#especially the clothes of the smoking hot Crowley

[thechaotichorselord]

TK drawings

#i love this silly guy #probably gonna post more of him #tsp #the stanley parable #tsp timekeeper #tsp tk #the stanley parable timekeeper #he only looks embarrassed because he feels weird in different clothes #especially the clothes of the smoking hot Crowley

[yamisnuffles]

The Ecstasy of Anthony J Crowley

Aziraphale smites a demon and inspires Crowley's best impression of Teresa of Avila.

Rated E. 2809 words. Read on Ao3

- - - - -

The smell of ozone permeated the air. It made the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand on end and triggered something bone deep in him, something forged in sulfur and ruin. It told him to shed his skin, burrow into the wet, loose soil and become part of the loam. You are a snake. You are oil. Go back to the earth and be consumed. Get out of the light.

The ground in front of him was an obsidian streak. All that remained of a demon, now but char and smoke. That could have been him. Countless times over the millennia, that should have been him. Babylon, Egypt, Greece, and more. They’d been at odds for so long and yet Crowley had survived it all. His chest rose and fell with every frantic gulp of air. Fear, yes, but something else, something that pooled molten hot at his core.

He couldn’t look away from the hard, angry line of Aziraphale’s shoulders nor from solid fingers with their neat trimmed nails now crackling with residual energy. A spark skipped from one knuckle to the next. Crowley wanted those hands on him, no matter how they might burn. Especially because they might burn. He wasn’t entirely fireproof, not when it came to Aziraphale. There wasn’t a shred of him that was safe from Aziraphale.

Sulfur burned a vibrant, violent blue. Crowley could feel the memory of it in his skin as he looked in Aziraphale’s eyes. Then Aziraphale blinked and that blue cooled to a river, an ocean. In the space of that blink, his face went from coolly impassive to terrified.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His hands ghosted just above Crowley’s arms, his shoulders, in search of injury. “You’re shaking. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No, it’s not—”

Crowley shook his head but he felt lost in a fog. He could still feel it in the air, the strain of Aziraphale’s ethereal might against this mortal plane. If he raised his hand he could just about touch the protective curve of a wing that pressed against the fabric of reality, just beyond reach but close enough that they both shivered.

Crowley all but lunged at Aziraphale. He wanted to taste. He needed it. He missed his mark and had to drag his hungry mouth across Aziraphale’s jaw to find his lips. Once there, he pressed in, in as far as he could go. Words of divine command remained there like an echo, on tongue and teeth. It was something electric that numbed and enlivened all at once. Crowley couldn’t get enough of it.

There was a question on those lips but Aziraphale was quick to respond, sinking in with a groan. It was messy and delicious and it only made Crowley want more. He was beyond the point of caring that he had an erection that was straining ever more against too tight denim. What did he care if Aziraphale felt the hard press of it on his stomach when the taste of the angel made his teeth and tongue tingle? It was the taste of that first storm and a wing over his head. It was surer to destroy him than a swan dive into holy water and he was more than happy to leap.

Aziraphale gasped when he came up for air. The hand he pressed to Crowley’s chest was the only thing that kept them parted as he spoke. “Should I ask what spurred this?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

A soft laugh was paired with an even softer smile. “Alright then, what do you say we continue this back at the flat?”

“Lead the way, angel. You know I’ll follow.”

“Will you now? Anywhere?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and Crowley arched one right back at him. “Yes? Is that even a question.”

“Oh, but there are so many possibilities.” Aziraphale looked down at their discarded picnic blanket. “We’d been enjoying a nice meal before we were so rudely interrupted. Perhaps I’m in the mood to eat something more.”

“Whatever you want.” Crowley’s voice jumped an octave with each word. He took a moment to quickly pack the remains of their prior meal into the tartan lined basket, leaving only a wide expanse of inviting blanket. The smiting had lit the sky like a beacon that warned any mortals away. The danger of it rolled thick through the air. They could do whatever they liked without fear of prying eyes. Not that Crowley particularly cared one way or another at the moment. “So, uh, yeah. Could do that. If you’re still hungry.”

“For you? Always.” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. With a snap of his fingers, the blanket was rolled on top of the basket. He walked onward, trusting that Crowley would grab their things. “But there is a bit of a chill in the air. It could be unpleasant,” he mused as he found the path out of the park.

“Could be…”

That always was caught somewhere between Crowley’s third and fourth ventricle. The angel could be insatiable but it still felt impossible to Crowley that he was on the menu. Months after the averted apocalypse and he had no clue if there was bottom depth to that hunger. He knew his own want was endless. If there was any end to it, he would split himself apart to make more room for Aziraphale. He wanted to consume and be consumed, now more than ever.

He drifted helplessly in Aziraphale’s wake until it led them back to the Bentley. A drive to either the shop or his flat seemed impossible. He had no idea how he’d survive the wait, no matter how fast he drove, but he’d go as slow as Aziraphale needed.

Aziraphale took both basket and blanket and tucked them safely onto the floor in front of the back seat. He remained stooped, eyeing the interior.

“This seems spacious,” he mused, as though out shopping for furniture and not a place to fuck. Crowley barely heard him over the blood pounding in his ears. “I know how you are about this beastly contraption, though.”

“Just what part of you do you think would sully my car? Any bit of it can count itself lucky to be blessed by your backside.”

Aziraphale sidled up close and kissed Crowley’s neck. Then his ear. “And just where,” he asked in a low rumble, “is it that you want my backside?”

He palmed at Crowley through his jeans and the demon’s hips stuttered in response. He pinned Aziraphale against the car so that any remaining space between them dissolved. That serpentine part of him that existed just below the surface ached to taste the celestial scent that clung to centuries old fabric. Perhaps then he could untangle that intangible, ineffable something that marked Aziraphale as an angel like no other. 

“Whatever you want to do. Wherever. I told you.”

“I know.” Azirphale kissed either cheek then pressed a hand to the small of Crowley’s back to pull him closer still. His breath brushed the shell of Crowley’s ear. “But you never told me what this was about. So tell me now— what do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted to bend Aziraphale over the hood of the Bentley. He wanted his mouth on Aziraphale and Aziraphale’s mouth on him. He wanted Aziraphale inside him, taking him apart piece by agonizing piece. He wanted everything and he didn’t know where to begin choosing.

Crowley panted. He could barely find air through his desire. He wasn’t entirely sure his lungs were even working as they should anymore. He abandoned it all— lungs and heart, mind and soul— to Aziraphale. Let them move as all. That’s what he really wanted.

“You,” he said.

“I could tell that much, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, pressing his own growing hardness against Crowley’s. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

A growl rose from the back of Crowley’s throat. He used what little willpower he had to step away from Aziraphale. “Lay down in the backseat.” Aziraphale moved to comply only for Crowley to stop him. “Wait. Actually. Just…” Crowley took the blanket and spread it over the seat. “There. That leather can be murder on bare skin.”

“Bare skin,” Aziraphale repeated. He slid into the seat and as soon as he was reclining, a miracle had his clothes folded in a neat pile in the front. “So, like this then?”

Aziraphale’s knees were up and parted to perfectly frame his blushing cock as it rose from amongst golden curls. Crowley felt like the air had been pulled straight from his lungs. He clambered into the back of the Bentley with as much grace as he could manage. As soon as the door was shut behind him, his own clothes vanished. He might have sent them to the front seat or to Mars. He neither knew nor did he care.

He slid beneath Aziraphale’s legs so that they were perched on his shoulders. He kissed pale thighs and nipped the tender flesh just enough to draw out a gasp. He pressed his nose into skin, fat, and muscle. He knew these bodies were only shells but what a glorious one Aziraphale had. He had to remind himself that he had an eternity to explore it all. Later. Now he had that electric feeling to chase, the one that hung like a dissipating shroud around Aziraphale.

He let his tongue fork and followed it like a divining rod down across downy flesh to what he desired. He pressed it deep into Aziraphale with a moan. Thighs clamped tight around his ears when he pushed deeper still. It should have been enough to hurt but all he could think was strong. Aziraphale was so strong and yet he was willing to make himself vulnerable to a demon. No, not just any demon. One particular demon. One demon who got to breathe the petrichor after the storm.

“Crowley.”

He would sooner tire of the beating of his heart than the sound of his name dripping off Aziraphale’s tongue. He lapped it up, got drunk on it. He was insensible to all else beyond his name mixed in heat and sweat and the needy twitch of muscle. He could have stayed that way until every last syllable was wrung into that heavenly choir but he couldn’t ignore the throbbing desire for more, more, more.

Crowley let fingers slip in the place of his tongue. He resented the distance but was more than repaid for it by the sight of Aziraphale. The angel’s hair was a mess of fluffy curls. His skin was dewy with sweat that glistened in the dull glow that lingered around him. Crowley didn’t remember much of Heaven. Hadn’t spent much time there, really, but he had spent a lot of time amongst the stars. Aziraphale was as pale and luminous as some of the best swathes of the Carina Nebula. Crowley wished he could run his fingers through that celestial substance. In a way, he supposed as he hooked his fingers just enough to make Aziraphale cry out, he still could.

But still, still there was that drumbeat in his head for more. Closer. Deeper.

Aziraphale looked at him when he stopped his ministrations. “What— Do we need to… did you already...”

His eyes were blown black and looked unfocused as they travelled over Crowley’s form in search of answers to his half formed questions. Crowley couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest any time he reduced Aziraphale to incoherency.

He took Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “Come here.”

He pulled Aziraphale up so that the angel was straddling his lap. It was an awkward position. Crowley’s knees dug into the seat back in front of him and Aziraphale had to stoop to stop from hitting his head against the interior roof of the car. Already, though, it was better. Aziraphale’s arms and legs were wrapped around him and torsos were pressed together. There was, however, only one whisper of touch on the head of Crowley’s cock, one final gap between them that was bound to drive him mad if they didn’t cross it. His fingers dug into the meat of Aziraphale’s ass and he swallowed hard under the watchful gaze of smiling eyes.

“Like this?” Aziraphale asked, wiggling just enough downward to send Crowley’s head crashing back.

“Yeah. Yes. If you want. That’s—”

Aziraphale sank down onto him in one smooth, excruciatingly slow motion. Crowley swore he saw another flash of divine lightning. He certainly felt one jolt down his spine. Sight, sound, smell, all of it vanished for a moment as his body seized to an immediate stop. His heart was the clap of thunder that followed.

He realized vaguely that somewhere beyond the pulse of blood in his ears, Aziraphale was talking.

“Wuh?”

“I asked if you are alright.”

Crowley thrust up and groaned as a frisson of energy danced over his every nerve. “Fuck. Yes. In the name of everything holy or unholy or who even cares, yesss.”

Aziraphale wrapped steadying hands around the back of Crowley’s head. His thumbs were tucked behind Crowley’s ears and his fingers raked along the short, bristley hair under the base of his skull. It made the hair on Crowley’s neck and arms stand on end and sent him skittering on the razor’s edge of too much and not enough.

When it came to Aziraphale, he would always err on the side of not enough. He pressed forward into a kiss that landed like the first tumbling flakes in a rolling avalanche. Before long, he was buried in the sensation of rolling hips, teeth, tongues, and the continued hum of divine energy that electrified every movement. He had the vaguest notion there were fingers tugging a bit too hard on his hair, that the blanket had slid away and he had leather sticking to places he’d later regret, and that a million other imperfect things were happening. Yet none of it, not a moment of it, took from the perfection of Aziraphale on him and around him.

“Aziraphale. This is— I— Fuck.”

“I rather think I know the feeling,” Aziraphale replied, a laugh on his breath.

A star was born in the too tight cavity of Crowley’s chest. “Angel, you have no idea.”

How could he? Crowley wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. There was probably something he should say but even at his best, words could be elusive around Aziraphale. All he knew was that this was perfect. That Aziraphale was perfect. Aziraphale was good in ways that should have been agony to him and instead brought only exquisite, blinding ecstasy.

Aziraphale slammed down once, twice, and Crowley had just enough time to wonder if he could get another body if he was discorporated there before he felt the warm, sticky spill of Aziraphale’s release between them. That was his undoing. There were heels in his back and nails in his scalp and all he could feel was the spread of Aziraphale’s pleasure marking him.

He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Every time he thrusted up in search of more he felt a bit of himself caught on Aziraphale and remained there inside him. He was on fire with it. In agony so hot that it wrapped into an exquisite ecstasy. He let it tear out of him in a silent scream. By the time it was over he was barely aware of his body. He was just a pleasant haze drifting from that celestial fire.

He was brought back to his boneless body when Aziraphale shifted and pulled him down with him. And what a wonderful feeling it was in that body when he could no longer tell what parts belonged to him. He was one of a pair in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs.

Aziraphale swept a soaked strand of hair off his forehead. “Better?”

Crowley buried his face in a salty expanse of chest hair. “Much,” he mumbled.

“In any mood to tell me what that was about?”

Crowley considered. Telling could be fun. Telling could lead to more.

“Nah.” He snapped his fingers and the Bentley’s engine purred to life. “Not right now.” He managed to wriggle out a stretch without disentangling himself. Another snap and the Bentley was on its way to Mayfair. “Right now, sleep. Maybe for a week.”

Aziraphale sighed and Crowley could feel the curl of a smile on the top of his head. “Alright then, but I’m not sitting about that empty flat of yours for a week.” Another snap and the Bentley veered off toward Soho. “A change of course. You can sleep in my flat.”

“Wherever you want to go, angel,” Crowley said with a yawn. “You know I’m with you.”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #fic #my writing

[assassin-or-templar-56]

Aziraphale's Fever

Aziraphale couldn't recall a single time he'd ever gotten ill. He'd been injured a few unfortunate times, even discorporated, but sickness was something that often effected Crowley more than him. The demon was very prone to illness, especially when the weather turned cold. But now, sitting in the back room of his bookshop, waiting for Crowley to show up for their lunch date, Aziraphale felt a strange warmth coursing through his body.

At first, he thought that perhaps it was the heater, but even when the angel turned it down, it still felt warm, as though Aziraphale was sitting near a bonfire. Sweat began to bead along his forehead and temples. He removed his beloved jacket and waistcoat, but the uncomfortable feeling remained, and was soon joined by a persistent ache spreading throughout his muscles. Aziraphale rubbed his eyes, placing his book aside and lying back on the couch. He thought about calling Crowley to tell him to cancel their lunch plans, but the phone was far away, and Aziraphale had no energy to miracle it closer. He pulled the blanket that was spread across the back of the couch over his body, resting his head on the armrest and closing his eyes.

