Cyclonus is the best post-'86 movie character and I honestly love his original design so I decided he can switch between it and the final at will

it flips like a coin instead of spinning a globe and I call it his "war face"

he voluntarily changes to it when he gets angry or is preparing to fight. there's no personality change nor does he become angry when he switches to it, it just serves to frighten enemies or express himself better. his voice does get scarier, tho

to be gods

Written by maej26 (6/25/2021) When I think about being with him, all the chaos melts away. We’re in bed together. My face buried in his neck. My body pressed against his. The confusion of the outside world, the confusion we created, no longer exists because we are together and as far as we’re concerned, nothing exists except that which we can feel and see and breathe. It wasn’t always like this. A war raged between us. I fought on the side of the light. He, a warrior of the night. A warrior who would become a leader. And ultimately my equal. They called us gods. The co-creators of this world. I wanted peace; I took things seriously, though quite metaphorically. He thrived in the swirl of it all. The up that propelled itself only to be looped around to the down. He only wanted logic, but he never made any sense. He would spy on me; try to be like me. Speak in my rhyme, steal my time. He could not emulate what was pure with pure trickery. I saw right through him and he hated that. And so he loved it. And he loved me, so much so he couldn’t stand it. My waters ran clear, uncontaminated. Come swim in me, I would say. Let me show you how deep this goes. There is much beyond the surface of these crashing waves. Dive beneath the undertow and you’ll see what we’re meant to be. But on the surface is where the storm brews. The wind rushes and whirls, the clouds flash and swirl—a sky-lion in heat. Drop by drop is how he preferred to quench his thirst, though he dodged each drop with a jester’s grace. He’d get struck with a splat every now and then. A slow torture. A reminder of me and what he convinced himself he didn’t need. I wanted heaven and he wanted hellfire and brimstone. He wanted the chains, while I wanted the wings. He chose the bars while I chose the key. There was nothing more that I wanted than to set him free. I’m right here, I would say. Me on my side peering across the uncrossed line. He pretended to be blind. He pretended he wasn’t divine. He wanted the world to think he was something to pity. More close to them. To write off as a joke so he could keep playing his game. Laughing is what he knew how to do. Laughing to suppress the pain. Coughing up smoke and blood. To him, it was all the same. Anything to hurt me. Even if it meant hurting himself for that false net-gain. It’s said hell is the absence of God. It’s why he chose to live down there, away from his god. It’s why I chose to live there, too. To be close to my god. Up from the depths, down from on high. I spent many years clinging to survive. For hell is where I find my peace. To abandon him is to leave everything I know. All of my dreams and wishes. The blazing fire the single spark contains. Powerful enough to flicker every star that ever was and ever will be into existence. The desire, the urge, the longing. The soul itself. Powerful enough to split the branch, to tear the slit. I followed him through every door even when I was on my knees crawling; on my belly sobbing to the point of debilitating muscle spasm. It made him laugh even more. To see the emotional turmoil expressed through physical torment. Be happy, I would say. Even at my own expense. By hurting me for so long, for wanting nothing more than to make me leave, he began to only hurt himself, for fear of losing what made him tick. The only thing he knew that did the trick. And Lord did he know, it was no trick. I sat with my back against the door for a thousand years and then a thousand-thousand more, refusing to engage his rage. Refusing to wield the pen. Covering my ears when his laughter turned to cackles and then to tears. I’m right here, I would whisper, but he could not hear. When the tears ran dry, I willed him to try. Open the door, I’m here on the other side, but it would still be lifetimes before he would realize he’d been subsisting on lies. The film that coated his tired eyes, the veil that shrouded the truth, fell like a sheet of glass and shattered upon the earth. And when my love had turned cold from the wait, he waited there, the two of us sitting side by side, because I remembered deep inside what I never wanted to hide. He took my hand and filtered the water through our cloud until the thaw would lead us here. I press my face against his neck and breathe when he breathes.

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 1

Oof. Busy day at work today. Resume! The boys have something to talk about...

Discussion this chapter of magical injuries, and we get our first big swear.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11

Aziraphale’s upturned face was full of hope. He opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley held up a finger. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. Crowley had no idea what his own face must look like, but the sight of it caused the light in Aziraphale’s eyes to snuff right out. The angel swallowed and stared at him.

Crowley tried to collect himself while experiencing twenty-two emotions in the span of ten seconds.

In a cracked voice, he said, “What. The Hell. Are you doing here.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrung together. “I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced,” he said.

He sounded sincere. As if a lack of manners was the issue. Crowley made an undignified noise.

“It must have given you quite a shock. If there was some way to contact you beforehand -”

“I didn’t need another of your notes.”

There was a horrible pause.

“Qu-quite.” Aziraphale looked pale. “Um. Perhaps I should explain?”

An explanation. Crowley flashed back to the day he’d returned to the bookshop, shame-faced and heart-bruised, and found it dark and empty, summoning circle cold for hours, and that one sheet of paper on the bureau addressed to him. His stomach dropped away.

“I came back, because… because I had to see you. The thing is…”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled. Then it burst out of him like a dam exploding.

“I couldn’t do it, Crowley! I couldn’t sit up there and smile while they all counted down to Armageddon like it was New Years’ bloody Eve. I want no part in any of it. They were going to give me a regiment and - Crowley, I can’t do it. Killing for them, seeing you killed. They’re looking forward to getting to melt the Earth down to a slag heap. I can’t even comprehend it. I’ve seen the world they’re so keen to duplicate down here, and it’s awful, Crowley. Seventy-eight years of Singalong Sound of Music, you have no idea. I can’t take an eternity of that. I thought I had no choice, I thought I had to stick it out, but it got to today and it was all too much and I just had to come and find you. I’ve been an idiot. We should have done this from the start, when Zadkiel wanted to. He was right all along, and I was wrong. We have to escape. This world is going to end, no matter what, but it doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

Nothing could have prepared Crowley for Aziraphale bursting up to him and suggesting they go on the lam.

He managed a croaky, “You what?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. His eyes held a feverish glow.

“We can do it. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s possible. If we act now. Flee into space, live as a fusion. Heaven and Hell won’t be able to track us. Besides, they’re going to be busy with everything down here. We can have our pick of where to settle down. Er, where’s nice… Alpha Centauri, say? I’m sure I’ve heard you talking about it.”

Crowley said, “Nnng.” It was all he had left.

Aziraphale came closer. He took Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared down at it as if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Will you please come with me?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley forgot what breathing felt like.

Aziraphale noticed something. He glanced down at their joined hands.

“Crowley, why are you wearing one glove?”

Crowley remembered what breathing was. He sucked in a lungful of air. Aziraphale’s face dropped at his expression.

Crowley made a strained hissing sound. Tears leaked out of his eyes and streaked down his face, under his sunglasses. Shit. Shit.

He scrubbed his face. Aziraphale made a soft noise and reached for him.

“Get back. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale turned white and backed away.

Crowley shook, face hidden in his hand. Everything was upside down. He didn’t know how to even voice everything he’d felt over the past seventy-eight years. What it was like to cram all the love he had into a box and bury it and go back to work, and keep going back to work, every single day.

“How fucking dare you pull this. I never thought I’d see you again. You abandoned me. You got scared, and you fled and you left me alone. Ran right back to that supercilious lot without a word. I’m sorry you haven’t been enjoying their company these last few years, that must have been really hard for you. I’ve been down here with Hastur and Ligur and half of Hell. I’ll tell you something, I’d rather see them right now than you.”

“Oh, goodness. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I was saving your life.”

“Saving my -?” Crowley barked a laugh. More tears came. “What kind of -”

He had to pull his sunglasses off and wipe his face. What was the point in dignity when Aziraphale looked at him like that?

“What happened to your arm, Crowley?”

It hurt. Crowley didn’t know why, but his arm was in more pain than it had ever been since it first happened. He clutched it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Can I see? Please?”

Why not. The glove felt as though it were compressing the wound, making it swell with pain. Crowley fumbled with it, forgetting he could just miracle it away. Maybe he didn’t want the dramatic reveal of baring it all at once. He peeled the glove down, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

It looked appalling, he knew. His arm was withered from the elbow down, drained of colour and white as a corpse. Cracks in his skin ran all the way along his forearm; unnatural gaps, as though his arm was pieced together from shards of pottery. Gold shone through them, a strange effect that was not quite liquid and not quite light. It was the colour of angels.

Crowley didn’t understand why the pain had spiked. The injury was old. His jacket covered most of it, luckily. Aziraphale’s face was bad enough as it was.

“My poor Crowley.” Aziraphale reached for his other hand. Crowley let him. He let himself feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Turns out fusing had some extra perks,” he said, attempting levity.

“What do you mean?”

He might as well tell him. He cleared his throat.

“I was in SoHo. It was… I dunno, nineteen-sixty something. I planned a heist. Got a whole crew together. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted insurance. Even with you gone, I was afraid Hell might poke around and find the last thousand years’ lunch receipts or something. Figure out I’d got a bit too chummy with an angel. So I hired a team, and we did the job. It was in a church. It went wrong.”

“What were you stealing?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped moving. His breath trembled out of him. Then he resumed stroking Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. If I’d been there. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley had to look away. “Didn’t kill me though,” he said. “I think all the fusing must have made me immune. Slightly. It just… burned.” He winced. It was still burning. His arm and heart hurt in equal measures. “I went home and licked my wounds - figuratively, I don’t want a withered tongue - and I’ve been trying to hide it from the rest of my side ever since. Don’t have a very non-treasonous explanation for it.”

“That must have been so hard. All those years.”

“Well.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “What was one more secret?”

He felt exhausted. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t talked to demons.

“You’re probably immune to hellfire, too, a bit,” he said. “Don’t go testing it, obviously.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley fiddled with his sleeve. He hoped he could cover up soon. Looking at the gold seeping through the cracks in his skin for too long made his eyes go funny.

“I wish I could take all this back,” Aziraphale said.

The pain was subsiding a little. Rather than constant agony, it came and went in waves. Crowley still didn’t know why it had spiked. Looking at Aziraphale made it worse, a fact that hurt almost as much as the physical pain.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Aziraphale’s movements stilled. He sighed.

“I thought I needed to. It was the only way to keep us safe. We couldn’t trust ourselves around each other. Someone had to separate us, and I thought it should be me. I thought I was being noble. It was cruel. I’m sorry.”

Crowley was right. Hearing that didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t feel worse, either. He’d settled on slightly numb. He wished he could say the same for his arm. It throbbed like poison.

The pain must have shown, because Aziraphale looked concerned. “Is it still bad?”

“Fnn.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s causing it? It’s not…” Aziraphale sounded suddenly alarmed. “Is it reacting to me? Because I’m an angel? If the wound was inflicted by Heavenly means - oh dear -”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel’s wretched expression stung his heart. Some mean, hurt part of him wanted to make Aziraphale feel worse.

“It’s not because you’re an angel, Aziraphale. It’s because I’m angry. At you. I haven’t forgiven you. Seeing you just. Hurts.”

Aziraphale flinched. Crowley felt a wave of vindication. Then he just felt sick.

For a while, no-one spoke.

Aziraphale muttered, “Psychosomatic.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said irritably, ignoring the burst of foul taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes -! Crowley was so outraged he temporarily forgot all the other things he was outraged about.

“It’s not just a physical injury. It’s emotional. You associate it with me… abandoning you. Well, I’ll tell you what, you old serpent. I will never abandon you, never. If you’ll let me, I will stay by your side, from now until the end of everything. Which I’m hoping won’t be today. I love you.”

Aziraphale moved closer. There was a determined, blazing look in his eye.

Crowley tried to splutter about demon and feelings and don’t pull faces at me, you bastard, but lost every word in his head the moment Aziraphale pressed closer and kissed him.

They never. Quite got around to doing that before.

A turbulent ocean fell suddenly calm.

Crowley’s arms had fallen to his sides (useless lumps, if they were house-plants, he’d put the fear of him in them). He realised, through the haze that had settled around him, that the pain in the right arm had soothed to a dull sting.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his face, holding him like something precious. Crowley whined. Then he blushed so hotly his head was in danger of melting. He rallied his mutinous arms and wound them around Aziraphale’s plump shoulders.

