can only imagine the things they did to you as a result of helping me. I know you said they refuse to kill you or cast you out..." He muttered, now having his knees up to his chest, his chin resting on top of them.
You frowned, mainly in pity for him, watching him seem to curl up into himself like this. You had been thinking about all the ways the separation had been hurting you all these years, but now you had come to realize that you hadn't done much thinking about how it was affecting Lucifer. You figured that, since his fall, he had been doing just dandy down in Hell with his wife, Lilith. God, you hated that woman, or at least you had when they had decided to cast Lilith down into Hell with Lucifer instead of you. Many nights you had cried yourself to sleep, wishing so desperately that you could be down in this wasteland with him, comforting him about the recent events. You knew Lilith most likely wasn't doing it, and even if she was, you knew you could do better. He was your truest friend. You knew him both inside and out. Better than anyone.
"Its not of importance what they did and still do to me, Luci-"
"Yes it is! It's very important!" He burst out, making you raise an eyebrow. "It was supposed to be my job to protect you from any harm that came our way, remember? Remember what I said? I-I promised to always protect you from danger, to keep you safe, and I couldn't even do that without messing up!"
He threw his hands up, exasperated, using a gloved hand to cover his eyes and rub them. You gave him a soft, sad smile, one you were not sure if he saw, but knew he could sense. He was being way too hard on himself, you knew.
You had made the choice to help him, and wouldn't change a thing about that decision.
"Lucifer..." You spoke lightly, as if speaking to a scared animal. In a way, you were. "None of what happened to me is your fault. None of what is still happening to me is your fault. If someone has to take the fault, it should be me. I knew what I was potentially getting myself into when I agreed to help you. Those possible consequences never mattered to me."
You had to look away from him for a split second, some tears falling from your eyes as you blinked, then onto the lush grass beneath both your bodies. A deep breath inflated your chest before you allowed yourself to continue talking.
"All that ever mattered to me..." You began again, voice shaky as you maintained your composure, "...was the fact that I was getting to help my closest friend. The first person in Heaven who welcomed me, took me in with open wings. The first person to ever hug me. The first person to show me how unique and special I was, as well as my abilities and hybrid form. The first person who...didn't look at me like I was some sort of monster, due to the fact that I could transform into a dragon."
This seemed to shock him, for he raised his head to stare at you once again, cheeks lightly tear stained.
"People thought you a monster?" He asked, eyes wide and confused. "Why? H-How-"
You shrugged and picked at the grass beneath you with a finger.
"People tend to be scared of the things they don't understand, Luci. Things they've never seen before, such as a hybrid like myself. Even angels get scared sometimes, believe it or not."
Lucifer was at a loss for words. The angels had seen you as a monster when you first appeared at their gates? Someone as beautiful, majestic, and powerful as you? He truly couldn't believe that. He made a silent promise to himself in that very moment to give Adam a little extra punch for treating you like that upon your first visit to Heaven. You had never told him, either. Or, at least you hadn't had the time to before he fell.
"Apparently." Lucifer grumbled, whilst rolling his eyes. "Damn idiots never know what the hell they're talking about..."
At this, you raised both your eyebrows, and couldn't help the small giggle that left your lips at his protective nature. After all of this time not seeing one another, he was still as protective over you as the first day you met. It was refreshing to see that some things really never did change when it came to the King of Hell. Since the day he became so.
He perked up as you began to giggle, a shot of red flashing across his features from embarrassment. Then, despite himself, he too began to chuckle.
The steady rhythm of his heart made itself well known in his ears as the two of you continued to laugh together, just like old times in the clouds.
Although when you were together it felt like no time had passed at all, you both were aware that that was far from the truth.
You had some catching up to do.
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The hellish sun beat down on the Hazbin Hotel. All the other residents, including Charlie, were outside helping to rebuild and design a new look for the previously destroyed hotel.
You and Lucifer had finally come out from your room after chatting it up for what had to have been over an hour. It was nice, now knowing the truth behind some of the things that had happened to him, and you were sure he felt the same about the things pertaining to you. He had promised you he would deliver quite the ruthless punch to Adam's groin when he saw him next, due to the things he had put you through after his falling. This had made you roll your eyes, but the idea wasn't dismissed. You'd allow it. Maybe even a couple times. Especially if it meant you got to see Lucifer happy.
Now, both of you were currently outside with everyone else, helping to rebuild the structure of his daughters hotel. You were in the form of your Lightfury, whilst Lucifer was standing proudly on your back as you flew laps around the perimeter of the hotel, giving him range to shoot blasts of magic, where building parts would then materialize before ones eyes.
You craned your neck around to look at the little man on your back, who was already looking down at you, smiling like the dork you knew him to be. This was almost like the perfect moment, especially after the deep conversation you both had back in the hotel room-
"DAD! No riding my residents, please! I'm glad you're making friends though! Proud of you! I just don't think we have the insurance to cover an injury yet!"
Charlie's voice cut through the atmosphere like a knife, causing both of you to startle and look down at her. She had a finger pointed up at you both, an adoring smile on her face; following it were the rest of the residents eyes. You both were now the spotlight of attention.
Your smooth-skinned dragon face had a bit of a red tint to it now because of the princess's words, and you didn't even have to look at Lucifer to be able to say that he looked the same. His daughter didn't even know how deep the history went between you both; she didn't even know you two knew one another prior to this. Nor did she really need to know. It could be you and Lucifers little secret. Something just for the two of you.
You snorted at her words, managing to screw your face into an extremely unamused expression quick enough to hide the blush, making sure to keep flapping your wings so you wouldn't falter in your hovering.
"Dear, you may just find yourself jealous because I have a dragon and you lack one! You see this beauty? Extraordinary! Such a great species too, infact-"
You managed to look even more annoyed than you felt, as Lucifer continued to take it upon himself to deliver a little speech on your back whilst you were just hovering there, explaining his good fortune to have found a friend in you once again and now being able to get free rides. But, no one seemed to tell him that you were the one steering this ship.
In the span of a millisecond, you had tipped your body to the side, sending him sliding off your back and plummeting towards the ground, following with him yelping in both surprise and momentary fear. You snorted in amusement and instantly tucked your wings and went into a dive, following right after him.
The wind whistled past your sensitive ears as you were now falling right beside him. You looked at him with your wide, cat-like eyes, a curious coo escaping your throat as he just smirked at you, putting his hands behind his head as you both fell through the air, as if in some sort of movie. You then narrowed your sharp eyes and struck him playfully in the chest with a paw, sending him spinning off balance and crashing into some nearby bushes.
Quick to steady yourself, you quickly turned around midair and swooped just low enough to snag Charlie from off the ground, holding her in your arms, before letting her climb onto your back and sitting comfortably. Her smile was wide and cheerful, making you laugh as you shot back up into the air.
"Woo-hoo!" Charlie hollered, holding onto your neck by wrapping both her arms around its thick expanse as you warbled in response, showing off your toothy dragon grin as you flapped your wings vigorously, taking both you and the daughter of Hell off into the surrounding city.
Lucifer sat up in the mas of bushes, spitting out some leaves and rubbing the side of his head. He could've used his wings to slow his fall but he figured if it made you smile, he would get a little banged up. He still had that same grin plastered to his face.
He couldn't even be annoyed as he picked off thorns from his suit and top hat, watching with a soft sparkle in his eyes as his two favorite girls flew away together into the sunset.
Upon Charlie finding and helping you on extermination day, which had been only yesterday, you had now become an official resident of the Hotel. You kept telling yourself it was temporary until you were able to go back up to Heaven, but the more time you spent under the clouds and the feet of those still alive and walking, the more you came to realize that this place felt more like a home than the one you came from originally.
Lucifer had promised to wait for you in Hell after he fell, even for all eternity if that's how long it took for your pure soul to deserve damnation.
In return, you had promised never to truly leave him. To never abandon. To never relinquish your connection. And you would hold that promise, through and through.
It was your vow.
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astarionfreak · 2 months
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At least you purr for me
// Astarion (Spawn) / Reader (Fem!Tav)
You've been faking orgasms your entire life. And yes, you even faked during that night in the forest with Astarion. After a couple bottles of wine, the truth comes out and Astarion wants to rectify the situation.
18+ • NSFW • 6.3K words (1/1) | Read on AO3 (a teaser is available below)
Tags: Smut, first orgasm, masturbation, inappropriate use of tadpole, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, oral sex, vampire bites
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Astarion’s body language is relaxed, but you can tell that something has changed. Your little confession earned you his full attention. He’s going to try to fuck you again, isn’t he?
Then you feel it, that familiar tug inside your mind. Your breath catches in your throat.
Is it true, what you said?
You nod.
I’d like to discuss this further with you if you’re interested?
You shrug.
Not the resounding ‘yes’ I was hoping for, darling.
Astarion leans back on one hand and takes a slow sip of wine from the goblet in his other hand.
It’s also not a ‘no.’
Astarion responds to something Karlach said. It earns him another laugh from the group. You’re still not focusing on the actual words being exchanged, you’re just watching Astarion.
Yes, well, now that I have all the information on your little . . . predicament. I’d like to try again.
There it is. Another man treating you like you’re a poor, broken thing that desperately needs him to be cured.
I don’t need you to fix me, Astarion.
You’re staring at him now, but he seems to be hardly paying you any attention. Even though he’s actively inside your mind.
Did I say I wanted to fix you? I only meant that I want to fuck you, dear.
You sigh.
I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
You shiver as phantom fingertips begin to trail, feather-light, up your inner thigh. Your mouth drops open and you inhale sharply. After only one night together, he knows exactly how to touch you.
Astarion is still in the middle of a conversation with the group while he teases you. How is he able to do this?
I only have good ideas. Just say the word and we can share another private moment.
His fingertips aren’t there, not really, and yet you feel them slide up and down your thigh. Every time his fingers move, they go farther and farther up — inching closer to where you really want them to be.
Maybe, Astarion. But when?
You shift in your seat, squirming as the invisible fingers slide to your other thigh — continuing to tease you with slow and gentle movements. You struggle to control your breathing, trying to focus now only on keeping your breath steady and slow so as to not raise any suspicions.
Now is as good a time as any.
Then he adds another hand. This time delicate fingers move down your neck, caress your shoulder, beneath your clothes and slowly brush over the swell of your breast. The fingers trace your curves, over and under.
You’re sitting rather stiffly now. The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention and goosebumps are scattered along your arms. If anyone were to look at you, they would surely know something is going on.
Read entire fic on AO3.
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cosmerelists · 9 months
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What Your Preferred Kaladin Ship Says About You
[Minor spoilers for Stormlight]
Can the ships you like and/or write fanfiction for and/or read fanfiction for reveal something about you? Let’s say the answer is yes--what might your preferred Kaladin ship(s) say about you? 
1. Kaladin x Shallan
That scene in the chasms really got to you. You want to see two broken people raise each other up, preferably with a good helping of snark. Either that, or your love language is boot-stealing.
2. Kaladin x Adolin
You like a good rivals-to-lovers relationship, and you have a slight humiliation kink--it’s why you find yourself reading “bridgeboy” as romantic. 
3. Kaladin x Adolin x Shallan
Unlike Brandon Sanderson, you are no coward. 
4. Kaladin x Moash
You enjoy suffering. 
Or perhaps you just wish Sanderson hadn’t dropped the whole “the Alethi social system needs to burn” angle and still had Kaladin fighting against the system alongside Moash.
Which is to say--you enjoy suffering.
5. Kaladin x Lezian
You also enjoy suffering. The suffering of the characters, that is.
6. Kaladin x Lyn
Your ship was canon, but oh how briefly. I have to assume you write/read fix-it fanfic. 
7. Kaladin x Lewshi
You love a good, respectful, enemies to lovers slowburn. You say things like, “It’s about the yearning.” 
8. Kaladin x Renarin
I think you are probably a sweet person who wants only the best for your ships. You may have done a lot of research into epilepsy and how a fantasy doctor would talk about it.
10. Kaladin x Elhokar
I assume you are the type of person who says things like, “I want to put this man into a mason jar and shake him vigorously.”
11. Kaladin x Szeth
You probably have high hopes for the Shinover field trip. 
12. Kaladin x Rlain
You’d like to see these men explore their emotions...and presumably each other’s bodies.
13. Kaladin x Jasnah
You said “ace rights” and meant it with your whole chest.
14. Kaladin x Dalinar
You wish that a big strong man would look you in the eye and say in his deep, manly voice, “Your job is bad for your mental health. Quit right now. That is not a suggestion.”
15. Kaladin x Sleep
You just want to wrap Kaladin in a warm blanket until he feels better. 
That is to say, you love crack ships. 
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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year
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Small Spoon / Joel Miller Imagine
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Request: sis i am a simple woman
i saw small spoon joel and now i need a fanfic
GIRL I got you I got you @aninnai​
Also sorry in advance I mixed a bit of what happens in the game with what happens in the show for fun lmao​
If you enjoy, please comment and let me know! It really helps so much :)
Warning: strong language, mentions of explosions and injuries/blood, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of guns and a little nsfw!
(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @lousolversons.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Like the Boston quarantine zone, the apartment was draped in darkness by the time you slammed the door shut.
