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love-and-monsters · 5 months

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The Fallen Angel

GN human X nonbinary angel (uses they/its pronouns), 15,020 words.

(Apologies for how long I've been away, a lot has been happening. But here is the story at long last! At very long last. I have written, unfortunately, a fucking novella. Please let me know what you think, I put my heart into this bitch.)

There is an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You are determined to free it.

There was an angel trapped in the basement of the church. You could hear it singing when you cleaned the great brass candles and the stained glass windows. It sang during the services, too, but the song just reverberated behind the choir or the preaching, too subtle to be truly noticed. It was only in the afternoons, when the sunlight sent a colored glow across the floor and your body sweated and shook with fatigue, that the song grew strong enough for you to really hear what it was.

Angel song is not like birdsong, nor it is it like the song of a person. It is almost like the sound of a choir, if the choir was like a pipe organ or the wind passing through a cave. The noise settled in your bones and lungs. Sometimes, you felt yourself humming along, like just the presence of the sound was forcing the notes from your body.

You cleaned the church every three days, more or less- you didn’t clean at all on Sundays, but you did attend. So did the rest of the town. Had it gotten more crowded since the song started? Maybe- the church’s attendance was already high, and the faith strong. The angel would not have come otherwise.

You knew that the angel was trapped. You weren’t a fool- the basement door was chained and sealed, and the singing was louder the closer you get. No free angel would suffer being locked away like this. And then there was its singing. Usually, it just made your bone tremble and compelled you to sing along with it. On Sundays, its song amplified the worship, making your brain tingle with the divine. But sometimes, more frequently these days, the song struck you with such profound sadness, that you found yourself on your knees, face wet with tears.

It was over a month of the singing and the knowledge that something divine rested beneath your feet before you considered doing something about it.

In fairness: you were not qualified to interact with an angel, much less rescue one. You were not a priest, not a spiritual practitioner. A priest was technically your boss, though you cleaned more buildings in town than the church. If he had trapped the angel, there must be a reason.

But the angel’s song grew more sorrowed and more desperate, until you woke at night, nowhere near the angel’s song, with a hum vibrating in your chest and tears on your cheeks. And you came to the conclusion that, no matter what reason the priest has, the angel did not deserve this.

So you called a spiritual practitioner. As much as you may have wanted to help, you had no idea how. Better to leave such things to professionals.

You had hoped the practitioner would arrive at the church, sense the angel immediately, and free them. But there wass no fuss from the church, and no angel emerged. The practitioner left town before the sun set that day.

Three more practitioners and a priest entered the town over the next two weeks. None of them freed the angel. Your bewilderment grew with each failure. Were they not noticing it? Were they being turned away? Bribed?

The sixth person, a priest, was the one you followed. You tailed him to the church, and continued following him twenty minutes later, when he emerged. Once he had made it past the edges of the town, you ambushed him.

It wasn’t much of an ambush, really. You just stepped out onto the path in front of him and demanded he tell you what was going on. He was clearly weirded out, but once you said that you were the person who called him, he was a bit more willing to talk.

You asked him why he didn’t do anything to free the angel. He stareed at you, eyes wide. Then he spoke, quiet and almost frightened. “What that thing is should not be freed. It is best for everyone if it stays down there.”

Once he told you that, he dismissed himself, and hurried away. You stared after him. Then you returned home.

The creature in the basement could not be anything but an angel. It could have been one of the infernal, but the infernal don’t sing. Scream and howl and beg, but they do not sing. And no infernal creature would sit through the services that come every Sunday. People would avoid the church, rather than flocking to it in droves. And yet, if the priest had seen an angel, you found it hard to believe he wouldn’t have tried to release it. He certainly wouldn’t have told you it was a thing.

The next time you went to the church, the singing was low and tremulous. It reminded you of someone trying to sing through tears. Again and again, you found yourself at the basement door. When you placed your hand on it, the dark metal was warm, like it had been resting under a sunbeam.

You could not bring yourself to leave, even an hour after your work was done. The sadness of the song radiated around you and ever since you spoke to the priest, you were terribly curious. Perhaps that was a cruel thing, to be just as compelled by curiosity as compassion. But you were. If it had been just compassion, maybe you could have stood aside and let someone else do it. But it was curiosity as well, and you needed to do it yourself because you needed to know.

While you had access to most of the keys in your line of work, you didn’t have access to the ones that unlocked the chains and the door. Even after some snooping, you couldn’t find them, so you resorted to attempting to pick the locks. It was something you learned in your youth, mostly since you could never keep track of your house keys. The padlock was easy enough to undo. The door took more time, but still under five minutes.

The door itself was more of a barrier than the locks were. It was heavy enough that you wondered if it was even designed for only one person to open. But with enough effort, you managed to open it enough for you to squeeze through.

It wasn’t dark. Or, rather, it was dark, but it wasn’t as dark as it should have been. There were no windows in the basement and you had no light, so you shouldn’t have been able to see anything. Certainly not the gentle glow of what looked like sunlight at the bottom of the cool stone steps in front of you.

It wasn’t cold, either, you reflected as you headed down the steps. It should have been, if not dank, at least a little chilly. But the light was as warm as a sunbeam. You headed toward it, keeping your steps as light as possible. Surely whatever was down here had heard the door open and knew someone was approaching, but you tried to keep as quiet as possible regardless. It made you feel better.

The stairs ended at a doorway that opened into a room. It was clearly intended for storage of some kind, as most basements are. And it was still storing something. Because most of the room was occupied by a-

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? What was that? Your first instinct was person, but people are not usually so large that, even on their knees, they cannot straighten their back without hitting their head on the ceiling. Their body filled most of the room. You could sit in their hand. And, of course, they were the source of the light. You couldn’t look at their center, since it was so bright as to be blinding, but even their extremities glowed like lamps. You had to tilt you head back to look into their face and you saw… nothing. Their head was human-shaped, but they had no hair, no face. It was almost frightening, the blankness there, but your attention was drawn to something else only a moment later.

Angels have halos. This one was no exception. A golden ring, elaborate in design, hovered behind their head. But it was not a simple, clean circle. It was broken. The metal was (or something that looked like metal) twisted and splintered and dented. The entire thing was rent apart, golden liquid spilling from the broken bits. It looked like something grabbed it and twisted until the halo split.

The song radiated through you then. And, for the first time, it occurred to you that this was not song. It just sounded like it. The angel was crying.

Everyone heard tales of fallen angels. Cast out for crimes or sin, sent to Earth. Crying to return. They were creatures to fear. An angel is dangerous. An angel that has been sent away and maddened with grief and loss is only more so.

You moved toward them, trying to see where they were chained to the wall. Your body moved almost on its own, and you wondered if the song was somehow compelling you to do so. It didn’t matter, though. You’d be doing this anyway.

There weren’t chains holding it in place. That was actually a relief. They would have been huge and you weren’t sure how to handle chains you couldn’t move. Instead, the angel seemed to be held in place by writings across the ground, walls, and ceiling. From a distance, they looked like just worn stone, but up close, you could see the writing. It took you some time to figure out what they were. Bible verses, in Latin and English. They seemed completely random. You assumed they were holding the angel here, since you couldn’t find anything else that seemed to be doing so. But this wass all over your head. Presumably there was a way to undo this, but you didn’t know what. It would be weeks of work to destroy all the writing here.

After taking some time to despair and scream in frustration, you went over to a wall and, by the light of the angel, started to read. It was a bit difficult, since there was no way to read without the angel being behind you, and your shadow appearing on the wall, but if you angled your head, you could make out the words.

Some of the verses were familiar to you. A few of them were about angels. Some of them were about God’s power or smiting the unjust. Some of them seemed completely unrelated. Maybe there was a reason that you just weren’t getting. But as you continued, you noted a pattern. They repeated.

It was a hard repeat to catch- there wasn’t a set pattern where it was the same order every repeat. But after going back and forth and squinting in the low light for long enough that you developed quite the headache, you found that the phrases were repeating. Every verse was repeated once per repeated section. A vague idea came to your head. It wasn’t a plan you were sure would work, but it was the only idea you had.

You slipped back upstairs and rummaged in the tool closet. Normally, you only bothered with the cleaning supplies, but there were hammers and nails there, for general repairs. You took a hammer and a screwdriver and brought them back down to the basement.

At the beginning of each repeat, you took the screwdriver and, using it as almost a makeshift chisel, hammered it into the wall until the rock chipped away. The words weren’t carved very deeply, so it wasn’t terribly hard to flake them off. Well, it wasn’t hard relatively speaking. It was still hard work to chisel anything at all, and your arms were trembling and aching in short order.

It was slow going. Fortunately, the repeats were long, so you didn’t need to chisel all that often, but it was hard to find the proper start, and there was a lot of small writing. Your back ached from stooping to get the stuff on the floor.

You had the inclination that you were doing something right, though. The angel had nearly ignored you before, as you’d walked around its cage. But now, as you chiseled at the walks, it turned its head toward you, face still blank, though you could tell it was watching. Maybe it was just curious, but you thought maybe it could sense something changing.

About midway through your second wall, the air started to take on a different… feel. Like it was getting thicker, almost humid, with a smell like before a storm. You took more breaks, almost dropping your hammer and chisel a few times. Your fingers weakened. You started smashing randomly with the hammer, though it didn’t seem to have a great effect. The angel watched, or did something similar, with its massive, blank face.

By the third wall, the feeling was suffocating. Whether it was from the unbinding of the angel itself, or the bindings themselves trying to fight back, it was impossible to say. You just staggered from one repeat to the next, barely able to stand. How were you going to get the writing on the ceiling? You couldn’t risk stopping and returning, in case someone discovered your work the next day, but you also could not risk getting up on a ladder- not when it felt like the floor was shifting and bucking under your feet.

Please, you thought as you brought your hammer down onto your makeshift chisel. Please be enough. Please be the last. You weren’t sure who you were begging to, pleading to, but as you brought your hammer down one last time-

Light. There was light and then there was nothing. You were on your back on the ground, though it didn’t hurt. Which was strange. If you’d fallen over, you expected your head to hurt where it had hit the ground. You blinked a couple times. The room was less bright than it had been. There were a few scraps of light that seemed to be drifting about like floating candle flames, but they were fading and taking the light with them.

You rolled over and looked toward the angel. It was no longer there. Or, to be more specific, the enormous, glowing, faceless creature was gone. Sitting in the center of the room, blinking in apparent confusion was… a person.

No, the person was the angel. You were sure of it, since the person had wings. Large, powerful-looking wings with scruffy brown feathers. Little wings of a lighter color were set where their ears should be. But they also did not look like the images of angels you’d seen in books or in stained glass. Those angels were always inhuman looking, with perfect, sculpted bodies and porcelain skin. This angel was a little pudgy, with little pockmarks and imperfections in its skin. Its feathers were ruffled and sticking out, and its long hair was ruffled. It blinked at you with drooping, tired-looking eyes.

“Ah…” Looking at the angel, you realized you hadn’t paused to come up with an exit plan for once the angel was free. You’d been more focused on just breaking the cage. There had been some vague idea in the back of your head, of the angel realizing it was free and busting its way out of the church through the ceiling. Though perhaps it was good that hadn’t ended up happening, since that would probably leave you crushed by rubble. You certainly hadn’t expected the angel to suddenly poof down into a nearly human form.

They seemed confused. They swayed in place, staring around the room like they’d never seen it before. Or, never seen it from that angle before, at least. They shifted their wings a couple times, stretching them out only the tiniest amount before trying to get to their feet. Despite looking rather unsteady, they stood with only a little stumbling and stayed on their feet. They glanced around the room one more time, then looked back at you.

They were tall. Bigger than most people you’d seen. And their wings only added to their bulk. They would have cut an intimidating figure, if it wasn’t for the out-of-it look on their face.

This was a new problem. You’d figured the angel would be out of your hair once you freed it. But this angel looked rather helpless. You got the impression that, if you left it there, it would stand there until the priests came back in the morning and locked it away again. Or killed it. It looked more killable in this form.

Leaving it was considered and discarded. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave them here if they could remember your face and maybe reveal your identity if asked. And even if they couldn’t, you’d already put so much effort into freeing them. It seemed like a waste to ditch them at the last moment.

Not to mention, the idea of leaving them standing there, shivering slightly in the chill of the basement and blinking at you with confused, doe-like eyes made your chest ache.

You approached the angel. It locked its eyes on you, watching as you came closer. Not necessarily cautious- more like curious as to what you were going to do next. You reached out a cautious hand and took the angel’s.

They jolted, sucking in a breath the second your fingers came in contact. You froze. All of their feathers bristled and they seemed to shudder. For a moment, you thought you could faintly hear their song, but it faded so quickly that it may have been your imagination.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, the same tone you used to coax the church cats out of hiding places. “We need to go, though.” You tugged on their arm. Despite their size, they moved easily. You lead them up the stairs and into the church proper.

They followed you to the back door of the church. It was late, and the place was deserted, which was a relief. The angel was both winged and very naked, which would be hard to explain to anyone.

Getting them to your house was tense. The angel was conspicuous, so you had to avoid areas with people. Fortunately, it was late, so the cover of night and the lack of people on the street was enormously helpful. The angel was also quite easy to tug along, despite their size. You made it to the backdoor of your home with no real struggle, though you came very close to shoving the angel into a bush when a person stumbled across your path in your neighborhood. To your relief, they were very drunk and they seemed to barely notice your presence.

The moment you were within your house, you collapsed. The angel shuffled next to you, flexing their wings and glancing around. They didn’t seem anything more than mildly interested in their surroundings. After a moment, they sat down next to you.

You could have stayed on the ground all night, but after thirty minutes, you decided that it probably wasn’t good to your guest to let them stay on the ground all night. It was late and you could decide what to do with them in the morning, but now, you were both going to get some rest.

“Come on,” you grumbled, tugging at their arm. The angel allowed itself to be led into your small bedroom, where you encountered your first problem. The bed was not sized for an angel. Again, it was a normal bed. Not an unusually small one. But the angel was, at minimum, six and a half feet tall and carrying a set of bulky wings. Perhaps, if you shuffled some furniture around, you could have made it work, but it was very late and you were very tired. So you tugged all the bedsheets you had into the room and dumped them on the floor. The angel watched you the entire time, completely impassive.

Once you were done, you had to drag the angel over and push them into the makeshift bed. They blinked up at you from the pile. “Lie down,” you said, pushing on their shoulders. They allowed it, bowing under your touch with as much compliance as ever. “Go to sleep.”

You didn’t wait to see if they followed that order. Instead, you stumbled to your own bed, tugged the blanket you had over yourself, and closed your eyes.

Morning came entirely too early. Even when you were bone tired, your body clock woke you up at the same time every day. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours of sleep, and probably less. You blinked tiredly for like thirty seconds before rolling over and catching sight of the angel.

It was still laying down in the pile of blankets. Its eyes were on you, blinking heavily every so often. You stared back at it. “I suppose you’re going to be here for a while,” you said. The angel just stared.

With little else to do, you got out of bed and headed into the kitchen. Your head ached, probably from lack of sleep, and also stress. It had been easy to not think about the consequences when you were freeing the angel, but now, well. The priest was going to want to know where his angel went, and you had a winged person in your house, as well as being the last person in the church that night. It wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together.

You got into the kitchen and became aware of a second set of footsteps trailing after yours. You stopped and the footsteps behind you stopped as well. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it- the angel was following you. They gazed back at you as you stared at them. They were swaying a little on their feet, wings twitching like that helped them stay upright.

“I suppose you want breakfast,” you said. The angel blinked. It was the only acknowledgement they gave you. “Well, I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t feed you, I guess.”

At your instruction (physical instruction- it was easier to move the angel around than it was to try and give them verbal commands) the angel sat down at your tiny table. There wasn’t much room for more than one person, but you could make it work. Breakfast was never a particularly impressive affair for you, but if you had an angel over, you decided to go through the effort of actually heating up some biscuits and cooking some eggs and even a couple thin strips of bacon.

You set the plate in front of the angel. They stared down at the meal. Their gaze wasn’t necessarily dismissive. It just also reminded you of a dog examining a new object. Not a person getting a good meal.

“Do you know how to eat?” you asked after a few moments. If it had just become a mortal, than perhaps it wasn’t sure precisely how eating worked? You demonstrated a few times, slicing a sliver off your egg and placing it in your mouth before chewing with exaggerated deliberateness. The angel took it in, but still made no moves on its own breakfast. “Do you need help?” you asked, a bit irritated. You sawed off a piece of biscuit, dipped it in the egg and speared a little bit of bacon before holding it to the angel’s mouth. It recoiled when the fork nearly touched its lips.

A few more attempts at convincing it to eat were unsuccessful and you backed off, confused. Perhaps the angel didn’t need to eat after all, or wasn’t able. You had no idea what angels needed.

Now that you had eaten, you were starting to feel more ready to tackle the current issues. You had work. Not at the church, thankfully, but you still needed to leave. And as reluctant as you were to leave the angel alone in your house, you couldn’t think of anything else to do. Staying home would be incredibly suspicious. You needed to make it look like everything was normal.

As exhausted as you were, you dragged your clothes on and gathered your supplies. The angel watched you. They were still completely naked, though you were getting used to it at this point. “Are you going to put some clothes on?” you asked. The angel stared. “Never mind.” It wasn’t like it was going to fit in any of your clothes. It was too tall. “I’m going to be leaving for a while. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right? Stay here. Don’t go outside.” You felt a little bad, telling the angel that had spent the past however long trapped in a single room that it couldn’t go outside, but that was a bad idea. Maybe later, you could bring them outside.

“Stay here,” you said, feeling a little like you were talking to a dog. The angel just stared at you. “I’m trusting you.” You left your home and took a few paces down the street, glancing over your shoulder all the while. The door didn’t open again, and you kept looking until your house had vanished around a corner, and even a little after that.

To your immense relief, the angel never followed. That didn’t stop you from being jumpy as you cleaned, though. Every time a person approached you, there was a moment of panic, either that someone had found a strange, winged person wandering the street or that the priests at the church were going to drag you in for questioning. But neither ever happened. You managed to finish up early (by cutting a few corners) and hurried home.

The angel was… exactly where you left them. Literally. Exact same spot. Had it even moved all day? It did look a little worse for wear- a little weaker, maybe, with dark patches coming in under its eyes and a definite sway when it tried to sit up straight. As soon as it saw you, it makes an attempt to surge to its feet- and fumbled, nearly landing straight on its face.

