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rhosmeinir · 4 months

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Crowley is alone. His feet and mind take him to unexpected places.

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Fic drop! STARGAZING is a Crowley-centric oneshot written for the @goodomensafterdark Angst War, on the prompt: "Crowley considers how you can still see stars from Earth thousands of years after they’ve burned out, and compares it to how he’s still walking around while he’s got nothing left to live for."

With thanks to the writers of GOAD and @sohoscribblers for beta work (see AO3 for details)!

#good omens #gomens #angst #goad angst war #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #crowley #fanfiction #fanfic

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daneecastle · 5 months

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Angst War Final Submission - Collection

So, here is the final part of the comic that I technically made for the angst war. This is done.

After this point starts the actual comic that will continue into my personal Good Omens AU. It’s called:

Reversed Veil of Worlds (I will add the links to the next pages shortly.)

I plan on making one more angst war submission in collaboration with @kotias …. Be afraid.

@goodomensafterdark @vavoom-sorted-art @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @lauramoon1987

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #michael sheen #neil gaiman #david tennant #good omens fanart #comic #good omens angst #goad #good omens comic #good omens after dark angst war

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goodomensafterdark · 5 months

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Currently, in the Angst War...

@gleafer has 32 (!) pages of vengeful Azi wrecking shop in Hell.

@vavoom-sorted-art has Crowley trying to talk a murderous Azi with a holy water gun down. Hopefully some wing care is in the works..

@daneecastle took a hard right turn into saucy with a thankfully alive (and bound) man bun Crowley; Azi has killed two angels and we're cool with that.

@gahellhimself-blog has Crowley being dragged from God via chains and daggers to the back. No murderous Azi (yet?)

#good omens after dark #angst war #goad #artists on tumblr

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hakunahistata · 5 months

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The End of All Things

An entry for the incredibly fun angst war happening on the @goodomensafterdark subreddit

The ground moved under them, asphalt splintered down the line of the street, cracked earth creating branches off its deepest, gaping wound, creeping up homes and tearing them in twos and threes. The church, St. John’s, split down the middle, its spire crumbling down into the earth and fire below in an ironic twist of fate—toppled by Heaven and eaten by Hell.

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s elbow and tried to keep them steady as the ground shook and gasped around them.

“We need to get out of here, Crowley. Somewhere safe.”

Crowley laughed mirthlessly, watching as the last few remaining families piled into their cars and sped off, still bothering to shut and lock their doors, never stopping, never still. He admired that, even now, there were still some tendrils of hope. He sent off a final miracle towards the back of a blue hatchback with the last reserves of his energy, securing those inside with a safe journey to their destination, wherever that may be.

It left his fingertips and the last of his power was officially and entirely drained, leaving him bereft, the two of them literally out of their finite miracles since being cut off from their respective sides. It was a worthy cause though, for there was no miracle, not now, grand enough to keep the Earth from collapsing into itself. What was he now, a demon without any infernal manifestations? What did that make him?

He turned to face Aziraphale—steadfast, bullish Aziraphale with dirt on his cheeks, bowtie askew but still clinging on. Crowley smiled softly and, feeling brave and almost human, took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

“We can’t leave,” he said quietly, voice tight and choking around the words. “Aziraphale,” his voice broke. “We can’t leave them.”

The world they fell in love with, the world that had become their home. While Crowley didn’t exactly remember it, he knew he’d been there when the Earth was first built out of spacestuff and stardust, that he’d watched her, freshly born, take her first spin. He’d been in the Garden, a slithering, slinking thing, to meet the first humans, whisper in their ear, and watch them take their first bite. He had been the thing to feed them first. Little bites now, don’t choke.

It had been here where Crowley had slithered up on cold stone and took form to stand beside an angel, the same angel whose hand was currently clutched in his. Hands that had once held a flaming sword—given away to two humans for protection—those hands now held Crowley’s, trading one flame for another.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s ruinous eyes filled with understanding, shining and weighted with tears. He nodded, the movement knocking a few of them loose, spilling over and running down his cheeks.

He inhaled deeply and nodded once more. He swallowed, throat bobbing and voice thick. “I know,” he said, and he sounded frightened.

Continue reading on AO3.

#good omens #goad #angst war #crowley #aziraphale #my fic

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kotias · 5 months

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Writer retaliation - Danee's comic

The angst war rages on @goodomensafterdark !

I SAID THIS IS MY TURF AND I WILL DEFEND IT TOOTH AND NAIL.

@daneecastle you're up 🫵

Word count: 827 words

Disclaimer: no, I didn't write this in the span of thirty minutes, I'm not a monster yet. Danee was kind enough to give me a little peak at the after-fluff and I worked with that 😁

Liquid gold dripping on the floor. One, two, three steps forward, leaving the trail of his righteous vengeance behind him, soiling the perfectly sterile ground of Heaven.

In the background of his consciousness, his nose informed him of the smell of burning flesh. Rationally, he knew where it came from, and that wasn’t from the sword lodged into Crowley’s body; a celestial flaming sword might be made of flames, yes, but it was not one to leave a trace, even the particles of scent, behind. He grabbed the handle, pulled it out, and let it go in a loud clang before dropping to his knees with a sigh.

It took a little while before his ears, deafened by the screams of those victims he had sworn fealty to, heard a weak groan, and he opened his reddened eyes, saw Crowley’s body jerk. His gaze followed the lines of his waist, the wound in his chest, the scarf around his neck, and stopped at his face, twitching in pain.

His heart skipped not just a single beat, but most certainly eight or ten of them, as he rushed to grab the sword, inspected it in disbelief, wondering- wondering if, somehow, by some miracle that God had bestowed upon them, it might just be defective. It didn’t look like it was- and he scrutinised it further, refusing to trust this blessing just yet.

“Angel?” he heard from a rough, tired voice on his left side, and his heart bumped into his chest yet again. “What happened?”

He threw the sword a long way from him, heard its clangs resonate in the distance, and with each of them, his heart jumped, wanting, wanting to believe in the Lord’s mercy at this moment. “I will tell you about it later, dear,” he answered with a sweet smile.

“Fine,” the demon groaned, rolling his eyes. “Then can you untie me?”

Untie hi- Oh. As his body was slowly recovering from the adrenaline, as his eyes stopped seeing everything with a red sheen, he realised how… delightfully twisted Crowley’s body was at the moment, vulnerable, bound under hi-

“AZIRAPHALE!” he screamed, fully affronted by his flustered hesitation.

“Oh- sorry, I guess I haven’t been myself,” he answered, rushing to help him up and liberate him from his bonds.

“Yeah, I’d say…” Crowley groaned. The ropes fell to the ground, and he looked away for a bit. “I didn’t say anything weird, did I?”

And the memory came back to him like a blooming, hot tempest, the words I love you, angel ringing in his ears, his face contorted in pain, tearing up as he thought he would be living his last seconds, his lips opening to utter those words…

Bump.

His heart was beating, one bump at a time, reminding him that it was well and truly present, its cadence so wonderfully sinking into Crowley’s presence.

“Uh-oh… What did I say?” He gulped, his lips quivering as he felt the weight of his next action on his shoulders. “... Angel?”

One last breath in, and he drew close to him, pressed his lips against his, tasted him for just a moment. He smiled against him and pulled only slightly away, whispering against his mouth. “I love you too.”

“Uh-” Crowley started, and closed his mouth again. Aziraphale could practically see the gears turning in his brain as the information settled into it. “Uh-” Oh, dear, he wasn’t doing alright, was he? An amused form of worry settled in his chest, and only then did Crowley startle him, more flustered than he had ever been. “WHAT DID I SAY?! What happened?! And why, why are you covered in gold shit?!”

“Oh… well…” Now came the embarrassing truth of the last day spent being anything but an Angel of the Lord, Guardian of humanity. “... You said ‘I love you’. Then… you were stabbed. Then, I… well, took care of Uriel and the Me-” He couldn’t fully admit it, not when it had felt like another him for those long, excruciating hours, those last words turning and turning in his head like a metronome. “Oh, please don’t make me relive this…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking quite displeased by this half-explanation. “Vague…” And, blessed as he was, he sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Their hands intertwined, and the warmth of him went straight to Aziraphale’s chest. “Let’s go home, angel.”

“Yes- yes, of course, Crowley,” he answered, his voice breaking apart with relief, and he stood up, pulling the demon up with him to bring him to the lift down to the Earth, absolutely certain that this, all of this, was the ending they had secured for each other.

And yet, it was but a fantasy, he thought, opening his reddened eyes to Crowley’s still body. His gaze followed the lines of his waist, the wound in his chest, the scarf around his neck, and stopped at his face, resting in the crimson shroud of his own blood.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #angst war #good omens after dark #GOAD #writing #fanfic #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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thescholarlystrumpet · 5 months

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Inspired by the Angst Battle on @goodomensafterdark and specifically by @vavoom-sorted-art (this gorgeous story)

A little bittersweet aftercare between Demon and Angel:

Wounds Unseen

Rated T

They were home. Hell was far behind them.

Well, beneath them. Far, far beneath.

But it wouldn’t leave his skin.

Crowley had showered and bathed multiple times since leaving. Aziraphale had run the very first bath, in fact. Water slightly tepid and scented with soothing oils. The Angel had murmured soft, gentle nonsense as he slowly rinsed the soot away. He had changed out the water for fresh, keeping the room itself humid as a greenhouse, and washed Crowley’s hair by hand.

When the demon rose from the bath, he’d been enfolded in a towel that may as well have been made of clouds. Aziraphale taking pains to dry him with the same careful but thorough efficiency.

They’d lay down together afterward on the rarely used bed above the bookshop. Two well worn bodies made of human flesh and star stuff in equal measure. Skin to skin beneath a quilt the Angel must have had for decades. Perhaps a century or more.

Crowley could barely speak, his hands curled into fists, into claws he could not yet unfurl. He knew he was clean and pink and shining from his Angel’s attentions. He knew the body beside his was radiating love. But the taste in his mouth was still ash and brimstone.

CONTINUE ON AO3

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nosferatini · 4 months

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Halo Obscura

Nosferatini

One more for the @goodomensafterdark Angst War!

Summary: After his angel leaves him for Heaven once and for all, Crowley has only one reason left to keep existing. And there's only one place he can get it.

...So Crowley makes a deal with the Devil.

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Excerpt:

"Crowley watches the approaching hoofbeats.

Came to greet me personally… I’m honored.

Satan studies the protruding bones on his knuckles as though he’d rather be getting a manicure.