It had been a disappointing day all round: first Robert steals your guns and pills and decides for extra fun to jump you on your way back home, then queen Firefly herself decides that during your excursion through the other side of town’s checkpoint is the perfect time to bomb the place. You spent half the time trudging back along the side streets picking shrapnel out of your bleeding shoulder, and the other half waving off some straggler friends who were concerned about the new bust over your lip.
‘Robert. It was that goddamn Robert again’, you’d say and wave them all off back to their card games or their street sweeping duties. A few raised eyebrows or wolf whistles as they turned, but everyone knew that with Joel and you still together, it wasn’t you they should be worried about. It should be the fury in Joel’s eyes as soon as he found out a hair on your head had been harmed; it was the warpath, the ravage, the raging heart flinging and panging against the bars of its cage that would bring the whole state to its knees with its laceration.
The docks could wait till tomorrow. To be honest, at the moment, you were that tired you couldn’t really care less about your new lot of lost cargo. All you wanted to do right now was to kick off your muddy boots, crawl yourself into bed, and splat your face straight into the warm, broad expanse of the man that would be waiting there to lie beside you.
Speaking of, Joel had promised he would try and wait up for your return. By the way you shouldered your splintered apartment door, pushing with all your force until the creaking hinges finally gave in and swung open to the familiar musty smell of your shared room, you could already tell he hadn’t managed it. Instead of a pistol to your face in the case of you being a stranger, or one of Robert’s men, or even some half-hearted grumbles of salutations from the man who should have been hunched over the table trying to fix the new dent in his pistol, you were greeted with slain silence.
As you kick the stack of training manuals by the kitchen counter out of the way, the train of events before your arrival back home became even more crystal clear. By the half-thrown chipped tumbler and the fractured looking pill bottle left abandoned on the dining table, it wouldn’t even take FEDRA’s soldiers two guesses to find out how well his day had gone too.
You tiptoe around the side of the bed and squint, barely able to make out the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping man’s chest through the broken slants of the shades. Bless his heart, even in his sleep the crinkles in his forehead are as deep as the currents of the Allegheny River. He must be having a nightmare, from the way his mouth keeps fumbling and his fist squeezing into the frayed edge of his pillow. Even the vapours of moonlight that slanted in through the cragged skyline, the sharp pelts of spotlights that skim from time to time through your bedroom window like phantom shadows couldn’t soften the man’s haggard face. 
With a sigh, you press the back of your hand fondly over the scruff of his cheek, trying not to wake him as you lean down to press a quick kiss against the creases on his forehead. No amount of light seemed to be able to crack through this man’s walls; no peace, little hope, and even less optimism, and still his fingers move out across the bed to try and reach yours as if on some invisible tide.
The gesture is small, but coming from Joel Miller it meant everything. It isn’t much, but you were the first person in twenty goddamn years he was willing to offer the remains of himself, his heart up to. So far, you hadn’t let him down; if you did, the both of you knew that he would regress even back further into himself, warping back into the shadow of a man he had been all those years ago when Tommy first left. When he left behind nothing but repressed rage and grief and a loathing so inflamed it could have scared a clicker stiff. At himself, at his brother, at the world - you could never tell. But you understood one thing for sure: Joel Miller wouldn’t be able to survive another loss. It would destroy him, change him too far beyond recognition that even he couldn’t come back from it.
You could tell from his dreams, that in the end, that’s what he thinks he deserves. And yet he always still reaches out, in one way or the other. ‘That’, you think as you let your hand fall from his face and flop it back down towards your lap ‘is the part of him that Sarah managed to get. That sweetness is just begging to be let out.’
You smile as you stand up and stretch, taking in a needed deep breath after the day you’d had. The same day you’d had for the last ten years, over and over again. And yet it was worth it, as you paced over the creaking floorboards and headed over to your side of the mattress, if it always ended like this: with comfort, stability, and a beating heart beside you.
‘Scootch.’
Only an incomprehensible murmur and two barely blubbering lips were your sign that Joel had even recognised what you were saying, but after a groan he obliged and shuffled his body over to the right. It left you ample of opportunity to slide in stealthily behind him, Joel already lifting his arm up in anticipation for the feel of your fingers over the side of his jean shirt.
For his sake, you pretend that neither of you notice the tremble that rushes like shooting spores straight down the muscles of his body. Instead, you relish in just languidly letting your fingers float like fireflies over the side of his hip; you spread them out, dancing through the coarse light just before you reach the bone. You scratch against the material, letting it ride up until your fingernail comes in contact with his flushing skin. Teasingly, you grab at the meat of his hip and enjoy the way he puffs out, unconsciously pushing himself back against you. You trace your fingers further forward, inch by inch, tracing the inseam of his jeans...and then suddenly stop. You only start again when he gives a hoarse groan in warning: one that reverberates through his back and makes your breath hitch as it grumbles against your chest.
You press yourself flush against him, giving in and properly wrapping your arm round his waist until your hand reaches his stomach. Finding his bellybutton, you give it a little poke which earns you a kick back from his leg in retaliation, but you can hear the light chuckle he admits despite himself.
‘Late night again, huh?’, he mumbles out. His pursed lips are half open and don’t rise from the pillow. As he lethargically blinks a couple of times, he pretends it’s because he’s too tired too move. He knows deep down in the pit of his stomach, though, that you’re too astute that let that lie fly over your head. You know the man too well, and you know damn rightly that he’s enjoying the feeling of your face smooshing itself into that little soft dip to the side of his shoulder blades. He’s just far too stubborn to ever admit it. But even so, Joel Miller’s silence speaks wonders.
‘Oh, same old same old. Robert’s being a little asshole again.’
‘Oh he is now, is he?’, he turns his head, making as if he’s trying to get up but your quick to push him back down again.
‘He and his little gang of morons can wait until tomorrow. I, on the other hand, am freezing cold. And you, Joel Miller’, you squeeze your arms into a vice around him and lift your legs up to slide in between his knees. They rest heavily, tangling against your own, and the weight is the most wonderous thing you’ve felt all day. ‘You are the best source of heat in all the damn zones put together.’
He lets his elbow rest comfortably on top of your own despite your words, so used to the back and forth between the two of you by now that they just wash over him. In fact, when he feels your forehead bump against the small litter of freckles you know line the left side of his shoulder, that spread of constellations running from the dip of his neck down his left shoulder blade, he even chuckles.
You feel his hand slide down from where it was resting under the cup of his chin to entangle with your fingers. He tugs them in to the heat radiating from his chest, and you take the opportunity to scratch out against the loose buttons of his shirt.
‘You just keeping me ‘round ‘cause of that? If I’m so damn warm, maybe I should go and donate all your jackets to FEDRA.’
You press a kiss against the tightened denim of his arched back and smirk.
‘Yeah, well maybe I should start selling you out for some ration cards. Five of them cards for a ten minute hug with Joel sounds like a pretty easy business to me.’
‘As long as I get 50%.’
‘25% and you’ve got yourself a deal.’
In a surprisingly tender move, Joel brings your intertwined hands up and presses an unhurried kiss to the back of your knuckles.
‘Hmph, we’ll negotiate in the morning. Maybe I’ll make it so you’re my only customer, and then I get the best of both worlds. Hugs and ration cards.’
He says the last part with a sarcastic intonation, but even he can’t stop the helplessly hoping sigh that whistles through his teeth. He shuffles back against you and closes his eyes against the creeping crimson threads of sunrise that begin to shoot out from behind the alleyway corners.
‘How about now, we just settle for hugs. I have no doubt you’ll manage to get Robert’s ration cards tomorrow as well.’
‘Back to business, huh? Sure thing boss.’
You manage to get enough momentum to hit his belly with your hands. He pretends to double over, pushing against you a little too hard and nearly thrusting your abdomen backwards and straight out onto the floor. You manage to grab onto his biceps, though, and clamber back up safely against him. He pulls you tighter, using his free hand to draw circles over your forearm. Once you’ve both settled down on the mattress again, you take a final yawn and settle your chin down on his shoulder.
‘Good night Joel.’
He hums. ‘Night, night, sweetheart.’
As consciousness began to ebb, your mind going into free fall, swirling with the beautiful chaos of oblivion, you could just about make out the hoarse whisper of Joel against his pillow. His voice cragged with the effort, with the heaviness of it, with the consequence of it, yet every word managed to ring out true. It was the most genuine, honest sentence Joel Miller had dared to speak since his baby girl had died, and he was petrified by the choice he was making.
But by god, if it was a choice, if it was a chance that he had to take.
‘I love you.’
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crepes-suzette-373 · 4 months
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[Part 1]
The Totto Land plot in the "defective quadruplets AU" (explanation here). I had wanted to make it as drawings/comics, but it got very long, so this becomes a fanfic instead. Assume that everything before this point, and anything that I gloss over, happens exactly as it is in the original series.
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
Sanji blinked slowly at the high ceiling of the lab. His whole body hurt and his face stung to point of numbness. He barely registered the medics approaching, their shoes crunching on the debris scattered all over the broken floor tiles, and when the stern voice of his older sister rang out, it sounded like it was coming from worlds away through the throbbing in his head.
He let Reiju pull him up and lead him away. He never expected anything other than suffering and torment upon returning to this place called Germa, but there were moments, when he closed his eyes, that he thought he saw flashes of hope at the back of his mind.
Blink.
A child Niji was holding a dead rat in one hand and offering him a living rat with his other.
Blink.
Never mind the dead one, Niji would never touch living rats.
Blink.
Yonji was asking him if he ever tried making medicine instead of cooking. Wasn’t the only difference between them their tastes? Food is good, medicine is gross, but you have to mix stuff together to make them both.
Blink.
That’s can’t be. All Yonji ever wanted to do was beat up Sanji and call him weak.
Blink.
He was able to keep up with Ichiji in a swordsmanship bout. Ichiji still won at the end, but Sanji wasn’t immediately pummeled to the ground the moment the instructor said “begin”, and Ichiji even said he did okay.
Blink.
That had to be a dream. Ichiji had always been impossibly strong, and Sanji never stood a chance against him.
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
Reiju led him to her room, and applied a face mask that hurt like hell but fixed his appearance. Only temporarily, she’d said, and he barely listened to her half-heartedly scolding him for returning.
“Reiju,” he interrupted, “Tell me, were there ever times—you know, back then—when they weren’t so…so terrible?”
There was silence, and it was a moment before Reiju replied, simply, “Yes.”
Sanji sighed. “So it was real. I almost thought I’d dreamed that up,” he said flatly. He didn’t know what he was expecting to feel from the answer, but he still felt as hollow as before.
“They’re still like that, even now,” Reiju spoke again, “If it’s any consolation.”
It wasn’t. He was still trapped in a marriage he didn’t want, with the lives of everyone in Baratie and his very future as a cook dangling over certain doom by barely a thread. He thought of Zeff, the man whom he owed his life to. Sanji would rather endure a million beatings than allow the man, who was his father in all but blood, to die.
As if life hasn’t given him enough burden to carry, Luffy came bounding at the Germa’s cat carriage, grinning and cheerfully chattering away like usual. How Sanji wished it could be like all their previous adventures, where they could throw themselves at the enemy and fight to the very last spans of their lives. This time it was different, and no amount of desperate fighting could get them through it.
So Sanji hardened his emotions, to whatever extent it was capable of, and landed a kick on his captain. He echoed the horrid drivel that was drummed into his ears all day long, even as every word tasted like poison on his tongue, and rained flaming blows on Luffy, desperately willing the stubborn rubber man to leave. Every hit was like a blow to his own soul, and he was certain his heart shattered at the utter disgust Nami-san directed at him through her tear-filled eyes.
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
Multi coloured unwanted guests barged in on Sanji while he was preparing food for Pudding.
He said nothing and kept working, all the while anticipating the usual slew of mockery for his unroyal-like behaviour. None came, however, and the only sound came from utensils clattering and food sizzling and bubbling on the stove.
The silence made his chest tighten, and every few moments his eyes darted towards his three intruders, watching for any dangerous movements. There was still nothing. The trio had seated themselves at the small dining table in that kitchen, and were just sitting there doing nothing.
His hands began to tremble, unwittingly. He had to steady his right hand with his left to lift the pot of pasta from the burner. He drained the pasta and, as he stirred it into the sauce, he glanced back at the table. A shiver ran through his body when he saw that there was only two, now. Where did—
“I want that,” came a low voice from his other side.
“Gah!” Sanji screamed and nearly dropped his spatula.
Niji had made his way over unnoticed, and was pointing at the burger patties still cooking in the other pan. “I want two,” he spoke again.
Sanji stared. Niji stared back.
Completely bewildered, Sanji could only say, “It’s not done yet.”
“Then I want that,” Niji said, pointing at a plate of sandwiches to the side.
Still very confused, Sanji waved a “go ahead” gesture, and went back to finishing the pasta. Somehow that weird little interaction stopped his tremors and, even if he couldn’t say he was no longer tense, he was able to proceed without hiccups.
Moments later, the sandwiches were still untouched and Niji doesn’t seem to have even moved a muscle when Sanji returned from getting a plate of buns and lettuce for the burgers. Shaking his head, Sanji turned off the stove and lifted the pan of patties.
