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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

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hello, hello! saw you’re considering valentine’s day requests, so i figured i��d drop in, as that’s my birthday, too! worth a shot, yeah? if you could bless me with a teen/young adult morston first kiss and/or first time, i think i could die happy - 🦅

Happy Birthday 🥳 For now I just went with the kiss, but maybe I'll think about a part 2 😄

Jägermeister and Cigarettes

Pairing: Arthur x John | Words: 1360 | Tags: underage (no smut!), smoking, alcohol, modern AU

John is staring up into the night sky, a hollow feeling in his chest. It's what always settles inside of him after anger or fear. Following the line of a shooting star with his eyes, John makes a wish.

"Marston? You up there?" a voice shouts from below, startling John. It's uncanny how often Arthur shows up right when John thinks about him.

"Sure am," he shouts back before fishing a pack of smokes out of his pocket.

He listens to Arthur climbing their self-made ladder up to the tree house and lights his cigarette. Arthur crawls up and sits down next to him with a long sigh.

"Your dad a dick again?" he asks.

"Yupp," John says before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Full on dick, hairy balls and everything."

Arthur huffs a laugh before stealing the cigarette from John. "My folks are at it again. I think my mom's going to leave any day now."

The hollow feeling in John's chest gets worse. It's like stepping off the edge of a bottomless pit. "You'll go with her?"

"Naw. If she really goes through with it, she's better off without me."

"And your dad?"

"Who knows if he'll even notice," Arthur shrugs.

He leans over to give John his cigarette back before reaching into his pocket for a fresh pack.

"You got your own smokes? Why are you smoking mine then?"

"Sorry, I forgot. Force of habit." Arthur puts a fresh cigarette between his lips and taps his pockets before turning to John. "You got a light?"

"What would you do without me?" John teases and Arthur smiles.

"Not smoke and live a healthier life."

He keeps grinning about his own stupid joke, and John sits up, drawn to Arthur like the moth to a flame. Arthur's smile is dangerous. It sometimes pokes at the hollow feeling in John's chest as if it wants to take its place.

"Here," John says, leaning over to Arthur.

It's a stupid thing to do. After all, John could just give Arthur his lighter, but Arthur doesn't question it. He holds the tip of his cigarette against John's to light it.

While Arthur looks down to focus on what he's doing, John takes everything about Arthur in. His hair that's always on the side of too long but still never as shaggy as John's. His lashes and the clear cut jaw. His goddamn lips.

Arthur's the reason John knows he's not only into girls. They've only known each other for about a year, but John feels closer to Arthur than anybody else in his life and he wouldn't mind cranking it up a notch.

John's so lost in thought, he doesn't notice that Arthur looks up. His blue eyes are holding John's gaze, even when he draws back from the cigarette. The way Arthur looks at him always makes John feel as if he's made out of glass, unable to hide anything, especially not his immense crush on Arthur.

"You didn't think I forgot," Arthur says, confusing John even more.

"What?"

Arthur reaches into his pocket and brings out a small green bottle that he hands to John. "For you."

"Jägermeister? Seriously?"

"Hey, I paid for the smokes, that was all I could steal from my dad's stash."

"Yeah, but for what?"

Arthur stares at John as if he lost his mind. "Jesus, Marston, don't tell me you forgot your own fucking birthday."

A jolt rushes through John's body as if he got hit by lightning. He's been counting the days but completely forgot over all the arguments with his dad. Not that anybody else would remember, least of all his dad. Only Arthur.

"Fuck," John huffs and Arthur laughs.

"What would you do without me?"

"Not drink this shit and live a healthier life."

Arthur falls back, using his own arm as a makeshift pillow. "Happy birthday, dumbass."

"Seventeen," John says, turning the small bottle around in his hand. "As old as you are."

"Until my next birthday."

John knows Arthur's teasing him, but he doesn't mind. It's things like these that make their friendship work. Arthur actually cares. John just wishes he would care a little bit more.

"This is a shitty present," John says, making Arthur chuckle.

"Yeah? What would you want then?"

Of course, John knows, but he can't say that. The problem is that he can't think of anything else he'd want from Arthur. When he doesn't answer, Arthur throws away his cigarette and props himself up on his arms to look at John. His face says that he won't let this go, so John shrugs.

"It's alright. It's better than nothing."

"Oh, come on," Arthur says, his voice without ridicule for once. "Tell me what you want and I'm sure I can get it."