An hour later, Crowley's Bentley screeched to a halt outside the shop, music blaring from the speakers. Crowley killed the engine and stepped out of the car, sauntering up to the shop door. The sign was flipped to 'Closed', but that didn't stop the demon from pushing the door open and stepping into the warm shop.

"Angel?" He called out. No reply. In fact, the only sound that Crowley could hear was low classical music playing nearby. He walked further into the shop, glancing around shelves, expecting to find Aziraphale organizing or searching for a particular volume. As he approached the cozy back room, he heard a new sound: low, slightly raspy breathing. Crowley headed in the direction of the breathing, and stopped in his tracks, taking off his dark glasses in disbelief.

Aziraphale was laid across the couch that Crowley himself usually stretched across. A tartan blanket was wrapped the angel, his head of white-blond curls against the arm of the couch. His face, usually bright and smiling, was now flushed and shining with sweat, twisted in pain. Crowley stood there, staring at his angel for a good thirty seconds, before he blinked. Tucking his glasses into his jacket, the demon approached the couch and knelt down beside his love. He placed a gentle hand on the angel's brow and almost pulled away. Aziraphale's skin was hot as a boiling kettle, slick with sweat.

"Zira?" Crowley asked quietly.

The angel stirred lightly bit didn't wake. Crowley bit his lower lip. He's known Aziraphale for six thousand years, and has seen him injured, and during one still traumatic event, discorporated, but has never seen him sick. That was always Crowley's problem. He'd always been susceptible to illness, human or not, and it was always Aziraphale who took care of him until he was well again. Now it seemed that the roles were reversed.

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley said, still whispering. "I'll help you through this, just like you've always helped me."

He stood up and carefully pulled the sleeping angel into his arms, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, and miracled them into the bedroom in the flat above the bookshop. He gingerly set Aziraphale on the bed and miracled some pajamas on him. Crowley knew that fevers were often accompanied by muscle pain, and didn't want to jostle his angel by physically undressing him. Once Aziraphale was tucked into bed, Crowley went into the kitchen, filled a bowl with cold water, grabbed a flannel from the bathroom, and returned to the angel's bedside.

Crowley dipped the flannel into the water, wrung it out, then carefully wiped it across Aziraphale's forehead and down the sides of his face. He did that for a good ten minutes before placing the cloth and bowl aside, making sure the water stayed cold, then crawled under the covers and pulled his love close, cradling him close to his chest and stroking his soft curls.

A few hours later, Aziraphale stirred with a quiet groan. Crowley, who still holding the angel close, didn't notice he was awake immediately. He was absorbed in an astronomy book he'd miracled from his flat. One hand held the book, but the other was still stroking Aziraphale's hair.

"Crowley?" The angel asked, sounding confused.

The demon looked down, golden eyes softening as he met the angel's, still blue but bright with fever.

"Hey, Zira," Crowley said softly, closing his book and setting it aside. "How do you feel?"

Aziraphale was silent for a minute. He still felt uncomfortably warm, like fire was boiling in his veins, and his muscles throbbed. He looked around. He was wearing his favorite pajamas, and was snuggled up in bed, using Crowley as a pillow. The room was dim from the setting sun.

"I found you asleep on the couch in the shop," Crowley explained, seeing Aziraphale's confusion. "You have a fever. It was pretty high for a couple hours, but I kept bathing your face with cold flannels to help bring it down. You've been asleep for three hours."

"Three hours?' Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. He sat up carefully. Crowley sat up too, and began rubbing the angel's back and shoulders, applying firm but gentle pressure to ease the ache in his muscles. Aziraphale sighed and leaned back into Crowley 's minstrations.

"Have you been here the whole time?" Aziraphale knew that Crowley often got restless sitting still or staying in one place for too long. He was a red-haired ball of energy, always moving and fidgeting.

"Of course I have," Crowley said. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's neck. "You've always been there for whenever I was ill. It's about time I returned the favor."

Aziraphale turned to look at his demon. He was smiling, gold eyes full of love and tenderness, red hair falling to the nape of his neck. He was still massaging the angel's back and shoulders, easing the soreness away.

"I love you," Aziraphale said, a different warmth blooming in his chest. Crowley kissed his hair

"I love you too," he said. He pulled back to study Aziraphale's face. "Do you need anything? Tea? Soup?"

"No," Aziraphale answered. "I just need you to hold me."

Crowley smiled. "I can do that."

He laid back down, and Aziraphale snuggled into his demon's chest, inhaling his calming scent of cinnamon and smoke and fresh earth. He felt Crowley's long fingers begin to card through his hair again. He smiled and closed his eyes, safe and secure in the strong arms of his love.

#aziraphale #crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #good omens #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #ineffable husbands #fanfic

[prestisssimo-tempestuoso]

the falling apart of things on fire

For Whumptober 2019, No. 11 Stitching. @whumptober2019

[On AO3]

When Aziraphale learnt how to embroider a cope back in the 13th century, he never imagined this was what he would put his skills to, centuries later. 

*

 1610, London

“Stay still.”

The body under his hands freezes abruptly, unnaturally still. Aziraphale stares at the sweat-slick curls laid on the nape of the demon’s neck, wonders at the immediate and absolute obedience, and whether a snake’s sweat would taste bitter or sweet.

He never knew Crowley’s physiology allowed him to sweat at all. To his memory, the demon never perspired, not even when he was being held down and fucked the few times Aziraphale lost control of himself enough to allow that to happen. Usually with the aid of alcohol.

Crowley was sweating now; his skin was unnaturally hot, hotter than should be normal for creatures of a reptilian nature. Aziraphale felt his fingertips burning up from the contact alone.

He shook his head to dispel the image of Crowley face down in the sheets. The pearly-white skin in the moonlight; how the jut of a sharp hip fit into his hand.

“Hurry up,” Crowley rasps. Aziraphale itches to miracle him a cup of water. He was afraid of accidentally imbuing it with divinity, however.

Crowley must be aware of this, but he doesn’t say anything. He merely stays in the chair, slightly bent forward, the curve of his spine a naked, sinuous, infinitely vulnerable thing. Blood drips sluggish from the deep gash parallel to its left, under the scapula, crawling along the expanse of bare skin, along length of the fine-spun silk thread in Aziraphale’s hands, turning the entire spool scarlet.

The mahogany chair is ruined. The air reeks of blood and bourbon.

“Angel, please,” Crowley whispers again, smoke-thin. “I won’t make a sound, promise. I won’t move. I won’t ask for any more wine. Please.”

Aziraphale swallows, and pulls the thread tight, ignoring the sensation of cloth tearing through flesh. The gaping lips of the wound seal a gnarly inch further. Crowley doesn’t move.

When Aziraphale learnt how to embroider a cope back in the 13th century, he never imagined this was what he would put his skills to, centuries later.

If only digging John Dee up from his grave could undo the damage. But what that loathed sorcerer had done was out in the world now, and could not be retracted. Knowledge cares not into whose hands it falls; the Enochian-engraved blade tossed in a corner of the room was evidence enough.

“Only halfway to go,” says Aziraphale in the tone he usually uses to recite a psalm. He says it as much to Crowley as to himself. The pained, labored breathing has ceased, but Aziraphale isn’t sure he prefers the silence. It leaves him with no way to gauge Crowley’s level of pain or consciousness.

By the time another quarter of the wound is sealed, Aziraphale feels for the shape of the wound, and finds a problem.

“Your wings, Crowley,” he breathes.

The demon grunts, but makes no movement.

Aziraphale clears his throat and tries again. The half-full bottle of bourbon off to the side is especially tempting right now, but he doesn’t dare imbibe. This is Crowley’s body, and it is nearly disintegrating from the occult blade. He can’t risk any unsteadiness.

“Your wings, my dear. Please let them out.”

A sharp intake of breath. Then a slow release. Aziraphale feels the wings coming from the ethereal plane before they manifest, and holds in the gasp when he sees that the blade had sliced through flesh to expose a pale, jagged flash of bone.

The edges of the wound is burned-seeming, oozing a black ichor that mixed freely with the blood. Broken feathers lay limp around the point of severance.

“Crowley! Your wings -”

“It’s just one wing, angel,” says Crowley in an unaccountably calm voice, uncharacteristically pedantic. For a moment Aziraphale isn’t sure who he’s more furious with, the unbelievable, insufferable demon, or the wretched soul who dared do this to his – to Crowley.

“Yes, and you could lose the ability to fly over this!” Aziraphale snaps. “You could lose your way into the ethereal plane, the firmament, do you have any idea, you could be stuck in one place without the ability to teleport -”

“I made it here, didn’t I?”

“You could have been stuck in hell, Crowley -”

“Angel. Angel.”

Crowley is patting his right arm blindly with his right hand, without turning around, and jolting his left side as little as possible.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, blinks the tears back. There is a terrible, sore, painful sensation in the back of his throat. The last time he felt this way was centuries ago, in the drowned land after the Flood.

For a split second, Aziraphale wishes he’d done more to the man than taken his memories of Crowley away. Then he abandons the train of thought – it was far from angelic or merciful, and hardly helpful either.

“Aziraphale. Listen. This isn’t the first time my wings have been injured. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

The hand pats him some more, while Aziraphale stares in disbelief at the red, sweat-drenched nest of hair. He’s never heard a more illogical, paradoxical statement.

“But how in heaven’s name did you survive if you’ve…?”

“A difference in angelic and demonic anatomies, I’m sure.” Aziraphale can barely make out the slant of Crowley’s knife-thin lips from this angle, the lopsided smirk.  “We’re a sturdy bunch, demons.”

We. Demons.

“Right,” says Aziraphale. He is suddenly, forcibly reminded of Crowley’s nature in a way he hasn’t in – a while. “- Very well. But I don’ know if I’ll be able to close this completely, and I'll have to clean it first, which might hurt you further -”

“Just try your best,” says Crowley softly. “And it’ll be more than enough. Trust me.”

*

By the time Aziraphale finally lays the last stitch and snips off the thread, the candles have burned low. He grabs the bottle of wine, his fingers slipping on the glass once before he catches it by the neck, and pours the remaining liquid around the closed wound.

Outside, the night has quieted down. The sitting-room-turned-emergency-operating-room is littered with threads, needles, and bloodied pieces of cloth; Aziraphale’s fingers are slick with blood, wine, and cold sweat.

He doesn’t think he’ll miss the smell of bourbon for a while.

Crowley stands up from the chair in one fluid motion and promptly collapses towards the floor.

“Crowley!”

“Fuck. I’m wasted, completely done for,” says Crowley, grinning, as Aziraphale catches him by some miracle and wrestles him onto the bed, brought into existence a few hours earlier for this very purpose. Crowley’s skin has gone from feverish to clammy, almost ice-cold.

“You’re not drunk, my dear,” says Aziraphale. He tries his hardest not to think about whether the tremble in his own voice comes from exasperation, fondness, or poorly concealed grief. “You’re not in your right mind. Adrenaline, endorphins, not to mention, you’ve lost a large amount of blood.”

“I feel fantastic,” says Crowley, pupils blown wide.

“Just – try to sleep, will you?” Aziraphale pleads, standing up.

"You can't see the stars from here. At Golgotha, there were stars..." Crowley murmurs from the bed. His voice peters out towards the end of the sentence. Aziraphale stares at him, stricken, before shaking himself out of it.

With a thought, the room returns to rights. The blood-stained chair is sent to burn on the celestial plane. There are some things that can never be washed off, some memories that can never be effaced: whether on humans, supernatural entities, or mere objects.

The memory of blood, for example.

Certain events will always leave an indelible mark on the material and spiritual witnesses that surround it. Ground zero: all are caught in the blast.

Aziraphale thinks of his right knee, the phantom scar. Of meteors crashing to Earth, or some other destination. The intolerable heat. The falling apart of things on fire.

He douses the lights.

Crowley is laid in a miserable crumple in the sheets, on his right side. He’s shivering. Aziraphale crawls in beside him, and drags the sheets over Crowley’s bare shoulder. After a second and a thought, he puts his arms around him.

#whumptober 2019 #no. 11 #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #aj crowley #ineffable husbands #stitching #crowley whump #aziraphale/crowley #good omens fanfiction #whumptober2019 #anthony crowley

[vkelleyart]

Happy Valentine’s Day, loves! My candy heart comes to you in the form of this fluffy illustrated one-shot (a.k.a. fic-with-a-pic). I hope you enjoy it!

TITLE: “Merlin, May I?” (7466 words)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Simon Snow gets roped into a game of ‘Merlin May I’ against Baz Pitch, what starts off as a competition between mages for the most dangerous request ends up precipitating an unexpected collision of hearts.

READ ON AO3 | Fic + art close-ups are under the cut

Special thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz​, @penpanoply​, and especially Mr. VKelleyArt (Merlin May I kiss you?) for beta reading this fic. ❤️

SIMON

Ah, Spring!

With the sun on my face, the promise of a warm roast beef sandwich in my pocket, and an outdoor luncheon with Penny to look forward to, I’m living in the present moment for a while. The rains have finally given way to clear skies and a crisp breeze. Green has returned to the Great Lawn. And, in a pleasant turn of events, Agatha’s started talking to me again since we broke up last winter. (Okay, maybe not actually talking, but she’s not scurrying off in the opposite direction when she sees me approaching in the hallway anymore. Progress.)

My faith in humanity momentarily restored, and death-by-dark-creature and other variations of my imminent doom seemingly far away, few things on earth could spoil a day like today.

“Oi, Snow!”

Except maybe that.

I turn my gaze downhill to see the voice hailing me belongs to Dev Grimm. Beside him, sneering at me from below a perfect wave of black hair is Baz Pitch.

They are both standing on the inner edge of a circle chockablock with eighth-years. It looks like some sort of spectator event is happening, because standing in the center of the circle are Gareth and Niall, the expression on Gareth’s face bleak and dazed, like he’s just misplaced his dignity and doesn’t know where to look for it.

Dev calls me again. “Fancy joining in, Simon?”

“Not likely,” I say, watching Gareth drag his feet up toward the drawbridge like a man condemned. “What happened to him?”

Baz turns toward me and runs a hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes. “Gareth was just defeated in Merlin May I,” he answers, prompting the spread of a pompous grin across Niall’s face. “And now Niall here will reap the benefits of Gareth’s… concessions.” A rumble of laughter moves through the crowd.

I frown.

“‘Merlin May I’? What in the name of magic is that?”

“You don’t want to know, Simon. It’s a rotten game,” says Penny, traipsing down behind me. “And shame on all of you for enabling this ridiculousness!” she scolds the crowd, instigating a sea of eye-rolls.