Niji looked over, then. “Is that done? I still want two,” he said. He glanced slightly at the buns and toppings on the other plate, and then added, “I don’t want the bread and green stuff. Or any gross sauce.”
“Yes, yes, now go away, you’re bothering me,” Sanji replied without thinking. His insides were already recoiling the moment the words left his mouth, and he waited for the angry expletives to come. He was surprised when Niji instead immediately returned to the table without another word and sat back down. 
There was no time to dwell on it, though. He made a quick check of the roasting meat (still a little more to go), flipped the grilled fish, and then began arranging the burgers. The best one went into the bentou box. He put the lopsided ones on a plate and the remaining patties on another. After a moment’s consideration, he ladled a portion of curry in a saucier, and placed it on the plate of meat patties alongside condiments in little soufflé cups. He brought three sets of knives and forks alongside the plates to the table.
”Whatever happened to ‘royals shouldn’t cook’?” Sanji mumbled quietly to himself as he laid down the plates.
He was heading back towards the stove, when from behind him he heard Ichiji’s voice, “You already did the cooking. The food can’t be unmade.”
Sanji hadn’t been expecting a reply, and he instinctively directed his attention to the table again. Yonji was stuffing his face with the burgers and Niji quietly eating his meat patties—Sanji couldn’t help raising an eyebrow when he saw Niji had poured on the curry. Ichiji wasn’t eating, and he just sat there looking at Sanji with his arms crossed.
Why? Why why what why what…?
A dozen formless questions spun in Sanji’s head as he and Ichiji held eye contact. Then it became too much, and Sanji almost ran back to his cooking as though in escape.
In many ways it was. Cooking was his solace, and going through the motions helped his nerves settle back down, even with the gleaming gold around his wrists serving as a reminder that one of his last few comforts could be taken away from him any time.
In the middle of placing sandwiches in the bentou box, a thought made him pause: Niji hadn’t touched those for some reason. He glanced at the table, and saw that Niji had finished his portion and was just sitting idly again. Sanji looked down at the sandwich plate, then at the empty plate on the table, and it suddenly dawned on him that Niji didn’t take the sandwiches earlier because he had been waiting to be served like the stupid spoiled prince that he was.
Sanji could only huff. “I give up, this is crazy.”
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
It wasn’t until the bentou box was packed and ready that Sanji realized that what he had been making was the typical menu for the crew aboard the Sunny. Between the unwelcome presence of certain individuals—who all still haven’t left yet—and his jumbled emotions, he hadn’t been thinking as clearly as he should be while cooking. In fact, come to think of it, he probably hadn’t even been thinking at all, and was only moving out of pure instincts.
Even though he didn’t prepare the meat in a Luffy-sized portion, it was still way too much for someone like Pudding. As he was mulling over the food, Ichiji’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“By the way, Sanji, we don’t actually have hostages in the East Blue.”
“What?!”
He whirled around so fiercely he knocked over the bottle of wine. It fell back on the counter with a thud, and normally Sanji would’ve worried about it falling to the floor, but he paid it no mind.
“What do you mean there’s no hostage?” Sanji asked, his voice rising in a mix of hope, fear, and rage. “If this is a trick—”
“Our ships are all here; we don’t have anyone assigned to target that restaurant of yours,” Ichiji said, his voice flat and toneless as usual. “Big Mum’s crew gave us the picture and information and let us handle the rest. I do not believe they sent any ambush parties over themselves.”
“If you’re worried, do you want to give them a call?” Yonji asked, holding out a dendenmushi that had materialized from who knows where. His tone was light, and the corners of his mouth was turned in a slight smile as he spoke.
Sanji exploded.
“You’re telling me, now, that you’ve been making empty…you’ve been threatening me…and it was all nothing?!” The words came in a mad rush and he was stumbling and slurring over them in frothing rage. “You think this is funny, don’t you? Playing with people’s lives? Why are you even telling me this?”
He wanted to scream, to hit them, and he also wanted to cry. He thought of the cruel words and punches and the burning pain of electricity searing his body. Luffy’s expression burning determination, even with his bruised and battered body, and the haunting expression on Nami-san’s face. Everything he went through, everything he did…what was the point of it all?
“People die when they die,” Ichiji stated matter of factly, “All we needed was for the wedding to proceed as planned. You’re getting married tomorrow, so I don’t see any difficulties in telling you this.” He tilted his head a little, and then said, “I’m sure you’ve heard that your crew mates have been caught, yes? We might be able to negotiate to bring Cat Burglar Nami with us after the wedding. I’m sure having a familiar face around would make you feel more comfortable.”
“If you touch Nami-san I will rip you to shreds,” Sanji snarled. “I can’t believe this. You also threatened to kill all the hostages if I fought you. What was that about?”
“That’s your punishment. You kicked me for the sake of that kitchen girl.” It was Niji who responded this time. “As royalty, you can’t attack your big brother for the sake of that kind of lowly servant. If you want a match, I’ll take you anytime.”
“I stopped associating myself with this miserable lot ages ago.”
“But you are our brother,” says Yonji, who was idly poking at the dendenmushi on his hand, “What else would you be?”
Sanji gaped at Yonji like he was speaking gibberish. Then he cast his eyes towards the other two. There were none of the twisted smirks he’d seen on their faces the other day. All he saw were vague looks that seemed like on the border of forming expressions, but didn’t quite fully get there.
“What—what is wrong with you? With all of you? Why are you acting like this?” Sanji choked out. Their calm, matter of fact manner somehow deflated his rage. He almost would rather they berate and hit him again, because he could kick and fight and vent out all his feelings. This, though, only made him feel like he was losing his mind.
Three faces glanced at each other around the table, and then almost in unison they said, “This is just how we’ve always been.”
At those words, Sanji recalled in his memories the echoes of his own tiny voice asking the same question, “Why are you like this?”
 “This is just how we are,” three equally tiny voices gave the same answer.
There was a vision at the back of his mind, then, of a view framed by the metal of an iron mask, and three pairs of little eyes peering at him through bars of steel. The same three pairs that were directed at him, in the present, except on the faces of grown men.
Wait… eyes?
Sanji blinked. He didn’t know how it never registered until then that Ichiji and Niji weren’t wearing their dark glasses and goggles. He also hadn’t noticed before that their hair were different, too. Ichiji’s wasn’t sticking up like a chicken’s comb, but loose and relaxed, and he thought it looked a little like Reiju’s hair. Niji’s hair was also not in that…whatever that weird style he usually wore, which Sanji had mentally dubbed “the banana”, but draping down his face like waterfalls. Yonji’s hair doesn’t have that little tail at the back of his head that looked like a duck’s butt.
What could this possibly mean—? No, that’s not important. He could puzzle over this later. He had to find Pudding immediately.
This whole time, with the looming threat on Baratie, there was nothing he could do besides let himself be dragged around and placate Big Mum enough to plead her for mercy. Now that he knew Baratie was safe, he could save Nami-san and Luffy. Pudding had helped them get in; surely she could also help them get back out.
With the explosive bracelets still on, Sanji himself still had no chance of leaving. Besides, after what he’d done he didn’t deserve to return to the Sunny. The least he could do to atone for it was to get all the Mugiwara crew out of there safely.
This was no time for flowers and wine, but Sanji still grabbed the food before rushing out. He had prepared that bentou to make up for the dinner Pudding had missed, after all. She could always have it later. The portions… no time to worry about that too.
He sprinted through the chateau, all the while somehow trying to keep the food from being jostled too much. However, when he made it to Pudding’s room, the stupid talking door would not let him in, saying that Pudding was busy.
Busy? Busy with what? With who?
For a moment, Sanji felt a little fear creep into his heart and considered returning later. If one or more of Big Mum’s other children was inside… No, he had every right to be there, as the bridegroom. He could always say he wanted to discuss the wedding, or… other private matters. His mind wandered a little at the thought, but he shook himself out of it. More important matters are at hand.
Pudding’s room had a window overlooking the balcony. He could take a quick look inside to see what’s going on inside before deciding what to do next. As he got closer, he heard laughter. His heart lightened a little. It doesn’t seem like she was busy with something too serious. Maybe he could get her to let him in through the window—
It was then that Sanji discovered that the girl he thought to be his single source of hope in this whole ordeal was, in truth, poison coated in deceivingly sweet layers of custard.
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
He visited Reiju in the infirmary, after making sure to immobilize the guard outside. He told her, with his head held in his hands, about what he’d overheard Pudding say. In turn she revealed to him his bracelets were fake, and told him to flee immediately.
“It’s truly a pity for our brothers, but at this point, death would be more merciful than this sad excuse of a life they’ve been living,” Reiju said.
“What do you mean?” Sanji asked.
“Remember what you asked me before, if they ever act unusual sometimes?”
“Yes,” he replied, immediately straightening up. That had slipped his mind in the confusion. “Actually, I just saw them act weird again. They… they told me Baratie is not in danger.” As he talked more and more words rushed out, “… Ichiji’s not wearing his sunglasses. Niji too. And he wanted food. And they didn’t call it rat fodder…”
Reiju smiled sadly, listening to him ramble.
“I don’t know if you remember,” she interrupted, her voice soft, “Every once in a while you managed to keep up just a bit better…”
“I do!” Sanji almost shouted, “I think… I thought… I thought they weren’t terrible to me if I can do well, and I tried so hard, and…”
The memories that he thought he’d forgotten floated back to the surface. Now that he spoke it out loud, he did vaguely recall that those three were ‘different’ on the days that he thought he didn’t fall so far behind. He remembered the flash of memory from the day before, of successfully putting up a proper fight in swordsmanship class. He was beginning to remember other moments too, like occasionally tying with Niji or Yonji during track running.
“…but it wasn’t ever good enough in the end,” he said, looking at Reiju. “And that wasn’t even why they’re like that, was it?”
His older sister then told him the story of their mother, how she fought Vinsmoke Judge over his insane plans, and how she took a drug concoction that destroyed her body in desperate attempt to save her children.
“The drug she took took effect on all of you, but only you were born as a regular human being,” Reiju said. “Those three… On those days that they changed, it’s not that you did better, it’s because they’re the ones who lost their abilities.”
“Lost their abilities?" he echoed. "What do you mean? How?”
“I don’t know. Their enhancements would just regularly come and go without warning. In the end, they weren’t the perfect war machines that father wanted, but they weren’t regular humans either. Those brief moments were probably the closest thing to ‘normal’ they could ever be.” Reiju sighed. “As I said, Sanji, death would be more merciful to them. Living this kind of halfway existence is not really living. Escape and let Germa be destroyed. It’s the only thing we deserve.”
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
Sanji left the infirmary with his mind in a fog. When Yonji showed him the manufactured Germa soldiers, he had been sick to the core, but never in his imaginations did he expect Judge to be so… so insane as to do that to his own wife and unborn children. Had it not been for mother’s sacrifice, Sanji himself might have been…no, even with what mother did, if anything had gone differently, it might have been Ichiji or Niji or Yonji in his place. Sanji would have been on the side doing the tormenting, then, and he’d never have been any the wiser.
What a horrible thought.
The blond slumped to the floor. Those three… He had always thought of them inhuman monsters, and knowing that he’d been mostly right didn’t give him any satisfaction. They didn’t become like that willingly, did they? Something had been ripped out of them before they were even fully conscious, and they could only live on with whatever mangled mess of their hearts that were left.
“This is just how we are”, they had said. That really had been the truth, after all. In all these time he’d been half convinced that he had dreamed up those moments were they were decent, or if they’d been pulling a trick him, but no—it was truly their nature, and he didn’t know if it was possible for them to be any different. 
Ever since he was hauled away from Zou, he despised the constant reminder he faced that he still had blood ties to the Vinsmoke family. It made him feel like he was smothered in thick sludge, weighed down and dirty at the same time. That interaction earlier, though, in the kitchen... It had been truly bizarre, but he had to admit—it wasn’t all bad.
Ichiji revealed the truth about the Baratie and they offered to let him call the restaurant. His heart lurched. Were they… trying to make him feel better? Niji and Yonji called him brother, too, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  There was no mocking, no berating—it just was.
Sanji didn’t dare hope—tried to force himself not to think—because he knew it would only hurt all the more, but he couldn’t stop that little voice inside that told him maybe they were trying to be his family, in the only way they knew how. Perhaps the faintest glimpse of what might have been, if life was much kinder to all of them.
He pulled at his hair. Maybe Reiju did have a point, that death would be mercy compared to this kind of warped state of living. Besides, even if he wanted to do anything about Big Mum’s plot, there was nothing he could do.
A lumpy looking individual came waddling by just then and snatched a piece of meat from his food basket. In a flash he remembered Luffy declaring he would starve to death if Sanji doesn’t return to feed him.
That stubborn rubber man always meant every word he said.
Sanji kicked away the greedy lump, took back the meat, and fled the scene.
Making sure all of the crew made it out of there safely was what he’d initially set out to do after all. First, he needed to find Luffy. Then, feed Luffy. After that, the Mugiwara captain could probably manage on his own. Sanji would deal with whatever were to follow as they came.