“Woah, hey there,” you said as the angel flailed on the ground, wings flapping like a startled duck. “You, uh. You doing all right?” The angel managed to push itself upright and blinked blearily at you. The swaying was still there, giving the alarming impression that they were a moment from falling again and only just barely preventing themself from doing so.

Perfect. You not only had an angel bunking with you, you had an angel bunking with you and there was something wrong with them. That could only end badly. “Okay, I’m going to need you to work with me here,” you said. The angel was, again, rather compliant as you tugged them into the kitchen and got them to sit at the table. They seemed to be shivering, so… fire in the stove? You grabbed a few blankets and placed them around the angel’s shoulders as well, until the angel was sufficiently covered. The angel’s shivering slowed and it seemed almost perplexed by that development.

“That’s better,” you said. “Are you feeling okay now?” The angel wobbled a little bit and they blinked at you. They didn’t seem to nod or shake their head at all, or communicate in any way other than staring. Which meant it was hard to figure out what they wanted. Or if they wanted anything at all.

After staring at the angel for a little while longer, just to convince yourself that they weren’t about to keel over, you went to the stove and heated up your dinner. It was just some bread and a very simple chunk of salted meat with a couple of vegetables. The angel watched you, though they still swayed like they were on a ship instead of steady ground.

You returned to the table, carrying your plate, and the angel’s eyes remained locked on you. No, not you, you realized as you got closer. Their gaze was locked on your plate. As you wanted, the angel’s mouth opened, ever so slightly, and a bead of drool actually welled up on their lips. As you set the plate on the table, the angel made a strange noise. You hadn’t been expecting it at all, so it took you a moment to realize it was the angel’s stomach growling.

“Are you hungry?” you asked. The angel stared back at you. After a moment, you pushed the plate of food toward the angel. Their eyes remained on it, but they didn’t make any move to eat. Not even when you took a fork and offered them a bite.

There was a bewildered moment, where you weren’t sure what was going on. Then it clicked in your head: the angel was hungry. They also had no idea what to do with it.

The angel was mortal now. Whatever had happened, when you broke its cage, it had become mortal. But it had never been mortal before. How was it supposed to know anything? How would someone know the pain in your stomach meant hunger if they’d never felt it before? How would they know the heaviness their limbs and strange inability to keep their eyes open would be cured by sleep, or their shivering meant they needed to sit near a fire with blankets?

The angel was a mortal, but it was a very new mortal, and it needed to learn all the other things mortals understood just by being alive.

You scooted closer to the angel and picked up the fork again. This time, you took a bite, making sure the angel watched the food travel into your mouth and you chewing and swallowing. Then, you moved the fork right up to the angel’s lips. “You’re hungry. This will help. You need to eat,” you said, not totally sure if the angel was understanding you. The angel blinked once, twice, then tentatively opened its mouth and allowed you to place the food inside.

The angel, with a sort of bewildered slowness, closed their mouth and chewed. It looked like clumsy chewing, but they picked up on it pretty quickly, their brow furrowed with focus. Then they tried to swallow and instantly choked.

You had a real, legitimate panic about having an angel choke to death at your table for nearly a full twenty seconds before the angel got their breathing under control again. You made them drink water, which went much smoother- maybe you should have started there- and cleaned up. The angel had recovered enough to watch you as you did so, drinking in every motion you made. Maybe it would have been a little creepy, if the angel hadn’t felt so genuinely curious about what you were doing.

When you returned the food to it, the angel ate more carefully, if still with enthusiasm. You’d realized, by that point, that the angel didn’t understand the concept of being too full, so while that would eventually need to be a learning experience, you just took the food away after you’d determined what the angel probably needed. It didn’t protest at all, but let you remove the plate and watched as you collected the scraps that could be composted.

It didn’t protest when you led the angel to bed, either. This time, you just tugged all the bedsheets you had onto the floor and directed the angel’s attention onto you. “We’re going to sleep. You need to sleep. Every night. You sleep like this.” You lay down on the floor, tugged the blankets over yourself, and went still, slowing your breathing. The angel watched until you sat up again. “Now you do it.”

With some very gentle persuasion, you got the angel lying on its side, eyes closed. You watched it until its breathing deepened and its body relaxed. Then you went to sleep yourself.

The angel was still fast asleep when you woke, and you were careful not to disturb it as you made your way to the kitchen. You had a feeling it would turn up and, sure enough, when the smells of cooking made their way down the hall, the angel appeared, a blanket wrapped around it like a cloak.

They ate breakfast, this time not even choking once, and even brought their plate over to the washbasin. “Okay,” you told them once you were done cleaning up. They looked at you, gaze attentive. “We’re going to need to get you some clothes.”

You did not have any clothes in their size, and since you were smaller than they were, you couldn’t just take some of your clothes in. The wings were also a complicating factor. In the end, you didn’t have the time or skills to really make anything elaborate for the angel. With one of your old blankets, you simply created rough arm and neck holes and added darts in the sides to hold the entire thing together. There was no way to create holes for the wings. They were large enough that you just left massive slits down the back to create space. It wasn’t perfect, since the slits left the back rather open, but it was better than nothing. The angel was remarkably still for the whole measuring and pinning and sewing. It took a few hours for the entire process to be over, and you were sore by the end, but the angel had clothes.

It was not long after you’d fully clothed them, when you were lying on your bed to enjoy a rest, that someone knocked on your door.

You jolted, nearly throwing yourself out of bed. The angel startled as well, though they seemed to be more upset by your reaction than the knocking. Cautiously, you crept through the door, grateful that your window allowed you to see the people at your door without needing to open it.

The angel came, warm against your back as they stared out the window after you. The Head Priest stood, dressed in his usual gold-flecked robes and with two guards stationed at either shoulder. You felt the angel shift and bristle behind you turned to look at them.

The angel was staring, unblinking, at the priest and his entourage. Its wings had extended a little, puffed up like the pigeons that littered the town did when they were threatened. But its face… it was the first time you’d ever seen the angel make a real expression of emotion. And it was afraid.

That, more than anything, made your stomach sink.

The knocking came again, louder, harder. The angel slunk back a little. One of its hands was latched onto your wrist and it seemed determined to drag you with it. It actually managed to haul you along for a few steps before you dug your feet in. “I have to answer the door. Go hide.” The angel released your wrist, but it hesitated, wings twitching. “Go. Hide. I will be fine.” The angel flexed its wings once, then turned and headed back to your room. You breathed in and out, then headed toward the door.

As soon as you opened the door, the priest moved into your house. He didn’t shove past you, since he didn’t touch you, but he did force his way in. The guards just roughly shoved you aside, barely recognizing your presence.

“Can I help you, your grace?” you said. It was difficult to keep your voice even. The priest wasn’t a withered old man, but he wasn’t young, and his gaze was as sharp as a shard of glass. He glared around the room, nose twitching. You resisted the irrational thought that he was smelling for something. You licked your lips. “Was my church cleaning not up to your satisfaction?”

The priest’s gaze focused on you. “The cleaning has been fine. However, two days ago, an object of some great importance went missing from the church.”

It was him saying ‘an object’ that saved you. Because you didn’t take an item, you had, technically, stolen a person. But your brain didn’t quite register that he couldn’t just say you’d stolen a person, so when he said ‘an object,’ you took him at face value and your surprise was genuine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything.” The priest’s eyes locked onto yours, and you stared back with stupid, genuine bewilderment. There was a flicker across his face, like surprise- maybe he didn’t expect you to look so guileless.

“You won’t mind if we have a look around, then?” the priest said, voice lightly curious. Not even accusing. Genial.

It was a trap. Obviously. Say yes, the priest can poke wherever he wants and look for anything he determined to be incriminating. Say no, that was instantly suspicious, even if you were only doing it for the sake of your privacy. But if you said yes… there was no way he wasn’t going to find the angel in your bedroom.

“Actually, I do mind. Are you accusing me of something?” Acting outraged was your best defense. Not a good defense, just the best one you had. “I don’t appreciate having people rifle through my things just because I happened to be near the church when something was stolen.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. The guards stiffened. “No accusation, of course. We’re merely… cautious. Surely you can understand why we would want to check out every possible lead. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, no?”

“I have nothing to fear, but that hardly means I want people meandering into my house at all hours, demanding proof for crimes there is no evidence I committed. Tell me, if I came into your home tomorrow, demanding to look for something you may have stolen while you were in my house, would you be perfectly happy to have me poking through your underwear drawer?” The priest’s face went a strange shade of pink-red, but you barreled on with no pause for his response. “And, to add to that, you haven’t even told me what was stolen! For all I know, you could simply claim any of my items to be the thing I stole and slap me in chains for it!”

The priest was still deadly calm, but there was a clear rage to his voice when he spoke again. “Do you truly think a man of god would do such a thing?” You lifted your chin in a gesture of audacity. “You call yourself that. But people can call themselves any number of things. And would a true man of god barge into someone’s house and demand to search their things with no evidence of their involvement in any crime?”

The priest’s face was heading toward a shade of puce, but, with effort, his jaw unclenched. “Very well. But I’m certain you’ll understand of we are, as of now, reluctant to have you in the church.”

“Yes, sir.” Losing your job was, really, one of the less-terrible outcomes, and the one you’d expected the most. You had other jobs, though losing the church would be something of a financial loss. Though you also had to consider that you were feeding another mouth, now… That could be a problem.

The priest seemed to take your thoughtful silence as some kind of shameful penitence, because he puffed himself up and nodded. “Take care. We will… see what we can find about the thievery.”

You guided him back to the door. It wasn’t until the door closed and you’d watched him head down the street a good ways before you left out a breath. You made it a few steps down the hall before your entire body demanded that you sit down and tremble for a while.

The priest was gone, for now, but who knew how long until he was back? He didn’t have enough evidence now, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t find some. Or make some up- all he needed was enough to make the local governor force a search of your house, and there was no way you could hide the angel from that. You covered your face with your hands, trying to breathe slowly. If they found you, they could kill you.

Someone slumped down next to you. The angel. It pressed up close to your side, petting at your shoulder like it had heard about being comforting, but it hadn’t ever experienced it. One of its wings draped over you.

There was quiet for a while. The angel touched its head to yours, eyes closed. It was warm, tucked beneath its wing. Calming. You took deep breaths and thought hard.

The only evidence that you’d taken the angel at all was that the angel was there with you. Maybe there was some other evidence at the scene, but the angel was the big problem. The solution was, obviously, to get rid of the angel.

Well, not get rid of it. More like… set it free. They were still an angel, after all. They’d needed some basic training in how to be a person, but certainly they could survive on their own. And, well, it would ease some of the pressure on you, financial and legal.

The angel shifted next to you. You glanced at them. They gave you a once-over, then stood and headed off to your room. A few seconds later, they reemerged, dragging a fair amount of blankets with them. Before you could ask what they were doing, they had already knelt next to you and were shoving the blankets all around you. They bundled you up and carefully lay you on the ground. For your part, you allowed it to happen. The angel seemed to have something they wanted to do.

Once you were wrapped in blankets and lying down, the angel settled next to you. There was a rather proud look on its face and you realized, with a burst of amusement, that it was trying to get you to sleep, as this was more or less what you’d done with the angel to get it to sleep! Did it think you were tired?

The angel shuffled closer, so there was little space between your bodies, and spread a wing over you. The feathers shrouded you in darkness, though there was enough light to just make out the angel’s face. They were as inexpressive as ever, but they seemed to be studying you. When you stared back, with no indication of closing your eyes, they shifted, clearly uncertain what happened next.

“I’m not tired,” you told them. “Though I appreciate the effort.”

They stared at you for a long moment before, with now warning, hopping to their feet and all but running into the kitchen. You took a moment of peace, wrapped in blankets are you were, before following them.

The angel was rummaging through your breadbox. “Are you hungry? What are you doing?” you asked as you approached. The angel thrust a slice of bread at you. “Er. Thank… you?” The angel waited, watching you. It seemed to be expecting you to eat. Just to appease it, you did so. As soon as you started eating, the angel went back to rummaging through your food supplies. It offered you several pieces of dried fruit next, then a couple of strips of jerky. You took them all, though you stopped eating after the first couple of pieces. Once the angel noticed you weren’t eating, they paused and stared.

“Thank you,” you said, a bit bewildered by what was happening. “Are you okay? I don’t really need anything. Is there a reason you’re giving it to me?”

The angel stared at you. Their brows creased ever so slightly- maybe they were upset. You patted their arm, careful not to drop anything that had given you. “Don’t look so worried. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

The angel looked back at you. Hard to tell what they were thinking, as it always was, but you thought they looked content. They took the food back and placed it away again. “Okay,” you told them. “We’ve got some things we’re going to work on.”

First step of getting the angel to live on its own: teach the angel how to be a person. The eating and sleeping bits were taken care of, and the angel had picked up on clothing and even sewing with surprising speed. Regardless of how little information it had known previously, it seemed all you had to do was give it the information once, and it would retain it. That didn’t make teaching it how to bathe any less difficult. And teaching it how to go to the bathroom- well, the less said of that, the better.

And so the week went. You went to work, leaving the angel to hide in your house, then returned home and taught it what you could. It picked up reading so fast you felt like you were reminding it of something rather than teaching it, and teaching it math and money went the same way. The angel even attempted to cook for you, though it hadn’t picked up that you were seasoning the food initially, so the meal was bland. You merely had to explain that to it, though, and the next meal was much improved.

Your next day off approached, not quickly or slowly, just approached. The angel seemed almost agitated, though, as time passed. More distressed when you left, tenser and quieter when you were around. You hadn’t told them about your plan to send them away- to free them, to free them- but perhaps they’d picked up on it on their own. They were still as silent and expressionless as ever, but they stayed near you, their head lowered as they presented you something they’d cooked, or showed you something they’d cleaned or sewed, waiting for your praise or correction.

When your next day off arrived, the angel’s agitation seemed to peak. It hovered near you, wings tucked close to its back. Even when upset, it didn’t show much expression or even move all that much. It just stood, like a stone statue, unhappiness radiating from it. Still, when you told it you were going for a walk, it didn’t protest. Just looked at you and nodded.

Its compliance made you feel guilty, somehow. Even thought you weren’t doing anything wrong. This was the best path. If they angel stayed, they would just be killed or recaptured. Along with you.

The hike to the woods wasn’t usually long, but you had to go the extended route to keep away from people. The angel hid their wings under a bulky robe. It wasn’t a very good disguise, but from a distance and the right angle, they would hopefully be mistaken as a hunchback.

You led the angel deep into the woods, deeper than you would usually venture. The angel flexed their wings, shifting the cloak. Their distress flowed around them, their eyes burning into your lower back. I’m sorry, you thought, even though you weren’t sure why. This was for the best, so why did it hurt?

It took hours of walking, legs sore, before you stopped in a clearing. It was a large clearing, and more oblong than circular, but it was good enough for your purposes. And those purposes were giving the angel somewhere big enough to take off from.

Admittedly, you weren’t certain it could fly, but the wings seemed large and healthy and it had no trouble with walking or any other physical functions after some initial wobbles. It stood to reason that flight would be no different. The angel looked up at the sky, staring. Its wings spread, extending out and out to their full length. It seemed to be giving them a good stretch- there hadn’t been room in your house to do so. After a moment, it gave a couple experimental flaps. Cool wind buffeted you.

The flaps gained in intensity and, for a moment, you thought it would take off right there. But its wings stilled and slipped shut and it looked at you.

“I got you this.” You thrust a basket at them. It wasn’t a lot, but it was what you could spare (technically probably more than you could spare, but a couple days of broth wouldn’t kill you) and the basket had a fabric strap long enough that the angel could wrap it around their body and hold it while flying.

The angel took the basket and peered at the food and water and clothes and single book you’d stockpiled inside. It looked them over for a moment, then glanced back up at you.

It was the second time you’d seen the angel really emote anything and it was sorrow.

The angel’s eyes watered and its apparent confusion at that development seemed to pale in the face of its clear upset. It practically threw the basket back at you, wings spreading and sending a powerful gust across the clearing. Then it opened its mouth and did something you’d never seen it do before.

It wailed. A keening sound of despair. You’d never heard it make any kind of noise before. In fact, it seemed startled by the fact that it had made any kind of noise, though, like the crying, that didn’t seem to stop it. Instead, the angel crumpled to the ground, wings striking the dirt, and wailed.

That wasn’t quite the reaction you’d been expecting. Maybe some protest, but not the clear despair it was displaying. “H-hey, don’t- you’re okay.” You approached the angel cautiously. Its wings kept flexing and slapping against the ground and there was an impressive amount of force behind them. Still, it didn’t direct any of the hits toward you, so it felt reasonably safe to approach.

As soon as you were within a few feet of it, the angel scrambled forward. You almost bolted, but the angel didn’t attack like you though it might. It pressed its forehead to the dirt an inch from your boots and spread its wings, every feather on end and quivering. When you tried to take a step back, the angel shuffled forward, pressing its head even more firmly to the ground. It seemed to be trembling.

Your heart ached. What were you doing?

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it would be safer if you weren’t… But I didn’t mean to upset you.” You knelt next to the angel and placed your hand on its head. The angel went still. For a moment, the stillness was like a frightened dog, expecting a strike, then it melted into a gentle contentedness.

It took a couple moments before the angel was quiet completely again. They lifted their head, face sticky from tears and a bit of dirt smudged along their cheeks. The entire scene was a little pathetic. “Here.” You pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed at their face. After a moment of letting you do so, they took it and cleaned their own face off.

Once its face was clear and it had calmed down a little, the angel looked at you balefully. It seemed to be waiting. Almost resigned. But still frightened. Like it was waiting for a scolding or punishment.

“Are you okay now?” you asked. The angel looked balefully at you. One of its hands lifted, like it was reaching out for you, but it paused before it could make contact. Its head drooped. Its wings drooped too, proud feathers dragging in the dirt. “I’m sorry,” you said again. The angel curled in on itself further. Its eyes were on the ground. “I’m not trying to send you away, all right?”

One of the feathered ear-things on the side of its head twitched. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I thought… I thought you’d be safer if you left, though.”