“You have something you wish to share with me….” His red eyes glint in the dark as the flames scamper away from him like obedient servants. “I can smell it.”

I can taste it.

Satan’s eyes narrow on Crowley’s unspeaking lips. “What, then, is in your mouth, Crowley?”

Satan unfolds several pointed, gnarly fingers to pry the mouth open before retracting his hand. Crowley is relaying feelings now. Ghastly ones. Satan recoils a hoof-step, eyes aglow as he considers the sensation with cautious curiosity.

“Show me,” says the Devil.

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Halo Obscura [Podfic]

Read Halo Obscura on AO3

With special thanks to @sohoscribblers!

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #crowley #good omens after dark #goad #angst war

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vavoom-sorted-art · 5 months

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GOAD Angst War: Counterattack! The End Of All Things

After @hakunahistata absolutely annihilated us with their work during the @goodomensafterdark angst war, (GO READ IT HERE) I had to retailate. Hope this hurts you as much as it hurt me.

Almost forgot the soundtrack!

#angst war #ineffable angst war #good omens #good omens fanart #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #art #ineffable husbands #angst #tw implied death #vavoomart

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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Firehouse Harrington

firefighter!Steve Harrington x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ SMUT, wooh boy very much smut, angst, PTSD-like behavior, rough sex, slight dubcon in the beginning, seriously it's very much smut, ok???

a/n | this was inspired by a post I saw from @carolmunson about Mr. Harrington being a fireman, need I say more? Will definitely be writing for this man again.

For a long time, Steve felt like he wasn’t really great at anything. School never came easy to him, getting by with barely passing grades. Sure he was alright at sports in high school, but that faded fast. And King Steve? Well, that was all a facade. It seemed like everyone around him had some sort of talent. Nancy was a great writer. Jonathan, a great photographer. Robin was wicked smart. Eddie had the guitar. And Steve was just… Steve.

After Vecna was defeated, he felt listless, like he was just moving through life without any direction. He didn’t have the grades for college. He was stuck in a dead-end job. All his friends were moving on to bigger and better things, and he was watching grass grow in Hawkins. At least when the world was ending, he had a purpose.

But then, when Operation Desert Storm kicked off in 1990, Steve realized what he was great at. He enlisted that year, shipped straight to the gulf, because the one thing Steve knew he was great at was running towards danger and somehow figuring out how to handle it. It was the worst two years of his life, fighting a useless war that no one really understood. But it was there that he met some older men, vets who had reentered service. They told him that, when he got back to civilian life, the best job for a man with a taste for chaos would be at a fire station. And they were right.

Before he served, there was still a softness that Steve let show to the people he cared for, but something slid into place, steel plates over his heart. When he returned, he was harder, quieter. He moved to Indiannapolis, and while he was only twenty-six, he fit right in with the older men at one of the local fire stations. His days fell into simple rhythms. He smoked like a chimney, waiting for the alarm to blare so he could go into auto-pilot action. He never felt more at peace than when he was running into a burning building. It made him feel useful.

On his nights off, some of the other men at the station would usually drag him out to bars, more often strip clubs, always goading each other into trying to get laid. Steve hated it, usually getting himself so drunk he could only remember slivers of the night behind his throbbing headache the next morning. The men were downright predatory towards women, wolf-whistling and shouting from the open garage at anything with legs. Steve hated that too, but he joined in because another part of him really liked it, the false power he felt when he’d flash a smarmy grin at women passing by.

Today was no different. An uncharacteristically sweltering day towards the end of August. It was time for monthly maintenance on the trucks and Steve had been tasked with hosing them down. He was stripped down to just his white wife beater tucked into a pair of work pants, his dog tags sticking against the slightly damp skin of his chest. He heard one of the men let out a low whistle, whipping his head around in time to catch a glance of a pretty thing in a sweet little dress.

“Hey, sugar, you wanna come take a ride on a real fire truck?”

“Pretty girl, where you going so fast, come spend some time with me!”

The men continued lobbing borderline obscene phrases her way. Steve just chuckled, watching her stop, stricken by the men’s shouts. Her knuckles turned white around the strap of her bag.

“In your dreams, perverts. Go fuck yourselves.” The men howled at her retaliation. Usually the women didn’t stick around to give them a piece of their minds. She flipped them off and then kept walking. Steve couldn’t help but smile at her boldness. A brief interruption to the usual rhythm.

…

They got a call that night from the Indiana University Campus. A microwave had exploded in one of the dorm’s communal kitchens. The fire itself was not a big deal, but they had evacuated the entire building, a frantic crowd of teens to sift through outside. Steve and his team have been trying to figure out just how the microwave exploded in the first place, and it’s proving near impossible as they try to talk to hysterical co-eds. A freshman points him to that floor’s RA and Steve feels his stomach twist when he sees who she is. The same girl that flipped him and his cat-calling team off just that afternoon. She was still wearing that pretty dress, now with a large sweater thrown over it in the cooling night. When she saw him approaching, it was clear she remembered him as well, letting out an incredulous laugh before furrowing her brow at him.

“You’re who they called? Fan-fucking-tastic. Tell me, did you put out the fire with an extinguisher? Or did you just harass it until it smothered out?” Steve’s jaw is slack. The mouth on this chick.

“Ma’am, my team and I are just trying to figure out what caused the fire in the first place, then we’ll be out of your hair.” She huffs.

“Well, I don’t think it takes a genius to put two and two together. You take a witless freshman coupled with an ancient microwave and sooner or later you’re gonna have a fire on your hands.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, hip cocked to the side as she glares at Steve.

“Are you referring to the freshmen you’re supposed to be in charge of? I was told you’re the RA for the floor the fire was on.” She falters, just slightly. Steve’s got her on that one.

“Look, the fire is out, douchebag. Thank you so much for your help, now can you just let us get back into our fucking dorms?” Steve’s about to tell her what he thinks of her foul mouth, when one of his team calls him over. A resident has admitted they had started the fire by putting a metal fork into the microwave on accident. It’s a quick flurry of activity, giving the kid a stern talking to, and then clearing the scene. As the students start to shuffle back into the building, Steve cranes his neck from the truck, trying to find her again, but she’s lost in the crowd. He collapses into bed that night thinking about her very angry, very pretty face.

…

It’s Friday, Steve’s night off. He’s been prodded out to a bar by some of the other men at the station. The music is blaring and the lights are dim and all Steve wants is for the (very) stiff drinks to keep coming until everything starts to blur a little. Both of his buddies have slinked off with nameless women, getting their dicks wet while they can. Steve sits alone at the bar, nursing a few fingers of whiskey, when he hears a very familiar voice ordering a beer. He whips around in his seat, and sure enough, there she is, this time in jeans that fit too good and a little tank top. His throat tightens, and then she sees him and lets out that same disbelieving laugh.

“I must be more drunk than I thought because there’s no way in hell I’m actually seeing you again.” Steve snorts at her exasperation, throwing back the rest of his whiskey, grinning around the sting.

“Sorry, baby, we meet again.”

“I’m not your baby, dickweed. Have a nice night.” She spins to walk away but Steve, seemingly loosened up by the few glasses he’s already had, stands, grabbing her wrist to yank her back towards him. She stumbles on her feet, body pressing up against his to get her bearings.

“What the fuck is your problem? You can’t just—”

Her words die in her throat as Steve brings one large palm to rest along her neck, thumb pressing under her chin to tilt her face up to him.

“You know, you should really be careful how you run that mouth, baby. Someone might have half a mind to put it to better use.” His other hand rests on her hip, fingers dipping just below the waist of her jeans. She sneers at him.

“Oh yeah? Someone like you? You gonna put me in my place, big, tough, fireman?” His fingers on her neck firm up, pressing harder into her skin. The music’s too loud to hear, but he can feel the whimper thrumming in her throat. He splits into a snide smile.

“Oh baby, I think you want me to teach you a lesson.” Her eyes are blown wide, staring up at him, lips parted.

“Mmhm. In fact, I think you’d enjoy it.” He’s dipped down to let his lips murmur right up against her ear. He can feel the way she shudders against him. She gasps when he jerks back from her, grabbing one of her wrists to pull her behind him through the crowd. Her protests die in the thumping bass of the music.

He finds the bathroom towards the back of the bar, dragging her in behind him. It’s empty, and he locks the door before turning back to her.

They’re on each other in an instant. It’s a fight for dominance, all clashing teeth and clicking spit, hands grasping at whatever bare skin they can find. He wraps his hand around her throat, pulling back to look at her, swollen lips and darkened eyes.

“My name’s Steve, baby. I’m gonna wanna hear you saying it. Do you understand?” She nods, trying to dip back into his mouth, but he muscles her around until he’s pressing her up against the wall, digging his thick thigh between her legs to press harshly against her clothed cunt. She lets out a whine.

“I said, do you understand?” He presses against her harder, drawing a gasp from her.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, bunny?”

“Yes, Steve.” He grins, keeping his hand around her throat as he licks back into her mouth. He brings his other hand to her jeans, quickly undoing them and shoving his hand down the front of her panties. When he swipes through her folds, she moans, throwing her head back against the wall.

“Aw, you’re fucking soaked. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like me, baby.” She whimpers as he presses hard circles into her clit, starting to grind her hips against his hand. He slips two fingers down to her entrance and she preens as he starts to thrust up into her. She’s putty in his hands, a writhing mess.

“This all you need, huh doll? Just needed my fingers to shut that dirty mouth of yours up? Look how desperate you are. Fucking slut. You like getting fucked in some dirty little bathroom by a stranger, huh? You that much of a whore?” He can feel her clenching around his fingers with his words, can tell she’s close. He takes his fingers away, and she whines at the loss of his touch.

“Asked you a question, doll. Tell me, are you that big of a slut?”

“Fuck– please, p-please keep going. I was so fucking close– please keep g-going.” He just tuts, stepping back from her, noting how unsteady he is without his hand holding her up by her neck.

“Still such a dirty mouth, I think it’s time we put it to better use, yeah?” Her mascara is running, and though she still glares at him, she nods.

“Get on your knees, like a good girl.” He starts unbuckling his belt, watching as she slowly sinks to her knees.

Her eyes widen when he takes his cock out, stroking himself lazily before stepping forward to run the head along her bottom lip.

“Gonna be good for me, baby?” She nods, gazing up at him through her damp eyelashes.

He bends down, bringing his hand to stroke her cheek before smacking her across the face. It’s light, but still enough to make her head turn, she gasps.

“Words, doll.”