John bites his lip, unable not to look at Arthur's at the same time. The sheer thought of acting on his wish fills him with hope. They share everything and take care of each other, and this is Arthur, after all. He won't be mad.

"Marston?" Arthur asks and John can't help but lean over him.

He lets himself fall into the blue of Arthur's eyes, ready to drown. With every inch that John moves closer, he feels more out of breath and a helpless gasp escapes him when his lips hover so close over Arthur's that he can feel his warm breath.

The seconds tick by and John's about to retreat when Arthur lifts up his chin, just enough that their lips meet. It's not as wet as John imagined but soft and warm. They part, both taking a few shaky breaths before they both sit up.

John wants to apologize but Arthur nods to the bottle in his hand. "You gonna open this or what?"

"Sure," John says, clearing his throat.

He takes the first sip since it's his bottle after all, and they hand it back and forth a couple of times. John feels the alcohol and it's probably the only thing that keeps him from freaking out.

Arthur didn't take his head off for the kiss but they also didn't declare their undying love for each other. John doesn't know what it means, and he's too afraid to ask.

"John?" Arthur says, sending a shiver down his spine with the word. There's something up whenever Arthur calls him by his first name.

"Hm?" John hums, forcing himself to look at Arthur.

He smiles, that stupid Arthur smile that makes John's knees go weak. Then he reaches for his chin, a barely there touch to keep John in place before he leans in and kisses him again.

This time, it's a little wet, Arthur's tongue teasing John's, sharing the taste of Jägermeister and cigarettes. When they part, Arthur brushes John's hair back, and his fingers trail along John's cheek before he takes his hand away.

They look at each other for a long moment until Arthur's the one to clear his throat. "You could have just told me that you wanted to be boyfriends."

"Shut up," John grunts, punching Arthur's arm.

Arthur pushes his elbow in John's side and takes the bottle away from him. "We should just run away together."

"Yeah right," John says, before fishing the cigarettes out of Arthur's pocket. "And then what?"

"Get an apartment, jobs," Arthur says with a shrug. "I don't know. It can only get better than here."

John laughs. "Wait, now we're living together?"

"Sure," Arthur says, and he sounds so serious that his voice shakes John to the core, the one word filling that abyss in John's chest.

"When?" he asks, a sudden longing in his heart.

"When you can finally grow some hair on that chest," Arthur says with a laugh, tugging at John's shirt.

John groans and pushes Arthur over, crawling on top of him. "I'll show you what I can grow."

Arthur looks up at John with a dangerous spark in his eyes. "Promise?"

John doesn't care to answer. He kisses Arthur instead, and it's a few more hours before they climb the ladder back down, an empty bottle and a crumbled up cigarette pack staying behind.

#morston #rdr2 fanfic #my writing #modern au #fulfilled requests

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lesaltywarlock · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2 to a story I’ll never finish...maybe

Well this chapter was a lot. Some trigger warnings here if you’re willing to read it. TW: Vomit, Self-Harm (forgive me if I miss any others ;3;)

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace stumbled into the cafe and threw his disgusting scrubs into a small bin in the locker room. He wasn't on shift for a while, but he knew that he needed to be here. After coming back into the main room of the cafe, he trudged over to the counter where Alex stared at him with a concerned smile. A large cup of the strongest coffee that Winnie could brew laid right next to her—the mere scent of it punched him in the face with pure bitterness.

"Thanks," Jace grumbled and took his drink to a spare table—setting his backpack on top of it. He spotted Alec as he looked for a spot but decided to ignore him. His only priority was getting this coffee inside of his system.

"Are you...good?" Alec approached Jace's table—a frown on his face as he set some of his stuff down.

"Give me a moment." Jace held up a finger to silence his friend as he took a long, refreshing sip of the scalding coffee. It was insanely bitter and disgusting, but the caffeine was worth every single drop. "Ok...I'm good."

Alec reeled back in disgust, "black coffee...and I thought Mia had a problem."

"He's totally addicted...just give him a few seconds to start up," Alex remarked from the counter as she put in a bunch of freshly baked cookies into the display case. Jace smiled, relishing the scent of chocolate and sugar wafting throughout the cafe. It certainly helped to wake him up at least a little bit.