“Come now, Bunce,” says Baz, stepping through an opening in the crowd toward us. “You don’t mean to say you’ve never played Merlin May I. I figured you a braver magician than that.”

Penny’s eyes turn into slits behind her glasses. “Refusing to play that nightmare of a game has no bearing on my bravery. It just means I’m not a glutton for punishment. Or a thundering idiot.”

Baz’s eyes move away from Penny and fix on me. I feel my cheeks flush, and suddenly the sun’s warmth overhead is bordering on oppressively hot.

“That’s perfect. Snow is both. I bet he’d love to play.”

BAZ

Aleister Crowley, I can’t believe my luck. Fate has delivered Simon Snow to my Merlin May I tournament, and though his plucky sidekick is trying to tug him away, he’s still rooted to the spot, which tells me he’s a few carefully timed insults away from playing a round of it himself.

“Simon, don’t you dare,” warns Bunce.

“Don’t worry, Penny. I don’t even know what Merlin May I is.”

“I’d be delighted to bring you up to speed,” I say. “Merlin May I is the mage’s hawk-dove game. We take turns making requests—to do things, take things, and generally force our opponent’s hand—until someone makes a request the other person can’t comply with. Dev, care to brief Snow on the rules?”

“Gladly,” he replies. “The rules are simple…”

You must say “Merlin May I” at the start of every request.

You may not repeat any requests already made.

No requests that will result in shagging, death, or other potentially fatal calamities are allowed either.

To accept a request, you must say “Yes, you may.” Otherwise, say: “You may not.”

The first person to say “You may not” loses the game, and the game is over.

When the game ends, every request the loser agrees to during the game, the winner gets to carry out.

“In other words, say ‘yes, you may’ at your peril,” I finish.

“So it’s ‘chicken’?” Simon sums up. “You just ask questions to see how much the other person will tolerate before they decide they don’t want you to completely fuck them over?”

“No. Chicken is prosaic and dull. Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust. A test of free will,” I reply grandly. “Your opponent may or may not throw you to the merewolves depending on what you request, so you’ll need to weigh just how much harm you want to inflict against how much you’re willing to take. Which is also to say that you should only ask questions you already know the answer to if you want to stay in the game, and that is the last tip I’m giving you.”

“It sounds terrible. I’ll pass.”

“What’s the matter?” I say. “Worried I’ll ask to move your bed to the bottom of the moat?”

“You probably would,” Simon mutters. “Why would anyone play this game? Seems like an easy way to lose friends and make enemies.”

He isn’t wrong. Watford played host to one of the most epic Merlin May I games of all time, and it brought a dramatic end to the school’s then-power couple, Gemma Harrington and Claus Beuchner. They were eight hours into the game when Gemma asked to fly Beuchner’s parents’ Lamborghini into a maelstrom and Claus agreed. He was out of his depth, of course, lost spectacularly, and got into so much trouble for agreeing to Gemma’s requests that his parents made him volunteer to scoop dragon dung at the Swedish Speartail Sanctuary for the rest of term. When he returned, the aroma of smoke and putrescence followed him around the halls for several months.

“Precisely,” I say. “I’m already your enemy. You have nothing to lose.”

“No, thanks. Come on, Penny.” Snow takes a bite from his sandwich, adjusts his rucksack over his shoulder, and turns like he’s about to leave.

I never want him to leave.

“Come, Snow. I’ll make sure your defeat is quick and painless.”

At this, Simon fixes me with an icy glare. “Who says you’d defeat me?”

“I do.”

“You won’t be feeling so jammy in a minute,” he snaps.

I smirk. “Then you’re in?”

Simon drops his rucksack, takes another bite of sandwich, and straightens his jacket. “I’m in.”

“Splendid,” I say.

“Simon!” exclaims Bunce.

“It’ll be fine, Pen,” Simon mutters. “There’s hardly anything terrible this prat can do to me that he hasn’t already done.”

“Apart from kill you!”

I roll my eyes. “As much as it’s in everyone’s best interest for Snow to die, Bunce, requesting his death is against the rules.”

Bunce glares at me, then at Simon. “I’m not playing witness to this. Go ahead and have at it. I’m going to lunch.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll just be a moment,” Simon calls after her, but she’s already storming away. He turns back to face me and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

Dev steps forward. “Hands up,” he says and pulls his wand out of his pocket. I extend my right hand toward Simon.

Snow is instantly suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“Insurance,” I answer, “to ward against cheating and ensure we carry out what we agree to. Go on.”

Hesitantly, he takes it. Dev lays the tip of his wand against our joined hands and says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Dev’s magic sinks blue and cold into our skin.

The game has begun.

“You can start,” I say.

“Fine,” Simon huffs, then takes a massive bite of sandwich as he thinks of something to ask for. After a solid minute of chewing, which I can only assume takes so long because it is directly fueling his capacity for thought, Snow finally says, “Merlin May I pass your essay for Magical Words class off as my own?”

“Yes, you may,” I snigger. “Though I should warn you that Miss Possibelf isn’t a complete moron and will know who really wrote it by the time she gets three words in.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary. Your turn.”

“Merlin May I keep our window closed at night for the rest of term?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Is this why you wanted me to play? So you could magically strongarm me into complying with your petty wishes?”

“I’m just taking advantage of a rare opportunity to get what I want without throwing curses at you,” I reply. “Your answer?”

“Yes, you may,” he grumbles. “But then… Merlin May I practice my swordplay on your side of the room?”

I frown at him. “I’m assuming you can resist shredding my bedsheets. And clothes. And all my bloody furniture. Yes, you may.”

Simon smiles, satisfied at having sufficiently lowered my upper hand and disturbed my good mood.

We go on for several rounds, and Snow impresses me with his creativity. He manages to rope me into trading soap with him (which pained me deeply to accept, but I suppose even Simon would prefer not to smell like a hospital once in a while) and confiscating my stash of salt and vinegar crisps because apparently the crumbs get stuck to his bare feet. I told him he wouldn’t have to fuss about it if he’d stop being a Neanderthal and get a set of slippers. (At which point, he Merlin-May-I’ed mine away from me.)

But it’s all relatively harmless. Nothing he’s asked for has legitimately threatened me, and as a result, I’ve had a decently challenging time trying to match Snow’s list of requests. I’ve obstructed Bunce’s secret visits to Mummer’s House, and I’ve forced him to let me Clean As a Whistle his side of the room whenever it starts to look like a numpty nest, but I don’t know how much further to go.

Our spectators look bored. Snow has so little to his name, there’s barely anything worth taking from him without leaving him naked and joyless, the latter of which doesn’t suit my interests at all. I just want to needle him, not destroy his will to live.

“All right,” I pick back up, deciding to raise the stakes. “Merlin May I eat all your scones at tea tomorrow?”

Simon blanches. (Adorably.) “All of them? I’ve never seen you eat one, let alone as many as I can put away.”

“What does that matter so long as it means you don’t get to eat them?” I retort.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine. I hope you choke on them.”

I tip an ear toward him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Yes. You. May,” says Simon through clenched teeth. He looks justifiably forlorn until something wicked occurs to him and his smile returns.

“Merlin May I… play your violin?”

The crowd around us “Ohs” like this is a football game and Snow’s just fouled me.

Because he has. My violin is nearly 300 years old. It’s practically a museum piece. If my parents ever found out Simon so much as touched it, they’d cancel my classes and confiscate the instrument along with my entire sheet music collection.

It’s also my most treasured possession next to my wand. Crowley knows what this hamfisted idiot might do to it.

Well, fuck all, it’s a risk I’ll have to take.

“Yes. You may,” I hiss. “You’ll pay for that one, Snow.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.”

His whole body is tilted in my direction. His jaw is pushed out, his eyes flinty. This is my favourite of Simon’s expressions (he only has about three), which is why I provoke it as often as I do. It often precedes him roughing me up, which is the only physical contact with Snow I’m allowed to have, but I’ll take it.

No one would know it by looking at me—least of all Snow—but my heart is practically beating its way out of my rib cage with anticipation.

I know the answer to my next request. It’s the one I ask him in my mind all the time. But I’ll finally get to say it out loud.

I make sure everyone can hear me.

“Merlin May I kiss you?”

Simon drops his sandwich.

SIMON

“Kiss me?” I repeat. “What are you playing at?”

Baz cackles at me. “Well, it’s a classic trap, isn’t it? If you say ‘yes,’ you’ll finally be called out for spreading lies because no one in their right mind would let a vampire’s mouth anywhere near them. Back down, and you’ll not only lose the game, you’ll be branded a coward,” he explains. His head is tilted slightly upward so he can look down on me.

“So which is it, Snow?” he asks, his eyes bright, triumphant. “Are you a liar, or are you a weakling? Either way, I win.”

“I’m neither. You are a manipulative arsehole,” I growl.

He shrugs. “In the present circumstances, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I clench my jaw and shove my elbows against my sides to keep from reaching up and creating a more dramatic bend in his nose with my fist.

“Well?” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “May I?”

Fuck it all, there’s nothing else I can say, is there?

“You may… not.”

Baz’s lips curl into a vicious smile. Applause for his cunning victory permeates the crowd of students around us, and I can feel my magic, red and burning, prickle up my spine like the mercury in a thermometer.

No.

I’ll be damned if this actual bloodsucking wanker walks off thinking he’s won.

He’s turning away from me when I seize him by the sleeve. I yank him back and shove my face into his, catching his mouth in a kiss that nearly cuts my lip on my own teeth. Everyone around us gasps in unison, then goes instantly silent.

There. I’m not a coward or a liar if kissing a vampire in the presence of at least three dozen witnesses ensures I won’t get bitten.

I didn’t plan this out very well, though.

My mouth is pinched shut and crammed uncomfortably against Baz’s, and he’s completely frozen on the spot. (Literally, I think. His lips feel like ice.) I’m tempted to open my eyes just to see if his are closed. He doesn’t even pull his sleeve out of my fingers.

I also think I’ve bruised my lip. I don’t know if I’m motivated by discomfort or habit, but I soften against him the way I would if he were Agatha. And for the briefest moment—less than a few seconds—I kiss him properly. I suppose I don’t know any other way to kiss.

Astonishingly, Baz’s breath smells like cinnamon tea. I don’t know what I was expecting (blood, maybe?) and I also don’t know why this observation feels so important, but it instantly wedges itself in my long-term memory.

Because… he’s kissing me back.

I flinch and pull away.

When I open my eyes, Baz looks like he’s been visited by Merlin‘s ghost. His lips are still parted. His eyes are wide and glittering at me.

I clear my throat.

“Reckon it’s lunchtime,” I say above a chorus of hoots and howls of laughter. I feel lightheaded and embarrassed, so I try to channel Baz’s arrogance, smirking as I reach down for my rucksack and sandwich (the latter of which thankfully fell onto the former when I dropped it).

When I stand back upright, he’s striding down toward the Wavering Wood away from me, his coal-black hair dancing in the wind behind him.

BAZ

I’m sitting on a large rock—fuming—when I hear Snow’s footsteps crunching loudly behind me. His foot must slip on some wet leaves because I hear him yelp so loudly, it sends the dryads back into their huts. He has the grace of a hippopotamus.

“Hunting, are we?” he calls after me.

“Fuck off,” I say.

“Funny. That’s usually my line.”

I ignore him.

“I don’t know why you’re sulking,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who made me play.”

“A decision I wholeheartedly regret. Come to gloat now that you’ve humiliated me?”

“Humiliated you? You were trying to humiliate me!” Snow bothers his curls with one hand and makes a gnarled mess of them. “I actually came here to apologize, but seeing as you’re still intent on being a git, I’ll just head back to lunch with Penny and be satisfied that you’ll have all my scones tomorrow as a consolation prize.”

“Consolation prize indeed. You cheated,” I snap, and I hate how petulant I sound.

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Yes, you did. The game was over. And then you decided to make up your own rules.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You cornered me!”

I spring to my feet and spin around to face him. “Of course I cornered you! Entrapment is how you win! I’d demand a rematch if I didn’t think you’d just find a new way to cock it up!”

Snow flings down his rucksack. “Come on, then. A rematch.”

“Here? In the Wavering Wood, where no one can witness your defeat? That’s convenient.”

“Yes, here. Where no one can wipe you off the floor if you call a chimera on me and it goes after you instead,” he snarls. “Which, by the way: you’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for that. If not for me, it would have obliterated us both. You don’t even know how to trigger your own nuclear meltdowns without my help.”

“Get on with it, arsehole.”

“On one condition,” I hiss. “This time, we play the sudden death version of the game. That means every request gets fulfilled on the spot—no hesitation, no excuses.” I fold my arms. “Then we’ll see who is the hawk and who is the dove.”

Simon nods.

“You’re on.”

SIMON

“You start this time,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

Baz is leering at me through narrowed eyes. “Merlin May I have your sandwich?”

It takes everything in me not to throw it at him.

“Yes, you may,” I reply. He reaches me in two steps, stopping less than an arm-length away. (Trying to intimidate me already, the prick.) Then, he grabs my sandwich and flings it into the brush.

One does not simply take away my sandwich and my scones without a fight.

I go straight for the jugular.

“Merlin May I have your wand,” I say in as even a voice as I can muster.

Baz’s nostrils flare. “That depends. Do you plan to use it to blow yourself up?”

“Answer the question.”

He pauses, then he reaches into his sleeve and draws out his wand. “Yes. You may,” he says, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will, his eyes locked on mine as he drops it into my palm.

Shit. I never thought in a million years he’d ever let me take his wand. It seems impossible—counterintuitive even—but he must trust me at least a little if he’d relinquish it. I set it down on the rock.

“Merlin May I have your sword?” he asks.

I feel myself pale. “Shouldn’t you be asking for my wand?”

“No repeats. And what would be the point? You’re practically useless with one.”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

This isn’t going well at all. I can’t bloody think with Baz this close to me. After a brief pause in which I struggle to come up with ways this could backfire, I come up dry and finally say, “Yes, you may.”

He extends both hands. I call the Sword of Mages and hold it up between us by the hilt. Baz doesn’t so much as flinch, but I can see his brain working behind his eyes.

He didn’t expect me to give up my sword anymore than I expected him to give up his wand.

I lay the blade gently across his palms, but he doesn’t put it down. “Why are you still holding it?” I ask.

“There’s nothing in the rules that say I have to put it down. Consider it a deterrent—in case you’re thinking of asking for permission to hit me.”

“Is that right? Well then: Merlin May I take your hands?” I ask.

“You… may.”

Baz looks irritated and bends to put my sword on the ground behind him. Where I can’t reach it.

