when you’re a group of two where one is captain of the basketball team and the other is the weird genius student but you’ve finally embraced your true love for singing (and each other) and audition in the call-backs for the school winter musical after winning the basketball championships and the science decathlon, respectively.

here’s a close up or two:

I'M BACK BECAUSE YOU NEED ASK

So just, hear me out. M or GN!Reader that is biologically Hades and Maleficent son/child, Aurora is his little sister (he's in second year at NRC and Aurora in first year in a girl school).

How Platonic!Crowley, and any character’s you want, will react at the family days when they come to school for Reader ? (It's bad explained, i know.)

Ignore it if you don't want to write it.

Have a good day and night.

PS : The Alice Yuu was perfect.

Maleficent! ± Hades! Male! Reader

×You are Malleus's cousin

×Asra is your adopted sister and unknown to everyone, Silvers actual sister

×You and Idia are childhood friends (I don't think he's related to Hades, correct me if I'm wrong)

×You're not Yuu

×You're and third year Ignihyde student

Sorry I haven't been posting, I didn't have any motivation!

-

There were many things that were well known about Y/n, most people considered him an open book, but his family life stayed a mystery.

There were a few things that people could gather by just talking to him; his mom died, his dad remarried (Persephone), and he had known the shroud brothers for a long time.

The reason Y/n kept his family a secret was because he saw how people would avoid Malleus, leaving him alone and unwelcomed, but for some ungodly reason, nothing could be left a secret in this school.

Family day.

A day that Y/n had managed to avoid in the past thanks to either Idias hacking or a quick excuse that only makes sense because Crowley is an idiot.

But this year he forgot all about the dreaded day.

The day started as any other, he straightened out his uniform, found something to drink, and started making his way to the cafeteria.

But then he saw those gargoyles from the underworld waiting for him in the second he stepped out of his dorm mirror.

"He he- see I told you he'd be here if we waited long enough!" The shorter one spoke.

"Well, excuse me for hoping the boy had learned to get up earlier for once!" Panic shouted back.

"What are you two doing here?" Y/n asked, stunned.

"Well, we just missed ya and your horrible attitude soooo much!" Pain started. "NO! Its family day dumb-fuck."

"Does that mean dads here!"

"Of course, he is, he wasn't going to miss is first AND only chance to see you at your school." The taller one said in a tone most wouldn't dare have with the son of a god.

"FUCK! I gotta go!"

And just like that, the teenager was off like his head was going to be cut off.

"Not even a 'How are you?' or 'How's the Underworld?' Typical."

The cafeteria was filled with people in awe of one of the most recognizable people in the world. No one had the nerve to approach him as he tried to find his son and instead just circled around him, entranced by his existence.

"Have any of you seen my son?" The god asked the crowd, "He's about this tall, Ingihyde, of course, and always half asleep."

"Uncle! So good to see you." A familiar pair of horns made its way through the crowd.

"Ah, Malleus, have you seen Y/n? It appears no one else here as." Hades asked as he brought the younger boy in for a hug.

Malleus chuckled, "Unfortunately, not today, he normally sleeps in quite late."

"I assume he got that habit from that Shroud boy?"

"Probably."

"DAD!"

Everyone turned to see the boy whose father left everyone so stunned and audible gasps were heard as students quickly realized the similarities between their magic.

"Y/n! My boy! How have you been? Have you finally made some new friends?"

"What do you mean new friends! I have plenty of friends-"

"Name three other than Idia and Ortho."

"Well, there's Silver, and..." He thought for a moment "Well how have you been?"

"Well busy with the Underworld and ACTUAL responsibilities, unlike Zeus and the other gods."

"Yeah, yeah, let's go talk about that outside." Y/n said trying to rush his dad outside.

As they entered the courtyard Y/n noticed Deuce showing his mom around and Ace getting bullied by his brother. As Hades rambled on to his son about how unfair his job was Crowely took notice of the god and quickly made his way over in hope of some positive publicity.

"Y/n! I'm so happy to see you and your father enjoying yourselves!"

"Well, everything would be perfect but we're waiting on a couple more people." Hades started. "Do you think you could tell them where we are?"

"Who else did you invite!?" Y/n could already feel the eyebags start to form under his eyes as he wished he'd stayed in bed.

"Asra and Persephone!" Hades smiled.

"Stay here I'll go find them."

"Stay here and do what? I'll be bored out of my mind."

"Talk to Crowley or something! I don't care, just stay here!"

Y/n made his way back to the Ingihyde dorm, if he was going to do this, he was going to make Idia suffer with him.

"Get your ass up! It's family day!" The boy just barged into the others dorm, as he often did.

"What does that have to do with me!?"

After a couple minutes of arguing, Idia was now walking close behind Y/n with his tablet in hand. The loud environment was Idias worst nightmare, and he will never know how he was talked into this.

"Y/N!"

That was all the two heard before said boy was tackled to the ground by a familiar head of long white hair. A few looks a shock were shot their way making Idia jump.

"Asra! GET OFF OF ME!"

"So whiney!" She stuck her togue out. "Are you mad cause I interrupted your time with you boyfriend!"

Once again Idia jumped from something the girl did. This has been an ongoing joke that was only funny to one girl and very annoying to the brother and his friend.

"He wishes!" Y/n said, shoving his sister lightly.

"Now kids," a voice so graceful that it could only belong to one person spoke. "We're in public, act like it."

Soon the four made it back to the courtyard where Malleus, Pain, and Panic had joined Hades and Crowley.

"So, you started the Gargoyle club in our honor, right?" Panic asked, nudging Malleus.

Malleus laughed in response, "No but you two did he with my interest in gargoyles."

As soon as the four joined the crowed Crowely insisted he get a picture.

"It will be perfect for the school Magicam! Now say 'family!'"

The Angel behind the Curtain

The Metatron. A character we don’t know a lot about in the show but has become public enemy number 1 - funny isn’t it.

I’ve been putting off doing this for a while because I wanted to dedicate proper time and research into this character - who he is, what he is doing, and how he is being used. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past week or so and boy is it long. So consider this an introduction post to a series - the main parts are still under construction and review.

But here is a shorter part that didn’t really fit anywhere cleanly and was kinda just a side tangent my brain went on - so now it’s its own part. I know some of it has been discussed before but have some new additions with a sneak peak into what is to come

and for that we are going back into the Title sequence - yes I know I talk about it way too much.

So Mr. Floating Head

Obviously this has been linked to the floating head of The Wizard of Oz before

But I want to dive in a little further now that we have more instances of this in season two

Now I’ll admit it’s been a while since I have revisited the story so there might be more parallels I missed but for now I just want to focus on the wizard - with some light parallels

We get the Metatron as a floating head up in heaven during the trial -which would have been before/during episode one - where he task the archangels with finding Gabriel - and he almost seems amused about it.

When Dorothy and the others first meet the Great Oz he will only grant their wishes upon the defeat of The Wicked Witch of the West. Once they return back after succeeding they demand the Great Oz to fulfill his promises but Toto knocks down the curtain to reveal that the Great Oz is just some man. He then uses “humbug” to grant their wishes - kinda. Dorothy though is meant to join him on a hot air balloon so they can both go home - which she misses because she was chasing Toto. But enough of that

After Gabriel is found - then fucks off - the Metatron arrives in the bookshop with most not recognizing him until he prompts Crowley to “reveal” him. He then sends the archangels away with a “wait and see” about if they had done anything wrong - kinda granting their wish with them not getting in trouble. He then goes on to offer the Supreme Archangel position to Aziraphale and says to join him in going up to Heaven.

The Metatron is admittedly a better wizard than Oz - he for the most part removes his own curtain and makes sure Aziraphale is coming with him.

But you said we were going into the title sequence and you have just rambled about some old story parallels? Okok I’m going

I've talked before (here) about how those rickety walkways represent Heaven's plans/timeline for their version of Armageddon- but for this we are going to focus on the one in the theatre

Curtains are drawn - screen is burned - the way to the Second Coming revealed

I'm comparing this moment to the Metatron finally appearing in a corporation in front of the angels and revealing his name - the curtain pulled back.

At the last second the film is burned - right before they enter the lift the Metatron finally drops the act a little and reveals the name, The Second Coming.

And now on to the sneak peak for one of the things I will be doing a deep dive into - The Book of Enoch

I know Neil has said the Metatron has always been an angel but can’t throw the whole book away when he himself pulls from it

When we go through the burnt screen we see these mountains of junk and it is revealed they are walking up one that has a throne room on top.

In Enoch 1 he is given an angel guided tour of the cosmos and sees seven glorious mountains - three to the east, three to the south, one that was taller than the rest and like the seat of a throne with trees encircling it, one of which is identified as the Tree of Life - which is said to be given back to humans after judgement

I’m sensing some parallels but for now that is it - tune in later for some more Enoch and diving into the occult

Part 2 is up!!

Dean could feel the hot, black smoke within his being, it singed at the edges of his soul, burning him from the inside, leaving ashen smoke in place of the once-bright light which it slowly devoured.

He felt very little difference yet, other than the constant buzzing in his chest, like a dozen bees flying inside him, but other than that and a faint warmth over his heart, he felt no difference.

"Disappointed?" Crowley asked, spotting the confused expression on Dean's face.

Dean glanced at Crowley, his expression that of horrified realization. The reality of what he had just done truly setting in though uncertain if the horror was in regards to what he had done, or the fact he was giddy with joy about it.

"Fuck... I did it. I actually did it." He whispered, looking at his slightly shaking hands, before looking up at Crowley, defiance still burning on his eyes, in spite of the last echoes of their infernal deal still lingering in the night.

Crowley revelled in the moment and smirked with a regal satisfaction.

"Calm down, my fledgling. You are far from your final form yet You have a long road yet to travel until the last of that human glow is singed away. For now, return to your cozy little bunker. I will call upon you when I need you. But until then, your brother and dear mother await." The king of hell chuckled.

Dean nodded, his expression conflicted as the gravity of Crowley's words, and the reality of what he had just done, was still sinking in.

"What about them? Sam, Mom...? What do I tell them?" The question was equally pointed to himself as it was Crowley.

Crowley smirked and put his hands deep in his pockets and shrugged.

"Tell them nothing. Moose and Mama Bear don't need to know the details of our little arrangement. Let us just keep this little secret between the two of us, yes?" The king said, leering at Dean.

Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded, agreeing that it was indeed the best course of action.

"Understood." The man said, straightening his back.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, a feline smile on his lips, savouring the victory he had finally pulled in the infernal chess game he'd played with fate for the last half decade. And finally his pawn had reached the borders, and became a true queen, fit to topple any opposing king.

"Remember, Dean, you're my chess piece now. Play your part well, and perhaps I'll find more uses for you in the grand scheme of things." Crowley purred, sliding one hand over the taller man's neck.

Dean leaned into the touch, greedily seaching for the hellfire warmth which radiated from the demon's favourite vessel.

Then Crowley vanished, and Dean was left alone beneath the stars. Sometime during his and Crowley's deal. The old lamp had finally burnt out and died. Standing by his lonesome at the crossroads, he felt the weights upon his shoulders lessen slightly, as part of his guilt singed away through the corruption.

With a determined, yet conflicted expression, the former human walked into the darkness, to the waiting 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Bound for the bunker of the men of letters, he smiled slightly. The secrets he carried with him now spoke of danger, betrayal and sin. Yet most of all, they spoke of freedom.

Dean felt as if he was walking on eggshells, for the next few days after he returned to the bunker. He was navigating the home base with a newfound grace and an unsettling calm which had already set itelf within his now slightly less pronounced bow-legged gait.

Sam and Mary had made no comment on his slightly altered mannerisms. The fact that the changes, just as the corruption were so slow, was probably why no one took notice. But Dean, however. He noticed everything. Everything he had not been able to notice before.

Like how all the devil traps in the bunker were broken with hair-thin scratches through them, and how, even if Dean could yet not see it, he could feel a hellhound constantly stalking the halls. Dean had then realised that Crowley had been infiltrating and spying on them for Chuck knows how long.

Crowley... indeed, after that night at the crossoads, when he had pulled that demon to him and sealed their deal with an unneeded kiss. A kiss of sulphur, hellfire, of hate desperation, longing and more which he did not wish to confront even within his mind. He had not been able to help it.

He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to just leave those thoughts, to forget those unwanted feelings. But as the days passed, and his shame was eaten away at by the demonic corruption, he slowly allowed himself to acknowledge what he felt. The peculiar mixture of undemonic loyalty and deep-rooted attraction.

Dean was no stranger to attraction. He found all manners of people attractive. He had never broadcasted the fact that he was a little bit more than bi-curious. His father had always been vocal regarding his thoughts on those that were not of traditionalism. So he had hidden away his attraction to men for most of his life. Overcompensated with treating women in a damned near misogynistic manner. All out of fear and shame. Out of the same kind of shame that had caused him to bury his attraction towards Crowley. Or so he had told himself, ever since he first had felt that clear attraction to the demon, when Crowley had, with such casual, flirtatious, and cocky mannerisms, given them the colt. And how his attraction had only grown with the years. Especially after the demon king decided to grow out that damned sexy beard. That beard would truly be the end of him...

The thing, however, which he was ashamed of, the thing he had refused to even allow himself to mull over, was not his attraction to Crowley's vessel. For it was a damned handsome one, but rather his attraction to Crowley himself, itself. The demon within the vessel. The blood red smoke which he had only seen a few times. Way too few times in his opinion.

He had felt intense shame about the implication beyond his attraction towards the demon.

In the library, Sam looked up from his piles of books. He had been reading up on all literature he could find, which even mentioned the antichrist, or the idea of human/angel hybrids.

Dean entered the room, holding two beers, the smile he wore, strained with the paranoia he felt, constantly on edge, fearing Sam would find out what he was doing, what he was becomming.

"Thanks. All good, Dean?" Sam said, accepting the beer from his big brother. Dean shrugged casually.

"Yeah, all is good with me. How's the hunt for Satan's spawn goin'?" He asked casually and sat down, twisting open his own beer.

"Most literature seems to refer to him as evil incarnate. Well, all except this one." Sam picked up one of the books and tossed it to Dean.

"Good Omens. Well that sounds like a good, well, omen." Dean said, looking at the cover, which depicted a man with devil horns and s forked tail laying over the title, a glass of wine in his hand. Beneath the title was the text:

The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

"A book of prophecy?" Dean asked, looking at the book in confusion.

"Fiction, Dean. It's a fictional book. But it does present a very interesting take on the antichrist. In it, a normal human family accidentally take in the antichrist due to a mix up at the church where two women were giving birth. The antichrist grows to become just a normal kid, with normal values and morals. Nature versus nurture, Dean. What if this antichrist is actually like Adam, the antichrist in the book. What if he can be raised to be good?" Sam proposed.

Dean thought for a moment. Wasn't he pretty much the poster boy for nature superseding nurture? He was trained, since he was a young child, to be a Hunter. A fighter for the good in the world. Saving people, hunting things. Yet here he was, willingly becoming a demon. He was a natural at demonic proclivities. Killing, torture, sin... he knew he was a hedonistic sado-masochist. He was born to be one. He had tried to fight it all his life. But those occasions where he'd indulged... he'd never felt more free.

He could, and had, explained it away before as the first time, he had only started torturing after he had been tortured himself for 30 years, and the other time he was cursed by the murderous mark of Cain.

But that was not the whole truth, now was it?

He had no excuse for the fact that after his decade torturing souls in Hell, he still enjoyed torturing the living. He wanted to keep it to himself. Hide it away in the deepest reaches of his mind, but it kept rearing its ugly head, whenever he felt his knife slice through flesh. The way he could feel how his eyes ought to turn black when he felt blood on his hands. How he had to surpress his feral barghest grin, whenever the screams of pain he inflicted reached his ears.

It was his nature. It had been inevitable.

Crowley's hellhound guard had been watching the two brothers, and Crowley himself had been watching through her eyes. Having noticed the thoughtful look in Dean's eyes had peaked the ever so perceptive demon's bottomless curiosity. With a child-like mischevious delight, he decided to pop by the bunker unannounced for a chin wag and a cuppa.

Dean had moved to the kitchen, where he was staring blankly at a burger, not feeling hungry.

"Well, well, look at you. Playing house not doing much for the ol' appetite, eh? How's domestic life treating you?"

Dean rolled his eyes, giving the burger a death glare, before pushing the plate away.

"Shut it, Crowley. What do you want?" He looked up, not surprised to see Crowley, dressed in a fine, black suit, sitting vis a vis himself at the small table.

"I was in the neighbourhood and decided to check in on my favourite Winchester. A little doggy been whispering in my ear that you've been avoiding the family dinner table. Got something you need to get off your chest, my dear demon fledgling?" He purred, teasingly.

Dean shot Crowley a glare, torn between irritaion, and the unsettingly intense crush which seemed to only grow more uncontrollable within the demon's presence.

"You are hilarious. Such an absolute jokester. Fuck outta my kitchen." He sneered, half-jokingly. Crowley smirked at that and leaned his elbows onto the table, cocking his head slighty in the manner which always made Dean's heart jump in his throath.

The walls of the kitchen bunker seemed to echo with the unconventional, yet by now very much familiar emotional dance of the two men. Their banter, as usual, was charged with the energy which was uniquely theirs. Tension, lust, camraderie and a dark, twisted, non-judgemental understanding.

"And that, my dear Squirrel, is why I am always cocksure when it comes to deciding nicknames." Crowley smirked, as the newly ressurected Mary Winchester entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the scene before her.

"What's going on here, then? Who's this? Another hunter friend of yours?"

Dean, quick on his feet, and snappy with his tongue, shot Crowley a sly, demonic glance before turning to Mary with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, hey, mom. Not much is happening, no. I'm just having lunch with my boyfriend, Fergus." He said, reaching out, placing one of his hands over Crowley's. Crowley arched an eyebrow, caught off guard by Dean's impromptu cover story. But even though he was surprised, he was far from unhappy with the idea.

"Ah, so this is the infamous Mary. What a pleasure to finally meet you." He said, flashing her one of his most charming smiles.

"Who says us hunters cannot find love?" Dean smiled, leaning forwards, looking for any adverse reaction from his mother.

He was pleasantly surprised that his mother seemed to have no reaction at all to the idea of him dating a man.

Mary seemed merely amused as she looked at the two and quirked an eyebrow.

"I've been back for what? Two months? Why didn't you introduce us earlier?" She asked with a smile, holding a hand out for Crowley. "Mary Sandra Winchester." She said. Crowley raised an eyebrow in response before taking the offered hand.

"Fergus Roderick MacLeod." He replied

"You hunt, Fergus?" Mary asked.

"At times. I'm more of a specialist at certain things. They call me up for cases now and then." He smiled, then placed his free hand on top of Dean's, electricity surging through the both of them. "But this is simply a casual pop-by. Hate going too long without seeing my dear Squirrel." Crowley purred with a smile.

Mary chuckled and shook her head.

"You two go ahead and enjoy your little date, I'll leave you be." Mary said with a wink and walked out of the kitchen

Dean and Crowley exchanged subtle glances as Mary left the room, both of them realizing the absolute absurdity of their situation. Which caused them both to laugh after they were certain the Winchester matriarch was gone.

"Surprising how fast she accepted the lie." Dean said with a smirk.

"Boyfriends, Winchester? Really?" Crowley asked with a raised, amused eyebrow.

"First thought that came to mind. Let's just play along for now and keep the cover up." He smirked.

"You truly are a dark horse, Dean." Crowley teased, interlocking his fingers with Dean's. "I do not mind toying with your family." He smirked, leaning closer.

Dean swallowed hard, as it dawned upon him that he was once again fully entangled in Crowley's spiderweb of charms. To pretend that Crowley was his boyfriend, and to keep the fact they were both demons a secret from Mary was going to be very difficult for the hunter. Especially as his feelings for the king of Hell seemed to just deepen and deepen the more his soul ashened.