True to Alex's words, Jace felt the caffeine kick in and he perked up with a smile. He ignored the rapid beating of his heart and leaned back in his seat. The rush of working in that hospital still rang in his mind—but it was worth every second even if he couldn't sleep. The sun shone on his face and warmed every frozen inch of his body. It was relieving.

"Where's Mia?" Jace looked up at Alec who started writing on that same notebook from last night. It was a mess and full of tears, and sticky notes scattered among the pages and creases in an unorganized monstrosity.

"Dance rehearsals...all day. For some school musical or something."

"One of my friends really loves musical theatre, maybe I'll introduce him to the both of you someday." He remarked and leaned over to see what the brunette was writing, but the latter pulled his notebook away. Jace caught a glance of something that was definitely not a typical thing for journalism. It was a sketch. A drawing of some sort.

Alec glared at him for a second before relaxing and shoving his notebook into his backpack. "So...how's that book of yours treating you? Did you get to the—"

"I'm not even that far though, don't spoil me!" He gently kicked the man under the table, earning a small yelp and another angry glare. "S-sorry," Jace said on instinct, backing away from Alec in case he got too mad.

"Don't mention it." Alec rubbed his leg and pulled out a textbook from his backpack—human anatomy. It was certainly odd to see a journalism student taking an anatomy class, but Jace decided not to question anything.

He laid back and tried to relax for however much time laid between his next shift here and this break. He just had to survive the rest of the day without anything disturbing him.

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

The week dragged on and on. It was agonizing like some song stuck on repeat—just doing the same things every day. Jace enjoyed working at both the hospital and the cafe—albeit getting very little rest in between his breaks—but he can only go on for so long.

It's not like he had a choice though. He didn't want to go home.

Jace trudged up to the counter and slapped the fatigue out of his face.

"Alright...um...welcome to Thanks A Latte...what can I get for you today?" He greeted the influx of customers with the same generic smile he put up every day until his face muscles started to hurt. Alec and Mia didn't come, unfortunately, maybe because they had class or just had better things to do than come here or see him.

"That's not the nicest way to treat your best friend." Through his blurred vision, Jace spotted a short man with a smirk on his stubbled and angular face. He was a bit like an elf, sharp green eyes that darted around the room and examined everything for whatever reason. The man shrugged his flannel hoodie off and pointed towards the window with his thumb—flashing a silver dog tag. A torrent of rain battered against the pavement and the distant sound of thunder echoed across the sky, overpowering the soft music playing from the cafe's speakers. "Rain's being a bitch, so I decided to finally come check this place out."

"Quinn...what are you doing here?" Jace groaned and rolled his eyes at the sight of his friend. "I thought you were still at the hospital."

"I decided that I should stop working overtime for once and take a break. Unlike someone I know." Quinn tilted his head at Jace and sighed, "you really have to get out more."

"You know I can't do that." Jace murmured barely above a whisper. He gestured to the small line of people behind the man and said, "now, is there anything that I can get for you?"

"A sandwich and a frozen mocha with extra chocolate chips. Add whipped cream and graham cracker crumbs. Two pumps each of vanilla and chocolate. Heavy on the chocolate and caramel drizzle."

Frozen coffee. Essentially the store's version of a frappuccino at Starbucks and also the most popular due to it tasting like pure sugar. "Would you like some coffee with that sugar?" He deadpanned.

"Nah...two percent coffee and ninety-eight percent sugar please."

Jace obliged but felt a bit disappointed considering it was more sugar than coffee at that point—but it's not like he could stop his friend. After receiving payment, he hurriedly crafted the best drink he could even though his teeth started getting cavities just by looking at it. How could someone just enjoy a coffee drink that didn't even taste like coffee?

Although...it did look pretty nice. The streaks of dark brown and caramel danced together in the drink and the whipped cream added brightness to the whole thing. It was like a piece of art. He wished that he could at least get a taste of it.

"Hey, uh, the gang's staying here past closing. Wanna join?" Jace reluctantly gave the drink to his friend who smiled and took a few sips before responding.

"Sure, why not. Good thing we're off tomorrow, maybe you can actually get some sleep for once." Quinn remarked and went off to find a seat in the cafe. Jace felt his heart shudder. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Every part of him wanted to agree, but they both knew that it wasn't going to happen. Realizing that there were customers waiting, he put on his customer service smile and kept working in hopes that the pit in his stomach would disappear by the time work was done.