“Yes, Steve, I’m gonna be good for you.” He grins, standing back upright, guiding his dick to her lips. It’s heaven as she sinks her mouth down onto his cock. When she gets about halfway down, she starts to try to pull back, but Steve has another idea. He grabs onto her hair, fisting it to keep her in place. She whimpers, bringing her palms to his thighs to try to push away.

“Shh, shh, baby. You wanna be good for me, right? You gotta take it all, pretty. Take all of me down that little throat.” He starts to cant his hips forward, until he can feel her nose grazing his pelvis, her throat constricting around his cock. He pulls her off his dick by her hair and she sputters, eyes watery and choking on air.

“Go ahead, baby. Keep being good for me.” He doesn’t even have to guide her, she dips back in, hollowing out her cheeks around his dick before taking all of him again. Steve groans when he hears her little gags. She slowly finds a rhythm, taking him as deep as she can and pulling off to suckle at the tip.

“Got a perfect mouth, bunny. Fuck– just needed something to do with it, huh?” She moans at that and the vibrations around his cock make him throw his head back.

“You like this, baby? Getting your throat fucked?” She hums in response. Steve chuckles.

“God, you really are a whore.” He looks down and can see that she’s dipped her hand into her panties. Steve yanks her back by her hair, causing her to gasp.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, doll?” She’s a mess, spit drooling down her chin, her makeup all but fucked off. She shakes her head.

“N-no, daddy.” Her eyes go wide the minute she says it, seemingly shocked by her own words. Steve’s brain short circuits for a moment before he chuckles.

“Oh, doll. Is that what you need? You need daddy to teach you a lesson?” He’s already hauling her up by her arms, pressing her front down against the sink countertop.

“Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you exactly what you need.” He yanks her jeans and panties down in one harsh swoop, causing her to whine from the stark chill of the air.

He runs his palm from the back of her thigh up to the meat of her ass, kneading into the skin there before drawing his hand back and slapping her hard. She jerks forward into the counter, and for a moment, Steve worries he’s gone too far, but then a long drawn out moan sounds from the back of her throat. He smirks.

“You’re something else, bunny. Why don’t you tell daddy what you need, huh?” He leans over her, cock slipping between her slick thighs. He pulls her head up by her hair until she’s looking at him through the mirror. He brings his lips right to her ear.

“What do you need, baby?”

“You, daddy. I need you.” He rears back to smack her ass again.

“Gotta be more specific than that, doll.” She gasps, “y-your cock. Please, I need your cock. Need you to fuck me, daddy, please–”

“Shh, shh, pretty baby. Just had to ask, yeah? Use your words like a good girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”

He strokes his cock between her folds, groaning at how wet she is before pressing up against her entrance. She keens as he starts to push in, back arching under him.

Steve lets out a low moan, “fuck, bunny, think your pretty little pussy can take all of me? S’fucking tight, christ.” She gasps as he continues to press forward, wiggling her hips back to take more of him.

“Yes, yes, I can take it, I can take it– fuck– please keep going, Steve.” They both sigh when his hips meet the plush of her ass. He hovers over her, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades.

“God, you’re perfect. Fucking made for me.” He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, “can I move, baby? You ok?”

“Yes, yeah, please fuck me. Want you to fuck me, Steve.” That’s all the permission he needs, starting a desperate pace as he rolls his hips against her. His dog tags have slipped out of the collar of his shirt and are trailing the top of her spine as he continues to fuck her.

He brings one hand to snake down her front, finding her clit and drawing firm swipes across it, “need you to come for me, baby. Want you to come on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty?” She whines as he starts to draw sloppy circles around her clit.

“Y-yes, gonna come for you. Don’t stop– fuck– don’t stop.” He’s practically laying over her now, grinding his hips deeper into her. Steve can feel the pleasure pulling taut in his spine, on the brink of snapping.

“Come, baby. Come for me.” That’s all it takes. She yelps out a broken cry and he can feel her pulsing around him. He quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before he’s spurting all over her ass, shivering as he comes down. They’re both breathing hard, he rests his palms on the countertop, framing her body with his arms. She’s sunk down on her forearms, head dipped between her elbows. Steve takes a few deep breaths, tucking himself away before stepping back to take in his cooling spend dripping down her thighs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Let me clean you up.”

He keeps a hand pressed to the hilt of her spine, a reassurance as he grabs a paper towel and gets it damp before drawing it across the mess he made. She whimpers under his ministrations, and he feels his heart catch in his chest. He gets down on his knees behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of each thigh before he slowly pulls her jeans back up around her hips. Steve can’t explain it, just a while ago she was making his blood boil, but now all he wants to do is take care of her.

He steps back, letting her press up and turn around to lean back against the counter. She swipes away the drippy mascara under her eyes. Steve’s fingers flicker with the urge to cup her cheek, stroke that soft bit of skin where he can still see the dampness of her tears. She’s smiling, still a little dazed. He clears his throat.

“Wanna apologize. For that day outside the station.” Her brow furrows.

“You weren’t the one howling at me, last time I checked.”

“No, but I didn’t stop them. I know that’s not right. They shouldn’t be talking like that to anyone. I should’ve stopped them.” She shrugs.

“I’ve heard worse. I should apologize too. For being so rude that night outside the dorm. I was really stressed, you know? And seeing you brought all that rage at those bastards back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were just trying to do your job.” She holds out her hand to him and he tentatively takes it in a firm shake. Steve speaks first.

“I’m sorry, but I’m realizing that I don’t even know your name.” She smiles and when she tells it to him, his brain starts playing it on an infinite loop, like a ditzy drugged-out drumbeat.

“Might be doing things a little backwards here, but are you hungry, wanna go get something to eat?” She grins, stepping in closer to him to let her palms span over his chest.

“Uh, yeah, you just gave me the workout of a lifetime. I’m fucking starving.” Steve feels like he’s melting under her touch. Something long dormant starting to stir.

“Still gonna have to work on that dirty mouth, huh, pretty?”

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff

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sailoryooons · 1 year

Text

Carved | Four | jjk (m)

→ Summary: Hundreds of years after the Underworld wins the war, Vaesen - demon kind - rule the Realms. The Vanir - creatures of light and the Heavens - are hunted and enslaved by Vaesen. When the demon prince Jungkook is given one of the Carved - angels who have been stripped of their wings - he has no idea what to do with you. You, however, have plans you are determined to see through. Even if it means death in the end.

→ Pairing: demon!Jungkook x angel!female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Type: Series

→ Genre: dystopian, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, angst

→ Pairing: 8,254

→ Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence and fighting, graphic depiction of death and gore, depictions of death (including, but not describing the death of a child and family members), semi-complex fight scenes, mentions of manipulation and power imbalance, reader purposefully seducing Jungkook to get what she wants, mentions of something similar to subspace and reader taking advance of Jungkook in a subspace like state mentally, explicit language, power imbalances and mentions of enslaved creatures, Jungkook and reader get a little violent with one another but like.. in a pleasure able way so here we go for the sexually explicit warnings, reader goading Jungkook, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, Jungkook kinda gets right too it, rough, slapping and biting, Jungkook being pretty rough and slamming reader around and shoving her into things, vulnerable mental states and manipulation, mild dirty talk tbh this sex scene is incredibly mild in terms of what I usually do, ummm I don't know guys it's a dark urban fantasy with weird shit, unedited should be a warning because I did a grammarly check and nothing else oops. ALSO PLS KEEP IN MIND THIS SEX SCENE IS BLAND BECAUSE OF THE SPECIFIC SCENARIO THEY ARE IN. I ASSURE YOU MUCH MORE DETAILED AND EXPLICIT SMUT IS IN THE FUTURE, BUT IT WASNT THE VIBE HERE

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ Series Masterlist: here

→ faq

A/N: IT'S FINALLY HERE. Sorry this was so delayed. I was dealing with writers block pretty severely, work has been really crazy and demanding, I've been really tired and also my mentally manipulative ex-boyfriend decided to unalive himself so that was a weird week, I was trying to find new apartments and yeah this chapter has been re-written at least 5 times. Also I apologize I said fuck it we ball and this is absolutely only edited with a grammarly check. I will edit in full tomorrow but I do not have the brain capacity to do it right now, she is Tapped Out but I promised I would post this mf chapter tonight. Does any one have any theories as to what's going on yet teehee.

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. BTS is not BTS culturally, intellectually, physically or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

/ PREVIOUS / NEXT CHAPTER /

Screams split the air. For a second, you hesitate, turning to the source of the chaos. It erupts beyond the door, startling several Vaesen inside of the room. You react first, shooting toward the door with Taehyung and Jungkook on your heels.

The sound that greets you is a symphony of shattering glass, surprised screams and varying degrees of carnage. A table flips in front of you as you enter the main ballroom. You sidestep it easily as it fractures against Taehyung, who hardly flinches before vanishing into the surging crowd of running and swarming Vaesen and Vanir.

With careful movements, you slid out of your heels, feet pressing against broken glass. It doesn’t bite or cut your skin – only real weapons can do that – but it’s uncomfortable as you take a defensive stance, aware how vulnerable you are in a tiny, sheer dress and no weapon.

Blood-slicked floors greet you. The screams of the Vaesen make your lips twitch upward slightly. Chaos has erupted in a tableau of overturned tables, shattered champagne glasses, pearl-draped demons hiding behind fractured, round tables, and a dark, wet hissing sound.

Whatever creatures have entered the room smell wrong, like honey gone sour or sweet cream curdled. Your eyes sweep the painting of chaos before you.

And then you see them.

Your heart stills for one painfully long second, stretched like skin pulled too tight over bone. They’re… seraphim but not.

The creatures have dark, pitted eyes with black veins rippling over sallow skin. They’re naked and feature no distinct gender, appearing stitched together. Their ribs are prominent and you’re unsure if it’s by design or emaciation. There are mismatched wings on their bodies, opening and closing uncontrollably at awkward intervals and angles like they don’t know how to use them - or maybe can’t.

A creature lets out a screech and cuts a vampire lord in half, blood spraying the wall like watercolor on canvas. There is a dozen of them, and they all have swords, crudely shaped but you can almost taste the adamas in the swords.

Fucking hells. They have swords of Heaven.

Jungkook appears at your side, dark eyes scanning the room as the Not-Seraphim spread throughout, cutting through screaming party goers who are unarmed beyond their own fangs and teeth. You can scent gore in the air and your blood hums: it smells like a killing pitch.

“Reaper.” Jungkook says the name like a command. The name is both yours and not yours. It is one of many names. One of many people you are. His voice slithers down your back, eliciting a shiver. He holds out a dagger. Reaper is the person Jungkook needs you to be. “Find my niece.”