Leona kingscholar x reader

*it’s all just maybe fluff- but maybe I would make a part 2 with more spicy moments :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was close to break and yet again Crowley had not found you a way home . So just like last year you would stay at the school while everyone else got to go and see their loved ones. Grin was more that happy to stay at the school and do nothing but ransack the kitchen for a few weeks.

But maybe this year would be different. During your stay at night raven college you gotten close to a certain lion. Even tho he was not always the best to get along with. He was definitely a guy you did not want to be on the bad side of. Also when ever you guys were by each other, everyone knew to stay away from you because of his intimidating glare. He might have a small soft spot for you after helping you in octavinelle.

So once he heard that you again having to stay alone at the school he thought it best to instead offer an alternative.

You were in the library studying for one more test before break. “Oi herbivore.” You looked up to see the one and only 2nd prince standing in front of you. “Oh! Leona do you need something?” You looked at his emerald eyes, they show no emotion as he said. “You can always come with me to my home if you still have no where to go during break.

You looked at him before smiling. “Thanks Leona! I really do need to leave this school for a while.” He gave you a smirk and walked away out of the library.

Now on the outside you looked completely normal. But on the inside your mind was going crazy. Leona fucking kingscholar invited you to his home! His home is literally a castle! A red blush spread across your face as you thought about everything that just happened. “Please tell me I’m not going insane.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When break finally came you were in ramshackle packing up the small amount of things would bring. Grabbing your bag you made your way to the mirror chamber. When you got their you saw ace and deuce also exited to go home.

“Hey y/n!” Ace waved at you. Deuce gave you a confused look. “Why are you packed, you going somewhere?”

“Oh yeah I’m going with Leona for break.” Both of their eyes widened and jaw dropped. “LEONA KINGSCHOLAR?” Ace grabbed your shoulders and looked at you dead in the eyes. “Did he bribe you or something? Why are going with a guy like him?” Deuce also gave you a questioning and empathetic look.

You smiled lightly and held ace’s shoulder. “Don’t worry I’ll be fine. Besides I trust him enough to not hurt me.” Even after saying that their worried faces still didn’t go away? “Wait, then where is grim staying?” Deuce asked. “Oh he will just stay at the school, I asked the ghosts to keep a very close eye on him to make sure he won’t burn the whole school down.”

A few more minutes of waiting you saw the guy you have been waiting. And of course he had nothing but his phone and wallet with him. “You ready?” He asked. You nodded and you both went up to the big mirror. You turned and waved to ace and deuce.

Stepping into the mirror you were met with a strange feeling and a slight gust of wind on your body. Then you felt the humid and hot air around you. Opening your eyes you were met with a magnificent scenery. The hot sun overhead and vast land around. You could also see Leona’s house (or castle).

When heading towards the castle you guys walked in comfortable silence as you admired everything around you. Leona looked at how astonished you looked looking at his homeland. Arriving at the castle the doors opened for the both of you. It was slightly colder and felt good on your already warm body.

“Leona! Is that you!” You looked at Leona and he had a irritated look on his face. “Shit.” You looked and saw a figure taller than Leona. He had ginger/brown hair and brown eyes. This must be falena… Leona’s brother. But that was not the only one. Behind the king was a smaller child know as Cheka. “Uncle!” Cheka ran up and hugged leona’s leg making him more irritated.

“Oh! You must be y/n. Falena looked at you. “Yep.” You smiled and waved. Cheka looked at you and smiled widely. “It’s you! You were at the spwelldrive thingy.” You chuckled and knelt down to his height. “Yep that was me.” Cheka ran up to hug you. You hugged back and looked at Leona who still had a sour look.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you away and to the upper level of the castle. Going down a hallway to a group of doors he opened them leading to a luxurious bedroom. It had a lot of browns,blacks and some yellow. Having some decorations of bright colors to symbolize the sunset savanna.

“Your room is the one across from mine.” He set is phone and wallet on his bed and led you to your room (Even though it was not far). You opened the door and it opened to a room with a king size bed and many bright colors. You admired the room and let your bag on the couch. You turned to him leaning against the door frame. “It’s really nice thanks Leona.” Hearing you say that made his heart skip a beat and a small pink dusted his cheeks. “No worries. I didn’t want you spending the break along again.” 

You checked the time and it around noon. “You wanna go around town?” Leona asked you. He did not expect your eyes to light up. “Uh hell yes!”

Leaving the castle you headed to the main town around the sunset savanna. Their were shops and restaurants and you wanted to look at all them. You headed to a jewelry shop. Looking at the necklaces, rings, brackets, and earrings you were in awe at them all. You had you eye on a a set of a necklace, ring and earrings. They were the traditional colors of the sunset savanna and looked amazing in the sunlight. You were smart and brought your own money so you didn’t have to always ask Leona. But when you put the set on the counter Leona drifted your attention to someone that was doing a dance outside.

While you were distracted Leona gave the cashier the money for your jewelry. When you turned back the set was already in your hands and he was out the door. Looking at your hands then him, and then your hands again you ran after him. “Leona! You didn’t have to pay for me I could have pay for myself.” He had no expression and just shrugged “Just say it’s my treat.” You were about to argue back but then let it go. There was no use arguing with him.

You and Leona spend many hours in town trying different foods, watching performers on the street and going into many shops you both were officially tired for the day.

Heading back to his home you were surprised him being the lazy lion he is spent all this time with you. Usually at school he put in the least amount of effort or made Ruggie do things for him. But here he is buying things for you and spending hours of time with you.

Walking through the hallway leading to both of your rooms you were about to go your separate way before you felt someone grab for hand. Leona instead led you to his room and closed the door. He grabbed you gently and sat you on the bed and laid next to you.

You were confused till you saw his arm laying across your body. Ohh he want to use you as a pillow (not that you objected for anything) you laid down next to him and he put his head into your neck. A blush also spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his head and played with his hair.

You heard a satisfied sigh from him. He fell asleep very quickly and soon your eyes started to feel heavy and you also feel into a deep sleep. Both of you comfortable in each other embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chaser, keeper leona kingscholar x reader

summary: in which NRC has a transfer student, who Leona just so happens to know very well

author's note: thank you for all the support from my first fic! here's another, though reader isn't Yuu/Player in this one

tags: some cussing, one/two tame dirty jokes, gender neutral reader, sfw, fluff, 6k+ words, JP translation terms used (e.g., magift, afterglow savannah)

you can also read this on AO3

Apparently there was a new student in Night Raven College, some third year who transferred in the middle of the semester from some school or other. Frankly, Leona didn’t really care, passively picking up the information because a bunch of herbivores were being too noisy.

On second thought, maybe Leona did care, because they had gotten really irritating to the ears, so irritating that he’s, for once, grateful to be called to Crowley’s office just so he could escape the gossip.

“The transferee is gonna be one of mine, huh?”

The Headmaster gave him a run-down of why there was a new transfer all of a sudden, how that transfer got placed in his Savanaclaw, how he was expected to help them get acclimated to the school. Honestly, Crowley didn’t have to say all that, it was pretty obvious whoever it was had to be somewhat well-off or connected to get sent here out of schedule.

He wondered if the bird was seriously expecting him to do this and that, but then again it was probably just a formality, because there was no way he was going to do all that when there was a perfectly good Ruggie around the corner. Still, he let out a few noncommittal hums here and there to satiate the man.

Opening the office door, he was ready to introduce himself and drag them away, push them off to the hyena and just go, but that was also because he was expecting some regular herbivore and certainly not you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He barely registered the language comment from the man next to him, too focused on trying to figure out if you were the real deal— yep, a little taller but the same amused grin, same one you’ve had for years, so it had to be you.

“What, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Well, he’s not exactly jumping for joy, could he ever, but he didn’t hate it either— the sight of you, that is. There were immensely more people he would’ve hated seeing over you, maybe he should be grateful it’s not Cheka or his brother coming for a visit, or some other first born royal from who knew where. No way he was gonna tell you that, though. You had your ways of turning his not-insults into compliments.

“What, the goody two-shoes school you were in didn’t work out for you?” he explicitly remembered you whining about how you two wouldn’t be able to hang out anymore, and him telling you it was a good thing, finally being able to sleep without you waking him up hours too early. Karmic debt must be real considering you were here, in the flesh, definitely ready to reduce his sleeping time.

“You should’ve convinced me to go to NRC when I got the letter years ago! I was so close to getting myself expelled on purpose. Everyone was so boring compared to you.”

“That’s obvious.”

He rolled his eyes as he responded. He could have told you that himself.

He knew you wanted to reconnect some more but there were other places to talk, more comfortable places, and he wasn’t about to let the Headmaster eavesdrop more than he already had been— considering how bored that guy must constantly be to drop by their classes, Leona was sure he would’ve let you and him bicker for a little longer just for the heck of it.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, pulling you along by the wrist and out of the office. He could hear Crowley tell him to make sure you attended your classes, probably thinking he was a bad influence, but if you wanted to skip class with him what was he going to do about it? Stop you?

“What class do you have next?”

“Histo-”

“Trein. Easy skip. Let’s go back to Savanaclaw.”

He waited to see if you would protest, but something about that little huff of laughter you let out told him you wouldn’t.

“Probably shouldn’t, but we’ll just say I was busy getting a tour from a certain friend who I missed very much, who is also a jackass for barely responding to my texts but that’s forgiven I guess.”

“Yeah yeah don’t bother, no one would buy that excuse, you sappy shit.”

“You’re really not gonna say you miss me too?”

“You really expect me to?”

“...it was worth a shot,” you said with a shrug, before moving on to talking about how you somehow managed to convince your family to let you shift to NRC, especially with them knowing it essentially meant you would end up following him. It was pretty amusing to think about.

They must’ve been so happy that you and him went your separate ways for schooling, and oh the looks that must have been on their faces to learn that was temporary.

Though Leona wasn’t expecting you, he also wasn’t an idiot— he knew a large part of why you were here was strictly because of him, and he knew your parents knew that as well, and soon all the other affluent families would know too, and then your name would get dragged in the mud again for being associated with the hated second prince. If his brother ever heard about this, he’d probably be the only one even remotely happy.

But it wasn’t any of his business, so if that was what you wanted to do he was just gonna let you.

“Oi, here we are at the Hall of Mirrors. You better not get lost and enter the wrong dorm, you hear?”

People stared at you, at him with you, on the way to the dorms. Probably wondering why the Dorm Leader was actually awake and doing his duties, and why the transfer student wasn’t following him like a cute, lost kitten, but instead walking beside him all comfortably. You might be the cause of a newfound sleep deprivation, you clearly wanted to catch up when there wasn’t much worth catching up on, but he just knows everyone else is gonna be the source of his migraines.

Whatever the outcome, he was blaming you either way.

Leona knew Ruggie woke him up most of the time, was used to it by now, but being roused awake with an interrogation was not what he expected at all from the hyena; not even an interrogation aimed at him, but one aimed at you, who looked just as sleepy as he probably felt.

Ah, so you slept after he did? That was fine. You not forcing him awake meant you finally outgrew your childhood desire to play all day. Maybe you wouldn’t be that annoying to have around after all.

…or not, you were still annoying by association because people would be talking about you, asking about you, and that would annoy him in turn.

“Oi, Ruggie,” he lifted himself up slightly, watching as the two of you turned to face him, “if you two are gonna talk, be a little quieter, will you?”

“Ah, Leona, your friend here,” Leona certainly raised an eyebrow at that, “wanted to talk to you about the transfer student, er, me!”

“... no need to talk to me when the transfer is here in the flesh.”

Despite what he just said, Ruggie insisted on talking to him, looking somewhere in between shocked and befuddled, “I was gonna talk to you about how we haven’t prepared a spare bed for the transfer yet, but… what’s the transfer doing here?”

“Was giving a tour.”

“Of your bedroom?!”

“The bathroom too!” you piped in, and Ruggie looked so incredulous that Leona had to let out a short chuckle. His assistant probably thought you were a special type of dense, one he was taking advantage of, but he knew you were being cheeky. Better let the hyena figure out your real personality by himself.

“Anyway, what’s this about a bed?” you asked, perhaps taking pity on the second year, or perhaps not wanting to escalate anything further. “Are all the rooms full or something?”

“Crowley only told us about you today,” Leona answered, “some headmaster he is. No one had time to prepare anything.”

You looked a little troubled by that, “really? I applied to transfer here before the start of the school year, but he said a third year like me couldn’t join on time because the paperwork would be difficult to deal with. Was he really busy or something?”

He guessed there was no denying the overblot situations made for quite troublesome events, though he wasn’t going to call it a good excuse for neglecting you like that.

“I was gonna ask if Ramshackle had an extra clean room, or I could have you sleep on someone’s floor, but-”

“My room is fine,” he offered before he really thought about it, but it was better to play it cool in front of you, who looked awfully excited at the prospect. Probably thought it was just like the old times or something needlessly sweet. Ruggie, meanwhile, seemed to have shaken off his initial surprise, likely connecting the dots that you weren’t just someone he had met today. There was no way he was going to spill his past to the hyena, but there wasn’t much point hiding anything surface level either, “just don’t mix up my things with yours.”

Ruggie nodded, giving his input even though he knew Leona didn’t need it, “should be fine, not the first time you had someone sleep here anyway.”

“...really?”

The prince gave Ruggie a pointed glare, before turning back to you, “a herbivore I had to deal with. I’ll tell you later,” he’d rather not, but anything to get the conversation elsewhere. He knew you were gonna pry eventually, but better later than sooner, “come on, the sun is setting, let’s get something to eat.”

On lazier days he’d just ask Ruggie to get food for him, but he just wanted to get out of there before anyone said anything unnecessary. If anyone asked, he was doing his job of showing you around.

He didn’t miss the scheming look on the hyena’s face before the two of you left the room. What a pain.

There were a bunch of pests irritating him so early in the morning. When Ruggie had roused him awake, barely awake that is, you had already left the bed and gone somewhere— either one of the bathrooms or the cafeteria, he assumed. With you gone it meant Ruggie was free to talk to ask him about you.

He answered the bare minimum, which was essentially your name, your age, your year, telling him to just go to you directly if he wanted to know anything else, but there was one question that nearly had him snarling.

“Is the transferee related to you or something?”

The thought of you being related to him by blood like Farena or Cheka disgusted him. Ruggie clearly didn’t care whether he answered or not, sniggering at how his sleepy expression morphed into something far more unpleasant. That was enough of an answer, and Leona walked ahead, telling himself that that was all the answers Ruggie was gonna get out of him.

Then he noticed you sitting down on one of the benches, quietly eating your breakfast as you watched a few students already on their brooms. Even with the Savanaclaw uniform on you looked out of place, tie worn properly and shirt pressed nicely— Leona supposed there were some things his bad influence didn’t reach.

From the corner of his eye he spotted Jack staring at you curiously, and though he didn’t think much about it at first, his eye twitched as the wolf beast-man turned to look at him afterwards. If even Jack of all people decided to ask him about you his patience was going to snap in half.

He didn’t, thank fuck, too busy readying himself for a match— a match which you intended on watching, it seemed. Just who told you about morning training in the first place?

How annoying, he was going to have to take today’s magift training seriously now.

Not that he would have lost in the first place.

Your eyes were on him the whole time; he knew this partly because it was kind of hard not to notice when you let out a few verbal cheers here and there, but wholly confirmed because you told him yourself.

“Of course, who else would you even pay attention to?” a rhetorical question. He slumped on the bench next to you, also knowing the water bottle and paperbagged meal left untouched was for him. He caught a few envious stares, those punks probably lamenting having to line up and grab their breakfasts by themselves. Well, Leona thought with pride, they could be jealous all they wanted. He’d thrive off of it, even.

“Your dorm members look a little tired.”

“‘Course they are,” Leona said mid-bite, “they went against me, after all.”

“I’m not gonna agree, your head’s gonna get even larger,” you said, even though the both of you knew the truth of what you thought anyway, “your friend, Ruggie was it? He was pretty good too! Ah, little wolfie over there is sulking though.”

“Little. Sure he’s two years below you, but he’ll probably combust hearing that,” he said with a quick laugh, “he has a good build, but he’s miles away from beating me. Barely has any strategy in his movements, it’s easy reading him.”

You seemed to agree, nodding as you took a sip of water, “you used a few plays you already did before during the inter-dorm. They could have spent some time figuring out how to counter you instead of trying to brute force their way to victory.”

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised, but he was, “huh, you actually watch the NRC matches?”

“Duh?” you rolled your eyes, “with how often you go ‘that’s obvious’ I thought you would’ve guessed that already. See, this is how I know you don’t read every text I send you— I tell you I watch the broadcasts to support you.”

He does, though— just because he barely replied didn’t mean he never read anything you sent him, but it hadn’t quite sunk in his brain until now that you watched all of them, and not just the first time he told you about it.

“No wonder you don’t look that lost with the rules,” he replied, slipping to a quiet silence as you let him eat the rest of his meal in peace. You were always good with your compliments, of course, somehow always well-intentioned when it came to him, but if you’ve watched the broadcasts for as long as he started playing…

Leona sighed to himself. Here he was making sure to play his best in front of you when you’ve already seen him defeated. How bothersome.

As if sensing his mood drop, not that it’s ever that high in the first place, you scrambled to do something to fix it— which involved offering him what’s left of your breakfast wrap. He should be offended, being offered your leftovers when it should’ve been the other way around, but you also brought him his share so he supposed he would be good to you.

“Heh, how cute,” he commented, “but I see the vegetables.”

He took a bite anyway, narrowly avoiding the greens before shoving the rest back to you.

His ears twitched as he heard someone cough nearby, clearly someone a little too invested watching the two of you. Did they not have anywhere else to be before classes started?

Ah, speaking of classes…

“Hurry up. Since we got put in the same class I have to show you which rooms to go to,” he had contemplated skipping, but honestly it would’ve been more troublesome being responsible if you had gotten lost somewhere, or if the Headmaster called him out.

He’ll just go back to skipping classes once you get accustomed to the place. Just long enough to say he did what he had to, and if you end up joining him, well, that isn’t his fault anymore.

“Look at that! You’re actually gonna go to class!” you were beaming now, as if a great achievement had been attained, “maybe I’m more of a good influence on you than you’re a bad influence to me, hmm?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Leona! Get up!” you began tugging on his arm with surprising pressure. “We have Professor Crewel next, and he’ll actually kill us if we’re late again.”

He blinked an eye open, as if to spare you a single glance, before shutting it again, “then go without me if you’re so worried about your attendance.”

Even without seeing you, he could tell you were frustrated, “Leona-”

“I already attend morning classes for you,” he responded with a yawn, “even if I was bored with the lessons, but I’m not giving up the afternoon so easily. A waste of a perfectly good time to sleep… but,” he decided to look at you then, anticipating your reaction, “if you really want to be with me, why don’t you just take a nap with me?”

You didn’t disappoint, you never seem to, with an expression painting a mixture of irritation and embarrassment. You could hide it all you wanted, as quickly as you could, but it was cute how ruffled your feathers would get at his words— and here he was thinking he’d lost his touch, how the years had gotten you too used to him.

Funny how words seemed to get to you, considering you had no qualms sleeping in the same bed as him.

“Well? Decide quickly.”

The two of you went through the same routine every day— if Ruggie wouldn’t wake him up for morning practice, then the task would be left up to you— usually tempting him out of bed with a meat-filled breakfast and convincing him to attend classes with you.

You knew better than to tell him to attend for the sake of learning something, not when everything discussed and will be discussed was something he already knew and even mastered. No, you liked to appeal to him by the means of compromise— that was, convincing him to sleep in class instead.

It was funny how you didn’t seem to care if he paid attention or not, you even offered to simply “shake him awake for a few seconds” in the case of a professor calling him to recite. Honestly the effort of getting up and dressing up was already a hassle, why sleep in a classroom when you can sleep in a nice bed, but nine times out of ten you end up convincing him.