[to be continued]
*VS*VS*VS*VS*
It's my first attempt at writing something that is a little longer. I hope you enjoy.
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mrswint3rs · 3 months
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pls pls pls i have an idea for a short lil albert wesker x reader fanfic 😇
wesker is threatening and towering over the reader (reader works for s.t.a.r.s wesker and failed to hand in reports on time) as he pushes his chest DANGEROUSLYYYYY close to the readers and they just stare at eachother.
in silence.
until the silence is broken by wesker hungrily just grabbing readers hair and forcefully pushing reader into a DESPERATE kiss like DAYYUMMM
and then idk what happens thats all ive got 🤗
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Missed Deadlines ೃ⁀➷
pairings- S.T.A.R.S Captain Wesker x Fem Rookie! Reader
a/n- BOSS WESKER IS SOO YES. ty anon. btw can we talk about his arm veins 🤭 anyways, hope this is to your liking! (not proofread so lmk)
NSFW WARNING:
contains- a bit of power play, reader is kinda bratty, rough sex, public sex, some man handling, sub/dom dynamics, spanking, degrading language (consent not established but the desire is implied to be mutual)—𓆩♡𓆪
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
It's not the first time you've failed to deliver reports within the time frame. It was becoming more and more frequent to the point where he wondered just how long you could keep it up. You did well all throughout the academy and training. You were a smart girl, so why were you so often slacking off now?
Wesker swears it’s like you do it to spite him. You have full capability of finishing your work. He gives you ample time.
He gives you chance after chance to fix whatever your issue is. He doesn’t do that for any of the others. Just you. While he’s constantly reprimanding the others, you get off so easy. You don’t even seem to realize.
He wonders if you just want to get fired so you don’t have to deal with the burden anymore.
Everyone else in the office had been efficient and timely from day one. They all took their jobs seriously. Yet, you just frolic around it all without a care in the world, acting like you owned the place.
You assume because Wesker has a sort of soft spot for you that you won’t face consequences. He recommended you to the Alpha team after all.
So when you’re called to his office, you’re not the slightest bit worried. You knew he’d let it slide like any other time and you’d eventually turn in the report. No problem.
“You needed to see me ‘captain’?” The way you refer to his title in such a mocking way infuriates him to his core. You didn’t understand how lucky you were. How easy you had it.
“Close the door.” he states sternly, not even bothering to look up from his desk just yet.
You do as told, swiftly clicking the door to a close and awaiting his following statement. Instead, he stands from his chair, approaching you.
He twists the blinds to his office window shut, secluding the two of you even further.
“Why so serious boss man? Gonna fire me or something?” you tease to which he shoots you an immediate glare.
That little smile and giggle you display so tongue in cheek makes his blood boil. Why couldn’t you just be obedient like your fellow coworkers? He didn’t understand why you didn’t see him as a higher up. You seemed to think since you scored this position, you couldn’t lose anything.
You had gotten far too comfortable. He could see that clear as day. You needed to be put in your place to understand. He was in charge of your pay, your position, your reputation. He was the boss. You’re nothing more than a rookie.
Without saying a word in response to your cheeky comment, he corners you against the door, uncomfortably close in your personal space.
He removes his glasses, revealing his threatening eyes that were locked directly onto yours. No sound could be heard besides his breath which was hot against your face, steady yet slowly increasing.
He wasn’t looking away, not even blinking. You couldn’t maintain eye contact. You started to feel dizzy and had to pry your eyes away with an awkward chuckle.
When you start to look the other way, his gloved hand firmly takes hold of your jaw, forcing your cheeks into a pout and making you look directly back at him.
At your soft gasp, and dilating pupils, he knew he was getting his point across.
In the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours. His hand roughly grips the underside of your hair, holding you forcefully against him as his tongue invades your mouth. With a groan, he presses his large form against your smaller one, trapping you against the mahogany.
You’re hardly able to process as he pulls away. You just stand there stunned to silence, breath coming out in short bursts. “Wesker…what was-“
“Captain.” he interjects. “Say it clearly.”
He separates from you, putting only a few inches of distance between. “Captain…sorry. Was this what you called me in here for or was it-“
Again he interrupts you. “How many reports have I requested of you that have been turned in late, or not at all? I’d like your estimated number.” Wesker stares at you directly once more, pressuring you with his intense gaze.
“I don’t know.” you admit, lowering your head to avert his eyes.
He steps away, turning his focus to his desk. “Come over here. I’d like to further discuss this.”
“Bend over the desk.”
Again you’re stunned. Your boss was being completely inappropriate yet his demeanor remained unbothered. This seemed like it was completely normal for him.
You stay frozen at the entrance of the private office, not knowing what to say or do.
“Need I tell you twice?” he faces you again from the opposite end of the room, fully expecting your obedience.
You scurry over at the sound of his frustration, complying and bending over the furniture. You prop yourself up on your elbows, not knowing what to expect in this moment. You couldn’t comprehend what was happening right now, you just couldn’t resist his orders.
Wesker takes stance behind you, removing his gloves. Without warning your pants are dropped down to your ankles, your panty-clad rear exposed to him. “Wesker-“
His palm smacks against your ass leaving a painful sting. “It’s Captain. Get that through that thick skull of yours.” You almost lose your balance at his forceful slap, he wasn’t holding back in the slightest.
Tears well up in your eyes. You’ve never felt so helpless and small against a man like this. Yet every time he commands something of you cruelly, the heat rushes between your legs in a way you can’t control.
“Don’t cry so soon. You’ve still seven more to go to make up for your failures.”
Another smack to your ass causes you to tremble.
You stayed still the best you could, understanding you deserved such punishment. For weeks you lost sight of your role working for S.T.A.R.S. Your boss was going to make you remember.
“Six.” smack
“Five.” smack
“Four.” smack
You were already a whimpering, sobbing mess. But Wesker paid no mind. He didn’t show any leniency. He was fed up with your lack of efforts. Plus, it was clear you were both enjoying this in a way. He took notice of your sodden panties. Every time his hand slapped against you, you’d clench.
Your helpless whines made his cock strain in his pants. He could hardly resist. Forcing you to submit to him thoroughly aroused him.
“Three.” smack
“Two.” smack
By the final blow you were hardly able to stand. The stinging sensation was overpowering you and you couldn’t do anything to relieve the pain.
Regardless of your squirming, he spanked you a final time without remorse.
Wesker couldn’t hold himself back anymore when he took sight of you in this vulnerable state.
He dropped his own pants, pushing himself against your tight entrance, leaving you no time to get away. He grips both sides of you, spreading you open further for him to slip into.
Your pussy practically swallows him as he pushes inside.
The stinging pain subsides, replaced with the stretching feeling of your insides to mold to his shape. Your brain goes fuzzy as he fills you completely, your voice escaping in needy cries for him to make the pain go away.
“Shhh, I’ll take good care of you.”
His hand clasps over your mouth to silence you when you get too loud. You were still at work after all. Though you could hardly think about something like that as your boss is the one inside of you.
It was all so wrong but as he started to roll his hips, moving fluidly, it felt too good. The head of his cock runs over that special spot of yours perfectly, the place your weak fingers could never quite reach well enough.
You let out muffled moans into the palm of his hand. Your eyes roll back and you arch against him, begging for him not to stop.
He slams into you at an alarming rate, his skin slapping against yours and the sounds of your gushing cunt fill the room.
There was absolutely no way everyone out there wasn’t hearing what was happening. Even with his hand muffling you, you still were uncontrollably loud.
Wesker wasn’t trying very hard to silence himself either. With every deep stroke he grunted and groaned like a feral animal, unable to stop even for a moment. You were squeezing around his cock so well he couldn’t bare the thought of letting you escape his grasp.
He bullied into you like there was no tomorrow.
“You take dick like a fucking slut,” he groans. “It’s almost like you were waiting for this. You just needed to be roughed up by a man like me. Is that it?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. He was fucking the words straight out of you. You were only able to whine and cry into his masculine hand. Your mind went completely dumb with him.
“You don’t deserve this pleasure right now. You’re lucky you’re such a valuable asset to me.”
He pushes you to orgasm at his repetitive thrusts. You tremble and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through it.
You tighten in a way that makes his hips stutter. His jaw tightens, eyes strained shut as he reaches his own climax. He doesn’t bother to pull out, he didn’t have the time to care. Instead, he fills you, continuing to thrust in and out of you and stuff his cum deep inside.
You completely drain him and he collapses against your back.
The hard wood of the desk digs into your abdomen but you don’t have the conscience to feel anything but what’s going on between your legs. Wesker sighs heavily. He was completely disoriented but feeling a deep satisfaction.
The two of you lay body against body for a while, just catching your breath without saying anything before he speaks up. “I expect you’ll have that report by tomorrow morning?”
You weakly nod. “Yes, Captain. See you tomorrow at 8.”
mlist
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Hey I have a request if that is okay. Can you please write a Kaz brekker x reader fanfic where the reader has a childhood teddy they are attached to but one day Jesper accidentally throws it out not knowing about the attachment and the reader is like oh it’s okay and acts like it’s okay but they are not . One day the reader walks into their room and there is a teddy just like theirs on their bed with a anonymous note saying it’s not yours but hope it helps and the reader notices the hand writing and says thanks to Kaz and he’s like for what and they say for the teddy. Please
I think I can do that
Small Sentiments - Kaz Brekker
Content Warnings: Canon Complaint Tragic Barrel Backstory Implied. Material/Sentimental Loss. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.
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It is in moments like this you are reminded that Kaz Brekker, Bastard Of The Barrel, had not had the luxury of comfort. The child he was before he became the man he is, died and what was raised from the deep was someone else entirely, and Kaz instead was left with this strange awkwardness of someone who was never loved and as a result never learned to love and is poorly improvising as he goes.
These small acts of understanding are not something that comes naturally to him. But this was something that seemed easy in principle, seemed straight forward, something he could fix. Or at least he could try to fix.
Jesper hadn't meant anything by it, he hadn't even really thought about what he was doing. He was in a stressed state looking for something and in the process he had been clearing things out, when you'd come back to your room in the Slat you had noticed immediately that it was missing. You'd tried to be calm and casual about it, walking into the Crow Club and asking if anyone had any idea what had happened with a bunch of the stuff. Jesper had shrugged it off and explained that he did some cleaning, Inej's eyes had scanned him, wondering if he would notice his misstep, but he didn't. It is easy for Jesper to forget that what he gambled away he did so of his choice, and many of his companions lacked belongings for reasons beyond their control. Inej had barely anything to remind her of who she was before she was taken, and those things she holds very dear. You weren't an exception to that, you had little from before your life became something else to what it was supposed to be, just small things, innocuous and valueless trinkets of a time that no longer even truly felt like your life.
"Don't worry Inej," Jesper had said, "I didn't touch anything that was yours, I just threw out a bunch of things that I don't even know why they were there, some worthless knickknacks and broken things, we are Crows, not magpies."
You hadn't been sure how to ask, and some of your heart didn't want you to, knowing the answer was going to hurt. "You didn't see a teddy on your cleaning venture, did you?" You had asked, as blasé as you were capable of sounding.
"Not unless you're talking about the rag with eyes," Jesper said, waving a hand as he continued ranting about how he still hadn't found what he had been looking for. You'd felt Inej's eyes on you, you knew that she knew but you couldn't let Jesper know. He hadn't meant anything by it, he didn't realise what it meant to you, what it was to you. He couldn't have known that you put so much love and nostalgia into such a small bundle of worn and battered fabric with tiny glass eyes.
Inej said your name and you barely heard her, but you gave her a brave smile and brushed away all the concern you could feel on her. "It's okay," you had told her. It wasn't okay. "It doesn't matter." It did.
"Did I fuck up?" Jesper had asked, and that worried look, that one that screams 'lie to me, I don't care if it's a lie, please just lie to me' was on his face.
"Don't worry about it Jesper," you had told him, "really, it doesn't matter at all."
You didn't think Kaz would have noticed the difference, the sadness. You often think that despite Kaz's uncanny ability to know almost everything you don't want him to know, unless it has a payment at the end of it, he doesn't bother noticing. But he sometimes surprises you, not enough that you forget who he is, what he is, what he does and why people call him by the names they do. But he still can surprise you. You often find it hard to believe a man by the name of Dirtyhands knows the gentler option exists, the kind option. He didn't built his life around being soft or kind, he built himself brick by brick, by being ruthless and earning the title Demon Of The Barrel.
But when you come home and there on your bed is something you never thought you'd see, a small note in his handwriting, not signed but you'd recognise it anywhere: 'It's not yours, but I hope it helps.'
The teddy sat centre of your bed is so familiar, it looks exactly like yours once did, back when it was new, back before life happened to both it and to you in disproportionate measure for the years you've lived. It looked how you remembered it, in those memories from before all the bad. How it once was, blindingly undiminished.
You reach out and the fabric is so soft under your touch that you flinch from it, it's been years since you've laid hands on anything that didn't have sharper edges or rough patches. You don't let yourself wonder how he got it, you know he got it, he didn't have to put his name for you to know only he could have done this. Kaz writes his r's in a way that you could recognise in the dark. You've never seen anyone write them with such certainty that is hiding hesitation, one day you might ask, but it doesn't matter right now.