"Hey, time to switch." Alex popped her head out of the kitchen a few hours later and tapped his shoulder as she always did. "Reed needs some help scoring the bread Winnie made."

"Alright, can you get Quinn a sandwich? Oh and make it turkey." Jace hummed and smiled as Alex looked at Quinn with a shocked face.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're here for once!"

That's all that Jace managed to hear before closing the kitchen doors behind him. He scurried to the back where Reed was mulling over a large ball of dough with a small knife in his hand. "Do you need help?" He asked as he leaned on the counter and smirked in a teasing manner. For some reason, Reed always somehow messed up with the scoring process and only made the bread come out horrible.

"It makes me feel bad to hurt them. Can't we just bake them like this?" Reed waved the knife around and groaned in frustration. Before he could kill anyone, Jace snatched the knife out of his friend's hands and pushed him out of the way.

"Just...let me handle this, ok?" Jace snapped and carefully pierced the top of the dough. He slowly moved the tip of the blade along the length of the ball until a large gash ran along most of the top.

"See? It's not that...hard." Jace stared at the cut he made. It looked familiar. Horrifying, even. What did it look like? He placed the knife down and glanced at his arm. Something welled up inside of him—like a memory that was buried a long time ago.

A memory filled with red.

His breath grew heavy and labored—Reed must've heard his heart pounding out of his chest. Jace grabbed the baking sheet and frantically shoved it towards his friend saying, "I-I'm gonna go on break if that's fine with you."

He left the kitchen before Reed could say anything. He just had to get out of there—away from that knife. Away from that place.

Jace exited out the back door—rubbing his forearms—and bumped into a girl. She had steel blue eyes and long jet black hair—a basket of cookies and a small red purse nestled at her side. A light blue scarf swayed in the wind along with a small cardigan wrapped around her white t-shirt with the small logo of a dog. She wore ripped blue jeans that looked like they were very much worse for wear. "Lilith?" He exclaimed.

"Hey, babe!" Lilith grinned and leaned up to peck him on the cheek, sending sparks flying down his spine and into every nerve. Just the feeling made his heart want to do somersaults. "Mom made some cookies and asked me to deliver them."

"Oh, I-I thought you were at the kennel?" His girlfriend worked at this small kennel on the other side of town pretty much all day. She loved animals all her life and treated them with so much kindness—one of the qualities that made him ask her out so long ago.

"I'm on my way there. Sorry if I disturbed your break or something." Lilith elbowed him in his side as she stepped into the kitchen to drop off the treats. He took a deep breath and sat down on the concrete steps leading inside the cafe. His heart felt like it was going to burst. Why did it have to happen now of all times? It was just a stupid piece of bread that he scored as usual, so why now?

Jace shrugged his black hat off that Winnie made them wear and looked around the area. It wasn't a pretty sight to look at quite honestly—trash bins and cars lay scattered on the cracked pavement that was this parking lot. On garbage days, this place mostly had the lingering scent of rotten food and whatever gunk people leave in these businesses. He looked down at his shaking hands and hoped that the panic was going to stop. Why was this happening?

God, of course he knows why this is happening. Jace feels like an idiot—letting himself be like that over some fucking bread. It was so pathetic. It's not supposed to look like himself. Like he was going to carve a deep gash in his arm. And yet...it did to him.

He jumped at the sound of the door opening and turned around to see Lilith—now without her basket—looking down at him with a worried frown. "What happened?"

"It's nothing...just tired." Jace rubbed his eyes and felt that his cheeks were stained with moisture. He didn't even realize he was crying. Despite Lilith already seeing it, he tried his best to force a smile as if nothing was wrong. Obviously, it didn't work. He felt like a piece of glass that everyone could just see through. He didn't want to talk about it, but they both knew it was better than to keep it silent.

"I brought something else." She zipped open her bag and took out a nondescript orange bottle of pills. Jace grabbed the bottle and read its label—Zoloft. "You haven't been coming home, so I started to get a bit worried you weren't taking your meds."

"O-oh...uh, thanks." Jace opened the bottle and swallowed his regular dosage dry. He wanted to do anything but take it, but Lilith wouldn't have stopped bothering him over it. "I should head back inside." He stood up and headed towards the door but Lilith grabbed him by the wrist, making him flinch and pull his hand away in fear. "Wait, please don't—"

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek before waving goodbye. "I love you." And for some reason, he felt like the world was crashing down on him. The breeze had died to a mere whisper, and a rotten taste filled his mouth—possibly from his medication.