You might think it has to do with the fact that he’s already up, eating breakfast, that he might as well attend class while he had the energy. Maybe you think it has to do with the way you bat your eyes and pout your lips as if to make him pity you, or the way you beg him to come to class with you because you knew noise so early in the morning irritated him.

Unbeknownst to you, these days he mostly puts up a fight in the mornings just to get you all riled up for fun. Something you said had already convinced him to attend just some of his classes— not all, not even for you, most definitely not the ones in the afternoon, but some.

“If you don’t attend classes, they might hold you back again, you know. That means I might graduate before you, then coming to NRC would be pointless.”

Of course he knew the things he did held him back from moving up to becoming a fourth year, and he never really saw it as that big of a deal beforehand, but your transfer to the same school changed things. Would it be humiliating for you to graduate before him? Sure, but there were other things to be concerned with.

You said it yourself— you had come to NRC specifically to follow him, and if you graduated earlier that meant it would be up to him to follow you, and given the circumstances the both of you would be in, it would be difficult for him to do so.

Leona could blame it on the ego boost all he wanted, the effort you went through and go through for him, but he knew of the truth he’d long repressed, buried deep within the pits of resentment and apathy.

He’s nearly forgotten of your presence before him until you audibly sigh, choosing to sit next to where he laid. Ah, so it seems he won you over today.

“We’re not skipping tomorrow, though,” you mumbled to yourself, absentmindedly undoing his braids. He let you, knowing you planned on redoing them anyway, “we have a practical first thing after lunch. Apparently the potion we’ll be making is important to know for the finals.”

“Then go alone?”

“Leona, you're my partner! Also,” you dropped your voice to a whisper, “... I need your help. I always get the highest grades when I’m with you.”

“You mean you need my nose,” he always hated the smell of all the chemicals, but his heightened sense of smell was pretty useful in alchemy class.

“Noooo,” you protested weakly, probably more focused on making sure his hair looked nice rather than sounding believable, “it’s not like I’m using you or anything! I really do need you-”

“You need me, do you? You get bolder each year~” seemingly expecting his retort you let out an unamused groan, but before he could check your reaction one of your hands traveled to cover his eyes.

“Go take your nap already,” you muttered, and it’s difficult to not follow suit— it’s always been easy for him to fall asleep anywhere and anytime, and though the time and weather certainly help it is ultimately your fingers weaving through his hair that do him in.

When Leona sleeps he doesn’t dream, has little left in him wanting dreams, but when his eyes slowly open and what greets him isn’t the burning lights but the sight of your face up close with his, he thinks he might be dreaming. He knows it’s a little too late for either of you to pretend to care about physical boundaries with each other, but as far as he was aware a botanical garden was still a public place.

He would ask you what you were doing but you put your index finger against his lips momentarily, only lifting it when he raised his eyebrow not at your action, but at what he was hearing.

So it seemed the two of you weren’t alone. He wasn’t about to listen to the whole conversation, and they seemed to be a bit of a distance away, but he could at least pick up the bits and pieces— it was Ramshackle’s herbivore being all romantic and sentimental with a boy.

“Nosy,” you stick your tongue out at his remark, clearly invested in whatever you were able to see from peeking behind a bush. You skipped out on an afternoon nap for that? Leona had half the mind to tell them to shut up so the both of you could go back to sleeping in peace and quiet.

Thankfully the pair seemed to do the shutting up themselves— him no longer hearing anything, and you coming back from your hiding spot, both indicating they had probably left.

As if seeing the look on his face, you began to explain yourself, “I was going to sleep but I saw them around the corner… they’re so cute together! I’m kind of jealous, honestly.”

“Jealous?” That was news to him. What was there to be jealous of? “They look completely normal.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, and though he was keeping his eyes open for you, you suddenly refused to look at him, “it’d be pretty nice to have something like that. Normal relationships where people meet organically, and they don’t have to worry about what others think of their choices, and they don’t get scrutinized for every decision and action. That kind of thing.”

“Is that what you want? Normal?”

Normal. Normal for Leona was drastically different than it was for everyone else, and normal had always been farther down the list of Leona’s concerns. He had no dreams but he had his desires, desires that no normal man would be able to obtain. Still, he thinks he gets it— in the first place, would he have the worldview he did if things were different? Would you?

He thought you would say yes, but you shook your head slowly, finally turning to look at him, “there were times, but if giving up the judgement meant being somebody else and never having met you, I don’t think I want it.”

Leona sits up for a few seconds, before slinking back down, down, down until he’s back to lying on the ground. You’re looking at him, of course you are, but he puts up his arms and places them up above his eyes, as if pretending to shield himself from the sunlight. It’s not often he’s grateful for anything, but at this moment in time he’s grateful you don’t have the same sense of hearing he does, because he knows the tables will be turned on him and he’d yet to prepare an explanation in his head for the accelerated beating of his heart.

Leona, despite long having stopped caring about how he was perceived, could understand where you were coming from. Somehow, he found himself better understanding why you came to chase him to Night Raven College— the two of you had met through Farena, and yet somehow were each other's healthiest, most normal relationship.

To you, the normalcy you so craved was not one of your own but one crafted out of expectation, one not boring but exciting, one coming in the form of an arrogant, prideful, pessimistic second prince, one who bickered with you and treated you without regard to your position.

To him, the normalcy he sought was not one given by birth but chosen by choice, was the heavy gust of wind declining to a cool breeze, you and your persistence and perseverance as you burst into life, only to succumb into moments of softness and stillness.

You had chased your normalcy, and he, oh so selfish and self-preserving, would be keeping his.

Ruggie had once noted how rare it was to see you two apart these days, and though he ignored or twisted the words thrown at him as best he could, there was no denying it. The two of you still had your moments of privacy, of course, particularly after school hours, but it was almost expected that you would come find him and walk with him back to Savanaclaw, or maybe you’d greet him after coming back from your club meeting, or at night after studying in the library, you already ready to plop on the bed beside him.

Something must have been in the air, something airborne spread to fuck with him, because now he was rushing to come find you, practically seething with anger as he strided back to the dorms. Leona knew where you were because Ruggie had come looking for him in a panic, and the utterance of your name was all it took for him to rise from his slumber.

The hyena had yet to tell him of the full details; all he knew was that some untamed brute was actually stupid enough to pick a fight with you, and you with all your pride, one he was sure you picked up from him, did not want to back down. He should be proud, how well you’ve adapted to life in the dormitories, but at the moment, all he could feel was the desire to gnaw someone’s head off.

When Leona rushed in the scene it would have been better for everyone involved had you and the perpetrator still be stuck arguing, and he would tell everyone off while inevitably siding with you;

then he spots the vermin’s actions— one foot forward and the clenching of the fist, and those two things are all it takes for Leona to see red and run to you, just fast enough for him to nearly get punched in the face. He hears you gasp, looking over to make sure he didn’t get hit in the same way he’s looking at you for any claw marks or forming bruises. Neither of you say anything for a hot minute, to each other and to anyone else, but the rowdiness of the crowd immediately dies down.

There was a fucking crowd, Leona thought with nothing but irritation, and though stopping you from defending yourself would be futile, no one tried to stop the man from his slight against you, and therefore a slight against him. Was everyone that useless? What a mess.

“You’re lucky you have shit aim,” he said in a way that made it clear he didn’t so much care for the transgression against himself.

“Oi! I don’t give a shit what kind of ruckus you all make out here,” he yelled, making sure everyone’s attention was right at him, “that’s just how it is in Savanaclaw. But you better be prepared to go against me if any of you so much as touch a single hair on this one.”

Everyone seemed at least a little bit frightened, with some exceptions like Jack, who looked more impressed than anything, and Ruggie who was outright grinning at the declaration, but all he could think about was returning back to his bedroom with you in tow.

He wasn’t angry at you, but he was incredibly frustrated at how something could escalate into a fight that nearly turned physical. Just because you spent much of your time visiting him in the Afterglow Savannah didn’t mean you could have won so easily.

He plopped you on the bed, him right next to you, and before he could even question what happened you had taken it upon yourself to explain the situation.

“He said something about you,” you replied, clearly still heated, “talking about you being the second prince, full of assumptions of things he didn’t understand. It wasn’t a direct insult, but it might as well have been.”

There were many things Leona wanted to say to you, but first and foremost, “stupid,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s not anything I’m not used to already.”

“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” you retorted, literally kicking up a fuss as you kicked a pillow in vexation, “and even if you are, you better not expect me to get used to it either.”

No, even though it was troublesome, he knew better than to expect you to change because the dynamic between you and him had always been this way. An insult to you was an insult to him, and an insult to him was an insult to you.

“You always did get angry when you overheard the palace staff say they didn’t like me,” he said with a huff, but it was difficult to hide from you the fondness that had seeped in his voice.

He used to do the same for you, too— not within your presence, not with the same fire, same spirit you possessed, but in the form of cold threats and daunting word choice.

In the first place, it was that very attitude of yours— your determination in befriending him despite his initial hatred of you, your readiness to fight and defend him from anyone even though he hardly needed it— the same thing that brought him closer to you, that proved your worth and genuineness also led to your name being dragged with his own, perceived by outsiders as blind loyalty and admiration; even stupidity.

“But what do they know about you, huh?” your eyes were fierce as you spoke, and he knew you weren’t just talking about the incident from earlier. “I’m sure everyone knows not to underestimate you now, though! When you were talking out there, I thought you might’ve been the King of Beasts reincarnated!”

“Is that so?” he didn’t bother hiding the pride that swelled in his chest, propping up his elbow, head on hand as he laid on his side and smirked, “did I look that majestic to you?”

“Ugh, maybe it’s my fault you’re so big-headed,” you said with a suppressed laugh, “but fine, just this once. When we were younger I remember you telling me about the King of Beasts, his tenacity and wisdom, what a brilliant leader he was. Even though I was from a different kingdom it just stuck with me, not because you were that good of a storyteller, but because you actually seemed to admire something for once. I’ve seen it before during your magift matches, when you begrudgingly help your underclassmen, and today I thought you really embodied him.”

You paused for a little bit, maybe to shake off the embarrassment, maybe because you were busy reminiscing, “maybe it’s just because it was for me, but my heart was pounding more from you than from any insult or punch that could’ve happened.”

Well, Leona thought to himself, that was certainly going to do it for him.

“You…” he let out a deep sigh, “better be careful of the things you say around me, unless you-”

“I know what I’m saying,” you said, and though your cheeks heated as if the afternoon sun had gotten to you, you still continued with confidence, “you’re the one who never let me take responsibility, remember?”

“Because no one would like it if we courted each other properly,” he reminded you, despite both of you being too far gone from propriety, “everyone seems to think I’m just using you because you’re a neighboring kingdom’s firstborn.”

Because, especially since the birth of his nephew, he would never be the King of Afterglow Savannah, and people seemed to think he would do the next best thing— woo you and either control you for his bidding once he sat on the throne, or usurp you, or maybe even use your kingdom’s forces against his own home.

Because no one ever seemed to think that he could ever return your affections.

“It’s not just offensive to you, but to me as well,” you seemed a little dejected at the reminder, “sure you’re a genius, but it’s still my kingdom first. I was brought up to know each and every success and issue we’ve had in the past, could have in the future, and yet they really think I’m that incapable of ruling that I’d let you step all over me? Even my own parents seemed wary…”

“Tch, like I’d ever like someone like that,” he agreed, and soon enough your mood blossomed into something far more delighted, and you bloomed not unlike the flowers that grew back in his hometown.

“So you finally admit it? You like me? You like-like me?” Leona wanted to roll his eyes, tell you it was obvious like he tended to do so, but he’d never seen you so excited since the first time he had met you. You were cute, which was terrible for him. Still, because you’d put him in such a good mood, and because he knows he’d like the look on your face, he rewards you.

“Do you think that lowly of yourself? I love you.”

Ah, Leona thought to himself, this kind of expression, all just for me. It’s worth it, he thinks, even as he gets toppled down by your body crashing against his, even as he shifts slightly to take some pressure off his tail, even when you try to hide your face in the crook of his neck and whine about how annoying he is, how funny coming from you, because you tell him you love him too.

Of course you did, he’d known years ago, but he doesn’t tell you this either.

“You know, I’m sure your parents knew how you felt about me. Ironically, I was probably their last hope,” Leona chuckled. If things were going to go the way he thought they were going to go, well tough luck— he wouldn’t reject you this time, “but I can’t let you go anymore, so too bad for them, huh?”

Sp I started to think about Amazonian Yuu. Like their 7'6" and tower over everyone. They take pride in beign very VERY strong.

So when they went through the ceremony doors everyone's eyes bugled out.

"Holy SHIT-"

"DUDE their fuckin ripped-"

"Holy fuck that hot-"

Riddle feels like a fucking child next to them. Azul feels very intimidated. Bc holy shit someone's taller than the twins-

When Grim went off and burn this Yuu ran at him very fast and tackled him when they got up they apologized "I'm sorry for the cat thing but he's not mine but I do apologize for the damage." Crowley was shocked but made them go to the mirror.

When the mirror said they had no magic they scoff "Tch magic? Please I have more strength than anyone in this room." Most of Savanaclaw took that as a challenge the other dorms side want to intervene.

When they meet Ace they stepped in front of Grim "Excuse me but if you would shut the fuck up that would be good right now yes?" Ace looked up and up then saw Amazonian Yuu. 'Holy shit their hot-' sadly they couldn't save the statue but took on the cleaning windows and when they went to go get Ace Amazonian Yuu barreled at him "GET BACK HERE BOY!" Everyone screech because holy shit the big magicless student is mad-

They got him to help. When the cafeteria thing happened they grapped the chandelier, Looking down at them they asked "Are you ok?" Ace, Deuce, and Grim nodded dumbfounded. Yuu tried to gently place it down but it still broke bc Yuu rushed to get it.

So at the mines Yuu straight on grabbed 2 pickaxe and began to fight the overbloat monster. "DEATH BE FORE DISHONOR AAHHH-" Deuce then thought to himself 'honky shit their hot-' he looked at Ace and he nodded 'I know..I know.' Then they went back and became friends.

When they went off against Riddle Yuu did follow the rules but ended up telling Riddle he acted like a tryant. "And when I'm from Tryants we're beheaded. Then burned." Yuu told him Riddle took this as a threat. But Yuu was just tryignt o tell them hey stop or everyone's gonna hate you! When Riddle tried to fight Yuu got infront of anyone who was going o get colored because it disappeared when it went to them because ahhahah no magic!

After the Fight Yuu helped Riddle calm down and then said "LETS HAVE A FEAST WITH STRAWBERRY TARTS! whatever that it." Riddle learned how to let loose.

When they got in a fight with those students in the cafeteria Yuu got to them before they could hit them with a spell "Now scram!" They ran off.

They told Trey I'll avenge you and ran off, Trey was very confused them Grim explained and he laughed. They were gonna get Ruggie but he scurried off. When they did meet Jack they nodded at his workout routine "Very good. But try this-" and gave him tips. Jack was happy to have someone to talk work out routines with. But when Jack said oh I'm a lone wolf. Yuu put his hand on his shoulder "Even I had to work with my brothers and sisters. And even when I fought in the mines I had Ace, Deuce, and Grim help me." Jack nodded and agreed to help.

When they confronted Leona and Ruggie Yuu got close to them. Leona then admitted and then hurt Ruggie but Yuu punched him and grabbed Ruggie. Yuu looked down on him "That is no way to treat comrades!" Yuu got fired up because betrayal was a bug no no for them. Leona then went into overbloat. Thye fought and Yuu got punches in. When they got him to come back Yuu yanked him from the ground. "It's ok to feel like Second best." They whispered "I felt like that too, with my (whoever) O always tried to best them but revised I am good at things their not. And I used those as my sources and I was given Title of Cheif." Leona nodded.

When it was the Magic disk game Yuu was able to catch the disk and score a goal but then a different disk hit them in the neck causing them to pass out. When they finally did wake and saw everyone they were happy they scored a point but sad they got knocked out "I guess I need to train more near the mountains."

When Azul asked them to go get the photo and Yuu scoffs saying "I only need an hour be right back." And got into the Museum, also they fought off Flpyd and Jade, then sprinted to Azul where he overbloated.

Amazonian Yuu: *seeing Azul in his octopus form* I CHALLENGE YOU-

Azul: wait no-

Yuu was able to defeat him.

When book 4 happened they help everyone with the training. And even carried most of the students as extra weight. Kalim liked this and asked for piggy back rides and they did so. But Kalim mood 'switched' they got in his face and demanded a duel. Jamil had to calm them down, also when Jamil got them the first time with Snakes whisper Yuu noticed and waited for him to try again and make it seem like they were tricked "HA Medusa was better than you!" (Still sadly not at the part where he overbloated) but Yuu fought him blindfolded.

Hit it off king of hell style

Title: Hit it off king of hell style.

Summary: You are done running after Dean, so you take Crowley’s offer and hit it of king of hell style.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo​​​​​: “Son of a bitch!” - SPN

Word Count: 1,3k+

Pairing: Demon!Dean x fem!Reader, former Dean x fem!Reader, Crowley x fem!Reader (platonic)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, pissed reader, Y/N is just done, drunk reader, flirty Crowley, mentions of smut, cheating, jealousy, overuse of the word ‘fuck’ and sonofabitch, mentions of deaths, fingering, implied smut, kidnapping (kinda)

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

“Crowley,” you mutter under your breath, eying the demon warily while he steps closer. 

“Grasshopper,” Crowley smirks, sitting next to you to order his favorite poison. “How have you been? Did your partner in crime leave you hanging again?”

“You know exactly that Dean ran off again,” you down your next drink, hissing when the amber liquid runs down your throat, burning deliciously. “I’m just done running after that sonofabitch!”

“I see,” nodding thoughtfully Crowley orders another drink for you. “I’ll have a single malt,” he dips his head to look at you. “Do you want something better than this-“ the king of hell shoves the drink the bartender poured him away, nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Do you have better stuff?” you quip, not interested to leave your bar stool or the dingy bar in the middle of nowhere anytime soon. “Guess you only want to use me to control his demonic ass.” snickering you down your next drink. “Burns so good.”

“I know he told you to not come back,” the demon sighs, patting your shoulder. “Must be hard. Squirrel is not Squirrel any longer, Grasshopper. He’s all rage and bloodlust. Not that I would mind a little massacre here and there, but Dean is bad for business.”

You snicker at Crowley’s pained expression. “What did he do? Did he piss in your cornflakes or something?”

“Something like that,” the demon grumbles. “I tell Dean to kill an unfaithful wife, and he kills the guy signing the contract. What will happen if people hear I can’t control Dean? No one is going to sign shit any longer.”

Cradling his face in his hands Crowley huffs. “You should’ve known better, Crowley. Dean is a timebomb with black eyes. Before he was unpredictable but now – he’s just-,” you shrug, not finding the right words. “An asshole.”

“I second that,” Crowley laughs when you order another drink and a Piña Colada for him. “How about we fuck him over and have some fun, Grasshopper?”

“I don’t think so,” licking your lips you look at Crowley who tries to look taller. He stretches his neck, groaning as something cracks. “We can have a few drinks, though.”

“Deal,” holding out his hand Crowley looks at your hand. “Grasshopper, you must shake my hand. That’s how you agree to a deal.”

“I won’t sign any deals with you, king of hell,” growling the words you hop off the barstool. “Did you come here to get my soul or shit? Do you honestly think I would sell it for Dean, the guy who just railed a waitress and let me watch?”

“You watched?” you roll your eyes at Crowley’s words. “Seriously?”

“No, I did not watch. Why should I watch my ex fuck a random chick? I got better things to do, like drinking and giving a shit on his demonic ass. Just wish I gave him the boot sooner.”

“Broken heart?” Crowley carefully tries. “Come on, Grasshopper. Let’s hit it off king of hell style. We can have a few drinks and I promise to not let you sign any deals.”

“Fine, whatever. Got nothing else to do,” you grasp for your jacket and purse. “You will pay for my drinks.”