The angel looked up at that. They didn’t change their expression much, but they were staring intently. You reached out, slowly enough that they could move away if they wanted to. They didn’t, and you were able to rest your hand on the side of their head. Your fingers brushed against the soft, downy little feathers of their ear-wings and the somewhat-tangled mess of their hair. The angel closed their eyes and leaned into your touch. Their entire body shuddered in a sigh. “The people who captured you are still here,” you continued. “If they find you, they’re going to hurt both of us. Maybe kill us.”

The angel leaned away from your touch and lifted its gaze to yours. They were focused on you, intently so. “It’s best if you leave,” you told them. “They won’t be able to find you if you fly away, and they won’t be able to tie anything to me, either. We’ll both be safer.”

It was quiet for several moments. The angel stared at you, their wings twitching with aborted motions. They looked between you and the sky, over and over. Their brows wrinkled. Then, in a flash, they reached out and enveloped you.

Technically, it was just a hug, but the angel’s sheer size and the addition of their wings made it so much more. They surrounded you, tucking you into their chest and holding you close. You could feel their heartbeat, jackrabbiting under their ribs, and their heavy breathing. They were soft and warm around you. One of their hands moved to cradle the back of your head.

You cried. It wasn’t a lot of crying. Mostly it was some particularly wet breathing and a few tears. But the angel held you closer, rocking you against its soft chest and you felt warm and shielded. It presses its cheek to the top of your head and you felt one of its ear-wings flapping, like it was stretching out to touch you.

It was a nice moment, but it couldn’t last. You stopped crying and slipped your way back out of the angel’s arms. They let you, tucking their wings back against their back again and their arms falling back against their sides. Looking into their face, you felt… guilty? That didn’t seem fair. You were doing this for their own good. Right?

The longer you looked at them, the less you could convince yourself of that. Your shoulders drooped and a fresh wave of tears came to your eyes. The angel didn’t want to leave. You wanted them to leave, because them staying there would be a problem for you. A genuine problem, yes, a problem that could get you killed. But it wasn’t fair to pretend that this was good for the angel, nor was it fair to ignore how the angel was feeling. It didn’t want to leave. It was terrified when it realized you were going to try to make it leave.

You hung your head. “I’m sorry.” The angel watched you. “I… I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I don’t want you to leave, but we’re both going to be in trouble if you stay. We need a way to keep you safe, but I don’t know how to do that, and I can’t think clearly about it when I’m going to be in trouble if you get found out too-” Your voice choked off, breath heaving in panic. You scrubbed the heel of your hand against your eyes until it hurt, until the pain grounded you.

Fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging it away from your eyes. The angel was holding onto you, both hands wrapping around your wrist. Their strength was more than you’d anticipated. Perhaps it was their general softness or their seeming clumsiness or cluelessness, but you’d never seen them as particularly tough.

The hand that held your wrist, however, was not weak. It was firm and unyielding. When you pulled away, it let you go without a hint of resistance, but you had no doubt that if it had wanted to keep hold of you, you wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said. “I wasn’t sure if you would understand.”

The angel brushed its hand gently along the side of your face, cupping your cheek. Its face wasn’t terribly expressive, but there was something calmer, almost serene in its expression. It got to its feet, shaking out its wings, and extended its hand for you. There was a stunned moment before you took the hand and the angel pulled you to your feet. They kept your hand around theirs as they gathered up the basket you’d initially made for them and started to leave the clearing.

You let them lead you along until you realized they were leading you straight back to the village, and even when you got quite close to the buildings, they were not slowing down. “Wait,” you said. “What are you doing?” The angel gave your hand a squeeze, but they didn’t slow down. Anxiety prickled over your skin as you entered the town and headed toward the center.

People barely noticed you at first, but within a few minutes of marching through the town, people had started to point and stare. And then the staring turned into whispers and awe. Some people scrambled away. Some people gathered and followed from a distance, watching in something like awe.

You gave up on trying to stop them and instead walked alongside them to whisper furiously. “Hey. What are you doing? Do you have some kind of plan? I can’t tell what’s going through your head right now. I’m kind of just assuming you know what you’re doing, but it’d be nice to have some kind of confirmation.” The angel squeezed your hand again. Their thumb traced over your knuckles. Their expression was serene, calm, like they’d just realized something that comforted them. It was reassuring to you, so you allowed them to drag you wherever they wanted to take you.

Until you realized they were dragging you toward the church.

“Wait.” You didn’t try to pull away again, but you did trip over yourself in your realization, making the angel slow down. “You can’t be serious- we can’t go there! That’s the exact place we’re supposed to be avoiding.”

The angel stared at you for a moment, then released your hand. It nodded to you before turning and heading toward the church again.

“Wha- wait!” The angel paused, allowing you to catch up. “You’re still going, huh?”

The angel stared at you. You sighed. “Okay. I guess we’re going, then.

The angel held out a hand. You took it once more. Together, you walked toward the church.

As soon as you stepped through the doorway, the angel drew itself up, wings fluffing. The entire thing was quite intimidating to watch, given its already tall stature. It glanced around, as if assessing the space. Warm, honey-gold sunlight filtered through the tall, stained glass windows and illuminating the wood of the benches. When the sunlight hit the angel, it seemed to surround them, glimmering off their body in a way that wasn’t quite natural. Almost like a halo around its entire body.

You waited, mostly trying to see what the angel was going to do next. As it turned out, you didn’t have to wait very long, because a pissed-looking priest stormed into the sanctuary.

“The beast returns to holy ground,” he snarled. You stepped in front of the angel, arms spread.

“They’re not a beast. You’re the one who captured them and chained them in your basement. They haven’t done anything!”

“They have been cast out of the divine host. Their fall and subsequent capture are what is deserved for those who would defy our Lord.” The priest didn’t sound enraged or even particularly vicious. His tone was cool and cold. He approached, steps clunking heavily against the cool wooden floor of the church. You resisted the urge to step back and steeled your resolve as the priest approached. The angel didn’t seem to be doing much, though you could feel their presence at your back. “Your assistance with their disobedience is a serious strike against you, but the Lord God will welcome all stray members back to his flock, provided you are willing to repent and return the beast to its confinement.” The priest was leaning into your face, so close you could feel his breath touching your skin. The angel was still unmoving, but there was more tension to their body now. Like a big cat getting into a crouch.

Your breath was trembling, but you managed a clear enough whisper. “Fuck off.”

The priest leaned back. “Hm. Very well. May God have mercy on your soul.” The gestured toward a couple of men standing toward the back of the church. They started to approach, brandishing their short swords. “I would suggest surrender,” the priest said. “Unless you are eager to find out how the Lord God punishes those who disobey his-”

The angel lunged. Its wing brushed against your shoulder as it darted around you and slammed into the priest. He fell, the angel on top of him. Their wings shielded you from seeing what they were doing, but the choked gurgle from the priest let you know enough about what was happening.

The guards, who had been standing on either side of the aisle, near the pulpit, charged. One of them nearly caught the angel with their sword, but the angel managed to recoil just in time, leaving the priest gasping for air on the ground. The guards moved up, pushing the angel back as they blocked the priest from it. Together, they pushed the angel back a few more steps, advancing threateningly, until the angel glanced back and saw you. It stopped, digging its feet in, and turned back to the guards.

The angel spread their wings, blockading the entire aisle. It was difficult to see what happened next, but there was a scrambling noise of footsteps and the angel tucked their wings in and lunged.

Thanks to the armor the guards were wearing, this struggle was more prolonged. The angel’s wings flapped, coming down on the guard they were fighting with blows stronger than a fist could hope to achieve. One of the angel’s hands clutched at the guard’s wrist, driving the sword away from the angel’s belly. They wrestled the guard slowly to the ground, clawing at them with nails that seemed too long and sharp and stomping hard enough that the guard’s armor dented under their feet.

Chills wracked your body as you watched. The angel was a mortal, yes, but you’d clearly forgotten: mortal was not the same thing as human. And the strength with which the angel was tearing into the guard was not human.

And then a cold metal line settled against your throat. Sharp and cruel. A hand locked around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides. Icy terror settled into your brain and every vein in your body. Right. The angel was taking care of one of the guards. But there had been two.

“Call off the fucking bird,” the guard said, “before I slit your throat.”

The sheer terror in his voice should have made the threat less effective, but realizing that he was scared enough to kill you without thought was nearly enough to make you start begging for your life immediately. The angel whipped around as the first terrified whimper escaped your mouth.

It was the third time you’d seen the angel truly express emotion. And they were angry.

They bared their teeth and stretched their wings out, flexing them to nearly their full span. It was an impressive display, and a terrifying one. The knife dug a little more into your throat. Panic clawed your belly to shreds.

“Fucking stupid worthless shit,” the guard cursed behind you. The knife kept trembling at your throat, threatening to nick a little too deep. The angel watched, brows deeply knitted. It twitched its wings a few times, freezing when the blade drew blood at your throat. “You fucking take one step closer and your little pet human bleeds out like a pig,” the guard said. It wasn’t even a vicious or snarling threat. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. But the knife was just as sharp and the trembling was making it slip against your skin in a dangerous fashion.

The angel paused. It straightened up out of its attack crouch, wings tucking against its back. The knife eased at your throat a little. The angel took in a slow, deep breath, eyes on you. Its expression relaxed into something gentler as it met your eyes. It seemed to take a deep breath. Its wings relaxed. It closed its eyes. And it began to sing.

It wasn’t singing with its mouth or vocal cords. It was the same singing you’d heard in the beginning, the singing that had drawn you to the church’s basement. Less like the vocalization of a human, but more like an emotion made into pure sound. It vibrated through your limbs and settled in your chest, a heavy weight of sadness and fear.

The song pulsed, rose and fell, over and over again, thrumming and pulsing and changing as it went. It started as a terrible projection of fear and pain, injury and despair. Then the pain was threaded with hope, then a joy and relief so palpable it was its own kind of pain. Peace and comfort followed that, almost like being settled in a warm bed after a nice meal. Then an abrupt sharpening of terror and sadness before turning to determination, then blind, horrible rage. The anger pressed in around you, bearing down like a sharpened spear. But the rage wasn’t quite aimed at you. It was aimed at the man holding you. And being the target of an angel’s pure rage, even when nothing physical is being done with it, is a daunting prospect. The guard’s knees went weak and the knife at your throat wavered.

The song intensified. Your own legs were trembling under the weight of it. Anger and hope and fear and happiness and even love, pressing down on you, emotion given a deep, physical property. You sobbed, barely feeling the knife at your throat. Had it fallen away? Could you just not feel it anymore? What was real? All that was real was the song and the love that was building in the song, growing more intense around you. It was insulating, like the angel was trying to wrap you in the song until you were surrounded by care, until there was nothing else in the world.

You blinked your eyes. They hadn’t been closed, but you hadn’t been seeing anything. It had been more like the world had shifted slightly out of focus and you were just getting it back to center.

You were lying down across a lap. The shifting of wings above you let you know whose lap you were lying across. The angel was holding you, cradling your head against its body. There was still the faintest traces of song humming from it, though it wasn’t the great, overbearing crescendo it had once been. You made an attempt to sit up and the angel shifted around you, letting you move while still offering support.

“What happened?” you asked. You felt woozy, a bit out-of-body. The angel, obviously, didn’t say anything, but it did stretch one of its wings toward the crumpled shape of the other guard. He was lying on the ground, unmoving. “Is he-” you started, then stopped when you realized his chest was rising and falling. He seemed stunned, like you’d been a few moments ago.

You twisted your head around to get a better look at the rest of the room and winced. Stinging pain radiated from your neck. The angel nudged your hand away and ran its fingers over the lines cut into your skin. Right, the knife. They didn’t seem to be actively bleeding anymore, so they must not have been deep, but the angel still seems distressed by their very presence.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tilting your head back to look up into their face. The angel stares back at you, their ear-wings folded calmly against either side of their head. They seemed physically unhurt, or they weren’t in so much pain that they were showing it. “Good.” You sorted through your muddled thoughts. The song had hit you so hard, it was almost like your own body had gone through all those emotions it had conveyed at a rapid pace. No wonder the guard was stunned. Your head was swimming. But then your brain finally catches on a thought and you startle. “The priest!”

The angel caught you as you attempted to scramble upright and assisted you to your feet. The priest was close to the pulpit, but he was as collapsed as the guard. He seemed to be recovering faster, though that primarily consisted of him flopping his limbs in all directions. You approached, the angel close behind you.

The priest stared up at you as you got within speaking range. His face was completely under his control, unlike the rest of him, and a sneer contorted his expression. “You cannot win against His holy will. God will ensure that His holy justice will-”

“Uh huh,” you said. “He doesn’t really seem to be doing too much smiting right now, though.” The priest groaned on the ground, grinding his teeth.

“Are you going to kill me?” he said, a semi-hysterical laugh bubbling from his lips. “It’s no matter. I will return to His Holiness and my eternal home in heaven. And you- do you think you’ll be able to stay here with blood on your hands and that beast stalking your footsteps?”

“They’re not a beast,” you snapped before forcibly calming yourself. “I’m not going to kill you.” The angel shifted, clearly irritated, but you held up your hand to them. “I don’t have anything to kill you for. You haven’t done anything to me. Not really.” You turned to the angel. “It’s their decision. If they want you dead- that’s up to them. Not me.”

The angel watched you as you spoke, then it turned its gaze to the priest. You placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder. Well, close to its shoulder. The angel was very tall. There was a moment of silence. The angel’s wings twitched. Maybe it was hesitant to try and kill now that it wasn’t the heat of the moment. Maybe it was weighing the pros and cons. The priest rolled onto his stomach and groaned.

The angel turned and pressed a kiss to your head. It happened so fast, you didn’t register it until the angel was turning and grabbing the man on the ground. They hefted him up by his lapels and started hauling him out of the church. You hurried along behind them.

It took only a few moments for the angel to make it to the enormous front doors of the church. They shoved them open with only one hand, sending more light across the sanctuary and revealing the large crowd of people milling around. At least half the town was gathered outside the church, presumably drawn by the commotion and the sight of an angel. The angel looked around them with what seemed to be satisfaction, then hefted the priest again, holding the man out in front of them. Then the angel extended their wings to their full length, drew the priest in close again, so their faces were mere inches apart, and began another song.

The previous song, the one inside the church, had been intense like holding your hand over an open flame, but this was intense like having a spear driven slowly into your brain. This was focused, purposeful. A spire of anger and pain. The world flickered behind your eyes, an image pressed against your brain- the memory of being thrown away, then lost, then trapped. The rage and grief and panic of being trapped. The priest’s face loomed down at you, sneering, cold, and the terror that welled inside of you twisted not just your stomach but your entire being. You were cast out and alone and the only thing you could do was scream as someone else caged you.

At some point, the angel had dropped the priest. They stepped closer to you, tucking their wings about you as the song ended, trembling and weak. They seemed tired, their wings drooping along with their posture. Their body slumped. They weren’t leaning against you, but they were swaying toward you. You reached up to take their face in your hands.

“You okay?” you asked. The angel blinked at you. A few more notes trembled out of it. You could feel them pass from the angel into you. And with them, something like an image: you, scoring out lines of text on a wall with a makeshift chisel, gently dimming the blinding brightness of the room to the comfortable darkness. The angel gave a long, shuddering sigh, then slumped forward until its body weight was slowly but surely crushing you.

The angel was asleep before either of you hit the ground. The priest didn’t seem to be doing much better. He was curled on the ground, occasionally twitching. Maybe he was crying, you weren’t sure. A couple of people walked over toward him, but no one seemed particularly worried. Had everyone else heard the song and made the connection too? Perhaps the angel had just been trying to tell its story. Maybe that was its revenge- making the entire town turn against him.

By the point you’d processed that information, you’d been smushed to the ground. The angel was big enough that you really couldn’t lift them at your best, and you were exhausted by the day. After only a couple seconds to shoving, you resigned yourself to being on the ground.

Footsteps shuffled closer and you looked up to see a few of your neighbors around you. “Need help?” an older man, one you recognized as someone who taught at the local university. You curled one arm protectively over the angel, cautious. “We’re not gonna hurt ‘em. Just trying to help get you home.”

You considered. Then nodded. The angel stirred as a few people worked together to lift it off of you, but it settled when you patted its arm. Slowly, you and the angel returned to your home.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting after you got to your house. For that moment, you didn’t expect anything at all, except for a long nap because you were exhausted. And you did get that, lying in the blanket pile on your floor with the angel. They practically crawled on top of you several times, and your subsequent crawling away so you weren’t crushed to death ended with the blanket pile being almost dragged to the other side of the room. The angel was, of course, never deterred, and it was on top of you by morning.

What you hadn’t anticipated happening at all was the gifts that kept appearing at your house. Clearly, your neighbors were dropping them off. Notes were often attached, sometimes independent of any gifts- wishing you well, giving you messages of support, and expressions of general kindness. There was food in the pile, from vegetables to fresh cheese and bread, as well as some cloth and even a quilt. That one, in particular, made tears come to your eyes. It had clearly been in a closet for a while, given the musty smell, but it was handmade and the kindness of the gesture was unmistakable.

It took you some time to remember what most of these gifts were for- not until you read the last note on the pile. It was from the town’s doctor, a simple gift of a few herbs used for healing, though they were in bundles too small to be useful. The note was simply ‘For health, luck, and peace.’”

The gifts, the note and herbs. You knew what they were for. You’d participated in the tradition before, though your gifts had been pretty paltry. They were traditional gifts given to a newcomer, sometimes when there was a baby born, but also sometimes when a person in the town married someone from outside the town. Gifts of welcome and acceptance.

You returned to the angel, arms laden with the gifts, and offered them to it. The angel seemed vaguely overwhelmed by them, but accepted them nonetheless. It still seemed tired, and so you spent the day at home, quiet and undisturbed. You bathed the angel, scrubbing bits of blood off it and trying to get the feathers of its wings clean. The angel, after some insistence, ended up bathing you, as well, and it fussed over the few bruises you’d gained in the fight. Another night was spent curled in the same nest-bed. This time, you just let the angel flatten you with its body. It was sort of cozy.

The next day, you returned to the church. The town was still a little quiet- there weren’t as many people out as there would usually be- but the people you did see nodded politely to you. Their nods were a little longer, a little lower, than they usually would be. Almost like slight bows. Though you weren’t entirely sure why they would be bowing at you. Perhaps they were bowing to the angel at your back.