When he stands again, I hold out my hands. For a moment he just stares at them, and my mind races for a way he might twist my request to harm me. He’s a vampire; I wonder if he would use super strength to crush my fingers in his grip.

But then he slides both his palms over mine. Gently. His hands are rougher than I expected (from a lifetime lighting flames in his palms, no doubt) and cold.

So cold.

The shock of it makes me involuntarily close my fingers around his, like it’s my own hands that are freezing and I need to warm them.

Unnerved, I look up at Baz’s face.

He’s staring right at my throat.

BAZ

Fucking Snow.

He’s better at this than I thought he’d be. I need a way to get his hands off my own and end this before I forget we’re playing “Merlin May I” altogether and trap him with a kiss instead of a question.

I see something glitter near the button of his collar. “Merlin May I take your cross necklace?” I say.

His eyes widen. “It’ll burn you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Give me the necklace.”

Snow lets go of my hands, and I let out the breath I had no idea I was holding. I watch as he reaches behind his neck, unclasps the chain, and dangles the cross between us.

I don’t let him drop it in my hand. I simply close my fingers around the chain, making sure not to make contact with the cross itself, and cup my other hand around the pendant as I would protecting a flame from the wind. He can’t see that it’s not touching my skin. Quickly, I drop it onto the rock beside my discarded wand.

Snow frowns. “Let me see your palm,” he demands.

I shake my head. “Not if that’s how you’re asking.”

He growls. “Merlin May I see your palm?”

I hold my hand up, but he snatches it out of the air and squints so he can get a better look. With his other hand, he runs a finger down the centerline of my palm to see if I’m burned, and it’s everything I can do to keep my breath from hitching at the sensation of it. His touch is so soft, it feels like dragonflies lighting in my hand.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to inflict more pain, in case the cross had burned me after all.

Snow looks up at me, disappointed. Hurt. Because he knows I’ve tricked him and he can’t prove it. I ought to be used to that expression. I lie to him daily. This shouldn’t be any different than any other trick, but here, alone in the Wavering Wood together with my hand in his, standing on the receiving end of that glare feels like he’s slapped me.

Surely, he knows. He must know; when I cornered him on the great lawn and threatened to out him as a dishonest weakling, I wasn’t talking about him. How could I be? Simon Snow is the most powerful mage ever to walk the earth (and trample my heart in the process).

I am the liar. I am the coward.

I am… losing my nerve.

My constitution won’t let me concede defeat yet—I am a Pitch, after all—but I also can’t help entertaining an outcome where I just cave, hand him his victory, and come clean. Crowley, what would that feel like? What disasters might occur if I confessed it all right here, with the Chosen One burning lines into my palms with his fingertips?

Maybe then, I’d be freed from the other game we play. The one where I pretend I’m not a love-sick vampire with a brass neck and too many secrets. I could just let it all go—my better judgment, my family’s wishes, my hardwired instinct for self-preservation—and say it…

I asked to kiss you, Simon Snow, because I knew you’d never let me. Because I punish myself for loving you by conjuring scenarios where I can come close enough to your fire without being burned.

Of course, he went and kissed me anyway, and now I’m incinerating.

If only.

I wish I could believe that, if he trusts me enough to hand over the only two things in the world that could protect him from someone like me, perhaps I could trust him, too.

I’d tell him no one asked for my permission to make me what I am. There was no “Merlin May I?” when the vampires bit me. There wasn’t one when the Crucible shackled me to Snow, either, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask to fall in love. The whole concept of free will as it applies to my life is a sick joke.

Simon was right. This game is terrible.

I don’t want to play anymore.

SIMON

When I look up at Baz’s face, I see him staring straight at me, his grey eyes boring holes into my pupils. They’re like mirrors in this light, casting back the greens and browns of the forest around us. I catch myself looking for my reflection in them before I clear my throat and say, “It’s your turn.”

I have no idea what he could possibly ask for now. We’ve disarmed each other, except for my wand, but he’s right. Ever since he asked to kiss me, my magic has been volatile and flaring just under my skin. I’d avoid using it against him. (Too risky.) And, rules or no rules, he’s still close enough to bite me if he wanted. No one else is here. Looking at his face now, tense and concentrating, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Would being bitten feel different than kissing him felt?

I think, in either case, my heart stops.

He’s got a strange look on his face. When Baz finally speaks, it’s unlike any sound I’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His voice is soft and low, all its sharp edges gone. Like music.

“Merlin May I touch you,” he says, “here.”

His fingers hover over my neck, just below my jaw.

My heart is racing now. Maybe he’s putting me in a thrall (vampires can do that, can’t they?), or else it’s a challenge. Maybe he wants me to think he’s actually going to bite me so I’ll concede defeat. But neither of these theories seems compatible with the sound of Baz’s voice, and the next moment, the breeze sends a whiff of cinnamon in my direction, turning all my thoughts to mud.

I say, “Yes, you may,” and Baz’s face is unreadable. I feel his fingers first, then his palm. His thumb trails against my cheek. I expect it to feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. My skin is always too warm and his feels like cool water against it.

I can’t help it. I think of Baz’s lips parting against mine.

The breeze picks up then, sending his raven hair flying. He turns his face into the wind, but his hand is on my neck, and I don’t want him to let go.

“Merlin May I touch your hair?” I ask.

He looks confused. It’s an expression Baz doesn’t usually wear unless I’ve done something uncharacteristically civil, like thanking him for leaving the bathroom door open, or waiting for him to finish his homework to turn off the light. It usually precedes a sneer or an eyeroll, but instead, I see Baz’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

Is Baz… nervous?

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s getting in my eyes,” I say. Maybe he was right about me being a liar.

Nevertheless, Baz nods slowly. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”

Hesitantly, I reach up and move several wayward strands of his hair off his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.

My arm stays raised of its own volition. Instead of pulling away, I thread my hand further into Baz’s hair until my fingers are full of it. I’ve always wondered what this would feel like, so I run my hand through it again, and it slips softly through my fingers. I don’t encounter a single knot.

I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.

As I do, Baz tips his head into my touch and closes his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying it. But then he sighs, and I revise my assessment. He’s definitely enjoying it.

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell are we doing?

“Merlin May I…” Baz whispers, his eyes still closed.

Cross that, I’m definitely in his thrall. I must be. Gravity or some other kind of magic is pulling me closer to him, and I’m staring at his mouth when I feel his hand—the one that isn’t on my neck—slip gently over my waist.

I’m unarmed. No one is here to save me. But I’m not afraid of him.

I wonder if his lips are always so cold…

“Yes?” I whisper back.

His eyes open just then. He’s so close to my face, and where once he looked serene, he now looks stricken.

“Baz?”

He yanks his hands back and shakes his head, like he’s stirring from a bad dream.

“I forfeit.”

I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”

“You win. I’m out.”

“You’re out? You can’t just quit the game,” I say, but he ignores me, scoops up his jacket and wand and heads hurriedly back up the hill toward Mummer’s House. Grabbing my things, I rush after him, but his head start and long legs mean I’m utterly outpaced.

I’m halfway up the hill running at full speed after Baz before I realise I have to turn back around.

I’ve left my sword and cross behind.

BAZ

I’m back in our room, pacing.

More accurately, I’m trapped in the torture chamber between my ears.

I keep reliving the moment on the Great Lawn when Simon’s mouth softened against mine, and when I’m not doing that, I’m obsessing over all the moments that followed. Snow’s fingers in my hair. My hand on his waist. The sticky, smoky smell of his magic pouring off of him as he leaned in… It’s all cycling over and over in my mind like I’m looping through television channels and every network is broadcasting the same slow motion instant replay.

I’m not nearly as devastated over Simon calling my bluff and embarrassing me in front of everyone in our year as I am that he kissed me and didn’t mean it. But then… why did he linger? Why did he run his hand through my hair? Did I imagine him moving in to kiss me again or was that… real?

Nothing makes any bleeding sense.

I should leave. Head to the catacombs. He’ll be here any moment, and I need to get out of this godforsaken room. I would torch it to a cinder if it meant not having to share it with Simon Snow anymore.

My hand is on the doorknob when Snow pushes it open and nearly knocks me down.

“Baz,” he says, panting. We stand there for an endless moment gaping at each other like a pair of idiots before Simon finally notices my rucksack.  “Where are you going?”

“Library. I have homework,” I mutter, and I try to push past him, but he blocks my path.

“Why did you forfeit?”

“I couldn’t come up with anything else to ask, obviously.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

“It’s implied.”

Simon sets his jaw and pushes me further into the room. “Well, I don’t accept your forfeiture.”

“It doesn’t matter if you accept. It’s my choice,” I retort. “And honestly, what’s wrong with you? No one in their right mind passes up the opportunity to win Merlin May I.”

“That’s not how I want to win!”

I wish there was a rule prohibiting the victor of Merlin May I from talking about it ever again.

“Please, Simon,” I say, lowering my voice, and he starts at the sound of his first name. “I don’t want to play anymore. You won, fair and square. Crowley, even when you lose, you fucking win…”

I shove past him and make it through the doorway when I hear him call out behind me. “Why did you ask to kiss me?”

I spin around to the sound of neighboring doors clicking and creaking open. “Aleister almighty, are you a bloody air raid siren? Keep your voice down!” With a huff, I rush back to our room, push him back inside by the shoulders and close the door behind me. “Haven’t you wrecked my reputation enough for one day?”

“Why did you ask to kiss me?” he repeats, ignoring me. He looks pained.

“Like I said. You should only ask questions you know the answer to. I asked because I knew you wouldn’t allow it,” I whisper loudly. I almost stop myself before curiosity commandeers my voice and I say, “Why did you touch my hair?”

“You touched me first.”

“Because I was trying to intimidate you!”

He shakes his head, furious. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to intimidate me, Baz. You do it every fucking day,” he growls. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” I snap. “You’re the one withholding infor-”

“Because I wanted to!” he shouts over me. And then, silence.

I’ve lost the ability to speak.

Or think.

Simon’s face is dragon red.

I think actual sudden death would be preferable to standing awkwardly across from Simon with no feeling in my extremities and no hope of escape. The Humdrum could materialize right here in this room to vanquish us, and it would be a mercy.

Snow looks fit to go off right now.

“I thought maybe you’d put me in a thrall,” he murmurs finally and laughs bitterly at himself. “I thought kissing you was about winning that stupid fucking game. But you kissed me back, and now it’s all I can bloody think about and… Baz, why did you kiss me back?”

My mind is reeling, scouring for excuses, but for once, I’m unprepared. Everything I could say right now would only hurt me on its way out of my mouth.

He steps toward me. “Don’t tell me I imagined it.”

Entrapment is how you win.

I don’t have to lie to him, do I? He just said he wanted his hand in my hair. I’m getting dizzy thinking about what else might he want from me. Aleister Crowley, I want him to have it, whatever it is. Simon has opened a door. I just need to walk through it.

Out with it, Basilton…

Instead—out of habit, sheer stupidity, cowardice, or all of the above—every muscle in me clenches like locks in a fortified wall, bracing me for my usual self-immolation. I hate myself with every word as I monotone, “You imagined it.”

Snow’s eyes darken, and he nods.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Don’t bother going to the library if you’d rather stay. I’m leaving.”

He picks up his belongings.

Oh, Simon.

I never want you to leave.

SIMON

“Snow, wait.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Not a second later, I feel Baz’s hand on my shoulder.

“Merlin May I… tell you a secret?” he whispers, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He feels close.

Glancing over my shoulder, I answer: “Yes, you may.”

“Crowley, don’t turn around,” he says. “You’ll just make this worse.”

I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod.

“You’re right about me. About what I am,” he says, his voice low from behind. “I don’t want to be a vampire anymore than you probably want to share a room with one, but I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he adds, “I’ve never bitten a person. And I never will—unless you tell anyone what I’m saying to you, in which case I’ll have no choice but to tear out your larynx with my teeth.”

I can’t help myself. I turn to face him. Baz’s face is ashen, his eyes fixed to the floor. He’s holding himself by the arms, like he might come apart if he lets go.

“I was a child when the vampires attacked Watford,” he continues softly. “They bit me. And they killed my mother.”

It takes all my mental faculties, but I finally find my voice—only I don’t know what to do with it except whisper, “Jesus Christ,” which is both an inadequate and utterly useless thing to say. Though I can’t see Baz’s eyes behind the veil of his dark lashes, at least my reaction doesn’t seem to offend him because he keeps talking.

“I didn’t lie when I said that I asked to kiss you because I knew you wouldn’t allow it. But then you kissed me , and…,” he says, his voice so quiet, I can barely hear it. “You didn’t imagine it. I kissed you back.”

He finally lifts his eyes to look at me.

“Because I wanted to,” he whispers.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I don’t know what to say. This is too much to process and I’m clearly shit with words anyway. I have so many questions, but none of them are appropriate, and Baz is just standing there with his hair in his eyes, waiting for my cue—to fight, flee, or die on the spot, probably.

But I don’t want him to do any of those things. He told me the truth for once, and it was the biggest, most terrible truth I could have imagined.

And he trusted me with it.

I step around him and toss my jacket and rucksack on my bed. “My turn.”

“What?” Baz looks properly surprised.

“Merlin May I sit beside you?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Snow, I didn’t mean to imply that I still want to play this infernal game.”

“I know,” I say, moving toward him. “Consider this the world’s first single-player game of Merlin May I. Your answer?”

He furrows his brow and says warily, “Yes, you may. Aren’t you at all concerned that I’m—“

“Still my turn,” I cut him off, pulling him by the wrist toward his bed and taking a seat next to him. With one hand, I smooth his hair away from his eyes and fix him with a soft gaze. “Merlin May I hold your face?” I say.

Baz is looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. He doesn’t say “yes, you may.” He simply nods. As both my hands reach up and rest against his cheeks, I decide to let the infraction go.

Because he’s trembling.

I’m weightless with shock. This Baz isn’t a threat or a villain or a monster. He’s just… a boy.

He leans into my palm and closes his eyes. His eyelashes look wet.

“Merlin May I tell you something?” I say.

“Yes,” he breathes, “you may.”

I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I want to kiss you again,” I whisper.

His eyes spring open. “No repeats,” he replies, breathless.

“That was a different game.”

“Same opponents. Same day. Same game. It’s illegal.”

“I don’t think you mind.”

I weave my fingers through Baz’s hair without asking, my hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He lets me.

“You’re not worried I’ll bite you?” he asks.

Smiling, I touch my forehead to his. “‘Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“You don’t trust me.”

I shrug. “I trust you not to make supper out of me.”

He shakes his head against mine, and laughs. “I don’t understand your strategy.”