Time swum, deliciously.

Aziraphale shifted. He broke the kiss, but still leaned his cheek to Crowley’s. Crowley felt as if he lacked any say over his feet or tongue, but did his best to stay upright and form sentences.

“You - ah. Hn.” Going well. “You said you had a plan?”

The unangelic gleam in Aziraphale’s eye was mesmerising this close up. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Crowley wetted his lips and got distracted utterly by recent memory. “Alpha Centauri… ‘s pretty nice this time of year…”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley took in the love and joy beaming from it and tried to keep a lid on his emotions for both their sakes. He failed.

“Crowley… are you saying you’ll come with me?”

Crowley didn’t trust himself with words. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Why not? I like space.”

His happiness was such that he didn’t even kick himself over that line. He suspected he was grinning like an idiot. Might as well commit to the madness fully. He bent down and kissed Aziraphale first this time.

An unknowable amount of time passed.

From the doorway, someone coughed.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze. Their lips unstuck, with a noise that rather burst the bubble of romantic frenzy from moments ago.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

An unimpressed eleven-year-old Antichrist was watching them.

There were probably a few ways this could be a bigger fiasco. Probably. Crowley took a half-step back and tried to straighten his clothes out.

“You’re not dead,” Adam said, flatly.

Aziraphale turned and tried to smile. “Erm -”

“And you -”

Adam looked Crowley up and down. Crowley felt that he was being seen right through to his very demonic core. He resisted a panicked urge to fling himself out of the window.

“You’re normally a snake,” Adam declared.

Crowley cringed.

“And imaginary,” Adam added, accusatory.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said, pointlessly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what it did look like.

Adam gave them both a shrewd look. “It looks like you’re my imaginary friend and you’re a magician I murdered, and you’re planning on running away together into space.”

It was hard to dispute any of that. Crowley opened his mouth to try.

“Can I come?” Adam said.

“What? No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Are you aliens?”

Crowley glared at Adam, trying to calculate a response. “Why…?”

“Space.” Adam gave him a look, as if it were self-evident. “Plus, you can shape-shift.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, insistently.

Crowley turned to him, hoping he had a brilliant suggestion.

“Is that the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stage-whispered.

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard they sprained. “Yes, that is the Antichrist,” he hissed back.

Adam scowled. “You sound like my mum.”

“Look, er.” Aziraphale tried another smile. “I’m terribly sorry about earlier, but this really isn’t… anything. We were just joking around, you know, and…”

“I know everything’s messed up,” said Adam.

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

Adam shrugged. “Everything. I know… I know stuff isn’t normal. The stuff that goes on in this house isn’t… how things are supposed to be. I’ve had enough of it. I want to go with you. I’d rather live in space.”

Aziraphale shared an uncomfortable look with Crowley. Crowley decided this had gone on long enough.

“Go to your room,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

Adam stayed where he was. He folded his arms, implacable. He was a five-foot barricade, as impassable as a steel door.

“That won’t work, he’s immune to occult persuasion,” Aziraphale murmured to him.

“Oh, now you’re the expert?”

Adam took a step towards them. They leaned back.

“I want to see space.”

Crowley wanted to see space, too, and he could feel it slip from his grasp the more time they wasted arguing with an eleven-year-old.

“Fine, you can come,” he snapped.

A grin split Adam’s face in two. “Really?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped around. “Really?”

“We’ve got between here and Alpha Centauri to ditch him,” Crowley muttered to him.

“I am not kidnapping a child, Crowley!”

“How are you kidnapping him? He’s kidnapping us! Besides,” Crowley lowered his voice further. “Armageddon can’t happen without him. If the Antichrist isn’t on Earth…”

Aziraphale caught on. “Maybe it never happens.”

Crowley still had it. Temptation accomplished.

Aziraphale bustled up to Adam. “Welcome aboard, young man.” He shook Adam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Adam said. He’d forgotten about the whole manslaughter debacle already, by the look of things.

“Now, stay close.”

Aziraphale peered along the corridor. He beckoned Adam and Crowley to follow him. Crowley brought up the rear, wondering how all this had happened to him.

On the way out, they ran into the American cultural attaché. He waved vaguely to Adam as he passed.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he said, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Bye, dad,” Adam said, distractedly.

They left him behind and went out the front door, all three acting as though they were in very different spy films.

As they snuck across the lawn, with maximum drama and minimum stealth, Crowley remembered something.

“Hey,” he said to Adam. “Did a giant dog ever show up?”

Adam looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “No. I haven’t wanted a dog in years.”

“Cool, cool. Just wondering.”

~*~

In the shrubbery, the enormous and poorly concealed Hellhound put its tail between its legs.

It didn’t understand. It was made for one purpose. If its master didn’t want it, why was it here?

It crept from the shrubbery, far less conspicuous than the three beings it was following, and stalked across the lawn towards the street. It would stay in its master’s shadow, out of sight, until he decided he wanted a dog after all.

---

Musical interlude x2! This chapter has a soundtrack. For Aziraphale’s perspective of the last seventy eight years, go here!

Then, the boys duet about their feelings here!

---

(Link to next part)

Hellfire

Here it is. The sinful Hanzo Hasashi smut. I love this piece, and I hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations! Next up is the Erron Black X reader smut fic. Followed by a Havik piece. I got a spicy request for him.   Pairing; Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion) X F!Reader.  Warnings; Smut, heavy NSFW below the cut, so 18+ Sex, oral, unprotected sex and mentions of cum. All below the cut! Word count; 8375.  GIF does not belong to me! 

Hanzo watched you train. He hated to lurk and hated even more so to pry. But he had an urge, one that he could not satiate by the mere thought of you. No. He had to see you… but he knew he couldn’t allow others to see him staring. It is why he watched you from the edge of the training room. As if he was merely gazing in to observe your form and stance, rather than take your details in. He felt conflicted, like he was being torn apart on the inside. The guilt he felt for wanting you, was not equally as matched with the desire of having you. Hellfire was burning inside of him. How he had prayed late into the night; that his feelings for you would be removed, cast out and taking with it the guilt he felt. But alas, it came to no avail, and the longing for you remained. You were not a member of the Shira Ryu, but you were a friend of Raiden’s and therefore, welcome at the temple whenever you arrived. You travelled a lot, and when you saw each other, you greeted one another like old friends. But now, Hanzo feared that he was jeopardising that balance, by the stirring in the pit of his stomach. Scorpion was reigning an old flame, one he was sure he had extinguished. Sexual desire had long been repressed by him. He had vowed to remain celibate after the death of his wife. Never wanting to be intimate with anyone again. Sex was sacred to him and he vowed to not violate the act… no matter how desperate he was. He had succeeded pretty well with this endeavour, until you had come a long. Awakening feelings that he had long thought dormant and dead. No amount of mediating could soothe his aching soul. But yet, he would still try to in vain…. He watched as you sparred with the dummy once more. You had taken his advice, working on your footing and stance, ensuring that you would not so easily be knocked off balance. His lips twitched, threatening to break into a solemn and brief smile. But he prohibited the action, instead opting to move on from his spying. He had a lot to meditate on today and a lot of repenting to do… Scorpion was trying to claw his way to the top, trying to fill his soul with lust laced thoughts. Thoughts about how you would moan, how his name would sound leaving your lips, not platonically but dripping with the tantalising sound of desire. How you would feel around him as he fucked you… he pushed the thoughts down, burying them as he often did. Closing his eyes and remembering his vow, how he had promised to never give into such urges, no matter how enticing they may be. Takeda had often encouraged his Grandmaster moving on, stating that he had a new chance at life, and that a vow of celibacy should not condemn his future. Whilst his pupil spoke some truth in the matter, it did not subside all of the guilt. Even though you were tempting and everything he could have ever hoped for… He knew he couldn’t, no matter how much the hell blazed fire burnt within him.

                                                                                      *

Hanzo relaxed in the hot-spring. The water washed over his aching bones, tired muscles and weary body. The day had been hard, long and tedious. Meditation had proved futile, since his thoughts still dwelled on you. Y/N, the way her hair shone, the way her muscles twitched when she trained… the ghost of a smile that dared to grace her lips in his presence. Yes, you had haunted his past, present and future whilst meditating. He had instead opted to work out his pent-up sexual frustration. Training hard and taking it out on a dummy, no one had dared to train or spa with him today. Fearing for their pride. It wasn’t that he was aggressive, it was just he was fuelled by emotion, meaning they stood no chance (Like they did anyway) against Hanzo. They’d leave with broken pride and bruised arses. His head lent back against the warm rocks, his eyes were closed, and he was listening to the sounds of the spring. The soft babble of the water, the sounds of the birds tweeting nearby and the gentle breeze blowing through the blossom trees. Threatening to send the pink buds cascading down into the pool below. Quaint. Peaceful. Serene. It was the Shira Ryu’s slice of heaven in his opinion. Whilst many visitors saw the Fire Gardens, they did not know about the hot spring located within it. Hidden from view and accessible to a select few outside of the clan. He would be damned if there was another incident of the ‘Pool Party’ When he had caught Takeda, Jacqui, Cassie and Kung Jin, relaxing in one of the Arktika Hot Spring. Sub Zero had been less than impressed when he had gone to try and unwind with Hanzo, trying to compare the Lin Kuei one to the Shira Ryu’s. Only to find the four of them, drunk as skunks, laughing and joking in it. He would not allow for that to happen here.  Hanzo allowed himself to slip off into thought. He thought of nothing and everything, one minute his mind was as calm as a forest, the next it raged like the sea. He was so deep in thought he did not catch sight of you entering the area…

You glanced over to see Hanzo was enjoying some respite. He looked to be in peaceful bliss and you envied that. Your bones ached, and your body begged for you to enter the warm and enticing water. You were relieved to find him here. It had felt like he was avoiding you all day, you knew he watched you train, just like he did everyone else. But since this morning, he had been off and made himself sparse. Sparser than usual in fact. You watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. Unaware you were there. His pectoral muscles twitched as the water lapped against them. He was well-toned and well-built. Years of training had perfected his body, as if it was sculpted by the finest sculptures from magnificent marble. “Do you mind if I join you?” You finally asked. You had stared long enough. Long enough that it seemed rude and disrespectful, even though his gaze lingered on you just as much. But you, were not a Grandmaster. His eyes shot open, you swore you saw a flash of milky white, rather than the usual calm and relaxing brown. Thinking it was the lanterns that lit the spring playing tricks, you merely pushed it to one side and focused in on him. He thought about it for a few moments, as much as his brain begged him to say no, he could not deny you your request. There was no harm in having you bathe with him. Nor did he want to make things overtly awkward with him ignoring you and avoiding being with you. His feelings should not get in the way of the bond you already had. You had been good to him and the Shira Ryu. “Of course. You know the location of the Spring; therefore, you are free to use it as you please.” He informed you, gesturing for you to sit opposite him. His head tilted back, his eyes once more closing slowly. Though they did not lid all the way until he spied you dropping your towel… He spied no bathing suite or any garment of the sorts, it was tradition to bathe nude, but it was not tradition to bathe with the opposite sex. He figured you had not prepared for him to be here, and let it slide. Knowing that once you were in the water, you would be will hidden and it would not seem rude to meet your gaze. The water soothed your aching body as you stepped into it. Hanzo had adverted his gaze, a small smile played upon your lips. Teasing the Grandmaster was not an activity you partook in often. Nobody seemed to gain such a reaction from Hanzo Hasashi, but you had seemingly done the impossible. Garnered a reaction from the stoic and sombre man. “How was your meditation today Grandmaster?” You asked him. You positioned yourself opposite him and waited for his reply. Hanzo met your gaze before nodding. “It was adequate. I have been distracted as of late…” He didn’t want to lie. Not to you. He had to admit that he was distracted. It amazed you still, that Hanzo Hasashi, the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu, could get distracted. You laugh slightly, before stifling and silencing the humour. Less you anger Hanzo. He was not known for having the best sense of humour. “What is funny?” He inquired. Brow furrowed. Not understanding what was so humorous in his statement. You smile softly at him. A soft smile, one that he had not seen in such a long time. A smile that made him feel calm. His brow relaxed slightly. “I just can’t imagine you being distracted at all Grandmaster.” You quickly said. Reassuring him, lulling him back into a tranquil state. “I assure you Y/N. I can and do get distracted, even the mightiest of warriors find distraction. Do not believe Sub Zero when he says you can avoid distraction.” It was true. Sub Zero taught that you could limit distractions well. Hanzo knew the truth all too well. Family, love, hunger anything could impact your concentration. But it was how you dealt with the distraction that mattered. Whether it be holding your loved ones tightly, eating or meditating, it was important to deal with it quickly. So why had he not dealt with his yet? Meditation had failed him. Massively. No amount made the image of you fade from his head. Sinful images that burned his core. Images that kept him awake at night, feeling sticky and hot all over. The familiar feeling and sensation of Scorpion clawing at him under his skin. Longing to break free and deal with the distraction as he saw fit… a thought that made Hanzo shudder. Conflict ripped through his body. He wanted to remain loyal to his ex-wife, but Scorpion had other ideas. Ideas that distracted Hanzo and threatened to make him lose control. He broke his train of thought and glanced at you through the steam. Night had set in. The gentle glow of the moonlight and candles, illuminated you perfectly, framing you in such a lovely light. He stilled his eyes, watching as your head tilted back enjoying the lapping of the water against your chest. His eyes widened slightly. He couldn’t… or could he? You were within his mind most of the day and haunted his dreams at night. He had woke up many a night, after dreaming of you in between his legs, sucking his cock and making him feel emotions that he had long forgot. He was unsure whether it was him or his Scorpion side wanting and wishing this. Projecting it from his subconscious and into the present. He glanced around. The grounds were deserted. It was night. Everyone would be asleep. Those on Guard duty knew better than to disturb him. He could take care of himself, he did not someone to guard him and watch his every move. He glanced back at you before shaking his head. He knew what had to be done. He stood up, the water pooling around his naked form quickly. It dripped from finely tuned muscle and scarred skin, back into the water; revealing a relaxing rythem as the water beat back against the pool. You knew better than to open your eyes. Hanzo was a private man, one that did not take too kindly to being ogled and stared at. No matter how tempting the prospect of seeing him, naked and bare before you. You knew better than to open your eyes. Without a word he left. Wrapped in a towel, making his way back to change and lie in wait for a more private situation. Even though the guards may not disturb you both, he knew better than to chance it. No, he needed somewhere with no prying eyes. He grabbed your medallion and walked quickly. He had a reason to visit you know. Whilst this was not an honest route, he knew this would avoid questions. He knew you’d invite him in for tea and to talk, and it would be considered rude to not accept that offer. This would silence any wagging tongues, less he had to do it himself.