The church seemed strangely abandoned, despite it having only been a bit over a day since everything had happened. The guard’s body was still crumpled on the floor, some blood splattered around him and dried to the floor. You approached it. The angel followed, though their wings fluffed up with agitation.

There wasn’t much else you could do with the body. You lifted it, with the angel’s help, and placed it on a pew. You cleaned the blood and viscera on the floor. Then, finally, you took the body downstairs, stripped it, and wrapped it in the white funeral cloth. The angel helped, with an expression on its face that seemed mournful, though it was hard to be sure.

Perhaps you could have left it like that, left the man wrapped in cloth and walked home. But it felt weird to do so. The angel helped you carry the man up into the graveyard. Then you dug out a pit and placed the body in it before burying them.

The angel knelt next to the grave, resting a hand on the dirt. “Sorry,” you told the grave. You weren’t sure where the other two were- the other guard and the priest, but you hadn’t seen them. Perhaps they’d been driven out. The townspeople certainly seemed to have taken your side. The man in the grave wasn’t entirely innocent- he had certainly seemed willing to kill or hurt the both of you. But you felt weird. The other two had lived. He hadn’t. Luck of the draw.

The angel leaned against you, just enough to feel the warmth of their presence. You sighed. They were safe, at the very least, and they were accepted by the town.

You looked at the angel. “What do you want to do now?”

The angel looked back at you. They blinked, once, slowly. Then they took your hand and pulled you into the church.

You knew where you were going before you got there. The heavy doors were solidly sealed, though no longer chained. The angel opened them, letting go of your hand as they did so. They stepped through the doorway, then looked back at you. You stepped forward and took their hand. And so, they led you back down to the basement.

The room was pitch black. You stretched out your hand and felt the rough walls. As you continued, you could feel the words carved into the stone, and some of the scratches and gouges where you’d carved the words away.

The angel moved toward the center of the room, away from the walls, and you followed them. They moved to the spot they’d been chained in. One of their hands was still around yours. The darkness of the room pressed in on you, so black there was no difference between your eyes being open or closed. The angel’s hand remained, the only point of contact in the room. Their thumb brushed over your knuckles, their fingers intertwining with yours. You could hear their breathing. You breathed, too. Together, in the small, dark room where you’d first met. There was nothing else. There was only the room.

The angel tugged on your hand, and you moved with them until you were flush against their chest. They hugged you, briefly, then sighed. It shuddered through all their bones on the way out, and seemed to take something with it. Like something they had been holding onto was released.

Then they pulled on your hand again and led you back out of the basement.

When you emerged into an area that was light enough to see, you caught sight of the angel’s face. It was the fourth time you had seen the angel really emote. And it was happy. There was a certain level of sadness or mournfulness to it as well. But the angel was smiling. Its gaze turned to you and it smiled wider still.

You cleaned the church for a while. It felt more like habit than anything else. Although there was something quite satisfying about going through the priest’s office and dumping everything onto the street. There should have been other officials in the church, but there weren’t any. Perhaps they’d fled when the priest was deposed, perhaps they’d just not wanted to stick around now that the angel they’d trapped was free. Who could say. You weren’t overly fussed at the loss.

When you emerged into the sanctuary, sore and a bit grimy, there were people there.

It was just a couple, a man and a woman. Then you saw the bundle they were clutching between them. A baby, presumably one born not too long ago. It squirmed a little in the blankets, but it didn’t cry. Its breathing seemed… maybe a little labored? You weren’t sure- you weren’t expert in babies.

The angel seemed to perk up when it noticed this, eyes intent, though it made no move to get closer to the couple. “Hello,” the woman ventured. You wracked your brain for their names. Tabitha, maybe? And the man was… Gerald? “We- we, ah.” Her voice quavered and she held the baby a little tighter.

“We came here for a blessing,” Gerald said. “We weren’t sure…”

Oh. Their baby was ill. “You might want to go to the town doctor,” you suggested.

“We were there,” Tabitha insisted. “They gave us medicine. But just in case we…” She glanced around the church, clearly anxious.

Right. They would want a blessing for their baby. One that would maybe grant good health, or at least a peaceful passing and a safe journey after, if not. You chewed the inside of your lip, unwilling to turn them away. But it wasn’t like you knew how to perform a blessing, or hand any authority to do so-

The angel caught your wrist and started tugging you along toward them. The couple huddled closer together at the sight of the angel, but both of them remained there. There was something in their expressions… perhaps awe? Perhaps even a flicker of hope. The angel stopped in front of them. Its hand shifted on your wrist until it was properly holding hands with you. Then it extended its other hand toward the couple.

They barely hesitated before holding their child out.

The angel didn’t quite touch the child, but their hand hovered over them. The air hummed with the faintest vibrations of a song. The baby squirmed. Your hand, the one the angel was holding, felt warm.

And then it was over. The angel dropped their hand. Their ear-wings fluttered a few times. They dipped their head to the parents in a slight bow.

“Thank you,” Tabitha whispered. She clutched the baby to her chest and it kicked its little legs a few times. “Thank you.”

The baby lived. Maybe it was the blessing, or maybe it was the medicine, it wasn’t clear. But clearly work had gotten around, because people came to you for blessings at least once a day. The angel always obliged, though they refused to work if you weren’t around, and they nearly always looked to you for something like permission before they performed the blessing. The only time they didn’t was when they were performing one for young kids or babies.

Perhaps the blessings was why you set up station in the church. It was easier for people to get to than your house, and the angel didn’t seem particularly bothered by being there. Sometimes, the people who came for blessings wanted to talk, too, and you were better suited for it than the angel. They listened, certainly, but people who were emotionally worn down didn’t tend to react well to an angel staring them down with a blank expression. You gave all the advice you could, which wasn’t much. They seemed to be happy after talking with you, though, so you kept at it.

The days settled into a steady routine. You would head to the church and take care of problems that any people had, be it by distributing blessings or by just talking to them. Then you’d gather the donations that had been left overnight and sort through them. The angel was a good help whenever you had to clean- their wings allowed them to get to areas in the high, sloping ceiling that you could never manage.

When they weren’t cleaning or blessing, they tended to hover around you. Not in an oppressive way- they just were usually nearby. Sometimes, if your mood turned, they would come closer, settling next to you, and either stretching their wings out toward you or draping their torso against you. The touch was comforting, and you found yourself responding similarly to their mood. You could almost sense when they were anxious, and they seemed pleased when you were nearby.

You’d just finished administering advice to a small crowd of worried people about a spate of rapid deaths and had settled down to look through the few offerings that had been left when it hit you. “Ah, fuck,” you said. The angel glanced over at you, ear wings twitching. “I’m a priest now, aren’t I?”

The angel headed over and flumped down next to you. Their wings wrapped around you in a comforting manner. “I give blessings and advice, I maintain the church, people leave offerings. Isn’t that a priest?”

The angel squeezed you with its wings. It nuzzled its head against yours. “I mean, I’m not a priest of God,” you mused out loud. “I don’t think I care much about Him.” You looked down at the angel, who stilled under your gaze and tilted its head until it was looking into your eyes. “I guess if I am a priest, I would be one for you, right? That makes me your priest.”

The angel shuddered. The motion trembled through its wings, making every feather stand on end. Its eyes went wide. Then it surged forward to mash its lips with yours.

It was so startling that you simply fell backward, unable to stand up against the angel’s enthusiasm. “Woah, woah, hey!” you said as the angel fumbled on top of you. One of your hands found the back of their head and tangled in their hair. The angle went still. “You okay?”

The angel closed its eyes and sang a few notes. An image rose into your mind- an image of you, leaning over the angel, your arms outstretched and a smile on your face. The emotion the angel felt surged so powerfully you could feel it in your fingertips. Vague other images swam through your mind- images of a couple kissing and a sense of both curiosity and jealousy, images of you and a deep sense of affection, and images of the town with a sense of protectiveness. The final image was one of you and the angel, wrapped together in each others’ arms, and the sense of want that came from that image made your breath catch.

When you came back to yourself, the song fading, the angel was blinking down at you. Their eyes were wet. You reached up and they leaned into your touch as soon as it met their cheek.

“Okay,” you said. “We can try this too. Let me show you.” Your other hand went back into their hair and you pulled them down for a kiss.

It was enthusiastic, if unskilled. When you broke away for air, the angel kissed furiously at every bit of skin they could reach. Scattered bits of song slipped from their lungs, tingling along your skin and mind in dizzying fashion.

Eventually, the angel backed off, apparently exhausted by the outburst of emotion. They slumped on the ground next to you, though there was an apparent reluctance to break contact. They kept a hand on your stomach, feeling you breathe. For your part, the connection sent wild sparks running through your body.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said after a few moments. The angel tugged you closer, pressing its face to the top of your head and heaving a contented sigh. Even without the song, all you could sense in the slow, steady breath was love, love, love.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #fallen angel #angel partner #fallen angel story #the angel #idk man this took too long and i don't even know if I like the ending but it's HERE NOW

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skzfairyy · 9 months

Text

9:40am

Pairings: Hwang Hyunjin x reader!

Genre: fluff

Warnings: suggestive smut? if you squint, ft. hungover & dramatic blonde Hyunjin

Wc: 811 words

AN: This one does make us giggle haha, ENJOY! - Y2K

Y/N leans casually against the doorframe of her bedroom. The room was cluttered as usual, but with a few new articles of clothing that didn’t belong to her, but to her knocked-out boyfriend a few feet away. After a long night of drinking with their friends, Hyunjin could barely walk in a straight like, let alone walk himself all the way to the dorms, instead, he opted to go home with his favorite muse as he calls her.

Bangchan did little to object, already having his hands full with the six other drunken guys he’d have to get home. The pair made it back to her apartment by luck alone. Hyunjin offered no help at all while Y/N did her best to lead him up the stairs and through her front door, only offering a countless number of affectionate coos, with a dopey smile across his face.

She had woken up pretty early seeing as she didn’t drink nearly as much as the others. Instead, opting to be a loving girlfriend and make him a nice meal for his hangover, and prepare some medication for the headache he’ll be bound to have as soon as he wakes up.

She watches as Hyunjin’s sweet face begins to frown in his sleep, his hand reaching out to the spot where Y/N laid not long ago, finding it empty. Her face grows a smile of amusement as Hyunjin’s eyes creep open, instantly searching for his girlfriend.

“Y/N-ah!” He groans out. His morning voice was hoarse from all the yelling he’d done last night, and definitely dry from the way he was snoring in his sleep.

“You’re quite loud for someone who’s supposed to have a killer hangover.” She pipes up, Hyunjin’s eyes dart to her place at the door instantly.

At the mention of a hangover, his hand smacks his forehead, letting his body fall back onto the covers. “Remind me never to drink again.”

Y/N only laughs in response. “I made you breakfast Mr. Drama Queen. Put some clothes on and meet me in the kitchen.”

As she plates his breakfast, she hears the slight padding of his slippers a few moments later. Hyunjin, now dressed in sweats and a t-shirt he left over, sits at the bar as Y/N sets his food in front of him. His blonde hair sticks up in different directions as he suppresses another yawn from his lips.

“Here, take this before you eat.” She gives him a bottle of headache medicine and a glass of water.

“Ah, you’re an angel!” He says, taking it immediately.

“I also got you a coffee, figured it couldn’t possibly make your hangover worse. She brings out the two americanos that she’d bought earlier from the fridge, placing them in front of him.

“I don’t think ‘I love you’ can even describe how you make me feel.” He says his words casually as his sleepy eyes watch the girl in front of him.

She does nothing but smile in return. Rounding the counter to stand next to him, his hand instantly wraps around her waist as she rests her own arms on his shoulders.

“You always get so mushy when you’re hungover, Hyunnie.” Y/N’s fingers softly move the stray pieces of blonde hair out of his face as Hyunjin’s eyes never leave her face.

“Can’t help it when you’re always around to take care of me.” He shrugs, returning her smile.

“Okay Charmer, I’m gonna go hop in the shower while you eat. Then we can head back to your dorm. Be quick though, Felix said he’s making brownies and I want to get them while they’re still warm.” Y/N smiles at the thought of her friend's treats while untangling herself from her partners' arms, and heading in the direction of her bedroom. Hyunjin’s eyes follow her body as she retreats when he’s struck with an idea.

“If I finish quickly, can I join you?” He smirks while taking a huge piece of his breakfast into his mouth.

Y/n turns to glare at him, and he returns it with a smile of his own as she retreats into the bedroom.

“That’s not a no!” He yells out, before quickly taking a few more massive mouthfuls.

While still chewing, he gathers all his dishes and places them in the sink, doing an embarrassing job of rinsing them. He takes a sip of his coffee, then bolts to her bedroom, stripping along the way.

“Oh my god!” Y/N laughs out loud.

Hyunjin stands in the doorway of the bathroom out of breath, with one of his ankles stuck in the end of his sweats.

“Hyunnie, slow down before you hurt yourself!” She laughs out again, watching him struggle through the clear part of her shower curtain.

“And miss out on helping you lather? never.”

masterlist

#y2kstories #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #straykids #skz fluff #skz recs

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ingravinoveritas · 21 days

Note

How did u feel with the age gap question was it pr or do u really think he meant it and this was the truth

This is referring to the question asked on The Assembly last night. I'll post the clip here, for those who haven't seen it yet:

A lot of what I felt while watching this was touched on in this incredibly thoughtful post from @body-face-words, so I encourage folks to give that a read. But I think for me, when it comes to Michael's answer, it's not a matter of whether he lied or told the truth. It's that his response was sweet, but it was also a version of the truth that sounded convincing because it needed to, because this was not a time or place where he could say what he actually felt.

I'm really not sure what people expected him to say, in all honesty, as he was never going to say anything that would make him or Anna look bad, and especially not anything that could potentially negatively impact the kids, so he instead gave a very perfect PR answer. This again does not come as a surprise because we know Michael has scripted his answers about AL/their relationship in the past, but I noticed how careful he was in his response, which seems to contrast with how off-the-cuff he normally is when discussing every other subject. Part of what so many of us love about Michael is how unfiltered he is and always has been, with the exception of how much he filters and edits himself when talking about Anna.

It also seemed like, at least from my perspective, that Michael answered the question without answering the question. What the girl asked wasn't so much about the age gap, but about AL being five years older than Michael's daughter Lily, and it would've been a perfect opportunity for him to mention her, or how the relationship with AL affected his and Lily's relationship. He could've talked about the falling out he had with her (and Kate) in 2019 once AL's existence/pregnancy came to light, and what has happened in the years since, or how Lily now gets along with Anna/her half-sisters. But instead Michael deflected from all of that and talked about everything while saying nothing at the same time.

It was also the things Michael didn't say that stood out as much as the things he did. In the entire answer to the question, Michael never once used the word "love." Prior to the show airing, I saw a lot of people online confident that he would say that he loves Anna, but he never did. He never praised her, never talked about the things he loves about her, or how glad he is to be with her. He never once mentioned her by name. The pivot and focus was on the kids, and there was a clear distinction made between how happy he is to have the family he does, rather than to be in the relationship that he is in. Michael's use of the phrase "very happy" was also identical to the wording of a comment AL wrote on Instagram the other day, which added to the whole "reinforcing a public narrative" feeling of his response.

I think what struck me most of all, though, was how somber and heavyhearted Michael sounded while saying how happy he is. It reminded me of the song "I Am a Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel, where the upbeat and cheerful music contrasts starkly with the fraught, angry lyrics. There was no sparkle in Michael's eyes when he said it, no enthusiasm for what he was saying (which is particularly jarring when we know Michael has the capacity for incredible enthusiasm), and his face never lit up while he was talking.

There was one specific moment (which is also highlighted in the body language post) where he seemed to visibly wince and the micro-expressions were in overdrive, and it immediately made me think of a moment from Good Omens:

Time and again, I have seen fans talk about Michael's micro-expressions as an actor and how he uses them to such devastating effect (especially in the role of Aziraphale). And while these two moments are not completely identical, the idea of ignoring how Michael uses those same micro-expressions in real life makes no sense to me at all. In this instance, what we're seeing could be either because he has put so much of himself into Aziraphale that we can now recognize those "Michael" moments...or it could be because in both clips he is performing, albeit for different reasons.

The difference between Michael when he is doing this vs. when he is being genuinely himself is made even more apparent by the question immediately following this one. Unprompted, he brings up David, and the change in his expression and demeanor is swift and dramatic:

Having the mention of David happen so soon after the AL question seemed to highlight so many things. I can't help but feel that David is a security blanket for Michael, something he hides behind when he is feeling anxious or sad or overwhelmed. I wondered if perhaps he was even already thinking of David while answering the AL question, which would explain why he named him so readily--as if his mind needed to drift to someplace else just to finish answering that question.

To me, this made it abundantly clear that David is Michael's safe place. Here was where we saw Michael's eyes sparkling. Here was where we saw him light up from the inside. And it was David he kept returning to and bringing up during the rest of the show in response to other questions. So if that doesn't speak volumes about where Michael's heart seems to be, I'm not sure what does.

So yes, those are my thoughts on Michael answering the age gap question on The Assembly. As always, this is just my interpretation, but I am glad to hear from my followers with your take as well. Thanks for writing in! x

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leahrintarou · 7 months

Text

🎃 Oikawa Toru - Sounding

Warnings: sounding, bdsm, sub! Oikawa, fem reader, usage of sounding rods, Oikawa is trying something new. Word Count: 3.7k

"toru, i have a question" y/n asked, legs stretched out across the boy's lap as they sat on the sofa of his home. they were in a comfortable silence and y/n's question was the first thing that was said between the two within the last hour. "which is?" he questioned, still deep into the book that he was reading.

y/n sat up, eye's noticing that he wasn't exactly focused on what she was about to say. she rolled her eye's, laying back down before opening her phone to send the brunette a particular link to a particular video. his phone vibrated against the arm of the sofa and he glanced at it before looking over to y/n. "why did you text me? I'm right here."

y/n mumbled a "just check your phone." which only struck more confusion in oikawa. he placed his book down onto the coffee table before unlocking his phone, the illumination of the screen creating shadows on his face. there was some silence and y/n watched as oikawa's eyes widened when he opened the link. "why the fuck did you send me this?" he questioned, flipping his phone to show y/n the explicit video that she'd sent to his phone.

"i have an offer." she started, smiling when oikawa's attention was now on her. "no" he immediately said. "toru, what the fuck?" she frowned, almost whining at his sudden rejection. "don't 'what the fuck' me. if you're about to ask what i think you are, the answer is no".