“I don’t have one,” I say, and I’m so close to his mouth that I’m breathing in the scent of cinnamon and cedar. “What’s your answer?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. He just shuts up and closes his eyes. His hand finds my wrist, like he’s afraid of me, but I won’t hurt him. As I close the gap between us, a thought enters my mind.

This is so much better than fighting.

BAZ

I’m certain I don’t know what I’m doing. My first kiss only happened an hour ago in front of God and everyone, lasted mere seconds, and precipitated the most senseless and backwards game of Merlin May I in the history of Magic.

I’m not sure if we’re still playing.

I don’t care. Fuck this ridiculous game.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

On. My. Bed.

Thank Crowley he’s done this before. His hands are still on my face and in my hair, and whatever blood is in me is singing in my ears. He’s blessedly warm which is helping my trembling, and his lips are so strong with intention—to devour me whole, it seems—that mine move in his rhythm, like we’re dancing and he’s leading.

And he’s humming. Like I’m something to savor. I can hear the whisper of his breath, its warmth skimming gently over my face. As his lips move against mine, it sounds like the tail end of a rainstorm. I would give up all my possessions to Merlin May I if he asked for them, just to keep him attached to my mouth.

I feel light. Like I’ve been exorcised of something toxic and terrible.

When he pulls away, we both look stunned.

“So…” he rasps, “this is not how I envisioned finishing out my day.”

“Someone should make sure hell hasn’t frozen over,” I murmur, grinning in spite of myself.  

Snow’s eyes brighten. “Merlin’s tooth, I’ve never seen you smile like this before.” He sounds awed. “I mean, you’re fit whether or not you’re smiling at me, but you’re gorgeous when you do.”

“You think I’m fit?” I ask incredulously. “Are you possessed?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a git,” he laughs.  

“A git, it appears, you’re willing to kiss,” I say, and I can’t help the disbelief that sneaks into my voice. “I didn’t think kissing blokes fell into the realm of things you do for fun.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure it does,” he murmurs. “You’re the only bloke I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

I smile. “Crowley, Snow, you have no idea how strange it is to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Can’t be much stranger than hearing you admit you’re a vampire,” he says. “I promise to properly shut up about that from now on, by the way.”

“What happens now?” I ask, staring at his lips.

“I haven’t thought much farther ahead than snogging you until Penny has to send a search party here to find us.”

He barely finishes his sentence before something courageous comes over me and I take him by the shoulders. I don’t need to say “Merlin May I” for permission to kiss him this time, so I just do it. I just want to dwell a little longer in this impossible reality where I’ve confessed all my secrets to Simon Snow and he somehow still wants me—in spite of what I am, what I’ve done to him, and what we were to each other before I conned him into playing a game designed to drive mages apart.

Leave it to Snow to completely subvert the point of Merlin May I by sheer accident.

A long moment later, Simon pulls away from me, frowning. “Are you still eating my scones tomorrow?”

I raise an eyebrow. “If all this is just an elaborate scheme to salvage your scones—”

Snow knocks my arm in retaliation. “No, I mean, is Dev’s spell still active?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Are we still playing?”

He shrugs and reaches for my hand. “Dunno. We sort of got sidetracked…”

And now he’s lacing his fingers in mine.

Simon Snow wants to kiss me and hold my hand, and any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I suppose we both lose, then,” I say. “And that way you can keep your precious scones.”

“We’ll share them,” he whispers, bringing our joined hands to his heart. “I’d say we both won.”

❤️❤️ HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, LOVELIES! ❤️❤️

#fic with a pic #fanart #fanfic #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #and they were roommates #alternate first kiss #vkelleyart gallery

[raspberry-arev]

And there was only one bed! (Snowbaz fic)

I know this is a very overdone trope, but I also happen to be a complete sucker for it. Hopefully someone will share my sentiment. (Also, this is my first fanfic. And first story written in English. Sorry if it’s not as good as I thought, haha)

Summary: Simon and Baz still share a room at Watford. Simon’s nightmares are getting unbearable… and one night, his magic sets fire to his bed. What will happen next will shock you!!1!

Word count: 7.5k

Tags: angst, sharing beds, cuddling, fluff, Baz being a tortured soul

Baz

It all started with fire.

I would assume about two hours had passed since my return from the catacombs. I had been exhausted enough to fall face-first into my pillow, not even bothering to change out of my clothes before I fell asleep. It had been a long day… and by trying to avoid Simon Snow, I had made it even longer.

He was already snoring lightly with his mouth open when I came back. He looked stupid. And he was still asleep as the smell of smoke woke me up. 

I guess I heard him whine in his sleep, too, but I didn’t pay attention anymore. It was an unwritten rule between us that we pretended we didn’t notice the other having night terrors; one of the few remaining lines even I haven’t crossed. Which speaks volumes. I’m proficient at being an asshole.

Yet, this time, I could tell something was different.

Worse.

He was tossing in his sheets, head twitching from side to side, stifled moans getting stuck somewhere in his throat. His hair was damp with sweat. And it looked as if… as if his edges were getting blurry and shaky. As if he was dissolving into pure energy.

Then it hit me, right before I breathed in again, tasting the smoke on my tongue.

Simon Snow was catching fire.

I would rather be in this room with a bomb than Snow as he is losing control of his magic. Especially considering that I was made to be burned alive.

“Snow,” I hissed sharply, swinging my legs over the edge of my bed.

His breathing was getting more and more ragged, chest rising and falling at an incredible speed.

“Snow,” I spoke up. Didn’t really feel like shaking him. That would probably make matters worse. “For Morgana’s sake, Snow, it’s just a dream. Snap out of it!”

Smoke was rising from underneath his body. His body barely looked like a body anymore – just a buzzing, shaky mess, power and heat solidified. A thought formed in my mind, of running out of the room as fast as possible and leaving him behind. He was so not my responsibility…

But of course, I didn’t. I like to flirt with death at any given opportunity. Instead of escaping, I just so managed to grab my wand and shouted: “Simon, wake up!”

I must have instinctively put some magic into that order.

Simon’s eyes flew open and he gasped for breath –

As the bed burst into flames with him in it. Like a fucking funeral pyre.

I screamed in terror before all spells used to put out fires in all languages I know came pouring from my lips. To my own shock, Snow rolled out of the burning bed to my feet, not a single scratch on him. He started slapping his pajama bottoms that have, unlike him, caught on fire in some places, and I just yelled something along the lines of “Alaister fucking Crowley fucking help me”. A Snow-made fire was not easy to tame. And at any moment, I could step too close and I would light up…

But eventually, I found myself standing in a dark, quiet room, the blackened remains of a bed frame right in front of me. And Simon Snow beside me. Still shaking, still breathing too fast… and in his hand that bloody sword. What was he going to do? Stab the fire to death?!

“Do you think you’ll ever manage to stop being a useless excuse for a magician,” I growled at him, “and take out your wand before that primitive pointy stick?”

“I just – I – what happened?”

“You fucking went supernova, o Chosen One, that’s what happened!” Now that we were both safe, I had to resist the urge to punch him square in the face. “As if it’s not enough that I have to breathe the same air as you, now I should worry that I’ll burn to death in my sleep?!”

“Well, sorry,” he snapped. “It’s not like I had any control over what happened!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I would never think you are capable of having anything under control.”

“Why are you always such… such a complete prick?”

“It’s what I do best. Kind of like you with putting people in danger just by being alive.”

His eyes were like an open book for me to read in. I clearly saw the flash of hurt that my words have caused. Hit a sore spot, have I?

My job of making him feel miserable was done. I turned my back and remarked: “If you have no other plans to roast me alive, I’d like to go back to sleep.”

Snow stayed silent. Only a huff of air made it clear to me that he was frustrated. I didn’t even manage to properly lie down before he spoke again.

“Is there any spell to repair the bed?”

“After you have turned it to ashes?” I laughed at him. “No.”

“I bet you wouldn’t tell me even if you knew, huh.”

“Ah, maybe you’re not so daft after all.”

I made myself comfortable in the sheets, very aware of Snow’s look that bore into my back. He did look very shaken up just then. But I forcibly silenced that small part of me that was concerned for his wellbeing – there would be no asking whether he is alright. I’ve made it worse for him, haven’t I? So why would I care to ask questions I already know the answer to?

Just as I closed my eyes, I heard him speak again.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep then?”

Although he was swearing… It almost sounded like a plea.

I gritted my teeth and spat out: “In the bathtub for all I care.”

A second later, the bathroom door loudly slammed shut.

I hated myself.

I hated myself for doing this, I hated myself for feeling guilty for doing this, I hated myself for how desperately I wanted to save him just moments ago.

I gave in for just a small moment and imagined Simon Snow crawling into my bed, into my arms. So warm and irresistibly alive.

And then I imagined us both burn.

Just as it should be.

***

From what I’ve heard, the Watford administration was very different while Mother was still in charge of the school. In a way that there was actual work getting done. She imposed order and structure and put thought into choosing competent staff members. Of course, it was no news to me that everything has been falling apart since the Mage rose to power… But now I had just another fucking bone to pick with him.

As I came back to our shared room the next evening, I expected to see a new bed waiting for Snow and all signs of the fire magicked away. But what was waiting for me there was the same mess that was there the night before. Half-burned wall, blackened floorboards and the stench of smoke still in the air, despite all windows being open. The only difference was that someone had got rid off the discarded bedframe. But that might’ve been Snow himself.

I would have thought the Mage would rush to make his favourite boy soldier comfortable again.

Maybe he didn’t care much after all.

Snow’s barely noticed that I had made my entrée. He was sitting at the table, legs folded strangely underneath himself. The torn, tattered pages in front of him appeared to be his homework, but he clearly wasn’t paying attention to that either. He kept staring out the window.

I didn’t even have to look at his face; the air was already heavy around him, the stillness of an unbearably hot summer day you can’t wait to be over. This is what his magic did when he was moping.

I took a stride to my bed. Slowly, I let the blazer fall off my shoulders. Then I hung it neatly over the unoccupied chair and sat down on my bed, breathing out just loudly enough so it would send a clear message to Snow: I have a bed to relax in. You don’t.

He was at the very edge of my vision now… but I could his shoulders hunch a little. Pretty sure he was gritting his teeth at me.

I could have just looked at him – I had reasons to be convinced that with a horrible posture like that, his back muscles would be visible through the shirt, that was always quite a sight. But I decided not to be completely pathetic… today. There was a time and place for everything.

Plus, Mother was probably rolling in her grave as it was.

Perhaps I could go check one of these nights? Her undead son hunting rodents in her tomb had not woken her up from her eternal sleep. But maybe, if I sat down and told her about the boy I have a crush on, she would rise just to personally drag me into the pits of hell.

I felt my brows furrow at the thought.

Time to pass on some of my misery. Was planning on it, anyway.

“Are you going to clean up after yourself?” I asked in the coldest tone possible. “Or should I hire a maid?”

Hearing my voice so suddenly made him jump. He tried to cover it, but playing cool was decidedly not one of the three things in life that Simon Snow was good at.

(Those were, not necessarily in this order: swinging a sword, taking orders from the Mage and being way too bloody attractive for anybody’s good.)

(Oh, and eating like a pig. So four.)

He turned half-way and said: “I got rid of the bed.”

“Lovely, would you like a medal?”

Exasperated sigh. “Just… just what do you want, Baz?”

I stabbed at the burnt wall with my eyes, then looked back at him. “So this shit is now a part of the interior design?”

He brought his hand up and pulled on his hair.

I kept on pushing. “Maybe you’re used to having your living space look like a slum, Snow, considering the hole you crawled out of. But I suggest you get off your ass and fix it. Right now.”

“I – I thought – look, wouldn’t it be better if –”

“If what? If I did it for you?” I arched my eyebrow. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“No! Just let me speak!” he bursted. Then he immediately took a breath in, determined to keep his composture.

Right. That was not going to happen.

This was a game. A game that could only end in my driving him so mad he wouldn’t manage to put together a coherent sentence. Possibly even cry, but maybe we were too old for that now. What a shame.

“Look,” Snow mumbled, “I’m gonna have it fixed. Soon. If… If I tried to do anything about it, the whole wall could just… disappear.” His voice full of shame, he added: “Things like that happened before.”

Was I supposed to feel sorry for him?

“You really are a sorry excuse for a mage,” I told him.

Snow’s face scrunched up like a child’s before he turned his back.

“But you do keep surprising me with how much worse you can get.”

“You say,” he blurted out.

“Great comeback,” I laughed at him, gaining momentum with every word. “Tells a great deal about your intelligence, just like the fact any twelve-year-old with magic could clean up after himself… but here you are. Waiting on other people to fix your fuck-ups as usual.”

“Stop.”

“Why don’t you run to papa Mage and bring him here? I’m sure that would make me stop. Or you could tell him you’re having bad dreams, he could come and tuck you in every night.”

“You –”

“I imagine he doesn’t want to spend more time around you than absolutely needed. Who can blame him. I’m stuck here with you and I feel my braincells dying every time I hear you speak.”

“Crowley, just – why – what are you –”

“Oh, there they go again. Gone. With every single word.”

“Jesus Christ, leave me the fuck alone,” he boomed, apparently at the end of his wits. (Whether he had any wits to begin with was disputable.) I could feel my lips sealing on their own as he stormed across the room and slammed the door so loudly the walls shook.

I sighed and relaxed into my mattress.

Finally. I had hoped to get a chance to nap in solitude.

 ***

That evening I decided to pass on the hunting. The nap I took left me all blurry and cranky and unwilling to move from my bed. I was sure I had drunk quite enough the previous night.

Besides, I couldn’t miss Snow coming back to the dorm room. I had to let him know how laughable his little tantrum was.

And yet, when he did return… I couldn’t bring myself to make a single comment about it.

Not because my heart had grown too gentle to torture him – as if that would ever happen. It was because Snow looked like hell. He did try to hide his face. But his eyes were all red and puffy. Morgana, was this real? Had I actually made him cry, just like when we were kids?

Maybe I was really getting soft. Because the thought made me feel guilty. Come to think of it… Snow had been having nightmares as long as I’ve known him, but these couple of weeks were positively more intense. He jolted awake multiple times a night, often almost catching me midnight snacking. The circles under his eyes grew deeper, darker. Like bruises.

Snow stomped to the wardrobe and started to pull out items of clothing at random, clumping them together. I was not worth a single look to him. Still, I put on a condescending expression, just in case.

I could feel a strange emotion grow in my chest. He was clearly on his way to sleep in the tub again – moron, he could’ve made a king-sized bed if he had learned to use his power properly – and I just couldn’t stop thinking about… things.