                                                                                    * You rummaged through your draw. Urgently looking for your medallion. Fear, dread and panic coursing through your veins. Threatening to set your autonomic nervous system alight. You could not remember when you had the medallion last. All you knew, was that you would not sleep until you found it. “Damn it.” You hissed. Slamming the draw shut before racking your brain. Trying to retrace your footsteps. A knock at the door startled you. You were in no mood for visitors. Never mind how late it was, you were furious that you had lost your medallion. You slid the door open, face like thunder, ready to tear the knocker a new one. “Do you know what time it…” You paused upon seeing Hanzo staring down at you. His face stern looking. Unimpressed by the welcome. “It is twenty past ten. Would you like to know the date as well Y/N, perhaps?” He asked. You felt the tips of your ears go red. “I am sorry Grandmaster Hasashi… You haven’t seen…” Hanzo interrupted you, holding up the gold coin, “My medallion!” You squealed practically. You gripped the coin and pulled it in close to your chest. Smiling softly and cradling the coin, as if it was merely more than a metal object. Hanzo smiled quickly. It was admirable how much you respected and cherished your clan and family. A trait he himself had and held highly in others. “Where did you find it?” You asked curiously. Not taking your eyes off the innate coin. “You had dropped it just outside the sparring room.” He lied. He felt bad, a disgusting taste lingering in his mouth. He hated to lie to you, but he could not bear to tell you the truth. It was shameful to admit. You smiled softly, tucking the coin into your waistband. “How can I ever repay you Grandmaster?” You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.  He waved his hands. “There is no need Y/N. You would have done the same if I had lost something… though, that is a very rare scenario.” You smiled before scoffing, turning to see your tea had brewed. “No. I insist, would you like some tea? I’ve just brewed a pot. Enough for two at a squeeze.” You informed him, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come join you. Hanzo peered into your room before looking back at you. “Only if you are sure Y/N. I would hate to intrude.” You scoffed once more. “I insist.” It did not take much more encouragement on your part. He stepped willingly into the room. Shutting the door behind him. Shielding you both from prying eyes. Eyes that were connected to tongues that wagged messages of malcontent. Gossip that would burn and scorn him. Was it gossip if it was true? He pushed the thought out of his mind and admired your room. He had never stepped foot into this room, why would he have? The once empty shell of a room had been decorated and now felt cosy and warm. Welcoming and comforting. It filled him with content, it felt homely and more isolated. As if it was not in the Shirai Ryu grounds. He felt as if he was stood in a small house, far away from his place. A warm feeling that calmed and soothed his wracked nerves. It was lit by candle and fire light alone. Pictures were dotted around the room, in ornate frames. Clothes were neatly stacked on one of the chairs. A kettle hung above the fire, boiling and chugging away. The bed was neatly made, decorated with various throw blankets, furs and pillows. Your sword lay propped against a wall. Close enough that it was within reaching distance, but not so much it implied you felt unsafe. “A warrior will always remain prepared.” You cited. Making Hanzo turn to you and nod, holding back a smile. “You remembered, even after all of these years.” He stated. You smile before nodding your head. “I would be a fool to not keep it close to me… even if I am in such close proximity of Earthrealm greatest warrior.” You stated. The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You did not mean for that to slip out. You admired Hanzo, many people did, but they did not say things like that to him. He either saw it as brownnosing or an attempt of flirtation. You hoped he thought it was the first rather than the latter. Even if the flirting was true, you knew it was far worse to admit. Hanzo raised a brow before sitting on the edge of your bed. He felt bold, he was sure that was Scorpion pushing his way through. “Are you intending to leave soon?” He asked. He glanced at your bag, it was packed and contained at least a few weeks’ worth of supplies. You sighed with relief. Only under your breath, so as to not let Hanzo twig on. “I’m unsure at the moment. I have a mission contracted, it would take me from the temple for a few months.” You admit. The contract was to have a good payoff, but it would mean leaving the Shirai Ryu for months, maybe even years, with the potential of you remaining in the service of the employer. “The life of a mercenary is one fraught with danger. I pray for your safe return.” He hummed softly. You tensed up before shaking your head. “The employer offered me a permanent home if it all went to plan.” You softly said. Hanzo felt reality hit him. Dragging him from this false reality he had created for himself. Your room no longer felt isolated, it no longer felt as cosy and warm. The fictional fantasy he had dispersed around him. “Would you take it?” He asked you. His voice was monotone, trying to hid the sadness that came with you potentially leaving. You two had a comfortable relationship. It was not overly close, but close enough that you two got each other. You would spend many a night talking and exchanging stories. “I’m not sure… I am in two minds. I like it here. I really do. I appreciate everything you and the Shirai Ryu have done for me.” You reassured him. You wanted to tell him, you wanted to tell him he was the reason you wanted to stay. But you knew that they were forbidden words, that you could never utter. Hanzo nodded grunting a little… maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If you were to leave then he would no longer be distracted. That was him thinking logically. Though he knew, if you left, the ability to rid himself of the feeling would not go. He would have to suffer with the inability to do anything about it. If ever there was an opportunity, this was one. “Sometimes the best decisions in life, are not the easiest paths. It is about making a choice and sticking to it.” He spoke so confidently and wisely. It made you smile, you wished you knew what you wanted. “What happens if the path is filled with fog and you cannot see the twists and turns?” You ask. It was true. Your vision was clouded. Clouded by lust, desire and an unachievable dream. Hanzo furrowed his brow before shaking his head. “Then you light a lanterns and take things slow. If you rush, you risk falling to your doom.” You nod before shaking your head. You had taken things slow here. Built up a strong relationship with the Grandmaster and developed feelings for him. Yet here you stood, unsure whether to move to a distant land and live an adventure. Or stay on the hopes of bedding and loving a man who was in a word, distant. Along with being emotionally scorned and spurned. It was hopeless and a decision you thought would have been easier. “What if you come to a fork in the road, one path looks like an easy and steady climb. Whilst the other is jagged, steep and long?” You asked. Hanzo paused before looking you dead in the eye. “Then you choose the more challenging route. Things that are often easy and slow, are often not the best. Snakes can lay underfoot and strike when you least expect. As for the challenging route, you can normally see everything as it is. It is best to challenge and push oneself, and admire the challenge once done. If often pays off more and fills you with a content feeling.” You nod along with his words. “So, it is best to choose the harder path?” You ask for clarification. Hanzo didn’t speak, he couldn’t. The room was filled with a tension, not the type he could feel before battle, no. It was a different type of tension. A sweet and enticing one. The way your voice and tone lowered, the way your eyes darted to him and met his gaze. It was more like mild foreplay, the two of you denying and yet, trying to get the over to understand one another’s feelings. A paradox if ever there was one. He merely nodded before straightening up. Watching as you stood and walked over, taking the kettle off boil and placing it on the table. You glance back at him, your fingers gripping the edge of the wood. Hanzo stood upon instinct, walking towards you softly. “You seem confused Y/N.” He whispered. He was not sure why he was doing this, his feet wanted to still but yet, they pressed on. Slowly he could feel himself losing control. “I am confused Grandmaster. My mind is telling me to go, to take this mission and live an easy life…” You paused watching as Hanzo closed the gap. “And what does your mind and heart tell you?” What was he saying and where was it coming from? Everything came naturally to him. Flooding back even after all these years. The guilt burned him on the inside. He should not be doing this… he should not be doing this. How could he move on? But apart of him burned and longed for you. He had buried parts of his past, maybe now it was time to bury other parts? “They scream out for me to stay. To stay here where I belong… to stay with you.” Your eyes locked with his once more. His breathing hitched, his eyes closed, and he tried to remain in control.

Hanzo tried to focus on his breathing but he couldn’t. He had never thought those words would leave your mouth. But yet, here they were. Tumbling out. Sounding like a song on an angels breath. “Do not tease and tempt me Y/N… Unless you wish to be burned by hellfire.” He warned. His eyes still closed. You felt bold. You weren’t sure if it was nerves coursing through you, confidence or adrenaline. But boldness was what you embodied in that moment. If you were to leave tomorrow, then you would leave a happy and content woman. You lent forward, capturing his lips briefly with yours. The kiss was quick, chaste and not well planned. But yet it filled your veins with excitement and satisfaction. Instantly landing as the best kiss of your life. Hanzo reacted slightly, his lips moving to meet yours, as if holding back from a desire to do more. You break away, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I’d burn for all my sins, just to fuck you once…” You admit. Dirty talk was not your forte, but then again, was receiving it Hanzo’s? Probably not. Hanzo allowed his eyes to open. The soft brown eyes replaced by foggy white. He could not resist the temptation anymore. A few blinks restored the colour in his eyes. He would be damned if Scorpion ruined this moment. Pushing down the guilt the best he could. He pushed you back gently, your ass hitting the table, as he wrapped his arms around your neck. His lips crashed against yours and your arms struggled to find their footing on his body. The kiss was needy, hungry and sloppy. He tasted of cinder and reminded you of a bonfire. With all the fire and warmth mixed in. Your arms settled at pawing at his Uniform, trying to free him from his robes. He bit at your lip, causing you to moan, allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth. Everything felt new and old at the same time to him, another paradox he did not understand. He had done this before, numerous times, albeit it with the same person. So why did it feel new to him? He broke the kiss, breathless and panting. Your makeup, smudged, your hair, tousled. A smile playing on your lips. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked you, he needed to clarify once more. That you, indeed, wanted him. “Like you said, the hardest paths in life are often the most difficult… but have the best payoff.” You teased, leaning in to plant a soft kiss to his lips. Your fingers toyed with the belt that held his robes together. Fingers delicately working to undo the knot. A hand stroked straying hair from your face as you parted the Uniform and exposed his chest. Well-defined, toned and scarred, years of fighting the hard fight and training had ensured this. The body of a warrior. Your fingers glided over his abs, taking in every little scar, before dipping down to his waistband. Your fingers danced lightly, teasing his lower abdomen. Your spare hand ran up to his head, toying with the bobble that held his hair in place. It was an honour and a privilege to see him with his hair down. One you hoped he’d allow you to indulge in.