"how do you know what i was about to ask?"

oikawa sighed, shutting his phone off before resting his hand on y/n's leg, slightly turning his body to face her figure. "you want to try sounding and you want me to be the person you try it with. am i right or am i right?" he says, knowing the answer to his hypothetical question when y/n visibly deflated at his words.

"please, toru?"

"y/n, can't you ask one of your many clients who are actually into bdsm?" he questioned. y/n sighed, reluctant to give him an answer but since she was the one who needed his help, she realized that it's probably not a good idea to have secrets. "i have a client this weekend who wants me to sound him, but i've never done that before and i don't wanna hurt him"

"okay, so I'm your lab rat and you're willing to hurt me?"

his tone was full of offense and y/n thought about how badly she worded it. "no, no, no. you're just…less likely to sue me if something goes wrong,"

he glared at y/n, making her finally sit up to complete her defensive claim. "not that anything will go wrong. but, you've let me try other things on you so what's wrong now?" she questioned, noticing how he was tapping at her leg with anticipation. probably fidgeting from this whole situation. "well, i don't know y/n. there's a pretty big fucking difference between wanting to tie me up and wanting to shove something in my di-"

"TORU!"

"what, y/n?" this time he sighed leaning his head agaisnt the plush of the sofa. y/n was one of his closest friends and due to her small side hobby of being a camgirl/dominatrix, he'd always help her out with practicing or making sure that she was doing things right off camera, rather than making mistakes on camera. overall just talking her through what feels good and what doesn't from a guy's perspective.

this however, was something that he never tried and from the looks of it, something that he was glad to miss out on. "can you just watch the video later and then give me your final answer. i know you're not completely opposed to it, you're just nervous to try something like that"

there was a small silence before she spoke again. "right?" she questioned. he rolled his eye's, sighing before mumbling a small "whatever."

----------

oikawa had been trying to get some sleep for the night for the past thirty minutes, but since y/n had returned back to her home, he was now left alone with his thoughts. everything in his body was telling him to not reach for his phone but before he could even deny the urges, he found himself going to he and y/n's exchanged messages. his thumb hovered over the screen before closing his eye's and clicking onto the link.

it brought him to an adult sight and once he clicked the play button, he was met with a couple who's faces were a mystery to him the camera was focused on the semi-hard erection of the guy as the woman applied lube to the ridged metal rod and some extra on her partner's member.

oikawa visibly winced as she was inserting the ribbed rod, receiving a moan from the guy in return. he was expecting anything but that. maybe a scream of terror, him grabbing her wrist to stop her movements, or maybe even the video ending right there and then. but no. instead, pleasure filled moans errupted from the guys voice and oikawa sighed in annoyance. he hated how his body was finding this whole video intriguing and exciting. his body was reacting on it's own so oikawa decided he had enough and clicked off the video, going back to he and y/n's shared messages.

oikawa --> y/n: when is your appointment with that sounding guy?

y/n --> oikawa: lol, change of heart?

oikawa --> y/n: shut up. just answer my question

y/n --> oikawa: it's two nights from now :)

oikawa --> y/n: okay, I'm free tomorrow night. does that sound okay?"

y/n --> oikawa: ha ha, sound. anyways..of course. what made you change your mind? did u watch the vid i sent?

oikawa --> y/n: yeah. either that guy's really into pain, or it's not as bad as i thought. if it's the first one and this whole thing is like a torture mechanism, then im never letting you do anything to me again

y/n --> oikawa: lol, you'll be fine, toru. get some rest, i don't want you to be tired tomorrow. <3

oikawa --> y/n: alright, goodnight, y/n.

y/n --> oikawa: goodnightttt <33

oikawa sat up from his laying position on his bed before staring down at his lap, letting out a frustrated groan.

'cold shower it is'

----------

"you can head over now. i'm back home from the store" y/n said through the phone line. oikawa mumbled a small "okay" before the call was dropped. he'd just gotten out of the shower which is why the loosly hung towel that was around his waist was soon discarded to his bed. he walked over to his closet, grabbing a pair of briefs before pulling them onto his body. he followed after with a t-shirt and some sweatpants, not overthinking about what he wore since it'd most likely be off the minute he arrived at y/n's home.

he grabbed his phone and wallet, pocketing both items before grabbing his car keys from the kitchen counter to head out of his home. he closed and locked the door behind himself.

----------

"TORU"

y/n smiled happily when she saw her bestfriend standing at her door. he walked in, being abruptly stopped when y/n gave him a warm hug and a small peck to his cheek. he pulled back, looking at her since her overly excited state was a bit unusual. "why're being so affectionate?"

"can i not give my bestfriend a small kiss?"

"well we do more than just kissing so im sure that's the least of our worries" he shrugged, kicking off his shoes before walking to y/n's kitchen to grab a waterbottle from her refrigerator. he downed the entire thing within seconds and y/n let out a small snort. "why are you so nervous?"

"wow y/n, i have no fucking clue. definitely not because you're about to shove a fucking stripper pole into my dick?"

y/n turned away, trying to hide her laugh and oikawa rolled his eyes at her inability of being serious is serious situations. "i didn't order the huge ones. i realized that wouldn't be a good idea for neither of us. i got the thinner sized one" she reassured. he sighed staring at y/n as she smiled back at him. "i'll be gentle, i promise."

she reached for oikawas hand, bringing his figure to the sofa so they could take a seat. there was room temperature water on the coffee table and the tv was at a low volume, displaying their favorite childhood cartoon. "what are we doing?" he asked, confused as to why she wasnt bringing him to her room and/or undressing him. "you're too tense. you gotta relax so lets chill out. no need to rush anything" she explained, turning up the volume of the show.

he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a small second. y/n was used to this process of making sure her clients or in this case, bestfriend; was comfortable before starting anything relatively close to intimacy. he rested the back of his head onto y/n's shoulder and she snaked her hand around his waist. a silence fell upon them as they comfortably admired the display of the childish show.

oikawa was appreciative of the given silence that y/n allowed them to have and the ooccasional 'no way's and 'what the hell's that fell from her lips in a whisper, were strangely comforting.

at some point though, oikawa become hyper aware of just how close they actually were. his sweatpants hung loosly on his waist since he failed to tighten the strings before he left his home in a haste. his v-line was exposed just underneath his shirt and y/n drew light circles against the area with her chilled digits. oikawa readjusted his body just the slightest bit to get a good look at y/n.

just as he did so, y/n met his eyes too and with some unspoken want, they were drawn to eachother, leaning into a shared kiss that only became sloppy from oikawa's neediness. the night when he even texted y/n to plan this upcoming event, she gave him strict instructions to not touch himself for the remaining days so his time with her could be a little bit more fun. a few cold showers later, he had a lot pent up and was honestly grateful to finally get some release.

"are you ready now?" she asked, pulling back from their kiss when he hesitantly nodded. y/n smiled and he followed her down the hallway and into her room. there he saw how she'd propped up a few pillows for him and on a small table next to her bed, there remained a fluffled towel. on top of the fabric was a pair of black nitrile gloves, a bottle of lube, and a thin stainless steel rod with a ring at the end. this one was smooth in comparison to the one in the video that he watched and y/n noticed how his gaze focused on it for that very fact.

"i don't want to go overboard, so we'll start off a bit easy for now" she says, motioning for him to remove his bottoms and lay on the soft fabric of her bed. he did so, only his straining briefs and t-shirt remaining on his frame. y/n pulled the glove over both her hands, before taking a seat on the side-edge of the bed. "okay, were sticking to our traffic light system..same as usual." she clarified, making oikawa nod. his knees were pulled to his chest and y/n smiled before turning back around to make sure everything was in place.

she heard some movement behind herself and without even glancing to look, y/n mumbled a strict. "you better not be touching yourself, toru." she felt him stiffen and still behind her and once she turned around. she saw that a palm was over his lap, clearly doing what she'd infer he was. "do you always have to tease during these things?" he questioned, sighing when y/n gently removed his hand from it's place over his prominent print.

"it's not a matter of teasing. I'm making this easier for the both of us. it's harder to sound if you're fully erect so for now, no touching unless it's my hand. got it?" she waited for him to nod and when he did, y/n smiled before leaning closer to his pouted lips and giving him a quick peck thats soon merged into a makeout. oikawa immediately allowed himself to drown in the action, letting out a soft moan when the pads of her gloved fingers grazed the tip of his forming and clothed erection. her hand then rested on his thigh as she swiftly crawled atop his figure. she seated herself on his thighs to keep his movements minimum with a restraining straddle while her hand reached under the fabric of his shirt, caressing the warmth of his toned abdomen.

"don't space out too much. i need you to listen to me throughout the whole thing."

oikawa hummed, leaning closer to y/n's lips to get another taste before she unfortunately pulled away. "y/n" he called, annoyed by her constant teasing that was now driving him up the wall. "i have to start now or else you'll get too riled up" she reassured, left palm sliding down his abdomen to abruptly stop at his restrained erection. fishing two fingers into the elastic waistband of his briefs, y/n pulled it down, revealing all of his length. as she pulled down the article of clothing, she simultaneously reached over to the table next to the bed-side.

grasping the bottle of lubricant into her hold, y/n popped open the cap as she hit it with the heel of her palm. she dispensed some into her gloved palm, focusing down at the amount before taking a glance up to oikawa.

"toru" she called. he questioned a small "hm?" before she continued. "what's your color?" just as he was about to answer, y/n dribbled a bit of the clear liquid to the tip of his erection, making him shiver from the unpleasant temperature. he bit down on his cheek as y/n's hand suddenly grasped him into a gentle hold.

she evenly spread the gel-like liquid all around him, only stopping when she still didn't receive an answer from her bestfriend. "color..toru?" she reminded. humming when he managed to voice a calm "green".

y/n reached over to the table once again, now bringing back the metal rod. oikawa's breath hitched and y/n's eye's darted up to his own. he nodded, urging for y/n to continue. with the slight reassurance, y/n applied a bit more of the lube to the rod itself, evenly spreading it along the length of the tool. she held the item in her left hand, palming his groin with her right. "relax…"

y/n released her palming hold before gently grasping oikawa's length into her hold. he watched intently as the cold metal was met with his slit, the anticipation practically eating him alive. y/n slowly inserted a few centimeters of the rod into his erect member, simultaneously drawing a whine from his voice. his chest rose an fell at a quickened pace when y/n pushed it in a bit further. "breathe, toru." she says, stopping her movements so he could recollect himself.

"i'm not going to force you to take more than you can handle" y/n looked up at his tense features, before his eyes met with her own. "I-it feels weird" he said through a strained voice. "do you want to stop?" y/n smiled when he shook his head almost immediately. "see? that means it's not as bad as you thought."

oikawa's closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back onto the pillow when y/n continued to push the rod just a bit further. "you're half way there." she smiled, feeling proud that her bestfriend is doing so well at this new experience. oikawa let out a strained moan when she used her other hand to slowly pump his now sensitive member. he tried to call her name but his voice came out at a needy whine when her movements started to speed up. he reached for her wrist, trying to stop her overwhelming gifts of pleasure, but his hand quickly went over his lips as he tried to muffle his noises.

y/n knew that oikawa was one to try to keep his sound to a minimum but on this particular night, he was struggling to do so. he was quite vocal and honestly, y/n was all for it. he sounded angelic almost. voice gradually getting more hoarse as the straining and muffling continued. y/n inched the remaining length of the rod into oikawa's fully erected member and it took everything in him to not finish right there and then.

y/n released the ring of the rod, letting it fall before focusing on jerking slow, yet skilled movements around the sensitive length of oikawa's member. "fuck.." small babbles of swears fell from his lips as her suttle moments continued to drive him up the wall. she felt how he fidgeted under herself, making her press a firm palm to his thigh to secure his stillness.

y/n reached for the ring that was at the end of the rod, giving it a slow pull before she reinserted it back into place. "y/n, s-stop. you're gonna make me cum.." he said, a panicked tone heavying through panting breaths. she didn't slow down her movements at all and just before oikawa could get the satisfaction of release and relief, y/n let go of his member all together, leaving him a twitching mess at the lost contact.

"y/n, please. don't do that tonight. i cant-" he breathes, his voice whiny with need. y/n smiled, tugging on the ring of the rod once again, erupting a whinper from his lips. she slowly pushed it back in, his pre-cum finding its way to spew out around the object. y/n was shocked to say the least. despite how much oikawa complained and denied the act of sounding at all, here he was, completely losing himself within the sensation of just that alone. y/n wasn't even directly touching him, yet he was still receiving enough pleasure to feel partially satisfied.

"…'m so close, y/n." his warning brought some anticipation to y/n as his slick now coated the rod to allow her to pick up the paced pattern of her given pleasure. y/n noticed how oikawa's hand slowly reached for himself and she swiftly stopped his movements by moving his hand away. "you don't need it." she said.

she wanted him cum untouched.

on any other day, he would've claimed that the whole situation was seemingly impossible, but with the way that he was currently feeling, oikawa was suprised that he'd even been able to hold out for as long as he has up til now. "i wanna cum. please. " he whined, eye's shutting tightly when a singular push of the rod into his erection finally sent him over the edge. his hips stuggled to lift from the bed due to y/n straddling him and his body involuntary jolted against his will when y/n began to gently slide the tool out from its secure place.

his arousal spewed out from around the metal object and it was accompanied by his heavy and hoarse pants that failed to come out as moans due to his ruined state. his body shivered under y/n and his erection twitched when the rod was fully removed. y/n reached for his length, taking it into her grasp before giving it an expiremental pump. oikawa's hips rutted up, desperately trying to get some friction as the evidence of his previous orgasm still continued to leak from his member, dribbling down y/n's gloved hand.

"you did so good, toru" she smiled, leaning down to give a lazy kiss to his slightly parted lips. "i'm never doing that again" he managed to say, catching y/n off guard. she asked for his reasoning behind his sudden statement and as he tried to steady his breeath, oikawa mustered up a bit of energy. "i've never felt so f-fucked out. ever"

y/n smiled at him, releasing his softening member from her hold before standing up to grab her previously prepared wash cloth. y/n made quick movements to the bathroom, wetting the fabric with some warm water before wringing it out in the sink. she returned to oikawa's figure who's eyes were beginning to heavy from exhaustion. she wiped up the arosal that was spread throughout parts of his body whether it was intentional or not.

oikawa let out a soft moan when y/n's hand made contacting with his overly sensitive member. she smiled at the familiar sound as it soothed her ears for a small second. "what's your color now?" she wiped off some residue from his thighs and groin before discarding the washcloth to the nearby table. he mumbled a quiet "yellow" as he pulled his briefs back up to his hips, going limp against y/n's pillows after he was beginning to settle down. "you want anything to drink?" she asked, pulling the gloves off of her hands with a sharp snap.

he shook his head, curling up on his side as he pulled his knees to his chest. y/n reached for a folded blanket, tossing it over his figure as his eye's began to heavy and close, unable to keep up with y/n's awoken state. she tried to be her quietest as she cleaned up the items that were resting on the table by the bedside feeling nothing but satisfaction at their expiremental session.

"y/n" oikawa called. she looked over at him from her place on the couch, waiting for him to continue. "later tonight…can we…" he made a motion with his hand and somehow, y/n understood him, giving him a nod, along with an "of course".

"another thing,"

"which is?" she asked, attention now focused on the frame of her bestfriend all around.

"can you sound me.. again?"

AUTHORS NOTE - tysm for reading! i hope you enjoyed day one of kinktober :) leave a note to support!

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pearlmagick · 3 months

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IRON BONDS II

pairing : harry potter x reader

synopsis : harry discovers your secret and helps you gain some confidence while also discovering his own boldness.

warnings : mentions of blood , drinking blood

notes : just to clarify, pale does not mean light skin only in this fic !! the word in context is meant be portrayed as your skin tone just without blood.

Over the months, Harry carefully analysed your every move like a secret, obsessive hobby. Could he have simply asked you what had troubled you? Of course, he could, but he had a feeling you would let yourself wallow in your stress by yourself, a feeling he had experience with.

He noted your weariness during the day and the nearly unnoticeable shake of your fingers as you drank your regular “cranberry juice” every dinner. “It’s good for the immune system.” you’d always say when Ron questioned why you drank the tangy liquid so frequently. Your answer sounded almost rehearsed to the trained ears of Harry Potter, who knew the timbre of your voice when you usually chattered about things that interested you.

One night, he strolled the grounds, rubbing the bandages wrapped around his bleeding hand. The consequences of disobeying Umbridge left bloody splotches seeping through the white. His own issues were put behind him when he saw you sitting next to the lake.

Your skin was paled, as though all the warmth in you had chilled. Your eyes seemed brighter under the moonlight and the way your hair contrasted with your skin seemed supernatural.

“Y/N?’ Harry called out. Your hair whipped in the wind as you turned towards him. You, in all your horrific glory, were fully on display to the single person that you wished would never catch you.

Harry’s hand reached out for yours and he felt the cold jolt his system but still held on. His eyebrows cinched closer together, asking the question unspoken. “Summer before fourth year, remember when I couldn’t go to the World Cup with you and the Weasleys?” Harry nodded. “I couldn’t go with you because… because a vampire attacked me. My parents fought back so he didn’t kill me and I just became this. I became a monster. I’ve tried hiding it with charms and potions, changing my teeth and making my skin look normal but it wears off and there’s no cure.” You turned to the moonlight, your eyes glowing from the tears rather than the golden-red halo around your pupils. “I wish he just finished me off that night.”

Your confession felt like another weight had sat on your chest; the weight was lifted almost immediately when Harry pulled you towards him, the warm scents of his freshly laundered shirt and wood enveloped you as his embrace pulled you into a new, more comfortable trance. “I understand why you didn’t tell me but I would never leave you. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I promise I’m not scared. You’ve been trying to control all this by yourself so please, let me help you now.”

Your tears flowed more freely now that you had the assurance that Harry wasn’t going to run away from you; he was here to stay.

The two of you spent the night whispering about your bloody situation. “So, the cranberry juice?” You chuckled and dipped your fingers into the lake, racing to trace the ripples that formed. “Yeah, I couldn’t lie about it being pomegranate juice since I’ve already said I hate pomegranates, but it’s actually cow blood. I haven’t tried human blood before. I thought about it loads of times, but I get afraid that I can’t control myself once I start.”