You take the dagger and come alive. The hellstone throbs in your hand, metal carved from the deepest pits of the underworld and forged in hellfire. You tighten your grip and move forward.

One step and you’re in front of one of the Not Angels. It cocks it’s head and pauses, a series of clicks slipping through black, jagged teeth and a weeping mouth.

A second step and death follows you.

Flesh burns. It singes your nose, something like spoiled flesh and rotten eggs. You can taste the sulfur as the creature wilts to the floor, body still twitching after decapitation. You bend over, snatching up the poorly made sword. It’s sharp enough, but the handle is crude and the blade is splotchy, mixed with many metals.

It hums in your hand, a pulse of power crawling through your palm and fingers like an electric current. You recognize the feel of adamas, a metal only found in Heaven realms deep in cloud-ringed mountains. For a moment your mind drifts, suspended between memory and imagination. You can almost see it: tangerine pink skies, the smell of orange blossoms, wind that is neither cold nor warm.

A creature lunges at you and the dream melts away. You duck under the blow, striking out with the dagger. It plunges to the hilt, a wet crack sounding as you puncture its ribcage. It screams and spittle flies. It doesn’t react to the knife, clawing toward you and opening a split maw of blood and black.

Cringing backward, you push with the dagger, shoving the creature away to provide space for the swing of your sword. The head severs, hitting the ground with a thud before rolling away. The body jerks, remaining vertical for a moment. Ripping your knife out, you send the lifeless body to the ground where it remains dead.

Interesting.

Another creature replaces the felled one, no weapon in hand but claws raking out at you. You shuffle backward, ducking away from the swiping talons. The creature flaps its wings once – the only one with functional wings, it seems – and surges forward, catching you off guard.

It knocks into you with the weight of a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs and you go down with the creature, it’s talons catching the flesh on your right bicep. You scream at the burn and fuck it burns. You look at where your skin burns black and wilted in three, jagged lines.

A blue-sparked flame catches your attention on the creature’s hands as it gnashes at you. You grab it around the throat, keeping razor teeth away from your face as drool and something else drips on your face. Your eyes zero in on the flame that comes and goes like it can’t control the heat on the tips of its fingers.

Hellfire, you realize.

Your mind expands, a searching radar for Jungkook. You sense him immediately, his mind like mist and rain tinged with hatred. His emotions are in turmoil, a churning storm of icy rain that bites into your thoughts and razor-sharp wind. There is a sense of no control, Jungkook’s churning storm ripping through his energies with something like feral-laced panic on the edges.

Jungkook, you call to him, feeding him your emotions as you shove back at the gnashing teeth of the creature pinning you down. He ignores you, his storm too volatile to sense you. You push harder, imagining that you’re brushing cool water down the bridge of your connection.

Jungkook flinches when he feels you. The storm pauses, like passing into the eye as the chaos settles around him. You use the opportunity to speak again. They can use Hellfire.

It takes a moment for him to respond. Understood.

Pulling away from the connection, you keep your minds tethered. The crackling energy and harsh storm stirs again when you pull from his mind, but it’s not as out of control as before, the thread between you an anchor as he refocuses on his own task.

Lightning crackles under your fingers as you shove with your hand, putting all your force into where you push back on the monster above you. The creature topples backward as you roll to your feet, movement fluid. Your dress is ripping near the throat, threatening to tear. You curse, begging the fabric to stay on a little longer.

You have no intention of fighting while spilling out of your dress.

Electricity charges in the room. Unchoked, you feel the thunder of your power looming on the horizon. Every time you call the lightning to you feels like a rush of adrenaline, the sparks dancing along every nerve of your body, lighting you up from the inside out.

This is your power. There is a moment where you consider letting it all go. You could supernova right where you stand, destroying everything within several miles. You know you have the capability – it's something you’ve dreamed of doing for years.

But it’s just a dream, and your dreams do not align with your goal.

Reigning in the urge to destroy destroy destroy, you instead focus the lightning on the creatures closest to you. The bolts let out a loud crack as you direct the energy to your targets. There is a flash and the smell of burnt skin and corpse, but you ignore it, pushing toward a forming group in the corner of the ballroom.

There is a concentration of fighting Vaesen, screaming and creatures near where you remember seeing Jungkook’s niece last. A body topples in front of you, and you step over it- later you will remember that it was a collared Vanir, naked and still tied to a chair on its leash.

You see Jihoon– he's covered in something black and slick, kicking out at one of the creatures. He has a single dagger in his hand, a retinue of guards dead at his feet, and you can hear the high-pitched scream of his daughter behind him. A single step in their direction is blocked by more creatures, hissing and clicking at you.

Jungkook appears at your side, covered in gore. His hands are black to the wrist, dripping in... something. You realize he’s fighting without a weapon.

“Are you ripping through them?”

“I gave you my knife,” he snaps. His mind brushes against yours, a torrent of chaos and loud noises and anger so hot you waver. You toss the dagger to him, spinning your new sword in your hand. “I think beheading them is the only thing that works.”

“Yeah, I discovered that thanks.”

A vampire gets turned to mist and splatter in front of you. You feel the hot blood hit your face. It smells metallic and like Synth from his last meal.

“Can you-”

You see it in his mind. The lightning that you can summon to destroy worlds. You nod once, summing the crackling energy inside of you.

A high-pitched scream interrupts you. Your eyes zero in on Kita, hiding under a table as her mother pulls the girl tight against her chest, baring her teeth. There's a red aura around her as she snaps her teeth at one of the creatures, a red arch of fire snapping out.

Fox fire.

Kita tries to imitate her mother, crying through barred teeth and a tiny flicker of flame humming around her. There are creatures closing in and you feel the snap of your power, targeting the creatures in a large area.

Power ripples in the room. You feel the urge to kill kill kill again. To destroy. To light the entire room up and burn it all down. You’ve done it before. You know the taste and smell of annihilation. You know the feeling of death brushing past you as he collects his dead.

The crack of a whip. A scream of agony. Blood in your mouth your hands your ears your neck, your arms-

You push away the desire to rebel. It burns bright, a hot coal ready to catch fire but you smother it. Pretend it isn’t there.

Rising up at the wrong time does nothing. Freeing yourself a long game. Giving in to your rage means failure, and you have failed and failed and failed and failed and -

The room flashes bright. Colors dance behind your eyes as you let go of the power. For a moment, everything is silent. The world is warped, the sulfur air charged with electricity. You feel the static tickle the nap of your neck, your arms, your mind.

You look around. There are no more creatures standing, black wisps of smoke curling toward a scorched ceiling. Dust motes float down. You stick out a hand, finger pointed as one lands on your finger. You realize it’s soot, the leftovers from the creatures you’ve thoroughly crisped.

Around the room, life – or what’s left of it – begins to stir. Glass crunches beneath feet and the sound of tables being righted sounds booming in the silence of destruction.

Jungkook and Ji-Hoon are on their knees, ducked under the table as they coax Kita and her mother from their hiding spot.

You assess the damage, eyes scanning the room and catching on golden collars. Diamonds resting on the hollow of still throats. Snapped gossamer wings under a broken body. A platinum leash tangled in a chair, its nymph counterpart missing her lower half.

There are more Vanir than Vaesen among the dead. Caught up in leashes and collars. Stuck in a brass birdcage. Shackled to a table. Your stomach turns but you don’t focus on the faces. Committing them to memory makes them mean something and nothing means anything to you.

“Reaper.” Jungkook’s voices radiates the space between you and the space unseen, echoing in your mind. You turn to look at him. He has a firm grip on Kita, the child pressed to his side as Ji-Hoon argues with his wife silently. “We are escorting them out.”

“We’re with you.” The oily voice makes you stiffen. You don’t have to turn to see Taehyung among the aftermath. You do see the kitsune lingering off to the side, his dark eyes flickering from the ashes to you. “Both of us.”

Jungkook bows his head. “They were concentrated around Ji-Hoon and none of his men remain. It’s safe to assume he’s a target. Reaper and Yoongi with Kita and Daiyu. Taehyung with us.”

Taehyung moves past you, no longer interested in teasing you. Jungkook presses close to his brother and you press Kita and Daiyu between you and Yoongi. The huli jing looks at you skeptically, holding her daughter’s hand fiercely. You don’t give it much thought, following Jungkook’s lead as he leads your group through a service entrance.

It smells like sulfur and rot. Damp air clings to your skin, forming a sticky second layer. You grimace. The clack of dress shoes is loud against the tile floors. The hall is too narrow for you to walk in groups, meant for only a few Vanir to come and go at a time. You move quickly in single file line, Yoongi at the front with Kita and Daiyu between you.

Jungkook’s mind waivers on the edge of yours. You can feel that he’s aware of you, as though he is turning over his should to see if you’re still there. You can’t see him from the back of the line, but he doesn’t severe the connection.

Probably don’t know how.

Servant corridors are long and complicated. When Jungkook approaches a split, he takes one hall over another confidently. You peek into his mind, seeing the flash of blueprints and memory of a layout on a screen.

You know the layout of the servant halls, you observe. Down your connection, you sense him flinching. You knew you would be attacked?

No. His voice is curt. His mind is a dark storm, words cutting through hissing rain. But we are always prepared. It’s not often that someone tries to assassinate us, but...

But what?

Focus on your task.

Your lips twitch and you feel him draw away from you a bit. But what? You wonder. He was hiding something and that just wouldn’t do. Cutting into his mind would be as easy as clipping the wings of a butterfly. But you leave Jungkook alone for now, following the dark hall, Taehyung and Jihoon’s hushed voices drifting toward you.

A small door in the hall, nearly invisible leads to a tunnel. You can still see flitting images and thoughts across Jungkook’s memory. He has no control to his thoughts, no way to block you out. He is unaware of the danger you present to his mind, laid open for the taking.

And yet you don’t.

The ground slopes beneath your feet. Your press your fingers on the wall, casting your senses. There’s damp, empty air on the other side of the wall and you can hear the hush of slow floating water. Above you, the ceiling vibrates. You’re in a tunnel in the sewers.

Your eyes drift to Jungkook. He was trained in escape routes in the building. And seemed to be one of the few Vaesen armed at the party.

Unarmed Vaesen. The thought leads you somewhere between pleasure and contempt. Only the creatures of the Underworlds could be so arrogant as to think they have nothing to fear. In a way, they don’t. Demons and their kind are the apex predators, the top of the food chain.

But even among themselves, enemies lurk.