His hair cascaded down, grazing just above his shoulders. His eyes, full blown with lust as he took you in. The firelight making shadows dance against your skin. Heavy breathing and the sounds of cicadas was all that could be heard. Your hands trailed down his abdomen once more, stopping at the waist band of his pants. Part of him wanted to grab your hand, to stop and clarify once more; another part wanted to speed things up. Scorpion was trying to re-surface and bring about a whole different side of Hanzo. One he wasn’t sure he could reel in. One he barely showed you. You slowly sink to your knees. You don’t need to be crude about what you are about to do. There is no need for an announcement nor dirty talk. You’re going to suck his cock, it is evidently clear he understands this notion. His body seizes up slightly, a small gulp rocks his Adams apple making it bob. Barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but you, you know all his quirks and movements. The floor feels hard against your knees, not so much that it is off putting but enough to give you a sensation. You meet his gaze from your new position. Eyes locked with his. A small look of shock and slight un-surety is gracing his face, marring his features and making him look less stern. Only slightly less stern you note. A hand shakily finds its way to your hair, stroking the soft locks gently before caressing your cheekbone. His eyes close, enjoying the tactile touch and the slowed down pace. Your hands make swift work undoing his belt, yanking down his pants and freeing his cock in a swift movement. Practised ease. His cock was on the larger size, pushing 6inch at least. It stood erect, beads of precum leaking from the tip already. You had to play this safely. The man had been touch starved for a while. Too much could ruin the fun far too soon. You slowly take his shaft in your hand, teasing the head, smearing the precum over the head. You hear him moan, biting his lip, trying to restrain the noises tumbling from his lips. You smirk before slowly working your hand down his shaft, twisting and turning your hand gently. Trying to coax him into continuing his noises. He let out a small moan as you worked your way down to the shaft, not as loud and as sinful as the first. But enough to get you going. You could feel yourself becoming more aroused. Seeing him in this state was enough. You replace your hand softly with your tongue, licking a stripe up the shaft of his cock. This was enough to draw out a longer and louder moan. He was loud for a ninja you noted. Hanzo dug his free hand into his palm, his nails threatening to break the skin. With the hand imbedded in your hair, he slowly stroked the locks. In a feeble attempt to coax you to continue.  It had been a long time since he had been intimate with anyone. Ones hand could only bring so much pleasure. When your mouth took the head of his swollen cock in, his legs tensed, muscles contracting in an attempt to keep him upright. He felt his abdomen muscles constrict, causing his muscles to strain. His eyes snapped shut, his hips bucking forward instinct taking over. All in an attempt for you to take him deeper. He could feel the fire burning from his core. He needed you, wanted you and that was all he could think of in this moment. Hellfire coursing through his body, mind and soul. Threatening to let Scorpion surface and burn everything. You were blissfully unaware of the fight he was experiencing. Enjoying the feel of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. Your tongue swirling and teasing the head. Feeling his skin and tasting the bitter saltiness of pre-cum. Your eyes closed as you built up a rhythm; of bobbing your head in time with your hand.  Your grip tightened on his shaft slightly, as the force of the suck increased, taking him in further and further. You had to take it easy at first, his cock could potentially make you gag, something you did not wish to do. Instead, you opted to keep teasing, allowing your mouth time to adjust… but too much teasing would make him cum far too early. Before any of the real fun began really. A well-balanced mix was what you needed and wanted. More so, what he needed and wanted as well. You took him fully in, swirling your tongue down to the base, before quickly surfacing again. Your throat gagged slightly as his hips bucked forward, but you pressed on regardless. The payoff was exactly what you had hoped for. Hanzo lost control, moaning far too loud for his liking, hands increasing their grip on your hair. Gods be damned, this felt heavenly. You smirked against him, before continuing your assault. Hanzo knew he was being too loud, loud enough to alert anyone who was nearby to what was happening. He had to act, quickly biting down on his knuckles. Trying to stifle his noises and remain as silent as possible. If ever there was evidence for him not being a ninja, then this was it. Evidence that only he could ever know. You parted your legs, trying to get you closer to the ground, easing your aching and probably bruised knees. His grip tightening had sent electricity coursing through your veins. Adrenaline coursed through your body. Awakening a side of you, you didn’t even know you had. You always knew you preferred it slightly rougher. Maybe that was what drew you to Hanzo? You could feel his hips bucking up into your mouth, as if testing the waters on how much you could take. You carried on maintaining your rhythm, meeting his thrusts and timing them perfectly. Your eyes glanced up at the muffled sounds; he had bit down on his knuckles trying to calm his noises. That was an achievement if ever there was one. An achievement, only you two could ever know about. Continuing to swirl your tongue up and down, you were blissfully unaware of his approaching orgasm. His eyes shot open, he could feel himself drawing to an end, and end he partially wanted to chase after. But he knew this was not going to satiate either of you. His hand released from your hair, he released his bruised and battered knuckles from their prison. You quickly came off his cock with a pop, confused by this change in pace. He rushed you to your feet, capturing your lips to his, with a fierce and urgent pace. He wasn’t acting meek or shy, well not as much as you had thought. His tongue met yours, dancing a fire blaze filed dance, as he explored every crook of your mouth. His hands rushed to remove your uniform, pulling at the various knots and ties in it. Undoing them with expert precision. Muscle memory had activated, everything once more felt natural and almost normal… if only Scorpion would simmer down and stop his incessant attempts to surface and take over. You break the kiss to help free yourself of layers, scattering them to the side, not caring for the wrinkles and creases. You can deal with them another time. Everything felt rushed and as if it should be sloppy, but his hands roaming over your bra clad breasts spoke otherwise. Teasing and heated touches that voiced practise and expertise had you moaning. Putty in his hands. Each touch, stroke and breath against your skin, felt like fire coursing through your veins. You went to assist in removing your bra, freeing your chest and exposing it to the chill of the room. Since Hanzo had arrived, the room had heated and warmed a significantly. Not enough to prevent your nipples from pebbling however. Reacting to the slight chill of the air. Hanzo runs his hands up and down your body, massaging your hip bones, stroking and teasing above your pubic bone. Fingers dancing but not fully dipping under the waistband. Making you mewl and throw yourself forward. Begging him for more. “Please don’t tease Hasashi… I didn’t tease you…” You quipped. Hanzo smirked, leaning in and kissing up your neck. Stopping below your ear, nibbling at the lobe, before ghosting his breath over your skin. “You have teased me for far too long. Every spar match, every small touch, every sinful look you have given me.” He cooed, his hands gripping your hips slightly, which caused a startled moan to leave your lips. He backed you up to the table, helping you to sit upon the wooden surface, before attempting to rid yourself and himself of the remainders of your clothing.

With your pants and his freed. You both were bare before each other. You admired his form. Well and finely tuned muscle, littered with memoirs of his past and battles galore. He stood, cock in hand, stroking and admiring your form. Taking in every blemish, freckle and curve, finding it hard to repress a part of him rising. “You are divine…” He softly cooed, before closing the gap, nudging his way in between your spread legs. Your legs wrapped around his waist instantly, his bare cock brushing your entrance, teasing you with what was to come. He captured your lips once more, before trailing a hand down your stomach, finally dipping down to your aching cunt. You had waited patiently for some attention and he was going to deliver that. His finger swirled your entrance, teasing and trying to elicit some lubricant. Before plunging one digit in, stilling, before moving at a soft and slow pace. You gasped and moaned into the kiss, bucking and rocking your hips against his upturned palm. Wanting and desiring more. This was just an appetiser, and you wanted the full course. You had waited many a moon for this. And you were so close. You broke the kiss, leaning forward and moaning into his shoulder. You had a better volume inhibition in comparison to Hanzo, but even then, it was still too loud. You had to be quiet, less you wake your slumbering neighbours through the stone wall, that may as well have been made of paper. This spurred Hanzo on, slipping another digit in and continuing his rhythm as if nothing had changed. His thumb started to circle your clit. He had to make you cum before he fucked you. He wouldn’t last long, there was no shame in him admitting that to himself. But if he caught you before you came down, he could time it right that you’d get a second orgasm; which would in turn pull him to his own conclusion. Part of him battled for him to fuck you on the bed, to take you like a lady, the way he thought you’d like…. Another part wanted him to fuck your cunt hard on the table. He looked down to see you moaning wanton lust, legs spread for him, begging and mewling in his ear for more. Uttering his last name and his title, as if begging for him to fuck you right here and now. “Table or bed?” He asked quickly. You looked up as he stilled his fingers, still knuckle deep in you but asking questions. In a heartbeat you replied, you knew what you wanted. If you were to fuck Hanzo Hasashi once, then it would be a fuck to remember. “Table, please… Grandmaster.” You begged. The very mention of his title made his cock twitch. He carried on his assault, fucking his fingers deep into your cunt. Rubbing your clit in perfect ellipses, in the hopes of speeding up your orgasm. His cock was starting to leak pre-cum, he needed to be in you soon. Over-stimulated beyond belief. He could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers, your moaning and rocking had increased dramatically. You threw yourself back, arching your back to the heavens, fingers in your mouth to silence your impending orgasm. Your eyes closed, and your body burned. You bit back a moan as it hit you, causing you to buck and writhe in the pale firelight. Basking as you did so. Hanzo watched on. The display made his cock twitch. When you came down from your high, a twitching and panting mess, you smiled lazily at him. Parting your legs wider as he slid his fingers from you…