Harry’s impulsive nature struck as he gave his wild suggestion, ‘I’ve got a pretty fresh wound that I haven't put in murtlap essence yet. Why not drink some of my blood?” If your body had any warmth, you would be burning from the bold yet casual tone in which he delivered his idea.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry’s every nerve prickled with nervousness. What if he was too bold? What if you shot down his idea? What if you didn’t feel as close to him as he does to you?

His last reflection was a new flavour in the soupy mess his thoughts were becoming by the second.

Before he could fully analyse every memory he had with you appearing at the forefront of his mind and how it made him feel, he was thrown off balance by your answer. “I could try.”

Harry saw your hesitation in your pursed lips as if the action would hold off your vampirism entirely. He took the initiative and unwrapped his bandage, bringing his still-bleeding hand close to your lips.

The smell of human blood was enticing and your eyes shifted to a deeper shade of red before you took the leap and drank the small drops of blood that seeped out steadily from the cuts. The metallic taste from Harry’s blood left sweet notes on your palette rather than the rusty cow’s blood you drank. In that moment, you could have drained the boy of all the blood in his body but you regained the restraint you had built over the months and let go of his hand. Harry couldn’t help but smile, “You see, I knew you could do it.” You smiled in return, your pearlescent fangs charming Harry the longer he took in your grin of pride.

The longer you sat there, enjoying each other’s company, the stronger Harry’s confidence was becoming. His boldness had already been a success once, there was a chance that maybe another stroke of impulsiveness would lead to something he didn’t realise he’d been waiting for.

“Y/N?” Harry asked. You hummed in response. “How do you feel about a date?”

#vani fics #harry potter #fanfic #harry james potter #vampire #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter x you #harry james potter x y/n #golden trio #golden trio era #harry potter fluff

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scoops404 · 2 months

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Writing a Scoops Fic

With Scoops. Featuring: Scoops.

This will get long, so it's under the cut. And it will contain spoilers for the fic, which kinda seem obvious, but alas.

Lol okay, when an initial idea hits me, I usually send it out into the universe to see if it's a good idea (sometimes in private DMs and sometimes I'll tweet it). This idea struck me yesterday when I was watching my niece and nephew and my dad off-handedly mentioned the show "I didn't know I was pregnant" (i'm staying with my parents while my apartment is being renovated and I'm slowly dying)

Here's the idea:

I tweeted this idea out to my private twitter at 5:22pm yesterday and then all my friends slowly exploded. The more I think about it, the more i think Mario anon might have done something similar (they've covered pretty much all the mpreg tropes but are usually sfw and established relationship). So, to make this idea my own, it'll be nsfw (hi, hello, it's me. And that's like the super fun part about writing this idea) and not established relationship - friends with benefits immediately makes this situation even more complicated. I'm in.

There's no time or energy to write last night so I stewed on the idea and when I got to work this morning I made myself focus on my novel writing (that should be the priority but im currently stuck). And wrote some then. But for on my lunch break, I thought, why not? Let's see what comes out. I talked with my friends at work for like thirty minutes and then wrote 828 words. I'm going to share all of those words with you at the end. This is very vulnerable for me because I'm purposefully not going to clean them up or edit, just show you what I've raw dogged. ((to be fair, though, i think the opening line is like banging))

Then, on my drive home, I thought about it more and more and most of the plot materialized in my head. As of now, I can picture two scenes really clearly, and that's enough to build a long fic or even a long one shot out of. (I also did this with There's Hope Out the Window)

The first scene is the one you're about to read. The second scene is George waking up in the hospital with Dream next to him, calmly explaining he had to have emergency surgery, and their baby is too little and might not make it. Lots of Drama. The idea of one of those fireplace blowy things that looks like an accordion came to me and George feeling like someone used one of those and blew love into him until he was sick with it -- that's how much he immediately loves his baby. It's a boy. He has to stay in NICU for weeks and the drama will unfold from there.

#writing a fic with scoops

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keekee-23 · 9 months

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Missing you

A Damian Priest x Reader Fluff Fanfiction

Damian Priest was preparing for his upcoming wrestling match, but the thought of you was never far from his mind. He had been living on the road for the last couple of months, and the only times he got to see you were fleeting moments. He had been looking forward to this match for weeks, but as he looked around at the other wrestlers, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the company of the woman he loved.

It had been weeks since you both had been together and as Damian thought of that night, his heart ached with longing. He had gone home with you that night, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. Now, here he was on the road, wishing he could be with you again.

For you, the longing for Damian was just as strong. You had been anxiously looking forward to seeing him again, but it seemed like eternity until then. Even though you were determined to stay hopeful, you could not ignore the emptiness Damian's absence brought you.

Desperately wanting to express his feelings, Damian struggled to think of any words that would adequately let you know. Then, an idea struck him: why not flirt with you? A smile spread across Damian's face as he began typing out a text message to you, hoping it would make your heart light up like his.

“Hey babe,” he texted. "I miss you like crazy. I can't wait to see you again."

He hit send and waited anxiously for your response.

Your response was everything he'd hoped for and more.

"I miss you too, baby. But you know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Damian smiled to himself. You were so clever, and he loved the way you make him feel. He quickly texted you back.

"Yes, it does. But I don't think the heart needs to grow any fonder than it already is."

Again, he waited for your response and was pleasantly surprised when it came back almost immediately.

"You're so sweet. But I think it needs to get even fonder."

Damian couldn't help but chuckle. You were really pulling out all the stops, and he was loving it.

"I'm sure it can get fonder," he texted back. "But how?"

He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't help it. He was feeling playful, and he wanted to see how far he could take this game.

The response came back almost immediately.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and find out when you get back," you wrote.

Damian smiled to himself. He was really enjoying this. He quickly texted you back, wanting to play along.

"I guess I'll just have to wait then. Looking forward to it."

Your response was just what he'd been hoping for.

"Me too. I can't wait."

He smiled to himself, feeling a warmth spread through his body. He was missing you, but this was helping. It was almost like you were here with him.

He quickly texted you back.

"I miss you so much. It's never enough with you."

Your response was just as passionate, if not more so.

"I feel the same way about you. Nothing ever feels like enough when we're apart."

He felt a surge of happiness course through him. He'd missed you so much, and hearing that you felt the same way made it all the more special.

"I can't wait to see you," he texted, feeling a wave of anticipation wash over him.

Your response was just what he'd been hoping for.

"Me too. I miss you so much. I can't wait to be in your arms again."

"I miss you too," he texted back. "I can't wait to feel your lips on mine again."

"Me too. I can't wait for us to be together again." You texted.

Damian couldn't help but smile. He quickly texted you back.

"I'm counting down the days until I can hold you in my arms again."

Your response was the perfect final touch.

"I'm counting down the minutes."

#damian priest #wwe fandom #wwe #damian priest fanfic #damian priest oneshot #wwe fanfiction #damian priest x reader #archer of infamy #damian priest fanfiction

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ravenmichaelisstuff · 1 year

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I think A LOT about Soap trying to give back the childhood Ghost lost. (Part 6)

Task Force 141 were sent to take care of a dangerous individual sighted in an urban area. It turned out to be a false alarm, but now they were scattered in pairs around the whole neighborhood.

Soap and Ghost were walking mindlessly around apartments, waiting for the info about an exfil location. It was a chilly night, almost 3 am. And Soap thanked the Gods for not putting some drunk individuals coming back from pubs on their way. He could imagine the panic they would cause. Two fully geared-up men with guns having a walk around. Nothing weird.

They passed by a playground and Soap was suddenly struck with an idea.

"Let's sit down, Lt.. There is no point in walking around."

"I guess." Ghost went to sit on a bench, but Soap had different plans. He grabbed him by the handle on his backpack and gently tugged in the direction of swings. "The fuck are you doing, Sergeant?" Ghost growled.

"Let's sit on the swings."

"Why would I want to sit there, when there is a perfectly fine and stable bench?"

Soap smirked and took out his gun and shot the bench. "It's broken." A few windows lighted up, people probably got startled out of sleep by the loud sound.

Ghost looked at him absolutely bewildered, eyes wide behind the mask. "You are insane."

"Just desperate."

Now Ghost let himself be led to the swings, because everyone knew that Ghost was ruthless but no one knew what an absolute menace Soap was. Ghost decided not to test it for his own good. They sat down, Soap immediately started to swing himself.

"God, ah' didn't do that for years, forgot how fun it is." He swung higher and higher, while Ghost sat perfectly still. "When was the last time ye were on a playground?"

Ghost laughed bitterly and ducked his head. Soap was so innocently unaware of how really bad Ghost's childhood was. Ghost only told him snippets of information, when he felt generous or sometimes the sergeant just made him feel like sharing. No one else had that influence on him.

"Probably never." Ghost sighed.

Soap stopped swinging and looked at him, eyes filled with an emotion Ghost couldn't place. He just hoped it wasn't pity, that was the last thing he wanted Soap to feel for him.

And the Scott wasn't pitying him at all, he was on a mission. He got off his swing and stood behind Ghost pulling on the swing's chains to pull the man back. He was honestly impressed by himself that he managed that, with Ghost being a huge lad with heavy gear on him.

"Don't." Ghost said sternly.

But he should know by now that Soap always does and gets what he wants- Soap pushed him.

"Soap!" It had to be a very sturdy swing since it didn't break under his weight, but he could feel the whole construction pivot slightly. From all of Soap's ideas, this one did not make him feel good.

"Johnny stop!"

And he did, immediately after he heard his name he grabbed the chains- stopping the swing. Ghost stood up and hunched over, putting his hands on his knees. The motion made him sick.

"Simon are you ok? I didn't mean to-"

Ghost took a couple of deep breaths and then gestured for Soap to come closer to him.

"Ghost, are you going to be sick?" Soap panicked. But when he got to his lieutenant's side and put his hand on his back Ghost met him with a furious glare. He got kicked in the shin with a heavy boot.

"Fuck! For what?!" John grabbed his leg, which is going to bruise so badly.

"You asked for it."

"Ok, yeah, yeah… I did. Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I know, just don't do that anymore or it might be your last day." Ghost wanted to be mad, he really did but he also knew that he would let anyone else even put him on the swing in the first place.

"Understood, sir."

"I need to sit down, Johnny."

"Yes, right. Come on." Soap led Ghost to a small desk over a sand pit- since, you know, his bullets split the bench in half. They both sat on it. "Man, Gaz would never believe me if I told him you get motion sickness." Soap chuckled and bumped their shoulders together.

"You tell him and he will have to die, Soap."

"Your secrets are safe with me, Lt." Soap shuffled the sand with his shoes. "So you probably never build a sand castle, huh?"

Ghost shook his head.

Soap buried his hands in the sand and started to form something. The shape looked pretty miserable since he didn't have any sand buckets.

It was so nice to sit together with the chilly breeze ruffling Soap mohawk. As his superior, Ghost should tell him to trim it shorter but Ghost also really wanted to run his hands through it. So he never did.

Ghost looked at Soap for a second and buried his gloved hands in sand as well.

Soap smiled, he was always ecstatic when he didn't have to prompt Ghost to do something just 'because'. It was nice to see the man let go for a moment. What they created looked… questionable to say the least. But the sand was dry and Ghost didn't really knew what to do.

"Looks like shit." Ghost stated.

"Aye, but it has the spirit." Soap desperately tried to defend their sand 'castle' when suddenly their coms cracked.

"Ghost, Soap exfil will be in 5 on street 12." Price's voice sounded from the speakers.

"We are coming." They both got up and started walking.

"I promise to take you to a beach once we get a leave. We will build a proper sand castle."

And even if Ghost knew that going on leave was the last thing he would do, the sheer idea of it made him smile under the mask. Soap wanted to spend his leave with Ghost which made him irrationally happy.

Hope you all like it <3 I for some reason struggled a little with that one as I had a problem with figuring out how to put them both in this situation- hence bench-crushing bullets :D We don't care too much for realism in this house.

Idea from @u5an5 <3

#soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #soap mctavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #ghost has feelings #ghostsoap fluff #ghostsoap fanfic #inspired by my mom hating swings #cod mw2 #bltn soapghost fic

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coldfanbou · 1 year

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TIAM IS Side Stories: Birthday Gift

Well here is Sana's requested birthday gift.

After everyone had given Sana her birthday presents, all that was left was for you to breed her. It's not something you looked forward to, being used like a breeding bull. With everyone else, you've had some sort of connection that worked to make sex with them enjoyable. Jihyo, Dahyun, and Mina were all people you loved, and sex was an expression of that. Sex with Chaeyoung was a way to relieve stress, but it also served both of you well, as the two of you liked being rougher. While you hadn't had sex with Tzuyu, you acted like a teacher and ensured she learned well. When it came to Sana, none of that was there; it was purely so she could have a child.

After everyone had gone to sleep, you and Sana went to her room. You stripped down and lay on the bed. Sana did the same; seeing your naked form made her happy. She had the biggest smile on her face as she grabbed your cock. "I can't believe it; Jihyo’s the best! I'm really going to have my own bundle of joy soon." She said in disbelief, as if she hadn't forced both your and Jihyo's hands into giving her what she wanted. Sana's soft hand strokes your cock at a quick pace. "Let's not wait; I want you to pump me full of your baby batter. Sana spits onto her hand and covers your cock in a thin layer of saliva as she straddles you and prepares to take you inside. You remain still on the bed, not responding to a word as she continues to be distracted by the idea of getting pregnant. Sana aligns herself with your cock and drops her full weight on it, forcing it inside and having it knock against her womb. She moans loudly, and soon she is grinding on your cock. "We're going to be together all night, and each load is going right to my womb. It's going to be so much fun, don't you think?" As she starts bouncing on your cock Sana continues making comments about finally getting a baby of her own. She wasn't mentioning having children only when she moaned, but it was only a small break before she went back. After a few minutes of you just lying there, she notices you haven't said a word or made any movements.

"You aren't as active as last time. I remember you ravaging me in Japan, so why aren't you doing the same now? You're always so active with the others." She asked with an abundant amount of innocence.

"That’s because it's different with them."

Sana starts grinding on you faster, "Does that mean you don't want to give me a baby?"

"Sana…." Realizing your situation and the potential danger if Sana threatened to be fucked by a stranger again, a spark of anger ignites. You roll over, forcing Sana onto her back. "If you want a baby so bad that you'll go as far as you did, then I'll give you one!" You yell at her as you force her lower body up into a mating press. "You want a baby so bad, fine!" You use your weight to dig deeper, and Sana's moans grow louder as you become an active participant.

"That’s right! Give me a baby! Fuck my pussy!" Your cock is splitting Sana in two as you grow rougher with her. Despite the slight pain she feels from you not giving her any time to adjust, she continues to press you into continuing. "I don't care if you treat me as a cumslut; just pump a baby into me." Sana had already shown you how far she'd be willing to go for a baby, but for her to say such things still struck you as odd.

Nevertheless, you continued your assault on her pussy. Her walls clenched tight around your cock as she came. You didn't stop as Sana begged for you to give her a second to catch her breath.

"You said you didn't care, Sana." Your cock starts throbbing as your orgasm approaches. "If you want my cum you can have it!" Sana's begging for you to stop immediately changed into begging you to cum inside.

"Cum inside me! Please! Make me a mommy!" She moaned as you both climaxed. Your baby batter flooded her womb as Sana clenched her bedsheets and moaned your name. When you recovered enough, you started to pull out until Sana's legs wrapped around your waist. "M-more, we're doing this all night," Sana said. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was still breathing heavily, "I can feel your warm cum inside me. It's so nice being filled with your cum again after so long." You ram your cock into Sana, causing her to whimper a little. "Your cock is so big, my little pussy is struggling with it. Can't you be gentler?"

You cup Sana's cheek. "You keep going back and forth, Sana. You said I could treat you however I want, and I will." You begin your second round with Sana being rougher than the first. The long night was filled with Sana's moans as she was pumped full of cum for hours. You and Sana passed out from exhaustion sometime around four in the morning. You awoke first a few hours later, still buried inside Sana. As you pull out of the unconscious woman, you notice the river of cum flowing out of her. Her smooth thighs are just as white as the semen coming from her. As you recollect what happened last night, you feel bad. You were overcome with emotions, and you got very rough with Sana. That wasn't the type of relationship you wanted to have with her.

You put on some clothes and leave the room to take a shower and think about what to do. Sana woke up at a later time. The first thing she felt was cum running down her legs into the pool on the bed. A complete mess Sana reached down and her hand was quickly coated in cum. She brought her fingers to her mouth and tasted your cum. In a weak voice, she said to herself, "I'll definitely get pregnant with all this tasty cum in me." Her body ached from the rough sex, and she decided to stay in bed a while longer as she rubbed her belly and thought about the child she could have. As she looked at the nightstand, Sana saw her phone and reached for it, barely able to get it. She opened the camera and took a few pictures of her cum covered body and the pool of it sitting at her entrance.

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thewhumpcaretaker · 6 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱: 𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇𝓈 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: negative self-talk, panic attack, wound care, alcohol, extreme sexual tension, arguing

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

John’s entire body was pounding with adrenaline.

The little sedan’s engine protested against the 90mph he was breaking on the back roads. He couldn’t stop picturing Vincent on the floor where he’d left him. He had been…well, not too harsh. In reality, he should have left Vincent behind for good, if not shot him. But that ship had sailed the moment he had his epiphany about this man. He wasn’t a monster, just a dangerous animal, and that was something John could manage. But striking a balance between managing the Marquis and making him feel unsafe or undermined…that was already proving to be a challenge.

It seemed he had struck the balance correctly this time, at least. Vincent was in good spirits when he walked through the door, and possibly happy to see him for the first time ever. He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling mischievously up at John. Dog ran to greet him – it seemed the two had become friends already. “What did it look like, when you ran them off the road?”

“…Fiery.”

“This is what happens when I am challenged. Those who recognize my eminence will come to my defense.”

“Right.” John sighed. Vincent’s highs were as bloodthirsty as his lows. But he couldn’t help a half smile back at him. “I will come to your defense. Are we good now?”

“We are, as you say, ‘good.’ What did you bring?” He gestured to the bags John had just piled around the armchair.

“Food. Should last a few days so we don’t have to go back out.” He started unloading it into the mini fridge. “Toiletries, bandages, and a change of clothes. Also, painkillers.”

