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chibiwritesstuff · 4 years

Note

Hey! May I ask for Malleus and Lilia being hesitate to start a relationship with the mc because of their long life span? And also welcome to the fandom!

Σ(°ロ°) You probably didn't ask for angst but this is just such a good angst prompt and I LOVE writing angst more than anything so I hope you don’t mind. I might have gone overboard with it though. If you do want a happy ending instead don’t hesitate to tell me! Thank you! Everybody’s so nice in this fandom.

Also, stan Lilia. Man, I simp for this old man so much.

Pairings: Malleus Draconia x Reader, Lilia Vanrouge x Reader.

Now, let’s depart enter this twisted wonderland~

“Tsunotaro, I think I have fallen for you.” You quietly said warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Will you let me stay by your side till the last breath I take?”

That was a few nights ago, and he left you without giving a reply. Instead of saying anything, he instead returned to the confines of his room and hid. While Sebek was glad he’s back Lilia sensed something in him that he asked the younger fae to leave the future king be. Now, all he can do is watch you from afar as you share your smiles and laughs with your peers from Heartslabyul.

Oh, how I miss hearing that laugh of yours… He can’t but think as he kept his gaze at you.

You two stopped meeting each other ever since. Well, more like you change your course of direction the next night you saw each other. He can remember clearly how tired your eyes look, how you’re ready to cry one more second you stay in his presence. You merely bowed your head and walked straight in Ramshackle Dorm.

“Lilia, what should I do?” He cried that night. “My only friend, the only one who understands me outside of our family… has left me.”

“Humans are quite delicate creatures, Malleus.” The older fae answered, pity evident in his eyes. “From the sound of it, the trust that you two have has been severed from your actions.”

“I want to stay by their side, I want to keep talking to them, laugh with them.” He continued wallowing in his sorrow as he remembers all the times you two spent on each other's side.

“Tell me, Malleus.” Lilia made him sit upright and face him eye to eye. “Do you reciprocate their love?”

It's not that he doesn’t return your feelings, far from it. He loves you more than anything in the world. Yet, the thought of him living on as you age and eventually dying scares him. He’s tired of being left behind, of losing things he deeply cares for and living on without them by his side. Fears that clouded his judgment that night which lead to the pain twisting in his heart for not being able to be near you anymore.

Time is but a blink of an eye for his species but who would have thought that it could feel this agonizingly slow as well. What he thought had been years already is merely but a day… without you by his side. Just one conversation, that’s all he wants. He wants the normalcy of his days with you to be back. So, imagine his joy when you approached him with a smile once more.

“Tsuno – I mean, Malleus.” He frowned when you refrained to use the name you had lovingly given him. The pain in his chest returning even greater than before. “I have great news to share.”

“No need to call me by my name. You’re more than welcome to call me Tsunotaro as you please.” Please, call me Tsunotaro again. Call me with that love you have for me. “What is this news?”

“Crowley has found a way to send me back home!” You grinned as he felt his heart shatter into pieces, eyes widening in disbelief. “I can finally go back home! Everybody’s heading to the Hall of Mirrors to send me off.”

“Is that so…” He can't breathe. The pain is too much even though you’re finally talking to him again…you’re smiling at him again. “Then allow me to send you off as well.”

“Alright! Let’s go then!” You took his hand and guided him to your destination.

How warm. He can’t help but think so. I would love to hold your hand forever and never let you go.

You two arrived and you let go of his hand to greet the others. Farewell speeches were made, tight embraces, and souvenirs from each dorm handed to you. You grinned as you accepted everything given to you. Alas, it’s time for you to leave and you stepped in the mirror. The moment you’re gone, the mirror cracked, signifying that your departure is a point of no return here. He stood still as everybody slowly left the Hall of Mirrors until he’s the only one left. His eyes began watering as everything that happened finally sinks in. The now cracked mirror mockingly reflecting his broken image. You left, returned to your world facing forward with a bittersweet smile… and he let you go without answering your confession.

“Then the least you can do is give her closure.”

“(y/n), I too have fallen deeply in love with you…” Tears flowed endlessly as he gave his reply to no one. “So please…”

Will you stay by my side till the last breath you take?

“Isn't it better to have a few years filled with love than have a lifetime worth of what-ifs?” You cried as he rejected your confession to him before running away towards your dorm.

“(y/n), it's nice seeing you here.” Lilia’s smile faltered a little as you hesitantly smiled back before leaving as fast as you can.

Day by day, you both tried to initiate conversations with each other without being too tense. He can tell how you’re forcing yourself to talk to him like nothing happened and it hurts the both of you. Both wanting the pain to end yet now willing to let go of what little interaction you have. He tried to distract himself by performing his duties as Diasomnia’s vice-leader, cooking food, even go as far as reading history books that he knew the true version of said history. All to dull the pain he feels as soon as his thoughts drift towards you.

Why did you have to have such a short lifespan? He kept asking himself as he leafed through a book he’s holding. I would love nothing more but to stay by your side and start a family. A simple life with you… how nice it sounds.

But he can’t fathom the idea of existing without you by his side once your time in the world expires. He’s more than happy to love you with all his being but he can’t help but hesitate as he thinks of the future ahead of you two. A few more days have passed and the two of you had officially stopped talking to one another. It was merely by chance that he spotted you talking with his son. He was on his way towards the light music club room to distract himself once more. Against his better judgment, he eavesdropped at your conversation with Silver.

“I envy you, Silver.” You spoke with such sadness that Silver can’t help but pat your head. “Despite you being human as well, Lilia chose to keep you by his side.”

“He truly does love you,” He reassured as you slowly began to shed tears. “He just doesn’t want to live without you by his side when the time comes.”

“And look at what happened instead.” You scoffed as you wiped your tears harshly. “I can’t even bear talking to him without being reminded that I’m not important enough to be able to stand by his side till my last days.”

“(y/n)…”

“I thought since he has you, he knew that this will happen and he’d rather treasure those few years with people he loves than just leaving them be.” Your eyes, tired and dull from the emotions swirling in your heart and mind. “Tell me, am I too foolish for clinging on that little hope back then?”

“No, you only followed what you felt was right.” He dropped his hand to his lap and looked down the ground. “Sometimes things just don’t happen the way we want it.”

“Thank you, Silver. No offense on your situation with Lilia though.” You smiled in defeat before standing up and dust off your clothing. “Please do keep your promise to me.”

“As much as I’m against it, I understand.” Silver sighed as he stood up as well. “Farewell, (y/n). Please don’t forget about us when you return home.”

Lilia froze as hopelessness settled in him. You’re leaving not just him but everybody else. He silently left the area and walked aimlessly as his feet somehow managed to bring him back to his room. His body felt colder than ever, body stiff and eyes wide at the realization of his fears. His fears of you leaving him behind as he will keep living his immortal life. Except, instead of through death, you’ll return to where you truly belong.

But, you also belong by my side…right?

He can’t help but laugh bitterly at his situation. He knew this would happen one day. He accepted this since that dreadful day he rejected you. So why…

“You’re right, (y/n).” For the first time in his immortal life, he shed tears and let out a scream of agony.

I’d rather spend a few years filled with love with you than live my immortal life filled with what-ifs about what we could have been.

#twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader #angst #twst angst #requests are open #stan lilia #simp for lilia

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alice-angel12x · 3 years

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Tokyo ghoul x Twisted wonderland

Rook hunt x ghoul reader

"Y/n senpai, I've noticed something. I never see you eat anything, but drown in coffee. Why is that?" Epel asked his 2nd year senior.

"Well, I'm dieting and I'm trying to hold back on some things, and I really like Coffee," Y/n smiled as they took a sip of their hot coffee.

"How do you even get away with that with Vil?!" Epel gasped.

"What Vil doesn't know can't hurt him. Plus he should worry about those who actually want his help," Y/n said as they took another sip of coffee.

"Evening my Roi de la nuit," Rook greeted as he sat next to Y/n suddenly, as he pulled them close by the waist.

"Ughh, Hello Rook," Y/n sighed.

"Rook senpai, g-good Evening. I didn't know you were very friendly with Y/n senpai," Epel said.

"A little too friendly," Y/n said as they tried to move away from Rook.

"Oh, why must you be so cruel, my Roi de la nuit?" Rook said dramatically.

But Rook had an Iron hold on Y/n's waist, so Y/n sat as they watched Rook and Epel finish up their dinner. As they sat in the Dorms dinning area when Vil entered the room, looking for Epel. As he scanned the room his eyes landed on Y/n, he glared at them as he quickly walked in and dragged Epel away.

"I've over stayed my social welcome, I'm going back to my room," Y/n sighed as they stood up, and headed down the hall to the Sleeping quarters.

As they felt Rook could hear the quiet rumbles of Y/n' s stomach. In Y/n' s room they tossed in pain as their Stomach grumbled and grained for a proper meal, just some Human flesh. Yet that though sickened them as they tried to ignore the pain, putting off the hunt for as long as possible.

Rook hummed to himself as he held a pheasant he hunted by his side. Some off the new Dorm members were slightly disgusted by the animal carcass Rook was bringing into the Dorm. While the Older ones didn't even bat and eyelash. As Rook continued down the hall with his signature smile, he was stopped as he passed a miffed Vil.

"Still feeding that monster," Vil glared at the dead animal.

"What are you talking about?" Rook asked innocently, not even turning to Vil.

" Don't play Coy with me, I know what that "friend" of yours really is," Vil growled, " Their a ghoul."

"Vil, don't make such baseless accusations," Rook said.

"I've read about them once, they are dangerous beasts that feed on humans and beastmen alike. They were hunted down all over the kingdoms, and know days only remain in The Afterglow Savanna," Vil said.

"So knowledgeable as ever, beautiful Vil," Rook smiled, still not turning to look at him.

"Is it true that people in the Afterglow hunt those creatures for sport, and as a right of passage for warriors?" Vil asked.

"Umm, yes. Your point?" Rook asked as his grip tightened.

"Why haven't you gotten rid of them, and instead put all our Dormmates and school in danger?" Vil asked.

"They aren't-"

"They need to feed on human flesh, and they haven't eaten in a long while. Its only a matter of time before they snap and eat someone. Or is the lives of a few people don't matter," Vil glared.

"That won't happen, well good night Vil," Rook said through a strained smile.

He continued on his way till he reached Y/n's room, and quickly letting himself in. Only to see Y/n curled on their bed holding their stomach in pain.

"Roi de la nuit ! Hold on I'm here. With food too," Rook smiled as he tried to comfort Y/n.

Y/n's eyes turned black with red irises as they devoured the pheasant in an instant. But it did little to make them feel better, as their Stomach demanded its main sustenance.

"Rook, you need to leave, Now!" Y/n begged.

"You need proper food, let me help," Rook offered.

"No, I don't want to hurt anyone," Y/n sobbed.

"I know, but this isn't the first time, and I know it needs to be done," Rook said as he revealed his left shoulder.

It was covered in past bit marks. Y/n slowly turned to see Rook offering his shoulder, but before they could think their body moved on it's own. Y/n quickly bit down on Rook's shoulder, their teeth sinking into the skin and drawing blood. Rook winced at the pain, but kept composure as he stroked Y/n's hair gently and hold them close.

"Wake up Y/n, you are stronger than this," he whispered lovingly.

Y/n's body froze as they slowly took control as tears slowly ran down heir cheeks.

______

"You shouldn't have done that," Y/n sniffled as they wrapped Rook's bitten shoulder.

"Well know your hunger has been settled for a little while. So I don't mind," Rook winced.

"Your insane you know that," Y/n sighed.

Rook slowly leaned toward and his lover and gently kissed their cheek.

"I guess I am Insensé for you, my Roi de la nuit," Rook smiled as he pulled them down to lay next to him.

As the two laid is silence, a question slowly came to the front of Y/n's mind.

"Why are you even protecting me? Like Vil said, I am a monster," Y/n mumbled into Rooks chest.

Rook remained silent for awhile as he gently held Y/n' s hand.

"Remember when we first meet?" Rook asked, " Back in the After Savanna."

"Yeah, we were about 11," Y/n said.

"Around that time my father wanted to prove his skills and be granted the title of master hunter. In order to get that was to hunt down a Ghoul. To hunt down our predator, and like a Garçon insensé I followed him out in the danger zone," Rook sighed.

"Oh yeah, I remember. The lone boy who only had his bow and arrows by his side," Y/n chuckled slightly.

"You spared me that day, you could have killed me. But you protected me from the others," Rook said.

"I still attacked you and bit you. I could have killed you," Y/n argued.

__________

A young Rook Hunt stared up in horror at the young figure on top of him. They looked slightly younger than himself, but he couldn't be sure with the mask covering his attackers face.

All he could see was the Red crimson irises staring down at him through the Eye holes of the mask. Rook tried to wrestle the young ghoul off him, but red tendrils sprouted from their back to hold him down.

"I'm so sorry," they whispered as they bit down on Rooks shoulder.

Rook cried out in pain, but soon the figure released him and quickly stood up. Rook sat up and backed away for the young ghoul, but as he looked back at his attackers eyes. He didn't see a blood thirsty monster, but someone just as scared. They slow removed their mask, revealing their tearful face.

"Get out of here, and don't come back," They figure said as they ran off into the savanna.

__________

"True, but you didn't, I could see it in your eyes, even if your mask hide your beauty at first," Rook said.

"After that you proceed to stalk me for the next 3 years," Y/n groaned as they thought back.

" Je ne aurais jamais, I was simply observing you. Why must you be so cruel with your words," Rook said dramatically.

"Then when you revealed yourself to me, you presented me with roses and "serenaded" me with a very long and flowery poem," Y/n sighed in embarrassment as their face turned red from embarrassment.

"Fufufu, your face was so red. You were so beautiful," Rook sighed with a smile.

"I am not beautiful," Y/n mumbled.

"Ne dis pas ça, your a mysterious and dangerous beauty," Rook said as he kissed Y/n's forehead," And I'll protect you. From those who wish to harm you, and from the monster within you."

Suddenly their was a crash and screams could be heard outside. Rook and Y/n quickly sat up as Rook quickly grabbed his Bow and Arrows. Just as he was about to run out of the room, he turned to Y/n.

"Reste ici (stay here)," Rook said as he quickly ran out.

But as they sat in the room they could smell the blood as the sound of thrashing continued. Y/n turned to their nightstand and hesitantly pulled out their mask; hiding it inside their clothes. They ran down the hall too see it was a ghoul attack. The Ghoul had a plague doctor mask, who had taken a large bit out of an unfortunate Pomeifore dorm member. Epel was frozen in fear as he tried to help the attacked student, Rook and Vil were trying to take down the rampaging Ghoul.

The two managed to chase the ghoul out of the dorm, but the School was already on alert as the staff, a few dorm leaders, and some vice leaders try to trap the creature. Y/n, with their mask set on their face quickly tracked down the invader and stood proud and tall as they stared them down on main street.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?!" Y/n shouted.

"This is my turf," he said simply as he charged Y/n.

The battle between the ghouls were violent and bloody, as blows and bites were received on both parties.

As the battle raged it brought the attention of the staff and students as they came rushing to see two ghouls fighting each other. They watched in horror as the staff and Headmatser quickly arrived. He was horrified to see not only that two ghouls had gotten into the school, but one of them were a student.

Rook could only watch in horror as his lover and friend continue to be bloodied and bitten. Y/N continued to fight till they finally get had landed a killing blow to the chest of the intruder ghoul.

Y/n refused to turn around as they could feel the hatful and disgusted glares staring down on them. They already knew that they were reading their magic pens, raised and aimed at them.

"Who ever you are foul creature, surrender immediately," Crowley demanded.

"It would be wise that you surrender, it was foolish of you to think that you could sneak into our school as a student," Crewel sneered, " if you come quietly, we'll give a quick and painless death."

"Je ne veux pas mourir.(I don't want to die)," Y/n said in shaky amateur French.

"fuyez...loin..dans un endroit sûr. ( Run away... Far Away... somewhere safe)," Rook said slowly.

The other students and staff were to busy worrying about the ghoul the didn't realize That the ghoul and Rook were having a conversation.

"Je te trouverai partout où tu iras. (I'll find you wherever you go)," Rook said quietly.

Y/n nodded as he quickly pulled out their own and summoned a mist, clouding the students view. With the opening Y/n quickly ran into the night.

#tokyo ghoul #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rook hunt #rook x reader #crossover

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fanficsandfluff · 3 years

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That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

#carry on #carry on: the rise and fall of simon snow #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #simon/baz #simon and baz #fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #carry on fanfic #fanfic #ticklish!simon #ticklish!simonsnow #lee!simon #ler!baz

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herstarburststories · 4 years

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The devil at your door

Kinktober day 3: Demon

Suptober day 3: Demonic

Pairing: Demon!Dean x reader

A/N: This one goes for @holylulusworld's 10k celebration, my trope was Lovers to Enemies. Congrats again, hon! And this is also my piece for @hardcoresupernatural 's Halloween challenge with the prompt: I'm not scared of you.