He went inside without a word.

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

Fridays were both his favorite and least favorite days of the week. He and his friends had a tradition of playing board games or studying after the store closes. Being friends with the owner had a lot of perks. Jace swept the area, knowing that the cleaning wasn't going to do itself.

His least favorite part about Fridays was his day off the next day on both jobs. Each hour lasted so much agonizingly longer. It's not like he could go home—or at least he didn't want to go home.

Alec and Mia lounged on the floor with the same Neapolitan milkshakes they liked very much in hand. Reed was in the corner scouring through all the board games that Winnie had bought, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Alex was the only one helping Jace clean up as she stacked chairs on tables and wiped them clean.

"It's party time, folks!" Quinn burst through the door holding a few paper bags presumably with alcohol. Jace flinched at the sound and dropped his mop with a loud crash—his vision blurred and, for a second, he thought that he could see a gun in his hands.

"D-don't scare me like that!" He yelled in a fit of anger, clutching his chest and feeling his heartbeat accelerate. Jace bent down and picked up the mop before silently cleaning the floor—although it looked like he was about to snap the handle in half from how hard he pressed against the floor.

"Hey, special times call for special occasions." Quinn shrugged and placed the bags down on a table next to the entrance. "So who are these newcomers?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. This is Alec and Mia," Reed said from across the cafe, "they've sort of joined the group recently. We forgot to introduce you."

"Hey!" Mia waved with a smile as wide as the ocean.

"Quinn?"

"Alexander, you sly man." Quinn shook his head judgingly. "How dare you infiltrate my friend group without my permission?"

Alec rolled his eyes and stood up to give the other a friendly hug. Jace looked on, distracted from his anger, feeling more confused than anything. "It's good to see you too, bud."

"You two know each other?"Alex stopped and tilted her head in confusion as the two still held their embrace.

After an eternity, they let go of each other and stood shoulder to shoulder with Alec towering over Quinn. "We were buddies back in our army days." The former put his arm around the other and flashed a cheeky smile.

Buddies? Jace stopped mopping and switched his gaze between the two—then to the shirt he wore. He reached inside and retrieved his own dog tag, caressing it and feeling repressed memories start to arise from within the depths of his soul. "Wait, what?"

"What?" Alec raised an eyebrow and pointed at Jace's dog tag. "Oh, hey! Wow...it really is a small world, huh?"

"But...Quinn and I were in the army together. I-I...." Jace massaged his head and tried to unearth whatever memory of Alec that he had under however many layers of trauma and death that he buried.

"Please tell me we're not having war flashbacks right now." Quinn slugged Alec's arm off of him and gently hit the top of Jace's head. "Long story short, yes, you two were friends. I'm surprised you two don't remember."

"Thanks, it's the trauma." Alec remarked. "Are we going to play board games or what?'

"I...ok, fine." Jace reluctantly set his mop on the wall. Alex had already finished cleaning all the tables, so they were pretty much done with everything.

And he ended up regretting that decision. They switched from game to game, from multitasking between Clue and Monopoly to never have I ever. It definitely didn't help that Quinn had brought alcohol to spice up the occasion. Jace didn't like to drink—even if he did, his medication wouldn't allow him to.

Jace hated taking his medication. It was supposed to help deal with his PTSD, and it did in some ways. The neverending nightmares and fear of approaching anything that remotely sounds like a gunshot are still there. The anxiety dissipates and he doesn't feel like utter garbage anymore—not mentally, anyways. Even as the games progressed into the night, he could feel his stomach churn and his vision start to blur. This was the worst part. The nausea and the headaches. The mood swings and the like. He's tried to change medications, but it always ended up giving him the same problems. Both his therapist and his girlfriend try to make him take it despite all of that.

"Are...you ok, dude?" Alec elbowed him in the side and brought Jace back into reality. He looked around and noticed that Quinn and Alex were in the midst of an intense staring contest—and UNO. They both had only a few cards, and the anger radiating off of them hit him like a truck. It only made him feel even worse. Reed and Mia swayed to some sort of rhythm—tapping straws and plastic utensils against the floor and tables.

"I-I'm gonna go get some fresh air." Jace leaped up from his seat on the floor and stumbled out of the front door, cursing under his breath as the loud sound of the bell rang in his head. He only barely made it to the side of the building before he slumped over and expelled his lunch onto the parking lot.