The sheer stupidity is comforting – the knowledge that it comes at the expense of how little of a threat Vanir pose, is not.

A cool awareness brushes against the nape of your neck. You pause, the echoes of shoes and Kita sniffing silently ahead reverberating off the walls. Your instinct flickers and you turn your head a fraction, angling your ear toward the way you came.

Silence stretches and stretches. You frown, stretching out the net of your mind. It’s a strange feeling, opening that barrier and sense of other. It’s not a psychic ability as much as it is sensing energy, magic, and existence, something many Vanier and Vaesen alike can do.

At first, there is nothing but empty space. Ahead of you, your group pushes on. They don’t notice that you’ve stopped entirely, head cocked and tense.

Then you hear it – or at least perceive it. A soft hiss, the smell of death.

They’re here, you hiss down the tether between you and Jungkook. You feel his surprise and then his anger as you turn to face the back of the tunnel. Keep going and let me know when you’re out of the tunnel. If I light up in here, you’re going down too.

Good to know you care.

You scoff. I still have use for you, Dominus.

Something like irritation and resentment slithers down the connection from Jungkook. It makes you smirk, pleased at offering opposition. It’s been a long time since you could openly oppose someone the way you now can. It’s a risk, but it’s a calculated one.

Sometimes you must let the monster in to give it a sense of comfort. You remember the lesson. You think about the Vaesen who so easily move about the world without weapons.

Yes, letting Jungkook see parts of you is necessary. Dangerous, but ultimately worth it.

Shuffling, stilted movements echo toward you. Sliding your feet apart and bent slightly at the knee, you wait in a defensive stance. You leave the connection to Jungkook open. As you wait for the creatures to reach you, you periodically drift to observe Jungkook and the others. They’re making quick work rushing through a network of tunnels, moving faster now that there is a threat.

Lightning will do you no good in an enclosed space. While you won’t kill yourself, the walls of the tunnel are reinforced with metal rods and bracketing, a perfect conduit for electricity. With the running water crisscrossing in the sewer system just behind, you’re positive you’ll light up half of the underground network if you try it.

So you wait. Sword in your hand. Poised.

The first creature slides into your line of sight. The corridor is dark and without light, the shapes of the bent wings in a small space almost comical. They cannot move more than one at a time, a single file line of twisted limbs and rotten smell.

It sees you and pauses. There are soft clicks, the sounds bouncing back and forth. You frown, watching as they all stop moving, the clicks drifting between them at different intervals and cadences like… a language.

They’re speaking.

Whatever they are, they have some sort of intelligence. The humanoid shapes are all wrong, but you can vaguely sense something thrumming inside of them that is both like you and not. Your stomach flips at the implication that you can sense the creatures the way you sense Jungkook stopped at a fork in the tunnels, unsure of which way to go.

The clicking stops. You turn your attention away from Jungkook, narrowing that feed of awareness tied to him to the barest thread. For a moment, you and the first creature stare at one another. The next moment, it’s charging forward faster than you expect.

You duck as the creature slams into you. The breath leaves your lungs, feeling as though you’d been hit with the force of a thick wall, but you push up with your back as the creature topples over you, sending it sprawling. Your sword hand is fast, flicking in an arch to sever the head as the creature stumbles to regain balance.

The narrow space immediately becomes a problem. The next creature is on you, teeth snapping hungrily as you back up, stepping and slipping slightly on the ichor leaking from the dead body beneath your feet. There’s no room to swing your sword, so you’re forced to twitch the blade back and forth, parrying sharp stabs from your assailant.

Just like the creatures in the ballroom, these are uncoordinated. Their stabs aren’t fast enough, joints cracking and twisting awkwardly in lurching motions as they attack. Cutting through them is difficult in the lack of space. They press in on you, making you track backward to give yourself more room to fight. It’s not ideal – you’re leading them toward where Jungkook and the others have started moving again.

“Fuck,” you snarl, tasting foul ichor on your tongue as it sprays you from a sharp wound on the neck of one of them. It bellows and claws forward.

Summoning air in the tunnel you thrust a hand out, punching toward them with wind. It rips through the halls, whistling as the air rushes past you in violent torrents. It slams into creatures, propelling them backward.

While they’re crumpled and disorganized in a pile, you take ground back, advancing on them. They clamor over one another, shrieking and twitching their wings as they regain a sense of control. You summon wind again, ready to send another blast when a raw scream rips down your mental tether with Jungkook.

It’s violent and invasive, prying open your connection and funneling unfiltered pain and wrath into your own mind. Your vision goes white for a second as the emotional tidal wave of Jungkook overwhelms you, unexpected and uncontrolled.

A spark of blue is the only warning you get from one of the hellish creatures. You barely react in time, summoning wind again at a greater force. It screams toward you, quick enough to meet the blue flame of Hellfire as it fills the hallway.

Heat scorches against air. You scream in alarm. For a moment, you think your makeshift airwall won’t be enough to keep you from being turned to soot.

It holds, a steady wind current coming down the tunnel. Dust, dirt, and mice get picked up in your vacuum, spinning and slamming into the solid, opaque wall of air. You keep your energy focused on the wind as much as you can, Jungkook’s mental screaming almost too much of a distraction as you try and close the mental door between the two of you.

But Jungkook is untrained and the son of Sariel. His connection to you is strong and whatever he’s experiencing on the other side of the tunnel system is a deeper well than you knew he was capable of.

Gritting your teeth, you dig down into your well of power. It’s always there, a bottomless pit of energy and ability to use your gifts. Some witches call it magic. Faeries call it glamour. Angels call it grace and there is a spark of it there, tiny and imperfect, but enough for you to sustain the wind and shut the door on Jungkook just enough.

Snippets rush by you. They’re at the mouth of an entrance somewhere – almost out of the tunnel system. But they’re fighting – you sense more creatures and… others. Demons. Jungkook’s rage is a storm, battering down on your connection to him and exploding out of him as he fights.

Get out of the tunnels, you demand. Jungkook I need you to at least get out of the tunnels.

There is no acknowledgment that he’s heard you. There’s only screaming wind, the song of his fury, and heat building up on the other side of your wall. You smell molten metal and realize the creatures are going to bring everything down.

Jungkook, you scream at him. There is nothing on the other side, just anger threatening to swallow him whole. Jungkook!

Nothing.

Gritting your teeth, you shift a few steps back. You take a deep breath, feeling the heat on the other side of your air wall, and you shove hard through your mental tether. You feel Jungkook’s awareness, fire and rain. He feels you now.

Get out the fucking tunnel or I will kill all of you. This is your last warning.

And it is. Jungkook is useful. Using him is easier than the alternative, and having to come up with an additional plan after killing him while trying to escape the city is far too complicated, and near the realm of impossibility.

Sweat begins to form on your hairline. You feel the slick on your legs and your palms, the air over-warm. It continues to get hotter and hotter, kicking up several notches. Azure swims on the other side of the air you feed into your protect. It flares, growing stronger off the oxygen you provide it, but you have no other choice.

Silver drips from the ceiling. You look up, spotting liquified metal oozing through the earth’s ceiling.

Go. Jungkook’s voice is nearly a whisper. You realize you’re screaming with the force of the power you’re feeding into your wind. His words are like a release, a flip switching as you dive headfirst into the electric current of your lightning.

It’s an explosion. Heat and electricity meet in a caustic battle, the walls and floor rumbling as your lightning pulses from you more like a wave than bolts. You hear the crack, feel it vibrate your ears, and then there is only loud ringing as you stumble backward.

Dust, ash, and metal fill the air. You’ve brought down half the tunnel and you’re splayed on your ass.

Rolling over on your stomach, you try and push yourself to your feet. You slide in dirt and darkness. It’s difficult to breathe, the air filled with static and heated enough that your skin feels like you’re on fire. You manage to find footing and retreat towards where Jungkook and the others have gone.

Nothing follows you.

The high-pitched ringing does not leave you. A bit dizzy, you follow the thread of Jungkook’s existence, feeling the thread between you pull you toward him. His rage has turned to agony, and you know someone is dead, though you cannot discern who.

When you finally reach the surface, you understand.

There are masked Vaesen littered around an empty warehouse. You’re close to the Celadon River, the taste of salt in the air as it filters in from the sea. You cannot hear beyond the scream of your damaged ears, but the wind here is cool, coming in through a giant hole in the ceiling, freshly singed.

Similar creatures that hunted you into the halls lay in pieces. Jungkook stands expressionless, ringed by bodies. It seems the fight was centered on him, death laying quietly at his feet. Yoongi and Taehyung stand a few feet away, expressionless. Watching.

A single shaft of moonlight shines on Jungkook through the broken ceiling. It paints half of his face silver, his eye rimmed silver. The rest of his face in shadow. It’s an eerie picture, half of him light and dark, split between two worlds. A child slithers down your spine as your eyes drift away from the thunder in his expression to his feet, where his eyes are fixed and you see the source of his unending agony.

Jihoon and his family are no more.

Namjoon is the only other person at the apartment. You eye him warily as he stands in the living room, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the holoscreen. Images of the party flash on the screen. There are videos from security cameras, starlets filming the chaos while at the party, and media drones outside of the building as the police force descended on the scene.

Reporters stand in the carnage. There are still broken bodies of Vanir, stepped over as the reporters lead their filming drones through the rooms. You can see Vanir tied to leashes on chairs. Again, you don’t look at their faces.

After appearing from the tunnel to find Jihoon and his family dead, you were ushered home immediately. You went without negotiation, casting a single look at Jungkook. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, his expression flitting between exquisite pain and nothingness.

Sensing your presence, Namjoon turns his head a fraction to look at you. His eyes harden and his jaw flexes, onyx eyes not leaving you for a second. You remember your perceived place with him, casting your eyes to the screen to ignore the way he burns holes through you with just a look.

“Go away,” he grunts. “Your presence is bothersome.”

“I’m sorry, dominus.” You make your voice light and airy. “Why has master not come home with me?”

Calling Jungkook master burns your tongue. You make yourself look small, tucking your chin to your chest and curving your shoulders inward, like you’re bracing to be hit. You play with the hem of your shirt, which is too big like the rest of your clothes.

Namjoon scoffs, not buying it. “Because he has to deal with this fucking mess.”

“I should be with master- “

“Drop the act. Whatever you are, it isn’t Carved. If Jungkook wants to keep you and do whatever he wants with you, that’s fine.” You glance up at him. He stares you dead in the eye. “But I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. Stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine.”

Namjoon leaves the room, the holoscreen casting blue light on the empty space. You listen to him go. He goes to his own room at the far end of the apartment and shuts the door loudly.