@deanmonandnegansbitch's asked: Deanmon x Reader, he realizes no one could tame the marks hunger like she did. And yet he lost her by sticking his dick in other women

Warnings: dirty talk, mentions of boob fucking, hints of dark sexual, angst if you squint, teasing

CATCH UP KINKTOBER: Day 1 / Day 2

Spending his whole life in imaginary chains had frustrated Dean Winchester more than he was aware of. He’d always done what his dad taught him; kept himself from what he wanted in order to be the good soldier — the hero — even if it was against his own desires.

Dean saved the world once or twice and didn't get a thank you, a break long enough to relax or even visit the beach for the first time. No, hunters were never kids. Hunters never had time for fun. Hunters were made to be hunting. He always found himself fighting winless battles and ending up drowned in whiskey and self-pity.

Now it was all gone. His old persona never had time to be human, so losing that side of him wasn't a big deal. If anything, he felt better now. Whatever his green eyes wanted, Dean would go and get it.

No barbed ward could contain a demon, much less the Knight.

At first, it was funny. Messing around with Crowley, fucking some good, new pussies after tasting only yours, and causing destruction whenever he felt like it.

Then the thrill expired. Honestly, the Winchester pictured it would last longer. Crowley started bitching around like a whiny little man and the new girls no longer could satisfy him — that is, if they ever did. Dean was pretty sure he liked them so much because the cat and mouse play of finding a new toy, but at some point, the cat gets enough of the foreplay and wants to eat the prey. They were so boring in all their humanly forms: they didn't have his stamina, they didn’t know his sweet spots, and they didn’t enjoy all the mischievous things he wanted to do.

Only painting his knuckles with an aleatory idiot's blood could get a real smile out of him these days. Nonetheless, even throwing punches gets exhausting when they stop fighting back.

Where was the fun of being free?

It clicked him like one of the worst sounds of tortured souls screams; you.

You used to be the wild in Dean's heart during hunter days. You knew all the bad things he wanted to do, and you moaned in pleasure through them. You knew his body and yours like religion and shamelessly worshipped them.

When he finds himself at your door after leaving a woman who just wanted some vanilla sex in a cheap motel, it shouldn't have been a surprise. At least, it's not in his uniquely demonic brand of rationality. As you open the door, the look on your face tells him you agree with that.

Or so his deranged mind said.

You crossed your arms, the angle exposing your cleavage more as you leaned against the rose-colored door that he helped you paint months ago.

Dean used to think this little apple pie life was so savage, something out of his reach that he’d only get to touch in case of a miracle, like caressing the fire only to get a feel for the burn. Now he can't help but scrunch up his nose, disgusted by domestic, urban pleasures.

“What do you want, Dean?” You looked him up and down, a humorless smile on your face. “Got tired of fucking everyone with a pair of boobs?”

“I'm more interested in your boobs, sweetheart.” Dean isn't put off by your sarcasm, countering with the same flirty tone that used to get you riled up all the time.

Isn't the past such a beautiful memory?

“Go find someone your species, Winchester.” You rolled your eyes and pulled away, pushing the door closed before Dean's foot interrupted you.

He faked a pout. “Wow. That's racist, Y/N. This demon’s got feelings, you know?”

His childish attitude heats your system. Only Dean, demon or not, could push your buttons and get on your nerves in a matter of seconds. You pushed the pink door fully open with enough strength to make it slam against the wall with a loud crack. Dean doesn't look affected, though. You furiously glare at his lopsided grin.

“Do you also have a brain? I told you to leave. Get lost.”

“Come on, baby girl. I know you miss my cock. What about a night to remember?”

Believing he was the man you once loved was getting harder with every word he said. Your body seemed to recognize him easier, aching for him like some kind of spell. All you had after Dean Winchester left was a longing body and fury.

“Do you really think I'm gonna let you in my house for a quick fuck like I'm one of your one night stands?”

Dean appeared to be considering it for a moment, eyes focused on anything but you. His lips pursed before he glanced at you with a malicious beam. “Yes. You always said I was the best sex you ever had. Why not get a bit of it? You already know you won't regret that, sweetheart.”

You studied him, picturing what would bring a man who ran away back to what used to be his home. Dean had left as soon as he became a demon, the only trace of his existence being a note addressed to Sam and pieces of your heart. When you and Sammy finally found the eldest Winchester, he made was certain to make sure that you were aware of his very active sex life. He’d tacked on that he'd kill Sam and you both if you tried to save him.

You let him run like water after this. The Winchesters might have that wondrous codependency, but you didn't need something like that in your life. Especially not with a demonic cheater and murder.

Your eyes were too wide to ignore the warning signs now. Yet, that didn't answer why he was in your doorway. If he wanted to be saved, he'd go for Sam and call you from there. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn't spend time talking about fond memories. He didn't look like a lost puppy looking for shelter either. So, what the fuck was this green-eyed devil doing here?

Quietude thickened while you noticed Dean not seeming to notice your silence, his eyes too busy observing your breasts. Your Dean Winchester was always a boob man, and he was looking like he'd fuck your titties on your porch for all your neighbors to see. It certainly wouldn't be yours and his first time with public sex. Still, that wasn't the point: he was here, hair longer than usual and cock clearly starting to awaken in his jeans…

Because he had missed you.

You chortled in dismay, unable to discern whether he was kidding or not despite the bulge in his pants, and that glimmer in his eyes already confirmed your suspicions. You knew him.

The realization almost cheered up your soul. Your reasoning stopped you from collecting hopes about that demoniac form of a man. Dean was here for carnal desire, not love. He had sex with other women while you spent sleepless nights crying into his old shirts. He broke you as the monster that he was — he deserved to suffer.

You didn't care if your heart would be a little more broken, or you pussy a bit needier after that.

“You missed fucking me, Dean? Missed my tight pussy squeezing your cock? Maybe my mouth on it? Or how you got it between my boobs? Did you miss how I taste?” You took a step closer to him, making Dean lift his glare to your face again.

He wore a cocky smirk as he answered, “Not as much as you missed me.”

Dean was right. Your body cried for him, and so did your soul. Who fucking cares? He didn't before, and you would not now.

“Liar.” The word rolled letter by letter off of your tongue. “I can take care of myself, even call a friend to do that, but you came back just because you can't forget how eating my pussy like a fucking feast feels like. Can you, sweetheart?”

You used that stupid nickname that he often gave people. You were very aware that it would irritate him, as it was laced with the implication of another man putting his hands on you.

Dean quickly grabbed your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him. He groaned. It was that fucking sound he made when something truly made him furious, and you knew your panties were gone. His eyes flashed into darkness that replaced his glistening greens, and for some calamitous reason, that turned you on.

“You better not have let anyone fuck what's mine, Y/N. I'd rip his throat in front of you and fuck you right next to his body,” he spits out jealously. His posture radiated that usual, alpha-esque tenseness that tumbled you two into angry, possessive sex so many times before.

“So jealous. I loved to tease you only to get you rough on me. Throwing me against the wall, going so hard inside my pussy that the bed broke, holding me hard enough to leave marks. You wanted for my bruises too, right? How I'd scratch your back, bite your collarbone, ruin your neck for everyone to see you were mine, but I guess what you really liked about me was that I was as hungry for you as you were for me. I would’ve let you do anything to my body, and I did. Because I wasn’t scared of you, Dean, and I’m not scared of you now either.” The way your arms compulsively wrapped around his neck made you wonder if you really wanted to strangle him or pull him closer. You could smell his manly cologne mixed with sulfur. It shouldn't make you want him more. Your knees shouldn't be begging to kneel for him and suck his cock. Be stronger. “You could come in, throw my clothes away and fuck my boobs with your dick instead of your eyes. Hurt me good enough to make me ask for more. But you know what?”

“Mm?” Dean's reply came in a hum as you pressed your hips against his, causing his clothed cock to rub on your belly. It was a tiny bit of relief — finally. He missed this so much: he couldn't wait to slip into your tight pussy.

“You won't.” Your lips brushed against his before you pulled away. His hands left your body from his surprise at your words. A wry smirk was wrung from your lips despite your wet pussy. “You stuck your dick into other women as soon as you became… whatever this is.” You scoffed, pointing at him with a feigned disgust in your eyes that you knew your body disagreed with. “Go have fun with your hand, Dean.”

A light rose painted door was ultimately closed in his face.

Leave a comment and reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my day 1&2 of kinktober and my masterlist ♡

Dean's sweetheart: @akshi8278 (dean taglist open)

Hunters: @demonhunterbarbie @bi-danvers0 @emilyshurley @desimarie12 (spn taglist open)

KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @psych0crybaby (NEW&OPEN)

WANNA BE TAGGED? SEND ME AN ASK OR DM.

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cherripeach · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is "I have the power of god and anime on my side, don't mess with me," and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it.Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 1-2: Is this a kidnapping?

Chapter Summary: Waking up in a coffin is a great way to spend your day! Don't even ask about the sus masked man and creepy cat.

Words: 3.5k

Relationships: Developing as of now, but future twisted character/reader

Warning: Curse words, jokes about death because lack of fear of danger, joke about Crowley being mentally insane, low-key sex jokes, self deprecating humor, (If I missed anything, please tell me)

Covered in darkness, you were stuck in a small, somewhat squared space. It seemed like today was not your day, but you did get a lot of sleep, you assume. You reached out to every side to make sure that there was no opening or latch that you just could not see. While you were reaching around for something, all the sudden you heard an old creaky door open. Apparently, you were supposedly in a bigger room if this large box containing you could fit in it.

“Was I... kidnapped…?” You could have never guessed this would happen, and you always thought they would be too annoyed with you to actually keep you, “but I’m not a kid.”

It seemed that really nothing would ever go your way because immediately after you affirm your belief that you would not be someone good to kidnap a much greater voice entered the room, and so you stopped your mind to process the words being said, “...lid is too heavy.. Time for my secret move!”

Confusion seemed to radiate off of you at that line, at least, until there was a sharp thud to whatever you were in. But after the thud was a second of calm; nothing happened, no footsteps were heard, and no one spoke. Yet suddenly instead of a loud thud there was slowly heat entering the area you were in. The heat began to engulf the box around you, and soon you could see the bright blue flames eating everything up. In your desperation and in your brain’s rush of survival skills, your mind freaked and decided to take control of your body to both scream and kick the front of this box. The door or whatever of the box spasmed when your kick hit it and your body threw itself up from the heat located in the now black box that looked really much like a coffin. Your observations on where you were ended quickly when you saw a little being running to you. The creature looked like a weird cat mix between a fox or something, but the fact that it was running on its back legs really threw you off. The creature stared at you after you stopped your evaluation of this strange being, and he panicked much like your previous actions.

“wHY aRe yOu up?” the creature could never seem to stop mumbling to themself you learned, and you only heard his last phrase before you could process the rest.

“Wow, the CGI on you is amazing!” This place seemed to be like a living breathing set from your assumption because no kidnapping could ever be as odd and elegant as this place. You always assumed that whenever someone gets kidnapped they would wake up in an abandoned warehouse tied to a wooden chair and men with weapons would come in and interrogate the kid. Waking up in a coffin is not how a kidnapping should happen. Anyway, the cat just seemed as stunned as you and stopped his motions.

“CGAI?? What are you talking about? I am the Great Grim,” the cat bounced back awfully quick after your so-called rude statement to him, “Now give me your clothes, human! Otherwise,... I’ll roast ya.” This “Great Grim” seemed to have quite the ego to think that you would strip for him. He even puffed out his chest throughout his speech and put his paws on his hips.

“Ah ah, no way am I stripping without you giving me money.” You would not be stopped or told to do anything by a little creature that in your eyes could not hurt you.

However, the creature could not swallow your lack of obedience or the words that came out of your mouth, so he in all honesty started to attack you with this “CGI blue fire” again. He acted a lot more like an arrogant child than an arrogant child would act. He even screams something about him being “The Great Grim” again before he gets closer to you. Once he got close to your personal bubble, you decided to see if the fire really was the claimed hottest fire in the world because of its color. You reached out and basically grabbed the fire with an open hand and left it there letting your mind pend what was going on around you, and immediately your brain and its nerves picked up on the pain in your hand. Not believing your nerves, you kept your hand there for another second and pulled it away to look at it, only to notice that the skin on some of your hand was distinguishably different from the rest of your hand. Your mind paused, and you snorted at yourself while you observed your hand and slowly turned around and sprinted from the creature that was gaining on you while you stood there gazing at your hand.

This set or whatever had very real effects as seen by the cat that was continuing to chase you and scream for you to give him your uniform or something and by the bright blue flame. It didn’t just look cool but it also hurt and in your book that’s amazing! The world of CGI and effects really have changed, and wherever and whenever you are, they are way ahead of their time.

Your running from the cat never seemed to stop and you passed tons of weird areas. There was a little classroom, a weird well, and some odd architecture but overall this set was ‘set to perfection.’

You decided to go into the next room you saw to see if this set continued or had any more different scenes, and so you went into this library with tons of floating books. When entering, you noticed that the cat creature was still behind you, but you paid it no mind, not willing to listen to the being and continuing to explore this library.

“You really thought you could get away from my nose? Dumb human! Hand over your clothes if you don’t wanna-” The creature really seemed set on your clothing, but another great sound cut him off as he screamed a large “owww” and later only to respond to the previous sound with a “What’s this cord?”

You turned from the books you were observing and saw a tall man with a top hat and a bird mask like a masquerade party. His cloak and whole ensemble appeared to be out of a fairy tale; he looked like a misunderstood villain whose whole family and lover had died in the past and so he turned to evil in order to help himself deal with the pain. He did look somewhat like an asshole though. Not the point though, let’s get on task.

“This is no mere cord. It is a lash of love.” Briefly in your head you thought that this man deserved to be called clinically insane, but at this point that’s just being rude to those who are. The man after he caught the cat by wrapping the cord around the creature turned to you. “Found you at last. Are you one of the new students?”

And in your haze instead of being confused you nodded, so he continued his speech.

“You should not do things like that. Leaving the Gate on your own!” his manner of speaking was almost too flamboyant for you, but right now all you can do is stick with him and get out of this place, “Not only that, you have yet to tame your familiar which has broken a number of school rules.”

Just as confused as seeing the talking cat, you decided to nod your head and shepley mumble an apology so this man would get off your ass about the talking CGI cat and you apparently. And as quickly as you thought you figured out the situation and what he was trying to lecture you on, the man continued his speech after the cat screamed out that he “wasn’t your familiar!” or something and another.

“Sure, sure The rebellious ones always say things like that. Now quiet down for a moment.” You just watched on as the man slammed his hand over the cat’s mouth and continued on talking, “My goodness. It’s unprecedented for a new student to leave the Gate on their own...how impatient can you be?” His eyes locked on yours to make sure you were paying attention, so you just nodded your head again to show that you were listening when you weren’t.

His speech seemed to be going for a century so you got bored and noticed that after a while he closed his eyes and was not paying attention to you while still having animated hand movements. You, then, began to observe the shelves around you again to see if there was anything odd, and there was, many of the books seemed to be in this weird language that you have never seen. The language looked like something you would find in a horror movie where the people would be so curious to actually touch the book and not throw it away like they should have, so you decided that as much as this place was odd and mysterious you did not want to be that kind of idiot. However, in your inner dialogue of stupid characters in horror movies, the theatrical man turned around with his cap flying behind him and sauntered on out of the room. You realized he probably said something important, but the worst case scenario is he was the one that kidnapped you and would kill you later. No big deal. The main problem right now is that the man was walking too fast for your tastes and has already disappeared from your vision, so you ran to catch up with him.

Finally, you met his step in a hallway, and you decided to ask just what this all was. “Wait, wait, wait sir. First, what’s this Gate or whatever?” You did fake quotes around the word gate by putting up peace signs and bending your fingers, and then you looked at the man with your arms situated over your chest and puffed your chest out to show you meant to be answered when you resumed with “And who are you, man?”

The man, though, was not at all bothered at your vibe and started a new explanation, “It’s the room you woke up in with all the doors...” Then, he went on about this “academy” or something, and you were getting the vibe that this man and this set had to be some kind of prank, “Let’s get a move on!”

You really seemed to be missing the important parts of the conversation or lecture of whatever this so-called teacher is doing if this even is a school, but at this point and time you just want to go back to bed.

He began to stare at your dazed and puzzled form and said, “For I am gracious I will explain everything to you!” This man is like teachers in the fact that if you nod your head and look like you are paying attention, anything is possible. At the end of his speech, you caught the word “ceremony” before he sped off for you to only follow behind him. You went through several more hallways to get to where you think you woke up around. No one remembers what happened once they woke up; it is all just blurred reality.

The man in all of his glory decides that once you arrive at this large door to fling the door open and teacher-yell “Not at all!”

Out of the flurry of voices you were greeted by once the door was opened one person in the cloak just like you calmly states a little disappointedly “Ah, he’s here.”

You decided that with the added amount of people you should probably pay more attention so you can get home quicker and figure this prank out.

“I cannot believe you all…” You really are getting better at tuning the man out because after his short speech this time he turned to you as motioned for you to move in the direction of another object that would come out of a horror movie. You having no context for this mirror or what you were going to do started walking for the mirror while making out the mirror and area around it. Actually, there was a familiar face in the mirror, something you think you have seen from a Disney movie. It was the magic mirror mask (?) from the Snow White movie. It did look a little different with some mask markings by the face’s eyes and the mirror had some more intricate details, but other than that the mirrors looked almost identical.