The rain beat down on Jace and soaked through his clothes, but he didn't care. The numbing cold helped to distract himself from the painful ache and nausea. Something rose in his throat and he vomited once more before collapsing against a wall. Without these meds, this wouldn't have happened. He felt more guilty than anything for possibly interrupting the group by leaving so suddenly.

"Jace, what are you doing out here?" He turned to look at Delphine standing over him with an umbrella and a worried look on her face. His stomach recoiled in fear at the realization that someone was there, but he did his best to ignore it. At least he could trust her.

"Del! I...I just needed fresh air." He lied.

"Don't give me that crap, you're lucky Winnie and I decided to stay at the store while your gang got drunk." She picked him up with ease despite her old age and shoved him towards the front of the cafe. "That medication still giving your stomach a fight, huh?"

"Yeah...Lilith keeps making me take it, and you know how your daughter is." Jace reached for the door handle with a slight tremble in his fingers. His friends haven't seemed to notice, although he could tell that Alec looked more worried than the others. The man's mouth opened and the others said something in reply, although he couldn't quite glean what they were saying.

"I'll make her get some soup ready, you just stick tight, ok?" Del ran off and into the bookstore, leaving Jace all alone.

Reaching for the handle again with a tremor in his hands, he forced the door open and yelped softly at the sound of the bell ringing. A blast of the air conditioning chilled him to the bone and made every muscle in his body shiver. Everyone but Quinn and Alex turned to look at him with a mix of shock and concern. Reed was the first one to stand up, heading through the kitchen doors to grab a towel. Mia and Alec came up to him asking about what happened. He felt himself gag at the slight scent of alcohol wafting off of them.

"I'm fine, guys, just caught up in the rain is all." Jace lied, but he felt like they could see through him. He pushed them away, careful not to get any of their clothes wet.

"Dude, you were gone for like twenty minutes!" Mia said, "we were getting worried."

Reed came back shortly with a towel in his hands. He wrapped it around Jace and said, "Winnie and Del are in the back making something. You good?" Jace noticed that it was times like this that the man's clumsiness just disappeared all of a sudden like nothing could stop him from helping someone. He was grateful for his friend's help.

"Are those the owners?" Alec turned to look at Reed. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Jace despite the latter's soft objections.

"Yeah, they own this and the bookstore next to us."

Jace wanted to take the jacket off and run away back into the rain. His head still pounded and he was starting to get numb in his fingers, but he also felt too drained of energy to fight the others off. He wrapped the jacket around him a little tighter and focused on the softest scent of pine that it carried. It transported him back to his childhood, exploring the forests that he knew like the back of his hand with Alex and Lilith. Back before he felt like utter garbage all the time—when life was good. The pain in his head slowly faded away into the deep recesses of his memory.

Did Alec always smell like this?

Winnie burst through the kitchen doors wearing an apron and her reading glasses. Her caramel brown hair had been tied into a messy bun. Alex seemed to have broken out of her trance as she immediately stood up at the sight of their boss. "Alright, you two get in the kitchen and whip up our partner the best damn comfort food you've ever seen."

"Yes ma'am!" Reed and Alex shouted in complete unison, marching into the kitchen with Winnie following. This was her standard aggressive care maneuver in which she'd cook something up for one of them if they ever felt down. Most of the time, it was Jace on the receiving end of it, and it always reminded him just how much an impact she and Del had on his life.

"Aw come on, I was just about to win," Quinn remarked with a quiet groan as he stood up and noticed all that's been going on. He took one look at Jace—exchanging glances and silent words for a mere second before Quinn rolled his eyes and sat back down.

"Um...what's going on?" Mia pointed at the doors to the kitchen. "Was that the owner?"

"Yeah...Winnie's just cooking up some stuff." Jace answered. "I can ask her to make something for everyone."

Mia shook her head. "Would it be fine if I could help out in there?"

"Just ask before you do anything." He chuckled—the kitchen was sacred to Winnie, especially the one here at the cafe. She needed everything to be spotless and had daily rituals during both opening and closing every time so that everything was to her liking. Most importantly, she generally didn't like it when people who haven't earned her trust went into that kitchen. Not even Del, her own wife, was allowed to enter unless it was to grab something and leave.

Mia grinned from ear to ear and skipped over to the kitchen, humming some sort of melody as her voice intermingled with the cacophony of voices coming from inside.