“Dick,” you mutter, entering the living room proper to look up at the screen.

The sound is muted, only showing the chaos. “Elide, volume on.”

“State access name,” the apartment system responds, voice cool and clear. You recite your name. “Unregistered user.”

You snarl. “Elide, volume on.”

“State access name.”

“Jungkook.”

“Voice recognition failure.”

“Just turn the fucking volume on!”

The elevator door opens behind you. You whirl on your heel, teeth bared in frustration. Jungkook walks through the door, barely sparing you a glance as he says, “Stop yelling at the technology. I didn’t program you into the system.”

“I noticed.” He walks into the kitchen, tapping the corner of a cabinet. It unlocks and pops open, revealing shelves of liquor. He removes a bottle and taps the cabinet shut. “Didn’t think you needed it.”

“Well if you’d like me to get bored and burn the apartment down, that is an option.”

“Be my guest. I have others.”

“Humble.”

Dark rage hums under the surface. Jungkook moves around his kitchen slowly. He places a glass delicately on the counter, pulling the cork from the bottle before pouring himself amber liquid. You sniff. Whiskey of some sort.

Jungkook is silent, but his mind is a torrent of emotions. Blood pounds beneath the surface, a beast begging to escape. You can almost taste the chaos within him and yet… he keeps it there. Sipping his drink and leaning on the counter as he looks at the floor.

“Namjoon thinks I should kill you,” Jungkook mentions.

“Unsurprising.”

“Yoongi does too.”

You shrug. “The way of the fox is unknown to me.”

Jungkook’s mind is wide open. You reach for it while he sips his whiskey. He doesn’t register as you brush against his thoughts, trying to sort through them. His mental is in chaos, thoughts racing through his head and flashes of his brother being cut down. Of Kita’s screaming.

“Do you know what those things were?”

You picture the creatures at the party. Their staggered steps, their rotting breath. “Something made, not born.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I’ve seen a lot of creatures for the hundreds of years that I have been alive, but I’ve never seen whatever those were. Those things are not natural.”

“Most of what is in this world isn’t natural.”

“They are not natural to any plane. I felt…” You trail off and shrug your shoulders.

Navigating his mind while it’s in chaos is hard. You’re looking for the thread of conversation from earlier that night, trying to understand what Jungkook had been talking about when he trailed off about being prepared for assassination attempts. But it’s convoluted and murky.

Jungkook glances up at you. His face is a mask. You must admit you’re impressed by the way he looks calm and collected with the storm raging inside of him, threatening to crack the façade at any moment. “Felt what?”

“You didn’t feel them? Like the way you feel me?”

“Are you telling me you’re one of- “

“No,” you cut him off. “Not in the sense of they are me. But you couldn’t feel them like… dots on a radar. Little signatures of something?” He shakes his head. You hum for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air before you say, “Your untrained mind nearly got me killed.”

A ripple of anger goes through him and his thoughts become more confusing. You sense him boiling under the surface, a steady tremor building and building and building.

A frenzy. Jungkook is nearing a frenzy. If you could get him to fall into it…. you examine him. Coming down from a frenzy would put him in a state of compliance and exhaustion, making his mind open to sift through like forgotten paperwork.

You decide to incense him.

“I mean it,” you snap when he doesn’t answer you. You square your shoulders and let your power drop into the room. “Your level of incompetence is worse than seraphim children. Total lack of discipline and an embarrassment to someone who was sired by Sariel.”

A flip switches.

Jungkook is pushing off the counter and moving toward you but you stand your ground, chin lifted, gaze cutting. His mask has slipped a fraction, lip curled. “What did you just say?”

“I said that your utter lack of control is insulting and beneath your station.”

“You are in no position to speak to me like that.”

You splay your hands. Jungkook heaves a few feet away from him. You see the wheels turning, sense his adrenaline shooting upward. You needle him further. “I think we both agreed that here, I’m in a position to do whatever I want.”

Jungkook is fast. He’s in front of you in moments, hand shooting out to grab you by the throat. You’re not surprised by the action as he slams you against a wall, sneering. But you are surprised by the giddy delight that shoots up your spine as his fingers close tightly around your base.

When he squeezes, it isn’t to cut off your air supply. You recognize the sign of dominance, the grip he has on a vulnerable part of you. It’s the most instinctual form of an alpha trying to regain the upper hand and you’re so delighted that you laugh.

“I own you,” Jungkook whispers. “Whether you want it, or whether I want to. I signed your papers. You are legally mine.”

You lift a leg and wrap it around Jungkook’s waist, tugging him toward you. He balks, hand going slack around your throat as your hips press against his. A wave of pleasure rolls through you but you focus on the way Jungkook stutters, pulling back from you.

“Yeah?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “You have the upper hand, dominus?” His fingers tighten but he doesn’t respond. You roll your hips into his, feeling the confidence from a moment ago slip through his fingers like sand. “What happened? I thought you owned me?”

“You are walking a dangerous line.”

“You’re doing nothing about it.”

“What do you want from me?” he grits out, teeth clenched. He’s shaking, loss of control so near.

“You own me?” you goad. “Then fucking use me, Jungkook. You’re two seconds from a fucking demonic frenzy and you don’t even have the sense to fall into it.”

“I don’t do that.”

You lean forward. He leans away but you crowd his space, eyes searching. You notice a mole just below his flush mouth, something you’ve never seen before. It’s soft. Endearing. You ignore the observation as your mouth brushes close to his, sharing breath.

“You’re afraid of your demon,” you purr. He says nothing, breathing heavily as he watches you, pupils dilated. “Weak.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then feed the demon, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hesitate. You watch him, his jaw working and his eyes staring at you. You see the moment he gives over control to the demon part of him, pupils turning into saucers as his hand grips your throat tight. He leans forward, pressing in on your space until you’re chest to chest and his mouth is at the shell of your ear.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, why didn’t you just ask?”

Your hands go to his biceps, digging your nails in. He hisses, fingers pressing into the sides of your neck to restrict your breathing. “I thought you owned me,” you taunt. “I’m allowed to ask?”

It’s the final push he needs.

A shift happens in Jungkook. Swiftly, he drops you and flips you, slamming you chest first into the wall. It knocks the wind from your lungs, making you gasp as he crushes himself against you, nosing your ear. His breath is hot, sending chills down your spine. You grin, knowing you’ve got him going in the right direction.

You press your ass backwards into him, feeling his semi-hard cock in his pants. In his state, it doesn’t even need to be you Jungkook is attracted to. His demon side is wild, hungry to do anything to destroy, to fuck, to kill.

Demon frenzies enhance lust and violence, like adding fuel to a fire. Jungkook’s flame is stoked, his agony over his family members and his frustration blinding him as he rips the back of your shirt open, your scares and flesh on display for him.

“You want to be fucked like I own you?” he asks, voice low. “Fine.”

It's nothing new, being fucked like you’re owned. But this is different – it feels different. When Jungkook’s hands brush up your spine, they’re not violent. They’re inquisitive. Callused. You shiver under his touch, eyes shutting as he pulls the fabric of the ruined shirt off you.

Your nipples are pressed to the wall, providing friction. You give into it, letting that blissful stimulation bloom inside of you as he nudges your head to the side with his nose.

“Spread your legs,” he demands. His voice is barely a whisper. You do. “Not so talkative now, are we?”

“Is my commentating part of fucking me like you own me, dominus?”

A loud rip splits the air. Jungkook tears through your sweats, warm hands seeking the flesh of your ass. He grips your cheeks firmly, massaging the flesh as he ruts against you slightly. You moan, surprisingly not for effect but at the way you feel.

Rare is the occasion in which someone made you feel good during sex. It isn’t what you’re after, but it’s a bonus, letting Jungkook slip his hand between your legs to brush his finger through your folds. You're not dripping for him, but you let out a breathy sound as pleasure unfurls low in your stomach when he does it.

Even out of control Jungkook shows restrain. Your fascinated, split between panting against the wall as Jungkook’s skill fingers circle your clenching hole, gathering your wetness to slip toward your clit, applying light pressure as he circles the bundle of nerves.

Jungkook dedicates time to getting you worked up. His breath is warm against your ear, low grunts shooting more arousal straight to your core. For the first time in years, you’re dripping for someone. You can feel the slick on Jungkook’s fingers, your pussy warm and swollen for him as he continues to play with you.

Taking control of Jungkook’s thoughts is far from your mind now. You're distracted, fists pressing into the wall as Jungkook slips a finger into your entrance. You gasp, the pad of his finger brushing against your front wall, massaging your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you swear, seeing stars.

It becomes clear Jungkook knows what he’s doing, fucking his finger into you. You can hear the wet-slap of his hand against your pussy, worked up for him now as his clothed cock presses into your ass cheek.

“Such a tight fucking pussy,” he mutters. He doesn't seem to be talking to you as much as himself. “Cock is never gonna fuckin’ fit in here. Hmm. Oh well.”

He pulls his finger from you. You let out an angry sound, eyes flying open to glare at him over your shoulder. He pops the finger in his mouth, momentarily dumbing you as you watch him suck the shine from his finger. He doesn’t look at you when he’s done, hand working to pop the button on his jeans and tug his cock out.

When you look down, you realize that Jungkook is right. He might not fit, and it sends a little thrill through you, watching the way his heavy cock bobs against his shirt, dabbing it with precum as Jungkook only pulls his pants down enough to fuck you.

You’ve spent years tirelessly bouncing on a variety of cock and diving between the legs of mistress after mistress. Sex is not a stranger to you. Sometimes you remember vaguely enjoying a thing or two. Sometimes even when you didn’t like it, your body at least orgasmed.

Being used is something familiar – but you’re not being used now. Even if Jungkook thinks you are. Even as he thumbs the precum from the dark tip of his cockhead to spread it down his thick shaft, Jungkook isn’t in control.

You remember that as Jungkook leisurely pumps himself before brushing the tip through your now sticky folds. You press your cheek against the wall, sighing as he teases you. It feels good. You reach out with your mind, brushing Jungkook’s sightly. His walls are down, vulnerable. Your sneer turns into a loud moan when Jungkook pushes into your pussy on the upstroke.

The stretch is painful, your stomach plummeting as Jungkook splits you open. The glide isn’t slow. His instincts take over and he immediately fucks into you hard and deep, slamming your hips into the wall with his full weight with every thrust.

Jungkook fucks the breath out of you. One hand presses your face into the wall, your cheekbones and jaw throbbing with the force of it. His other hand grabs your hips, holding you in position as he fucks himself into you hard.