After your moment of remembrance of the past, you stopped from your walk and put your hand on your chin and just paused to process it all, causing the entire room to stop from their constant talking that you didn’t notice and stare. In a brilliant moment of association, you turned around to the man and the cat that was still in his arms and tried to get out all of what your brain has concluded from the situation, “So like can we just stop this… like I know you were probably hired to prank me or something, but this situation is giving me hardcore cult vibes. Are you gonna like sacrifice me to Satan or something? Please do tell.” The time of the room stopped waiting for a single response to your question. Before there were murmurs here or there as the people were watching you, but now silence pierced the air.

You watched the man’s face after you said your opinion, and while it was covered by a mask, it was clearly obvious from his open mouth and sagged shoulders that he was shocked about the situation. After a moment, he adjusted his tie and dusted his shoulder off in an effort to steel himself, but you were having none of his b.s, and prattled on again.

“Like, I’ll tell you, you lecturing me about this school and that cat is not what I was planning to do today. I would like to get back to my bed and sleep.” You even told him the name of your town, but this just made him more lost than before.

He repeated your town and asked, “Are you even from Twisted Wonderland?”

“Twisted what,” now both of you were lost and gawking at each other.

“Were you not listening to me?”

“Honesty, I thought this was a prank from the second you walked in, and I still kinda do, so I blanked everything out.” You scratched your cheek and made sure you lost your previous eye contact with him. The lack of of chatter from the crowd made your interaction more awkward than even you could make one.

He placed his free hand on his forehead looking almost as disappointed as the first voice you heard besides him and looked down to the floor.

“Right now we are in Night Raven College in Twisted Wonderland where we are at the end of the entrance ceremony. You should be here to become a student at this school as a magician. However, even if you are not from here, the mirror did send for you, so please,” he paused and weakly threw his hand back in the direction of the mirror, “Step in front of the mirror.”

While you knew you could not trust the man, the only thing to do in this situation is turn and step in front of the familiar mirror. The mirror then grasped the attention of all those in the room as asked you to “State thy name,” and you told the mirror your name.

“The shape of thy soul is…” Consequently, the mirror began to join in the confusion of you and the man behind you, “I don’t know.”

You turned around and threw both your hands up in a “don’t look at me” sign only for the man to gaze right in the mirror past you. “Come again?”

The mirror still pulling a puzzled face when it was only a mask tried to state what it knew, “I sense not a spark of magic from this one… the color, the shape, all are nothing. Therefore, they are suited for no dormitory.”

While the people around you began their whispers, and the man behind you gasped in a weird over exaggerated way, you decided to state your mind. “So, like I knew that, but pissy. I’ve always wanted magic and stuff.”

The masked man did not comment on what you said; you think that he probably has had enough of everything. “An Ebony Carriage would absolutely never go to meet someone who can’t use magic. In a hundred years, there has not been one mistake in student selection. So why in the world…”

You cut in with “I’m a total mistake, sir, that’s why,” but the CGI ‘Great Grim’ jumped out of the man’s hold and further cut you off: “Then, I’ll take their place!” All of this is getting too weird too fast so you just casually walked out of the limelight next to someone who was in a group of five, you think, not counting the floating tablet (??). The cat appeared mad before but being in that man’s hold just made him worse.

“Stay right there! Raccoon!” The masked, clearly sus man bolted out after the cat and chased him around at least for a few feet.

“Unlike that dumb human, I can use magic! Let me in the school instead! If you need proof, I’ll show you right now!” The cat was running around the room trying to avoid as many things as possible. You thought that he looked like a crewmate in the waiting ship for Among Us.

The peace did not last longer before the same disappointed voice from when you walked in the room became cross while screaming “Everyone, get down!”

The cat, then, spit out fire in every direction. Neither you nor the person next to you ducked, but you noticed some fire make its way to you and tried to get them out of the way before anything happened. Just as you were about to reach them, they caught on fire. Oops.

“Waaaaah! Hot! My butt’s on fire!” the male, you assumed, yelled right in your ear vibrating your eardrum and causing you to take a step back before fixing the problem. You spotted the man from before screaming to the other people in the room, and then, pointing at the cat.

Two of the taller people next to you began a conversation which you tried to listen in on:

“Good at hunting?... nice, plump snack?” You don’t think you wanted to hear this conversation.

“...Do it yourself.”

You focused your mind back to the boy who was still screaming in your ear until more voices piped up in response to the man.

“Mr. Crowley, please leave it to me.” another boy in the group of five said with this really profound voice. You could just tell he was a bottom or something. You are also assuming that “Mr. Crowley” is the masked sus man.

“That’s Azul for you. Always trying to earn himself points.” Let’s just ignore the talking, floating tablet and everything that should be questioned and focus on the fact that the bottom’s name is Azul.

The boy next to you with his butt still on fire did not find this conversation as interesting as you which in retrospect is obvious because of the fire on his butt. “Um, hey, could someone put out the fire on my butt already?”

“O gosh, I’m so sorry. I got really distracted by everything,” You aimed all your concentration that you had at the boy. You slapped the area that was on fire several times to get the fire out, and after a few slaps, the fire slowly extinguished on the boy. The fire was not as bad as it looked.

The boy turned around to face you and beamed at you as you believe the personification of the Sun would look like. “Thank you!!” His bright red eyes gazed right through your soul through your eyes, sparkling every couple of seconds. You patted the golden retriever’s hood as he just continued to beam through you. He even grabbed your hands and shook them rapidly several times to show his thanks to you and squeezed them to finally drop his grip.