Kaz is watching over the games at The Club when you find him, he is leaning against the far wall, back flush against the stone, both hands holding the head of his cane as he scans the tables, observing like a Saint over his kingdom, but with nowhere near as good intentions, his eyes are searching out for the sinners, for the bad and the worst, to see what he can make of it.
"Thank you," you say as you sidle up to him, he noticed you the moment you entered, but he didn't give that away. If he gave away every time he noticed you, he would be showing his hand all the time, and that's something Kaz Brekker cannot afford to do.
"What for?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the tables. You aren't expecting some monumental shift in character as you give Kaz your thanks, you're not looking for acknowledgement or explanation, not reaching out to find a trace of extra sentiment in the The Bastard Of The Barrel. You just want him to know that you know, and that you're grateful. Because Kaz Brekker went out of his way, to do something that didn't overly benefit him, surely if questioned he would play out every rhyme and reason, every equation that added up to this being 'practical' more than thoughtful. But it would ring oddly false to your ears and you know it.
"The teddy," you say plainly, before moving to excuse yourself.
"You're welcome," is all he says in return, still not letting his eyes wander to you as you move towards the bar, to where Jesper is signalling you for a drink. He cannot show his hand after all, he won't, not even to you. But these small acts, gossamer in their attempts to hide the endearment that lies beneath them, are at least something that he can quietly do for you.
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bones-of-a-rabbit · 2 months
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the babbit masterpost
HELLO welcome to the Babbit's Blog masterpost!!! On this post you'll find some fun facts about yours allegedly (me <33), some ref's for my different 'sona's, and a couple links to my fics and whatnot! Are you ready? No?? Excellent neither am i let's do this
Meet the Babbits!: the self-inserts/personas
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the first ref is for my general/most commonly used persona, Babbit! They aren't really an anthro/furry as much as they are a humanoid with the head of a rabbit. I like to think of this one as the 'me' that's in my head- the purest form of my thoughts and feelings, but not the solid real-life me. The second ref is my self-insert persona, Rabbit, the one i picture using most often when i'm reading a fic or imagining a self-insert scenario lol. This one is like the me that people see and meet and speak to in real actual life, if that makes sense. It's the way I come across to people and all of the things I wish I could iron out of my crumpled up real-self <3 The third is a much more specific 'sona, Hazel, who started off as a FNaF:SB animatronic self-insert. She does have a backstory and lore now, which i think makes her more of an OC than a self-insert, but a lot of her is still me and a lot of what she experiences in her backstory is from my life/instills the same feelings that were taken away from things that happened to me, so I think she kinda counts enough to put a ref for her here sdkjfsdhfj (Why the different names?: makes things a little easier, and they hold meaning to me symbolically, I guess!)
Content!: Here's a short list of my various fics that will get updated as I create more! (it was, in reality, not fine.): FNaF Sun/Moon x Reader fanfic, gender neutral, for general audiences, fluff-fest, idiots to lovers "You're the new tech/repairman at the Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex, unfortunately. Your first task? To make the Daycare Attendant into two separate animatronics. It's an amazing opportunity, really, and there is nothing you love more than getting a chance to really work with such tech! The only bad part is that you don't know how to tell anyone that you just might be in over your head. (You are extremely in over your head.)" After Everything Was Fixed (but you were still broken): AU FNaF Sun/Moon x (Animatronic) Reader, gender neutral, read with caution, angst, harm to sentient robots, traumatized main character, hurt/comfort slow burn, romance slow burn "The virus was gone. Everyone was fixed. You had been put back together. It's a time for a new beginning, to do things right this time, to wash away the past and paint a better future. Their memories of the infection had- mercifully- been taken away from them. Yours had not. He doesn't understand why you try to avoid him. Even if you could tell him, you're not sure you would. You want to be his friend, but it's difficult; every time you see him, you remember the hundreds of times he killed you." A fic where you are a repairman-themed STAFFbot, taking place post-virus. In the past, Moon, infected by the virus, took delight in attacking and dismantling the reader during the night. Now, in the present, you find yourself burdened by the memories of the past while everyone around you has no recollection of the events. It gets more complicated as Sun and Moon, both now cleared of the virus, grow curious of you. This fic will follow a series of arcs, presently on arc one. For anyone curious, feel free to send an ask about the arcs in 'After Everything Was Fixed'! The Sun, the Moon, and the Blazing Comet (title subject to change): AU FNaF Sun/Moon/Eclipse x Reader, gender neutral, teen and up audiences, travel/journey, betrayal, hurt/comfort slowburn, reconciling, themes of breaking the mold, found family (TBA) Hold My Broken Hands (title subject to change): AU FNaF Sun/Moon x Reader, gender neutral, mature audiences, dark romance, dark comedy, severe bodily harm, mutilation, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, lovesick (TBA)
My AU's!: i'm going to make a Babbit-AUs-Masterpost and then put the link here i swear, i just have so many im sorry jdfhsjdfhs (like more than twenty)
Fandoms!: I enjoy, have been in, made or make content for: Pokemon Undertale FNaF Creepypasta (YEAH I KNOW LET ME LIVE OKAY) My Little Pony (I KNOW OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE) Steven Universe Star Trek Warrior Cats i'm sure theres more but i just forgot everything i have ever liked wheeeeeze
Whomst the hell?: HI I'm Rabbit! Or Bones! Or Babbit! Or Avarice/Ava, if you want to go for a more legitimate-sounding name. I'm 24 years old, prefer to use they/them pronouns, and so, so incredibly ace. I've been drawing as long as I've had the ability to hold a pen, writing since I was in grade school, and being a plague to the ones around me since the beginning of time! If you've seen my art, its probably from the absolute mountain of fluffy-wuffy love-dovey (y/n) x Sundrop/Moondrop/Eclipse doodles I've been sharing for several years now sdfjhsdj. If you've heard of my fics, it was probably the one I made just for fun that's now turned into an actual fanfiction that I enjoy writing, the silly-lovey-fluff incarnate (it was, in reality, not fine.) !
Likes n Dislikes!: I'm a sucker for sap, fluff, and lots and lots of love-dovey bullshit! I also like stories about finding oneself and monsters being befriended or loved. I like space, aliens, robots, the odd and strange, injecting humanity into things not human, monsters, creatures, animals, the fae, concepts of spirits and karma and the afterlife, and more! I dislike 'fanservice', most anime tbh LOL it's not personal I just don't enjoy it im srry, FLY BABIES i know they have an actual name but i hate that word too pls just dont i will scream, sexually aggressive/forceful content/characters, being made to feel small, dumb, or trapped,
Other!: I have a pretty high gross-out tolerance! I also have a pretty high 'wow that's messed up huh' tolerance, in that sometimes I will just say stuff that's super grim or dark or messed up and not realize it lmao. I am full of random facts and anecdotes, especially weird or gross ones! sometimes i get on tangents that can go for actual hours so pls forgive that lol
WARNINGS: THIS BLOG MAY FEATURE CONTENT BASED ON/RELATED TO THEMES OF GUILT, CHILDHOOD LOSS, GRIEF, SELF HATRED, DISCONNECTION FROM REALITY/SELF, TRAUMA, AND SEVERE DEPRESSION/ANXIETY. YES I AM GETTING HELP. YES I AM OKAY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND UNDERSTANDING.
bonus persona: crybaby
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ilongfor-the-arts · 10 months
Note
Could you do a fanfic where the marquis meets the reader in a museum and they bond over their live of art
Meet Me in the Hallway
Pairing: Vincent de Gramont x fem! Reader
Warnings: VERY mild language
Summary: *in req*
Word Count: 2.3k
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The Louvre has maintained a particular place in my heart for as long as I can remember. As a child, I recall visiting during tourist season. The other children darted around, driving their guardians to the brink of insanity. However, I stood in front of the immense paintings, carefully analyzing each aspect of the art. I remember visiting The Louvre as a teenager during the winter, when the immense corridors were barren. I'd find a place to sit and ponder, observing faces and objects in the quiet halls. I recall taking advantage of any occasion to talk about art with friends and family.
My friends were perplexed by my preoccupation. When I rambled on, they would nod and appear to be attentive. But I could always tell by the look on their faces that they were eager for my rant to end.
I've always been drawn to art's beauty. One bad stroke, one outburst of rage, and the finished result may be jeopardized. Art is more than just a painting or a sculpture; it is a way of life. You must be able to look beyond what the eye can see in order to produce art. You must be able to view the world in a completely unique way. You must look for a message behind the eyes rather than simply viewing things analytically. Painters paint, artists interpret.
That is what separates the good from the iconic.
I enjoyed the near silence as I wandered through The Louvre. Because it being January, the museum was nearly totally populated with a sprinkle of wandering locals. I took a tour around my favorite section, French paintings 1780-1850. The gold frames stood out against the dark burgundy walls.
The atmosphere was serene. As night fell, the hallway was illuminated exclusively by a few fluorescent lights. The sensation that washed over me was one of sheer nostalgia and amazement.
The dimness of room 700, when combined with the massive displays showcasing the complexity of the human mind, gave off an ominous vibe. There was everything and nothing at the same time.
Nothing else on the planet can make you feel this way.
I proceeded to one of the most well-known works of art in the entire museum.
Ah, one of my favorites, Liberty Leading the People. Eugene Delacoix created this work of art in the year 1830. Delacoix depicts a scene during the July Revolution of 1830, when King Charles X-
Woah.
My gaze was drawn to a man sitting on a beautiful white couch.
I tightened my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.
He was breathtakingly beautiful.
Was he a tourist?
No way, no how. No tourist would dress up in an expensive three-piece black suit to visit the Louvre. He's got to be a local.
He was staring at the enormous painting, his mind fixed in deep thought. Many locals stopped to look at the paintings, but he seemed to be examining every face and object.
Should I introduce myself? It would be the polite thing to do as I’ve been obviously staring at him for-
“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
My trance was broken by his velvety accent. I hid my gitters by slipping my hands into the pockets of my beige trenchcoat.
“I’m sorry,” I said smugly, “You caught my eye.”
He sneered, a slight smirk playing on the edges of his lips. He couldn't take his gaze away from the painting. I swallowed, unsure how to dispel the uneasiness. The man uncrossed his lanky legs and pushed himself up to his full height.
He's tall, Jesus.
He strolled over to the picture, decreasing the distance between himself and the work of art to a few feet. He cocked his head upwards, his gaze wandering over the magnificent painting's many intricacies. The man put his hand on his hip and pushed his jacket to the side, revealing an astonishing variety of golden buttons along his vest.
“What do you think of this one?”
He asked, motioning with his free hand towards the canvas. I followed his movements, taking in the painting I know and adore.
“It’s a beautiful piece of art.”
I said hesitantly. The man chuckled, turning his head to meet my gaze. Despite being only three feet away, I found myself completely engrossed in his captivating green eyes.
“That’s it? It’s beautiful?”
His smirk now more prevalent than before. I exhaled a shuddery breath.
“Well, it’s one of the most famous paintings in art history. I think it's wonderful how this artwork has become a universal emblem of liberty and freedom from oppressive dominance.”
The man raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“That’s excellent insight. It’s good to meet people with an appreciation for the finer things in life.”
He returned his gaze to the canvas, motioning with his fingers for me to come towards him.
“Come closer, look at this.”
I was hesitant to approach this intimidating man, but my curiosity was far too strong to ignore. So I narrowed the gap between us to a mere six inches. As I took up a place next to him, our sides nearly brushed against each other.
He raised his finger to the stunning representation of liberty.
Take note of her features, such as her straight nose, plump lips, and delicate chin. They all look like antique Greek and Roman statues. She pays homage to both Ancient Greece, the birthplace of democracy, and Roman republican culture.”
I narrowed my eyes, mentally applying his words to the painting.
“Here, look at this,” I began, pointing to the left side of the painting.
“See that guy with the pistol? He's wearing a shirt but no jacket. He belongs to the lower class. But look at the man next to him; he's wearing a top hat, jacket, and vest. He belongs to the upper class. Delacroix aimed to include all classes of people in the fight against royalist oppression.”
The man exhaled in amazement.
“How fascinating. Delacroix’s artistic vision is truly unmatched.”
“I agree. This piece is probably my favorite in the entire museum.”
The man shrugged nonchalantly.
“It is certainly impressive. But my favorite would have to be Venus de Milo.”
He shifted his head to face me, sweeping his gaze up and down my figure. I shuddered, his heated gaze making me feel like I was under scrutiny.
“However, I suppose that opinion could simply be mine because I enjoy the presence of a beautiful woman.”
Holy shit was he flirting with me?
Heat climbed onto my cheekbones. I hoped my flush wasn't too visible, as his gaze was still fixed on me. I chuckled awkwardly.
“I suppose that could certainly contribute to your fondness of the piece.”
He motioned towards the white couch.
“Here, sit, let’s talk.”
He sat closer than I had expected. Our thighs were almost touching, and the arm slung around the back of the couch was almost brushing my shoulders. Despite the color on my cheeks and my minor intimidation of the man's large stature, I felt strangely at ease. I was intrigued rather than nervous. He exuded mystery, and I had every intention of unraveling the web of secrets.