The little exhale of relief that that last item elicited was enough to break John’s heart. Vincent must really be suffering. “Tu n'imagines pas à quel point tu m'as rendu heureux. Donnez-les-moi immédiatement. [You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. Give them to me, immediately.]”

Despite the twinge of guilt that he had inflicted some of that pain himself, John had to refuse him. “Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first.”

It was an awkward time for a meal, too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but time had no meaning in this liminal room anyway – except the inexorable progress towards the moment when someone would find them. There was no schedule, no to-do list, only survival. “It’s odd to be on the run again,” he commented as he pushed start on the microwave.

“Not on the run,” the Marquis corrected. “Sending those bastards running from us.”

John didn’t have the heart to answer. Vincent wasn’t quite facing the gravity of his own situation, much less what it meant to John. It felt just like his own days of being hunted. The paranoia. The sleeplessness, too. After watching over the Marquis all night, his hands tingled with low blood pressure and his vision tracked along with an odd lag. It meant little to him – he could go days longer before passing out. The physical effects of exhaustion were merely something to factor in when judging how fast his reflexes could respond in a fight. But his own discomfort didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

Don’t think that. Helen wouldn’t want – He cut off his own thought with a deep breath. God, what would she think of the Marquis? Of John allowing someone to treat him this way?

But at the same time, wouldn’t she be proud to see him saving someone, caring for someone, offering forgiveness to a real scoundrel as she had once done for him? The fact that he couldn’t ask her twisted him, almost physically, somewhere in the belly.

It occurred to him that he would probably enjoy painkillers for his own headache, with dinner. By that, he meant whiskey. He’d bought that too, and poured it into one of the paper cups supplied by the motel. Upon seeing it, Vincent exclaimed, “C'est encore mieux! [This is even better!] A cup, please.” He hadn’t moved from the bed at all and seemed to thoroughly enjoy being served. Quite the change of tone from last night, when he’d threatened to stab John for getting him a glass of water.

“Choose one: meds or alcohol. You can’t mix them.” He handed Vincent the microwaved meal instead and took a seat at the nightstand, using it for a table.

“Tu ne m'as jamais laissé m'amuser. [You never let me have any fun.]” They were halfway through their meal before the dreaded question came up. “So what did Winston say?”

“What?”

“When you asked how I can survive. What did he say?”

John hesitated, but he wasn’t interested in testing the Marquis’ trust any more today. He had pushed him far enough already. He pulled up the message on his phone and showed Vincent the screen.

Winston: “No, it’s not possible. The entire Table wants him gone. He has made enemies at every turn. If this excuse hadn’t worked, they would have found another.”

John hadn’t replied.

“Bah. He has no idea what he’s talking about.” Vincent’s smile was suddenly made of teeth and extremely fake. He gave an unconvincing laugh. “Quelle absurdité. [What nonsense.]”

Cautiously, “…Did you have enemies? That you knew of?”

“Everyone is an enemy,” Vincent said impatiently. “That’s the nature of every court since the days of the Romans. One builds alliances, not friendships. Of course they want me gone, they want anyone gone who has enough ambition to rival their own. But I have leverage somewhere, I know it, I just have to play them against each other, I have to…” He cut off, shaking his head, once again caught up in wracking his brain to find a solution.

Even more cautiously, “…Are you thinking in terms of regaining your seat, or escaping the Table?”

“‘Escape’ from my life’s work, yes, very appealing. Why didn’t I think of that? I told you, Mr. Wick: your task is to restore my title. Not to shunt me off into mediocrity. I will not hear of this again.” He threw away what little remained on his plate and stormed away to the bathroom. John heard something thrown against the wall, then a long silence.

It seemed unwise to leave him alone in that state. Downing the last of the whiskey, he went to the door and knocked. “Marquis.”

No answer. He took a risk. “Vincent.”

“Laisse-moi. [Leave me alone.]” Even through the door, his voice sounded shaky and clouded over. By the angle it came from, John could tell he was sitting on the floor.

He sighed. There had to be an excuse for every act of kindness. Well, then, he would make one. He went to the shopping bags and fished out a bottle of pills. Returning to the door, he tried, “Tu ne veux pas les analgésiques maintenant? [Don’t you want painkillers now?]”

“Tu es vraiment un – [You’re such a – ]” There was a hint of desperation in Vincent’s voice. John realized that he must be unable to compose himself enough to be seen. All the progress of the morning had been undone in a few minutes. Vincent had been undone in a few minutes.

“Je ne te regarderai même pas. [I won’t even look at you.]”

Another moment of silence, and then the door opened enough for Vincent to put out a hand, expecting a pill bottle. Instead, John gave him individual pills, not trusting him with the whole thing. “Putain, c'est ça ? Donne-moi la bouteille. [The fuck is this? Give me the bottle],” he said. John kept his eyes averted as promised, but Vincent’s tone was hollow and resentful enough to convey the glare that was no doubt directed at his head just then.

“Deux pour l'instant. Ils ne disparaîtront pas si vous en avez besoin plus tard. [Two for now. They’re not going to disappear if you need more later.]”

The door slammed again. Running water, and then a small thump against the ground as Vincent sank back to the floor.

John sunk down on the other side, coming to his level.

Through the wood paneling, he could hear ragged breaths that each died out in an almost inaudible, high-pitched whine of terror. Another panic attack. Vincent was completely raw, agonizingly so. Even for a man with a temper and a bounty on his head, it struck John as odd. You didn’t get to the top if you had meltdowns like this in every stressful situation, and no way to manage them. There had to be something weighing on the Marquis that he wasn’t talking about…either that or he was far more unstable and vulnerable than John had even realized.

He seemed really desperate for the pain to stop. Had the stitches torn out earlier, when he pushed him to the ground? “Je vais attendre en silence, mais quand vous serez prêt, laissez-moi entrer. Je dois refaire vos bandages. [I'm going to wait silently, but when you're ready, please let me in. I need to redo your bandages.]” What a cold thing to say, given the circumstances…John’s protectiveness overcame him again, and he added, “Respirez lentement. Ça va aller bien. [Breathe slowly. It’s going to be okay.]”

Vincent was not in a position to respond, it seemed, so John fell silent as promised. With time, the sounds on the other side of the door slowed somewhat.

But no good deed could go unpunished with Vincent. After a long moment, “Vous aimez ça, n'est-ce pas. Penses-tu que tu es si important que je vais m'effondrer si tu me laisses tranquille pendant cinq minutes ? Tu es l'enfoiré le plus arrogant que j'ai jamais rencontré. [You love this, don't you. Do you think you're so important that I'll fall apart if you leave me be for five minutes? You are the most arrogant motherfucker I've ever met.]”

“Pensez de moi ce que vous voulez. Je suis là pour toi. [Think what you will of me. I am here for you.]”

The door opened, and Vincent leaned back against the wall, giving him room to step inside. “I don’t understand you, Wick. Why are you doing this?”

“You can call me John, you know. And your guess is as good as mine.” He closed the toilet lid. “Sit down.”

Now that he could look at Vincent, the sight made him reel with something devastatingly protective, on the borderline between vengefulness and cuteness aggression. Puffy, damp eyes, reddened around those icy irises, stared numbly up at him from a hunched frame, only inches from his waist in the confined space of the bathroom. Cold sweat plastered Vincent’s hair against his forehead and he still shook ever so slightly. John suppressed the urge to pull him into the tightest possible hug and instead went down on his knees to inspect the bandage, moving slowly to avoid giving pain.

Vincent didn’t fight him for once. His skin was cool to the touch but sweat drenched. Given his condition, John was expecting to see that the wound had become infected, but it was as clean as yesterday. He covered it with waterproof bandages. “You should take a shower. Something warm. I don’t know why you’re so cold…tell me next time, okay? I’ll get you a blanket or something. Don’t want you going into shock again.”

“D'accord. [Okay.]” Vincent swayed weakly for a moment. “I’m not in shock. I’m just…it’s been a hell of a day. I can handle myself.”

“…There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Too far. A glare. “You’re offensively bad at reading people, Wick.” Not John. “I am fine. Or is being shot in the chest not reason enough to have a bad day? I suppose you hardly notice it anymore – a properly conditioned punching bag, aren’t you? Get out before you embarrass yourself any further.”

John sighed. “I’ll leave your new clothes on the sink. Call me when you’re done and we’ll switch waterproof bandages for gauze.”

He sat down in the armchair, facing the door again while Vincent showered. The exhaustion was more bearable when he was up and doing things. Now, he was in danger of nodding off. He was in a sleepy haze when he came back to the bathroom to remove the waterproof bandage and apply gauze and medical tape while Vincent leaned back against the sink, hands braced against the countertop. The room was in a haze too, filled with clinging, misty warmth and the smell of Vincent. Free of the sweat and perfume, his scent was…surprisingly, even sweeter somehow, but in the manner of wild things. A baby animal, a rivulet of tree sap turning slowly to amber… John’s breath caught in his throat and stayed there until his hands were no longer making contact with Vincent’s now glowingly warm, kitten-soft skin. He turned away while Vincent pulled on the shirt.

“Clothes fit okay?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Obviously not, but one must make do. It doesn’t matter to me.” He cast a genuinely miserable glance at the mirror, giving himself away. John had tried to select something that at least wouldn’t disgust him – a grey turtleneck and dress pants, some fresh underwear and socks both in grey as well. But they were Walmart clothes, and that was comically far from being Vincent’s cup of tea.

John wondered if the blood would come out of that button down, and the vest…probably not.

They passed the next few hours slowly unwinding. Another drink, after that mess. John fought to pry Vincent’s freshly warmed chest out of his mind. Vincent, for his part, began to genuinely brood. He complained that the painkillers weren’t working, that he needed more. John gave him one more, and refused him alcohol a second time. But he remained restless, standing up occasionally to pace even though each step was clearly painful, and raiding the mini fridge for pudding.

Shortly after sunset, with a faint pink still penetrating the curtains at the edges, he looked over at John. “I’ve figured out why you’re doing this.”

“Why?”

“You’re attracted to me.”

John almost spit out his whiskey. “What?”

He was leaned back against the bed, grinning smugly, “I know when someone is flustered by my presence. That’s critical information in my line of work. I was just lashing out when I accused you last night, but I was right after all. You carried me out of the car just because you wanted to. You lingered every single time you touched me. You. Are. Attracted.” He pointed the spoon at John with each word. “And that’s why.”

John’s face was beet red. “I get a marker on you if you survive. It’s simple.”

“That’s not what you said in the bathroom.”

“Okay, it’s not about the marker. I don’t know why. But it’s not because I’m attracted to you.”

“Yet you are.”

“…Yeah. I – look, you know what you look like. You don’t need me to tell you you’re attractive. So what’s the point of this?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we could have a little fun. Stress relief.” He was licking the god damn spoon and John found it to be positively urgent that he look elsewhere.

“I don’t do ‘a little fun.’ Call me boring, it’s not for me. Where is this even coming from?”

Vincent’s smile was all teeth and concealment again, as if all his honesty went into his words and he had to compensate by at least hiding his emotions. “I just need something good to happen today. Your painkillers don’t do shit.”

John hesitated. The Marquis had no idea how he was tempting him right now. But he shouldn’t do this. He was buzzed. He was confused about his feelings. It was a bad idea. “I killed two people for you. You got away from the Tarasovs. That wasn’t good enough?”

“Good enough? You should know by now that I expect excellence.” He advanced towards John, managing to swagger even through the pain. John leaned away from him, completely tensed up.

“Back off.”

The Marquis stopped and his smiled faltered, replaced by a blush of his own at being so plainly rejected.

God it was painful to see him like that, knowing that he could just make that feeling go away by saying yes. But he’d regret it. He knew he’d regret it.

“I’m tired. I haven’t slept in a full day. Let’s just…let’s go to sleep.”

“Done watching over me then, as soon as I call you out?”

“It’s not a callout! I’m…not ashamed that I want to. Okay? It’s just not a good idea.” John stood up as if to walk somewhere, realized he had nowhere to walk to, and sat down again. “We have to take shifts. Hold onto a gun, and wake me up if anything happens, or if you get tired. I only need an hour or two.”

Vincent stared at him for a good ten seconds. Then he sunk back onto the bed. “You’re the most depressing person I’ve ever met, Wick. Can’t enjoy pleasure even when it falls in your lap. Would have felt like fucking a funeral urn anyway.”

“Mm-hmm.” John switched off the light.

But the silence was more tense than ever, and even though he’d felt ready to pass out a few minutes ago, it took John far too long to get to sleep.

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #// withdrawals #// alcohol

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fhrlclln · 2 years

Text

daredevil | eddie munson

SUMMARY -> spin the bottle truth or dare was a harmless idea for passing time inside of the hellfire club. but who knew it became much more than a game with eddie munson, hm?

eddie munson x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> smut… again (oral sex; both! receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, handjobs & doggystyle.)

WC -> 5,042

a/n: damn. words cannot express how dirty my mind is. tHIS IS ALL ON U EDDIE MUNSON/JOSEPH 😔 also, one more wip to be done. <3

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

“aha! dare!”

you exclaimed angrily, seeing the bottle neck pointed towards you. “oh, fuck you!”

eddie gave you the finger as you sighed. the lights inside of the club were warm, your cheeks felt hot from countless tiring dares eddie had put upon you. tonight was another hellfire night, well the last night before eddie’s reigning campaign comes to an end. you two were quite early, the championship just started and there was still no sign of the other hellfire members. which led to the two of you finding a hidden beer bottle laying around and decided spin the bottle truth or dare would be fun. which totally wasn’t right now. eddie had protested that the two of you should switch the usual dynamic of spin the bottle into whoever lands on it, the other opposing player has to make the decision whether truth or dare and ask the question as well. and whoever has the most truth or dares is the loser. which was a whole fuckery.

“i dare youuuu…—“ eddie laughed, exaggerating, tapping the floor with a drumroll with his hands as you sat still with a look of pure hatred on your face. being friends with him is really fun and all but he can be the most annoying prick to ever walk on this earth whenever he feels like it. hence, why you liked him. and it fucked up your head a bit when you just realized one day, just staring at his large hands, fingers fiddling with the big rings, the veins on his underarm showing and the forearm tattoo spitting directly in front of you that wow, you had something for munson. it wasn’t the first time he made your thighs rub against each other, he was a little touchy for a loud mouthed metalhead of a friend. and a awkward one. but the hand placements on your lower back, guiding you, protecting you whenever you two were in the hideout or just really hanging out in the mall. all protective and irresistible. which was infuriating how he managed to mindlessly made you into a whole wreck every night alone in your bed. just him in your mind. him and his god-awful stupid voice and stupid face. fantasizing him teasing that he should fuck the shit out of you—

“i dare you, oh great y/n the wise, to lend me thy math homework that’s due tomorrow. right now.” motherfucker. you could not believe him, you rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag on the table. not minding your hellfire shirt was riding up as you sat back down with a thud. you huffed, getting the paper with the solutions and waved it in front of him.

“struck sweet gold again!” he grabbed the paper immediately and kissed it with much happiness. knowing he didn’t do shit for math. “with your fate right now, i can’t imagine your rolls later when we play with the others.” he teased, tucking the golden paper in his pocket.

“don’t jinx it, dipshit.” you huffed as you spun the glass bottle again. “come on.” you muttered, the suspense arising seeing as the bottle spin rapidly between the two of you sitting on the floor. eddie licked his lips with a smirk as the bottle slowed down from it’s gyration. come on. you prayed to whoever gods that would restore your fate. sweat beaded your forehead, the bottle achingly teasing the two of you until…

“AHA— fuck you!” you pointed to eddie, clapping your hands as you laughed seeing the bottle land directly towards his direction. eddie groaned loudly, sighing but still let out a chuckle seeing you so filled with glee at him losing. rather, he felt winning because of it.

“alright, alright. you got me.” eddie raised his hands, admitting defeat. “what is your verdict, oh! great y/n the wise?” he winked, crossing his arms. obliviously staring down at you as you mindlessly shifted your position so your thighs could rub against each other, uncomfortable it was. feeling the ache between your legs slowly agitate you in every way. you were thinking too much, so much of such intrusive thoughts you thought never could had have. eddie, you noted, had a tendency of well— actually being attractive sometimes— actually all the time. but you ignored your dirty little head, focusing now on the game.

“truth.” you declared, eddie’s eyes furrowed in confusion. truth? “you never got to tell me who you had a deal with a while ago. so who did you sold drugs to today?” eddie gulped, well he wasn’t too sure if he could exploit his customer but oh well, it was a harmless question.

“you’re playing soft here, sweetheart.” eddie noted, your cheeks grazed with glow at his usual nickname of choice. “but ok. chrissy. chrissy cunningham.” he confessed with a shrug.

your mouth went slack. “chrissy fucking cunningham? queen of hawkins high, a very sweet girl and actually a very friendly friend is who you sold drugs to?” you asked in disbelief, not imagining chrissy to be dealing with eddie.

“not yet! well i don’t fucking know, she said she needed something and asked for something stronger so i have to meet her later and get the goods at home.”

“oh my god, eddie.” you laughed, still not buying it even though he looked genuine. “well, what would jason think?” you joked, eddie rolled his eyes at the name. ignoring your constant teases, he spun the bottle again hoping he could get vengeance.

“that is unfair!” you spat, seeing the bottle pointed towards you again. you swore it looked menacing but eddie had won, your shrivel of fate gone.

“fate is fate, y/n. alright, truth!” he rubbed his hands together, in full eagerness. you gulped suddenly, a little tense for a first truth question he was going to ask.

“i thought you’d said we’re playing hard, dungeon master?” you eyed him suspiciously. you cannot even think what he was going to ask you.

“we are, sweetheart. stop distracting me i’m thinking!” he shushed before humming and tapping his chin with his finger, enticing you to be riled up. and you were riling up at his annoying suspense.

“whoooo…— makes you horny?”

“that is a low blow.” you shook your head, chuckling in disbelief at his question. “it’s tom cru—“

“nu-uh, who makes you horny in hawkins high! you didn’t let me finish. no former students or teachers. who makes you horny?” he punctuated his last words with a grin.

“i gotta know, you haven’t told me shit who’d been creaming your pants like last year.” he laughed, leaning back a bit, looking at you up and down. you huffed, suddenly conscious of his gaze. you bit your lip, looking away, trying to think of anyone who looked fuckable in your age. it was hard, well no one everyone made you more hornier than the clueless man in-front of you. well, one was steve last year. maybe other people and such but you could not think of anyone else.