You ignored the conversation that was happening between several others of the group of five in favor of staring at the young sun. A couple seconds after two of the clocked people began to run after the cat. That was your clue to start to pay more attention to the situation at hand than the sun.

~~~

So this was supposed to be a lot sooner but then exams hit and that's always fun. This chapter just had to have my mind commenting on everything, so half of the chapter we don't even know what happens, but it's really only gonna be for this chapter. Thank you for reading this, and I apologize for any mistakes, but I hope you enjoy it! Have a great day or night!

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toomuchofabastard · 3 years

Text

O Unhappy Dagger

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: T for violence and language

Warnings: Major Character Death, tragedy, violence, mind control, implied suicide, bonus happy ending available in linked post

Word count: 3,711 (+ 760)

Fic Summary: Crowley should have known they’d find some other way to punish him. He’d hoped – naïvely, it seemed – that they didn’t have the creativity, the almost-uniquely human sadism, to think up something like this. To realise the one vulnerability that he’d kept nestled in his heart, hidden from view.

This is my fic for @darkomenszine Vol 1! Vol 2 will be available soon if Good Omens darkfic is your thing 😈

READ ON AO3

___

The sign on the door of the bookshop read ‘closed’, but that didn’t stop Crowley.

Of course, it wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but this time was different. Rather than sauntering up to the threshold with a subtle spring in his step and a ready grin for his angel, Crowley’s heart pounded with terror as he approached the entrance to A. Z. Fell & Co. He felt as though some phantom hand had a grip around his throat, applying a pressure so crushing that he couldn’t speak and could barely breathe. What breaths he could draw were rapid with panic. His footsteps rang out against the flagstones as he strode forward – except that they weren’t his footsteps. Oh, it was his body, drawing closer and closer to the familiar doorway. But Hell’s footsteps. Hell’s oppressive malice invading every corner of his mind, and Hell making him grip the object behind his back so tightly that his knuckles hurt.

He should have known they’d find some other way to punish him. He’d hoped – naïvely, it seemed – that they didn’t have the creativity, the almost-uniquely human sadism, to think up something like this. To realise the one vulnerability that he’d kept nestled in his heart, hidden from view.

Tucked behind him, the flames continued to burn. Gripped in his hand back there was a dagger, a dark, cruel-looking thing, not just viciously sharp on its own, but also wreathed in infernal flame. The billows were gnawing away at his back, leaving his rather expensive jacket charred and ragged – not that Hell would give a blessèd fuck about that. In this moment, he didn’t either. There was only a single, dreadful thought clawing at his brain.

Infernal flame could be meant for only one thing. Aziraphale. The only thing that could kill an angel.

Crowley shuddered inwardly with revulsion at the thought. He could actually feel Hell’s evil intent coursing through him, as he ascended the steps and watched his own hand reach for the door handle. Hell’s control had overtaken him so suddenly that he hadn’t even had a chance to fight back. He kept trying to, struggling with every fibre of his being, but to no avail. He could hardly even feel his own corporation, let alone exert control, and seeing it moving against his will was intensely disturbing – violating, even. It was Hell’s way of proving that they could take whatever they wanted from him, just use him as their puppet and then discard him. It made him want to scream, but he couldn’t even do that. He felt himself push the door handle down.

Crowley stepped through the threshold and into the quiet of the bookshop. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the cosy dimness, but then the mountains and spires of books and papers revealed themselves.

Aziraphale stood in the hollow underneath the eastern archway, facing away from Crowley. He looked completely in his element, humming distractedly to himself as he leafed through some old volume. He turned as he heard Crowley shutting the door behind himself.

“Crowley!”

The angel beamed at him, and suddenly the whole room seemed lit up from within, like the sun itself had appeared in their midst. For a brief second, the panic and revulsion in Crowley’s chest was forgotten as the luminosity of Aziraphale’s smile dazzled him. That smile – especially when meant for him – never failed to take his breath away.

Aziraphale’s gaze drifted downwards as he noticed Crowley’s hand tucked behind his back, and the angel’s eyes twinkled, creases forming at their corners as his smile grew even wider. Crowley’s heart lurched again, and the panic returned. He guessed Aziraphale was probably anticipating another box of chocolates, or a nice bottle of wine for them both to share – the sort of surprise Crowley might often reveal with a sly smile, to be met by a paroxysm of delighted wiggles. He was painfully aware of how unlikely it was that Aziraphale would ever even suspect that what was really hidden there was not a doting treat, but a weapon of evil, meant specifically for him.

At his back, the flames had scorched their way through both layers of his jacket and shirt, and were beginning to lick painlessly against the bare skin along his spine. They didn’t leave any marks. Infernal flame could glance off of his corporation just like beads of water off a duck’s back – the perks of being demonic in nature – but Crowley knew it would be devastating to angelic flesh. That knowledge terrified him.

He felt his body start to slink loosely across the room towards the angel, the disobedient muscles and sinews of his legs dragging him involuntarily closer and closer. Run, angel! He tried to scream at Aziraphale, but the words choked in his throat, only echoing emptily inside his mind. His heart was clenched so tight with dread as he approached that he could swear it was no longer beating. Not that Hell needed it to be. Apparently they could twist and use his unwilling body however they liked now, whether it was still functioning or not.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows creased into a puzzled frown as Crowley moved nearer, the smile freezing slightly on his face. The real Crowley would have said something by now, or revealed the gift, or at least returned a crooked grin, rather than the blank expression he could feel was fixed on his face. He was almost surprised the angel couldn’t smell the burning coming from his clothes, but it seemed Aziraphale had eyes only for him.

“What’s wrong, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley drew near to him, a light note of concern in his voice.

Angel, it’s not me, Crowley responded desperately inside his head. He felt himself step close. Please run. Please get away from me. Aziraphale stayed where he was. Why wouldn’t he? His trust in Crowley had always been complete, whether Crowley felt he deserved that or not.

Behind his back, Crowley’s fingers flexed on the grip of the dagger and began to draw it out from its hiding place. No no no, Crowley thought. Don’t make me do this. He fought again to regain control of his own arm, but could only watch as it rose menacingly of its own accord.

“Crowley–?” Aziraphale began, sounding shocked, and he was suddenly cut off as Crowley slashed the blade forwards towards his neck.

The chorus of screams in Crowley’s head crescendoed. No!

Aziraphale stumbled backwards out of range – thank Satan – but Crowley found himself quickly attacking again, this time trying for a low, plunging blow to the angel’s stomach. Aziraphale managed to squirm out of the way and the knife sliced instead through the back of his coat, only missing his skin by a hair’s breadth. The acrid stench of burning filled Crowley’s nose again.

“Crowley! What are you doing?” Aziraphale’s voice was aghast as he tried to retreat from Crowley’s oncoming assault. Panic and confusion contorted his face, and he held his hands up in front of him, as if in surrender. “S–Stop!”

Crowley wanted nothing more, but apparently the powers controlling him weren’t going to take that for an answer. The awful marionette of his body continued its relentless advance, numb to his attempts to reassert control, as he pursued the angel speechlessly around the bookshop. He could barely sense anything except for the throbbing echo of his heart as it hammered inside him, and the all-encompassing reek of fire and burning and smoke. That smell sent him almost blind with fear as his worst associations with it invaded his mind. Burning, burning; everything burning. The bookshop was burning, and Aziraphale was lost forever. The world was ending, the ground shaking itself apart, flames spilling up from the cracks. Plummeting downwards through wings of fire. Visions of what infernal flame could do to flesh, the screaming and the sizzling… His own screams reverberated inside his skull.

Aziraphale continued to back away from him, dodging or shrinking from each attack, but Crowley knew – and Aziraphale must also – that he couldn’t evade forever.

He’d never seen Aziraphale look so afraid of him. It was horrific. Just as much as with terror, the angel’s gleaming eyes were wide with disbelief, desperately searching Crowley’s for understanding as he was backed into a corner, clearly unable to conceive that Crowley could do this to him. Even if he could have got them out, Crowley didn’t have the words to reassure him.

The blade in his hand swung up again and speared downwards towards Aziraphale’s face. This time, Aziraphale was able to grab Crowley’s wrist and stop its path, though the point hovered fearfully close to his tearful eyes. Crowley felt the angel’s considerable strength pushing back against him, but the determination he was being filled with was enough to match him. They grappled for a moment.

“Crowley, stop!” Aziraphale begged, his voice cracking with a sob. “Please, I–I don’t want to hurt you!”

Oh fuck, hurt me, angel, Crowley thought, do whatever, just don’t let me–!

His pleas were interrupted as his traitorous body shoved Aziraphale roughly away, freeing himself from the angel’s grip. Aziraphale staggered backwards, and then tripped on the corner of a stack of books and fell down heavily onto his backside. Crowley advanced. Aziraphale still held his hands up in front of him, the heels of his oxfords scraping vainly against the floorboards as he kept trying to shuffle away. Tears were running like dewdrops down his cheeks.

Crowley lunged down onto him and thrust the knife at his breast. Aziraphale caught it again and they struggled against each other, Crowley pressing his whole weight down as the tip hovered perilously above the angel’s chest. The flames from the blade flowed up Crowley’s straining arms until he could feel them licking monstrously at the edges of his cheekbones. His teeth were gritted together. Then, underneath the flicker of the flames, he began to feel a hum vibrating up through him from where Aziraphale’s hands gripped his wrists. His heart pounded harder as he recognised the feeling of divine power – the angel’s – flowing out from the place where they were connected and fusing into him. It stung, but it wasn’t enough yet to smite him – although if Aziraphale kept pressing, he knew it would be.

“Please,” Aziraphale whispered at him. He stared up, distraught, into Crowley’s eyes. Crowley could feel him holding back the full surge of what he was capable of.

Do it, angel!, he tried to yell. Goddammit, just do it!

I’d rather be dead than spill a drop of your blood anyway.

The knife-point inched dangerously closer to the angel’s chest. Aziraphale let out another sob, but his grip on Crowley’s wrists tightened, and then his watery blue irises slowly vanished as brilliant light began to pour out of his eyes.

Crowley felt the light build inside him; scorching hot and bitingly cold at the same time, blinding white. It hurt – fuck, it hurt – but the immense feeling of relief overwhelmed the pain. Hell’s power was ebbing away, banished back into the darkness and out of his body as the light invaded. It was going to be ok. Well, he was going to die now, or whatever the equivalent process was for demons, but that was ok. Dying at Aziraphale’s hands – and in order to protect him, even if from himself – wasn’t such a bad way to go.

Suddenly, an inhuman snarl cut through his thoughts. It took Crowley a moment to realise that it had come from somewhere inside of him. Aziraphale jolted with surprise at the sound and the light wavered for an instant. It was all Hell needed.

With fiery fury, Hell’s control rushed back into Crowley, throwing him almost into a spasm as it gripped his body again. His blood seemed to ignite as it ripped through him. As his mouth opened in a silent scream, the blade in his hands dropped downwards and pierced through the angel’s breast.

No.

A gurgled cry slipped from Aziraphale’s throat, and his eyes widened in shock, his grip on Crowley’s arm clenching.

No.

As quickly as Hell’s power had overtaken Crowley, it vanished, leaving him empty. Crowley thought he could hear a triumphant laugh echo in his head as it fled.

No.

The blinding light faded away from Aziraphale’s eyes, revealing again his blue irises; full of pain, the only light in them now the glimmer of his tears and the reflection of the cursed flames burning in his chest.

For a few moments, Crowley, petrified with shock, could only return his stare. Then suddenly, his senses rushed back to him and he noticed his hands still gripping the fiery blade which was buried in his angel’s body. He hastily ripped it out – causing Aziraphale to let out another strangled cry – and flung it aside.

“Oh shit,” he gasped, scrambling over to cradle Aziraphale in his arms. The angel jerked away as Crowley lifted him into his lap, though whether from the pain of the movement or from fear of him, Crowley didn’t know. He pulled Aziraphale close and cradled his head to him, one hand in the back of his blonde curls. Aziraphale gazed up at him, his expression heartbroken and disbelieving, as he tried to gasp for breath.

“Angel!” Crowley began, finally able to use his voice again. “Angel, I–I didn’t mean to– it–it wasn’t me, I didn’t–… oh, fuck.” His free hand fumbled aimlessly around the wound in Aziraphale’s chest, as if trying to close it up. Golden blood quickly coated his palm and smeared messily across Aziraphale’s waistcoat, but worse was the infernal glow that smouldered at the edges of the wound, slowly infecting its way into the angel’s being. Deep down, Crowley knew that the damage was already done. God, how could he have done this?

“I’m sorry,” he gasped at Aziraphale. “I’m so sorry. It–it wasn’t me!” He didn’t know how else to explain it. “Hell, they– I– … I’m so sorry, angel.”

Slowly, a flush of understanding dawned in Aziraphale’s eyes, and the horror faded, but then they quickly scrunched closed, his face twisting as another spasm of pain convulsed through him. Crowley could only hold him close until it had passed.

Aziraphale coughed weakly and his eyes opened again. “It–it’s alright,” he stuttered, and then reached a trembling hand up to caress the side of Crowley’s face. Crowley’s heart flipped as the angel’s fingertips brushed lightly against his cheek. “Crowley…” Aziraphale murmured. His voice was already growing distant, the light in his eyes beginning to dim.

“No, sshsssh, don’t… don’t try to talk,” Crowley gulped, absently stroking the angel’s forehead. He clasped Aziraphale’s hand in his and squeezed it tight. “It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok, just– just hold on, yeah?”

Would it? His heart pounding in his chest knew otherwise, and Aziraphale didn’t look fooled either.

The angel was suddenly seized with another fit of agony, and this time a few tiny shining flecks of blood appeared on his lips as he coughed and spluttered. A poorly-stifled groan left his mouth between the wheezing breaths.

Crowley cast his eyes around the room desperately as Aziraphale writhed in his arms, distractedly pressing the angel’s knuckles to his lips and rubbing his fingers with his thumb, as if that would do anything to ease his pain. There was a hole ripped in his chest, burning him up from the inside. Shitshitshit. There had to be something he could do. He could fix this. Somehow. He had to. Come on! He couldn’t lose him like this.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice drifted weakly up to him again. Crowley looked down and met his watery gaze. Despite the pain, a look of peace seemed to settle on the angel’s face. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth and his eyes, fixed on Crowley, shone with affection, even as they dimmed further.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered tenderly up at him.

“No, angel, don’t say that,” Crowley hissed back. He didn’t like how final that sounded. “H–hold on, come on, you have to stay with me.” He shifted and clutched the angel closer.

Aziraphale blinked up at him like he hadn’t even heard. Then his face darkened as if in thought, his brow creasing briefly into a frown and his concerned gaze scanning Crowley’s face, before he spoke again.

“I forgive you.”

His voice, though shaky, was earnest and meaningful, full of empathy. A single tear overflowed from his eyes and slid down his still-smiling cheek.

Crowley could only shake his head, mouthing wordless no’s at the angel. He faintly felt matching tears streaming down his own face. Damn him. Dying in his arms, and he was still the one trying to offer comfort. Blessed, perceptive bastard. He knows I’ll always blame myself for this.

Even as Aziraphale’s eyes remained fixed on him, Crowley could see the focus in them wavering, dwindling away. The interval between each gasped breath the angel tried to draw in was growing longer. A precious few seconds seemed to pass like an entire lifetime, and then the gasps stopped altogether, and the light inside him finally faded away into nothing. Aziraphale went still.

“No, please,” Crowley begged. “Stay with me, angel.” Aziraphale didn’t respond.

“Come on! Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, and shook him angrily, panting with the desperation for a response. Aziraphale’s body lolled limply. Crowley stared at the angel’s sightless eyes and something within him seemed to collapse, the anger fleeing as a wave of grief came crashing, tearing through him.

“Don’t go,” he whimpered, clasping at the side of Aziraphale’s face. His voice shook and he felt his lower lip begin to tremble uncontrollably. “Please don’t go.”

It’s too late. Crowley’s face screwed up with pain as the thought broke upon him, and he found himself crumpling, pressing his forehead close to the angel’s as choked sobs began to wrack his body. “Don’t leave me,” he snivelled quietly into him. No.

“Please!” He suddenly jolted upright and screamed up at the sky in anguish. “Don’t–…” He choked again, staring at the ceiling. Then he looked back down at Aziraphale’s body, slumped loosely in his arms, and his voice became terribly small, almost child-like. “Please don’t take him from me.”

Whatever reply he had been hoping for, none came. The bookshop was almost eerily silent around him, no sound but his own breaths echoing throughout the now empty and cold-seeming space. No one was listening to his calls, as ever. He was abandoned, cast out. There was only one person who had ever truly cared for him, and now… They’d made him kill the only person he’d ever… ever…

His eyes ran compulsively up and down the angel’s body and face again. He felt himself trembling and starting to hyperventilate, and a grief like something inside him was shattering, as he finally collapsed into Aziraphale, burying his face in his chest, and howled. He clutched brokenly at him, rocking himself through the pain, and squeezing so tight it was like he was trying to merge the angel into his own being. Wrenching, wretched sobs forced their way out of him, muffled by the angel’s breast, his whole body convulsing with the strain, and along with the cries came whimpered fragments of words; pleases and no’s and angels that tumbled feebly out of him. He had no other words left to say. He just wept – pressing his body against Aziraphale’s, with his hands gripping him close and his face burrowed into the side of his neck – until he could cry no more. And then he stayed that way for a long time.

◥|⧗|◤

Some weeks later, a dove managed to find its way into the bookshop – probably through an open window left forgotten – and flitted about in the upstairs rafters.

The fluttering of wings was enough to stir Crowley from his stupor. His closed eyelids slid sluggishly open, revealing serpentine irises dull with pain. He lay, unmoving, for several minutes on top of Aziraphale’s body. In his mind, he was trying to muster up something to think, but the grief was so crushing that it was as though all conscious thought had just been bled out of him into the dirt. He was nothing but pain.

Eventually, he slowly lifted his head and looked once more at Aziraphale’s face. In the time they’d lain there, a fine layer of dust had settled across the room, coating the angel’s body as well as his own. Aziraphale’s glazed eyes were shrouded underneath its grey film, staring up at the ceiling. It hurt to see.

It was just the husk, Crowley told himself. Only his Earthly corporation. Everything that had been his angel was long gone.

It still hurt.

Achingly, Crowley peeled himself off of Aziraphale and lurched to his knees. Looking down, he noticed the smears of golden blood – now dried to peeling flakes – all across his necktie, jacket and sleeves, mirroring the angel’s chest. His hands itched with it too. There wouldn’t be enough water in the world to wipe the feeling away.

He still had some holy water somewhere.

The thought registered suddenly, without prompting, and without emotion. Oh. Yeah. His ‘exit solution’. A way out… and maybe a way back to him.

Crowley considered that. It could be that there was no life after death for their kind, only emptiness and nothingness, but he realised that he didn’t much care either way anymore. He had a penance to pay. And he was ready to join Aziraphale, in whatever lay beyond. He nodded to himself. Yes. He’d made him wait long enough already.

Still feeling empty inside, he bent down close over Aziraphale.

“I’m coming, angel,” he whispered to him, his voice hoarse. “Wherever you are… I’m coming to you.”

He placed one final, soft-lipped, lingering kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. He paused against him for one final moment, eyes closed, taking shaky but even breaths. Then he straightened, and rose, and then turned and headed off, in search of a tartan thermos.

◥|⧗|◤

Need a happy ending? No prob, check out the bonus one here [tumblr link]. 💙

#my fanfiction #good omens #major character death #suicide tw #whump #aziraphale!whump #crowley!whump #angst #dark omens #long post

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Love’s Endless Light: A Good Omens serial romance

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 2: Fear Dispelling

57 BC, El Mirador, Mesoamérica

It was oddly easy to forget that Aziraphale was an angel. Especially because Aziraphale never missed an opportunity to remind Crawly of that. But while Aziraphale tended to act in an angelic manner: kind, caring, generous, he was also sort of unassuming, meek and mild, gentle. Which was why it always nearly gave Crawly a heart attack to see Aziraphale suddenly transform into a Soldier of Heaven.