“Do you believe talent like this is given at birth, or developed as the individual grows?”
I licked my lips, carefully contemplating my next words.
“Well, I believe we are all born blank canvases, and if we find something we are exceptionally passionate about, then we can grow those specific talents.”
I swallowed, hoping he was satisfied with that reply.
“How about you?”
“Oh, I believe people with true artistic talent are born with promise. Because if we go by your logic, anyone who loves art has the potential to become the next Delacroix.”
Wow, he was certainly quite the intellectual.
“Well, allow me to elaborate. Anyone can become a mediocre artist if they try,” I began, “but yes, I agree with you, only a few are born with the promise of artistic greatness. I mean, someone like Coco Chanel could never become the next Van Gogh or Delacroix, it just isn't meant to be. That isn’t where her talents lie.”
The man's lips curved into a smile. I locked my attention on his lovely green eyes. We were closer than I had imagined. His breath was cascading across my face. I inhaled sharply. He smelt amazing, like an expensive floral fragrance. It crept into my head, confounding my already hazy thinking.
“I like you… Miss…”
“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”
His smile widened even more, splitting his face to reveal a stunning row of white teeth.
“What a gorgeous name... It’s fitting, a gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman.”
His accent was dripping with charm. There was no way in hell this man didn't have a significant other. He was far too enticing and attractive to be single.
“You know, plenty of people wander these halls, knowing every name of every piece. Yet they don’t contemplate the true meaning of the art.”
His eyes were drawn to Liberty Leading the People. The man’s tone became somewhat agitated as he ran his tongue along his smooth bottom lip, his eyes narrowing.
“They only think about the art, they don’t contemplate it.”
He inhaled deeply, his chest softly rising and sinking beneath the pricey cloth.
“Thinking is simple, thinking is the most simple thing in the entire universe for humankind. Anyone can think, but not everyone can contemplate.”
I concur. It was pleasant to meet a thinker who cared so deeply about the beauty of art.
“Who’s your favorite painter?”
My face broke into a genuine smile.
“Paul Cezanne.”
“And why is that, Miss. Y/N Y/L/N.”
I adored how he said my name. It rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like butter on a hot pan. I could spend the entire day sitting next to him on a couch at the Louvre, listening to him utter my name.
“Well, because his distinct color-building technique and his analytical approach to nature had a great impact on the art of Cubists, Fauves, and many generations of avant-garde artists.”
I've never encountered somebody who would listen to my raving with such enthusiasm. And there was no one who properly comprehended my words and had the knowledge to respond intelligently. Not only on the subject of art, but also on the issue of life.
“Ah!”
He exclaimed, shooting a finger towards me.
“There it is!”
His hand fell to his lap.
“You, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, do not just think, you were born with the gift of careful contemplation.”
I'd dated a few men previously, but none had ever made me feel as great as this mysterious man. And I'd only known him for about 30 minutes. My eyes lit up with wonder when I heard his voice, and I hung on to every word with excitement.
“You have a dizzying intellect.”
His velvety tone dropped to an endearing whisper. My stomach flipped.
“It is very rare I meet a woman with such beauty, not only in her appearance, but in her demeanor as well.”
His long fingers pushed a stray hair behind my ear. I nearly flinched before realizing the gesture was benign. I could still feel his contact on my cheek after he removed his fingertips. He set fire to every nerve he came into contact with.
“Will you grant me the opportunity to become your acquaintance?”
His eyes were filled with anticipation. There it was, the date I'd been looking forward to throughout the duration of this conversation.
“I would like that very much Mr…”
“Vincent de Gramont.”
I hummed in delight.
“That’s a handsome name. It’s fitting, a handsome name for a handsome man.”
I said, slightly mocking his previous remark.
Vincent chuckled.
“Oh, you are a comedian as well. I like you more and more as time goes on.”
Vincent waited for a beat of silence before rising to his full height. Being the one seated while he stood certainly flipped the script. I felt small under his demeanor as his presence was felt throughout the room. He was comfortable in his own skin, demanding control of the atmosphere like a conductor.
“My bodyguards will ensure that you have all the information necessary to find my estate.”
Bodyguards?!
He indicated to two men in gray suits who were standing with their backs against the nearest maroon wall.
Wow.
I surely hoped they wouldn’t be hanging around when I finally seized the opportunity to speak with Vincent in private.
“Wonderful.”
“My estate is beautiful if I do have to say so myself. You will enjoy it.”
I can only imagine how magnificent his house was if this was the suit he decided to wear for a chance visit to a museum.
“There is lots of space, plenty of rooms to explore and places to sit and talk for hours.”
I couldn't keep a smile from breaking my face. Who would have guessed that when I walked into the Louver today, I'd walk out with a lovely new date?
“That sounds like a dream come true. I can’t wait to see it.”
Vincent returned my grin.
“I can not wait for you to see it. You will melt.”
He extended his hand. I hesitated for a moment before realizing he wanted me to lay my palm in his. Vincent leaned down and kissed the top of my hand in an exceedingly trendy gesture.
Wow, very gentlemanly.
If my cheeks weren’t pink before, they surely were bright red now.
“Thank you for granting me the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance, I look forward to seeing you around my estate.”
After his departure, I remained seated on the couch. I was unable to move, wanting to preserve the moment for as long as possible
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sakuraryomen01 · 4 months
Text
Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Reader/ .10
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warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, smut/nsfw, hook ups, sexual fantasies and masturbation
reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.
plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..
words: 1.761k
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fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20
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a/n:: before u guys read i hope that y'all r doing well and that the beginning of this chapter isn't as traumatic as it seems (to me anyways lmao XD). my life is crazy, but i wanted to get this next chapter out asap!! i love u guys!!
. . .
Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!
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. . .
“A-Ahh, fuck.. Shit~“
Dirty and whiny moaning, harsh slaps of skin on skin. The bed rocking hard, creating dents into the headboard, knocking against the wall. Nails dug into the skin of Sukuna’s biceps, his groaning and panting masked by the girl beneath him. Her cries louder than his ever were, the lewd mewls elicited from her throat as he continued to ram his cock deep into her cunny.
“Dammit, haa..” Sukuna’s brows pressed tighter together, his eyes glazing over as his edge neared. “Fuckk..”
The lady blushed, her gazed foggy but her cheeks flushed as she reached up to grab a hold of Sukuna’s face. Her fingers grazed the edges of his jawline as she squeezed harshly around his aching cock. He was so close.
“S-Sukuna.. I’m gonna cum again,” Her sultry voice echoed through his foggy head. The distraction he wanted to keep creating for himself wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.
At this point, Sukuna didn’t know what to do anymore.
“Raise your damn ass, woman,” He said, his rough voice making the girl’s blush go from a slight heat to an almost feverish touch. Sukuna slipped himself from her heat– lifting her hips and flipped her onto her stomach– before slipping himself back into her warmth, beginning to feel his edge nearing, truly. “Fuck, ‘m close, girl.”
While Sukuna’s soft groans start to grow louder, even if only slightly, while the woman’s wails beneath him began to break. Her cries of pleasure and almost pain echoed with the bed’s creaking, only to be covered by the boom box downstairs and thirty other seniors and junior college students. The loud music, the booze, it was all a dangerous combo Sukuna had taken a liking to since attending this college. 
Since seeing you, and the moment he was forced to have you as a tutor.
He wasn’t so used to the common hustle and bustle, but seeing you among it. Seeing how well you were already molded into the society of the city, it disturbed him deeply. He didn’t understand, nor did he want to know why. All he knew was that it upset him, and he wanted to beat you at whatever this sad game was. This heart-to-heart shit wasn’t in the cards, neither was that “promise” he made. 
Sukuna was foolish when he was young, he didn’t want a broken heart. 
He didn’t have a broken heart.
“Call me sometime, hunny?” The drunk girl he had just destroyed giggled, slipping her pink and lacy thong over her plush thighs, a droopy smile on her face. “This was really, really fun.”
Sukuna, who was busy with his thoughts and belt, didn’t take a second glance. He just fixed his leather jacket up and grabbed his shoes, unlocking the door and leaving the room. “Not interested.”
While the woman was left frazzled and somewhat hurt, Sukuna fixed up his shirt and slipped on his shoes, glancing around the hallways before heading to the main living area. Grabbing another drink from the table, he chugged it down quickly despite the numb stink he got from the weird mixes. He crushed the plastic cup and turned away from all the grinding women and men that were swaying to the music that was playing outside, heading to the door as his mind began to fog up.
It was like an addiction, to remove all worry and annoyance from his mind.
Taking a second look around the party room, he pulled a small box from his back pocket and headed outside. Getting a lighter from his other pocket, he opened the small box, and lifted a cig from it. Bringing the stick to his lips, Sukuna lights the end of it as he climbs into his truck and starts the engine. While he said very few words on the way back to his dorm, he was lost in thought.
Thinking about the last month, seeing you near daily.
Seeing that skittish smile, and your nervous glances towards him. Even just recently, seeing you straight from the shower, it brought a small warmth to his cheeks. Although he’s seen tits before, it was shameful that he was wondering often what was hidden under that damned towel. What was covered that he didn’t want to think about after so long.
He had thought at first that you were truly the most annoying thing on the face of the planet, but a very small and dark part of him thought you had grown well. That your looks were down right gorgeous and adorable at the same time.
You looked so soft, but toned. Eyes pretty but they didn’t sparkle as bright as any attention whore he crossed paths with. You were perfectly imperfect to him.
Poetic.. Gross.
Once parked and out of the car, Sukuna walked from the parking lot to the male’s dormitory. His eyes found themselves looking towards the girl’s area, tracing each darkened or lit window they came across. Unable to spot which one probably belonged to you, he took a breath of the cold night air and a puff from his cancer stick. Wondering if your dorm was still as messy as it seemed last time. If it still smelled like cum and perfume. If your gaming system was all sorted like you used to keep your books in the Stix. 
The very thought of back then made him shiver and stiffen, pulling the now burned out end of the cigarette from his pinkish lips and pressing the lit end to a brick wall.
Tossing the bit over to the sidewalk, he stepped up to the building and headed to his dorn. Stepping passed the socks on knobs, the laughs of friends playing games in their rooms, the quiet murmurs and somewhat opened doors of people studying for their semi-finals and upcoming midterms. Sukuna passed them all to the third floor where his door sat at the very end of a quiet hallway, the silence almost too loud as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. 
Taking one step inside and feeling a sense of slight dread. A sense that something inside him wanted to stir.
Whatever it was, he was going to have to do it by hand.
Closing the door, he went to shower before going to make a breakfast burrito that he had saved from that morning. There wasn’t much on TV other than some news that didn’t interest him, so he got finished with his dinner and ended up watching some of the cartoons that he, you, and Gojo had watched prior. 
It didn’t matter if it made him kinda smile at the thought of you sitting on the floor with a blanket wrapped around your waist and thighs. It didn’t upset him to think about how cute you had grown up to be, that your features weren’t as bad as he wished they could. It was hard that he had to ignore this shitty clench of his chest and the throb in his pants.
Not a day in his life did Sukuna ever feel anything but rage or anger, but today, it was a feeling he despised. That he never wanted to feel again since his childhood, it was a stupid feeling he had squashed the second he left the Stix.
“..Fuck me,” He muttered to himself, letting his head rest back on the head of the couch. Pulling a blanket over his lap as Sukuna’s hand found its way underneath the cloth and rubbed at his crotch.
With very little effort, he could tell that he was rock hard. And even littler effort to free himself and start pumping his shaft, feeling all the pre that had collected in his pants. Sukuna lets out a groan, pressing his brows together as his mind wanders back to when he had walked in on you.
In my own room, you weirdo. At least you could’ve hung up a sock or some shit.
The cartoons continued to play, although the childish music and jokes on the screen didn’t make it to Sukuna’s ears. All he could think about was his new release, and about that damned towel. Wondering what would’ve happened if he had just snatched that rag and saw what was underneath for himself. Sukuna’s eyes lidded and his breath became ragged, thinking about what your tits felt like against his chest, wanting to grind his girth between them.
“Shit.. fuckk..”
The image of your small hips in his hands, letting him glide them over the fat or your ass until you yelped. Sukuna had wondered plenty about what your lips felt like against his, if you were a good or bad kisser. Whatever you were, he was willing to teach you. 
Returning the favor right?
Imagining the feeling of your lips between his teeth as he tugged and nibbled, wanting to watch them slightly swell from the kisses and breathless moans.
Sukuna felt his tummy and thighs clench, wanting to savor his orgasm. His hand went faster, the sounds of his fist pumping and shaking as pre slipped through his fingers became louder. Completely drowning out the sounds of the TV, Sukuna’s face scrunched up and he grabbed at the blanket.
His imagination brought him to his bed, your body under his. Your face flushed red, hands against his chest as if to attempt to push him away.
“Ryo.. It's embarrassing!”
Sukuna smirked as his fist squeezed his shaft, groaning under the intense pleasure. Wondering what your whimpers and moans sounded like, if your pussy was tight enough to make him finish early.
The thought of what lay between your thighs sent a jolt up Sukuna's spine, a sudden urge to cum overcame him.