Pain-laced pleasure shoots through you. The sounds that drip from your mouth isn’t for show. Your toes curl and your head swims at the way he takes control, fingers pressed into your flesh, cock pressing deep deep deep.

You lose yourself in the slap of flesh on flesh and curses. He spits insults at you, and you growl in response, biting one of his fingers that strays too close to your mouth. You taste blood, grinning as the salt and iron tinged with honey pulls on your tongue. He smacks your mouth, the stinging making you trill with high-pitched laughter.

“Crazy Carved bitch,” he slurs. “Is this what you fucking wanted? To be fucked like this?”

“Fuck me harder, Jungkook.”

He presses your skull harder into the wall. For a moment, you think it might crack under the pressure. But you don’t break, and Jungkook listens, driving into you at a pace that would break anyone else. Anything else. But it doesn’t break you and it feels good to know that it doesn’t. To feel the way your pussy flutters around him as he fucks you with abandon.

So many people have tried to break you. So many. Many have almost succeeded, and yet you prevail. You keep going. You survive. You move on. You wait. You win.

Your orgasm mounts. You feel it building inside of you like the same electricity that gathered in that small hall to destroy. It coils and coils and coils. You become short of breath, sucking in hair as you tremble under Jungkook’s weight. His mind is flayed open and raw for the taking but you wait. Not yet not yet not yet.

Jungkook picks up speed. You feel his pace get sloppy and the change in rhythm pushes you over the edge. You come around him with a scream, vision going white as you hold your breath. You feel your entire body seize up, thrashing under him. Jungkook presses you against the wall, trapping you and making you take it as he thrusts one – two – three more times before coming with a curse.

The pace slows. The sweaty tension between you begins to dissipate. You feel Jungkook pull himself out, cum immediately running down your legs. His energy is lower now and when you manage to catch your breath and look at him over your shoulder, he’s swaying on his feet, fucked out expression on his face. He’s flushed, tip of nose red.

Your legs are shaking and sticky. You take a step toward him feeling the slide of your thighs against one another, made slippery by cum. You hold out a hand and he stares at it, eyes wide, expression blank. He’s in the fall after a frenzy, somewhere dazed between thoughts in his head.

Tentatively, Jungkook takes your hand. You leave the torn clothes on the floor, you leave everything. Namjoon surely heard everything, but the Hellhound minds his business as you lead Jungkook to your room. The half demon, half angel is suddenly pliant for you. Soft at the edges. Mute.

You sit him on the bed and he stares at you. Unmoving. Unthinking.

Brushing your mind against his, you feel nothing but static. The buzz of his thoughts is unorganized and sleepy. You keep the connection open, stepping into the bathroom to wash the cum from your legs, the sweat from your back and the blood from your face. You had not even realized that he split your lip.

In your room, Jungkook doesn’t move. He is listless and calm, steady breathing letting you know that he hasn’t gone to sleep just yet, but that he’s not entirely present.

Slipping into clothes and back into the room, you stand in front of him, eyes flickering over his face. Jungkook looks at you but he’s not really there. A tiny part of you hesitates. Knows that to violate his mind has always been your greatest fear of yourself.

But life isn’t fair, and you have been a slave for hundreds of years. You have suffered and you will suffer again in the future. And though you see something in Jungkook that you recognize, you know that to spare him is to admit weakness.

Pain is inevitable. Pain is constant. Pain is power.

Jungkook knows nothing of these tenants. Knows nothing of the life his mother lived before him, her principles, her heritage.

Sympathy is something you cannot afford to give him. So you push into his mind, seizing his thoughts. He doesn’t put up a fight. He hardly knows what you’re doing as you begin sorting through what’s there.

Minds are unique to each person. Though some of your fallen companions had similarities in the way their memories and thoughts were laid out, everyone had something unique. Jungkook’s mind feels like a thunderstorm at night, soft with the threat of something more. Something melancholy plays there, a tune that is familiar, but you cannot place.

You sift through the night's events. You see things through his eyes. Feel the contempt for those around him. Feel the apathy for the Vanir leashed to chairs and in cages. Feel the unfettered spark of adoration when he sees Kita. Feel the love for his brother, though you had not sensed it upon meeting Jihoon.

And there is love there. Maybe not in the form that humans or texts perceive it. But you taste the sweetness of the affection, and you understand that there are positive emotions when Jungkook looks at his older brother, no matter how complicated.

You sift through to running through the tunnels. Jungkook feels glad that he prepared. They had been worried as of late – there were confirmed movements of the rebel group Libram in the city. Confirmations of assets destroyed and vanishing members of the local government.

This surprises you. You were not aware that the rebels were so familiar with the city yet. The thought of the free cities is so distant from you that it feels odd to conceptualize that there are members of their organization in Lythos.

You follow the thread of Jungkook’s conversation with you from earlier.

But we are always prepared. It’s not often that someone tries to assassinate us, but...

But Jungkook had known that there was a growing presence of Libram in the city. And Belial had tortured you repeatedly for information on Libram, looking for any connection to the rebellion. To Michael. To the last remaining seraphim across the worlds.

You take a sharp breath. Jungkook’s feelings regarding Libram were wary. Laced with uncertainty and fear. You follow those thoughts, flipping through his memories looking for more information. Four assassinations on government officials. The destruction of one of the Kim’s synth mines. Liquidation of accounts that belonged to Belial through unknown methods and hackers.

For as long as you had belonged to Faustus to fight, you had kept your head down. You focused on living. Small moves and counter moves. You had not been looking for any news of Libram or their existence in the city, and until now, you had thought there weren’t many in the city. Whispers of the potential but nothing like what you’re seeing in Jungkook’s thoughts.

Carefully, you extract your mind from his and sit on the bed. With him tired and swaying, you offer him a nudge to go to sleep. He lays backwards, dark lashes fluttering shut. You watch him for a while, thoughts ruminating on the new information.

Libram being in the city is a factor that you did not calculate. You chew on your lips as you think of your next move. One way to gather the information you need would be through your Vanir contacts. You have so few. But the best way to get good information is through your Vaesen contacts, which are even fewer.

You think about the twisted creatures that killed Jungkook’s family. They did seem like... angels and demons twisted together. Like the stitching together of things that didn’t belong. Half-demons, half-angels were rare to begin with. But it was like they were trying to make something else.

Belial’s question comes back to you about Lilins. The children of Lilith herself, born from her savage rape of the Heavens, but specifically, the archangels. Unique creatures, with the perfectbalance. Enough demon blood to hide the angelic blood, and enough angelic blood to hide the demon.

The flicker of familiarity you felt when fighting those creatures sends a sinking feeling to the pit of your stomach. You look at Jungkook, asleep. He looks gentle in his sleep, lines smoothed out on his face. Round and childlike.

In the morning, you’ll go back to pretending. But for now, you pull your knees to your chest, setting your chin on top of them as you consider the options before deciding that you need to follow the sick feeling that twists your gut.

Because if you’re suspicions are right... Libram made those creatures that killed Jungkook’s family tonight, targeting Belial and his children. It puts you in a dangerous position, but also a favorable one if Libram discovers your existence and grows curious about how useful you might be.

Yet none of it relieves you. Because if those creatures are what you think they are, there are seraphim in the world that are trying to bring Lilins back to the fight. Lilins, the creatures solely responsible for bringing the Heavens down.

D E F I N I T I O N S

Adamas - metal made from the Heavens, favorite in weapons used by angels and fae

Carved – angels who have had their wings surgically removed and sold for ownership. The possession of an angel’s wings gives the owner power over the angel’s grace, thereby giving them power over the angel.

Collared – a Vanir who is owned as a slave. They are often identifiable by the custom collars their masters put on their necks.

Dominus – term used by a slave to their male identifying master

Huli jing - Chinese fox spirit; similar to the Kitsune

Lilins - the offspring of the First Demon, Lilith, an the seraphim, most notably with the angels Uriel and Raphael. They are the perfect balance of Vanir and Vaesen and were used as spies during the war.

Seraph - a single angel, one of the seraphim

Seraphim - species of angels associated with Christian heaven, soldiers of God

Triumvirate – the three Lords who rule the Realms – figures of the Underworld

Vaesen – creatures associated with Underworld Realms such as demons, daevas, sorcerers, vampires, wraiths, and monster-like creatures

Vanir – creatures associated with Heaven Realms such as angels, faeries, witches, dragons, demigods and any heavenly-like being

I am no longer doing a tag list. After several attempts to get this tag list to work and Tumblr refusing to tag correct/process the post, I just took them off. I'm removing taglists for 2023 anyways because of how difficult tagging has become (incorrect usernames, Tumblr eating tags, copy and pasting not working).

/ PREVIOUS / NEXT CHAPTER

#fic: carved #haliiimede writes #bts fanfic #bts smut #bangtan boys #jeon jun #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bts #jjk #demon!jungkook #dark romance #minors do not interact #minors dni #dead dove do not eat

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ineffablyruined · 5 months

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Someone to Blame (Good Omens After Dark Angst War)

I wrote a short one-shot for the GOAD Angst War on Reddit. If you're not already there, come play with us!

CW: Violence and Blood.

_____

They came for him four months after that day.

Just long enough for Crowley to accept that Aziraphale wasn't going to come to his senses and come back. Long enough for him to pull himself together after his rather spectacular bender.

Long enough for him to start to care again.

Aziraphale would find out later that they had worked with the demon Furfur, that they had procured a miracle blocker from him. That Furfur had offered it freely just out of spite, not even bothering to make a deal.

Crowley hadn't stood a chance.

In those four months, things had begun happening on Earth. Things that even the humans started to notice. The wars breaking out all over the globe were easily dismissed at first. Tensions had always been high in that part of the world, hadn't they? And that one leader? Everyone knew he was a loose cannon. But when the earthquakes began, followed by the famine, and a new strain of COVID that was somehow more deadly than the original, even the humans had recognized that something was Up. And when the sun darkened the days and the moon disappeared, they knew. They all knew that the End of Times was nearing.

And so a small group of humans came for the only celestial entity they could find. The one who had been there all those months ago when the weird things happened at the Whickber Street Shopkeeper's Association meeting – the things that no one could quite remember, but everyone knew hadn't been right. The dark one, with the glasses and the red hair, had spoken to that malevolent group like he knew them. And, as humans did when they were scared, they'd found someone to blame.