They’d been standing in the marketplace. Aziraphale was prattling on about something, and Crawly wasn’t really listening, because he’d been distracted. Crawly wasn’t sure why, but sometimes odd things about the angel would catch his attention: the way the the white hair on his arms seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, the lively noise his hands made when he clapped them free of dust, the way his voice occasionally dropped low and sounded almost— tempting.

So while Crawly had been gazing curiously at Aziraphale’s sandals, noting with inexplicable interest that the angel’s second toes were longer than his big toes, some humans started a fight, and Aziraphale apparently felt the situation called for the Powers of Heaven. Suddenly Crawly was standing next to an angel in glory, feet planted apart, wings arching out, glowing golden, with his hands curled around the hilt of a flaming sword.

Soldier was such a strange look on Aziraphale. He was always clever, but now he looked calculating. He was strong, but now he looked powerful. Crawly backed up as far as he could go without actually running away. Aziraphale didn’t spare him a glance, all of his attention on a group of humans who’d apparently been menacing some other group of humans. Now some of the attackers were cowering, but others had armed themselves with whatever they could lay hands on— stone and obsidian knives, broken pottery, even a spear.

They didn’t stand a chance against an angel who had clearly been trained in close-hand combat. The sharp, pointed way Aziraphale moved now was so alien to his usual quiet walk and gentle habits that it gave Crawly a shiver. It reminded him so clearly of the War in Heaven between angels and Fallen angels. Crawly remembered the brilliant light, the screaming, the pain and heartbreak of friend pitted against friend.

Crawly hadn’t known Aziraphale then. He wasn’t even sure Aziraphale had been in the War. Either way, Aziraphale clearly knew how to fight. Except for one thing: none of the humans were being injured. Aziraphale fought only to disarm them. Eventually, the whole group of them were forced to admit defeat, and they fled.

Crawly expected the other humans to be grateful to their defender. Apparently Aziraphale expected it as well, because he reached out toward a child who had fallen.

The child buried her face in her mother’s leg, sobbing. Her mother picked her up and ran.

Aziraphale’s glow doused itself in an instant, as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him. The sword and wings vanished, too, leaving Aziraphale as just a man standing by himself in an empty marketplace. He kept his face turned away from Crawly, but Crawly could see the tension in his shoulders, like his wings were still weighing on him.

Crawly wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to get closer to Aziraphale right now, but neither could he bear to leave him alone. “There’s your good deed for the day,” Crawly called.

Aziraphale didn’t answer. His gaze was trained onto the ground, where stone knives lay in a haphazard pile, gray with dirt and dust, but not a speck of blood. The lack of all sound ate at Crawly, the quiet of what should have been a busy marketplace, of what should have been a chattering angel.

“Kind of you,” Crawly offered, uncertainly. “You’re always protecting them, even from themselves.”

“Kindness is in the eye of the beholder, apparently,” Aziraphale said.

Crawly was so unnerved by the heartbreak in Aziraphale’s voice that he said the next thing that popped into his mind, although, historically, that had never failed to be a bad idea. “Did you learn those moves in the War in Heaven?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up, and he gazed at Crawly with shocked blue eyes. “That— that was a long time ago,” he said, his cheeks flushing a feverish red.

Crawly was very much regretting angering what he somehow seemed to keep forgetting was an very dangerous angel. “Um— I just meant—”

“Why?” Aziraphale demanded, stalking closer to Crawly. “Do you think I want to fight you?”

Aziraphale hadn’t reignited his glow or brought out his wings, but he stood in front of Crawly with his hand tilted up, like he was expecting to momentarily be holding a sword. He was an angel facing down a demon, but not like Crawly had ever seen before. This angel looked not murderous and violent but sick and in pain.

“No,” Crawly said. “I know you don’t.”

Aziraphale’s gaze played over Crawly’s face, as if he was unsure whether to believe him. As if Aziraphale had an awful lot riding on that answer.

“I don’t want to fight you either,” Crawly said.

Aziraphale’s sword hand lowered. “I know. I was stupid enough to pass out drunk with you in Egypt a couple of hundred years ago. You could have—”

Crawly made an uncertain noise. “I mean, I was drunk too. So, you know. Not at my best.”

Aziraphale was looking at the ground again. “Were you in the War?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. Well, kind of. I hid.” Crawly wasn’t sure how he expected Aziraphale to react to that, but it definitely wasn’t a half-second of clear relief followed by his usual more tempered expression.

“You weren’t supposed to do that,” Aziraphale chided, but his voice had gentled again, disapproving rather than dangerous. “Hell would have punished you if they’d found out.”

“Eh, well—” Crawly said, “you see, the thing about rebelling is they can’t just expect you to stop, right? I mean, I rebelled against Heaven.” Crawly’s voice broke a bit. “In— in my own way. Sort of happened into it. But anyways, I Fell, and then they suddenly expect me to follow new orders? Doesn’t work that way.”

“Once a rebel, always a rebel?” Aziraphale asked.

“Hardly going to stop now,” Crawly said. And then, in an act that he would later realize marked the beginning of a very, very distressing and ultimately unshakable habit, he took it upon himself to fight away Aziraphale’s sadness. “Might even,” he said, “have dinner with an angel. If he’s amenable.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows a little, looking soft and strangely hopeful.

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Read on Ao3

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

My Carrd

*********

Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 2

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

#Dannye writes #Love's Endless Light #Good omens #good omens fanfic

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twistedlymad · 4 years

Note

Hello there, I love blogs and your writing. If you have the time, can you please write about the MC (fem reader) where she accidentally summons Stitch himself, befriends him, Stitch took an instant liking to her, with the TW guys becoming jealous to the new familiar and Stitch causing all sorts of mischief and pranks towards them. Thank you, keep up the good work and stay safe

Ohmaigawd. When I first read your request, I was honestly shocked! OwO

I literally could not have made the connection between Twisted Wonderland and Stitch at all! When I started writing, I did so many research! Forgive me, but, I have not seen any episode nor movie related to Stitch during my entire childhood, hence the research ahaha

One note though, I cannot make you summon Stitch as he already is a being on his own. However, I can make him appear in Twisted Wonderland :’)

Anyway, I hope this story lives up to your expectations! Thank you for requesting and have a lovely day!

What if Stitch appeared in Twisted Wonderland? (Ft. Grim, Ace, Deuce, Sebek, Jack, Epel and Crowley) (Twisted Wonderland crossover w/Lilo and Stitch)

It was a quiet night at Night Raven College, no unnecessary arguments, no drama involving dorm leaders nor their members and most importantly, no fights occurring.

Or so you thought.

After having dinner, you and Grim went back to your Ramshackle Dorm after saying your goodnights to your friends.

“Fgnaaaaa! That deluxe-katsudon was the best dinner I’ve ever had!” Grim said as you put him on top of your head. It was his go-to spot for relaxing.

“You always say that to anything you eat.” You said, laughing. “You should cut down on all the extensive eating, you don’t want to have a certain teacher order you to run laps more than usual now do you?” You continued, a slight smirk on your face as you felt slight shivering on top of your head.

“Ahaha, you know what? Maybe I’ll skip lunch tomorrow.” The creature said to you and you shook your head.

“I told you to pay attention to your diet, not skip out on meals. It’s unhealthy.” You said as you opened the door to your humble Ramshackle Dorm, Grim jumping from your head and went inside. Before you went in yourself, you took a look outside and saw that the sky was clear and the moon shone upon you with no distractions. You felt a slight breeze blow through your hair and decided that it was a perfect weather to take a walk.

“Grim, I’m going to take a walk! You can go to sleep without me!” You yelled into the dorm before closing the door behind you and went on your walk.

You weren’t far from the dorm, in fact, you were taking your walk on the small field behind the building, enjoying the peace and quiet for once. As you looked up to the sky again, you noticed the stars that littered the sky. You took out your phone and took a picture of the night sky. However, a certain star caught your eye.

It was rather large to be a star? You thought it must be because the star was relatively close. You almost shrugged it off, keyword: almost. You would’ve went on your merry way if it wasn’t for a certain fact about the star.

It was getting bigger, it looked as if it was right above you. Once your mind had taken this fact into realization, your legs got the message and began to move out of the way. You ran to a few trees and hid behind one of them. A crash was heard soon after, it was rather loud, Grim would have probably heard it if it wasn’t for the fact that he was asleep. You peeked your head out from behind the tree to see what had happened, but all you could see was smoke.

Your mind had told you to get back into the dorm and call Crowley but your curiosity got the better of you. You began to walk towards the smoke to see what had crashed. You craned your neck, trying to get a better view when all of a sudden a part of the crash had flung open. You were taken aback and took a few steps back, fearing for whatever would emerge from the thing.

However, the only thing that emerged is a blue koala? Was it even a koala? You weren’t sure. Your whole body froze as it looked at you.

But what scared you the most was the fact he had 4 arms.

AND 4 GUNS?!

The creature then pointed the guns at you and your arms immediately flailed up to shield your face.

“D-Don’t shoot! I wasn’t going to hurt you!” You yelled, hoping that it would just go away. The creature just looked at you, guns still pointed at you. However, you noticed that it was slightly trembling, so you slowly lowered your arms.

“Umm… Hi?” You waved to it, you weren’t sure if it even understood you. But it replied.

“Hi?” Your eyes widen and slowly crouched down to its level. The creature still had its guns pointed at you. You just held up both your hands as if to show you were harmless.

“C-Can you understand me?” You asked and the creature nodded, but then shook its head.

“Ah… I’ll take that you do understand but you aren’t quite sure on how to speak it.” The creature nodded furiously.

“Interesting… Do… Do you have a name?” You asked and slowly approached the creature. The creature still stood his ground.

“S-Stitch. My name is Stitch.” It said and slowly lowered its weapons, slowly realizing that you meant no harm.

“That’s very good, where are you from?” You kept the conversation going. You were trying to let it relax and know that it has no need to be defensive. You sat down and looked at it.

“Ha… Hawaii.” You nodded with a smile.

“I assume you’re a boy?” He nodded.

“Ah… I see… I should introduce myself too.” You said to him. “My name is (Y/N) (L/N). Nice to meet you.” The koala-like alien blinked at you before nodding.

“(Y/N)?” He asked you.

“Yes, (Y/N), that’s my name.” You smiled to the creature, it also gave you a smile back. Stitch and you looked at the crashed craft and could already tell that it was unusable. Sighing, you returned your attention back to the creature, you used your hand to cup his head to look at you.

“Say, Stitch, how about you stay for the night? We could go find help first thing in the morning.” You offered and you saw his eyes light up. Stitch nodded and you smiled.

“Alright, come, let’s get a good night’s rest.” With that, you and Stitch walked back to your Ramshackle Dorm. You let Stitch sleep on the bed while you slept on the sofa. Grim was already asleep on the bed so he didn’t hear the crash happening. You let Stitch shimmy himself into the bed and tucked the two creatures in, after doing so, only then you went to sleep on the couch.

You were awoken the next morning by a scream.

“FGNAAAAAAAAA!”

Your eyes jolted awake and you saw Grim running towards you and away from an already awoken Stitch.

“(Y/N)! THERE’S A MONSTER IN OUR BED!!!” Grim yelled, jumping into your arms. Your eyes travelled to Stitch only to see him looking kind of sad. You just let out a small smile.

“Grim, he’s not a monster, his name is Stitch and he crash landed on our yard yesterday. I’m going to take him to see Crowley in a short moment.” You said, petting Grim to soothe him.

“Does that make him an alien?” Grim asked you and you shrugged.

“I guess.” You said, letting Grim go and walking over to Stitch, who was now curled up into a ball. You then bend down to his level.

“Good morning Stitch, I’m sorry you got scared a moment ago, but this is Grim! He won’t hurt you, he was just surprised to see you.” You said and nudged Grim over.

“I am the Great Grim, the most powerful mage in Twisted Wonderland!” You rolled your eyes at his introduction.

“Grim? (Y/N)?” Stitch asked and you nodded.

“Yep, that’s us. Now, let me just go prepare for the day and we can go find help for you.” You smiled at Stitch and left Grim and Stitch in your room. You got dressed and had Grim resting on your head while you hugged Stitch in your arms. As you did, Stitch somehow morphed his extra 2 arms back into his body, this made you jump a little.

“So, you can morph those arms in and out?” You asked the blue creature and he nodded. “Wow, that’s very surprising. Well, time to go.”

With that, the 3 of you set off to find the bad fashion sensed and lazy headmaster. When you arrived at the headmaster’s office, Stitch had hidden himself behind your legs. You giggled and told him not to worry and went in the office together with Stitch and Grim.

Truth be told, the headmaster had let out a girlish scream when you brought Stitch into his view. The 3 of you were taken aback but the headmaster had quickly calmed down and asked you what had happened. After explaining the situation to Crowley, he decided that he will have students from Ignihyde Dorm to check out the crash and see if they can help, meanwhile, you get to have Stitch stay as your pet since you were a beast tamer after all. But in return, you must keep an eye on him 100% of the time and not allow any nonsense to happen at all.

Pfft, I think most nonsense happened because of you Crowley.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck together for now Stitch!” You said to the blue koala. “Now, you two better behave well in class later on.” You said and the three of you went to class.

After this time with Stitch, you would be lying if you said you weren’t attached to the him. Grim and him actually chatted here and there and became fast friends really quick.

Whispers and gossiping were heard once you’ve stepped foot into your classroom. You felt slightly uncomfortable, Stitch saw this and bared his fangs at the students who were gossiping about you and Stitch. Grim shot a few nasty looks here and there but nothing much.

“(Y/N), I don’t mean to be rude but, what is that?” Deuce asked you once you sat down at your usual spot, between him and Ace.

“This little cutie, is Stitch!” You said happily to the two of them.

“He’s the most adorable little creature I’ve ever seen!” You added, hugging Stitch closer to you. In return, the little blue koala-like creature snuggled close to you too.

Little did you know, a few sounds ‘tchs’ were heard from the two Heartslabyul boys beside you. However, Stitch heard them. Oh, this little creature knew what was going on when he looked up to see two jealous slightly annoyed faces looking down at him. And with that, he had concocted a plan to see how far he could annoy them.

They boy’s eyes widen as they saw Stitch had a semi-evil smile on his face as you giggled and kissed his nose. The boys were shocked! A few veins of theirs popping too! Low grumbles and mumbles were heard from the boys but you payed no attention to them as Professor Trein had walked in and began teaching.

As the bell rung, signaling that it was time for lunch. You stretched your body, arching your back after having it hunched over a table for some time. You then looked down to see a sleeping Grim and a semi-asleep Stitch. You let out a soft giggle and woke the both of them up.

“Grim, Stitch, come on, let’s go get some lunch.” And the two creatures woke up.

“Fgnaaaa! It’s eating time already? Come on, let’s go!” Grim said excitedly.

“Jeez, Grim is sure as hyper as ever.” Deuce commented.

“He better not steal my sandwich again…” Ace added and you let out a small laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.” You said, winking to the two boys. They blushed slightly as you walked with the two creatures to the cafeteria. The boys followed behind but was met with Stitch sticking out his tongue at them behind your back.

Cue more veins popping and potentially a bad boy Deuce breaking out.

Nevertheless, the two Heartslabyul boys had scowls on their faces and kept mumbling to one another. Somethings about ‘that little alien thinks he’s so high and mighty’ and ‘how dare he have more treatment from (Y/N) than us’ were thrown here and there from them.

When you arrived at the cafeteria, Grim jumped from your head and ran in a beeline towards the line for buying food. Ace and Deuce accompanied him as you and Stitch went to find your other friends. You saw them sitting at a table when Epel had waved you over. You smiled, waved back and head towards their table.

Jack, Epel and Sebek sat and chatted when you came over, and all their eyes landed on Stitch. You noticed that and began to explain what happened last night. Once you finished, Ace, Deuce and Grim were back with their food.

“So, he’s an alien?” Jack asked and you nodded.

“Yes, and he is the most adorable creature ever! How can you not love him?!” You let out a small squeal and once again hugging Stitch closer to you.

Multiple and I mean MULTIPLE ‘tchs’ were heard. You were too busy giving Stitch attention that you didn’t hear a single thing.

Remember when I said Stitch knew about this jealousy the boys had for him?

With a small smirk on his face, he kissed your cheek.

Innocently.

Jaws were dropped to the ground, eyes were wide open like saucers, and the most terrible thing was,

Sandwiches and food were squeezed until they were either like a thin piece of paper or entirely inedible.

FOOD WAS WASTED. HOW COULD THEY?! QwQ

You were shocked to have Stitch kiss your cheek. You looked back at the blue koala-like creature only to see him giving you the most adorable puppy eyes ever!

“Awwww! I love you too!” You said and hugged Stitch tightly and him hugging you back, tightly as ever.

“You see what we had to deal with?!” Ace whisper-yelled to everyone and they all nodded. Well, everyone except Grim. The little furball was just happy he got his sandwich and sat there, eating happily.

You guys were chatting and eating, with the occasional glaring between Stitch and the boys of course, when Crowley came up to your table, informing you that the dorm members of Ignihyde managed to fix Stitch’s aircraft and even upgraded it.

Truth be told, you felt happy and sad at the same time. Sure, it might mean Stitch gets to go home, but it also meant that you’ll have to say goodbye to him. It might have been only a day, but you’ve grown attached to the creature and now it’s time to say goodbye.

You had stick on a smile on your face and hid your true feelings inside.

“That’s great! Well, Stitch, let’s go and see your new aircraft!” You said to Stitch and all of you went back to Ramshackle Dorm to send Stitch off.

When you arrived, the aircraft in front of you didn’t look too much different when you first saw it, but it did have a few tweaks here and there. You let Stitch inspect his new ride, checking for anything that might go wrong again before taking off.

You were painfully quiet, which didn’t go unnoticed by the boys and Grim.

When Stitch had finished inspecting, he gave you a big smile and nodded furiously, telling you that everything was okay and that he will be going shortly. You gave him a smile back.

“Well, looks like you’re going home.” You said to him and gave him a hug. He hugged you back tightly and did something very surprising.

“Ohana.” Said the blue creature. You were puzzled.

“What?” You asked Stitch as you pulled away from the hug.

“Ohana means family. (Y/N), you took me in even when you knew I wasn’t normal. You, Grim and everyone were friendly to me and didn’t try to hurt me in any way. You even helped me in this unfamiliar world and didn’t push me away. That’s why, you’re all family to me.”

“You’re my ohana.”

Tears streamed down your face when Stitch said those words. A genuine smile had formed on your face and Grim was right beside you, bawling his eyes out as well.

“Thanks Stitch, you’re ohana too.” You said as you and Grim hugged Stitch together.

The boys at the back were holding in their tears. How could they think that this sweet little creature tried to take you away from them? They felt like as if a gun struck their hearts with guilt for wanting to hurt Stitch even though he only wants someone to guide him through this unfamiliar world.

You then pulled away from the hug and let Stitch get into is aircraft. Once the engine is up, you stood back and waved goodbye to him. He smiled and waved goodbye to you too before ascending into the sky, going back to his home.

The boys came up and comforted you as you wiped your tears away.

“Listen, (Y/N), we know Stitch meant a lot to you…” Deuce started but you just shook your head.

“Don’t worry, even though my relationship with Stitch was strong, I still have a lot of ohana here.” You said and smiled to them, in return they smiled to you as well.

“Yanno, I don’t mean to ruin the mood, but, VARGAS’ CLASS STARTS IN 4 MINUTES.” Grim said to everyone and you all laughed.

“Well, we better hurry if we don’t want to get punished. I remember the last time it was Sebek and Ace who got punished and their punishments were to run 200 laps and do 300 push-ups.” You giggled at the memory and the boy’s faces paled.

“What’re we waiting for? LET’S GO!” Ace yelled.

And so the 7 of you ran as fast as you could to get to class in time.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fic #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #jack howl #sebek zigvolt #epel felmier #grim #mc/yuu #stitch #crossover #dire crowley

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Time - Good Omens Fic

Goal was to write three fics for this weeks @bingokisses prompts. Well, I got two! The first is “Time” a Night At Crowley’s Flat/Pre-Body-Swap/Wing Grooming fic. It’s for the prompt “Wrist kisses” which I had twice on my card, the first paired with “Wing Grooming.” I’m going to do edits before I move this to AO3, so let me know if anything sounds off!

“So that’s it.” Crowley lounged against the wall, arms crossed. Not looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at anything.