He pulled the blanket from over his cock and glanced down at his naughty member. Seeing it become an angry looking red, it made him upset. How could you of all people make him so hard?
Why was it you? Your soft looking lips, your huggable waist and chest? Why of everyone he's fucked, everyone he's come across it was you that toppled over all?
Whatever his mind wanted, he wished he didn't.
As he released all over his pants, even kicking at his coffee table from the powerful climax, Sukuna's heart wasn't fulfilled.
He could feel a ping of guilt in his chest.
He really, really shouldn't have done that.
Worst part about it all was that he was going to be seeing you in class again, after the third time he played with his cock to thoughts of you.
“..Really.. Fuck my life.”
. . .
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a/n: finally got the chapter out guys!! I'll be quick on here since there's little to say but I hope y'all r doing good!!><
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Good Omens S2E6 - Aziraphale's perspective
Taken from my fanfic 'Don't Fall Away From Me', on AO3 (link below). Apologies for any broken hearts in advance, but I hope it fixes some too. Most of the dialogue is taken from GOS2E6 but everything else is all me.
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Artist credit: @mistysblueboxstuff
Aziraphale
Forty-one days earlier.
"Go on. The day can't get any weirder."
Aziraphale swallowed, turning to exit the bookshop, coffee in hand. The last thing he wanted right now was to leave Crowley's side and the sanctity of their little world - he knew that the significance of what they had just witnessed between Gabriel and Beelzebub would not be lost on the demon, and he desperately wanted to talk about it with him. When Aziraphale had intuitively reached for him, he was sure he had seen Crowley give a small nod, as if to say, "I know, angel."
The thought that he might finally give a voice to what they had been dancing around for years made him feel as though he was in a freefall - Aziraphale took a long swig from the sweet almond coffee to try and ground himself and glanced back at the Metatron.
"Sit, sit, dear boy," said Metatron, gesturing to a small table and chairs.
Aziraphale sat, hands fluttering anxiously. He put them back on the coffee to stop himself and took another sip.
"Now, I shall get right to the point. It seems we are down an Archangel." The Metatron smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do you have any thoughts on who might be best suited to replace them?"
Aziraphale paused. Why was the Metatron asking him for advice? "Well... Michael?"
"Oh, don't be silly! No, no, no, no, no. There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense."
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"And that's you."
Aziraphale blinked. Had he heard that correctly? "Me?"
"Well, yes. You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine."
Aziraphale's mouth dropped open in astonishment, struggling for words. He had always believed that those qualities had contributed to his exile from Heaven, and yet the Metatron was telling him that these were reasons he should be... promoted? In charge? Surely there was no way that this offer could be genuine.
The Metatron continued, before Aziraphale had a chance to pick that thread apart. "There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them."
Aziraphale paused. In a flash, he remembered what Crowley had said four years previously about The Big One. Us against humanity. Left in the hands of Michael, or Uriel, or any of those bad angels, he could only begin to imagine what would befall Earth. Humanity wouldn't stand a chance. The angels didn't understand anything about what it truly meant to be human... or even what it meant to be good.
"You are just the angel for the job." The Metatron smiled, and in spite of himself, Aziraphale thought that he was probably right about that.
But no... he couldn't leave Earth. His bookshop. Crowley. This peaceful, fragile existence. "But I... I don't want to go back to Heaven. W-where would I get my coffee?"
The Metatron's eyes grew steelier and Aziraphale realised that he understood that this wasn't about coffee. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. How much did he know?
"You know..." Metatron phrased the words very carefully, "as Supreme Archangel, you would be able to decide who to work with. I've been looking back over a number of your previous exploits..." Aziraphale swallowed nervously, "and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon, Crowley."
The name hung in the air between them. Aziraphale glanced away. Apparently he knew quite a lot.
"Now, if you wanted to work with him again, that... might be considered irregular, but it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend Crowley to full angelic status."
The impact of the statement took a while to register. Aziraphale blinked. In his mind's eye, he flashed back to the first time he had ever interacted with the angel-that-had-been-Crowley. It was at the creation of the universe, and he recalled with a pang the joy on his face, the sheer exuberance and excitement that had left a lasting impression on the more junior angel. Crowley as an angel had been magical, magnificent to behold. And Aziraphale knew better than anyone that Crowley had never deserved to Fall. Crowley had no memories of his time spent as an angel, but Aziraphale remembered. He remembered it all.
He was so lost in thought that he missed the triumphant glint in the Metatron's eyes.
"I... well, I don't quite know what to say," began Aziraphale, but Metatron held up a finger to halt him.
"It's just an option. One of many powers you will have as Supreme Archangel. A word to the wise, though..." Metatron leaned in conspiratorially. "There has been some talk that this partnership is all simply a part of Hell's... how shall we put it... long game."
Aziraphale was lost. "What do you mean?"
"Well there is a rumour that Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven..." Metatron paused, choosing his phrasing with care. "I personally didn't believe it myself until the utter disaster with Gabriel. Quite a shock, I can tell you. I never thought Gabriel would be vulnerable to demonic influences, but I suppose you never can tell..."
Aziraphale inhaled sharply. "I can assure you -" he began, but the Metatron interrupted.
"Oh, my dear boy, I am certain that you would never fall prey to a demon's wiles. You are far too intelligent for that." The Metatron looked Aziraphale coolly in the eyes, but there was a question there. A question Aziraphale didn't want to examine too closely. He looked down at the coffee in his hands, and recalled the night he and Crowley had spent in Job's basement.
Are you... trying to tempt me?
Not at all, angels can't be tempted, can you?
The taste of those ox ribs. The way once he'd tasted it, he'd realised he was so hungry, not just hungry, but ravenous. Starved.
Aziraphale pushed the thought away, but as soon as he pushed it away, another thought barrelled in to take its place. The first time Crowley had convinced him to try wine, promising him that a drop wouldn't hurt. The first gift he had ever been given, a book, his first material Earthly possession, gifted to him by Crowley. The way Crowley had convinced him that there was no point in doing Good if they were always cancelling each other out. The way Aziraphale had done so many small, little, bad things because Crowley had assured him it didn't matter. Each memory was like a gut punch.
But no.
No.
He knew Crowley. Yes, he was a demon, but he wasn't bad. At least, not all bad.
"I believe you are quite wrong," stated Aziraphale boldly, sitting up straight. "The demon Crowley has, over the many years we have spent... I mean, over the time we have known one another, done many kind and Good things. He is better than half the angels I know! Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, they don't have half his compassion, his honesty, his bravery. I believe God was mistaken in..." Aziraphale's brave defence faltered as Metatron's eyebrows raised. "I mean, I think sometimes people deserve a second chance."
Metatron nodded. "Perhaps it is as you say." He stood, and Aziraphale followed suit.
Aziraphale glanced back at the bookshop. All he wanted now was to get back to Crowley. He knew that talking with him would alleviate these fears. Crowley might not want to go to Heaven, but surely he would see that it was the safest place for them to be? Especially if their fears about The Big One were correct? In spite of everything Crowley felt about Heaven, he was certain that Crowley would see it was the only way they could save the world they had both come to cherish. And perhaps he'd see a glimmer of that happy angel he'd known so long ago... before Aziraphale had put thoughts into his head, thoughts that had ultimately led to...
Aziraphale shook the thoughts away.
"Uh, thank you for this... chat... I really had better get back to the bookshop," Aziraphale said delicately.
"Well, you don't have to answer immediately," said the Metatron, "Take all the time you need."
His expression, however, demanded urgency.
"I... I don't know what to say," Aziraphale faltered. He needed Crowley. He couldn't make this decision without him.
"Well then, go and tell your friend the good news," said the Metatron measuredly. Good news.
Would Crowley see it that way?
Aziraphale very much doubted it. As he crossed the street, he resolved that he was going to hard-sell Heaven to Crowley no matter what. Above everything else, he wanted Crowley to be safe. He wanted humanity to be safe. And the only way that was going to happen is if he had a voice. He exhaled, steeling himself for what he knew was going to be a very difficult pitch.
The bell tinkled as he entered, and he saw Maggie and Nina walking toward the exit. "We're just going," smiled Maggie. "I'm sure you two have a lot to say," Nina added, and they exited.
Aziraphale took another deep breath as his eyes fell on Crowley. Crowley was sat in his usual chair, leaning forward with his dark glasses on, his mouth hanging open as if in surprise. He thought, with a sudden rush of feelings, how accustomed he had become to seeing the demon here, and how comfortable Crowley had made himself here. These days he almost always took his glasses off around the shop, a level of vulnerability Crowley had only recently managed in the last year or so.
Crowley, noticing Aziraphale, suddenly stood, removing his glasses. Aziraphale felt his resolve soften as he looked into the demon's wide yellow eyes with their trademark snakelike slits. Yellow really was the most beautiful colour. He was so busy staring that he didn't even realise Crowley had begun to speak.
"Look, I suppose, um... I've got something to say. I know we ought to be talking about... uh, it's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so -"
Aziraphale barely heard a word of what the demon was saying. This wasn't uncommon when Crowley was around, Aziraphale did have a tendency to get a little distracted - but this time it was because he was desperately trying to think of the right arrangement of words that would help Crowley adjust to what he was about to hear.
"What's that lovely human expression?" interjected Aziraphale, flailing his arms wildly. He was feeling giddy. "Oh yes, hold that thought!" He pasted on a wide grin. Sell it, sell it, he told himself. "You see, I have some incredibly good news to give you!"
Crowley didn't look particularly pleased so far. "Really?"
"I, um... so, uh, um..." Aziraphale's arms were still doing most of the talking for him whilst he frantically tried to explain. "The Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad a fellow... Well, I think I might have misjudged him. You see, I... Well, he said, um..." Aziraphale noticed Crowley's expression darken with mistrust. Oops. Go bigger. "He said that Gabriel, obviously hadn't worked out..." Aziraphale laughed nervously, "as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone. And I said Michael, to which he laughed, and said there was only one candidate who made the slightest bit of sense. Me."
Crowley's face was frozen. It was hard to assess how he was taking this. "And I said, 'me?' And he said that I was a leader, honest, I didn't tell people what they wanted to hear and that they needed me. Of course I was surprised - I mean, obviously - and of course I said I didn't want to go, because... well... but then..." Aziraphale paused and took a step closer to Crowley, his entire face lighting up. "He said that if I was Archangel, I could restore you to be an angel. Full angelic status."
A beat. "He said what?"
"He said I could appoint you to be an angel." Aziraphale couldn't help beaming. Crowley deserved to be restored, deserved it more than anyone, in spite of everything Metatron had said, he knew that Crowley should never have Fallen. "You could come back to Heaven and... and everything. Like the old times. Only even nicer."
Aziraphale's smile lit up the room as Crowley held his gaze. "Right. And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"
Aziraphale's smile faltered. What had gone wrong? "Not at all..."
Crowley shook his head slowly. "Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, angel! You don't need them, I certainly don't need them!" Crowley began pacing, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no, I'm not rejoining their team, neither should you!" His yellow eyes met Aziraphale's again and they were awash with confusion.
Aziraphale fumbled. "But.. well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys." He saw Crowley's face change. Whoops. He should have said THEY are the bad guys. Crowley was anything but bad, and that was precisely the point he was trying to make. "But Heaven... Well, it's the side of Truth, of Light... of Good." And that's why you belong there.
"When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it," growled Crowley.
Aziraphale was flustered now - this hadn't gone how he thought it would, at all.
"Tell me you said no," Crowley begged. Aziraphale looked away, avoiding the way Crowley's body broke a little as he stepped forward into the silence. His voice when it came out was devoid of all his usual venom. It was almost soft, pleading. "Tell me you said no."
"If... I'm in charge, I can make a difference," Aziraphale said. It sounded so lame and contrite given the weight of the conversation, but he really meant it. The angel had endured so much loss that he had been unable to control, so many of God's choices he had been unable to question or challenge. How many times had he had to sit back and endure human tragedies at the hand of God, wrestling with himself to try and believe that it was for the Greater Good but never understanding why. This was his opportunity to finally understand God's will - and perhaps even try to alter it.
Crowley sighed deeply and began pacing again. "Oh... Oh, God." He gulped. "Right, okay. Right. I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I'd better say it now. Right. Okay. Yes. So." Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale noticed that the demon was almost imperceptibly shaking.
The energy in the room shifted instantly. Aziraphale instantly knew that whatever Crowley was about to say was going to change things. Permanently.
"We've known each other a long time."
This was it.
"We've been on this planet a long time. I mean, you and me."
He wasn't ready.
"I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me."
How long had he waited to hear these words? Words he was sure would never come. Crowley never spoke like this, not ever. Aziraphale's eyes flicked to the street where he could see the Metatron standing by Muriel and he shifted uneasily.
"We're a team. A group. A group of the two of us."
Aziraphale's blue eyes widened. This was really happening.
"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't." Crowley's voice cracked.
Aziraphale's mouth struggled to find words, but no sound came out. Crowley hadn't looked away from him once, but broke their gaze now.
"I mean, the last few years, not really." Crowley looked around the bookshop and Aziraphale knew that they were both thinking of the last four years they had spent together on Earth. No longer having to pretend to be on opposite sides. No longer having to deny their affection for one another. It had still been unspoken, but it had been allowed. They had allowed a life to grow, here.