“Of course, my lady…”

“And then he went off to play house with Lisa, that yoga chick he barely knew,” you slur, giggling as Crowley tries to down the girly drink you ordered for him. “Can you believe he left my cute ass to play house?”

“I would’ve never left you, Grasshopper,” Crowley nods to himself, imagine getting you in his clutches, a collar placed around your neck, his name hanging from it. “How about you come with me, and I’ll show you a whole new world?”

“Nah, I got a nice drink, some peanuts, and a good view at the bartender’s ass when he bends to pick up shit,” you smirk. “Dean can go and fuck himself, or anyone else around.”

“He hurt you – huh?”

“Demon or not, we were still married, and he just told me,” you mutter, leaning closer to Crowley. “We ain’t married anymore, sweetheart! It says, ‘till death do us part’.”

“He did?” brows furrowed Crowley watches you throw a few peanuts into his face. “What?”

“That’s all your fault,” poking your finger into Crowley’s chest you growl at him. “It was you telling him about that fucking first blade and Cain. He got the mark because of you, Crowley. Don’t act all innocently now.”

“I didn’t know he would die,” Crowley shrugs. “At least not through Metatron’s hands and so soon.”

“But you knew about the consequences and said nothing. All of it only to howl at the moon with a feral demon called Dean Winchester. That’s pathetic for a king of hell. You should retire or get a hobby,” you grunt, ordering another drink. “Give me my poison.”

“I think she had enough,” the demon watches you slip off the chair to dance to the music in your head. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing, Crowley!” you smack the back of his head, grinning as he doesn’t fight back. “That’s for ruining my marriage, sonofabitch! If I wasn’t drunk, you’ll be dead by now. But I’ll leave this to Sam…Sammy.”

“Moose? Did you call him?”

“Nah, he would ask how it went and I am not in the mood to explain his big brother is busy fucking his way through the state of-“ blinking a few times you look at Crowley. “Where the fuck are we?”

“A bar?” Crowley smirks when you slap his cheek. He would never admit it, but he has a thing for dominant women. “Ouch, that tickled Grasshopper.”

“Stop calling me that, Crowley. You promised we would hit it off, but this is just hanging out at a bar with better drinks,” you sigh. “Maybe I should find a dick to ride for the night.”

“Oh-“ the bartender clears his throat, almost dropping the bottle of Whiskey in his hands. “Is she single?” the man whispers in Crowley’s direction. “I don’t want an angry husband to chase after me with a baseball bat, or gun again.”

“Not a chance,” Crowley growls. “If anyone gets her in his clutches, it’s me.”

“DREAM ON!” a deep voice bellows. “Did I not tell you to bring her back to my brother?” Dean grunts, watching you sway to the music in your head. “This-“ jerking his head toward you Dean narrows his eyes, “doesn’t look like bringing her home. It looks like getting her drunk to take advantage of my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” you mutter, pointing your index finger at Dean. “You said it yourself, we aren’t married anymore. You dicked down that chick and I can fuck Crowley if I want to.”

“You won’t!” Dean closes the distance between you with three longs steps before he grasps for you to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Lemme down, you sonofabitch,” you lift your head to ask Crowley for help. “You’re a fine bar buddy, Crowley. You can’t just let him take me.”

“Sorry, Grasshopper?” Crowley shrugs, laughing when you throw insults at him. “I can’t control a timebomb. You should know that.”

“What do you want?” wiggling on the bed in the messy motel room Dean brought you to, you try to break out of the ropes. “Let me go, asshole!”

“You will not speak until I’m done with you,” the demon tuts. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll gag you with my boxers.”

“What the fuck!”

“Final warning, sweetheart,” sliding his index finger over your lips Dean smirks when your breath hitches in your throat. “I think that I’ll put your mouth to better use later.”

“Hmpf…” his finger slides past your lips into your mouth, swiping over your tongue. 

“Always loved your mouth around my dick,” he muses, shoving two fingers into your mouth, slowing starting to move them in and out. He smirks, loving you look up at him, pupils lust blown.

“Do you want to say something, Y/N?” you hate he smirks down at you when he removes his fingers. “I bet,” he leans closer to lick over your cheek, “when I’m done with you sweetheart, you know how it feels to hit it off Dean Winchester style…” and just like that, he shoves his fingers into your slicked cunt, curling them. “Yeah, I think you’ll know…”

Tags in reblog.

It’s Just Pretend....Right?

Summary: Y/N calls in a favour from their two favourite boys.

Characters/Pairing: Crowley/Reader/Aziraphale, Original male character

Word Count: 1311

Warnings: Nothing, maybe just an asshole ex.

A/N: Hope y’all like this! There aren’t many reader inserts with the two of them and I had this in my google docs so!

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Y/N is wiping down the counter to the cafe where they work, in the bustling Soho, thinking about how excited they are to get off in 10 minutes and meet their good friends for lunch. 

Now, they call them good friends, but would happily be more to both of them if asked. You see, Crowley and Azirphale were two polar opposites but together made a perfect pair and when Y/N was involved, well, nothing could stop them. 

They had even become so close that the two men had revealed what they really are to them. They were extremely surprised when they took it amazingly and just asked questions instead of freaking out like they thought they were going to do. They did have a tiny freak out when they told them about the apocalypse that wasn’t, but they soon calmed them down by telling them how it was stopped and making them laugh with how they switched bodies.

After this, they had become near enough inseparable, Y/N quickly falling for both men, not that they would ever tell them that is.

They’re so wrapped up in their thoughts and excitement for the rest of the day that when someone leans on the counter in front of them, they jump.

 “Oh sorry! In my own little world, what can I get yo-“ They cut off at the end when they finally looks and sees their ex, Liam stood there 

“Hey sweet cheeks, been trying to find where you work!” He says in a cheery voice, counteracting the creepiness of his sentence 

“Well you’ve found me, what do you want?” They ask, in a stern but monotone way.

“Wanted to see if you want to do lunch, my treat” 

“You lost your right to ask me when you cheated” They say, moving around to carry on cleaning up before their shift ends.

“Oh come on baby, that’s water under the bridge! I’ve seen the error of my ways and I miss you!” He tries to say. 

Y/N sighs and turns their back on the man, acting like they’re cleaning behind the counter when they are really pulling out their phone and texting the two men they have a lunch date with.

 “Hey, can you two come now? My ex is here and I need one of y’all to pretend to be my boyfriend” 

They put their phone away before they get a response and look up when their co-worker walks in to take over the shift. They exchange pleasantries and Y/N takes their apron off, hanging it in the back room before coming out to the main cafe seeing area, rolling their eyes when they see that Liam hasn’t gotten the hint and is still standing there. 

“So you’ve finished, let me take you out” he tries again

“I said no and besides, I have a boyfriend” They try this time.

“Who else would want to date you?” He asks with a disgusted tone to his voice

“I guess you’re about to find out,” Y/N says with a small smirk as the door opens and Crowley comes waltzing in, Aziraphale trailing behind him. 

Crowley spots them and instantly stalks over, practically pushing Liam out of the way.

“Hey gorgeous, how was work?” He asks, leaning down and pressing a kiss to their forehead before putting an arm around their shoulders, tucking them under his arm in an almost possessive manner.

“It was good, handsome, ready for lunch though” They say with a smile until Liam speaks up.

“Okay this is obviously fake” he says with a laugh.

“I’m sorry what?” Crowley asks.

“Well you’re not really dating, all the pet names and not real affection, as if Y/N would ever like that” Liam says, seeming cocky about himself 

“Well it seems like you don’t know our Y/N” Azirphale says, coming to Y/N’s other side, hand sliding into theirs.

“Wait, they're conning two of you? Oh my god you guys are gullible, it’s not real, they’re just using you until you finally wise up and walk away like I did” Liam says with another laugh 

“You fucker! You cheated on me” Y/N says, being calmed down slightly by Crowley’s hand moving from their shoulder to resting on the back of their neck.

Crowley then uses his other hand to guide their chin so they’re looking up at him, just barely seeing through his glasses to the angry look in his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him darling, he doesn’t know you like we do” he says, his tone soft with them before he is ducking down and pressing his lips to theirs. 

Her hand comes up to rest on his side as they kiss him back, trying to not act shocked at what is going on. 

When they pull away, Aziraphale gets their attention so they look over, only for him to lean in and kiss them too, they kiss him back, hand still in his, squeezing lightly. 

When they separate, both men look at Liam as if to say 

“They’re not yours, leave now” but he stays where he is

“Well if you don’t mind, we have a lovely table booked at this one's favourite restaurant so we need to get going” Aziraphale says, leading Y/N past Liam, Crowley following behind but not before doing a little demonic miracle to make sure that when Liam tries to go home, he’s lost his wallet and keys. 

Before they get to leave the cafe they’re stopped by a young couple 

“Sorry to bother you, but we have to say, you don’t see a lot of poly couples being so proud and open like you are and it’s so lovely to see. You all look so in love with each other it warms my heart” the shorter one says

“Yeah, fuck whatever they guy said, you three stay strong cause you’re adorable together” the taller one says, their words making blushes spring to Y/N’s and Azirphale’s cheeks, Crowley being able to fight his.

“Why, thank you very much” the angel says as the couple are sitting back down.

He then seems flustered as he leads the human and demon out of the cafe. 

They get a tiny bit down the road before Y/N is stopping in their tracks

“Everything okay dear?” Aziraphale asks

Y/N doesn’t reply, instead opting to take hold of the lapels of his jacket, pulling him and kissing him properly. He doesn’t react instantly so they go to pull away but his hands then come up to their face to hold them there whilst he kisses them back. They only pull away when they're sure they’ve used as much oxygen as they can. 

They then turn to see a dejected looking Crowley, lurking in the shadows. They walk over to where he’s standing and grabs the loose scarf he’s wearing, using it to pull him down to their height before they are kissing him as well.

He reacts quicker, one hand resting on their hip, the other coming up to cup the side of their neck. His tongue comes out and flicks against their lips, causing them to gasp, but before it can progress, Aziraphale is clearing his throat beside them. So they pull away. 

Y/N then situates themself between the two men, taking one of their hands each in theirs.

“Now I’m okay” They say, beginning to walk again

“Both of us?” Crowley asks

“Both of you” Y/N confirms

“No pretend?” Aziraphale follows up with 

“Definitely no pretend, wait, I wasn’t reading the signals wrong, you guys want this?” They ask, suddenly shy

“I would love this” Aziraphale says

“I suppose I could be tempted” Crowley says, his smile indicating he’s joking 

“Then yes, no pretend, no acting, I want you, both of you” Y/N says. 

Both men smile at each other over their head.

Winchester Part 1/4

Pairing: Sherlock x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Violence, language, blood

Request from imboredsueme, and I think their account is deactivated now :( I swear this request is from like over 3 years ago and I’m just the worst. I finally got some good inspiration for this story and I really like it so far. Not sure how many more parts there will be of this, it’s gonna be a mini series so we’ll see as I write the next few parts.

Any and all feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated :)

Masterlist in bio. Link to join taglist is at the bottom of my masterlist.

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Sherlock liked you from the moment he met you, and that didn’t happen often... maybe ever.

“Any witnesses?” Sherlock turned to Lestrade and asked as they approached the crime scene.

“Yeah one, one of my guys is talking to her now.” He lifted his finger in the direction of the woman down the road with her hands in her coat pockets. She almost looked... bored? She had just witnessed a murder, shouldn’t she look more... distraught? Emotional? He clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Sherlock was accustomed to useless witnesses, none of them really noticed what’s important.

American. He noted her accent as they got closer, the officer talking to her nodded and left, flipping his notebook shut.

“We’ve just got a few more questions for you Ms. Winchester.” The Detective Inspector said, but Sherlock was too focused on her. No signs of shock, no crying, no emotions, much unlike any other female witnesses to gruesome murders he’d seen. Interesting.

“What did you see?” Sherlock asked, squinting his eyes to examine her.

“This guy,” you pointed to one of the white cloth covered bodies as you spoke, “shot this guy in the face, then blew his brains out. Seems pretty open and shut to me.” You shrugged.

“So it would seem...” Sherlock turned to Lestrade with an annoyed look as if to say why the hell was I brought in then?

“That is, unless you take into account the sniper from two buildings over.” You pointed over your shoulder.

“What?” Both Sherlock and Lestrade turned back to you, surprise evident in their voice.

“Sure, this guy was pointing a gun at him, but it was as if the shot came from behind him, it scared him. When the other guy dropped, he panicked and stuck the gun in his mouth... seems odd.” You spoke calmly.

“Why do you believe it’s a sniper?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“I’ll let you analyze the entrance wound and ballistics report, but I guarantee that that bullet didn’t come from this man’s gun.” You said, confidently.

Sherlock strutted over to the body, not wanting to believe you on your word alone. He pulled the sheet back and sure enough the entrance wound was higher on the forehead near the hairline, with the exit wound down near the base of his head where it meets his neck. A man standing a few feet in front of him wouldn’t be able to get that kind of angle. He silently moved towards the other body, and slipping a glove on his hand, picked up the gun lying on the ground. He opened the revolver, and to his surprise, only one bullet was missing. It would have taken two, one to shoot the man and one for himself. Lestrade watched him intently, waiting for him to speak. He looked up at you, he couldn’t read you... you were different, useful.

“She’s right.” Sherlock muttered, and Lestrade’s eyes went wide.

He moved to stand in front of you, he looked taller than on TV where you’d seen him in the news.

“Winchester, was it?” He asked.

“Y/N.” You smirked, placing your hand in front of you for him to shake, which he did.

“Come with me.” He said, beginning to walk down the street, and you followed him.

You followed him that day, and you’d do it again, everyday. You’d follow him into hell itself and do it with a smile.

He took you along on one case, and that was all it took. He liked having you around, you were insightful and helpful, not to mention unphased in the face of death. One case enough for him to realize you were going to be trouble. Good trouble or bad trouble, of that he wasn’t sure yet, but the thought of you always brought a smirk to his lips.

The more time Sherlock spent around you, the more it became clear: you had secrets. He liked that, he couldn’t read everything about you. He was quite sure he’d never met a woman like you before, and likely never would again. Someone who challenged him intellectually, made him laugh (a rare sight, admittedly), and made him feel alive.

They say your past has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass... and your past had fangs. Literally.

Sometimes all it takes is one second, one tiny moment to bring you back to where you were, to what you’d thought you left behind. You can’t go home, but maybe home can come to you.

You didn’t realize it until it was too late... but everything you’d come to hold dear was going to be tested and threatened like never before.

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It seemed like a simple case, a simple stabbing, it should have been cut and dry but something was bugging both of you about it. Something was off.

The murder weapon wasn’t recovered, and it wasn’t just a simple knife. Truthfully neither of you knew what the man was stabbed with, and it was going to drive you crazy.

You and Sherlock sat in his bedroom, well... based on the amount of time you spent in it, you could almost call it ‘your’ bedroom. Sherlock paced in front of you as you sat with your back against the headboard, the pictures of the crime scene spread on the bed before you.

“Arrow?” Sherlock suggested.

“Mm, too thin.” You glanced at the picture, shaking your head.

“Harpoon?” You tilted your head, eyes dancing across the pictures.

“Cut’s too clean for that.” He shook his head.

You’d been at this for hours now, naming every pointy, knife-like object you could think of to find the murder weapon. The wound was so odd. It was almost squared on the front entrance wound, but thin and a quarter of the diameter on the back where it had run him through.

“We need a fresh perspective on this.” You said, running your fingers through your hair, quickly pulling it up into a messy bun as you moved to get off the bed, “You go check out his girlfriend’s place again, and I’ll go check the bookshop he worked at, there’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

Sherlock tossed you your coat as he slipped his own on and you both made your way out of the flat, going in opposite directions.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The bookstore was only a couple blocks away from Baker Street, so you were there in no time. You decided to look around the shop for a few minutes before approaching the manager. You flitted through the different sections of the store, the same shelves the recently departed victim would pass each day.

You stopped as your eyes caught something in the Science Fiction section - Supernatural by Carver Edlund. You picked it up with a smirk, of course they’d made it international, you shook your head.

“Can I help you find something?” The manager comes around the corner and asks you with a smile.

“Oh, no,” You smiled, placing the book back on the shelf, “I’m actually here to ask you a few questions about Ben Whitman.”

Her face turned into a sort of sad smile.

“Of course, how can I help?” She said somberly.

As you interviewed the manager your eye caught something outside the window. Her back is to the front door, as the manager goes on about Ben’s punctuality you see two large men move like they were going to come into the store. They caught you talking to the manager and suddenly diverted course around the side of the building.

“Has anyone ever come in looking for Ben, or asked about him?” You pulled your attention back to the manager.

“Not before you lot.” She smiled.

You thanked the manager for her time and helpful information, although she didn’t give you anything you didn’t already know. As you left the store, you turned down the same side alley you’d seen the men disappear in. You heard voices coming from all the way back behind the bookshop.

You peaked your head around the corner, seeing the two men standing, talking to each other. You knew something felt wrong about them, but weren’t sure what it was until you saw their eyes turn black.

Your breath caught in your throat, that was the last thing you expected to see today. You thought you had successfully stayed out of sight until your foot shifted on the gravel as you tried to take a step back.

Immediately, their eyes went back to normal as they whipped their heads in your direction.

“What are you looking at?” The shorter one asked aggressively, they both stepped toward you. You stepped away from the wall, there was no point hiding now, they knew you were there.

Suddenly, everything clicked, and you were overcome with a wave of confidence.

“I don’t think Crowley would be pleased to hear about a couple of demons going rogue. You killed the bookstore clerk with a stolen angel blade didn’t you.” You spoke bravely, although in hindsight, it might have been stupidity and not bravery that guided your actions.

“Who the hell are you?” The taller one asked, with venom in his voice.

“Oh Lucifer, you’re that little Winchester bitch aren’t you,” His mouth morphed into a sadistic smile as they realized, “You’re far from home.”

“No big brothers here to fight your battles.” The other pulled out an angel blade as they began to stalk towards you.

“Fuck.” You muttered, putting your fists up as they attacked you.

You fought back, but took a few hits. You were able to disarm the one with the blade. You were pretty sure you broke his arm when he came towards you. Unfortunately you hadn’t realized the blade had sliced your side as you took a hit to the face from the other demon. Running on pure adrenaline, your fist rammed into his face, blood coming from his nose. The demon with the broken arm muttered something you couldn’t hear to his partner, before they both left their vessels. Your ears were still ringing as you felt the blood begin to drip from your brow bone.

You knew you couldn’t make it all the way back to your flat like this to get cleaned up. You held your side to slow the bleeding. Baker Street was just around the corner. You could use the back streets to get to Sherlock’s flat and not scare too many bystanders on the street.

You knew Sherlock wouldn’t be in, he’d gone to investigate the girlfriends house with John and that was on the other side of London.

The adrenaline began to wear off as you hobbled up the stairs of 221B, thanking god Mrs. Hudson hadn’t greeted you at the door. You hurried into the bathroom and began pulling out the alcohol and suture kit from the cabinet.

You cleaned the wound on your brow quickly before slapping a butterfly bandage over it for the time being. As you looked at yourself in the mirror you saw the dried blood on your face; and the bruises were already littering your arms and abdomen when you slipped off your shirt.

You sat on the edge of the tub as you began to clean the laceration on your side. You started to stitch it up, holding some extra gauze in your mouth. You were so focused on what you were doing you didn’t hear the door opening.

“What the hell Y/N.” Sherlock’s voice made you jump and drop the gauze from your mouth.

“Um, o this. This is nothing.” You tried to smile, but he wasn’t having it.

“Y/N! This is not nothing. John!” He called out through the door into the flat.

John came around the corner and his eyes went wide as they landed on you. He quickly took the suture kit from you and helped to stitch up the remaining open laceration. You hissed slightly as he poured alcohol over it once more before covering the wound with sterile bandages.