“Yes. I pretend to be you, you pretend to be me. Hellfire. Holy water. We survive.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping his voice steady. Aziraphale mostly managed it by not looking at Crowley, not thinking to hard about it, acting as though the entire problem were simply some clever logic problem. Most certainly by not imagining what would happen if they failed.

“Don’t like it.”

“Come now,” he tried to smile. “Let’s not start over again. We’ve considered every angle. The plan works, and it’s our – our best chance.”

Crowley grunted as if regretting his promise already. “Not going to argue. Just. Don’t like it.” He’d been belligerent since the moment Aziraphale had suggested the swap, inspired by his own recent experience with discorporation. He’d expected Crowley to dislike the idea, but the demon had fought against it, tooth and nail, every step of the planning process.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t have his own doubts. He’d struggled to keep them at bay since stepping off the bus. Now he pressed his hands together, ordering them not to tremble, as the fear started to grow in his gut, building, pushing out into his limbs and his heart.

Choose your faces wisely – that was clear enough. But playing with Fyre could mean many things, only one of which Crowley was immune to. What if he’d missed something? What if there was more to it?

What if the prophecy wasn’t intended to save both of them?

He imagined Michael’s sword, blade aflame, swinging towards Crowley while he was bound to a chair—

It wasn’t a noise, just a sharp intake of breath as he pulled himself back to reality, but it was as loud as a scream in the silent room. Crowley’s head snapped around, eyes pinning the angel through his dark glasses. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Oh, his voice didn’t sound certain at all, his eyes still burned in the imagined light of Heavenly swords. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, but no words at all came out this time, just a strained squeak.

Heaven would see this coming, surely. They would suspect as soon as Crowley stepped into the flames. He needed to outsmart them, needed to think of the next step, and the next, a hundred moves ahead, but he didn’t have time…

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, a whip crack cutting through the silent room, and Aziraphale cringed, huddling into himself instinctively. “Bless it, Aziraphale, if you’re having doubts too, we need to rethink this. There’s still time, we can – can take off, be out past the Oort Cloud before either side notices. I know plenty of stars they’d never think to look.”

“Crowley, no. We’ve been over this already.” His voice didn’t sound calm but at least it wasn’t breaking anymore. “We can’t hide forever, they’ll – they’ll find us eventually.”

“I’d rather they chase us across the galaxy than – than stand around waiting for them to grab us. At least we’d have a chance. At least we’d have time.”

Aziraphale wanted that. Time. More than anything, he wanted time to think, to plan, to prepare. To stand beside Crowley and not be afraid.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no future if they ran, no earth, no them, just this one terrifying moment, stretched on and on for eternity, poised forever at the last moment before the attack. Always waiting. Always afraid. He couldn’t take a life of this, he couldn’t even take one night of this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts – torn between wanting time and wanting it to be over – that he didn’t even notice Crowley’s approach until the hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough – it was the gentlest touch, barely felt through his jacket – but the suddenness of it startled Aziraphale, making him stumble away.

“Crowley! There’s no need – I’m – please—”

“You aren’t fine, don’t try to tell me you’re fine,” he spat. Then, in a lower voice, “Talk to me.”

It was too much. Already he’d nearly given in to the fear, but this – this moment of concern – it tugged at him, threatening to break his last thread of dignity, of control, and that was the only thing keeping him going right now.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” He tugged at his waistcoat, trying to school his expression. “And if – if you’re just going to argue, I’d rather you left me in peace.”

“Aziraphale…” A warning.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He interrupted, fighting to keep his mind from shattering. “That’s enough. Go!”

Crowley spun away, with a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl, and stalked through the enormous revolving door, disappearing into the next room.

Leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

Crowley glared at his trembling plants, burying his fingers in leaves, tugging at them for any sign of weakness, of spots or yellowing, any imperfections. But he didn’t really see them.

His mind kept shifting, jumping between a bookshop in flames, a voice in a bar, and the sudden appearance of Aziraphale at the airbase. A hurricane of worry and relief and fear and longing with nothing remotely like calm at its center.

He wanted to run to Aziraphale. Override all his objections, drag him away. Haul him off this world, to the stars, to Andromeda, to the farthest corner of the universe, far from the beings that wanted to hurt them, had hurt them again and again for thousands of years.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d wanted to at the airbase, run up, grab Aziraphale by the lapels. Make sure he was unharmed, shout at him to stop taking foolish risks. The same at the church in 1941, the Bastille in 1793, again and again, across centuries of companionship –

Wanted to reach out, pull him close, promise that everything would work out.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Never could. Maybe never would.

He’d always blamed it on their sides, needing to stay apart to stay safe. But he didn’t have that excuse anymore, did he? And that’s all it was. An excuse.

It was Crowley’s nature to be cold and distant. Aloof. Project coolness and confidence so that no one could see what lay underneath, the shattered worthless wreck of demon. Keep them all at arm’s length, even the being he least wanted to push away, and where did that leave him?

Alone in his solarium, shredding the weakest leaves off a fig tree, on what could be the last night of his personal eternity.

Had he always been this way?

Crowley didn’t think so. There had been a time when he’d been open, inquisitive, carefree. Long ago, before the Fall, before six thousand years in Hell and on Earth, before he learned…everything.

He could never go back to that. You couldn’t unlearn the truth of the world, once you’d learned it.

One glance over his shoulder, back at the door. He could go back. Apologize. Open himself up to the one being he knew would never hurt him. Say the words that had sat on his tongue for countless centuries.

He could, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He needed time. Time to get his head on straight, to learn to be honest with himself, to know what it was he even wanted.

And time was the one thing he didn’t have.

Aziraphale rested his hand on the door frame, wishing he had the courage to step through.

It was his own fault, of course. He’d pushed Crowley away. As he always did. It was easier.

He didn’t belong here, among humans, beside a demon. Simple fact: he was an angel, and he belonged in Heaven. There was no place else an angel could exist and feel whole and happy.

That, he’d always told himself, was why he had this aching emptiness inside – because he was far from his home, corrupted by earthly influences. A degraded angel.

Heaven talked a great deal about love. Angels love Creation, they love the humans, they love God most of all; they love each other, and they love him. In spite of all his flaws, he was constantly reminded, they loved him.

And he believed it. For a long time, he believed, because not believing was dangerous, and painful, and terrifyingly. And because, well…because that’s what he believed love was. How was he supposed to think otherwise? It was the only thing he ever knew.

But six thousand years on Earth slowly eroded his ignorance. He saw humans develop friendships, saw them fall in love, saw them care for their children, their parents. Saw some become cruel, or manipulative, or negligent; saw others be loyal, and warm, and welcoming even to strangers.

He learned all the ways that love could be expressed. All the things that masqueraded as it. What it could look like. What it should look like.

And even then, he could keep pretending that he found that in the cold, distant praise of Heaven, but only so long as he could pretend he didn’t find it anywhere else. That he didn’t have a being in his life who always supported him, always stood by him, never made him feel flawed or broken, never abandoned him.

Even now, when it might mean destruction for both of them, still at his side.

In the face of that, how could he ever believe that Heaven loved him?

He pushed the thought away, back into the dark recesses of his mind, where he’d carefully hidden it from himself for longer than the lifetime of civilizations. It was still a dangerous thought, a dangerous word. A distraction.

It wasn’t the time for such things.

He had to put their survival before everything else. It meant staying here and facing their former sides head-on, not running away and waiting to be caught. It meant deceiving Heaven and Hell, not angering them from some foolish desire to fight or take revenge. And it meant facing the challenge with cool logical minds not clouded by any newly acknowledged emotions. It made sense.

The best thing he could do for himself, for Crowley, was to keep his distance tonight.

I need a new plant mister.

For ten minutes, Crowley had managed to keep himself focused on pruning the trees, silently clearing out some leaves or stems to make room for new growth. The emotions raged somewhere deep inside, but the surface was as calm as ever. But then he noticed the echeveria was a little dry, went to give it a bit of water, and realized the bottle was gone.

Hastur had destroyed his plant mister, and he needed a new one.

He could simply manifest one, he supposed, as easily as he’d created the pruning shears. But the ones at the corner shop were so cheap, it was easier to just grab one on the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and take a few moments to see what new sprouts had arrived, then stop over at the bakery for some coffee and one of those crispy pastries.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a bookshop anymore, was there?

Which meant he wouldn’t be heading over tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again.

No more surprise breakfasts before the first customers of the day. No more late nights sharing a dozen bottles of wine and arguing about philosophy. No more perusing the poetry section when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, or thumbing through the latest illustrated guides to botany or astronomy that always found their way onto the shelf beside his sofa.

No more secretive walks in the park to share secrets and feed ducks. No more shoddy pretenses for a weekend drive. No more weaving the Bentley through four lanes of traffic.

The world had ended, but only for him and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t fair.

After everything they’d done, everything they’d suffered to save the world, they still lost everything and it wasn’t fair!

The knot of emotions he’d been holding back broke free in a flash, flooding him faster than he could control it. With a shout he hurled the little plant at the wall, cracking the pot, spilling soil everywhere. Then he grabbed the aloe vera, the orchids, the antherium. One after the other, thrown against the wall, the floor, the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed, pulling over the umbrella tree, shredding all its leaves. “All of you! You worthless pieces of shit!” He kicked over a dragon tree. “You had your fucking chance! No more excuses, no more second chances.” A glass bowl full of air plants; he snatched it up and smashed it hard against the table, shards spinning off in every direction. “Make your fucking peace with the soil, because every one of you is—”

“Crowley!”

He spun around to find Aziraphale watching, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

Fuck.

Well. That’s the end of that, he supposed. After that sort of display, Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He clenched his fist, turning away, but that sent a sharp pain through his hand. Hissing, Crowley looked down to find a shard of glass, stuck in the side of his hand. Of course. Exactly what this day needed.

“Are you hurt?”

He shot a glare at the angel, suddenly beside him.

“Just a scratch. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed lightly on his wrist, pulling the hand over for closer inspection. “You need to be more careful, Crowley.” He ran his thumb lightly up the side of Crowley’s palm and the little triangle of glass fell free.

“I’m not going to – to die from a little cut, Aziraphale.”

He’d meant it as a joke, of a sort, but Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his. “Don’t.” The angel’s thumb brushed across the cut, making it disappear in a small burst of healing. “You need to be more careful.”

“It’s a bit late for careful.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale ignored it, bending over as if to inspect his palm for damage. “Look, Angel…”

“What a mess!” Aziraphale tutted. “An absolute disgrace.” But he hadn’t so much as glanced at the graveyard of ruined plants all over the floor. Instead, he was inspecting Crowley’s nails. “And you expect me to go out wearing these tomorrow?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw the state of your wings earlier. Have you groomed them this millennium?”

“Even if I hadn’t, it still wouldn’t compare to this – this—” He held up Crowley’s hand, nails caked with dirt, cracked, uneven. “I thought you took pride in your appearance.”

“I’ve been a bit busy.” Crowley snatched his hand back and tried to walk away.

“I don’t want an argument tonight.”

“Then stop trying to start one!” He took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll go take a shower. You wait in the kitchen, or wherever you want.” He glanced around at the mess he’d made. “Don’t bother cleaning. No point, is there?”

“Crowley, stop!”

“It was ‘go’ before, now you want me to stop? Make up your blasted mind.” But Crowley stood still, glaring at him. “What is it? What do you want?”

“I want to take care of those nails.”

“You what?” But Aziraphale’s face was dead serious, set in his most stubborn frown. “Look, you fussy bastard, this isn’t – we don’t have time for this!”

“You have somewhere else to be tonight?” But when his hands reached for Aziraphale’s again, the touch was strangely gentle. “Let me take care of these. Please.”

The demon groaned, but what was he supposed to do? Not say yes? “Fine. If you insist.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Between them was a bowl of warm water, an array of tiny torture implements, and a towel, which Aziraphalehad used to briskly brush the dirt from Crowley’s fingers. Now he held the demon’s right hand, turning it this way and that to inspect each nail in the light of his halo.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale murmured, picking up the clippers and starting to trim.

“You know, I can do this myself.”

“Can you? Really?” It was strange, having his hand held this way. Entirely in Aziraphale’s power, unable to move, yet it was only the lightest pressure, really. Firm, but gentle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you chewed them.”

“Only when they break.”

“That isn’t funny. Look at this.” He lowered Crowley’s right hand and picked up the left, pinching the thumb between his fingers. “Just look!”

“Looks like a thumb.”

Another tsk, and Aziraphale set to clipping again, not trimming each nail as low as he could (as Crowley usually did), but instead quickly removing the sharp edges or cracked portions, leaving a few millimeters on each. When he was satisfied, he picked up an emery board. Crowley expected him to start scrubbing roughly, sandpapering his nails smooth. Instead, with a few quick delicate motions, he reshaped each nail into a perfect oval. Now and then, he paused to scrape underneath with the point of a nail file.

“What is this, anyway?” He held up the tip of the file, covered in hard flakes of black residue. “I thought it was soil, but it isn’t the right consistency.”

Crowley gulped. He remembered charging into a burning shop. Driving for almost an hour in a flaming car. Falling to the ground at the airbase more than once—

“Dunno,” he said weakly. “Could be – lots of things…”

Aziraphale’s hands hesitated over Crowley’s smallest finger, and he could see how the emery board trembled. Yeah, you’re cleaning the last of your bookshop out of my nails. How does that feel? Crowley wished he had something comforting to say, but he just felt hollow. The day had left him without anything to offer.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale steadied his grip and got back to work.

“Why?” Cowley found himself saying, as the angel moved back to his right hand. “Why are you wasting your time on this?” On me?

“Don’t be foolish. Time spent with you is never wasted.” Blue eyes flickered up again to catch his gaze before focusing on the nails once more. “Although I do wish you’d put a little effort into basic maintenance without my needing to nag you.”

“But—” He bit his words off, not knowing what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Why? You spend an hour every day on that ridiculous hair, not to mention weeks spent putting together your – your ‘new look’ every few years. I would think you’d agree that personal grooming is its own reward.”

“No, I…” He watched the long, thin board move back and forth. His fingers were curved slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, pinned in place by his thumb. “I just thought you’d want to be alone.”

Silence for the length of two fingers. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

His stomach was hard as a rock, twisting with emotions he couldn’t name. “I…I’ve been awful,” Crowley confessed. “All night long, since we got back, I argued, I snapped at you. Threw a tantrum. The other day, I shoved you against a wall. And…and this morning I called you stupid…I’d think you’d want to be as far from me as possible.”

“As I recall, you were the one who wanted to abandon me for the stars.”

“No…” But he had said that, hadn’t he? “I didn’t…I wouldn’t really…”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale frowned and moved to the last nail. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley, I’m well aware you have a temper. I have never held against you the things you said, or did, when you were angry.”

I have plenty of other people to ‘fraternize’ with. I don’t need you.

“Never?”

“Never.” Aziraphale put down the file and pressed Crowley’s hands between both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

He lowered Crowley’s hands into the bowl of warm water. Aziraphale had added some sort of soap, and it clung thickly to his fingers in a pleasant way.

“Still…I don’t like you to…to see me like that…”

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Do you think less of me?”

His worst? Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would mean. The embarrassing smile as he showed off his latest magic act or shouted encouragement at the actors in a play? The possessive gleam when he saw a priceless first edition, whether one of his own or one he was about to acquire? His incorruptible desire to see the good in absolutely everyone, even Gabriel, even Crowley?

“No,” he whispered as his heart surged anew. “No, I never have.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Crowley’s hands as they soaked in the water. “It’s good, you know, to-to have a simple ritual in a time of stress. Something you can walk through, step by step. Unhindered by, ah, by emotions. Very calming.”

“I do feel a little better,” Crowley admitted.

“I expect you do. But…I meant for myself.” He lifted Crowley’s hands free of the water and gently patted them with the towel. “I’m…I’m…well, I’m rather convinced I’m going to let you down tomorrow. Not play my part well, or…or lose my nerve…or overlook some vital clue…”

Crowley felt the tremors in Aziraphale’s hands before he suddenly pulled away, fingers twisting in the towel, pressing it against his mouth. But he couldn’t hide the wave of emotion that overtook him before Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel!” Crowley grabbed his shoulders, newly manicured fingers feeling more sensitive against the fabric of his shirt. “Aziraphale look at me.” Slowly, the blue eyes came back into focus. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do. Crowley, it’s the only way.” The towel crumpled further as he crushed it in his grip. “I – I – I won’t – I’ll find a way, I just need to – to buck up…”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No, I – I—”

“Because I am.” Crowley let go with one hand to pull his glasses free, toss them aside, then reached up to brush the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Have been for…longer than I can remember, but then I lost you. Last night, and this morning, and then…the fire…” He swallowed. “And you know what? Each time it felt more real and more painful than before, and I don’t…I can’t…”

His gut heaved. The hollowness he’d felt after the fire opened again, threatening to devour him, permanently this time. “Aziraphale. I am more terrified right now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I don’t know how to stop it. So. If you’re scared…that’s fine.”

The towel fell, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his again, but this time clinging to it, clutching it, pressing Crowley’s fingers against his lips where the towel had been a moment before. Crowley reached with his free hand and…what? Touch his face? His hair? What was he supposed to do?

Before he could decide, Aziraphale seemed to blink his eyes clear and look again at Crowley’s nails. “Just a few hangnails to trim, and then we’re done.”

“Nh. Yeah.” He settled more comfortably. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand, carefully massaging moisturizer across his palm, between his fingers, and into his nail beds. Memorizing the shape of them, the knobby knuckles, the veins on the back of his hands.

He’d wanted to do this once before, when the thoughts that needed to be hidden, even from himself, had threatened to overwhelm him. 1941. He’d longed to sit Crowley down and wash his feet, check them for burns and injury after his walk across hallowed ground. Let the activity distract his mind from the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, and just be there, in the moment, caring for Crowley. Appreciating him. Holding him.

It was just as well he hadn’t attempted it back then; evidence tonight suggested it didn’t work.

He ran his thumbs across Crowley’s palm one last time, smoothing in the moisturizer, feeling the skin plump up, taking note of the calluses here and there just below the fingers. He didn’t want to let go.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, when his fingers had lingered perhaps a bit too long. He looked up to meet the demon’s golden eyes. They were soft tonight, and vulnerable, and filled with pain that tugged at his heart. But that pain seemed to be fading, replaced by…by one of the things Aziraphale was not supposed to be naming. What with the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood in his ears, Aziraphale almost missed Crowley’s next words: “Thank you.”

Very suddenly, his heart went absolutely still.