Positioning and lining his cock up with your entrance, he slowly slid in. Watching as your eyes closed slowly, your mouth parting into a wide O, as your cunt started to swallow his cock. The sensation was like something he’d only dreamed of. It felt better than his hand, far better than he could have ever hoped for. He threw his head back, eyes closed and hands gripping your hips tight as he hilted himself within you. Your cunt felt hot and warm to him.  His breath was jagged, a moan threatening to tumble from his pursed lips. Your hands caressed his arms, bringing him back into the now and reality. His eyes locked with yours, he gently moved some stray hair from your face. His head tilted forward, resting against your collar as he started to thrust into you. Each stroke was slow and long, your mouth parted once more. You wanted to caress him with your words. Worship him and make him feel wanted. But the feel of his cock caressing your core, was proving far too much, preventing your words from spilling out. You could hear him mumbling words in Japanese, husky sounding and dripping with emotion. Your mind could not figure out what he was saying, but it did not matter overly to you. You could feel and hear the tone of his voice, coupled with the needy grasps and touches Hanzo was giving you. Always focused around your hip areas, dipping down to rub your hip bones and caress your stomach. His thrusts picked up slowly, picking up in pace and roughness. He raised himself up, once more looking in your eyes. His eyes were blown wide as he took you all in. Your hands clinging to his shoulder, one leg wrapped around his hip, your breasts bouncing as he fucked you. One hand was holding onto your shoulder, the other was caressing your hip bones. You looked divine in this moment. Illuminated by nothing more than mere candlelight and firelight. The shadows dancing creeping from your silhouettes; they crashed and bounced together in time, a perfect harmony. Hanzo picked up his speed once more, becoming more comfortable and assured with his rhythm. Your moans, facial expressions and needy grabs at his shoulder were solace enough in that. He had feared his rhythm would be out of synch, it had been a long time, too long… the feeling of your cunt gripping at him and pulling him closer, made him regret not giving into temptation and his urges sooner. It felt natural. The sound of your skin meeting, the creaking and rocking of the table; the feel of your skin on his and the feel of the heat exchanging between you both. It was bliss. “Please Hanzo… Please…” You begged, hoping to coax him into giving your clit some attention once more. You wanted to cum badly. Hanzo snapped out of his thoughts, his rhythm became slightly sloppier and out of synch for a moment. His eyes locked with yours, brown eyes blown wide, dripping with lust. His mouth was open, he was trying to find his words, but he had nothing to say. He glanced down to see one of your hands wandering down to your own clit. He gripped your wrist, leaving your hip bones reluctantly. He had to admit, he had a soft spot for your hip and waist area. There was something about how your body moulded to fit his hands perfectly, that drove him wild and insatiable with lust and desire. He stilled himself in you, hilting himself fully within your warm cunt. He shook his head, planting a kiss to your fingertips playfully. “What do you want me to do Sakura?” He asked you. His tone low, barely a whisper. He was teasing you. Maybe finally extracting revenge on you being a tease. You bite your lip before bucking your hips up. “I want you to make me cum… Grandmaster.” You whisper to him. He let out a moan. Never before had his title been used in this way. Said in such a whispered and hushed tone. Laced with lust, passion and desire. You wanted him. And he wanted you. He let go of your wrist, placing your hand over his heat, splaying your fingers out against his skin. You could feel the drum of his heartbeat racing against your fingers. It beat a furious dance below your digits. His hand met your clit, rubbing it in soft and gentle circles, whilst he continued to regain his rhythm. The speed of him playing with your clit increased, pushing you towards your impending orgasm. He could feel your cunt starting to tighten around him. He could feel his ball starting to clench and restrict. He was going to cum soon… but he was more concerned with you cumming first rather than himself. He timed his thrusts with the circling motion. Your eyes were struggling to stay open just as you were struggling to hold on. You could feel the quickening of his heart under your fingers. Everything was in time, a perfect harmony, beating as one. “Oh my god Hanzo…” You whispered, through batted breaths. Hanzo looked into your eyes, he wanted to throw his head into your neck crook. But he wanted to stare into your eyes when he came. He loved eye contact, prolonged or stolen glances it didn’t matter to him. Eyes were the windows to the soul, or so they said, and he took that very seriously. “Can you feel the rhythm of my heart?” He asked you, his voice shaking as his orgasm grew closer and closer. You could barely speak, words were escaping you. You nodded, pressing your fingers closer to his chest. “It beats like this every time you are around… it burns me like hellfire for all my sins.” He admitted, his voice becoming a cracking wreck. You nod before leaning more into his touch. “We can burn together then… because I love living in this sin with you…” You admit. “Hanzo I’m so close… I’m so close…” Your voice was becoming hasty, your breath becoming nothing more than a pant. Your tone becoming more needy and higher pitched. Hanzo focused his attention on rubbing your clit and pushing you over the edge. He would not last much longer, he had surprised himself by lasting this long.  With a few more rough circles, the elastic band that was held tight in your abdomen snapped. Your body convulsed, hips bucking and rocking into him, pants become loud moans. The table creaked under the force of the orgasm that rocked you. You wanted to bit your lip to still your wanton moaning. Hanzo did not care, he was to engrossed in the moment. Watching your body bounce and buck up against his; your eyes closed and face a picture of pure bliss. He carried on thrusting, riding you through your orgasm, allowing him to venture forth to capture his own. His thrusts became sloppier, his breathing ragged and his rhythm was off. Even after coming down from your own peak, you carried on moaning and complimenting him. Your body and cunt was sensitive, but by the gods did it feel good. You caressed his shoulders and his heart, you could feel the beat pounding furiously against his skin. His speed increased, and you knew the end was nigh. You looked into his eyes, expressing what emotion you could through them. Reassuring him that it was okay, this was heaven to you and everything you could have ever wanted. His eyes widened, as if tears brimming in them. Not of sadness but of bliss, sweat beginning to appear on his brow and coat his body in a sheen. “Cum in me Grandmaster…” You whispered. That finished him off. Those sweet, bliss laden words were enough to do that. His head went forward as he came, resting in the crook of your neck. He shot hot spurts of cum into your cunt. Coating it. With each thrust more and more was spilt into you.

Until at last, you both lay against each other, spent and basking in the glorious aftermath. Your breathing was both ragged but still in time. His heart beat furiously against your own, perfectly in time as you both came down from your orgasms. You knew after the passion and lust faded, Hanzo would feel conflicted once more… but you hoped it was worth the brief lapse in guilt. His chuckle startled you, making you look down and caress his locks that stuck to his back. He lent back, capturing your hands and caressing the knuckles. “Are you still planning on taking that job?” He asked you. You laugh a little, shaking your head and smiling. “If you’re about to offer me the job of Concubine to the Grandmaster, I swear I will leave right now…” You joke, you ensure your tone is light-hearted as to not upset him greatly. After sex he seemed vulnerable and open, you did not wish to ruin this perfect moment. He smiled softly before shaking his head. Kissing the back of your hand and holding you close to him. “Member of the Shira Ryu.” He counteroffered. You had strength in you, a fire that burned along with his. It did not try to surpass his nor did it challenge its authority, it worked in time with his and worked to keep his burning bright. You were taken aback by the offer. He had offered you a full membership to his clan, whilst balls deep within you still… if that wasn’t a power move than you didn’t know what was. “And what of this?” You ask him, hope brimming in your tone. You wanted more of Hanzo. He was addicting. Raw, emotional with a hint of roughness. His brow raised, the tips of his ears growing red slightly. “I call this a one on one training session. I see no reason for it happening again. You burn bright firefly. I would like to explore this more. If you are willing.” He proposed. He hitched his breath, awaiting your answer. He was bearing his soul to you, something he had not done in a while. He hoped you did not throw it back in his face. He prayed this was not a one-time fuck. He could not get enough of your cunt. He ached for so long and he hurt, but you were a recluse and provided solace. A beacon of light in a storm almost. Your smile widened. “I’ll happily explore hellfire and risk getting burned for my sins.” You admit. This brought a genuine chuckle from the Grandmaster. “Then we have much to explore…” He captured your lips briefly, his hands massaging your back and ass gently. You were in for one hell of a long night.

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

___________

Chapter 5

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

 Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

 ***

Two days.

 Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.  

 Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams.  And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening.  Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead.  He knows that.  He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter.  Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers.  And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death.  Either way they were never going to let him out again.  Aziraphale was never again going to see him.  

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time.  Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years.  Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies.  Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

 And then he gets angry. 

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before.  A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside.   It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

 It doesn’t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone.  Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done.  It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….  

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them.  And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

 The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies.  And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late.  He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground.  He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.  

 Almost.  Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges.  And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.  

 He clings to that pain.  Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it.  He welcomes it with open arms.

 He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him.  Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow.  Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent.  He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley.  Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him.  Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he.  Well, no more.  

 “Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”  

 And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here.  Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be.  A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.  

He understands it now, he thinks.  Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too.  But he will take that loss willingly.  Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

 He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

 “Goodbye, dear.”

 He stands then.  Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.  

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done.  Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

 He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm.  He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

 ***

 He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator.  It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell.  He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

 “Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive.  “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

 He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path.  They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

 “Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes.  “Are you mad?”

 “I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

 A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

 Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled.  “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him.  But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction.  Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

 “We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

 “What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

 “We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic.  “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

 Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest.  “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

 “To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

 Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

 “I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues.  “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

Catch Me If You Can (15/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: I’m currently writing the last official chapter of this story. How weird is that? I can’t believe it either...which is probably why it’s taking me forever to figure out the perfect way to end this story. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for killing her eyes to read all of the words in this story 🥰

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

When Emma wakes up, she rolls over on her mattress and buries her face further into her pillow, kicking some of the extra throw pillows off the bed and wondering why the hell she has so many things that look cute but cannot be comfortably slept with.

Seriously.

This is all TJ Maxx’s fault, and she’d like to damn whoever decided to put a store in seven blocks from her apartment. She shouldn’t even go inside, but she does. Every. Single. Time.

(So maybe it’s a little bit her fault too.)

Finally, she finds a spot that’s comfortable, her eyes shutting and her body calming down into the softness of the mattress so that she can fall back asleep when her phone starts blaring, her alarm vibrating across the top of her bedside table, and for a moment, she considers throwing her phone out the window so that she never has to get up from bed.

She’ll get fired from her job. And probably die from bed sores or something else equally as dramatic.

It’s the first thought that has her rolling over and turning the alarm off, the shrill blaring sound going away, and her eyes have to squint at the bright light to recognize that it’s seven in the morning and she does actually have to get up for work right now.

Her job is great, but she doesn’t get weekends off like normal people. And noon games are her actual worst nightmare.

Today is a noon game. She’s also got that dinner with David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth, and she’s unnaturally nervous about it as she almost always is when it comes to Ruth.

Like a zombie, she rises from her bed and shuffles into the bathroom before making her way out to the kitchen, adjusting her shorts and the sweatshirt that she’s wearing as she stumbles into the kitchen, the smell of coffee already filling her nostrils.

“Bless you,” she mumbles to Ruby who is sitting at their kitchen table with a mug already in hand before she fixes herself her own cup, not even bothering for it to cool down much more before she takes a large sip. If only caffeine worked right away. That would be the dream. “Why do you already look so put together?”

“I always look put together.”

“Liar.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I woke up, I just kind of got up, I guess. And now I’m sitting here dying inside. At least I don’t look like I’m dying. A family of birds could live in your hair.”

“That is not true.”

“It is. Have you looked at yourself this morning?”

“Yes,” Emma lies, taking another sip of her coffee. She most definitely didn’t when she was in the bathroom, but as long as her tits aren’t showing, she doesn’t really care what she looks like at home. “And I haven’t gotten ready yet. I’ll look nicer for the game.”

“I would hope so. I don’t think that they let reporters not brush their hair and roll out onto the field in sweatshirts. Where’d you get that, by the way? I don’t recognize it.”

And while she may be half asleep and her coffee might not have an instantaneous effect, she knows that she fucked up.

She’s wearing Killian’s Vanderbilt sweatshirt. The one she keeps stealing. She’s had it in her possession for two weeks now, ever since Toronto and the morning after they slept together, and she’s been sleeping in it because it’s comfortable and kind of smells like Killian.

It definitely smells like Killian.

And Ruby can see her wearing it.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, no, no, no.

It’s instinct to cross her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover up the faded words all the while she tries to come up with some kind of excuse. She’s not sure that she’s ready for their friends to know about the relationship yet. A part of her definitely wants to say something, but she and Killian probably need to talk about it first.

But what if it somehow gets out past that?

What if someone besides their friends and family know? It’s too soon. It’s all too soon for that, and she just can’t right now. It’s the middle of the season, so much time left in front of them, and she can’t let anything jeopardize her career.

Emma has no idea what to do, and she’s terrified of everything crumbling beneath her.

This is the happiest she’s ever been in a relationship, and the repercussions…she doesn’t even want to imagine them.

“Uh, um,” she stutters to Ruby, making sure that her face isn’t giving away her lie, “I’m not sure. I must have swiped it from David’s house one day. You know how he’s always got sweatshirts from all over the place.”

Ruby’s eyes squint at her from over her coffee mug, and it takes everything in Emma not to bounce off the balls of her feet. All in all, it was a pretty good lie because David most definitely does have all kinds of sweatshirts from different professional teams and colleges, but this is not David’s sweatshirt.

How could she have been so careless?

Ruby is so damn observant, but there’s no way she can make the connection over a sweatshirt, right?

“I need to steal some stuff from him,” she finally sighs, going back to her coffee. “It looks so much comfier than the things Graham has. I swear, if it’s a scratchy material, he buys it.”

“At least it looks nice on him.”

“This is true, my friend. His clothes do fit him well, but you know I much prefer him without any.”

There’s a knock on the wall that’s connected to Ruby and Graham’s bedroom. “I can hear the two of you, and sweetheart, it’s too early for you to be making sex jokes about me to Emma.”

Emma has to put her coffee mug down on the countertop as she laughs, the giggles stemming from deep in her stomach. Graham is the best and usually goes along for Ruby’s antics, but sometimes it’s too damn funny when he’s asking her to stop talking.

Definitely an opposites attract pair, but they work. Really well, actually. Emma keeps waiting for Graham to tell her that he’s going to propose to Ruby, but it hasn’t happened yet.

She should probably get her own place if it does. How weird is it to live with a married couple? Like, an eight on a scale of ten? Maybe a little less when rent is so high. But definitely at least a five.

“I love you,” Ruby shouts back, knocking on the wall three times.

Graham simply knocks three times in response.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“I know, but I like to think that I bring out the ridiculous in everyone.”

“You do. What time do you want to leave for work?”