The three of you sat in silence, Sherlock no doubt running a million scenarios in his mind, as you concentrated on not passing out. When John finished, you stood in front of the mirror, wiping the rest of the dried blood off of your face before slipping your shirt back on and turning towards the two men who hadn’t said a word.

“So I guess I have a little explaining to do.” You admitted.

“You think?” Sherlock retorted in a protective tone.

You sighed as you made your way into the living room, the two men in tow.

“You might want to sit down.” You motioned towards the couch, you know what you had to do. You’d kept your past a secret for as long as you could, but now it was time to come clean. Now it meant life or death.

Sherlock and John hesitantly sat before you on the couch as you stood in front of the coffee table.

“I solved the case.” You said after a moment, unsure of where to begin.

“You solved the case?” Sherlock asked slowly, in disbelief.

“I know who killed Ben and with what, but I don’t know why.” You admitted.

“Well who did it?” Sherlock asked, impatiently, still not believing you.

“Um so, the problem is we’re not going to be able to find them.” You danced around the real answer, knowing what their reaction would be.

“Why not?” John asked, with furrowed brows.

“Because they’re never going to look the same, one day to the next.” You tried to explain without sounding crazy, but you knew that wasn’t really an option anymore.

“Care to elaborate?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“They’ll be in different bodies.” You spoke quickly, knowing how it sounded.

“John did you check her for a head injury?” Sherlock turned to John and asked, completely ignoring what you were saying.

“Yeah you’re probably concussed.” John nodded.

“I’m not concussed,” You yelled, but thinking back to the beating you took today it was likely, “Ok, maybe I am but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth.”

“They’ll be in different bodies? That doesn’t make any sense Y/N.” Sherlock shook his head, not entertaining these fantasies.

“I know, I’m trying to word this in a way that doesn’t freak you out. The murder was done with a special kind of blade, it’s about this long with a wide almost square blade that comes to a point.” You moved your hands as you tried to describe the angel blade.

“That would match the autopsy report.” John nodded to Sherlock, as if to say maybe she’s not all that crazy.

“Ok, there’s no delicate way to put this,” you clapped your hands together, knowing there was no point delaying the inevitable anymore, “They were demons.”

Sherlock immediately laughed and stood up.

“Why don’t you go lay down Y/N, you’re obviously not feeling well.” Sherlock moved towards you with a patronizing tone.

“I’m not done. Sit down,” You ordered, seriously, “There were two demons, I saw them and they recognized me, so they’ll be back.”

“Why would these “demons” recognize you?” Sherlock asked with air quotes, clearly not taking you seriously.

“Because it’s like my family business. My brothers and I hunted things like this, but I got out of that life.” You shook your head, desperately trying to make them understand.

“And when you say ‘things’?” John asked slowly.

“Ghosts, demons, wendigos, shape shifters, vampires, werewolves.” You listed off quickly, shrugging.

“We might need to order an MRI.” Sherlock turned to John and spoke as if you weren’t there.

“Sherlock would you shut up for five minutes? I know you don’t believe me. And I know you won’t until you see it for yourself but I’m being serious here. Ok? Lives are at risk. There’s two rogue demons running around London and this can’t be the first murder they’ve committed. And now that they know I’m here, there’ll be more.” You spoke so seriously that Sherlock stayed quiet. He didn’t believe you, but he believed that you believed what you were saying was true. Did he still want you to be psychologically checked out? Yes. But for the time being he kept his mouth shut.

“So what do we do?” John asked.

“We call in the big guns.”

------------------------------------------------------------

Please let me know what you think! And since I’m still writing the next few parts let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like to see happen :)

Taglist in reblog.

The Rules

(Ok my Good Omens Lockdown fic is complete! And not at all what you were expecting! Check tags for brief TW for one of the final scenes.)

--

Dear Crowley.

The black ink flowed across the yellowed paper, trailing behind Aziraphale’s pen.

He frowned, and scratched it out.

My Dearest Friend.

He barely finished the final letter before crossing it out even more frantically than before.

Anthony.

Now that was just absurd. Another sharp line across the page.

Crowley.

Aziraphale all but threw the pen into the inkwell. He grabbed the paper in both hands and tore it in half – in half again – and again – and again, ink smudging and staining his fingers.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

When he was finished, he dumped the confettied remains of the letter onto his desk and glared at them until they started to smolder, the first wisp of smoke twisting into the air.

Then, with a sigh, he waved his hand, returning them to a single sheet of clean parchment paper.

How long had he been in lockdown now? Six weeks? Seven? Eight?

Long enough to start coming up with foolish ideas. Long enough to begin questioning things that he knew were probably better left unquestioned and unsaid.

He took himself over to the shop’s kitchen and started the kettle boiling again. Cocoa? No, tea. And a nice slice of cake, that’s what he needed. The red velvet this time, he thought.

Crowley liked red velvet cake. Not that he admitted to it, but he never turned down an offered bite. And he would smile, just a bit, as he chewed it, eyes hovering across the top of his glasses...

When he’d gathered his treats, Aziraphale settled again at the desk, carefully restacking his books to make room for the cake and mug. He dimmed the lights around the shop, put on a soothing record, tried to find that calm center that allowed him to think clearly. He’d never actually found it before, but he’d read about it in books on meditation, and it sounded jolly useful.

Finally, with a deep breath, he carefully picked up the pen again, tapping it against the glass of the inkwell so that it didn’t drip, and tackled the paper again.

My dear Crowley,

I hope these strange new days see you well, and that you are not causing too much trouble on your side of London. Things have certainly been quiet over here, but you know that’s how I prefer it. Perhaps I should close the shop more often!

I finally had a chance to read that author you suggested, and while I couldn’t locate any of your recommended titles, I’ve found Chesterton’s “Orthodoxy” to be quite a fascinating read…

--

…and so I find myself with rather an overabundance of time! While the baking has been going exceedingly well, I feel that something is missing. I can’t quite put my finger on

The sound of breaking glass at the back of the shop. Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t keep anything breakable back there, just boxes of newly arrived books, supply storage, and of course the back door –

Ah. That probably explained it.

He stood up, pausing to wipe the crumbs from his face, and retrieve his favorite umbrella from the hat stand. A soft thump from somewhere in the back room put a little more speed into his step.

--

“Watch where you’re going,” Dru hissed, jerking his foot free of the box Tommy had knocked over. Books spilled out across the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered Tommy leaning over to restack them. They were those old books with weird hard-cloth covers, stamped with the names of dead poets he half-remembered from school. They smelt like dust. The whole shop smelt pretty gross, actually, like someone had hidden old cheese in a corner and let it sit there since Christmas.

“Don’t bother with that.” Dru kicked over the books. They slid across the floor, mixing with the broken glass. Tommy scrambled back. Dru was much bigger than him, over six feet tall, taller when he was angry. “I told you, look for the cash box. It’s gotta be back here somewhere.”

“Says who?” Jack was on his hands and knees nudging his way through more boxes towards the corner wall. “I’ve been looking forever and there’s – look, nothing again.”

“Shhh.” Tommy shrank back towards the broken window, glancing into the alley outside. He could still hear the scratchy old record playing at the front of the shop, and he didn’t think he could jump out the window quickly enough if they were caught. “This was a stupid idea, Dru. There’s someone here, and he’s going to hear us –”

“Just some old bloke,” Dru waved his hand angrily. “He’s run the shop forever, gotta be a hundred years old. You scared of him? Just find the safe.”

“What safe?” Jack crawled back out of the corner. “I told you there isn’t any bloody –”

“There’s always a safe in the back. It’s a rule.”

“I’m afraid it is not, in fact, a rule. Otherwise I would have one.” Tommy spun, and there, not ten feet away, stood the old bookseller. He was dressed in an ancient suit, hands resting on a tartan umbrella, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. “However, I’ve always though the logical place to keep money is in the till, so that’s where it is.”

Dru whipped out his knife, pointing it at the bookseller’s face. Jack followed a moment later, fumbling with the unfamiliar blade.

The bookseller just watched them, lips pursed. With a sinking feeling, Tommy realized he was nowhere near a hundred. The white-haired man looked barely older than Tommy’s dad, and at least as strong. Tommy had a good sense for when someone was not a person to cross, and this man set off every alarm bell.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly afraid the bookseller might recognize the dust from the brick Tommy threw into the window.

Dru waved his knife, trying to recover. “You just stay over there, right? We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No,” the bookseller said seriously. “You don’t.”

Jack lowered his knife and shuffled his feet.

“Shut it,” snapped Dru. “Right. We know where it is now. Tommy, go get the till.”

“Thomas do not get the till,” the bookseller snapped. His eyes flicked down, studying the mess all across the floor. When he looked up again, pulling his glasses off, his gaze pierced Tommy like a pair of blue icicles. “Did you knock over my books?”

“Yessir,” Tommy muttered, flinching away. He never liked arguing. Easier to go along with what people told him. Normally, at least, he would just agree and keep his mouth shut. But today, he felt the words bubbling inside him, fighting their way free. “And I broke the window. But Dru kicked the books over. I tried to clean, honest.”

“I see.” The blue eyes studied Dru, then drifted over to Jack. “And you?”

“I just moved the boxes, I didn’t break anything.”

“Well.” The bookseller took a step towards them. “I hope you all feel very ashamed of yourselves.” Tommy immediately did, though that wasn’t too unusual. He always felt ashamed of something. “Don’t you know there’s a lockdown going on just now? Pandemics are very serious business. You are breaking the rules – rules that are put in place to keep you safe. People could die from your carelessness, do you understand that?”

“Look,” Dru stepped forward, waving his knife a bit more urgently. “I don’t give a shit about that. You need to –”

The bookseller swung his umbrella like a sword, knocking Dru’s knife across the room. “I wasn’t finished talking. Now you go back over there and listen for once in your life. And mind your language in this shop.” Dru blinked, and shuffled back towards the wall. The bookseller’s eyes turned to Jack, who was already hastily putting his own knife back into his pocket. “Much better. Where was I?”

“People could die,” Tommy prompted.

“Right. Thank you, dear boy.” He smiled, just briefly, and for the first time in a long, long time Tommy felt that maybe there was more to the world than a steaming pile of garbage. He almost wanted to smile, too. “Now. You three being out right now is against all the rules, not to mention breaking and entering, and putting your hands – and feet – on my books. These are all very serious crimes.” He put aside the umbrella and folded his hands behind his back. “I want you to tell me what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

“Money,” Tommy said quickly, but he could feel more words twisting their way up his throat, secrets threatening to spill across the floor.

Jack beat him to it. “Bored. Nothing to do. Just sitting at home, watching my folks grow old, and everyone gets angrier and angrier and I can’t think inside that room anymore, I don’t feel anything –”

“What are you talking about?” Dru demanded, stepping forward again. He didn’t look as confident as before, but much, much angrier. “Look, we’re here for your money, not to tell our life stories. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull here, but just hand it over and I won’t have to get medieval on your ass.”

“Really? What a curious turn of phrase.”

“Dru always gets angry when he’s not in control,” Tommy said, not really knowing where the words came from. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone but he always acts like he has.”

“Does he indeed? I’m afraid I know the type.” The look he gave Dru could have broken through a concrete wall. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“That you’d better fucking watch yourself, old man.” He’d managed to get right up to the bookseller’s face, and now jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Or you’re gonna regret what comes next.”

“Yes, I’m rather afraid I will.” The bookseller turned and picked up an ancient telephone, spinning a little dial on the front. “I want you to know that I tried very hard to keep it from coming to this.”

“Who you calling?” Dru sneered. “The cops?”

Frowning, the bookseller pressed the telephone to his ear. “No, Andrew Morgan, I am calling your grandmother.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the shop but a strange, strangled noise coming from Dru.

“Ah, yes, is this Delores Morgan? Yes, I’m afraid there’s a rather angry young man in my shop. Tall, rude, really using the most atrocious language – ah, yes, I’m afraid so. Yes. With a knife. Oh, of course.” He held out the telephone. “She’d like to speak to you now.”

With a shaking hand, Dru took it from him. “Nana?”

--

Half an hour later, Tommy was sitting at a little round table in the back of the shop, nibbling on a scone. Jack sat next to him, dipping his own in a mug of tea, trying to eat it quickly without dripping.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand,” the bookseller started, coming over with another plate. “Sourdough?”

“Yes, please,” said Tommy, taking a thick slice.

A thump echoed from the back room. “Just stack them up neatly like they were, there’s a good lad,” the bookseller called cheerfully. Dru grumbled, but not so that they could make out the words.

“As I was saying. This is a very difficult time for all of us. Financially, yes,” he nodded to Tommy, “but it can also put a strain on our mental health. I really do think you should talk to someone.”

“Where am I supposed to find a doctor at a time like this?” Jack complained.

“I have been led to believe the Googles can provide these things.” Tommy fought back a laugh. “What? What did I say?”

“It’s…uh, it’s not called the Googles.”

“It isn’t? Oh, dear. Regardless, I’m sure you can use your computer to find what you need. There are resources. But you must follow the rules. They are here to keep you safe.” He picked up a tray of muffins and carried them back towards the hidden kitchen. “In the meantime, perhaps you should try revisiting an old hobby. What is it you like to do?”

“Dunno,” muttered Jack. He started glancing around the room for inspiration.

Tommy had already studied their surroundings pretty thoroughly. Tons of trinkets, some of them cheap looking but almost all of them old. Pieces of art, some of them framed, others carefully laying across tables. Statues. One statue wore a bit fancy medal around it’s neck. The plates of cake and pastry on literally every surface. And the books. So many books.

Granted, he’d expected those, but the shop seemed bigger inside, crammed with more books than a person could even take in, never mind read. And the titles. The other table nearby was stacked with books called Forbidden Rites: Necromancy in the Fifteenth Century or Magic: An Occult Primer.

Tommy took everything in as quickly as he could. Jack, meanwhile, seemed to stop at the strange old drawing of a dark-haired man with his hand on a book, hanging from one of the shelves. A smile flickered across his face. “I guess…I liked to draw. When I was little.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, drawing is a very useful talent.” A moment later the bookseller emerged, carrying two enormous plates filled with cakes, breads, and something covered with cream and fruit, all wrapped carefully in plastic. “Now, this one is for you, Thomas, and mind you share with your sister. And this is for you.” When Jack took his tray, the bookseller placed a pile of printer paper on top, and two pencils. “And these. To get you started on your drawing again. It takes time, but I suppose that’s one thing we all have in abundance now.”

The bookseller clapped his hands and beamed at them. Jack muttered a thank you, but Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to do that, just stared at the tray, blinking back tears.

“Oh, and I’ll expect you both to bring the plates back when the lockdown is over. Not before! Remember, the rules are there to keep you safe.”

“Yessir.”

“Erm, excuse me.” They all turned to face Dru, who stood with his head bowed, and an expression Tommy had never seen him wear before. “All the books and glass are cleaned up. May I have some cake?”

“Well,” said the bookseller, pursing his lips. “I suppose one cake, now that you’re finished.” He walked back to the kitchen to start another tray.

--

After the lads had left, Aziraphale settled into his armchair, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. It took a lot out of him, reading people like that. Nudging them to tell their secrets. Perhaps he was just out of practice.

It had felt good, really, helping people like that. He forgot that, sometimes, how much he enjoyed giving people that little push towards solving their problems. Perhaps he should get out there and try it a little more often. After the lockdown was over, of course.

He glanced at the table, where the letter to Crowley sat half-finished. He’d quite lost his train of thought now. Oh, dear. He was sure he’d been on the cusp of something important, but his mind was too heavy. Perhaps after another glass of brandy or two…

--

Three days later

--

…It occurs to me, my dear fellow, that we’ve never exchanged letters. Not properly. And no, I will not include those ridiculous coded missives you used to send, although I did appreciate the book ciphers. But throughout our long

The pen hovered in the air, bead of ink poised to drip. Aziraphale knew the word he’d been planning to use. He could see it, trace the letters with his mind. But…

No, once again, he lost his nerve.

centuries, we’ve never used this method to simply exchange pleasantries. Well, what is this time for, if not to finally accomplish that which we had long planned to do? Research. Baking. And finally writing a proper letter to my

Another moment of panic, as his mind twisted around the one word he desperately wished to write.

Someone knocked at the back door, quick and sharp.

With a sigh, half disappointment and half relief, Aziraphale placed his pen in the inkwell and went to investigate.

--

Tommy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Come on, Emmy. This is a terrible idea.”

His little sister scowled. “You kidding? He’s an old man who bakes cakes. What are you afraid of?”

“It’s not…there’s something off about him.” He shivered as she rapped against the door again. “He’s going to figure it out, as soon as he looks at you.”

“I think you’re just chicken.” She tossed her head with a grin, short fringe of dark hair hanging in front of one eye.

“Shut up, Emmy, you don’t know –”

The door opened.

The bookseller looked a little smaller by daylight. Plump, pleasant, almost harmless, except that his frown still cut sharply across Tommy’s heart. “I’m certain I told you not to return until the lockdown ended.”

“Sorry. I just –”

“You!” Emmy stepped forward, waving her finger at his buttoned-up waistcoat. “What did you do to my brother?”

The bookseller blinked. But today his gaze seemed soft, almost normal. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. He was fine before he came here, now he sits around talking about responsibility.” She gave him a dirty glare. “Tries to make me do my homework.”

“Ah. Well, you really ought to do your homework, my dear.”

“You’re joking, right? The whole world’s gone to shit and I’m supposed to be doing math problems and reading Shakespeare?”

“Oh, I love Shakespeare!” The bookseller’s eyes lit up. Tommy felt a strange wave of delight that almost loosened the knot in his stomach, before the anxiety crashed back into place again. “Such a wonderful man. Not particularly charming, but oh, he had his moments. Are you reading Hamlet? It’s my favorite, you know.”

Emmy snorted. “It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Yes, it…it is, isn’t it?” For a moment his entire demeanor changed, eyes drifting down, face turning rather pink. “Well, I did rather hope…er, never mind. What brought you two here today?”

“Emmy thinks you put a spell on me, or cursed me or something.”

“I know you’ve got magic devil books in there. Tommy saw them last time, he told me and Dad.”

The bookseller glanced between them, smiling. “Oh, good. You told your parents what you were up to.”

Tommy shrugged, hunching his shoulders, waiting for what came next. Obviously the bookseller would see right through him. “He was really pissed off.”

“Yes, my boy, I’m sure he was upset at the time, but you’ll find that honesty is…” he trailed off as Emmy and Tommy exchanged a look. She was smirking, smug, while he just felt confused. “What? What is it?”

“I thought you knew,” Tommy muttered, shuffling his feet. “Cuz you can, y’know, read minds or whatever.”

The bookseller looked at Tommy until he was ready to burrow into the ground and die. Finally, the old man said, “I can’t…always. I think you’d better come in and explain things.”

--

“Whoa,” Emmy said, grabbing a slice of thick, red cake covered in icing. “I thought you were kidding about the damn cake. Look at all this!”

“Emily,” Tommy hissed. “Behave yourself.”

“At least I’m not trying to rob the place,” she pointed out, stuffing her face. “Oh, you’re right! Look at these books!” She reached for one, but the bookseller got there first, snatching it away from her frosting-covered fingers.

“That is quite enough of that. Take a seat and mind your manners or I will send you straight home.”

Tommy sat quickly at the table, putting his hands on his lap, trying to force his fingers to stay still. Emmy, however, kept staring at the book, tilting her head to study the title.

“What’ve you got a book on necromancy for?”

“You don’t even know what that is,” Tommy pointed out.

“Do too! Its magic that brings people back to life. Like zombies and stuff.”

The bookseller sighed and tucked the book onto a shelf. “It’s a treatise on fifteenth century necromancy, if you must know, and it’s rather more complicated than that. The word at the time referred to many types of magic, including divining the future using the bodies of the deceased, and spells and incantations to control demons.”

“Oh,” Emmy nodded. She grabbed a cupcake off a tray and shoved it into her mouth whole as she sprawled across a chair. “How come they don’t teach us that at school? And why do you want to control demons?”