“You…you’ve never…said thank you.”

“Grave oversight.” Crowley turned his hands over, running his thumb across his newly manicured nails. “This is…yeah, this is nice.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale waved a hand, neatly teleporting his supplies into a different room. It was his usual method of cleaning up – eventually, things would wind up where they were supposed to be – but he realized alarmingly late that this now meant he and Crowley were simply sitting on a bed together. “I…I suppose I should thank you. For, ah, for indulging me—”

“Should I…return the favor?”

“Ah!” He snatched his hands against his chest, as if afraid Crowley would steal them entirely. Well. That wasn’t quite what he was afraid of. “Return? How – how would you – Crowley, my nails are – are already in tip-top shape, and you wouldn’t—”

“Your wings. Like I said,” Crowley went on, familiar sharp edge slipping into his tone, “absolute mess. You’re one to talk about grooming, carrying around two disasters like that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was about to snap something else, but his eyes accidentally met the demon’s, and there was nothing mocking about them at all. Anxious, shy, almost waiting to be hurt. Did he always hide that expression behind his glasses?

“I, ah…I’ve never…how do we do this?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Ngk. Unh. I mean. Sit there or…or maybe…lay down? On your stomach?”

“Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to – to get tired, holding them up.” Aziraphale stretched out across the top of the duvet, resting his cheek on one of the pitch-black pillows, and extended his wings.

He could have sworn he heard a heavy breath – maybe a gasp, maybe a sigh. “Just as I thought. Look at this utter disgrace. When was the last time you preened?”

“Well, as I never walk around with them out—” Aziraphale was cut off by an impossibly gentle touch, two fingers brushing lightly across the leading edge of his wing. It felt…good, an electric shiver that ran down his wing and up his spine.

“Oh! S-sorry.” Crowley sounded embarrassed, which was something Aziraphale had never heard before. “I shouldn’t have…is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…it’s very much alright.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, feeling the need to brace himself, and stretched his left wing slightly. “Please, continue.”

The touch of Crowley’s palms against his wings was electrifying, yes, but also gentle, soothing. He carefully explored down the length of them, not stirring any feathers yet, just learning the ways they lay against each other, where they grew thick, where the flight feathers emerged. Aziraphale could feel the feathers that were out of place now – they snagged and tugged against Crowley’s hands, bunching in the wrong spots. Uncomfortable, the way sitting in a chair too long could be uncomfortable without even noticing.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need to fly,” Crowley remarked, scolding, as if it was an everyday risk, instead of something that hadn’t come up in five thousand years. His fingers now flicked around the shortest patch of Aziraphale’s coverts, just shy of the leading edge, finding one of the culprits. Manicured fingertips burrowed deep into white feathers, hot against the skin and muscle beneath, and with a few quick but gentle scratches twitched it back into position. “Does this hurt?”

“No…That feels…” Crowley traced the feather from base to tip, pushing the barbs back into the correct alignment. A few more strokes ensured it lay, flat and neat, alongside the rest.

“One down, dozens more to go. And that’s just this side. Hope you’re comfortable.”

He was, though. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sinking into the gentle rhythm as Crowley moved – feather by feather – across his wing, setting each to rights. He felt as though a burden were being lifted, the worry in his stomach slowly unknotting, bit by imperceptible bit, as if the world were fading away, leaving nothing but that touch.

By the time Crowley reached Aziraphale’s alula feathers, the pain in his gut was gone. As he worked his way back across the primary coverts towards the scapulars, Aziraphale began to forget what he’d been worried about. Then the warm fingers ran down the first of his flight feathers, and time stopped entirely.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale’s feathers could feel so different from his own, but they did, so soft and delicate he would have believed they were pieces of clouds if not for the warmth that emanated through them.

Was it because angel feathers were somehow more pure? Or was it simply a matter of familiarity – that his fingers had stopped even noticing the texture of his own wings?

He was nearly finished. Really, he was done already, but his hands still glided across coverts and primaries, feeling for anything out of place, any excuse to delay longer.

“Right there, please.” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted. “Just…just a little itch. Could you…?”

“Got it.” Crowley let his fingers sink in again, scratching gently at the base of a feather. “Here?”

Aziraphale just murmured in relief, a little sigh. Crowley had knelt beside him to better reach the wing, but now Aziraphale shifted, pressing their hips together. “This feels simply marvelous.”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. “S’why you’re supposed to do it regularly.”

“I should have asked you to, years ago.”

Crowley smoothed the feathers back into place. He was finished. It was time. Time to switch and part ways, possibly forever.

He didn’t lift his fingers from the edge of Aziraphale’s wing.

“Would you have?” Crowley wondered, surprising himself to hear the words out loud. “Would you have let me, if I’d asked?”

Stirring, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, all that glorious heat vanishing to another plane. He rolled over and considered Crowley, but didn’t sit up yet. “I’m not sure. I…I would have wanted to. But…well…”

“And if I’d – I’d asked for other things?”

“I don’t know. Would you have asked? If I’d indicated my interest?”

Somewhere, the sun was rising. Somewhere, the day was starting. Time, never any time.

“I don’t know,” Crowley confessed, the words ripped from his soul. And then, not letting himself think, he fell forward, onto the pillows.

Aziraphale caught him, pulled him into an embrace. “I want to find out, Crowley. What we are. What we can be. I wish…I wish…”

Long fingers reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know, Angel. I know. We’ll get our chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, though the tears in his eyes said he didn’t believe it. A brush of fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, and Aziraphale turned to kiss his palm, his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasted our time. And now…”

“No, you didn’t waste anything.” He pulled Aziraphale roughly against his chest. “You hear me? Nothing. I’m…I’m glad for every moment we had.”

The angel didn’t respond, just sobbed, once, face pressed into Crowley’s shirt.

“Shhh. We’ll survive this. I swear it. And then we’ll have eternity to figure this out. Alright? You and me. And…and things will be different this time. I’ll be different.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale said, his arms locking behind Crowley, strong enough to break his spine. “Don’t you change a thing, Crowley. I don’t want anything to be different.”

“Really? You’re happy with how things were?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pushed back, just enough to meet Crowley’s gaze, eyes wide and wet and earnest. “So…so very happy, when we were together.”

“Well, then.” Crowley bent forward, resting his lips on the top of Aziraphale’s head. “That’s what we’ll do, yeah? Be together. Forever.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #Wings #crowley's flat #aziraphale and crowley #angst #good omens angst #emotional h/c #pre-body swap #night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #manicure #tumblr fic #my writing

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Text

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first:

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense.

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go.

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish.

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it.

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit.

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

****************************************************************************

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #guess who spent 48 hours doing nothing but writing and formatting #can I get a wahoo

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thewolfswriting · 3 years

Text

The Dangers Of A Demon Chapter 4

Pairings: Demon Alpha!Dean x Katarina Morgan (Omega OC)

Word count: 2,136

Chapter Warnings: Profanity, Knotting, Oral, Dub-Con 18+ content just don’t read if you’re a minor

Taglist: @charmed-asylum

Divider By: @firefly-graphics

"Y-you claimed me! Why? Why would you do that?!" She screamed at the demon with tears and in horror.

The cramps and pain that came with her heat were gone. That she was grateful for but she didn't expect to be claimed by anybody, and that included a demon Alpha.

"Yeah, you see, that's what happens after an Alpha knots an Omega. We both know you already knew that." There wasn't an ounce of sympathy in his voice.

She touched the fresh bite on her neck and winced "I didn't want to be claimed." She sobbed "You claimed me on purpose."

He shrugged "If that's what you wanna think and just because I claimed you don't mean I still won't kill you."

That didn't make the situation any better. However, only part of her wished he would kill her but only for the fact that she's been claimed by an Alpha that's a demon. But if he knew that he would just draw it out even longer.

---

"S-sheriff Morgan, sir? There's a guy here. He's here to see you."

Sheriff Morgan cocked an eyebrow "About?"

"He says he's here about the three Omega cases and his brother. He didn't tell me his name but he insisted on seeing you."

While confused, sheriff Morgan strutted towards his office to see someone sitting in front of his desk he hadn't seen in a long time "Sam Winchester. Haven't seen you in a long time. What can I do for you?"

"It's not about what you can do for me. It's about what I can do for you. I know your daughter is missing and I'm assuming Dean is here somewhere."

"Yes, he's here. He is also responsible for the three Omega's that are now dead. Sam, he has my daughter."

"I know."

"How so?"

"I know my brother better than anybody. Once he found out Katarina's your daughter, it became a game to him. It makes the kill more interesting." Even though Sam's tone showed sympathy, he also stated facts.

"Do you have an idea where he might've taken her?"

"Somewhere nobody can find her. We find her, we find Dean. I already interviewed someone, a guy named Tony."

"Yeah, Tony owns the diner outside of town."

Sam opened his notepad "He said there a scent he smelled. The kind of smell when an Omega goes into heat. He smelled it a few miles from the diner two night before"

Of course sheriff Morgan felt the fear he was dreading. The fear of his daughter going into heat with the man that kidnapped her and is going to kill her.

The words Dean said to him instantly replayed in his head "I can wait until she goes into heat, take what I want and then kill her"

He was beginning to lose the hope he had held onto since Katarina went missing. But now that Sam came into town, that hope instantly came back "Looks like we have our first lead."

"Looks like it."

---

Dean's claim mark on Katarina's neck still throbbed with pain even though it was half-healed. Once completely healed it would scar and she knew that. She tried not to make any sound of pain but no matter how hard she tried, he would hear it anyway.

The thought of trying to escape again crossed her mind. The stabbing with the knife, she could try that again, instead of stabbing him once she could stab him twice or three more times. But he heals quickly. So there goes that idea.

She remembered the window in the bathroom, so the idea of climbing out racked her brain. Only if she tried, surely he would hear her and catch her like last time.

Until he kills her, she's trapped.

---

The sound of the ax splitting the wood is what helped Dean somewhat get rid of his anger. For two days he's had to listen to her whimpering and sobbing of pain. All because of the claim mark that's currently half-healed on her neck.

For the most part he ignored it. But then eventually he got pissed at her and would yell at her. Even told her he would "rip out her vocal cords, then she wouldn't be able to make any noise"

"Omega's really can't handle pain." He said to himself

In some ways, Dean thought it was stupid of him to claim her. But most of it was out of Alpha instinct. He was able to control it with the other three Omega's and the others before them. With her, he couldn't help himself.

He should've just killed her after he knotted her. At least he wouldn't have any more visits from Crowley.

---

"Good evening, Dean."

"Damn it, Crowley! What do you want now?!"

"The Omega, she still alive I presume?"

"Like I've said I'm-"

"Dragging it out yes, I know" Crowley interrupted "It's been nearly a week, Dean. Never have you once dragged a kill out this long."

"What's your point?"

"Tell me, did you knot her like you did all the other Omega's before you killed them? Did you claim her too?" He took a step toward the demon.

"So what if I did? Just because I claimed her doesn't mean I still won't kill her."

"Alphas don't kill their mates. But like you just said, just because you claimed her doesn't mean you won't kill her. Now, get the job done."

---

When Dean came back inside the cabin Katarina was already asleep. He sat on the little stool in front of the fireplace and stacked the logs to build a fire. At least the smell of the burning wood would help mask her intoxicating scent that still clung in the air of the cabin.

Before crawling in next to her he removed every bit of clothing. He laid down next to her for what seemed like hours. Mostly, he watched her sleep. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. He could still smell her scent. The blanket, the bed, the whole cabin smelled like her. The only other scent he could smell mixed with her's was his own.

The longer he laid there and took in her sleeping form the more her scent got to him. While scooting closer to her he ghosted his lips along the side of her neck and over the mark, taking a moment for his tongue to lick over the wound. As she rolled over on her back she whimpered and a low growl rumbled from his chest.

Gently he pulled her shirt over her head and began pressing kisses down her naked chest and down her stomach. Unbuttoning her jeans he ever so slowly dragged them down her legs with her panties. She moaned in her sleep as the Alpha spread her thighs and pressed open-mouthed kisses on her skin along the inside of her thighs. He wanted to bite her, give her another claim mark that wasn't on her neck. But he held back, he didn't want to wake her up that way.

Just as he suspected, she was already slick from basically doing nothing to her. He took his index finger and dragged it along her wet slit and up towards her clit, her hips jerking at the contact.

"Dean?" The Omega's eyes fluttered open even though she was still half asleep. She looked down just in time to see Dean's eyes on her as his tongue pushed between her folds "What-"

She tried to pull away from him, but his arms tightening around her thighs halted her protest "Shh it's okay 'mega. Alpha just wants to make you feel good."

Finally, his tongue sought out her sensitive, pulsating clit. Still, he kept his eyes on her, watching her expression as he gave her a solid lick against her bud before closing his lips around the oversensitive spot.

It was different when she wasn't in heat. Well, to her it was anyway. When she was in heat she couldn't control the waves of pleasure he gave her, or the intoxicating scent of her arousal her body radiated. But it seemed like it didn't matter whether she was in heat or not, her inner Omega couldn't deny the physical pleasure he was now giving her. But still, the shame was there.

Dean growled against her as he continued to work on her cunt, his tongue sliding down to her opening and collected some of her slick. Her wet walls clenched around nothing as he pulled back "Taste just as good as the first time."

A smirk spread across the Alpha's face when her hips bucked against him. He knew exactly what she needed. Without warning two fingers entered her now swollen, soaked cunt, instantly finding that sweet, sensitive spot deep inside her. Her breaths became raspy as he lazily twisted and turned the two fingers that currently occupied her inner walls. He turns his attention back to her clit, moving his head from side to side and his fingers quickened their pace against the spot inside her.

"That's it, cum for me 'mega" He says as her breathing grew raspy.

Soon she's screaming from the sheer force of her orgasm that crawled through her veins. Like last time he continued to finger and lick her until her body shudders against him. Only this time, she didn't have to beg him to stop.

"Need you on my cock, "mega!" He sits back, hauling her onto his lap, and arranged her legs on either side of his hips.

The swollen head of his cock pressed at her slit. She was still sore from when he gave her his knot two nights ago and because of that, she panicked. With her hands on his shoulders, she attempted to push herself off of him, but the vice-like grip on her hips by his hands tightened to keep her still.

"Dean, wait! I'm so-" Her words were cut off by a hand shooting up and wrapping around her throat.

"Remember what happens if you don't?" He snarled at her.

With his hand still around her throat, she managed to nod her head rapidly.

The panic only ignited in her more when he lifted his hips to push the first inch inside her. Just like last time, he was met with resistance, only this time, it was more of a struggle due to her walls being so swollen. She yelped as Dean slipped the thick head of his cock past her folds. The Demon grunted as he pushed in another three, her tight, aching ring of muscles clenched around him.

He placed a hand between them to rub her still sensitive bud in circles "C'mon 'mega. Open that pretty little pussy up for me."

Between the contact of his thumb on her clit and his words laced with lust, she opened up for him. Once he was finally able to slide the rest of the way in she clamped around him so hard it almost hurt. Her insides felt like they were on fire.

"Hold onto my shoulders." He said while giving her time to adjust.

Without hesitation, she leaned forward, holding onto his shoulders with her face buried in the front of his shoulder.

He pulls out, only the head of his cock is inside her until he thrusts back in. She whimpered in response. Slowly he thrusts up into her. His patience didn't run thin like last time and that surprises him. But she also didn't have the chance to protest against him either. Either time, that wasn't an option.

Now he was plunging into her at a much faster pace. Each time he fucked up into her, she released muffled whimpers against his shoulder. He paused his thrusts only to lift her up an inch, leaving open-mouthed kisses at the skin on the opposite side of her neck. Closing her eyes she expected him to bite her again, but to her surprise, he didn't.

Tears bloomed in her eyes, she could feel his knot beginning to swell and that was something she wasn't prepared for the second time.

With one hard, brutal thrust, he forced his popping knot up inside her. As his release coated her walls, his eyes diverted to the knife on the nightstand. Reaching over he picked up the knife by the handle, his eyes tinted black from the memory from Crowley repeating Dean's own words back to him "just because you claimed her doesn't mean you won't kill her".

With the knife still his in hand he pointed the sharp end towards her back. This was it, he's going to kill her.

But then something struck him. A conscious perhaps? No, Demons didn't have a conscious. But Alphas do.

"I-I can't!" The Alpha roared before plunging the knife into the headboard of the bed.

#alpha!dean winchester #alpha/omega #alpha dean winchester #demon!dean winchester #demon!dean #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanficiton #dean winchester #supernatural #Supernatural smut

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waywardxwords · 3 years

Text

Whole Again

Summary: When Crowley is holding your family hostage, you jump into gear to try to rescue them. You feel angry as Dean insists you need a plan before rushing in. Your feelings are overwhelming, especially when you realize why you’re feeling the way that you do. You just want to feel whole again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,821

Warnings: Violence, blood, vomiting (not too detailed), severe sadness/despair, swearing, and fluffiness (bc I don’t know any other way lol)

The engine of your 1969 Mercury Cougar roared against the asphalt as you drove down some one-lane highway in the middle of some rural town in Kansas. You pressed your foot even further on the accelerator, not minding the speed limit. You didn’t care; there wasn’t enough time.

Your eyes watched the path in front of you, bathed in the light from your headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your cell phone screen light up—the buzz from it vibrating, slightly noticeable against the vinyl seat upholstery.

Without even looking at the ID, you knew who it was. You reached for the device and slid to answer—this was the fifth time he had called. He wasn’t going to stop until you obliged. “What?” You barked into the receiver of the phone.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Dean Winchester breathed into the phone. “You have to turn around. We need a plan. You can’t just barge in there.” You could tell he was doing everything he could to remain calm and collected; must be nice, you thought to yourself. He doesn’t have a horse in this race, so of course he wants to play it safe.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dean,” you spat back. Your eyes blurred from the angry tears that had pooled there. You blinked—hard—to will them away. Instead, they escaped through the corners of your eyes and trailed down your face. You didn’t care.

“Dammit, Y/N,” all bets were off, and Dean had returned to his angsty, gruff self. “This is a trap, and you know it.”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid? Of course, it’s a trap, Dean! But what the hell am I supposed to do?! You tell me what you would do in this situation if it were Sam,” your words dripped with bitterness, but again—you didn’t care. The emotions in you ranged from anger to annoyance to disappointment—you had trusted him, and now you felt like a fool.

“Y/N…” he trailed off.

“Exactly. You can’t tell me, because you would be doing exactly what I’m doing,” there was a fierceness behind your words that Dean hadn’t heard before. “You made your choice to stay. And you know what? That’s fine; that’s on you. I don’t even care anymore,” you tried to make your voice sound strong and sure. You wanted him to believe every word, even though you knew there was no truth to it. You did care. You cared so much it hurt physically.

“So what are you gonna do, then? Just walk in there, guns blazing? Hope you can take out a few demons before Crowley puts you out of your misery?” If he had been hurt by the words you had said, he wasn’t showing it.