Ruby hums as she taps her chin with her perfectly manicured nail. “In an hour and a half?”

“Perfect.”

-/-

Late June in the Bronx is basically a blazing hellfire, and Emma keeps sneaking into the air-conditioned press box every chance she gets only to be sent back outside to do an interview with a player or a coach or even a kid who caught a foul ball. It’s a little ridiculous, but it’s her job so she sucks it up.

At least she’s not wearing a full-blown uniform and exercising like all of the guys are. Most of them are soaked in sweat, even the ones simply sitting in the dugout, and she does not envy them at all.

All she really envies right now are people taking a cold shower.

It’s late June. She doesn’t even want to imagine what it’s going to be like in August or September.

Killian throws another ball, and then there’s a smack of bat against ball and a white and red blur that shoots out into right field only for John Little to catch it, ending the top of the third inning and Killian’s time on the mound today. They’re all leaving for London in five days, and Al has expressly stated that they are not screwing up Killian’s arm for a game where so many people are going to be watching.

She knows that it’s more because they’re playing the Red Sox than anything else, but she doesn’t mind preserving Killian’s arm when they can. His pitches haven’t been averaging quite as fast as they usually are, but she figures it’s probably a tactical change. She’ll have to ask him about that in the locker room later.

The next two hours seem to idle by, nothing too exciting happening, and when the game is over, she moves from her press spot, flashing her ID to the guard in front of the entrance to the tunnels, and makes her way through the hallways she knows like the back of her hand until she’s in the clubhouse with Jeff following right behind her. It’s loud in there, cheers and yelling and celebrations over their win, and it takes her ten minutes before she can even get someone to talk to her, other reporters pretty much taking up everyone’s time as all of the players move into various states of undress.

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking to us?” Will asks with a cheeky grin as he brushes sweat off of his buzzed hair. “I mean, damn. I get tired of talking to us, and I actually think you may be around more than me.”

She chuckles, unable to help herself. She’s always loved Scarlet’s dry sense of humor, and he’s nearly as easy to talk to as Killian or Robin or even Eric. “To you, most definitely. But I have my favorites on the team that I like.”

“Doc? King? Locksley? Fisher? Jones? Whale? I could go all day.”

“I can’t tell you,” she teases, messing with her microphone in her hand. “You want to answer some questions for me today?”

“As long as it’s not about me getting engaged, I’m perfectly fine with that.”

“You’re engaged?” Emma gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s so exciting! How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea since you talk to my girlfriend on Instagram.”

“Technically she’s your fiancée now.”

Will smiles at that a soft little thing that’s so unlike him and yet entirely him, and it makes her smile to herself. Will and Belle are getting married. That’s wonderful, but she did tell him she wasn’t going to ask about any of it, so she doesn’t, sticking to game stats and assessments and asking how he feels about their upcoming series in London. It’s the same with everyone she talks to, and after twenty minutes in there talking and chatting, she’s finished with her work and starts undoing all of the cords attached to her as Jeff turns off his camera and walks ahead of her as they leave the room.

But then there’s a strong grip around her wrist, and she’s being pulled away and down the hallway to what is a storage locker. If she didn’t know that it was Killian tugging her along, she’d assume she was being murdered.

She still could be and boy would that be a plot twist.

“What the hell?” she gasps out on a broken breath as the door closes behind her and all she can see is Killian’s face and shower-damp hair and a shelf full of cleaning supplies that make the entire room smell like bleach. “Why are you pulling me off into storage closets?”

He smiles, this really bright and cheesy thing, before strong hands are cupping her cheeks and soft lips and prickly scruff are brushing against her mouth and her chin in a slow, pleasant burn. This is how it’s been ever since Toronto two weeks ago. They slept together, and it was like this flip switched where they absolutely could not get enough of each other.

Not that she minds.

It’s electric. Honestly and truly. If they had easier access to each other, she knows that it would be even more intense, that they would be staying overnight and moving under the sheets until she couldn’t walk the next day. That actually almost happened last week, her body so sore afterwards, and as amazing as it was, that cannot be a frequent thing.

A girl has got to be able to walk.

She really, really likes Killian, is so close to loving him that it terrifies her, and sometimes she looks into his eyes and swears that if someone told her he hung the stars in the sky, she’d believe them.

This was never how any of this was supposed to go.

“Hi,” he growls, pulling at her upper lip before he pulls back so that their foreheads rest together.

“Hi,” she sighs as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her and feeling the softness of his hair. “You played well today.”

“I was okay.”

“But in the second, you – ”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” he promises, quickly brushing his lips over hers. “Have I mentioned how much I love that my girlfriend is an expert in my job?”

“Maybe a time or two, but this time it sounds slightly less macho man-ish.”

“That’s my goal.”

“Good.” Her stomach swoops at the smirk on his face, and she really wishes they were back at his apartment instead of in this stupid supply closet. “Why didn’t you tell me Will and Belle got engaged?”

“Because I legitimately didn’t know until right before the game. It apparently leaked or something, and he was all pissed about it. I think Belle posted the ring after it all to kind of beat out tabloids from making money off of them. They’re happy.”

“I would hope so. They’re getting married. People are usually pretty happy for that.”

“Eh, sometimes there’s those people who aren’t actually happy and think a new title and diamond ring will make them happy.”

“True.” Emma leans back against the door, the wood hitting the back of her skull, as she runs her fingers through Killian’s hair. It’s all long and messy again, and she honestly can’t decide which way she likes it best. “I do not want to deal with the crowd on the train getting out of here on the way to David’s.”

“I could drive you,” he offers with a shrug.

“Oh yeah, because that won’t at all be obvious. Also, I think we need to talk.”

“I’ve found that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation when a woman tells me that.”

“Shut up, you ass.” She slaps the back of his head, but all he does is give her another cocky grin. So dumb. So, so dumb. “Okay, so, like, hear me out.”

“I have my listening ears on.”

“Yeah, little pointy ones.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she mumbles, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth as she bounces on her toes. “I’m not – I’m not one hundred percent sure on this, especially with what I just found out about Will and Belle, but I think it might be time we told my friends and your family about us. Just a few people, the ones we trust the most, because I’m starting to slip up on where I’ve been or who I’m talking to when they ask. Also, I feel really shitty every time I lie to Ruby or David or Mary Margaret or someone else who is my friend.”

His lips are parted, mouth gaping open, and he’s blinking at her like she’s a crazy person. She might actually be.

“W-what? Are you serious?”

“I’m serious about us thinking about it. I’m still not completely sure on the entire thing. I think, maybe when we get back from London, we can have another conversation about it. I like to think this is going pretty well, and while I don’t want our relationship to escape us or our families, I don’t think we can keep doing this without telling the people we love.”

Killian’s brows furrow, his eyes thin lines beneath them, and his hands finally dip from her cheeks down to her shoulders with his nails digging into her skin over her freckles. “Let’s think on it, yeah? Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than thrilled that you feel confident and happy in us enough that you want to tell people, but I don’t want to expose you even more to the world. Because in our circles of people, love, it’s going to be a big deal that we’re dating.”

He’s right. She knows that he is. She’s had the same thoughts.

“I know. We’ll figure it out though, right?”

“Absolutely.” Killian squeezes her shoulders once more before dipping his head down and gently slanting his lips over hers in quick succession. “Now, as much fun as I’m having inhaling all of these chemical fumes, I think you have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Emma, love,” he says tenderly, thumbing at the indent in her chin as he smiles that reassuring smile at her, “you’re going to be fine. It’s your family. You love them. I know you do. And you’re going to be reminded of that the moment you get comfortable sitting on David’s couch and relax into dinner.”

Right once more.

“Okay, okay,” she exhales, pulling in Killian for a hug so that she can bury her face in his shoulder and breathe him in instead of the chemical fumes for a moment, “I can do this.”

-/-

Killian was exactly right like she knew he was but didn’t like to admit outside of her head. She was building up the awkwardness, building up the strained relationship with Ruth like she always does, and while it wasn’t the best thing at first, now that she’s sitting crisscrossed on David’s couch with a glass of wine in her hand, she can think of few other places she’d rather be.

This is her family, even when she doesn’t admit it, and for a girl who never really got to have a family until she was too messed up to truly accept one, this is absolutely everything.

Just…everything.

“And then, Grandma,” Leo continues, walking back and forth through the room, “Captain America holds his shield up while the bad guys try to attack him, but he’s too fast for them.”

“This Captain America sounds like a cool guy,” Ruth laughs, very obviously confused about the whole thing. She has not caught onto the Marvel bug, which is pretty much a sin when Leo has been obsessed with Captain America for months. Mary Margaret and David say it’s the longest he’s ever been interested in one thing, and when Emma thinks about it, she believes it. “Do you think you’re going to be as strong as him?”

“Probably not,” Leo shrugs, “but he started off really small like I am so maybe if I’m tall like Dad and not short like Mom.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret protests, her eyes cutting at her son while Emma and David snicker underneath their breaths, “I am not that short.”

“Mom, I’m ten, and I’m almost taller than you when you’re, like, seventy years old.”

“Leo David Nolan, I am not seventy years old. I’m thirty-nine. Don’t age me like that.”

“What’s wrong with being nearly seventy years old?” Ruth teases, and Mary Margaret’s pale cheeks immediately flush red.

“Nothing, nothing. I – ”

“I’m nearly teasing you, sweetheart,” Ruth sighs before turning her attention to Emma. “I watched your game today. You looked so beautiful, but why are they still showing you eating every time?”

Well, damn, she didn’t know that was still happening, so she takes another sip of her wine and rolls her eyes as she laughs. “I have no idea. Like, it’s a running joke at this point. You can literally google ‘Emma Swan eating’ and all of these videos pop up. Leo told me that they even add songs to them now.”

“They do,” David chuckles. “I showed him those.”

“You’re awful.”

“I actually think I’m pretty awesome.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Look, Grandma,” Leo laughs, taking Mary Margaret’s iPad over to Ruth, “here’s one of the ones with music. It’s so funny!”

“You guys are the worst,” Emma groans as she places her glass down and sinks into the couch. “The absolute worst.”

“You just seem to have a face for funny moments,” Mary Margaret says sympathetically, reaching over to pat her thigh. “It’s because you do a little dance when you’re eating good food, I think.”

That makes her smile. It’s always what Killian is saying about her when he’s teasing her over her eating habits, and that’s when she suddenly remembers that hat that she still hasn’t given to Leo. It’s been sitting in the bag she carries with her to and from games for weeks now, and she keeps forgetting to give it to the kid. He may still like Captain America, but he’s probably moved on to another favorite player.

Quickly, she gets up from the couch and walks to the entryway where she left the bag, shuffling through it until she pulls out the signed hat, and then holds it behind her back, a genuine smile curling on her lips.

“Leo,” she sing-songs, immediately getting his attention as his brown hair falls across his forehead, “if you stop showing Grandma weird videos of me online, I have a surprise for you.”

“Way to bribe my kid,” David whines without much conviction.

“It’s not a bribe. Not technically.”

“What do you have?” Leo gasps, taking the iPad away from Ruth. “What is it? What is it?”

God, to have the enthusiasm of kids. Life would be so much simpler. And happier probably.

She’s pretty happy now anyways.

Slowly, she pulls the hat around from behind her back, and Leo’s brows furrow in confusion. Of course they do. To him, it probably just looks like a random hat since the autograph can’t really be seen.

“A Yankees hat? I have a couple of those already.”

“Leo,” Mary Margaret and David say at the same time.

“It’s fine, guys,” she laughs, stepping a little closer. “Remember when you asked me if I could get you a hat signed by Killian Jones?”

Now Leo’s face lights up, a bright smile practically taking up all of it, and he runs to her and immediately wraps his arms around her waist in a hug so tight that she loses all of the air in her lungs.

“Thank you,” he sighs before releasing her and taking the hat out of her hands, staring down at for a moment only to put it on top of his head. It’s too big for him without being adjusted, but he doesn’t even care.

She feels like the coolest aunt in the world right now.

“You’re the coolest aunt in the world.”

Ah, so confirmation then.

“Killian Jones is the man who asked you out, right?” Ruth questions, and Emma has to bite her tongue as she moves to resume her place back on the couch. She wishes she had more wine, but she’s got to be up early again tomorrow and doesn���t need more to drink. “You’re still talking to him?”