“I don’t,” he said simply, grimacing at the crumbs she sprayed as she spoke, as if trying to track each one through the air. “And I’d like to make sure no one else can, either.”

“You got more magic books?” She reached for another that was lying nearby, but again the bookseller got their first, gently pushing it further away.

“This is a book shop. I have many types of book. But we aren’t here to talk about that.” He pursed his lips and studied Tommy, settling into a chair across the pastry-laden table. “I believe we’re lucky your sister wasn’t here the other night. She is almost worse than your loud friend.”

“Dru’s not my friend,” Tommy muttered. It still made him cringe inside to contradict an adult, even when the bookseller wasn’t angry, but he didn’t like being associated with Dru. “And Emmy was here.”

“Was she?”

“I was the look-out.” She reached for another cupcake, this time licking the frosting off so it smeared across her mouth. “You had them in here forever, then they all come out, carrying cake and things. Dru was acting like a baby. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“But you can’t be more than thirteen years old!”

“I’m not.” She jumped to her feet again. “Got any more of that angel’s food cake? Tommy ate all the stuff you sent home.”

The bookseller looked at her, and Emmy gave her winning smile, the one that never fooled Tommy for a second. With a sigh, the bookseller pointed her towards the kitchen. “Please be careful with the dishes. If you break one –”

“I’m not going to pay for it,” Emmy snorted, wandering off. “Do we look like we have money?”

The bookseller frowned, watching as she took a plate out of the cupboard and started piling it with food. “Well, I suppose that brings us back to the question at hand. You said you came here for money. Was there more to that story?”

Tommy nodded, forcing himself to stare at his hands. He didn’t have any appetite this time, even though the bookseller gently pushed a plate of bread towards him. “Yeah. Dad threatened to kick me out a few years ago. Makes me pay rent. Says I’m old enough to have a job.” He shrugged. “So I dropped out of school. Started working.”

“Ah.” The bookseller sat back, nodding slowly. “I take it you no longer have a job?”

“Closed. Cuz of the lockdown.” His knee was starting to bounce nervously. That strange calm that had come over him the first time...it was there, hovering around the edge of his mind, but he didn’t really feel it. “But Dad still wants the money.”

“How much?”

“Six hundred pounds.” Tommy stood up, leaning on the back of the chair, trying to meet the shopkeeper’s eyes. They were warm, trusting, and once again he felt that tug in his gut to say more than he wanted. “Look, I know, I could move out for that. Probably could have already if I was smart. But I’m not. And I can’t save because Dad takes everything and…” He watched as Emmy walked behind the bookseller, tearing into an enormous slice of cake with gleeful abandon. “You know. I gotta watch out for my sister.”

“And how does your father expect you to produce six hundred pounds in the middle of…ah.” The bookseller stood and walked around the table to stand next to Tommy. “He wants you to steal.”

Tommy shrugged, keeping his eyes on his feet. Trying not to meet the booksellers eyes, not to watch his sister wandering around the shelves, to ignore the awful knot inside. “We hit three other places this month. But I’m still short.”

“You needed the money, and I gave you pastries instead. I take it your father didn’t like the exchange.”

“He, uh,” Tommy tried to smile. “He wasn’t impressed.”

A soft, well-manicured hand landed on the back of the chair near Tommy’s. “Look at me, please, Thomas.”

Clenching his jaw, he looked the bookseller in the face. And gasped to see the hard, sharp glare back in those eyes.

“What brought you back here today?”

To his horror, Tommy found he couldn’t lie to the bookseller.

While he was still trying to choke out an excuse, the old man’s eyes narrowed, and he spun, grabbing Emmy by the arm. The plate clattered to the carpet.

“Oi!” She shrieked, jerking her arm, trying to pull free. “Let go of me, you pervert!”

“Put. Them. Back. Now.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you loon!”

“Young lady.” And though his voice didn’t get any louder, suddenly the bookseller seemed ten feet tall. Tommy scrambled back against one of the pillars. He knew he should help, should defend his sister, some instinct in him screamed to do so. But he was completely frozen in place, barely able to breathe. “That book is over two hundred years old. For that alone I would throw you out in a heartbeat. But if that drawing has one rip – one wrinkle on it, you will regret the day you ever set eyes on this shop.”

Emmy reached under her shirt and pulled out a rolled-up paper, trying to dangle it out of the bookseller’s reach. “So it’s valuable, then?”

He held out a hand, waiting. “It is priceless. And you will never find someone to pay you even a fraction of its value. Now give it back.”

Snarling, Emmy slapped it against his palm. “What the hell, old man? We need the money more than you.”

“Leave my shop.” He let go of her arm and cradled the roll of paper like it was a baby.

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalked towards the back door. “And stop hiding Tommy, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be the adult.”

“Emily.” The bookseller’s voice echoed through the shop. Shadows seemed to stretch out from every shelf and corner, reaching for Emmy. “Leave that book.”

She scowled back at him, but he wasn’t even looking in their direction. She out the ancient leather-bound book she’d tucked in the back of her trousers and started to throw it on the ground. At the last moment she seemed to lose her nerve, and tossed it onto a chair instead.

Once it was out of her hand, Tommy felt the strange grip on him vanish. The shadows snapped back to where they belonged. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath of the strange shop air. Before, he’d thought it stank. Now he thought it was charged with electricity.

“I gave you a chance, Thomas,” the bookseller said coldly. The bright blue eye looking over his shoulder seemed almost to glow. “This is how you repay me. Go. Now.”

He didn’t have to be told again.

--

With shaking hands Aziraphale unrolled the scroll. The five-hundred-year-old parchment felt crisp under his fingers, and he gently massaged a miracle into it, softening it, freshening it just a bit. There were no rips or bends, but to be safe, he pressed it flat against a table, weighing each corner down with a stack of books.

From the center of the paper, Crowley’s face looked back at him, smiling just a little, serpent eyes almost visible behind those glasses. Da Vinci had really captured his look. Not the face, though it was a very good likeness, but something more. The beauty mortal eyes could not quite perceive, something almost ethereal yet at the same time, quite the opposite. It hovered over the page, captured in the simple linework.

Crowley had kept this portrait, in secret, for five hundred years. Aziraphale had never known his own was part of a matched set, until a few months ago, when Crowley presented it to him, saying, “They’re a pair, you know. Supposed to be together. Displayed together. So I thought you should have this.”

He’d been too flustered to say anything at the time. He wanted to, though. He so very desperately wanted to say something.

But Aziraphale was a fool. He’d always been a fool. Trusting the wrong people. Ignoring those he shouldn’t. He’d probably never change.

--

Three days later

--

…There are many things that have stood unsaid between us. Perhaps it is our way. Perhaps it will always be our way. But for all that, I truly hope there will never again be silence between us. Conversation with you might be the thing I most miss just now, and is surely what I most look forward to when this strange time has passed.

Until then I remain,

Yours

The pen hesitated one last time. Yours what?

Yours respectfully?

Yours sincerely?

Should he try to be funny? Profound? Was there some clever play on words he could put in?

Or.

Perhaps, for once, he could let the unsaid word speak for itself.

Until then I remain,

Yours

Aziraphale

--

A drop of deep green wax. Was that too forward? Too subtle?

He pressed new his signet stamp against it, sealing it shut with an emblem he’d designed with such good intentions. Would Crowley see what it meant?

Too late for doubts. Too late for second thoughts. The front of the letter was already written, perfectly neat: Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. Now all he had to do was get a stamp from his desk and –

He pulled open the left drawer. Empty.

The right drawer. Nothing but pens and scraps of paper.

He dug around the endless stacks of receipts and tax documents, destroying his neat piles in a desperate search.

No stamps.

Burying his face in his hands Aziraphale said, for only the second time in six thousand years, “Oh, fuck.”

He sat like that for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to stare at the telephone.

--

“You know, I could…hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of…a case of…something…drinkable.”

Something rose up in Aziraphale, a terrifying fear he couldn’t begin to name.

“Oh, I-I-I-I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules. Out of the question. I’ll see you…when this is over…”

“Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, Angel.”

Aziraphale set the receiver back into the cradle, trying to stop his hand from shaking. His heart – which really, didn’t need to beat at all – was doing something altogether unexpected in his chest.

No, he told himself firmly. This is the right thing. Wait out the lockdown. Like you’re supposed to.

The rules were there for a reason. They told you what to do when the world stopped making sense, when your own mind was ready to betray you at any moment. When you couldn’t trust yourself, you trusted the rules.

He’d followed that philosophy his entire existence and look where it had gotten him. A lovely shop, a home, filled with books and art and cake. And no one else. No friends. No Crowley.

Just himself, alone, bent over a telephone.

And a heavy, frantic knocking at his back door.

--

Tommy pounded on the door, echoing the pounding of his heart.

“I told you, this is a stupid idea,” Emmy grumbled.

“Well, we tried your way last time and look what happened.” He slammed his fist against the door again. “So just…just shut up and follow my lead.”

“I think I liked you better when you were scared of everything,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I’m still scared of everything,” he snapped. “But what else am I gonna do?”

He started knocking again, just as the door jerked open, and he nearly fell into the bookseller. The old man looked paler than before, and somehow even less happy, but maybe that was the evening light playing tricks. 

His eyes weren’t gentle or sharp this time, but something new, something that made Tommy’s heart ache in his chest.

“You two. I told you to leave.”

“We did leave. And. Um. Now we’re back.” Tommy cringed but rushed ahead. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I was an ass. I shouldn’t have tried to lie. And Emmy’s sorry for everything, too.”

“Well,” she grunted, not looking at the bookseller. “I’m sorry for some of it.” Tommy shoved her arm, and she rolled her eyes. “Most of it.”

“That is something, I suppose.” The bookseller pressed his lips into a line, and settled behind the door, looking completely immovable. “But I’m afraid I’m still not going to allow you in this shop.”

“Fine, right, I understand. I just need, um, a hundred and twelve pounds.” The booksellers jaw dropped, but Tommy rushed on. “I’m not just, it’s not charity, right? I brought stuff. Here.”

Emmy handed over the backpack and he dumped it out on the ground. “There’s some books, and a couple of these weird trinkets, I saw you had some around the shop, and this jewelry…”

“This is a bookshop, not a-a-a pawn shop!” The bookseller gave them an indignant look. “And I am most certainly not a-a fence for your stolen merchandise.”

“It’s not stolen. Look.” His fumbling hands grasped the thick computer programming textbook and flipped it open. Thomas Finch was scrawled on the inside of the cover in smudged, faded ink. “I bought this a few years ago. Trying to learn enough to get a better job. Only I’m real thick and I couldn’t follow it at all. So – so you can have that, right? It cost a lot, so it’s gotta be worth something now.”

The bookseller tilted his head, a look of vague disgust on his face. “Well, I don’t really have much use for a computer book…”

“Fine.” He tossed it aside and rummaged through the pile again “Or, look. This necklace. I don’t think it’s gold-gold but it’s really nice. It doesn’t rub off or turn your skin green or anything.”

With obvious reluctance, the bookseller took the chain and studied it up close. “I suppose it does look…Is this yours, young lady?”

Emmy turned her face even further away, arms crossed over her stomach. In the evening shadows, she seemed almost to disappear. “It was our mom’s. Before she died.”

“Ah.” He held out his hand, but Tommy didn’t accept the necklace back. “I wouldn’t take such an heirloom from you,” he tried again, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“We don’t want an heirloom, alright?” Tommy could feel the panic rising in him, but he had to force it down, force past the tightness in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. Had to get through this. “We want a hundred and twelve pounds, by tomorrow, or my dad’s going to throw me out. In the middle of the lockdown, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m sorry, truly I am, but you’ve already tried to rob me twice.” The bookseller let the necklace fall to the ground, joining everything of value Tommy and Emmy could find. “And once again you are here, outside, breaking the rules –”

“Shut up about the fucking rules!” Emmy spun back, glaring at him from behind the fringe of her hair, swept across her eyes. “How are the rules supposed to help Tommy now? He can’t get a job, or a loan, or anything. It’s all shut down. So what’s he supposed to do?”

“Emily.” Tommy knelt down and started putting everything into the backpack again. He kept dropping things, his hands shook so bad. He was out of ideas. “Fine. You won’t help me. But, look, Emmy’s just a kid. She’s made some mistakes, but…when my dad throws me out, can she stay here?”

“What –”

“What?” Emmy shoved him so hard he nearly fell over. “That’s not the plan, shit head! You can’t just dump me on some…some random –”

“Yes, I can.” His chest ached as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving you with Dad, and I can’t take you with me if I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t see another option.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You’re twelve, Emily.” Tommy stood up and put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. She wore her usual tough expression, but she trembled, fighting back tears. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” said the bookseller in an overly bright voice. Tommy started, guiltily realizing he’d forgotten the man was there. “I seem to be missing some information here.”

Tommy looked at his sister, saw all the fear that he’d been carrying for years echoed in her eyes. He took her hand, squeezed it tight.

Emmy took a deep breath, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Showing the large, half-healed bruise on her face.

The bookseller was quiet for a long moment. “Your father did that?” His voice seemed to be very carefully balanced.

“Yeah. Um.” She cleared her throat. “I’m. I’m trans. So my dad. I guess he thinks if he hits me. Um.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Fuck that guy, though, right?”

“Ah.” Another long silence. Tommy clutched at her hand, neither of them breathing. Emmy hated coming out to strangers, to anyone really. Lots of bad experiences. He could see her remembering them now, in the way her shoulders hitched, her jaw clenched. “And does your father hit you, too, Thomas?”

“Um. Yeah. Different reasons. But yeah.” He shrugged. “Since I was younger than her.”

“I see. Wait here.”

The bookseller stepped away from the door, disappearing back into his shop.

“I say we run,” Emmy said, reaching for the bag. “He’s probably going to call the cops on you, right?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

She wiped at her eyes. He could see her jaw was still tight with tension. “I’m fine. Just. I hate telling people my shit.” She sniffed and glared at her feet. She still pretended most of the time, at school, even around their dad if she thought it would make him less angry that day.

She hated it. She pretended it was fine but watched that hate and pain eat away at her for years, just another thing he couldn’t protect her from.

“Look, Emmy, I’ll figure something out, I promise. We’ve got time. Another day, yeah? I’ll...I’ll think of something.”

“Shut up,” she shook her hair back in front of her eyes before turning her glare on him. “Just go if you have to. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being alone. I can take care of myself, and –”

“Oh, good, you waited. It’s nice to see you finally listening to me.” The bookseller stepped through the door to stand next to them, and the smile Tommy had glimpsed that first night was back on his face, warm and open. It made the evening seem just a little less miserable. “Here.”

He pressed an enormous wad of banknotes into Tommy’s hand. More than a hundred and twelve pounds. A lot more.

“That should be enough to get you started in a flat of your own. It won’t be easy during the lockdown, of course, but by some miracle there are a few places available in the north of London that should suit. Please be careful with that, it will likely need to last you some months.”

“I…” Tommy stared at the pile of money. It was more than he could have imagined such a crummy shop would hold. “Why…how…”

“I believe this is when you usually say thank you, although I’m not very good at that part myself.” Before Tommy could even find his words, the bookseller had turned to Emmy. “As for you, young lady.” He reached to put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled back when she flinched, instead tilting his head down to try and meet her eyes. “I wish I had some advice for you, I really do. I don’t think I even know where to begin.”

“It’s --” Emmy started.

“Do not say it’s ‘fine,’ my dear, because it’s not.” There was a sharp edge to his tone, but it quickly softened. “It’s never ‘fine’ to feel alone. And if you’re suffering, that’s all the more reason to reach out.” There was a moment of uncertainty - Tommy saw the bookseller bite his lip, and his eyes grew distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned back to Emmy and smiled, holding out a small stack of business cards. “And there are organizations you can reach out to. I’ve put the ones that specialize in teenagers on top. Support groups. Hotlines. Legal aid. Which reminds me,” his eyes shot over to Tommy again, “you should probably call the police on your father, but I’ll understand if you want a stable living situation first.”

He pressed the cards into Emmy’s hand. “I know you might not be ready to talk, but when you are...there are people ready to listen.” She stared at the cards in her hand. “You aren’t alone, my dear, and you don’t need to take care of yourself. Let the people who love you take care of you. Especially your brother.”

“I don’t…” Emmy’s fist closed around the cards. “I’m not…”

“Not quite what you need? I have a few books on gender identity. I always find that a bit of reading helps me think about what I’m going through. You’re welcome to look through them any time, under strict supervision, of course. I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“So…we’re allowed back in?” Emmy wondered.

“Yes. Any time.” He patted her hand, then stepped back. “Especially now, if you need a place to go for a few hours. Just please come to the front door next time, this alley is horrendous.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be on the streets,” Tommy mumbled, still feeling dazed. But he felt his lips twisting into a smile. “You know. Against the rules and all that.”

“Well. I suppose…sometimes the rules do sort of get in the way, don’t they? I can…make an exception.” He beamed at both of them, the sort of smile that made it impossible to think of anything except smiling back. “Well. Jolly good. Now I think you two will need a bit of time to come up with a plan. What do you say we discuss this over cake?”

--

Two hours later

--

Aziraphale pressed the phone against his ear, listening to it ring. He had only rehearsed his conversation twice this time. He hoped it would be enough.

“Now what? Don’t you know I’m trying to sleep?”

“Hello. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

“For the last…I know.”

“Er, right. Ah. I just wanted you to know. Um. That is.” Drat. He really should have rehearsed more.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice turned very serious. “Is something wrong?”

“No, w-w-well, yes, that is…” His eyes drifted over to the table, the stacks of books, the cakes, the bottle of cognac. “Yes. Dreadful emergency. I’m nearly out of brandy.”

“You’re. Are you serious?”

“I am extremely serious, Crowley.” He took a deep breath. “And what with the lockdown on. Well. I would need someone to…to break all the rules in order to get me more.” He bit his lip. “And-and possibly some Merlot, or a nice Riesling. I have ah…rather more red velvet cake than I can eat.”

A long pause, Aziraphale tugging at the cord of the phone nervously.

“I thought you wanted to wait out the lockdown.”

“I did. I just…” He started to sit down, then sprang back up again, too anxious to hold still. “I realized, well, I can take care of myself, but that…that doesn’t mean I have to. And the rules…um…they…”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted softly. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

The smile trembled across Aziraphale’s face. “Ah. Yes. Good. I have some new neighbors to tell you about, I think you’re going to like them. And. Uh.” His fingers fell on the folded-up parchment, sealed with a drop of wax, green for hope. “And I have something for you, Crowley.”

--

(Thanks for reading! I apologize the OCs got so much of this fic. I’m trying to work on better OC-husbands balance, though in this case I hope you can see the parallel I was going for. I’ll probably write another Lockdown fic more focused on just Aziraphale and Crowley, but I really wanted to answer the question: who were the lads who tried robbing AZ Fell’s???)

First Impressions

Sam hadn’t counted on them getting caught. He had carefully calculated every possible outcome, yet he had never thought that Mick and Ketch would sell them out. Sam had known the minute they arrived that they were fucked. Dean had decided that they were going to ride in the most obvious car. The car the Winchester’s had become known for; their black 1967 Chevy Impala. If they had chosen the car Sam had wanted, a nice inconspicuous used 2005 Lincoln, they would have had a better chance at not being caught. But Dean, being the hard-headed man he was, wouldn’t hear. So here Sam and Dean were, hands and ankles chained together, walking towards their cells.

The policemen roughly tossed them in and told them that their guards would be there soon.

“Ya know, Sammie we wouldn’t be-”.

“Dean, shut the fuck up. You wanted to bring the Impala, which is basically a red flag saying “Oh The Winchesters are here,” Sam said, laying down on the way too small mattress. Dean opened his mouth to respond but heard voices coming their way.

“Come on Cassie, they wouldn’t have put us together if they thought one of us would do. Besides, they could be cute and I could use some eye candy.”