No, not those things. Crowley. More like Snow bursting into bright orange flames again. Locked in the bathroom. Devoured by fire…

It shouldn’t bother me. Fuck. It really shouldn’t. A dead Mage’s heir should be the best case scenario.

But it really wasn’t. Not to me.

I just… I was afraid for his life. I was a disgrace to my family and their values, I was the stupidest bastard alive… But I didn’t want Snow dead. I knew damn well why that is. Deep down. But just for the sake of my pride, I pretended it was because I had worked way too hard to end Snow for him to kill himself. Accidently, in his sleep.

Snow turned to me at the stupidest possible moment. I scrambled to get my expression under control. Who knows if it worked.

“You need to use the bathroom?” he spat out. “Or can I go lie down?”

I kept staring into his eyes, motionless.

Frankly, it did not happen very often that I’d find my morality challenged… since I had none. Now, my chest felt stuffed. And I wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

I didn’t like this.

Snow curled his lip and soon after, the bathroom door slammed shut behind him. There was a soft click of the lock. At the exact same moment, I caught myself reaching for the doorknob.

I grabbed my own arm and retrieved it. I shook my head; what was I thinking? I mean… there was a spell, of course… but even if Snow would’ve wanted my help, which I was sure he wouldn’t have, what good would it do? At the end of the day, he was still the Mage’s pet.

I couldn’t be the one saving The Simon Snow. No matter how many feelings for him I’ve harboured, we were at the opposite ends of the barricade. Actually, no – we were going to be the first to come through the barricade to try and take the other’s life.

I sat back on my bed.

I would leave him be, I decided. Wellbelove could kiss his pain away the following morning for all I care.

If he is alive the following morning, my mind opposed.

Aleister Crowley! What was happening to me?!

What I wanted to do, truly wanted to do… it wasn’t clever. It didn’t profit me or anyone I cared for. But there was, jumping to my feet and going back to the bathroom door. Taking a deep breath.

Then I called: “Snow?”

“Sod off,” he yelled back.

“Oh, save it,” I roll my eyes. “Just come out. I want to talk.” That was not true. I wanted to talk as little as possible. Solve the problem of the missing bed and say little to nothing about it.

“Ask if I care.”

Impatient, I knocked on the door multiple times just a little too strong. “I don’t have all night,” I rose my voice. “If you want to sleep in the tub so badly, then suit yourself. But there’s another way, so just get over yourself and open the damn door.”

There was only silence on the other side.

Then I heard steps. The familiar click of the lock. Two blue eyes looked up at me.

I swallowed.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

“So?” Snow asked, wary, but curious. “What is it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Just to be clear, I don’t want anybody hearing about this,” I warned him, “or else I will find you and hex you. Understood?”

Snow shrugged, and his fingers found their way to the cross necklace he was wearing. I always found it annoying when he fiddled with it. I found it annoying that he had it in the first place. Yet another fuck you just for me.

“Alright, and…?”

It was especially hard to find words to explain what I was about to do. For… For him. To think that I’d be helping Snow instead of making his life even more hell…

Instead of speaking, I just took out my wand.

I knew what to do.

To my defence, it had not been my idea to watch Normal shows. It was Aunt Fiona, who found the Normal world really entertaining for some odd reason, that had me sit through four seasons of Doctor Who. After that, I eloquently explained that I thought it was kind of dumb. She still made me try out multiple spells that she’d invented after binge-watching the entire thing.

Now, I pointed the wand at my bed and cast a spell: “It’s bigger on the inside.” For this one to work, you had to mimic one of the Doctors’ accents. I was more than ready to murder Snow if he had laughed at me.

“I didn’t know that one,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“What did it do though?”

I decided to demonstrate. I sat on the bed and scooted back to the wall, further and further, until my legs were stretched out in front of me. Which, obviously, was not supposed to be possible. The bed was not wide enough for that.

The trick was that whatever you used the spell on looked the same, but it got as spacious as needed. You could get infinite storage space without visibly enlarging the wardrobe, for example.

Considering this single bed… well, I suppose the entire football team could sleep on it and they wouldn’t even touch.

This spell was a bit of an eyesore, unfortunately. I could see Snow blinking in confusion. He saw the same thing I did – my legs laying comfortably on the mattress, and yet, the bed stayed the same size. Visually, my legs didn’t shrink, the bed didn’t get bigger… both realities existed at once. It was a bit much for the mind to handle.

“It’s as big as needed,” I explained briefly, not looking at him anymore. “You can sleep here just this once. And make sure it doesn’t have to happen again. Got it?”

“I – I mean –“ He looked shocked. Amazed, even.

“Speak, Snow.”

“Yes,” he nodded. His eyes got a completely bewildered look in them, I couldn’t keep the eye contact. “I – yeah.”

“The blanket is mine,” I informed him coldly. I would not pamper him like that. It was enough that I had just invited him into my bed.

Fuck’s sake. It’s going to smell like him, too, isn’t it? My mouth went dry at the thought. This was probably the stupidest idea I’ve had in the last ten years. Completely off the charts idiotic.

Good thing I had already changed into my pyjamas. Without a word, I lay down and slithered as close to the wall as possible; I felt as though I was never going to reach it. I covered myself with the blanket head to toe.

Nothing in this world would make me confess how nervous I was about the whole premise of Simon bloody Snow sleeping in the same bed as me. As I was laying there, a lot of memories came rushing to my mind. Of being fifteen and dying over how much I wanted Snow’s body on mine. How many fantasies of him getting up in the middle of the night and crawling into my bed had kept me up for hours? Smelling of firewood, his hands roaming under the sheets and his stupid mouth following suit…?

No.

No, this was not something I wanted to bring back. If he touched me, even by accident, I was pushing him onto the floor.

But still, I just knew where he was, how far from me exactly. I listened to him change from his clothes, the fabric rustling, floorboards creaking under his feet. Eventually he turned off the light and lay down somewhere behind me. So far… and yet so awfully close.

There was complete dead silence for a while.

Before Snow cleared his throat.

“Baz?” he sighed silently. “Thanks.”

I closed my eyes.

“Shut up.”

 ***

When I heard Snow whimpering in his sleep, I thought the events of last night had just come creeping into my dreams. This couldn’t be real.

Then came the burning smell. The air got thicker and every hair on my body stood up. It made me lift my head from the pillow to check on Snow.

It was the same as last time. Only I was closer. All the twitching, his body crackling with energy. Almost glowing with it.

My drowsy brain took about a second to know Snow was having terrors again. And another one to deduct that he was about to blow up my bed, taking me with it. He might’ve made it the last time, survived the magickal fire he started. Me? Not a chance there.

I was not ready to meet my fate.

I could feel panic rise in my throat and I pushed it down. In a millisecond, I calculated my chances. Snow will blow up, set me on fire. I die. Everybody in the dorm would be in danger. I couldn’t reach my wand, left it on the bedside table. No use talking to Snow, wake him up. No use trying to get out. He was getting all blurry again… his power made my mouth taste of smoke and blood.

The realisation dawned on me.

There was nothing I could do that was sure to save me.

In what I considered to be my last moments, I instinctively did the thing I wanted to do the most, just to keep the theme of being a pitiful, lovesick fool. Reaching across the bed, I took Snow’s hand. Closed my eyes.

I knew you would rid this world of me, I thought at him. It seemed to me like I was thanking him for the deed.

And then…

There was no fire.

Snow just squeezed my hand so tightly I felt my joints crack and curled around it like a small, frightened child. He was still breathing way too quickly… but the air got colder. The smoke was scattering.

I could not believe my eyes. Snow was holding onto my hand. I felt my pulse shoot up as I took in the view.

Something was telling me there was more. More I could do. And I felt like it must’ve been my destiny to die that night, because if Snow hadn’t killed me before he wakes from his nightmare… he sure would after.

Either way, I grit my teeth and came closer to Snow and our joint hands. I pulled the boy to my chest, all touches soft as velvet. His cross was buzzing between us, just another point of tension.

Snow’s bare skin was feverishly hot. I wish I wasn’t cold as a corpse. I wish I was alive.

Nevertheless, I tried to make the hug as comforting as possible. I ran my fingers through his hair; I saw Wellbelove do that once at the dinner table and Snow looked like he was just about to start purring. I kept my eyes on the black void of the opposite wall, a reminder of what I was trying to prevent here, and cautiously scratched snow’s scalp. Just like I had seen his girlfriend doing it.

He relaxed against me almost immediately.

His hair was incredibly soft. I’d never got to touch it before, although I’d always…

My throat got tighter. I had to stop the train of thought immediately.

I was just going mad because of him, wasn’t I?

As if he had heard that, Snow twitched in his sleep and I brought him closer, petting his head, letting him drool onto my shirt. A giant murderous baby, that’s what he was. And I was just the moron that was stuck cradling him. And I was indulging in it. And I wished I could erase the memory of what it felt like to be so close to him after this moment…

I sighed and scratched Snow’s head again.

At least this bloody thing worked.

If nothing else, it was a good call to try and calm him down like this. He was getting more stable by the second.

“Shhh,” I found myself cooing. This night was not going to get any stranger at this point, no matter what I did. “It’s okay. You are going to be okay.”

Snow didn’t register that I spoke to him. Fortunately. He was fast asleep in my arms. I kept absentmindedly stroking his hair before I finally drifted off as well…

“Baz…?’”

What… What was that? I felt so hot…

“Baz – what the hell are you – what is happening?!”

Crowley.

Oh no.

My eyes flew open just to meet Snow’s. He was so close. And so extremely confused, trying to push me away. I saved him the trouble as I scrambled away in panic. He grabbed his arms like a lady that had just been harassed.

I regained false composure in a bat of an eye. I would have been completely red by now if I had any fresh blood left in me. Good thing I hadn’t drank this time.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Snow.” I made a mildly disgusted face. “I was trying to save my life from a certain pyromaniac.”

His eyes widened. First, there was understanding. Then shock.

“So you… you just… cuddled me?!”

“Fuck’s sake. It worked. Don’t be an idiot!”

I aggressively threw the blanket over myself and turned to face the wall.

I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked it up so badly. Now the entire school’s about to learn that I cuddle my arch nemesis in my sleep. Snow is undoubtedly going to tell everyone, just as he’s been trying to convince the whole school that I’m an undead vampire that is planning his downfall. (Which is more or less correct, but that’s not the point.)

“It’s not – I mean – sorry,” Snow blabbered behind me. “And thanks again. Not – not for that, for stopping me. Er. Sorry.”

“You’re fucking welcome.”

“Baz – I –”

“That was not an imploration to keep talking, Snow. I’m going back to sleep.”

I felt him sink into the mattress.

When he took a breath to speak again, I thought I would rip his head off.

“It’s just… the terrors. They are getting worse.”

“You wouldn’t believe,” I sighed, “how happy I am to hear that.”

It shut him right up. Didn’t even call me evil, which was a first. It really must have bothered him… I was cursing at myself internally, but I asked anyway: “What are they about?”

“Huh?”

“The dreams. What are they about?”

Snow paused.

When he answered, his tone was flat. Dark.

“Everyone dead. Because of me.”

 ***

We said nothing about any of that in the morning. Who knows what Snow was thinking.

All I did was take the memory of him in my arms that was tingling in my skin and lock it somewhere deep inside of me. I would reach for it, I was sure, at those times when I would muse about how utterly miserable my entire life was. How I could never love anybody else but him. And how that doesn’t even matter because we were bound to destroy each other from day one.

 ***

“Look – er, I’m sorry, I really tried to get hold of someone, but –”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Sorry, Baz. Come on, don’t look at me like that, I really am sorry. I can go back to the bathroom, you know, if –”

“If I would rather you didn’t set me on fire?”

“Technically. Yeah.”

I sighed. I thought that would be a one-night-only issue. The bed. But apparently, the universe has a wicked sense of humour.

“Why don’t you just tell your little sidekick Bunce to come here and take care of it? I assume a single bed wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her.”

His eyes darted around the room. “Penelope can’t come here. She’s… a girl. That’s impossible.”

“You must be daft as a troll to believe I didn’t know.”

“I – er – I don’t – Penny never –”

“Save it.”

His ears were red as a beat. He didn’t look at me again, just pulled as his hair and stuttered out: “Uh – will you be taking a shower? Or can I…”

There was no need for me to protest. I knew that. I could’ve just refused to share my bed again. That’s what I would do if I wasn’t just a little too desperate and eager to torture myself. But I had convinced myself that this thing – Snow in my bed, but not the way I wanted it, never the way I wanted it – was something I fully deserved. Why wouldn’t I?

I did not deserve nice things, that was for sure.

I did not deserve the golden boy. He was not for me. But I could borrow him one more time.

I made my way to the door. “I’ll be back,” I said, looking him up and down, “but you’re not sleeping in the bathroom.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because it’s nonsense. The spell hasn’t worn off yet, It would be… a waste of magic.” Crowley, how was that making any sense?! I really was becoming dumber by the minute.

“But… but…”

“But, but, but,” I mocked him. Snow frowned at me and finished: “Why are you helping me like this, Baz?”

I turned my back.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Why?” he kept pestering.

“Maybe I want you to trust me for a bit, so I could kill you in your sleep.”

“I would never trust you,” Snow assured me… and I hated the way my stomach sunk to the floor. “And besides, you can’t kill me here. Anathema, remember?”

One foot out of the door already, I smirked: “Well, guess I am just going to shave off your eyebrows.”

 ***

Upon my return, the room was dark and silent. Snow had curled up with his back to the wall, lips slightly parted, his hair an ocean of curls… on my pillow. For a brief moment, I considered snatching it from underneath his stupid face. But that would just wake him up and I didn’t want to talk to him. I also didn’t want him to move away from the wall. That way, if he starts setting fires again, I have a chance to roll out of bed and leave him to it.

I went and took a shower. I really needed it. Changed into my pyjamas and laid down on the very edge of the bed, facing the room and not… him. Good thing I was so tired… I let my eyelids fall on their own, that was all it took…

And all it took for my eyes to swing open again was the sound, the feeling, of Snow shuffling closer to me.

Before I realized what was happening, I had two arms locked around my waist. And his body pressed into mine. Firm. Hot. So fucking real. He let out a relieved sigh – a huff of air against my bare neck. I could feel myself going pink in the face.

This was not a situation my mind had the capacity to process. Snow, I mouthed silently, eyes wide in shock. But I did not speak. What was I going to do? Wake him up? Throw a fit, ridicule him?

Simon Snow was holding me. He did it. He initiated it. Aleister Crowley and all mages that came before me, what was I going to do with this?!