You blinked against the tears a few times; the grip of your left hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m going to give him the tablet.” You pulled the phone away from your face and quickly hit ‘End’ before tossing it back on the passenger seat beside you.

-----

You weren’t sure how long it had been, exactly. You couldn’t be sure how many times you had lost consciousness at this point, but it was certainly more than once. You blinked against the darkness; your hands still secured behind your back. The ropes were still tied firmly around your ankles, making it impossible for you to budge.

Eyes closed tightly, you tried to remember what had happened—how you had gotten here. You were certain you could’ve used the tablet as leverage. Crowley would accept the tablet and in return, he would release you and your family—unharmed, back to normal.

“Ah, she’s awake,” a bright light snapped on overhead—it blinded you for a moment. You blinked against it, aggressively squinting to make out Crowley and two men in suits. Your jaw tightened as you struggled against the ropes on your wrists. Bile crept from the pit of your stomach up towards your esophagus; it burned the base of your throat. “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Where are they?” You found your voice. You were disappointed by how weak it sounded. You had been hurt—you could feel the leftover gashes in your skin. Your face felt tight, so you knew there had to be dried blood there.

Crowley looked around the warehouse as he played dumb. “Who? Mummy and Daddy? Your baby sister?” He asked coyly. You grinded your teeth, your jaw ached from the pain. It wasn’t even the physical pain. The pain in your chest as you assumed the worst about your family.

“Y/N?” You heard a soft voice come from behind you. Crowley took six steps towards you and strongly lifted your chair to turn you towards the voices. There in front of you were three different racks, of sorts. You imagined these were like the racks in Hell—the racks that Dean had described in painful detail one night when you both had gotten carried away drinking.

On the first one, your father. His arms pulled back to each corner of the rack; his legs tied in the same fashion at the bottoms of the rack—spread out like an ‘X’. His head was down, and you knew he was unconscious. Blood dripped from his head—a pool of crimson red forming below him on the concrete floor. He had wounds all over his body. You couldn’t make out what was cut versus blood from other injuries.

On the second, your mother. She seemed to be awake, but barely. Her eyes were tiny slits—squinting towards you. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as you realized she was trying to determine if you were real or just a figment of her imagination. Blood caked her hair—it had already matted in places. Her body was leaning forward, pulling her away from the rack. Your eyes were drawn to her wrists, which were being cut by the cuffs around them as gravity pulled her body forward.

And then the third rack—the rack with your baby sister. She was only two years younger than you, but you still referred to her as your baby sister. She was the one who had called your name out. She, too, was strung up just like your parents. But her core muscles allowed her to hold herself up. You could tell she was terrified—the panic made her arms move and pull at the cuffs holding her against the rack. She writhed against the metal. It made the bile bubbling like boiling acid in your stomach unavoidable. In a quick motion, you leaned to your right and your entire body heaved.

Crowley looked down at the floor, a grimace pulled over his face. And in one quick motion, his hand slapped across your face. It was such a hard slap, you were certain you had the outline of a handprint in its wake. “You dumb bitch, you yakked on my shoes!”

Your eyes glazed over; you didn’t care about the pain, or the smell of the bile. You couldn’t get past the smell of blood, and the way your sister looked at you. “Y/N,” she repeated, this time she choked out a sob. “W-What’s happening?”

Before you could speak, Crowley moved towards her. “Your sister,” he started as he paced in front of her rack. “…let’s just say she has poor decision-making skills. She had a choice,” he glanced back at you as he continued. “And she chose a Moose and a Squirrel.”

Your sister looked confused, and you didn’t blame her. You closed your eyes and dropped your head, but only for a moment. Your memories began to come back. “Crowley, I gave you the tablet! What more do you want from me?” You sounded desperate, but you couldn’t help it.

In just a few swift steps, Crowley was back in front of you. The breeze from his speed made you blink as he held onto the armrests of your chair and leaned as close to your face as possible without touching. “I WANTED THE WINCHESTERS!” He screamed.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes again. “They aren’t coming!” You screamed back. “I told you, I came here alone.”

Crowley stepped back once more and it was then that you realized he had a blade in his hand. “And that’s why we’re here, puppet. That’s why we’re all here. Mummy, Daddy, little sister…”

Your eyes were glued to him as he walked slowly—so slowly, you felt like he could almost be moving backwards. It sounded so far away as you heard your sister scream. Was he really walking that slowly, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Your sister just kept screaming over and over again—blood curdling. You realized your eyes had glazed over again and you weren’t even seeing clearly. And that was when one of Crowley’s pawns put his hands on your head and turned it towards where Crowley stood in front of your sister.

You watched. He took the blade in his hand and drove it straight into her gut—her eyes were widened in horror, her mouth agape. Blood began to slowly flood her mouth and drip down to the floor. Her body was no longer able to hold her against the rack, and she fell forward—only caught by cuffs that wrapped her wrists and ankles.

“You can thank your big sis for that,” Crowley muttered loud enough for you to hear. In a swift movement, he twisted the blade completely until her head fell forward and you knew she was gone. He pulled the blade out and with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he wiped it down. “Are we having fun yet?” He turned back to you with an evil smile spread across his lips.

Your heart pounded so hard against the wall of your chest, you were certain it would thump right out of your body. But yet you wouldn’t scream. You couldn’t move. For the first time in a long time, there were no heroes. There was no saving.

One by one, Crowley made it down the line. Putting your family out of their misery. You winced with each slice—you believed something in you to be broken, as you couldn’t get out a reaction. But then you realized your face was wet, and you thought you could hear your own voice echoing off of the concrete walls of the warehouse. Maybe you were screaming, after all.

And finally, Crowley sauntered over to you. Your eyes felt heavy—like you were tired. You summed it up to a combination of the blood loss and watching your entire family be slaughtered while you sat there, unable to move.

You closed your eyes as he stood in front of you. You waited…would there be pain? Was there really a bright light? Would a Reaper come for you?

Crowley cleared his throat in front of you, causing you to open your eyes. “Here’s the deal, love,” he looked down into your eyes. “I’m going to let you sit here and stew in your own juices. I want you to feel the pain…just watching your family’s meat suits rot. And when the Winchesters inevitably show up, you tell them Crowley would like a word.” He whispered the last part so close to your ear it made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into thin air.

And so you sat there.

Screams fell from your lips, but there was no one around to hear. Your eyes were forced to look at the bodies—this blood was on you. Your family’s blood was on you. You couldn’t save them. You could pray to Cas, but you didn’t want to. You hoped more than anything you had ever hoped for before that your blood would seep out onto the concrete floor around you, and a Reaper would come for you. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would be Tessa. She seemed pleasant…for a Reaper, anyway.

You closed your eyes. It was better than the alternative.

-------

You blinked. Once, twice…three times. Voices, you heard voices again. You had come to accept that it was your mind playing tricks on you—hallucinations, you assumed. Probably from the blood loss.

“Hey, Y/N…you hear me?” Someone was in your face. Your hallucinations were…touching you? That didn’t seem right. Then again, you had never been on the edge of death before. So you guessed it could be possible. “Sammy, she’s waking up.”

The Winchesters? You were on the brink of death and your mind decided to hallucinate the Winchesters?

Your eyes were thin slits at this point—sunken in. Your hair was matted with blood, but you felt their hands on your face, your head, your torso. Someone—Sam, you thought—had his fingers working quickly on your wrists.

“Go…away…” you muttered in between raspy breaths. You tasted blood—you weren’t sure if it was from a strand of hair that had slipped in between your lips, or if you had internal bleeding that was making its way up your throat. You didn’t care.

“Y/N, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean said as he tried to keep eye contact with you. “Cas!” He practically growled. He looked up to the ceiling—waiting.

A bright light surrounded you in the room—standing before you was Cas, trench coat and all. Your eyes lulled back again, you anticipated to pass out once more. You felt arms around your middle and your head cradled in a shoulder—you knew that shoulder. It belonged to Dean.

“Fix her…please,” you felt the rumble in his chest as the words fell from his lips. You knew you weren’t lucid, but you could have sworn you sensed a hint of begging. The Dean Winchester you knew didn’t beg.

“Don’t,” even in your haze, the word slipped between your lips.

“Y/N,” Cas approached you carefully. His eyes moved over you as he assessed the damage. “If I do not heal you, you will die.”

You remained silent. Cas looked between you and Dean. “Cas!” Dean barked once more.

Within seconds, the light was brightening around you—blinding you. You squinted against it. You willed your body to writhe away from him and fall on the nearest blade. But it was too late.

The physical pain suddenly began to fade until it was gone. No open wounds, no more seeping blood. “Her injuries are healed,” Cas explained. “But it will take some time for her blood levels to normalize.” You noticed there was still ringing in your ears, and you felt a bit dizzy. But all things considered, it could have been so much worse. But that made your heart sink.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you muttered as you shoved with all the strength you had at his chest.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his eyes closed for a second. You moved to stand but felt lightheaded. In trying to find your way back to your seat, you almost fell. Dean caught you just before you hit the ground. “Alright, Speed Demon. Take it easy.” With one arm around your back, he dipped the other behind your knees as he lifted you bridal-style. “Dean Winchester, put me down right now,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“I can throw you over my shoulder, if you want,” he smirked. The smirk…you wanted to slap it off of his face. It took everything in you not to.

“Put…me…down,” your teeth were so gritted now you thought they might break. “I’m not kidding, Dean.” You shoved at his chest and managed to wiggle from his grasp. He held his hands up in defeat. You slowly made your way to the exit of the building and realized it had started to rain.

The gravel was wet. You were thankful it was gravel, your shoes seemed to grip it a bit better. One slow step at a time, you passed the Impala and just kept walking. The darkness was overwhelming as you moved away from the yellow street light positioned just outside the warehouse and kept moving. You didn’t know where you were going. As soon as you hit grass, you fell to your knees. A bubble formed in the pit of your stomach; you felt it roll up your body until it rumbled out of your mouth as a sob.

Your face was wet—a mixture of tears and rain. You heard the gravel shift behind you and knew he was there. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, your knees soaking through from the wet grass.

He didn’t say anything, he just kneeled directly beside you. You saw his head duck as he tried to capture his thoughts.

“Y/N—” you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

“Shove it, Dean,” you cut him off, your words bitter. “Nothing you say…” you mumbled in between sobs. “…nothing you say can fix this.”

He cleared his throat. “I know that,” his voice was a little louder as the rain pelted down around you. The droplets bounced angrily off of the metal roof behind you. He stayed silent. The rain inspired you to pour everything out.

“If you and Sam had come with me,” you shook your head as the tears continued to fall. “It just…we could have stopped Crowley, Dean! We could have done it! Every, fucking hunt you find—I follow you blindly.” You didn’t mean for your words to sound as angry as they did; or maybe you meant every emotion behind them. You didn’t care. “Every time, Dean. I never ask any questions. I trust you and I go.”

Silence.

The only sound that filled your ears was the continued fall of the rain, and your heavy sobs. You managed to turn your head to look at him. You couldn’t be certain, but his face was covered with water—was he…crying?

You had never seen Dean Winchester cry, so you really didn’t know what to make of it. Before you could do or say anything, you felt a sadness in your heart. But it wasn’t from having witnessed your family be brutally murdered before your eyes…no, that was a feeling of despair; the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. This was sadness. Sadness for your friend—the man you had grown to care for, though he didn’t know it.

“Dean,” you started. You were mad at yourself—you were supposed to be pissed off at this man sitting next to you. You should have been seeing red. But you couldn’t. You had to make sure he was okay.

“Y/N, I am so…so sorry,” he breathed out as he wiped at his face. He tried to rid his face of the tears and the rain drops as they mixed together. “I thought that we had time. I thought we could…” he trailed off as you watched his eyes move over the strands of grass in front of you as he searched for the words. “…come up with a plan. I had no idea this would happen.”

Silence again, your eyes closed as more tears slipped through your eyelids. “Of course, you didn’t know,” you finally breathed out. Desperation set in as you realized this wasn’t Dean’s fault. You wanted someone to blame; you didn’t know what to do, what to say, where to go. “I don’t have anywhere to go anymore. My family is gone; I have no one.” The words fell from your lips as quickly as they entered your brain—you hadn’t even realized you were talking out loud until Dean moved on his knees until he was in front of you and his hands were on either side of your face.

You felt the calloused pads of his thumbs swipe under your burning eyes, his wrists moved to lift your gaze to meet his. “You have us, Y/N. You have…you have me,” he said so softly you weren’t sure you had heard him. “We will always be your family. Always, do you hear me?”

Your eyes scrunched closed as you cried. You brought your hands up to his and held on for dear life. You were grasping at anything at this point; it felt as though you were drowning.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” you mumbled as you slowly opened your eyes to look at him—desperation.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled his hands back. “I understand if you don’t want to stay with us,” he nodded, like he was trying to convince himself that he truly understood.

“No, Dean…this. Life, how am I supposed to even keep going?” Had you heard yourself speak this way a day ago, you would have been disgusted with yourself and how weak you sounded. But it was different now, and you didn’t care.

“Listen to me,” he reached for your face again—his eyes bore into yours. “It’s not easy, and I get that. The shitty part about life and what we do, is that we lose people. It happens way too often, and it never gets easier,” he said firmly. “But what you’re gonna do is come back to the bunker, get some rest and let us help you.”

The tears continued to fall—at this point, you had no idea how there were any tears left. But you were too tired and weak to fight him. Dean was too strong to fight when you were operating at one hundred percent; there was no way you could fight him now.

His eyes moved between yours as he studied your features. When he realized there was no longer resistance, he stood up from his spot on the grass and leaned down. He scooped you up into his arms—one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. The exhaustion was overpowering as your head hit his shoulder and you closed your eyes. The rain continued to beat against your hot flesh.

Sam opened the passenger door to the Impala while Dean helped you sit up. He grabbed your keys and tossed them to Sam. After closing your door, he had a few words with Sam before getting in the driver’s side. There were no words; just the hum of the engine as Dean drove you back to the bunker.

-----

Back at the bunker, numbness had set in. You had always heard of the Stages of Grief, but you never imagined going through them.

You felt tears bubble again; dammit. You hated crying—everything about it. The emotion, in general, but then also the congestion, the swollen eyes, the overall puffiness in your face. Dean had you on the edge of the bed facing the wall of your room in the bunker, he had just kneeled down in front of you. His eyes looked over your face and you could tell: Dean Winchester was trying to fix you. But there was no fixing this unless he found away to reverse time or bring your family back.

“Hey,” he breathed. His thumb ran small circles over your denim covered knee. “Listen, I know you’re going through it right now…” he trailed off. “But you’ve gotta get out of those wet clothes. You’re cold, you gotta get changed.” You could tell his brain was picking each word so carefully, which wasn’t very Dean Winchester-esque.

You hadn’t realized you were cold until you noticed your body was physically shaking. “I don’t care.” You breathed.

“Dammit, Y/N,” he muttered and stood up. His jaw tightened as he tried to control his frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face as he paced around your bedroom, one hand in his jean’s pocket, the other over his mouth, resting on his chin.

“I’m too tired, Dean. I just…I can’t,” you begged the tears to stop falling, but your body wasn’t listening. He turned back to you and you could see the sadness wash over his features.

“Well, will you let me help you?” He asked, calmer now as he realized you were just mentally and physically done.

You shuddered at the thought, but this time it wasn’t from the chill of the air on your wet clothes. This was something much deeper; something that had developed months ago but you had worked so hard to push out of your heart. You didn’t have the will to fight it anymore. You nodded carefully, a small nod—but you had been sure he had seen it.

His eyes watched yours and he nodded; he moved towards the dresser and retrieved a pair of pajama pants and an over-sized hoodie. He brought them back to the bed and cleared his throat. You could tell he was trying to keep this as professional as possible—he just wanted to take care of you. Dean put his hand out in front of you and you carefully took it. He helped pull you to your feet so you were standing just in front of him.

“Arms up,” he whispered. You brought your arms up to about your shoulders and winced, a slight pain on your left side just under your breast. Concern covered his face as his forehead creased. “You alright?” He pulled up your shirt and identified the culprit—there was a pretty solid bruise just under your bra. “Dammit, Cas healed you…” he seemed worried.

“To be fair,” you breathed. “There were a lot of injuries to heal. One healing session might not have cut it.”

He nodded in agreement and carefully continued to help you pull off your shirt. You had forgotten that you would be standing in front of Dean with your bra fully visible. The thought made your cheeks flush with warmth as you avoided eye contact. He cleared his throat again—clearly a bit uncomfortable himself. He reached for your hoodie and slid the arms on first before pulling it over your head.

You managed a small smile as your head popped through the hole at the top of the hoodie. “Thanks, Dean.” Your words were soft, and for a moment he thought he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Don’t thank me…” his eyes moved between yours again. “I am just…Y/N, I’ll never stop being sorry.” You could see the pain in his eyes; the guilt.

“Dean, I had no right to blame you,” you shook your head. There they were again—the fucking tears. And that’s when it hit you; it all hit you square in the face. You had been so hurt when Dean wouldn’t go, because you trusted him blindly—because you loved him. You loved him, and you wanted him to love you—to trust you.

“You alright?” He watched your eyes as you contemplated all of this.

You nodded and swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I just…” you hesitated; you weren’t brave enough to confess your findings to Dean. But then again, your mind went back to your family…your loved ones. If you had learned anything tonight, it was that life is short and time is fast—and Dean had even been the one to say it; we lose people. You decided against your better judgment and just went for it. “I think I blamed you because I trusted you, and I wanted you to trust me.”

Dean had his hands on your face once more. “I do trust you, Y/N—”

You cut in before he could finish. “No, I know. But I realized I trust you so much because…because I love you.” Your eyes found his yet again. They darted quickly between his green orbs to try and get a sense for what he was thinking. But you couldn’t read him; you couldn’t tell what was happening in his brain. “And…and I wanted you to love me, too.” You prayed it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt coming off of your lips; but, no regrets. You didn’t want to regret anything, not after tonight.

Without another word, his lips were on yours. They moved against you feverishly; it was as though he had yearned for this moment just as much as you had, if not more. One hand remained on your cheek, steadying you. The other moved to your hip and slipped under your hoodie, gently grasping onto the warm skin on your lower back to pull you closer.

He pulled back and you felt your chest heave as you came up for air. His eyes danced over yours again, this time reflecting a glint of…hope? Affection, maybe? Passion? You couldn’t be certain.

But then he licked his lips, his eyes traveled between your eyes and your now swollen lips. “I love you, too.” He murmured before his lips slowly caressed yours once more.

And in that moment, you felt whole again.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I meant to finish this yesterday, but the episode last night about broke me in two and I couldn’t write. Please let me know your thoughts!! My reading requests are open (submit via the Ask Me! link on my page). Please re-blog, like, etc.! All mistakes made in this are my own, please don’t re-post anywhere off of Tumblr :)

xx S

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