"And I would like to spend -" Crowley began, but as his eyes met the angel's, he choked on the words. He looked away again, growled, exhaled, then regained his composure, whilst Aziraphale stared at the demon as though he were a freight train coming straight at him. Was Crowley really trying to say what he thought he was trying to say?
"I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can." Crowley's voice was desperate, pleading. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley like this before.
It scared him.
Crowley was always the strong one, always the brave one, always coming to his rescue. Despite knowing the demon had a softer side, Aziraphale had come to rely on the demon's hard exterior. You always knew where you stood. Except now, he really didn't.
"Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic! We need to get away from them, just be an us."
An us.
In all honesty, they had been an us for quite some time now, and they both knew it. It was just one of those things they didn't say. Except all of a sudden Crowley had changed the rules and Aziraphale didn't know what his part was in this new dynamic. He felt lost. All he knew, all he had ever known, and all he had ever tried to do, was the Right Thing.
"You and me, what do you say?" finished Crowley, his eyes wide. Pleading. Hoping.
An eternity seemed to pass as Aziraphale stared into Crowley's open, hopeful face. He reminded him then of the angel he had been. It reminded Aziraphale again of what they had both lost, and what stood to be lost now. And even though Aziraphale had dreamed of this moment many times, in many ways, over many years - and in no version of his imaginings had he ever rejected the demon's affections - he knew that he could never place his own selfish wants over what was right. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.
"Come with me," he implored, stepping closer to Crowley, his blue eyes begging the demon to see reason. "To Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference."
Crowley looked stunned. "You can't leave this bookshop."
Aziraphale almost laughed. How could Crowley be thinking about the bookshop at a time like this? Humanity was at stake, for crying out loud! If they remained here on Earth and let Heaven and Hell wage their wars, there wouldn't be much of anything left, let alone a bookshop. The existence Crowley wanted wouldn't even be possible.
"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "Nothing lasts forever."
Crowley's entire demeanour changed. He wilted, and with horror Aziraphale saw tears glisten in his beautiful yellow eyes. Crowley's face, that had moments ago been so expressive and open, turned to its usual impassive state. "No," said Crowley quietly, blinking and looking away. "No, I don't suppose it does." He put his dark glasses on, and Aziraphale realised that Crowley had read something into his words that he hadn't meant. "Good luck," he said flatly, and walked past Aziraphale to the exit.
Aziraphale felt the world drop out from beneath his feet. "Good luck? Crowley!"
He watched his demon pause, momentarily, then turn around. He knew he had to say something to convince Crowley to stay. He knew trying to convince Crowley it would be a good idea to go to Heaven would be tricky, but he knew that Crowley was at heart a GOOD person. He had to appeal to that.
"Crowley, come back! To Heaven! Work with me!" He saw Crowley's deadpan face and realised, with some shame, that he hadn't truly responded to any of the wonderful things Crowley had tried to say to him. Crowley had dropped his defences and tried to redefine their relationship and Aziraphale found himself unexpectedly unable to reciprocate. The words just wouldn't come. He gulped, now, examining his own feelings.
Did he care for Crowley?
Yes.
Did he love Crowley?
Yes.
Did he want to spend his existence with Crowley?
Yes.
But did he feel deep shame and guilt for loving him, a demon?
Also, yes.
Aziraphale tried. "We can be together!" he clasped his hands together, as if trying to press together what he wanted and what was right. "Angels! Doing good!"
Crowley wouldn't even look at him.
The feeling of the Earth falling away came back to him. He was really about to lose Crowley. "I - I need you!"
Crowley looked at him then. They were both remembering the many times they had protested quite the opposite over the years. Crowley looked unimpressed.
Aziraphale felt his whole body burn with frustration - he was offering Crowley a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. Fallen angels never came back to Heaven, not ever. And he knew Crowley deserved to be there. He wanted to undo the mistake he had made all those millennia ago, the guilty truth he had never forgiven himself for. He swallowed back a lump in his throat as he recalled the last moments before Crowley fell, how the angel had sought out Aziraphale's face in the crowds, his eyes wide and wild, hopeful and scared - and how Aziraphale had looked away. This was his chance to put Crowley back where he belonged. "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."
"I understand," said Crowley flatly. "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."
And that was the moment Aziraphale knew he'd lost him.
The world fell away, for good. Somehow he stayed standing. "Well... then there's nothing more to say."
Crowley was only two feet away but it felt like miles. And soon the distance would be a lot further.
"Listen," said Crowley, pointing up. "Do you hear that?"
Aziraphale barely heard him over the sound of his own panicked thoughts. "I... I don't hear anything," he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.
"That's the point," said Crowley, his words dripping with emotion. "No nightingales."
At the mention of nightingales, something hardened in Aziraphale. More unspoken understandings between them. The song 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square' had been playing on the night their life together began, the night they were freed from the confines of pretending they were on opposite sides. Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but Aziraphale knew it was a song that signified their relationship, their partnership, their freedom. No more nightingales meant no more them. Crowley was saying, in his own way, in the cruellest way, that they were over.
He saw something like satisfaction in Crowley's face as he realised the hit had landed. "You idiot," continued Crowley, frustration etched on every line of his face. "We could've been... us."
Aziraphale was the one to turn away now, hiding tears that had betrayed his resolve. Did Crowley think he didn't know what he was giving up? All he had ever wanted... but not at the cost of life on Earth. He couldn't bear to watch his demon leave, to walk away forever, if he looked at him a moment longer he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it.
He heard footsteps, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see Crowley leaving - but instead felt a rough tug at his lapels, and before he knew it, he felt Crowley's lips on his. The shock reverberated through his entire body and his instinctive reaction was to pull away, no, I can't, I can't he thought desperately... but the warmth of Crowley's lips, the feeling of his body so close, the fact that it had taken six thousand years to finally close the gap between them, it was impossible to resist. It felt so good, to finally be... us. Despite himself, Aziraphale's hands stopped fluttering, and he pulled Crowley closer, giving in to the temptation.
The temptation.
Aziraphale's hands flew off the demon.
Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven...
Crowley let go of Aziraphale and Aziraphale gasped, overcome with a torrent of emotions. He hadn't known he'd wanted this until the feel of Crowley's lips pressing into his. It had taken a moment but the craving it had awoken in him raged through his body, a betrayal against all that he tried so hard to be. It felt exactly like that night in Job's basement, all those years ago... He wanted Crowley. His entire being ached to close the space between them again. He wanted so badly to forget all about the Metatron, Heaven, Hell, everything, and just throw himself back into Crowley's arms. But he'd been tempted, hadn't he? The serpent did what he does best, what he does so well, so slyly, what he's done for thousands of years... Aziraphale felt something inside him break, deeply, as he realised that, regardless of whether or not Hell was behind it, he had been tempted, and failed to pass the test yet again.
Aziraphale felt a cold, righteous anger sweep over him.
Crowley was staring at him expectantly. What did he expect? A declaration of love after having completely manipulated the angel's feelings?
I won't let you have the satisfaction of knowing how much you tempted me. How much you hurt me.
"I... I forgive you," Aziraphale said unsteadily, clenching his jaw in resolve. He regretted it the moment he said it.
Crowley sighed, a deep sigh. "Don't bother."
With that, the demon turned and finally left the bookshop.
Crumbling, Aziraphale let the tears come. He lifted his fingers to his lips, allowing himself for just a moment to remember what it felt like. He had never been kissed before, he had always thought it a peculiar human oddity, to press their faces together to show affection - he had not expected it to feel warm, to feel intimate, to feel like they were communicating in ways that could never be put into words. It was... magical.
But then he remembered who he was. Or at least, who he was supposed to be. Not an angel in love with a demon. An angel who did The Right Thing. An angel like that does not get tempted away from doing The Right Thing. If he was going to be Supreme Archangel, he had to be THAT version of himself.
He wiped the kiss away from his lips with vehemence. He would not allow himself to think about it, or Crowley, anymore.
Because if I did, I would run back to you...
As Aziraphale struggled to regain control of his emotions, the bell tinkled, and for a moment, one glorious moment, Aziraphale thought it was Crowley coming back to straighten everything out. Turning, he felt his hope fade as he saw the Metatron striding in. Quickly turning away to wipe the tears that threatened to fall and betray his emotion, he gave himself a quick talking to. This was no time for weakness.
"Well? How did he take it?"
Aziraphale said, truthfully, "Uh... not well." He chuckled nervously. He didn't want the Metatron to interfere with Crowley. He knew he needed to be careful about what he said.
"Ah, well, always did want to go his own way," said the Metatron dismissively.
Aziraphale stole a glance outside the bookshop and saw Crowley standing by the Bentley.
"Always asking damn fool questions, too," said the Metatron. Aziraphale recognised that this comment was a disguised warning to himself - don't ask questions. "Right, ready to start?"
Aziraphale felt his heart lurch. Hadn't the Metatron said he had plenty of time to decide? "I..." He glanced once again at the tall, dark figure standing outside. Crowley was stood completely still, watching Aziraphale from the street. Waiting? "My bookshop!" stammered Aziraphale desperately, trying to think of a way to give himself a little more time.
"Ye-es, well, for now, I've entrusted it to Muriel," said the Metatron matter-of-factly, indicating the young angel who waved exuberantly from the window. "So it should be in good hands."
"But..." Aziraphale stared out at the street. At him.
"Anything you need to take with you?" asked the Metatron.
Him, thought Aziraphale. Just him.
The Metatron's energy was cold, and forceful. Aziraphale could feel it coming off him in waves. He knew, somehow, that he had been backed into a corner. "No... nothing I can think of."
The Metatron made an affirmative noise and made to move towards the door, and it all suddenly hit Aziraphale - if he went with the Metatron now, it would really be over. No more cosy bookshop, no more books. No more sushi, no more sherry. No more music, no more plays. No more nightingales. A flash of what returning to Heaven would actually mean suddenly cut through Aziraphale and he understood, finally, what Crowley had been trying to tell him. There would be no going back.
Overcome, he rushed forward. "I think I -" he burst out, but stopped himself.
For once in your soft, silly life, do the Right Thing, angel! Aziraphale told himself sternly. This is about more than you and... him. He took one last look at Crowley. Leaning against the car on the street outside, the demon hadn't moved an inch, his dark-shaded eyes fixated on the inside of the bookshop.
"Nothing at all," said Aziraphale, straightening himself up and exiting the shop, plastering a fake smile on his face.
The street was busy, and Aziraphale could feel a pair of snakelike eyes burning into the back of his head but he wasn't going to look. If he looked, he'd run...
As they approached the entrance to the elevator that would take him to his new job, Metatron smiled at Aziraphale in a way that was intended to be reassuring but sent chills down Aziraphale's spine. "Well, I can't think of a better Angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the Great Plan."
Aziraphale started. This was why he'd taken the job. This is why he'd forsaken everything he'd ever wanted. "Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know... what it is?"
"Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth."
Aziraphale felt himself relax somewhat. Perhaps he had been mistaken and Heaven really was beginning to consider the merits of humanity. He began to smile.
The Metatron turned as the elevator doors opened. "We call it the second coming."
Aziraphale's face dropped its smile, now stricken with panic and fear. The second coming wasn't a fluffy visit from Jesus as most people believed... the second coming meant Judgement Day, when all of humanity would be judged and those found wanting would be thrown into Hellfire. The world, as they knew it, would be over.
The Metatron turned and looked at Aziraphale with steely eyes. Aziraphale felt as though the being could see into his innermost thoughts and tried to rearrange his expression. He looked away... to his left, the tall, dark figure of Crowley still leaned against the car. Definitely waiting. Aziraphale realised Crowley was holding on to the hope that at the last moment, Aziraphale would change his mind and choose their life on Earth.
But what will that be worth if we end up with no Earth left to live on, my dear?
It took every bit of strength Aziraphale had ever had to tear his eyes, his heart, his everything, away from the life he could have had and walk into that elevator. He sighed, inwardly letting go of it all. As he entered, it almost felt as though every step was being taken by someone else, and the smile on his face was a ghost of himself. He was so focused on appearing normal that he didn't notice the Metatron's sigh of relief and smile of victory as the doors slid closed.
"Going up," said the disembodied voice, and they began to move up towards Heaven. Every second that passed, Aziraphale felt his anxiety rise.
The second coming.
The second coming.
Judgement Day.
What had he done? How on Earth could he possibly circumnavigate this? And on his own? Without...
With another pang, Aziraphale realised that Crowley would be Judged just like everybody else. He knew in his heart that Crowley wasn't completely bad, but he had always been under the impression that Judgement Day was very black-and-white when it came to who was deemed righteous and who was not. He could lose him. He could lose everyone - and this time, it would be all his fault. No chance to shrug and complain that someone else had the power this time.
What could he do? What could he actually do?
As the elevator continued to take them higher and higher, Aziraphale racked his brains, and Crowley's words suddenly sprang into his mind. "Just to be able to ask the questions..."
Slowly, a plan began to form in his mind.
A plan that would begin... with a suggestion box.
Aziraphale smiled.
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