“I mean, only for my job,” she lies. “He’s a nice guy, so he was really happy to sign something for Leo.”

Ruth nods her head, and Emma thinks that it’s the end of the conversation when it’s most definitely not. “So, are you dating anyone, dear? I don’t mean to pry, but I do like to know about your life and you’re much more difficult to get information about than David.”

“That’s because Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.”

“Why am I feeling so attacked right now?” Mary Margaret laughs.

“Well, you can’t, honey,” David says to his wife. “You are the worst at keeping secrets, and you overshare all the time.”

“That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“It’s really not, Marg,” Emma tells her before turning back to Ruth. “I’m not dating anyone right now,” she lies again, more guilt building up in her stomach, but she and Killian are going to talk about it after London when they’re not in a storage closet, “but I’m really happy. Things at work are going well, even if I’m busy, and I love all of my friends and family and how much time I’m getting to spend with them. But if something on the dating front seriously changes, I’ll let you know.”

Ruth winks at her, a smile on her face. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”

Emma stays there for the rest of the night, all five of them eating and watching movies with talking in between. Leo insists that Ruth get caught up on anything and everything Captain America, and even though she falls asleep during several of the movies, she does learn a little bit more, making sure to ask all of the right questions. She’s so good with Leo, with everyone really, and it reminds Emma of when she was a terrified fifteen-year-old moving into a new foster home not knowing what was going to be awaiting her.

For someone who was so unloved and never thought she’d find love, living with Ruth Nolan was a shock to her system. She hates that her own walls and issues kept her – keep her – from always accepting that love and genuine kindness, and she hates that she let Neal influence her to not believe that Ruth was her family.

She is.

Most definitely in every way, and this is going to be something that Emma works on. She’s very much determined to do so.

Her life is a good one, and despite how complicated it is sometimes, she deserves to be happy in as many ways as possible.

When the movies are finished and Emma is ready to go home and go to bed, she whispers words of goodbye to everyone, promising to come over again for dinner tomorrow and to bring Ruby and Graham with her since they are always itching for an invitation.

“It’s so good to see you, darling,” Ruth sighs into her hair as they hug goodbye. “I love you.”

Emma nods her head against Ruth’s neck, a smile on her lips. “I love you too.”

Oh boi do I wanna hear it. Please tell me everything, I'm in love with this au

OK! Gonna be long, and only going over a few basics on what everyone is. Also! I took some liberties with some abilities.

First!! The crew meets young. Geoff and Jack are 18 and Ryan is 16. Michael, Lindsay and Gavin are 13 and 14 respectively and Jeremy, Matt and Alfredo are 10. Fiona is Baby at 6. This is when they meet when the government is experimenting on them.

They were all either stolen from the streets (Geoff, Jack, Ryan Matt and Gavin) or taken from the Foster system (Fiona, Jeremy, Alfredo and Michael.) No records are left of these kids. Nothing No names no history. They all end up naming eachother again.

Now who is what. Ryan is an Enderman. Geoff is a Ghast, he is super pale and has squinty eyes. They widen and flare up with hellfire when pissed and he can spit fireballs. His throat always burns so he is always munching on ice. In the beginning he burned himself so much he has permanent burn scars. He can also float if he doesnt think about staying on the ground. Sometimes when stressed he WILL just float away. Jack keeps him on a leash for a while.

Jack is a Creeper. I know Gavin usually is but listen. Jack has the startling temper, unlike Michael who just stays pissed Jack's anger is an explosion. And he WILL explode. He has the explosive power that equals his rage. Anything from a Cherry Bomb to C4. He has green and black scales everywhere. Oh also, because Creepers are genderless but the suits in charge disliked that, Jack can change Gender at will. Jack can pass for anything. Because Genderfluid GTA Jack is awesome and so is Shapeshifting.

Now Gavin is a Phantom. Poor bastard doesnt sleep, but he can also tell when someone else doesnt sleep. It pisses him off, at first for little reason other than that they need to sleep. Later it's because Gav decided he is the night guard. But Gavin can fly and produce Phantom membrane on his back that resembles an Electra. It's actually looks silver and later he dyed it gold with actual gold dust. His eyes glow an eerie green to and he can see someone's mental status. Like if they are exhausted or stressed. He also screeches like the phantom to.

Michael is a Guardian. He's got a third swirly eye on his forehead that he hides in his hair and the pufferfish like spikes along his arms and back. If he opens his third eye he can curse people so long as he can keep an image of the person in his mind. His curse includes fatigue, prolonged vomiting, and if held long enough internal bleeding. He doesnt like cursing people and he won't say why. But some how Lindsay is involved in the reason.

Jeremy is a Wither. His limbs are rotten towards the ends with black bones visible and a chunk of his head is only black skull. If he gets pissed he grows 2 more spectral heads. He is very self conscious of it and never takes off his hat. Anything he touches rots. Unless he focuses on not harming what he is touching. The only people he doesnt have to worry about rotting are Geoff, Lindsay and Matt.

Matt is a Vex. He has ashy skin and small torn wings that let him fly. He is slow on his feet but incredibly fast in the air. He can shrink to the size of a barbie doll at will and can summon a poisoned blade. When upset he shrinks and goes berserk, attacking anything and everything and ends up summoning up to 4 more versions of himself.

Lindsay is a Blaze. Unless she is trying, she is always on fire. When she tries not to be her hair remains a bright flame, the color and intensity changing based on how upset or angry she is with White being the worst. She can float and section off small parts of herself like a Blaze and leaves trails of Blaze powder which Michael uses for explosives. Like Ryan she cannot touch water but can and does bath in lava which has to be specially brought in for her.

Alfredo is a Cave Spider. He has 6 arms total, 8 eyes and fangs. His bite is super deadly and he can choose to secrete his venom. He uses it for dipping knives or slipping into food. He likes to climb walls and hide in corners. He is still terrified of spiders.

Fiona is a Drowned. She has patches of blue slimy skin and her hair is always wet and drooping. She can summon a trident at will and eventually turns it into her signature Bat with nails. She hates how she is decomposing and hides it with both Lindsay's blaze powder and Ryan's sparkles.

The Golden Demon chapter 1

For the Royai week prompt of Light/Darkness

I decided to post the first chapter of my new blue exorcist/fma crossover AU where Edward takes Rin’s place in the series and Roy is a teacher and Exorcist at True Cross Academy due to the lrage amount of Royai in this first chapter. It’s a bit weird but i hope you guys like it. 