“Gabe, these are mobsters. They could kill you in under a minute. Besides they aren’t some small family, These are The fucking Winchesters, one of the biggest mob families out there.” Sam chuckled in his cell, the younger Winchester was hidden all but his legs. The laugh brought the officers attention back to the matter at hand.

“Which do you want, Cassie? Mr. Ken doll or Mysterio over there?,” the short, golden haired man asked.

“I’ll take Dean or should I say ‘Mr. Ken Doll’, the tall dark haired one responded.

“Guess that means I got Mysterio,” Gabe pulled a chair over and sat down in front of Sam’s cell. Gabe sighed loudly and pulled out a magazine. He looked into the cell, however the shadows hid Sam’s face. Dean, on the other hand, was flirting vigorously with Cas.

“So, do guys like you come here often?,” Dean asked, leaning against the wall of his cell.

“I’m just your guard. NOT one of your little sluts that will come whenever you call,” Cas said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Dean, stop flirting with your guard. I get that you may not be able to keep it in your pants for any time greater than 2 hours, but you're gonna have to learn how to,” Sam said, rolling over onto his side.

__________

Gabe didn’t see what Sam looked like until it was meal time. Even then, Gabe had to draw him out.

“Yo food. And please make my job easier and eat the food. I don’t want to have to force feed you,” Gabe said, entering the cell and placing the food down.

“Turn on the light, please,” Sam groaned, rolling over. Gabe nodded and flipped the lightswitch. Gabe left and turned to lock the door. When he finished, he looked up and finally got a glimpse at the younger Winchester. Sam was muscular, however not like Dean was. Sam’s muscles were there but they were as prominent as his brothers. His eyes were...well Gabe couldn’t see them quite well but he guessed they were just as beautiful as Sam. Sam was obviously quite tall, however the ceiling was too low in the cell for him. Gabe gave him a small smile, and the mobster gave him one in return.

The siblings ate quite differently. Sam used the silverware and ate with manners, like he was eating at some fancy restaurant, not on the floor of a jail cell. Dean however ate like an animal, he crammed in the food, not caring how he looked. Cas must have had a disgusted look on his face because Sam apologized.

“I am so sorry about my brother’s horrendous manners,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving the tray of food. Cas shook his head and didn’t respond. Sam, however, didn’t say anything and finished eating. When Sam was done he stood up, taking the tray with him, and put it on the desk. Gabe entered and took the tray.

Unlike his brother, the younger Winchester wasn’t as clear with his flirting. As Gabe left the cell, Sam’s eyes trailed over the guards body. Sam’s guard looked soft and comforting. Where Cas was firm and toned, Gabe was soft. Everything about Gabe looked welcoming. Sam knew that if he wanted to not fall for the guard, he would have to put some distance between them. But fuck that! For the first time in his life, Sam was going to grab something and never let it go.

__________

Prison was boring. Sam and Dean weren’t allowed out of their cells. Sam was used to rooms filled with books that he could read at any time. And now he had one book and it was on prison etiquette. Sam had read the book so much that was already worn at him just having it for just a couple of weeks. It wasn’t that Sam wanted to read it, it was just the only book he had. The first time, it had been an accident, really. After he and Gabe had exchanged nods and Dean was busy trying to get into Cas, Gabe sat down to read. Sam quietly walked over and looked over the guards shoulder to see what he was reading. Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. Sam had read and seen the show. He smiled softly to himself and briefly looked over the page Gabe was on. Crowley was talking to Aziraphale about how Adam was set to receive a hellhound on his 11th birthday. Sam loved the book and tv show dearly. Sam found it funny that a demon loved Golden Girls, but then again who didn’t love Golden Girls.

Gabe felt someone looking over his shoulder and, like any rational person would, he looked up. He caught Sam's eyes, and the mobster lowered his gaze to the floor. Sam was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. God, that blush is delicious. And if he blushes like that when I catch him reading over my shoulder…, Gabe didn’t dare let his thoughts wander because if he did it would be very bad.

“ ‘m sorry,” Sam said, muffled. Gabe had never seen the younger man so flustered before.

“It’s all fine. Hey, I could read it to you, if you would like. You could sit against the bars and I would read to you. But I mean, if you want I could come into your cell, so I wouldn’t have to worry about you taking the keys,” Gabe said with a little glint in his eyes.

“Yea that might be the best,” Sam said, shyly shuffly back. Gabe entered the cell, bringing his chair with him. He sat down and started softly reading aloud. Sam sat down beside him. Gabe was surprised that the taller man didn’t fidget, instead he just silently sat there and listened. It was nice. Soon Gabe was absent mindedly running his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam leaned into the touch. It was soft and relaxing. Sam found his eyes drooping and soon he was asleep.

Gabe heard the soft snoring of the younger man and closed the book. He picked Sam up (somehow), and tucked him in. Gabe then left the cell and went to sit outside. He sighed. Fuck. I’m falling, were his last thoughts before napping himself.

December Deals - Supernatural Fic - Crowley x OC

The winds blew colder than usual on that gloomy December day. The waves crashed with ferocity and brought a luke-warm mess of water and sand to my bare feet. It had been three miserable years since I lost him, but on the anniversary of his death, I always visited our secret place. The little private beach off of Orange street and first avenue. It was our hide away from our parents, our problems, and our growing sense of dread. This stretch of land could protect us from the worst pains, the saddest truths, and the darkest lies. But like a set of keys, I lost him. He was gone, without a word, and it killed me every day. I always wondered if Jay was still around. If he could actually hear me talking to him. If he maybe came to visit me at my apartment, or tried to keep me safe in tough times. I could always feel him around me. I could smell his cologne, I could hear his laugh, see those bright, adorable blue eyes. But it never lasted long. I walked along the waters edge, chilling myself to the bone in my black wifebeater and fishnet arm warmers, and those ripped up dark blue skinny jeans. The only thing that was kept the slightest bit toasty were my feet, the sand was still a bit hot from the suns powerful rays. I carried my black boots and knee high black and red striped socks in my hand while I looked out far into sea. Jay was a big part of my life. He was like the older brother I never had. He could make me laugh, protect me, surprise me in so many ways. He always had my best interests at heart and no matter what I said, or did, he never judged me, never left my side. The thought of my heartless words and childish behavior still brings tears to my eyes. The last time I saw him, I was so self absorbed and selfish to even help him, and despite the over bearing sense of desperation and need, he listened to me wail about some guy who broke up with me before he went away to college. He held me all night on the eve of my eighteenth birthday. When I left, he told me he would be over at my house bright and early for a little celebration. But he never showed up. I waited all day, swearing at him for being late. I never once thought he could have been hurt or in trouble. It only started to hit me when I remembered how sad he looked before I left. He asked me to stay the night, that something felt wrong. But all I wanted to do was try and call my ex boyfriend, see if he could come over to talk. He just gave me this optimistic smile and said "things happen for a reason, you never know what the future holds". I thought it seemed so old world of him to say things like that, but in the future, he was right. I put on my socks and shoes and stood up, slapping the sand from my jeans, and turned to the long, tall hill that would lead me back to the deserted road. I put in my earbuds and let the music of my favorite bands take me away to another time and place. Mine and Jay's favorite Tool song, "Right in Two", blared in my ear drums as I walked. I finally reached the road and, as usual, was not paying attention. I walked right into a man with dark features and dressed in a nice tailored black suit. I fell backwards and when I looked up, he stared me down. He had this mischevious smile form across his lips, and he extended his hand to help me up. Cautiously, I let him hoist me to my feet and I looked at him. "How are you, Cassidy?" he asked. "How do you-" "I just know these things." he replied in a thick british accent. I thanked him for his help and apologized for my clumsiness before turning away and walking towards my car, which was parked down the road. When I turned to see if he was still standing there, he was gone. I made it to my car, to be startled at his prescence leaning against the hood of my prized '72 cherry red mustang. "How the hell did you get here before me?" I asked. "Just fast, I guess." he replied, coyly. "Seriously, you were behind me. I would have seen if you -" "Darling, that's not important. I have a message for you." he said, waving off my questions. We stood beside my ride, and I shivered. He was taking in the sights, and then he looked in to my eyes. For a man his age, he was pretty good looking. A few inches taller than my five feet, four inches. He had a cute, chubby face, and a bit of stubble. His hair wasn't too long, and a light brown. It kind of made me want to run my fingers through it. His eyes looked like a melted chocolate, and his smile was contagious. He had a pretty nice build, too. His style looked pricey, but it looked even better on him. I felt like I was getting sized up as he continued to look at me. I felt as if his eyes were burning a hole through me, into my damn soul. I couldn't stand the quiet and I was so cold I could barely feel my fingers or my face anymore, so I cleared my throat to get his attention. Upon seeing how icy I was, he offered me his jacket. It was big on me, but it was cozy and felt great wrapped around my shoulders. He asked if he could hitch a ride, and although I was scared, I was so attracted to him I couldn't muster up the courage to tell him no. We hopped in my baby, that I named  Candy, and we sped down the street and on to the main highway. He asked if he could be dropped off at a bar that was, surprisingly, right down the street from my house, and I agreed. Puscifer's "Conditions of my Parole" blasted through the speakers and I caught him mouthing the words to the song. When the song ended and we came to a traffic jam, I turned in my seat and asked him what this so called message was, and from whom. "You know anyone named Jay Barnes?" he asked. I felt an ice cold chill run up my spine. "That was my best friends name, but.. He's been dead for three years now." I whispered. "Oh, I know. Was tradgic, really. But Jay told me to tell you that you're not at fault and to stop blaming yourself." he replied, while looking me straight in the eyes. The traffic cleared and I began speeding down the road, the man in the suit was digging his nails into the arm rests and swearing when I nearly collided into on coming cars and light poles. I swerved into another lane and went down a deserted street, about two miles from the bar, and hit the breaks, causing both of us to slam our heads against the dashboard. I frantically got out of the car and walked away a few paces. I heard him get out and jog after me. "I told the damn boy you'd react this way but he didn't want to listen." he said, grabbing my wrist. I backhanded him, leaving a red mark on his cheek. He backed away and saw that my eyes went from their usual green-hazel to a darkish, forest green. He rubbed at his aching cheek and began to speak again, weary of my random movements and frequent wheezing breaths. "I mean no harm, darling. Was just passing on a message as a favor to the kid." he said. "I don't know who in the hell you are, but my best friend did not come to you with a message from the grave! Who are you! What is your name?" I snarled. "Oh! Pardon my poor socialization skills. The names Crowley, and I'm the King of Hell." he smirked, and his eyes went to a dark black. I came to on the ground with him standing above me. My whole body was shaking and I could feel tears of fear leaking from my eyes, threatening to smudge my nearly perfect eyeliner. I backed away and he still came forward, and again, he helped me to my feet. "I'm not going to hurt you, relax." he said. "You're a.. A fucking.. Fucking.." "Spit it out, doll, I don't have all day. Yes, I'm a demon. What? Demons can't have nice clothes and be polite?" "Get the fuck away from me, or I swear I'll.. I'll.." "Shoot? Hate to break it to you but guns will only bring a bit of pain, but not death." he smiled. I was on the brink of hysteria when I took off running. The good looking stranger that was nice enough to give me his jacket was a fucking demon? And all these years I thought it was bullshit tales and lies to keep people in line. When I turned I saw my car getting smaller and smaller, but again, when I looked in front of me, he stood there and grabbed me by my waist. I screamed and kicked and scratched but he didn't let go. The last thing I remembered was begging for help, and then I blacked out. I woke up on a king sized bed with canopy curtains pulled in around it. It was dark out and I couldn't remember much. I didn't know where I was and for a split second, I thought I was in a high end hotel. But when I saw him in the doorway through the canopy, I froze. He slowly inched closer with his hands raised, signaling that he had no weapons or intentions to hurt me. I pulled the curtain back but kept the comforter pulled up to my shoulders, it felt so cold in the room. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, with his back turned to me. An overbearing desire to kiss him took over my body, but common sense screamed at me to run like hell. "I came to you because, not only did the boy ask me, but because you need help." he said softly. "Help? From a demon? HA!" I laughed. "I know this may be a bit hard, but can you please SHUT your damn TRAP and LISTEN!?" he shouted. If this would have been any other man, and any other time, I would have jumped him and let him fuck me around every corner of the earth while yelling at me, but instead I did as I was told and let him speak. "Jay is still around. He's been watching you ever since he checked out. He knows that you think it's your fault, he hears you when you talk to him. He won't leave until you realize what he did was his own choosing and no one could have stopped him. He can't be in peace until you finally let go and move on. Following so far?" he asked. "Yes, uh, sir." I spoke quietly. "Good. Now, what I am going to do will hurt but help both you and the boy. Do you want my help? Or, here's a better question; do you want Jay to move on?" he asked. "Of course, he was my brother!" I replied. "Take my hand, and hold on then." he said. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in Jay's apartment. He was downing whiskey straight from the bottle and looked like the poster boy for hell. I walked over, as if in a trance, and tried to touch his cheek. I called his name, but my efforts had gone unnoticed. "He can't see or hear you, honey. This is just a memory, so to speak." Crowley said, standing behind me. I watched as Jay looked through photo albums; they were of the two of us, his family, and then one of him and his ex fiancee, Taria. He wept and traced his fingertips over her picture, asking God why she had to die. He had struggled for six months over her death, and he never let any sadness show, but behind closed doors, I saw the emotional side of him I only wished he could have shared with me. His and Taria's song, "We're in this Together" by Nine Inch Nails played on his stereo, and the look in his eyes showed anguish and defeat. I watched him write his suicide note, take one last look at a photo of the three of us; Taria, Jay, and I, and then go into the bathroom. I followed behind, tears and shrieks escaping from me. I watched him get in the tub, now filled with hot water, and I watched him electrocute himself with his hair straightener. I cried out for him and when Crowley decided that I had seen enough, he brought us back to present day. "How could you put me through that?" I choked. "I'm sorry, Cassidy. I had to." "Why? So I wouldn't feel guilty? Well newsflash, genius; I feel even worse." I snapped. "Damn it, girl, you saw with your own eyes the pain he was going through. You saw that it had nothing to do with you, and no matter what, you couldn't save him! No one could! For fucks sake just accept it!" he barked. I sat on the bed and turned away from him. It was bad enough I was in a strange house with a member of God's public enemy number one, but I'd be damned if I let him see me cry. I laid on my side, facing a wall, and I felt the burning hot tears sting my eyes. I kept my moans to a minimum and kept as far away from him as possible. I heard him sigh and then after several minutes, felt his arm slide around my waist and pulled my back up against his body. I turned to look at him, and I saw compassion in his eyes. I didn't know what to think at this point. "Is there anyway.. I could bring him back?" I asked. "I'm sorry kid, but no." he whispered in my ear. "Please, Crowley, I'd do anything. I'd even sacrifice my soul." I pleaded. "What a nice gesture, but, still, the answer is no." he replied. I shoved him away and he fell backwards off the bed. "Well fuck you! What kind of pansy ass demon are you!?" I shrieked. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you have just started." he said as he placed me on my back and hovered over my body. I looked up at him with curiosity. For all I know, he was about to murder me and hide the body somewhere. But instead, I just gave in to him. He was free to do whatever he wanted to me. His fingertips traced down my jawline as he leaned down and kissed my lips. They were warm and moist and sent electricity throughout my entire body. I couldn't help but moan. As the kiss grew deeper, I felt him smile into it, and his hands explored my curves. My tongue entered his mouth and I felt him begin to suck on it, it was new and exciting and made me feel like a giddy middle school girl. I felt his hands cup both sides of my face, and his own tongue began to rub against mine. He nibbled on my bottom lip and I slid my hands slowly up and down his arms, but then the reality that I was making out with a demon came in to play. I shoved him off and did a back flip off the other side of the bed, quickly throwing on my socks and boots. As I got up and made my way to the door, he stood in my way, looking down at me with eyes filled with lust and dominance. I felt my heart lodge in my throat as he grabbed me by my hips and slam me into the wall, his body pinned against mine and whispering in my ear that I was in alot of trouble and my best bet would be to let him fuck me and it wouldn't hurt... too much. I pushed back against him, trying to free myself from his grasp, but all it did was make me groan and make him press his lips hard into mine, stifling any sounds I tried to make. He yanked my hair back from my neck and let his lips wander down from my jawline, to my neck, and right along my collarbone. His kisses were rough and hard, and my knees were growing weak with each and every powerful kiss. His hands pinned my wrists into the wall, and I began to feel pain as his nails dug into my moist flesh. I was taking in short, jagged breaths while peering up to look at him. His facial expression was determined, concentrating on areas he somehow knew would make me turn to putty in his hands, and he looked as if he was happy with himself for turning me into his whore. He nipped at the sensitive areas on my neck, the last love bite drew a little blood, which he slid his tongue over. I arched into him and let out a whimper, which caught his attention. He freed my aching wrists and I jumped up in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. As he kissed my lips again, he banged me into the wall, grinding against me, letting me feel every inch of his body melting into mine. He turned and threw me down on the bed, in which I half heartedly tried to sit up to see what he was doing. He smiled at me, clicking his tongue against his teeth, as if wondering what his next move should be. My mind was frazzled and I was more than turned on. I needed to feel every inch of him inside of me. He slowly walked over to the bed, bending down the slightest bit so he could lick my lips and bite down hard on my bottom lip. His hands were gliding through my hair, softly playing with every soft strand as he fell on top of me. Under him I felt like I was on ecstasy; my heart was racing at the speed of light, my mind was blacking out, and my body was shaking furiously. His hands, once again, trailed down my sides, his finger tips gliding down my rib cage, and slowly his fingers hooked into my jean loops, trying to yank my pants down a tad bit. I found the strength to take off his jacket and throw it on the leather desk chair behind him, and he locked eyes with me again. "Patience," he whispered in my ear, and his hot breath on my neck made a sharp breath stick in my throat, painfully. "When I'm through with you, I'll be carrying you around for awhile." I bit my lip as his last sentence played in my mind, like a broken record. He slowly pulled up my wifebeater, and with each inch he pulled up, he left a trail of kisses to my shaking form behind. I arched in to him again, and our bodies seemed to mould together perfectly. He rested one large, unwavering hand on the small of my back, holding me against him as he sucked and bit my neck. I went to work and began to unbutton his shirt. He ripped my wifebeater off, throwing the fabric on the other side of the bed. He muttered something about sloppy clothing pissing him off before kissing and licking the top of my breasts. I felt a slight film of sweat trickle down my forehead and along the sides of my face, with one hard, forceful move, he ripped my jeans off my legs without even unbuttoning them. I finally had his shirt fully unbuttoned, no thanks to my trembling fingers, and he quickly slid it off of his slightly muscular arms. He undid his tie painfully slow, and made a nice pile for his clothes on the nightstand, leaving me frustrated and snapping at him to finish what he started. "Oh, in due time, darling. Have a bit of patience." he would say, and then he pinned my wrists above my head and began to slide my bra straps off my shoulders using only his teeth. I bucked my hips against his, grinding my lower body in to his, letting him know I was more than ready for him to pound me in to the next century. He grunted, only once, and then stared me down. When my bra straps were down as far as they would go, he sat up, straddled over my body and yanked me up with one hand, and undid the bra hooks with ease. It went flying over his shoulder and he laid me down gently, smirking. He stood in front of the bed, staring at my nearly fully naked body. I felt as if I was being sized up, or as if he was taking a mental picture to add to his probable vast collection. I sat up, cautiously, and looked up at him. He nodded his head, as if giving me permission to undo his pants. With slow progression I had them unzipped and unbuttoned within a minute, and they fell to his ankles. He kicked them, along with his shoes, off and looked down at me. He shoved me hard into the bed and grabbed my legs, slowly pulling off my boots and socks. He threw them against the wall, looking disgusted at my now ruined attire. He leaned down, hooking his thumbs into the strings of my thong and ripped it off quickly. I sat up long enough to pull down his boxer briefs, and he kicked them off, placing his clothes on the nightstand. He stood in front of me, fully naked, and his length was something most girls only dream of having in a lover. I smiled up at him, ready for the most fierce sexual encounter I've had in my life, when he gently took my hand and helped me to my feet. "This will be the only time I'm careful with you" he groaned in my ear while he pulled me against him. "Bring it, black eyes." I choked out. He slammed me hard into the wall, lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist. I felt him get situated and shove his full girth inside of my aching cunt. I swore at him as he began to forcefully penetrate me. He wasn't slow, he wasn't gentle, he was an animal. I held on to his shoulders, letting my nails dig in as he continued to make me squirm and scream. He grunted like an animal in my ear as he continued to slam into me, making me bounce back against the wall each and every time. My hips ached as his hit them with such a force I felt like they would break, and my eyes began to roll in the back of my head, making me feel dizzy and see stars. He nipped at the soft flesh on my neck, making me cry out, and as he pounded my cunt, he let his thumb play with my swelling clit. I bit down on his neck, surely drawing blood, and I arched in to him again. When he was tired of banging me into the wall, he threw me on the ground, landing on top of me. He looked into my eyes, out of his mind with hunger, and kissed my lips hard. My legs lifted into the air, giving him more clearance to penetrate me deeper. With each and every thrust, he hit my gspot and made it hurt so bad I was sure I was bleeding. He kissed down my sweaty body, nibbling on my collar bone, breasts, and back up to my lips. Our tongues locked in a passionate wage of war that no one would win. My nails raked down his back, making it burn as he continued to thrust in to me, making me scream his name. My throat was hurting and turning raw, but I couldn't stop the uncontrollable urge to scream and swear at him. I heard his seductive chuckle, and as I let out a stream of cum, I shoved him off, pinned his wrists down to his sides, and whispered that it was my turn to have some fun. I carefully kissed down his sweaty body, leaving gentle kisses to his chest, down to his stomach, and held one last kiss to his lower stomach, where his happy trail began. He groaned, trying to fight me off of him, but part of him was willing to be submissive, at least for a little while. I let him go, looking up at him and smirking as he bit his lip in anticipation. At first, I put quick, soft kisses to the head of his cock, down to his shaft and back up, I slowly let the tip enter my mouth, and I swirled my tongue inside and out of it, making him swear and call me his dirty little whore. With each curse word, I sucked on the tip while holding on to the shaft with one hand. I massaged the shaft with my fingertips as I began to slowly let it enter my mouth, inch by inch. He was trying to move, trying to force it all inside my mouth and down my throat, but it was as if he was paralyzed. I held on to the base as it was all in my mouth, and I showed him what was any guys favorite ability in a girl; I could deep throat. "Fucking Cassidy, you slut." he grunted as I let it all slide down my throat. I let him hardened, pulsing dick slide in and out of my mouth, and sucked it hard like a lollipop. Each time it slid down my throat quickly, the precum was leaking more and more, and then finally, when he couldn't take anymore, he let a wave of it release into my mouth. Looking up at him as I slowly let his cock slide out of my mouth, I swallowed every last drop, and smirked as he lay there, shaking and muttering to himself. "This isn't over, you fucking bitch." he gasped. "Oh, but I think it is." I laughed, slowly getting off my knees. "Guess again." he said, regaining balance on his feet and shoving me on my stomach on the bed. He entered me from behind, pounding my pussy while his fingernails raked down my back. As he entered me with force, I gripped the sheets and felt him grip on to my ass as he shoved in every inch into my now swollen cunt. I cried out for him to stop as I felt the familiar pulse rage inside of me, but all I heard was him grunting over and over again, and making my head spin and the little breaths I did have stick in my throat. He leaned down, over me, while he fucked me senseless and placed several sweet kisses to my neck. With one last push, the muscles in my cunt contracted around him and we soaked the bed with our burning hot cum. He placed me on my back and fell on top of me, his face buried in my hair. I slid my fingertips up and down his spine, and turned to kiss his cheek. Our hearts beat against each others, and when we finally caught our breath, I felt his arms slide around my waist and his lips gently kiss mine. "How does it feel to be fucked my a demon?" he whispered raggedly in my ear. "Sinfully spectacular. How does it feel to be completely worked by a human?" I asked in return. "Let's just say, it was a pleasure working with you." he chuckled before kissing my lips again.