Mister Brown of Brown's World of Carpets led the mob. They dragged Crowley from his Bentley when he'd stopped by to check on Muriel and the bookshop. Crowley had quickly snapped his fingers a second before the miracle blocker was activated, and the new bookshop owner was suddenly the most normal human anyone in a twelve-mile radius could remember. Then Mister Brown’s heavy fist connected with Crowley’s angular jaw, breaking his thumb and Crowley’s sunglasses. Another hit, a spray of red painted the cobblestones under their feet. Another. A tooth jangled loose from his skull, and clattered into the grate below.

As they dragged him into the street, Crowley didn't pray. God had abandoned him long ago, and he knew She would not take pity on him now. And the angel he'd known? The one he'd loved? He must be gone, too, if the Second Coming had progressed this far. That angel had loved Earth and the humans so much, he would never have allowed Earth to come to this as Supreme Archangel. No, Aziraphale must be gone.

So, no. He didn't pray. Because no help was coming.

As handcuffs encircled his wrists and legs, he didn't pray.

As the cricket bats and glass bottles broke over his corporation again and again, he didn't pray.

As the humans whose lives he'd saved four months ago, and again four years before that, took their fear and anger and blame out on the demon's corporation, he didn't pray.

And as his golden eyes locked with achingly familiar blue ones across the street, just in time for his corporation to give up entirely, he found there was nothing left to pray for.

Someone to Blame on AO3

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Thank you to all the wonderful writers at GOAD for their support and beta reading. You're all wonderful, insanely talented people. And thanks to the awesome mods and artists and readers and everybody on the GOAD sub. It's a wonderful place.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens after dark #good omens after dark angst war #crowley #aziraphale #muriel #angst #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfiction #i wrote this #good omens fic #self rec #goad angst war #angst war

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goodomensafterdark · 5 months

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Two Months of After Dark

The subreddit r/GoodOmensAfterDark moves insanely fast since engagement is so high, but it's just a couple months old. Nearly 3500 members, TONS of artists, and *adult conversation*.

This Tumblr is a few weeks old and has over 600 followers. Go baby Tumblr! lol

The Angst War still rages but a new conflict looms over the horizon: a sexier, smuttier war is coming..

#good omens after dark #artists on tumblr #good omens fanart #GOAD #look at us grow #angst war #smut war?

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kotias · 4 months

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The Final Story - The Big Five

This is the final bomb I am launching for the Angst War on @goodomensafterdark It is specifically targetted at: - @gleafer - @vavoom-sorted-art - @daneecastle - @gahellhimself-blog - @lauramoon1987

And using their comics made for the war for this final magnum opus.

GIGANTIC thank you to @daneecastle for your gorgeous cover art for this final missile and for accepting that I use your Koka.

As a soundtrack to the entire piece, I propose this soundtrack from the critically acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV, with an expanded free trial thanks to which you can play through the entirety of A Realm Reborn and the award-winning Heavensward and Stormblood expansions up to level 70 for free with no restrictions on playtime: Niddhog's Theme - The Final Steps of Faith

Trigger warnings: death, torture, emotional anguish

Word count on Reddit: 524 words

Final word count on AO3: 3141 words

“For fuck’s sake angel, you can’t just-”

“I can’t what, Aza? Leave? Of course I can! I can, like you always are, like you’re leaving me behind every time you’re getting bored of me!”

Koka stormed out of the Fell & Co. bookshop, feeling his feet burn the concrete ground with thousands of starlights. With an enraged wave of his right hand, he caught into the weaving of the current reality and opened it, stepping into another world.

oOo

Before he finished stepping out of the portal, he heard the shrieking cries of the angel he knew as Muriel, and his heart froze in his chest. The voice carried their pain, carried their anguish and the loss they had lived before that. Lingering in the rotten air, the memories of the eyes ripped apart from all the surrounding angels assaulted him. He ran to the place he heard the screaming from and almost gagged when he heard, before he saw, the cracking of their skull and neck. He hid back behind a wall, keeping his mouth shut with his hand, panic settling in his stomach.

Hmph… useless little soul.

The smell of celestial dust was brought to his nostrils by the air, and he slid down to the floor, petrified. His heart was beating so loudly that it took over his head, bumping and thumping against his temples, and closing his eyes made it all worse-

He heard footsteps stop right in front of him, and he opened them, only to be faced with the Supreme Archangel, looking at him like he was but a poster to be ripped away and smashed to pieces. He heard himself wheeze in panic, just as Aziraphale’s hand slid down the wall until he was crouching in front of him, giving him a smile colder than the void of Space. “Tell me, little, shivering angel…” Anything, anything, please, anything. “Why does your hair wear the colours of the demon Crowley?”

Koka stayed silent, his body entirely frozen, counting each fraction of a second passing before he would inevitably be destroyed by the being looking at him with the eyes not of a Guardian, but of an Executioner. When his left hand cradled his right cheek, he whimpered and closed his eyes, trying to muster the power he needed to get away.

The portal expanded under him, and he drowned into the floor’s opening weaves with a yelp, leaving the broken Supreme Archangel behind him and carrying with him the scalding feeling of his hand, leaving a scar by his right ear.

oOo

He fell for days without end, his breath losing the battle against the strain of the wind. It was interminable and unstoppable; his collapse was both too fast and too slow for his portal to reopen for him, if even it had been allowed to. The curse he was living through felt like a rift from Time itself. Only when he was about to land did he feel his powers in his grasp again, and he crashed painfully against a dented rock.

“Oh… oh Lord, what happen-” His mouth couldn’t finish his sentence, the shock put him in comatose.

Read the complete piece on AO3

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #angst war #good omens after dark #GOAD

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gaiaseyes451 · 2 months

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Return to Eden - Chapter 2 (of 3)

Chapter 2 of Return to Eden is now live, a continuation of the story published over at @goodomensafterdark during the ineffable smut and angst wars! Chapter 3 (the final chapter) will release tomorrow!

Return to Eden is rated as Explicit, this chapter is Mature. Please, mind the tags for Chapter 1. This work can be read alone, but it will make more sense (and be more impactful) if you've read Fractured and Shatter first - they're all part of the Before Eden There Was a Garden Series.

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale averted the second coming and were trying to pick up the pieces of their relationship when Aziraphale became plagued with nightmares. After hearing the angel murmur a phrase from a previous life in his sleep, Crowley goes searching for the one place that may be able to set everything right. Where it all started…

Excerpt (continue reading on AO3):

~*~*~

The first time Aziraphale moved from his spot on the bed was when he heard the bell on the bookshop door jingle. He sat up slowly, sliding his feet off the bed and standing without adjusting his shirt or waistcoat. He walked to the top of the spiral stairs and looked down into the shop. There was Crowley, standing full height and stiff, back to the doors, glasses carefully perched on his sharp nose; his face was arranged in a purposefully blank expression. They stared at one another for a long moment before Aziraphale realized he needed to speak first.

“Hello,” it was barely a whisper, his mouth dry and voice weak from disuse.

Crowley took a few tentative steps into the shop, eyes never leaving Aziraphale, “Hi.”

In an instant Aziraphale was down the stairs, rushing toward Crowley, hands outstretched to pull him close; to prove that he was really there. Crowley flinched when Aziraphale reached for him and Aziraphale came to an abrupt halt, hands suspended between them before he lowered them awkwardly. His eyes flickered over Crowley’s face, shoulders, chest, looking for signs of injury or distress. “I was worried sick, don’t ever leave like that again.”

Crowley grimaced and he side-stepped Aziraphale, stopping near one of the columns in the entryway, putting distance between them. When he spoke his voice was strained with the effort to keep it even. “You don’t have the right to make those kinds of demands, Aziraphale. Not now.”

A chill settled at the base of Aziraphale's spine, he shut his eyes and gave a small nod in acknowledgement. His eyes were still closed when he spoke again, small and uncertain. “You came back.”

“I said I would.”

“Crowley I–” Aziraphale had no idea how he would finish the sentence. Luckily, Crowley interrupted.

“Angel, I can’t do this. Not like this, not anymore.” His voice was calm but unyielding. This wasn’t the Crowley who had fought with him in the bandstand, who he’d goaded into stopping time for Adam, who’d begged him to run away to Alpha Centauri. This Crowley was disconcertingly serious, he demanded Aziraphale listen. “The secrets, the half truths, the omissions. Apparently, six-thousand years and two averted armageddons is my limit. I’ll have you—all of you—the entire truth, or I’ll have none of it at all. Tell me.”

~*~*~

A huge thanks to my beta readers: @the-literal-kj and @hakunahistata, my wonderful siblings in angst <3

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #my fic writing #my fic #my fanfiction #mind the tags #mind the rating

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nosferatini · 3 months

Text

F*** Him

A Nosferatini / Puddinpocalypse (Nospocalypse) Production for the @goodomensafterdark Smut War!

TW/CW: Explicit Sexual Content, Angst, Breakup Trauma, Sex Work

Summary

Crowley finds comfort wherever he can in the absence of his angel, and not in the healthiest of ways. But the journey to find closure in the flesh of another is a long and hollow one.

Excerpt…

Someone was knocking at the window. Crowley woke slowly from the reverie, his brow bending into a pronounced V.

If that’s Shax, I’ll — he sighed — I’ll just sit here until I’ve become part of the scenery.

It was a woman, scantily dressed. Definitely not Shax. Blonde hair flowed in forced curls, bobbing beside her neck, which Crowley noticed seemed to instantly disappear into an abyss of cleavage. Entranced, he wound down the Bentley’s window.

“Nice ride,” said the blonde. “Need a lass to fill the other side?”

Not you...

Then again, it seemed the usual occupant no longer wanted to be there.

“Haven’t I seen you?” she went on. “Was you, weren’t it? Hangin’ ‘round the bookshop bloke?”

Crowley didn’t recognize her, but judging by the fact that he’d somehow driven all this time and still wound up around the corner from Ms. Sandwich’s Seamstress shop, he could guess where she’d come from. Blonde didn’t wait for an answer.

“Maybe I ‘ent your type?”

Crowley regarded her from her ivory top down the short distance to skirt bottom. His extremities tightened, warming in his trousers. Why not? If you can’t fuck him… then FUCK him.

So Crowley gave a shrug. “I’m sure you could be my type for a night.”

Continue Reading on AO3

Listen 🎧 to Nospocalyptic PODFIC Version

Thank you to all our lovely betas from the GOAD community (@ineffable-obsession @mrscakeishere @kotias ) and from @sohoscribblers (Saucygirl, Ro_Fell, Ines2925, Wahoo)!

#good omens #good omens fanfic #crowley #good omens smut #good omens fanfiction #ineffable smut war #good omens after dark #scribblers of soho #writers of after dark

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