But…

Really…

Fuck, I didn’t want to make a scene. Or wake him up. Or move an inch. This was all I would ever get. Snow… Simon… He wasn’t gay. Probably not even bi. I could never have him. And this was not conscious, and he would feel incredibly embarrassed in the morning.

He was holding me now, though.

I couldn’t give it up.

So I relaxed into the embrace. I hovered my hand over his for a moment, wondering whether I should… but no, no, that was too much. I let it fall onto the bed.

Snow was breathing on my neck, sending little shivers down my spine. I was never this close to anybody before. Never this aware of somebody else’s presence, skin, breathing.

With every rise and fall of his chest against my back, I thought: I love you, Simon Snow.

I wish I could only feel love for you.

I wish that was all there is to life.

 ***

Snow woke up first. He slipped away from me and said nothing. Which was odd.

I almost let myself hope. Almost believed he knew what he did and did it on purpose. Almost lost myself in fantasies of a great secret romance with Snow.

But when I arrived at the dorms that afternoon, I found it clean, tidy… and there was a brand new single bed waiting on Snow’s side of the room.

I ran out and into the catacombs so quickly I forgot to close the door behind me.

Hope turned out to be the worst thing that could’ve happened to me.

 ***

I roamed the underground for hours, trying to get lost and failing miserably.

Seriously, what was I thinking? That I might get a few more nights? A week of snuggling close to the person I was supposed to be fighting? Did I think he would kiss me? Did I think he would touch me?

I was a naïve fool. Simon Snow was going to fight for the Mage, as he always had, against the old families. Against my family. I had to protect my own, I had to do what was expected of me, and so did he. We had no future. Maybe one of us would live, but not both. Not together.

I thought I had understood a long time ago.

I thought I could control myself. Refrain from imagining stupid, unrealistic scenarios.

I was wrong. And useless. Noted.

I just wished Snow had never touched me. I would never forget all the things I would miss out on. It was better when I had no idea.

This was probably when I started crying.

 ***

It was almost dawn when I stumbled back into the room.

At first, I though I was just hallucinating. That I was this far gone.

But Snow’s bed was empty.

He was cozied up in mine.

I got inexplicably angry at a snap of fingers. I slammed the door and exclaimed: “Snow?!”

That scared him awake.

“What the hell,” he mumbled and rubbed his face. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get out of my fucking bed!”

“Crowley, stop yelling,” he complained. “I, er… was waiting for you. Fell asleep, I guess.”

Waiting? In my bed?

Why, why would he do that?

He had to stop. I would not let him give me false hope anymore. I whipped out my wand and pointed it at him. His hands flew into the air.

“Get out now,” I hissed, not putting any magic into my words… yet.

“You can’t curse me.”

“Snow.”

“You’d be expelled out of Watford.”

“Try me. Maybe I’m willing to sacrifice my education for an easy kill.”

“Oh – come on –” He rapidly stood up. “See? Your bed. I just… wanted to talk to you. I mean, not originally, but now…”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“I just though… the spell is still working and…”

“And what? You have your own bed. Problem solved. What the fuck are you on about?” I threw my blazer onto a chair and started angrily removing my tie.

Snow kept standing in the middle of the room like a lost lamb.

But when he spoke, his voice cut clear through the room and into my weak, weak mind.

“You hugged me the other night,” he stated. “And held my hand.”

I had a hard time coming up with a comeback to this that wouldn’t include physical violence. So I ignored him… only making it worse.

“And yesterday, I… I hugged you. But you didn’t pull away. You were awake, you let me do it.”

I abruptly turned on my heel and in a second, I was staring him down, face only inches from his.

“You leave me the fuck alone,” I growled. “I never did those things. Touch me again and I break all of your bones.”

“You know I’m telling the truth!”

“You are not. You are a sorry little attention-seeker and nobody will believe you.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me, it won’t work!” he retorted. “And I haven’t told anybody. Never will. I only want to talk to you about… everything.”

“Right. Before you try and blackmail me.”

“No, listen –”

“See, Snow, if there are some feelings you are repressing, I suggest you keep that to yourself. I want you five feet away from me at all times.” Then I spat at his feet. Snow winced.

It wasn’t fair of me. I’ve had my share of repressing emotions. But since when was I the one to play nice? Simon Snow truly was the source of most of my problems in life. Him and his fragile feelings could go fuck themselves.

“You’re disgusting,” he told me.

“You’re annoying.”

“Could you just hear me out for once?”

“Could. Don’t want to.”

“Crowley – just admit it –”

My hands flew to his neck before he could finish the sentence. But he caught them and fought me, even though I was physically stronger than him.

“Knock it off. Baz! I said knock it off!” I felt his magic rise to his panicked voice and make the air crackle with power. I couldn’t help it, I had to step away.

Snow was shaking, visibly upset at me. Maybe he would go off on me. Maybe he would be expelled for that immediately after. Delightful.

Snow’s rage was delightful too.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he exclaimed. “I hate you so fucking much, you are just evil!”

There it was.

“Likewise.”

“What’s your problem, seriously? Why wouldn’t you just admit what happened between us –”

“Nothing happened, Snow,” I cut him off. “That’s it. Solved the mystery for you.”

“If it was nothing then why are you so scared of having me in your bed? I slept there before, you could’ve just left it!”

“I’m not scared. You are just bordering sexual harassment,” I shouted back. I was positively losing it. Did he… know I was queer? He couldn’t. “Do you have any idea what this all sounds like?! Why would you want to sleep in my bed anyway?!”

“Because I liked it!” he boomed.

Silence fell.

The sky behind the window glass was turning yellow with sunrise.

What… what the everloving fuck did he mean by that? He was just probably trying to use me. Pushing me just to see proof that I have a thing for him. No, never in a million years…

“I – um,” Snow cleared his throat.

I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone blush so much.

“It’s like… I’m not saying I understand what it was. What it… means. But…”

He stepped closer, biting the inside of his face. I couldn’t move. If I could, I would run away in the speed of light.

“But I like this,” he finally admitted, and his gaze fell to his feet. Fuck, it was adorable. “The two of us. Close. Just… sleeping. Nothing else.”

I stared at him in utter disbelief. I tried to accuse him: “It’s some kind of a trick.” My voice was way too shaky though. It didn’t have the effect.

Snow softly shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s always plotting,” he pointed out. “I’m just the guy swinging a sword.”

“I still feel like there is a catch.”

“There isn’t.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. There just isn’t. I’m being honest.”

I wanted to tell him to go to bed, his own bed, but the words got stuck in my throat and wouldn’t come out. Snow, standing dangerously close to me at this point, hurried to add: “We don’t have to talk about it. We really don’t. Besides, nobody knows that we… you know. I haven’t told a soul.”

He talked like we’d been snogging or worse, not like we’d just… spooned. (But considering our history, that was strange enough.)

“Why not?” I asked him. Like a dumbass.

“Didn’t want to, I guess. Have you told anybody?”

“Crowley, no. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Snow nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He looked me in the eyes again. “Let’s just… try and get some sleep.”

I was confused as in what to do with… well, all this. I watched him get back into my bed and scoot back, leaving me enough space to join him.

“I like to sleep closer to the wall,” I blurted out without thinking. And immediately regretted it. There goes pretending like his suggestion disgusted me. Snow yawned as he got back up, gesturing me to get into bed first. This morning was about to be the first time in my life I would be grateful for being a vampire… if I were not, he would see exactly how flustered that had made me.

“I still can’t tell what you’re trying to achieve here,” I frowned.

Snow shrugged, and the corners of his mouth tugged up. “I think I’m just going to shave your eyebrows off when you’re asleep.”

That almost made me snort.

I gave up. I took off my shoes and laid down. Snow followed me right away. Seeing how tense I am, he repeated: “We really don’t have to talk about any of this, ever.”

“You sound like a broken record. We are already talking about this.”

“Well, we don’t have to.”

I rolled my eyes at him… And noticed the colour of the sky outside.

The day was creeping up on us. But Snow was so close. And… he wanted this. He was all sloppy about it, but he wanted this. I didn’t even know what to think…

“Baz?”

“Mm? What?”

“Could… I hug you now?”

“I just decided. I don’t want you to talk about it.” Yet, he kept waiting for an answer. Honestly, he was just too good for me. Just for him, just this once, I let down my walls, closed my eyes and said: “You… can.”

And he did. Pressed me to his chest like a stuffed animal. I tried to let go of the stiffness in my muscles, to let myself rest, but how could I? He was so bloody hot. (Both in the temperature sense and attractive sense. As per usual, he slept without a shirt on.)

(His cross was nowhere in sight. Just like yesterday, I realized.)

“Your arms won’t fall off if you hug me back,” he remarked.

“Shut up, Snow.”

“Just do it, will you.”

There we were. A knot of limbs, circles under our eyes and deep breaths.

Maybe this really could be all there was to life, at least for the nights and early mornings.

Maybe we really didn’t have to talk about it.

#snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz #baz grimm pitch #simon snow #writing #fanfiction #sharing beds #angst #fluff #and there was only one bed

[multiverseanimecrossover]

Twisted Wonderland: Drama Teacher inspired by Yzma~!

Manco Yaravi is inspired by Yzma, my choice for him is Micah Solusod. I know for a fact Micah was amazing as Tsubaki from Servamp as well as Yurio from Yuri on Ice!!! so playing the hot-headed OC I created for Twisted Wonderland would be perfect and his assistant, inspired by the loveable oaf Kronk, name Hucua Kruscoe should be voiced by Ian Sinclair.....FIGHT ME! Actually no, no violence! I don’t want a fight! 

The next day at the next class was theatre: There he was, the drama teacher name Manco Yaravi and his assistant, Hucua Kruscoe. Manco has pale skin, lavender hair, his eye color is violet, average height and slender in build. He wears a long, plum purple frock coat; a dark purple waistcoat with vertical black stripes and a black back; a white button-up shirt; black trousers, knee-high violet high heel boots with purple laces and dress shoes. Hucua is both a relatively tall and rather well physically built man. His face features a light chin curtain beard and close-cut hair, which contains four signature darker stripes running from front to back, with one located directly on top of his head and the other three present on the right side. His forehead is also noticeably bigger, he has blue eyes, but he usually has them closed. His clothes comprise of a simple white shirt, that has rolled up sleeves and wears a black waistcoat with black shorts. These shorts include a relatively plain grey belt, black fingerless gloves and sandals. During class; Manco refused to let Kellan be given a chance and puts him down just to boost others and himself up, much to Hucua’s dismay. It wasn’t until Grim appeared as he shushed Kellan quietly which confuses him. “You are so cruel, Manco~!” A voice said, dripping with admonishment. “It’s just how I roll…OH~!” Manco said, he jumped when he saw the headmaster standing there. “You’re doing it again, Mr. Yaravi.” Warned Headmaster Crowley. Manco laughed nervously, “Doing…doing what sir?” He asked. “Being unfair, we maybe evil at this school but being unfair is a standard that we have here at Night Raven College and I will not approve of that.” Headmaster Crowley scolded. He takes Manco by the waist, which made him gasp. “What is holding you together my boy? Stress? Pride? How long are you going to keep this up?” Crowley asked. Hucua laughs, he takes Manco by his arms. “He’s been having this as long as I known him.” He joked. Manco swats him away, “NO TOUCHY! You know how much I hate being TOUCHED?!” He almost shouted. “Manco.” Crowley said in a warning tone. Manco composed himself, “What makes you think I’m going to give this newbie a chance?” He asked. “He wants to be challenged, he’s going for the higher ups of the class. You must let him be involved.” Replied Crowley. Manco is shocked but he still wasn’t convinced. “Oh, and by the way, if you don’t do this then you’ll fired.” Headmaster Crowley retorted. Manco was stunned, “Fired? Please, I just need to teach them! It is my PASSION! I NEED TO DO THIS!!!!” He protested dramatically. “Manco, listen here. Remember what I taught you: You need to let go, let yourself downsized on the students who wish to learn and give them a chance, glide through the outplace of the stage. Take yourself into a different direction, we’re not here to pick an option.” Crowley stated. Manco rolled his eyes, “Fine.” He admitted.

Later on; Manco was throwing a fit! Hucua was doing his best to listen but also terrified of seeing him upset. “He can't just get by that easily, thinking he’s the best! Who does that newcomer think he is?! Does he-?” But he says to Hucua, “Can I have that please?” He asked. Hucua nodded, gives him a piece of paper. “Sure.” He said. “Thank you.” Manco said and rips it. He then continues to rant. “--have any idea of who he's dealing with?! How could he do this to me?! Why, I was his protégée since I was a kid!” Hucua was sympathetic, “Yeah, you'd think he would've noticed your potential by now.” He added. Manco was calm by that as he said dryly, “Yeah. Go figure.” Hucua then said: “Still, it's kinda better you're taking out your anger on these things instead of the actual newcomer am I right?” Hearing him say that made Manco come to a realization. “That's it, Hucua! That's it! I'll get rid of the newcomer Kellan! Don't you see? It's perfect! With him out of the way and no heir to the throne, I'll take over and rule the Night Raven College! Brrrrilliant!” He then announced dramatically, “To the secret lab!” They move over to two levers. “Pull the lever, Hucua!” instructed Manco. Hucua pulls a lever, where an ax almost hits them and they both ducked.  “Wrong lever!” Manco said. “Sorry about that.” Hucua apologized. Manco was irked, “Tell me again Hucua….Why do we even have that lever?” He asked through gritted teeth. “For intruders? I don’t know, I forgot about it. Ask the person who originated this frigging idea.” Hucua said. “Ugh! You’re impossible sometimes! You’re brilliant but you’re impossible.” Manco stated. He pulls the right one and then, there was a trap door that flips them and they were in the secret lab. Manco and Hucua arrive in the lab, wearing lab coats and safety goggles, do a high-five, and run to get to work. “All right, how shall I do it? Oh, I know. I'll set up a beautiful scene on the stage, then get him to dance and the statue will lose balance, then when it happens, ahaha~! It'll smash it on THE NEWBIE! It's brilliant, brilliant, BRILLIANT, I tell you! Genius, I say!” Manco exclaimed. However, the pages flipped in the breeze as Manco and Hucua look at the page which made Manco smiled. “Or, to save on damage costs, I'll just murder him with this poisonous gas!” He suggested. And so, it was about to begin. Hucua was just finishing up preparations when Manco appeared. “So, is everything ready for rehearsal?” asked Manco. “Oh, yeah. I just set up the backdrop, the scenes and everything else~!” replied Hucua. Manco was angry, “I’m not talking about that! You know...” He said. “Oh, right. The poison gas. The poison gas for Kellan, the poison gas chosen especially to kill Kellan as we have all the students except for him. You mean that poison gas?” Hucua asked. “Yes! That poison gas.” Manco snapped. Hucua gestured above. “Got you covered.” He reassured. “Excellent. Once then I'll prepare the song and dance, and he will be dead before dessert.” Manco said. “Which is a real shame, because I thought this was going to be fun.” Hucua remarked. Kellan enters along with the students as they do the rehearsal when the smoke is about to come as everyone put on their gas masks but something went wrong: It wasn’t poison gas, it was laughing gas! Kellan was laughing maniacally as it seemed from the gas. Manco couldn’t believe it, he gestured Hucua to stop and does as Kellan passed out. Manco got the students out as he and Hucua looked over the unconscious Kellan. “What?! Laughing gas? He’s supposed to be dead!!!!” Manco exclaimed. “Um, yeah…I think I got the wrong one….Sorry….” Hucua said nervously. Manco let out an angry yell but turns to his assistant. “Take him to the nurse’s office and finish the job now!” demanded Manco. Hucua remembered they still have a class, “What about rehearsal?” He asked. Manco gives him a look, “Hucua, this is kind of important.” He reminded. “How about doing the last run through performance?” Hucua suggested. Manco was about to protest but thought it over and nodded, “Well, I suppose there's time for the final run through.” He noted. Hucua looked excited, “And fixing the stage props?” He begged. Manco sighed, “All right. You can fix the stage props. THEN TAKE HIM TO THE NURSE’S OFFICE AND FINISH THE JOB!”