An Inconvenient Flame (Part Six)

Series Summary: You’ve known Sam and Dean Winchester all your life. You find you have developed an attraction for the eldest Winchester, but Dean has never indicated he felt anything more for you than a little sister. A late night encounter causes Dean to question his own feelings for you, but with your age gap, he’s hesitant to let anything grow beyond attraction. Things come to a head when a case forces you together. Will these embers of attraction lay buried or will this inconvenient flame of desire become an inferno?

Word Count: 1718

Warnings: show level violence, swearing, death (not a main character)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     "Demons," you whispered tensely, and you could feel Dean's hand move away from your waist as he stood at attention. No one said anything. You looked to Dean, searching it for some kind of direction, when you saw the throng of meat suits begin to part. Light footsteps grew closer, and you saw a tall man make his way to the front of the crowd. He was dressed in a tuxedo and oxfords. His hair was fashioned into a pompadour and his face was clean-shaven, revealing the pronounced dimple in his chin. He was handsome, you thought. But your admiration soon turned to disgust as his charming brown eyes flashed black. 

     "Winchester," the demon said, his voice smooth.

     "Lowell, I'm guessing?" Dean asked, his voice clipped, his eyes hard.

     Lowell clapped his hands unceremoniously. "Very good," he replied, dragging out the words as if addressing a child. "A little birdie told me you'd be here tonight, and I just had to come see the legend myself. Although, no one told me Dean Winchester would be bringing along...eye candy," Lowell finished, raking his eyes over you, sending a shiver of revulsion down your spine.

     "Let's cut the bullshit," Dean said. "I want information about some demons, and...."

     "No, Dean, allow me to cut the bullshit," Lowell interrupted, his eyes unfeeling. "I'm not Crowley. I don't believe in all this...how should I put it? 'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' mumbo jumbo bullshit.

     Let me make this very clear...very simple. You continue looking for me or any other demons, and I will personally kill each and every human being you have ever cared for," Lowell finished, his voice brusque and cruel. "Starting with this one," Lowell added, jerking his head in your direction. Uneasiness settled in the pit of your stomach at his threats. Dean's eyes darkened at Lowell's words, but he remained silent.

     "Well, then!" Lowell exclaimed. "It was a treat finally getting to meet Dean fucking Winchester." Lowell abruptly turned on his heel and started to make his way back through the crowd when he suddenly stopped and turned towards you and Dean once more. "Oh, and by the way...Amanda sends her love," he said, sending Dean a cocky smirk.

     Dean's jaw clenched and rage filled his eyes, turning them dark. "You son of a bitch!" Dean yelled as he started stalking towards the demon.

     "Dean!" you cautioned, grabbing at his arm. Dean stopped short, but his eyes never left the frame of the taller man. Lowell turned and nodded once to the demons around him, silently signaling to attack, before he weaved his way back through the crowd. The demons stood at attention, their eyes flashing black once more.

     You pulled your hand away from Dean's arm and slowly slid out of your heels, tossing them off your feet behind you. Your eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Windsor Drakefield. He stood in the far right corner silently, an angel blade gripped in each hand. 

     You glanced to Dean who stood rigidly surveying the group. Dean leaned down gingerly and raised his pant leg before pulling out a demon blade. He shot you a quick glance. "Left pocket," he said gruffly, motioning to his jacket still around your shoulders. You slowly slid your hand into the side and felt something hard and cold against your fingertips. 

     You barely had time to pull out the other blade before the demons charged. Dean took the first wave, taking down three demons in a matter of seconds. You ran toward one, jumping up slightly as your bodies crashed into one another. You drove the blade through the demon's chest, his face and eyes lighting up in amber electricity. His body was heavier than yours, and his dead weight brought you down to the marble floor hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. 

     Dean shot you a concerned expression as you gasped for air. Finally, you regained your composure, heaving the large body away from your own and jumping up deftly. Dean's face hardened again when he realized you were all right and continued his battle, threading his way through the sea of demons, a line of bodies falling behind him. 

     You swung your fist, plunging the demon blade into the chest of a jewel-decked older woman before you turned sharply as a heavily overweight man came stumbling toward you, a snarl on his fat lips. You veered to the left as his fist tried to make contact with your head. You straightened quickly and pivoted your leg up sharply, feeling your dress rip up the side of your thigh. Your heel landed squarely on his chubby jaw, sending him reeling to the ground with a heavy thud. You straddled his large girth, sinking the knife into his heart.

     Suddenly, Windsor's voice came through the speakers, clear and distinct. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...." You struggled to your feet, swiping the back of your hand across your sweaty brow. You glanced over to the speakers to see Windsor standing in front of them as wave after wave of demons charged at him, attempting to shut up the voice that was still chanting. He dropped one after another with ease, his moves still fluid despite his age. 

     "Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis...." Some of the demons began convulsing, the words eating away at their blackened souls. You used this to your advantage and managed to snag three more demons before the last of the exorcism came through the speakers. "Ab insidiis, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"

     With the last of the words spoken, every demon-possessed body stopped and leaned their heads back as darkness escaped their mouths. The darkness rose to the ceiling for a moment, a black mass swirling above, then just as suddenly, it plummeted to the ground with a loud whirl of power before disappearing altogether.

     The ballroom fell silent as you glanced to Windsor who still stood in front of the speakers, leaning heavily on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. He finally stood and stretched his back as he made his way to your side. "Not as limber as I used to be," he chuckled.

     "Smart move with the exorcism," Dean commented, walking over, his breathing labored and sweat dripping down his face.

     Windsor grinned. "I knew there was a reason why I recorded it," he said. "I apologize that your plans didn't work out the way you'd hoped," the older man said, suddenly sobering.

     Dean shook his head, shrugging off the man's words. "No worries. The one good thing about this clusterfuck is we know he's connected to the demons we're searching for."

     Windsor sent Dean a thin-lipped smile and nodded his agreement. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he surveyed the room. Shards of glass littered the floor, tables were overturned, and bodies were strewn across the floor. "It's a shame," he said sadly. "So many of these people were my dear friends and acquaintances."

     You glanced at the bodies. At least a hundred were dead, bloodied and battered, while another two hundred or so lay unconscious. "I'm so sorry, Windsor. We'll help clean up," you offered empathetically.

     Windsor gave you a grateful smile. "Thank you for the offer, my dear, but that won't be necessary," he said before glancing back to the bodies. "I'll figure something out...perhaps cast a spell on the unconscious few to make them forget what happened.... The other bodies...well, I'll take care of them," he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly.

     "Okay," you said softly, your heart heavy with sympathy for the older man. You had lost both your parents and it was nearly more than you could handle. You couldn't imagine losing so many loved ones in a matter of a single night. You couldn't bear to think of what Windsor must be feeling.

     Windsor sighed heavily again as he turned away from the carnage and looked back to you and Dean. He extended his hand to Dean. "Thank you, sir, for everything," Dean said gruffly, shaking the older man's hand. 

     "It's Windsor," Drakefield corrected. "And you're very welcome. If you need any further assistance in the future, don't hesitate to contact me."

     Dean nodded. "Will do."

     Windsor held out his palm to you also and clasped your hand in both of his. "Thank you for being so kind and considerate, my dear," he said with a smile. You nodded and smiled in return. "Please send my greetings to Bobby," Windsor finished, pulling away from you. Dean nodded while you turned to retrieve your heels and Dean's suit jacket that had fallen to the floor when the fight had started.

     When you turned back around, Windsor had made his way over to the crumpled bodies near the speakers. His shoulders moved up and down as he stooped to turn over one of them, and sadness pricked at your heart to see him cry. Windsor was a good man, and he didn't deserve this kind of loss.

     You slowly made your way back to Dean, gingerly stepping over glass and debris. "You ready?" Dean questioned quietly as you stepped near him. You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "Let's go," he directed, steering you towards the door, his hand on the small of your back once more.

     The cold night air hit you and sent a shiver through your body as it mingled with the sweat clinging to your dress. You climbed in and Dean started the Impala, the engine roaring to life in the quiet night. Led Zeppelin's "Ramble On" played softly in the background as the Impala's headlights illuminated the curving road ahead of you.

     You stole a glance at Dean. Even in the low light of the headlights, you could see his jaw tense, the muscles flexing, while his eyes were hard and dark. You knew Lowell's comment about Amanda had triggered Dean's rage once more. He had come a long way since everything that had gone down a year before, but despite Dean's earlier assertion that he would be fine, you knew he wasn't. What you had feared most if you got involved again had happened. And now you were back to square one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

Everything:

@divadinag​ @mogaruke​ @calaofnoldor​ @defenderrosetyler​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @emoryhemsworth​ @satans-0-spawn​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @titty-teetee​

Dean Girls:

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An Inconvenient Flame:

@tranquility-or-chaos​ @parinarain​ @carryon-doctor-lock​

So I found just enough time to put out something small, so sorry this isn’t a new chapter. I just really felt the want to have a flat chest and how euphoric it would be to put on a binder for the first time so I had to write the genderfluid icon himself as a human putting one on for the first time. I use multiple pronouns for him because mood. @lunarmultishine​ Please vibe check me. 

-

Jesus McLovin’ It Christ. 

Crowley smoothed his hands down his chest, a soft fabric covering half of it. The front of their chest, that damned spot, the thing that made people call her ‘Such a beautiful young woman’, he ran his hands over it, and all he felt was two small bumps. 

“Oh,” Crowley whispered. “Oh,” 

Xier eyes started producing the unholy liquid called ‘tears’. They turned to their side and almost gasped. It was flat, their chest, it was flat. 

“Oh,” 

There you finally are, I’ve been looking for you for a while, where’ve you been?

“Fuck,” Crowley smiled. 

There was a knock at the door, Crowley felt impossibly happier knowing who it was. 

“Come in, angel,” 

Aziraphale opened the door, smiling and holding a gray knitted bag. “Hello dearest, I was out today-” He stopped when he saw Crowley, shirtless and almost crying. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled at his boyfriend, or girlfriend, or partner, he’d ask Crowley later. “Look at you,” 

“I feel, I feel really, really good angel,” Crowley said, almost shyly. 

“I am so happy for you love,” Aziraphale tapped his taller partner’s shoulder twice, making sure he was okay for a hug, and was instantly pulled into one. 

“I love you so much Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly. “I’m so utterly happy for you,” 

Crowley pulled back, blushing brightly. “Um-m, before I forget, I made these for you,” He pulled out a small box from his pocket, and handed it to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale opened the box, and in sat a pair of earrings, loops of metal in black, gray, white, green, and white and gray and black again. When the loops where sat right, the before indecipherable tiny letters on them spelled out ‘V A L I D’ on one and ‘P R O U D’ on the other. They were like tiny, biblically accurate angels. 

“Oh, Crowley, you shouldn’t have,” 

“No, you are valid and deserve to be proud. I know you don’t always get that, and it’s hard a lot of the time, but you and other people deserve a reminder,” Crowley crossed his arms, and looked away, upset and blushing and trying very hard not to stim. 

“Thank you so much Crowley!” Aziraphale didn’t have as much control and began flapping his hands in front of himself. “I love them, thank you!” 

Crowley felt a rise of emotion in his chest and flapped his hands too. 

Once both of them had rode the waves back to calm, Crowley flopped onto the bed next to Aziraphale. 

“Thank you Crowley,” 

“Don’t mention it, you’ve helped me a lot so you deserve it,” 

“You say that like you haven’t helped me,” 

“If you start getting sweet I will do something dastardly angel,” 

“Of course,” 

More of a Man Than You’ll Ever Be (Crowley x FTM!Reader

Characters: Crowley, FTM!Reader, some random trans/homophobic douchebag

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: @rionimagines

Point of View: Second Person

Summary: When (name) is out with his boyfriend, Crowley, some douchebag decides he needs to input his opinion on (name)’s life. 

Warnings: unwanted advances from a random douchebag onto the reader, transphobic + homophobic comments from said random douchebag. A bunch of cursing as well

Words: 811

A/N: I had like three different ideas for this and for some reason this is what I got- Also I am so sorry I have NO idea how medically transitioning works oops-

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You were meant to be having a nice day out with your boyfriend, Crowley. Some casual window shopping, and a walk around St. James’ park - he’d even hinted at taking you out to eat. The two of you had been standing, watching the ducks for a few minutes when Crowley spoke up.

“How about some ice cream?” He suggested, his arm resting around your waist.

“We haven’t even had dinner yet,” You said with a light laugh.

“Is that a no?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. You glanced back at the cart and thought for a moment.

“Can I have a cone?” You asked.

“You can have anything you want.” Crowley smirked. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Be back in a minute.” Crowley struted towards the cart, leaving you alone by the lake. You’d been to St. James’ Park on many occasions - in fact, it had been where you met Crowley. You’d been up in a tree, trying to grab a kite a young girl had accidentally flown into the branches when you’d lost your footing and fell, right on top of the demon actually.

It had been a rather rocky start. This was when you’d just begun to transition physically, and even though you’d been on T for a number of months your voice had barely changed at all. You’d been so flustered and tongue tied that you hadn’t even gotten his name.

But that didn’t exactly matter, because over the next year you’d gotten to know him better than you’d known anyone - it was around month eight of your friendship that he’d finally asked you out, and now here the two of you were. You were still on your way to a full transition, and Crowley was there through all of the tough times, as was Aziraphale (who, though you didn’t know, had been the one to finally convince Crowley to ask you out).

Today was one of your good days. Your dysphoria was at a low, and you’d felt more yourself than you had in quite a long time.

A pair of arms wrapped around your middle, and you smiled to yourself.

“Crowley, did you forget-”

“Who’s Crowley, love?” Your blood ran cold, the unfamiliar voice extremely close to your ear. You let out a small yelp, and tore yourself away from the strange man, who looked like he may have been drunk, or at last a bit tipsy. “Awe, c’mon, don’t be like that.” He stumbled forward a few steps, of which you quickly backed away. He held out a hand to touch your face, but you took another step back. “Such a,” He hiccuped. “Pretty, pretty gir-”

“Leave me alone,” You snapped, your arms wrapping instinctively around yourself. “I don’t know who the bloody hell you think you are, but leave me alone.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” He pouted. “Such a curvy-”

“Shut up,” You snapped. “I’m not a,” You took a deep breath. “I’m not a girl, and you can go screw yourself-”

“(Name), love, what’s going on?” Crowley was at your side suddenly, arm coming up around you. Despite his eyes being covered by his sunglasses, you could read the anger all over his face. You shrunk into him. “Is this,” He scrunched up his nose. “Man bothering you?”

“And who the fuck are you,” The drunken man looked up at Crowley, who stood a little less than a foot taller than him, and pursed his lips. “I’m just tryin to have a conversation with this lad-”

“Except he isn’t a lady,” Crowley hisses. “My boyfriend and I are trying to enjoy a lovely day together, so if you could kindly piss off, this might end well for you.” The man ignored Crowley’s words, and advanced on him instead, jabbing him in the best with a shaky finger.

“This doesn’t concern you, you stick-lookin motherfucker.” He said. “How about you go back to whatever closet you crawled out of and screw-” You screwed your eyes shut as Crowley lurched forward, and though you heard the screams, you knew that no one else would even turn their head. You kept them closed until Crowley’s arm returned around your shoulders, turning you away and guiding you forward. You let your eyes open, slightly surprised to find that Crowley was using his free hand to hold out a cone to you.

“C’mon,” He said a bit too calmly. “You finish that up, and then you and I are gonna have a lovely meal at (favorite restaurant).” You carefully took the cone, which was topped with your favorite flavor of ice cream, and despite the nerves that had gathered in your chest, you smiled gently.

“Thank you, Crowley.” You murmured. He drew you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Anything for you, my love. Anything.”