“i— i don’t. no one.” you awkwardly gestured, eddie didn’t buy it but you weren’t going to spill it out.

“that’s not a truth. come on, it’s just me.” eddie assured, smiling as you fiddled with the bottle, sighing. “is it someone i know?” he asked.

you snorted, the irony. “yes. very well actually.” you hinted. eddie hummed, a strum of jealousy in his veins.

“gareth?”

“no.”

“jeff!”

“no.”

“jason carver.”

“you fucking wished. ew.” you grimaced as he nodded.

“chrissy.”

“no.”

“andy?”

“no!” you rolled your eyes at his bombarding name dropping. “let’s leave it like that. spin the bottle now.” you urged, wanting to continue the game. eddie, on the other hand, did not want to leave it. he was stubborn, like all the time. he stood up from his place and scooted over to yours. you watch him as he sat next to you, arms brushing like he always do. he watched you curiously first before throwing his questions at you.

“if it’s someone i know. how well do i know them?” he eyed you with suspicion, determination in his face.

“like i said, very well.” you said plainly, liking the way he was close to you.

“is it someone from class?”

“yeah.” you nodded, a smile forming seeing his face furrowed. each and every question he asked you lead to nothing in his stubborn mind. it was entertaining seeing him so revved up even before the main event starts. his arms were crossed again and he was leaning his weight comfortably on your body, head rested on your shoulder. too clingy. you noted, one of his habits. you could distinctly smell the cigarettes he smoke a while ago, making you wanting to kiss his cheeks for how stupid and mindless he is. haven’t the flirts, the constant shynesses, touches and all other things you did with him a clear sign already?

“just tell me.” he groaned out in frustration. “pretty please, sweetheart?”

you were about to give in but no, you couldn’t. “it’s right before your eyes, great dungeon master.” you whispered, smirk lacing your lips as he felt himself shiver at your voice. “see it clearly.”

well, he wasn’t seeing it clearly. still thinking of sorts and it was cute how he looked. “why are you so curious? are you jealous, munson?” you teased.

“maybe.” he sat up straight, facing towards you. your heart almost leaping off your chest. “you got this habit where you space out whenever we’re talking and that only happened when you got a thing for somebody. like harrington. so, who is it? taking your damn attention from me?”

you tried to mask it, the giddiness inside of your stomach. he was one for jokes but you wanted him to see it clearly right now. “he’s right in front of your eyes, eddie. think deeper.” you flicked his forehead as he winced at the slight pain, rubbing it as he glared at you.

it took him a moment but something in his mind clicked once you were staring at him. expecting, waiting and eager were you. it was bit of a gamble but he was rather nervous about it. or rather why didn’t he think about it first. his voice dropped, bumping his arm to yours again, gently. “is it me?”

shit. you blinked, the space between the two of you closer than he intended. your hands felt damp, lips trying to form some kind of response but you kept it cool. “you’ve gotten too cocky, huh?”

“is it me?” he asked again, aware you were dodging his question. that boldness bursting inside him.

“well it’s…” you stuttered, contemplating whether to tell or not was making you a bad liar now. his stare was scorching your every soul, he was good at this. observing people and he obviously got the memo. gotcha.

“truth or dare.” eddie asked, glancing from your eyes to your lips and back. you looked cute when you squirmed.

“pardon?” you were confused. was the game still on or… you refused to hold in eye contact as you shrugged your answer. “truth?”

“how long?”

your brows furrowed. “aren’t i supposed to ask the question—“

“no, we’re going back to normal.” eddie proclaimed, a hand greedily hovering above your thighs. “so, how long, sweetheart?”

your breath hitched as you glanced down at his hand and back to his face. oh, he knew. with the smug look plastered all over his stupid face, he was teasing you now. you heaved, cheeks still feeling warm, conceding in a soft whisper only his ears could hear it. “too long.”

“that’s a shame.” he uttered, his usual sunny voice gone replaced with soothing darkness he had in his tone. his hand hovering above your thigh was now squeezing you gently. the look on his face was baffling you seeing as if he was deliberating this new found piece of information. you sat still, fingertips cold, waiting to see if he was going to be awkward or joking about this. he gazed down on your sweet lips, intent on something as he looked back up again, making sure you were okay. “can i?”

you were flustered, cheeks feeling warm as he started leaning in so slowly. only glancing his eyes down to your lips and back up to you again. this new side of him was enticing, both of your hearts were beating loudly and hot flashes flowed through your veins. mingling breaths until it finally snapped. “yes.”

the atmosphere inside the room changed as your hands gripped his shoulders and his hands gripped your hips to keep you steady. his lips were hot on yours, messy, eager and so much fervor of how greedy he was. your hands on his shoulder traveled to his jaw, cupping his face as you could not process what was happening. you were making out with your closest friend, inside of a public club room, who you practically deemed months ago just a friend. but here you are. enjoying how he pressed himself against you, shivers down his spine at how he was towering over your frame. he wanted you as much as you wanted him, and he wanted to show it. show how your mindless friendly touching, your sweet words for him, the way you invited him over at your house, feeling so comfortable that you could change in front of him was killing him. how he tortured to hold himself back, knowing you could never like a guy like him. but he still dreamt of it, and he couldn’t hold himself back now as you were wriggling in his hold, drunk on his mouth, on his tongue. eager for him to do much more.

“i-is this okay?” he asked, breathlessly. kissing your chin down to your neck, softly as ever. your fingers tangled into his curly locks of wonder, slowly lying down onto your back. the coldness of the floor making it exciting as eddie nudge your knees open, the brushing of his jean-cladded crotch made you hold in a breath.

“w-what about the others?” you meekly asked, the thrill and fear of someone barging in on the two of you. eddie smiled at your concern, his hand lifting the hem of your shirt, hand caressing your stomach and upwards. his rings dug onto your skin as he glanced to the door.

“it’s locked, sweetheart.” he leaned his mouth towards your ear, his nervousness gone. “it’s just you and me. so, is this okay? use your words, baby.” your shirt was now ridden up, scrunched up at the bottom of your breasts, ready to be revealed. eddie was tempted to rip the whole thing off but that shirt cost him for printing so he couldn’t. plus the logo was too cool for to be shriveled, even if it’d looked good ruined on you, he thinks, licking his lips mindlessly. cock already stirring at the thought of you bare underneath him. oh, how dirty he is.

you weren’t sure, you didn’t want dustin and the others getting a scare but… fuck it. “please, eddie.” you fluttered your eyelashes, his shadow shading the colorful stage lights, only his face filled with desire right in front of you as you finally whispered the consenting plea. “please, do something.”

“as you wish, my sweetheart.” he answered. your shirt was scrunched up to your neck, your pants were thrown off somewhere. leaving you barely clothed but still in your underwear. eddie took the time to place kisses on your collarbone, kissing downwards to your bra. he teasingly cupped both of your ladies as he massaged them. you rutted against his hip, feeling the bulge brushing against your core. the urgency for friction embedded in you, feeling the dampness he was causing between your legs. your breasts were free from their confines as your bra was roughly pulled downwards, the straps clinging off your shoulders. the gush of his hot breath had you breathing hard as you watch him in awe.

“fuck.” he whispered, catching one nipple into his mouth. sucking it, licking it as he kneaded the neglected one. he smirked, feeling you squirm again, hips bucking against his as he pressed down to tease you. he felt your hands tangle onto his hair again, the surge of desire erupted in him as another burst of blood flooded his cock. how he wanted to please you, ruin you and dominate you every way. he wasn’t the loud mouthed awkward of a friend now, he wanted you to see the very desire you rooted in him. how you completely wrecked him into this beast, so eager to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.

eyes hazy with lust, sweat beaded your forehead as he let your nipple out of his mouth with a wet pop. kneading them again as he went further down, kissing the valley of your breasts downwards your stomach until he came face to face with your soaked panties. your thighs were a bit squeezed together, rather tense seeing him admire you. he sat back, getting comfortable as he gently nudge your thighs open. you eagerly abide his silent request as eddie let out a handful of sweet curses. he leaned down, kissing the inner flesh of your thigh as his fingers trailed up to pull the obstacle of a cloth away. you wriggled your hips, helping him as he tossed them back his shoulder without care.

“look at that.” eddie breathed out, his brown orbs clouded with appetence seeing your glistening cunt before him. beguiling him to ravish you. “ain’t that such a pretty pussy for me, baby? all wet, huh?”

“mhm.” you hummed, lifting your hips up for him to get on with it. eddie chuckled at the eagerness as he finally dove in, no time for teasing as he experimentally licked a strip on your seam. fucking hell. he groaned, his lips already coated with your juices, your flavor bursting on his tongue as he licked his lower lip. one hand gripping your thigh to keep you steady, he started flicking his tongue against your swollen clit, sucking it as you mewled before him. you gripped his hair, trying to keep yourself quiet knowing the walls were paper thin. he was good, you never expected him to be this good at eating you out. you grind yourself on his face, his nose nudging on your skin, you softly caressed the bangs on his forehead, silently telling him he was doing good as you let out another gasp of enjoyment.

eddie’s throaty hum sent shockwaves to your core. the soft gentle caresses on his forehead made him pussy-drunk knowing how you were enjoying this. if it weren’t for porn existing, would he fumble his actions now? still, the slight shakiness in his body meant that he was still a bit unsure whether what he was doing was ok. but, you were practically shivering on his tongue, a clear sign that he was doing good. one hand moving inward, his fingers teased your entrance as he lovingly sucked your clit, you jumped a bit at the intrusion as he slowly pumped his index finger in. you threw your arm above your eyes, the other one covering your mouth to lower your noises as he added a second finger in. fingerfucking you as the knot in your stomach started forming. eddie was perplexed feeling your walls clamp around his long digits, hugging them so tightly that his cock stirred, screaming to be inside you, had you felt this warm and good. he curled his fingers, pumping a bit faster making you lift your hips up as he smirked on your clit.

“do not cum.” eddie warned, lips off your clit, your walls tightening. his large rings practically inside of you how deep he is. you could not respond, the sudden loss of his hot mouth made you whimper as he thrusted his fingers in and out, slowly, teasing you into madness. his voice turned dark as he pulled his fingers out, stopping at the tip, not completely removed. “i said don’t cum, eh?”

“y-yes.” you cried out, wanting him back in. no questions thrown, just begging him back.

he wasn’t convinced but he was satisfied seeing you pathetically write in his mercy. “yes what?”

you groaned, the sudden urge to smack his face beyond the pleasure he was giving. asshole. you lifted your head up, meeting his awaiting eyes as you breathlessly nodded. “yes, eddie.”

jackass. you bit your lip, holding your tongue back to call him that. you yelped, his fingers thrusting in you in such vigor, hitting that spot that your eyes saw stars. your mewls sent him into a frenzy, he loved this, the sound of your pussy juices slapping against his fingers. the knot on your stomach started to erupt, you bit the palm of your hand, the other one trying to hold something. you can almost feel it, your walls clamping until he suddenly push them out, a wet pop heard and the euphoria gone. you sobbed, the sudden lost of his fingers making your eyes water. the fucker was edging you, and he looked so amused seeing you cry for pleasure he just denied. so cute.

“so greedy, y/n.” he licks his fingers clean, tongue sticking out, savoring every sweet nectar you gave him. removing your arm off your eyes, you felt him stood up. you weakly tried to sat up, hips mildly stuttering as you stared up at him. he was fumbling with his belt, the chain accessory creating the slight noise. you were still cloudy, wanting something inside you at his neglect. you hastily removed your bra, the wire digging into your skin as your hellfire shirt still remained, the only article of clothing on you. eddie glanced down, suddenly smirking. “truth or dare?”

oh, it was on. your competitiveness suddenly surged at his question as you answered him. “dare.”

his zipper rattled, you sat on your knees, eyes staring at his crotch as he shoved his pants down. mouth watering seeing the huge bulge on his boxers as your pupils dilated wide. wow. he felt himself getting harder seeing you on your knees for him as he spilled out his dare. “suck.”

you wasted no second to rip off his jeans, a little clumsy the two of you were as you almost tripped him. you let out a tired laugh as he glared down on you, patting your cheek lovingly, watching your fingers pinch the hem of his boxers. your throat felt dry, your heart was beating too loudly as you unveiled him. holy shit—

“surprise.” eddie managed to be amused, your gaze oh so blown out. he felt rather bashful as you were just ogling on his cock, your breath fanning the angry red tip making him groan out in impatience. “no teasing.” he gripped your chin as you nodded.

too huge. you noted, grabbing him fully as he dithered at your touch. you pumped him, slow and steady. still unsure what to do with his huge cock. a bead of precum appeared on the tip, your curiosity exceeded you as you licked it. eddie let out a curse, you grinned, licking his swollen bulb tip, swirling your tongue around until it got wetter. he moaned loudly, music to your ears as you continued your actions until you felt confident enough to slowly ease him in your mouth. eddie was entirely under your drunken spell, his mind felt foggy seeing you swallowing him whole. cheeks hollowing out as your warm cavern welcomed him, tongue swirling like a pro. he cupped your cheeks, thumb caressing your glowing skin as you looked up to him, with doe eyes and a mouth full of his cock. he felt himself ascend into heaven with that innocent look of yours. oh, dear gods.

“such a good slut. so greedy, so eager to be fucked.” eddie uttered, his hips pumping slightly as you bobbed your head, his tip hitting the back of your throat, the taste of him ripe on your tongue. “my little daredevil.”

your thighs clenched at the new found nickname. you swallowed him more, hands gripping his thighs as you let him fuck your face. eddie felt himself cumming, he couldn’t, not without you cumming on his cock first of all. he grabbed your head, pulling his cock out as you whined, a string of saliva on your lips as he wiped the mess with his thumb. you gazed up, waiting for something. anything. “on your hands and knees. ass up.” he ordered before quickly fumbling his jeans on the floor, trying to find something.

you obeyed, shaky hands propping you up, knees parted as cold air hit your sticky cunt. lips still salty from his juice. you shivered, turning your head back to the slow man, a face of defeat written on his face that made you worried. “something wrong, eddie?”

“yeah. i don’t have a condom, sweetheart. fuck.” he sighed, tossing his jeans back to the ground. frustrated he is, he wanted to fuck you for christ’s sake.

“it’s ok. i’m safe, i’m on the pill.” you assured, wiggling your ass for him to come to you. eddie licked his lips, raptured by your bottom. still, he was worried.

“are you sure?” he asked, wanting you to he comfortable as ever. “we can totally stop. i’m cool if you don’t want to and all.” he added.

you smiled, still clear with your decision. “i’m sure. please just fuck me now.” you demanded, pouting. he laughed, nodding as he gripped your ass, kneading it with his hips pressed roughly to your rump. you moaned out, rubbing yourself on his hard cock. you lowered yourself, back arching, elbows planted firmly on the tiled floor as eddie aligned himself to your glistening pussy. he found sweet gold again as he eased himself in. you whimpered, the tip of his cock forcing in you as you clenched him out of habit. eddie titled his head back, hair dangling, baby hair sticking to his forehead as his brown pupils were blown out with lust. he gripped your ass harshly, bottoming himself out as you let out cries of his name. so sweet in his ears, like an angel choir. he swore he thought he was dead right now.

he groaned loudly, free as ever. “oh shit. better than fucking por—“

“shut up.” you cut him off before could utter anything else to kill the mood. he responded with a hard thrust as your nipples grazed upon the cold floor, your back arching as you tilt your head back. eddie gripped the back of your head, leaning down so his chest could brush against your back. you mewled at his roughness, cock sinking in deeper as he slowly pumped himself in and out. you gasped as he slanted your mouth to his, kissing you ‘til you can’t breath. his tongue licking, tangling with yours, tasting yourself as you whimpered against his plump lips. he started a pace, rough and demanding, trying to make you feel every inch of his cock in your pussy. his hand leveraged himself in front of yours, he pounded, with no intention of stopping as you gripped his arm.

“so good, eddie. more please. more.” you panted as he moaned out your name. the locks of his hair brushing against your cheek as he panted against your ear, kissing, nipping, telling you so much dirty words and promises he would do to make up for the lost time. the harsh grip on your ass deliberately trailed down to your stomach as eddie toyed with your clit. he thrusted, faster this time. rubbing tight circles on the swollen flesh as you sobbed against him, too tired at his fucking to hold yourself up. it felt so good, his skin brushing against yours, the sound of obscene skin slapping and his breathy curses and chaste kisses on your shoulder blade. everything felt right, the way his cock nudge that glorious spot as you keened at it. eddie pounded, knowing that spot well now as he grind himself again and again. his balls stirring, wanting anything to cum inside you as you clenched around him tightly.

“pussy so good. you’re mine, only mine. fuck, sweetheart.” he whimpered, feeling himself swell to completion. “can i cum in? can i fill you up? you dripping with my cum, please.” you shouted a yes in desperation, ready to feel euphoria coming in. eddie groaned loudly, fingers circling your clit tight, your nails digging to his strong arm as he flexed his hips, pushing his cock in deep until white hot flashes of light exploded. you sobbed loudly, your juices gushing out onto his cock, coating him entirely. he shuddered, his cum coating your gummy tight walls, his spend so thick and sticky inside of you, a new found sensation you loved. you shuddered, hips stuttering. enjoying the high, glad that eddie had stilled himself to enjoy the ride of an orgasm as well. it was a sight to be seen, the two of you almost naked except for your hellfire shirts, tangled together on the floor with nothing else than the each of you in your minds.

you hummed, contented. his cock was still buried inside of you, uncomfortable and snugged it felt but it was amazing. who knew the dumbass could fuck you so hard just by truth or dare. trying to wiggle yourself out of his hold, you were stopped harshly by the hand on your hip. you looked up to the side seeing eddie still in daze, sweat beading his forehead and his look clouded with darkness. oh shit. you thought, what have you done?

“we’re not done.” eddie breathed out, kissing your lips softly. he nudge your chin to the door, a smirk lacing his lips as he grind himself again into your cunt. you gasped, the overstimulation getting to you. he peppered kisses along your jaw down to the side of your neck as he whispered so lovingly yet menacingly. his little daredevil the one who caused to awaken the beast inside of him. all you.

“until they knock.”

slut 😩 me 😍 out 😫 slut 😖 me 🐱 out 💦

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem! reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 4 #fnhrlcllnwrites

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