#twisted wonderland #yzma #kronk #emperor's new groove #funny

[kdfrqqg]

French Perfume part 18

Pairings: Crowley x Reader, Jarrell (OMC)

Warnings: language, daddy kink, smut, magic

Word Count: 2.6K

Catch up here: French Perfume Series

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A loud clap of thunder echoed in the huge makeshift wearhouse bedroom waking you up from your restless sleep.  Instinctually you reached for your weapon, it took you a second to panic when you realized you were your own best weapon.  Hands raised up ready to attack, you spotted someone in the room, “Jarrell!”

“Yes, my Queen.” He answered.

“I thought you were confined to your room.” You wrapped the Egyptian cotton sheets around your naked frame.

“The King allowed me to leave as long as I was taking care of you.” Jarrell explained, holding out a dark red robe.

You stood up unafraid to show him your nude body, he had seen you change on numerous occasions and had walked in on you and Crowley more times than you wanted to admit to.  The satin slipped onto your body and you tied it in front, “So I guess he trusts you again.”

“I’ve never known him to trust anyone until you came along.”

“Did he tell you about the truth spell?”

“Yes, my Queen.  I have prepared some items for you to use.” He motioned to a side table on the far side of the room.

You walked over to the small bistro table that Crowley had set up for you two to enjoy breakfast without being disturbed.  “And you are ok with it?” You asked while he handed you cup of coffee with cream and sugar as he took the seat across from you.

“It is better than the alternative, my Queen.” He made a slit throat gesture with his hand which made you giggle. “I am far from perfect but I have grown to respect the King and to love you my Queen.”

“And I love you too, Jarrell. By the way, we’re family now so can you just call me (Y/N)?” You asked with a smiled.  He was nothing like your father but he had a warmth about him that you couldn’t quite explain.  

“Of course, your maj--” he corrected himself, “(Y/N). This will take some time to get used to.”

You reached your hand out to touch his, “I respect that.”

You put some clothes on once you were done with your coffee, your mind was spinning as you poured over the books to find a truth spell that would work on a demon.  Did you really need to do this?  Crowley and yourself both believed Jarrell, I mean, you could just tell everyone you did the spell.  

“(Y/N),” Jarrell got your attention, “his majesty, recommends this spell.” He presented his cell phone with a photo of a yellowed page with dull written script on it.

How did that man know you were racking your brain?  “Send that to me so I can see it better.” Your fingers were flying as your opened your laptop trying to get this out of the way as soon as possible and get back to your normal existence with your two favorite demons.  The spell was relatively easy, no super crazy ingredients especially since Crowley had a well stocked supply cabinet.

Jarrell worked on tidying up the place as you crushed seeds with pestle and measured some goofer dust. He picked up Crowley’s pants that managed their way across the room, when he did a small object flew across the floor catching your attention.  You reached down and picked up a black velvet box, and you almost couldn’t contain your smile.

“My lady, may I?” Jarrell held out his hand and you gave the box over to him. “When you cast the spell, just don’t ask what’s the box? But I think you already know.”  Both of your hands covered your mouth trying to hide your excitement and holding back tears of joy, Jarrell wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead gently in a fatherly gesture. “Let’s keep this a secret between us.” You nodded suddenly losing your voice.

Once the ingredients were mixed, you sat Jarrell down. “This shouldn’t hurt but if you feel uncomfortable I will stop.” You removed your hamsa necklace, you didn’t want anything to block your magic, this was too important not to be done right.  You poured the extra virgin olive oil into the bowl as you began to chant.

Verum ego praecipio tibi daemonem.

Omnia mea sunt tua cura inquirendo exsequebatur.

Præcipe etiam ut daemonium tua tibi domino revelare.

Pure white smoke bubbled from the top of the bowl, that’s always a good sign.  You asked a control question, “What is your name?”

“Jarrell.” He responded.

“How are you feeling?”

“Very well, (Y/N).”

“Have you ever done anything against the King of Hell?” You started with a hard question.

“When his majesty first took over, I gave highly valuable information about his operation to a rival.  Once I found him to be a decent king, I never did anything against him again.” Jarrell explained.  You breathed heavy not sure if you should tell Crowley about that or not.  “That rival has long been dispatched.”

“Thank you Jarrell.  Is there anything that would make you betray the crown?”

“Just the opportunity to see my family again.” A small tear formed at the corner of his eye.

“You want to see them that badly?” You cupped his face, seeing that the spell not only made him tell the truth but spill the emotions behind them.

“Yes,” He sniffed and the tears fell. “So much. More than anything, I would give anything to just see Sara’s long curls sway down her back as she danced, or my wife’s smile again.”

“I know, damn, what I wouldn’t do to see my parents again.” Your hand touched his, holding it in mutual love, respect and understand. “I guess I may never see them again.  I always thought I’d got heaven but the girlfriend to King of Hell doesn’t belong in heaven.”

“But you have the angel plus you have enough power to transport yourself to heaven anytime you want.” Jarrell spoke a truth you had never thought of, you could see your parents again.

“Jarrell, thank you.  Thank you so much.” You kissed his cheek. “I promise you, I’m going to do everything in my power so you can see your family again.”

His smile was like lighting up the world, “I believe that you will.”

This was how you could gain demon loyalty, there had to be other demons who wanted to see their families in heaven.  Maybe find a way to broker a treaty with the angels and let the demons into heaven or cure the demons and allow the reapers to take their new soul to heaven.  So many possibilities worth looking at.  You wanted to do this for Jarrell but it could benefit so many more.  There could be a lot of demons who would work for the opportunity to have a little heaven.

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The relief that the spell had given you was overwhelming but you still needed to tell Crowley about Jarrell’s past betrayal.  You didn’t hear the footsteps cross the floor but you felt his warm breath as Crowley placed gently loving kisses over your bare shoulders.  His hands ran down from your waist to your thighs, slightly needer as he went.  The motions were soothing, “I see Jarrell is still alive.” He chuckled while he nibbled on your ear.

“So I’m your executioner now?” You smiled, closing your eyes getting lost in his touch.

“You are whatever you want to be.” His whisper was warm and loving.  

“I do have to tell you something.” The knowledge of knowing that Jarrell had been disloyal once before was eating at you.  You turned to look at Crowley in eye while taking his hand in yours.

“Ok Love.” He sat on the bed and you followed his motions.

“Jarrell hasn’t always been loyal to you.  When you first became king, he told a rival information that he shouldn’t have.” A small tear started to form.  You knew Crowley would not stand for this and he would surely order Jarrell to be killed.

Crowley kissed your lips gently, “I know all about that, my Love.”

“You did?” You asked with honest shock.

“If I killed every demon who ever was opposed to me then there wouldn’t be any demons left.” He chuckled. “I made an example of my rival and decided to keep a close eye on all of his allies.  Jarrell has not made a move against me since then, has he?”

“No, no he hasn’t.” You stuttered a little.

“Then there are no issues. This is wonderful, because finding a new butler from the lot I have now would be impossible.” His arms surrounded you, flinging you onto the bed.  Giggles poured from you while he peppered kisses all over your neck and chest.  The scruff of his beard felt good on your soft skin as he became even more handsy pulling and tugging at your tank top.  His silk suit moved easily over the cotton of your jeans, his manhood was quickly swelling, but damn you needed him like water on a hot day. Your unmanicured hands pawed at his jacket sliding it quickly off of him.

“You know Love, you didn’t have to tell me.” he flipped you on your side, his beautiful brown eyes gazed at you with wonderment, “I would’ve trusted your judgement.”

“We’re in this together. I don’t want to keep things from you, that would make me no better than your demons.” You undid his tie, not letting this little heart to heart stop your true motivations.

“And that is why you are perfectly suited to be my queen.  (Y/N), you make me better than I ever thought possible.”

That was all you needed, you surrendered completely, ripping your shirt off exposing your naked beasts to him.  Flipping your leg over his waist, rutting against him, sitting up straight so he could admire you.  His hands cupped your perky tits before you leaned into his kiss.  Crowley’s lips wrapped around your nipple sucking hard, something was different this time, then he realized something was missing. “Darling, where is your necklace?” He poked the center of your chest, where it normally would have laid.  

You pushed yourself up in shock, “Shit, shit, I must have forgotten to put it back on.” You ran from the bed to the small table you had set it down on. “I took it off for the spell. No interference.”

You tried to put the necklace back on but you were all thumbs, too nervous since you could have killed your boyfriend.  Crowley saw how flustered you were and stood up, walking towards you, “Here let me.” He gestured. He moved your hair out of the way and easily put the necklace back on. “Let’s try not to forget this again.” He kissed your neck, groping your breasts. “Shall we try this again?” He stepped back removing his shirt, he looked delicious, the things he did to you turned you on even more as you thought about.

Quickly, your pants came off as you stood naked in front of him.  You ran into his arms, ready for anything he could give you.  

“Little girl, will you please present yourself to me?” His voice was polite ready for any protest you may give him.  

“Yes, sir.” You smiled and promptly got on your hands and knees positioning yourself on the bed for his viewing pleasure.

“I never tire of seeing you.” Turning your head you saw him easily removing his slacks and boxers, oh you were in for it now.  “You are just beautiful, my Love.” He ran his hand over your back and behind, that sent a shiver down to your core. “Should I warm you up a bit? Or do you just want it rough?”

Decisions, he rarely gives you the power.  “I want it rough.” Your voice almost begged.  There was need to feel him for days inside you.

The bed dipped as he joined you, his large cock was heavy against your ass.  Crowley’s lips trailed over your spine as he kissed and praised you.  “You are more perfect than I could have ever dreamed of.” His hands touched your hips as you melted into his warmth.  Following his motions, you arched your back until you were fully on your knees, arms outstretched behind your head to run your fingers through his hair and down his face as he nuzzled your neck and deliciously groped your body.  One of his large hands left your body and you felt him positioning his dick right next to your entrance, the tip slipped in with little protest.

Gasping at the stretch as he was slow and it felt brutally slow, fuck you wanted more.  You wanted all of him in you now. “Baby, I need…” You hiccuped for air.

“You need what?” Crowley’s smirked, tweaking your hard bud as you rutted against him.  His chest hair tickled your back while he teased you to a tizzy.

Only he could elicit you to go completely speechless, “I-I” Just breathe deeply, “I need you.”

“Darling, you have me? What else do you need?”

Oh that fucker was messing with you as he rocked just the first few inches in and out of your pussy.  You lips were holding on to him and you pushed down but he slid out more from you.  He was going to be the death of you, quivering from lust while his hands roamed over body.

“Tisk tisk, What else do you need, Love?”

Aching for him, “I need your cock in my pussy, Daddy.”

He let out a sinful moan when he heard what he wanted, “That’s right little girl and that’s what you’ll get.” He slammed forward into you, all of his thickness and length was inside in under a second.

“Oh God!” You yelled as the force of his movements pushed you back onto your hands.

He fucked you fast and furious, he gave you all you need and more.  Within minutes you were screaming and cumming hard on his massive cock.  

It wasn’t just the sex that you craved but the intimacy afterwards, no matter how rough he was during the act, he was always tender and loving when done.  He checked up to make sure that he didn’t actually hurt you and showered you with kisses and his strong arms protecting you from anything that came after the both of you.

“I love you so much.” He whispered as you were almost asleep.

You mumbled, “I love you too.” Dreams were quickly taking you over and everything was right with the world.

After an hour’s nap, you woke curled up in Crowley’s arms.  He had his readers on and a book in his hand. “Hello Love.” He smiled warmly and kissed your forehead.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Huh huh.” Quickly you stretched and held him tighter.

“I bet you’re starving.” He suggested.

“I could eat. I’ll just call Jarrell.”

“Why don’t we go out? We haven’t had a date night in awhile.” He paused, “Plus I had Jarrell get you a few more dresses and shoes.”

“You did?” Giggling uncontrollably, he really did treat you well.  You thought the gifts would stop after awhile but they really hadn’t.

The closet had 5 new dress and two boxes of shoes.  Naked, you stood in front of the open closet door trying to decide what you wanted to wear.  He slid next to you, “I think you would look lovely in this.” He kissed your cheek.

He handed you a simple black and white polka dotted dress, it wasn’t high fashion like he normally purchased for you. No this was actually more your normal style, casual but still pretty.  

“Try the shoes in the blue box.” He offered.

The box contained a pair of black flats. Flats, you thought. You chuckled to yourself, he doesn’t buy flats for you.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked.

“They’re flats!” You stated honestly with a hint of a laugh.

“I know that heels can hurt, also you could run in these if you needed to. Do you like them?”

“Yeah, they’re really pretty.” You told him.

“Good, I like it when you feel comfortable.  You shouldn’t have to be a ridged queen. That’s not who you are.”

Getting ready only took a few minutes, powers were a lifesaver when dealing with your hair and makeup.  

“Are you ready, my Love?” Crowley inquired with his back turned to you as he palmed a small black velvet box into his pocket.

“Sure am, Baby.” Your hand clasp into his as you popped off to who knows where.  All you needed to know was that Crowley loved you and you trusted him completely.

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