When Roy Mustang had heard about the death of the paladin Van Hohenheim, he had been shocked. He had studied under the man, and he had almost seemed untouchable. No demon could lay a finger on him. He was a master of all trades when it came to misers, although mainly stuck to his talents as an aria. However, he was still human, and no man or woman could stand up to the powers of satan. They had kept what exactly had happened classified to most, he himself only being debriefed on it as he was sent by his boss, mephisto pheles, to investigate the incident. The man’s church had burned down in literal hellfire last night with him inside. Only a few survivors remained, including two boys who were living with him as adoptive children, and a fellow exorcist that had been working under the man. Mephisto apparently was passing the orders down to him from higher up. Roy sighed as he sat in the back of the car. He didn’t know what they expected him to find. It was clear that the devil caused this, all the evidence was destroyed in the fire, and there were only a handful of  surviving witnesses of the event. Still, orders were orders, and as that scheming palm-tree bastard’s underling by employment contract, he was obligated to comply. He slumped in his seat and his eyes drifted to his companion sitting next to him. Unlike him, the blonde woman’s back was straight as she stared out the window, watching the streets roll by. The light of sunset reflected off her skin and hair slightly, causing her face to softly glow orange and her hair to shimmer like gold. He smiled as he stared up at her. She truly was beautiful like this. It almost made him forget their situation sometimes. “Quiet a lovely city, isn’t it?“he asked. She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Hardly,” she said, facing forward again. He gave her a curious look. “Then why were you staring out the window? Surely something must have caught your attention,” he asked. “I was noting all the garbage on the streets,” she said, “On the way here I saw at least twelve empty cans, four broken bottles, and six loose plastic bags.” Her attention returned to the window. “Humans wish to protect their world from demons, when they can’t even protect it from themselves,” she mused. There was sadness and disappointment in her tone. Roy frowned and sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered, “We’re quite the mess, aren’t we?” His smile then returned as he got an idea. “How about after this I take some time off and we take a little trip to Kyoto?” he asked, “Picture it: a picnic in one of the beautifully kept, clean gardens, visiting all the temples, spending the evening sampling some of the local drinks…” he smirked as he noticed her smile at that. “I’m sure Mephisto wouldn’t mind me taking a few extra days off from, and I’m sure the students would love an extra day or two away from me,” he said, “Heck, I might even be able to make an excuse that I got called out for something and get paid for the leave. So what do you say?” She shook her head, although she still smiled. “I say that’s a bad idea for a number of reasons,” she said, “After all, you know exactly what would happen if your true intentions behind such an expedition were exposed,” she said, causing him to wince, “And if Mephisto saw through your ruse, though he’d probably be willing to keep quiet, you’d be more than just a little indebted to him.” Roy shuddered at that before frowning and sitting up. “Alright,” he grumbled, “I see your point.” In his heart he knew from the beginning he would get shot down, but that didn’t stop him from trying. If only things could be less complicated… The car came to a halt and the two got out, heading into an alley. The site of the fire was a few blocks away from here, but they had decided to walk the rest of the way. Mostly it was because they didn’t want any civilians near the blockade that had been set up around the area incase there was any left over demonic forces at play, but roy had another reason too. Roy glanced over his shoulder as they were now half way down the alley. The cab driver had sped off and there was no one still around. “Alright, Riza, you’re clear,” he said. She nodded before her body was suddenly engulfed in red flames. Roy stared on casually as they encased her like a vortex before being swept away by the beating of wings from the creature inside. Once they had, there was no longer a woman standing before Roy, but a bird made of orange flames hovering in the air. She then flew over to him and perched on his shoulder. “More comfortable?” he asked. “Much,” the phoenix responded to her human companion. Roy was one of the few exorcists alive to have a phoenix for a familiar. Many hated humans for hunting them in the pursuit of the secret of eternal life. Roy had originally discovered her trapped inside a sealed urn in the attic of his old teacher’s home after the man’s death when he had just become an exorcist. Knowing how powerful phoenixes were, how strong they were against spirits, kin of rot, as well as many other kinds of demons, and how their flames could be used to purify infections and heal injuries, he immediately tried to forge a contract with her to be his familiar. When she had denied him and disappeared into the nearby forest, he had sought her out and brought offerings to her to earn her favor. He spent weeks trying to appease her. Eventually she agreed, but in forging his contract with her, he had to agree that he could only use her powers for what she deemed appropriate. He could not use it to kill or destroy as he saw fit and would have to ask for her consent before putting hers in harm’s way. If he broke these promises, he would perish by her fire on the spot. He agreed completely to these conditions, and the two had been together ever since, working side by side not as master and familiar but as partners. He saw her as his equal, if not his better. After all, without her he would not be nearly as powerful of an exorcist as he was today without her. Demons feared the name of Roy mustang, not for his skills as an Aria or a dragoon, but for his ability to merely snap his fingers and set them alight. That deadly force was because of her, not him, and the only reason why she lent him her power so easily was because of their mutual trust from the bond they had shared for years. Very few knew of the true nature of their relationship. Even though many exorcist still have demon blood running through their veins from ancestry spanning back as recently as a hundred years ago, today, even considering such a relationship with a demon could result in burning at the stake. Even one considering a demon their friend is enough to cause suspicion of an exorcist in certain circles. Currently, only a handful of close friends of Roy knew of how close the two were, those including third class doctor Kain Fury, Second class aria Vato Falman, First class aria and dragoon Heymans Breda, First class dragoon Jean Havoc, and first class knight, and his closest friend, Maes Hughes. Mephisto might have found out, but if he did he wasn’t showing that. He was probably saving such knowledge for the right moment to blackmail him. Roy frowned. As if he didn’t have enough ways to toy with him… He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that now. He had a job to do. He just had to write up his report and check for any more activity in the area. Then he could go home and relax before the next semester started in a few days. He sighed as he thought about that. The school year hadn’t even started and he was already needing a drink. He then smiled as a thought crossed his mind. “Hey Riza,” he said, “I know heading to Kyoto together may be suspicious, but sharing a "wine offering” with you tonight would be more than reasonable, don’t you think?“ The phoenix smiled. "I believe that would be perfectly acceptable,” she responded. …. The two had arrived at the scene and spent an hour Investigating. There was barely anything left of the structure. It had been burnt to the ground in the unholy blaze. There was also very little evidence From the exorcists that had come earlier to put the literal hellfires. From them they learned that the exorcist Izumi curtis was a survivor of the fire, rescuing two young boys and a handful of clergymen. They were currently all healing at the New Hope Hospital not too far from the scene of the demon attack.   “Well it appears that there isn’t any left over activity in the area…” Roy said, “So it’s clear whatever he was here for is over now.” “Could it be he was after something that Van Hohenheim owned?” Riza asked. “Maybe he had found something powerful enough to destroy him…or the key to manifesting in this world…” “Could be…” Roy said, “At least if he was trying to destroy something, anyways. Burning the whole place down would have certainly done the trick. If not, he royally screwed up and probably destroyed the thing he was looking for.” He kicked a piece of rubble and it disintegrated into ash before looking over at the flat pools of solid steel mixed with lumps of ash that had once been the support beams of the building. “Or he used the fire to cover his tracks,” Riza said, “Mephisto wouldn’t have sent us here for nothing. Even if it is Satan that attacked, if everything was said and done and the demon had acted on his own, he wouldn’t be interested.” Roy smirked. “You read my mind,” he said before frowning, “Finding out what he wanted isn’t going to be easy though…We can’t exactly bring him in for interrogation after all…and there isn’t much evidence left to draw conclusions from.” He sighed, “Our only hope is if the witnesses are in good enough condition to tell us anything about what happened…Has anyone else interviewed them yet?” The phoenix shrugged. “I don’t believe so. If you recall, one of the other exorcists said that almost all of the surviving victims were unconscious and/or seriously injured when help arrived,” she said, “they might not be awake yet.” Roy closed his note book. “Well there’s no harm in going to check,” he said, “Come on. Let’s see if we can get in during visiting hours.” As they began to walk back towards the edge of the investigation sight and lift up the police tape to exit, they noticed a young, blonde girl arguing with one of the officers blocking the site. “Please sir, you’ve got to tell me what happened!” she said, “That fire burned down my best friends’ home! They’re in the hospital right now thanks to whoever did this! I want to know everything I can about this! I want to know what kind of monster caused Father Hohenheim’s death!” There were furious and pained tears in her eyes as she spoke. Roy felt slight pity for the girl as the officer tried to persuade her to leave. He could only imagine all those who had been affected by this tragedy. There were a few other victims besides father Hohenheim, a few of his clergymen that had presumably died in the fire. They had friends and family that were surely rife with grief at this moment. And that wasn’t even considering all those who attended this church. Those that may not have been particularly close to the priest but sought guidance from him. Countless people falling into despair from this attack, as well as countless that Satan has caused suffering too.  It boiled his blood to think about especially how helpless they all were against him. There must be some way to stop that monster…or at least weaken him… He was suddenly pulled out of this train of thought by the girl running up to him. “Hey, are you a private investigator?” she asked,  grabbing him by his arm as he walked away from the scene and catching him off guard. He looked down at her  in surprise. Her eyes were focused on his face, not even glancing once at the phoenix resting on his shoulder. The pair exchanged brief looks. The girl most likely did not have a temptaint. She would have known he was an exorcist if she could see his familiar, or would have at least been slightly distracted by her wings that had fire coming off of them. “What gave you that impression?” he asked. “Well you aren’t dressed like any officer or fireman,” she said, “And they certainly aren’t letting any civilians through.” Roy shrugged. “Fair point,” he said, “you could say I’m an investigator of sorts, although I’m not working independently.” “I work for a sect of the Vatican that Father Hohenhiem had ties to,” he explained, “They sent me in here to investigate the cause of his death, what started the fire, and so on.” She blinked at him in surprise before giving him a confused look. “What are you talking about?” she questioned, “This was clearly some kind of arson case. There was no freak storm last night and I’ve over heard the cops and they say it wasn’t a gas leak.” Roy shrugged. “You may very well be right, but all accounts say that the church burned down in blue flames, which isn’t a common occurrence. Unless the building was made of sulfur, it shouldn’t have burned blue.” “I see…” the girl said, “Anyways, if you find out anything, can you let me know? My name is Winry Rockbell. I’m really close friends with the boys that lived in that church with that priest."She pulled out a slip of paper and wrote a number on it before handing it to him. "I see,” he said, getting an idea, “Alright, I will, but can you tell me one thing? Have you visited them yet? Do you know if they are awake yet? I have to interview them to see what they know.” The girl nodded and furrowed her brow. “Ed and Al aren’t awake yet,” she said, “But Ms. Curtis is.” Roy nodded. “Very well,” he said, “Thank you.” With that he turned to leave. After they had walked a small distance, roy turned into an alley and called a cab, while riza turned into her human form. “You don’t really intend on giving her any information do you? She won’t believe that Satan had anything to do with it,” she said. “Oh I do intend on giving her some,” he said calling a taxi, “But only what the other exorcists decide to release to the police.” He turned to her. “Honestly if I told her the truth, she’d think I would be making fun of her or something,” he defended, “And I couldn’t exactly walk away. She seems like the stubborn kind of person who won’t take no for an answer.” He smirked before turning to her. “Kinda like someone else I know…” he teased. “Yes… you always have been quite annoyingly persistent, Sir,” she said smirking back at him. Roy pouted at her retort before grumbling and continuing on his way to hail their cab while Riza followed behind him.

… Blue flames. They had surrounded her  as she burst through the door to the burning church.  She had left to pour holy water into the sewers as van Hohenheim had requested she do to prevent any demons sneaking in that way, and when she had come back, the whole building had been engulfed by the satanic flames. She coughed as air baked her lungs as the heat and smoke wafted through the air, looking around wildly to try to understand what had happened. How had Satan gotten in here? She thought it had been Astaroth they were fighting! However, her confusion and distress had quickly turned to horror as she saw three bodies lying on the ground. Her heart stopped and the flaming room suddenly grew cold as she recognized them: alphonse, who looked to be covered in several burns; Edward, who’s hand was gripping something and was covered in the flames himself; and not to far away from either of the was the body of Hohenheim, face covered in blood and body slowly being consumed in the blaze. Izumi Curtis gasped as she opened her eyes again, panting and clutching her chest as she did so. The other hand gripped the hospital sheets beneath it, tearing a few stitches in them as she tried to calm herself down. She glanced around at her surroundings, eyes gliding around the room at white hospital walls to remind herself of where she was. She sat up in her bed and held her head in her hands. This was the third time she had tried to sleep since coming here, but it was still unsuccessful. What had happened that night  haunted her and most likely would for as long as she lived. Although when she had first come to work under Father Hohenheim and aid him in his  work as an exorcist she had not expected him to protect the son of satan, ever since that day she had known this was coming. That Satan would come to collect. Still she had somehow been unprepared for this. She had called him crazy, and desperately tried to get him to change his mind, but he had been unwavering. She couldn’t believe him at the time. What was he thinking? Was he going to turn the boy into a weapon or something? Despite this, she had still stood by him and promised to help protect Edward. And over time, she had grown attached to the half demon and his brother, enough to where she dragged their bodies out of the burning building, despite it being clear Edward’s demon half was now unleashed. She shuddered as she remembered the moment of hesitation she had when she first saw him passed out on the ground in his new form. His ears were elongated, his fingernails too. He had long canines sticking out of his mouth and a long golden tail sprouting from his back. His human brother Alphonse a good distance away had been burned severally, there had been a wound on his neck like a large hand print gripping it as well as a large one on his chest and a few on his arm. Had edward done that? To be honest, she still didn’t know. Still, it didn’t stop the female exorcist from carrying them out. She then saved as many of the clergy as she could before collapsing on the ground. She woke up the next morning in the hospital, soon learning the church had  burned down and that Edward and Alphonse had not yet awoken. No one had gotten interviewed just yet, mostly because no one had been awake when other exorcists first came by, and for that she was relieved. She couldn’t let anyone see Edward as he was now. Speaking of, she should check on how he was doing. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she got up, wincing slightly as she put pressure on a burn wound on her hand. She then walked down the hall towards Room 351 where the two were. However, she froze as she came to the entrance to the room. The door was a jar and as she peered inside the room, she noticed two people standing at the foot of the boys’ beds: a black haired man and a blonde woman in exorcist uniforms.  They stared down at the boys in shock and horror, particularly Edward as they could see long ears peeking out from his hair, and a golden tail draping onto the floor from underneath the bedroom sheets. Izumi could feel her heart fill with panic. She hoped she would have more time until someone came to check up on them to come up with a plan.  At least enough to explain to the boys what had happened, anyways. But of course the universe couldn’t let that happen. She grimaced as a determined  look came to her eye. She quietly grabbed broom before lunging towards the man’s head with it. However, the woman caught her movement in the corner of her eye before swiftly stopping the pole before it could strike him. He turned to her in surprise before glowering at her. “Are you Izumi Curtis?” He demanded in a cold tone. The woman paused before glaring at him and nodding. “Good, because you have a lot of explaining to do,” he growled as he glanced back at the teenage demon lying in the bed.

Sneak peek at ‘Hellfire’

This is the introduction to ‘Hellfire’ It has heavy implied and explicit NSFW connotations and outright NSFW passages in it. So it’s under the cut and 18+. I often write the smut and then fill in the intro, but this time around I worked chronologically. So I am finalising the smutty goodness and the ending. F!Reader paired with Scorpion.  Please remember this is just a sneak peek, the finished version will be soon! Warnings; 18+ under the cut and NSFW. 

Hanzo watched you train. He hated to lurk and hated even more so to pry. But he had an urge, one that he could not satiate by the mere thought of you. No. He had to see you… but he knew he couldn’t allow others to see him staring. It is why he watched you from the edge of the training room. As if he was merely gazing in to observe your form and stance, rather than take your details in. He felt conflicted, like he was being torn apart on the inside. The guilt he felt for wanting you, was not equally as matched with the desire of having you. Hellfire was burning inside of him. How he had prayed late into the night; that his feelings for you would be removed, cast out and taking with it the guilt he felt. But alas, it came to no avail, and the longing for you remained. You were not a member of the Shira Ryu, but you were a friend of Raiden’s and therefore, welcome at the temple whenever you arrived. You travelled a lot, and when you saw each other, you greeted one another like old friends. But now, Hanzo feared that he was jeopardising that balance, by the stirring in the pit of his stomach. Scorpion was reigning an old flame, one he was sure he had extinguished. Sexual desire had long been repressed by him. He had vowed to remain celibate after the death of his wife. Never wanting to be intimate with anyone again. Sex was sacred to him and he vowed to not violate the act… no matter how desperate he was. He had succeeded pretty well with this endeavour, until you had come a long. Awakening feelings that he had long thought dormant and dead. No amount of mediating could soothe his aching soul. But yet, he would still try to in vain…. He watched as you sparred with the dummy once more. You had taken his advice, working on your footing and stance, ensuring that you would not so easily be knocked off balance. His lips twitched, threatening to break into a solemn and brief smile. But he prohibited the action, instead opting to move on from his spying. He had a lot to meditate on today and a lot of repenting to do… Scorpion was trying to claw his way to the top, trying to fill his soul with lust laced thoughts. Thoughts about how you would moan, how his name would sound leaving your lips, not platonically but dripping with the tantalising sound of desire. How you would feel around him as he fucked you… he pushed the thoughts down, burying them as he often did. Closing his eyes and remembering his vow, how he had promised to never give into such urges, no matter how enticing they may be. Takeda had often encouraged his Grandmaster moving on, stating that he had a new chance at life, and that a vow of celibacy should not condemn his future. Whilst his pupil spoke some truth in the matter, it did not subside all of the guilt. Even though you were tempting and everything he could have ever hoped for… He knew he couldn’t, no matter how much the hell blazed fire burnt within him.