Alec was the only one left. He clasped Jace's shoulder and smiled kindly. "Uh, keep the jacket for now. You can give it back to me another time."

"Are you sure?" Jace asked but silently hoped that Alec would be fine with it. There was something so nostalgic about this. Familiar, even.

"Call it...uh, paying a favor." Alec rubbed the back of his neck and smiled—he sat next to Quinn and started a conversation that Jace couldn't hear.

Paying a favor, huh? Jace sat down at one of the tables overlooking the street. The rain fell and tapped against the window like a melody—street lamps bathed the wet pavement in a soft orange glow. He rested his head against the glass and nuzzled against the soft leather jacket tightly wrapped around him. The panic and nausea were but an echo in his mind as he felt every bone in his body collapse in exhaustion. He was tired, and he wanted to do anything but relax.

But pinewood is pretty convincing to his senses. Right before sleep claimed him, a distant memory revealed itself from the darkest parts of his mind. He almost forgot that this happened. An image of him and Alec sitting at the edge of a dock looking up at the stars—his standard army jacket wrapped around the other.

The night before everything changed.

#writer #writers #lgbt writers #writeblr #original story #original fiction #original writing #lgbt stories #wip #my wip #writers on tumblr #author #romance #lgbt romance

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alice1290 · 5 years ago

Text

Read All About It - An Ace/OC fanfic - Chapter 6

Strolling hand in hand down the streets of Fishman Island made it almost feel as if they were a normal couple, not a pirate captain and a Revolutionary.

“So, my partner gave me a good nickname.”

“Better than missus?” Ace teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. He called me the Revolutionary Spade. Really the Red-haired Revolutionary Spade, but that’s a bit much.”

“Eh, too long for a bounty poster. Revolutionary Spade is better.”

Ashina shot him a playful glare. “I’m still trying to not obtain one of those.”

“Sorry, missus,” he teased, gently bumping her shoulder. “with me you’ll end up with one in no time. Just wait ‘til Isuka knows your name: Ashina the Revolutionary Spade.”

“Ugh, at least with Missus they don’t know my real name.”

Ace laughed and let go of her hand, only to loop his arm over her shoulders and pull her closer. “I’m hungry,” he said, catching the smell of food in the air. “Let’s get some food.”

When he spotted the ramen shop, he remembered it being one of her favorite foods, so he dragged her inside with him. The menu was small, but the place smelled amazing.

They ordered and true to her normal self, Ashina only ate one bowl. It was a large bowl, but still, Ace wondered if she ate enough sometimes.

“Are you sure you’re full?” he asked, swallowing a mouthful of noodles and meat.

She giggled. “Yes, Ace. Are you? That’s your eighth bowl.”

“Almost.”

Ashina giggled again, propping her head up on her fist, elbow resting on the bartop. “You really are a bottomless pit.”

As soon as he was finished Ace grabbed her hand and strolled out of the restaurant.

“Ace, what are you-”

They made it a few paces down the street with the store owner shouted.

“Stop them! They haven’t paid.”

“Come on!” Ace shouted, breaking out in a run.

Ashina kept pace with him, grumbling at him for his dine and dash antics. By the time they outran the people chasing them, and were officially lost someone on the island, she was laughing. They came to a stop and Ashina bent over, hands on her knees, as she tried to catch her breath between laughter.

“What the hell, Ace, I could have paid.”

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a habit.”

She rolled her eyes as he shrugged. Ashina looked around as she stood straight. “Why don’t we find our way back to the market and then to the ship. The log pose should be set soon.”

Ace grinned. “Let’s go.”

It was easy to find their way back to the heart of the city by the noise of the crowd. Ace stayed close to her as they weaved their way through fishmen, merfolk, and other humans. His hand occasionally touched the small of her back, directing her one way or another since he could see over the crowd better than her.

“Thanks to you and all that running, now I want a snack,” she commented.

“You should have eaten more ramen.”

“I was full then!”

Ace just laughed, but his eyes scanned the streets around them. He pointed to the left and grinned. “There’s a takoyaki stand over there.”

“Oo!” she squealed with excitement and took his hand, dragging him behind her through the crowd. “Hurry up, Ace.”

They reached the stand and Ashina looked over the selection. “I’ll take one regular and one spicy, please.”

The fishman behind the stand expertly flipped four of the regular little balls into a cup and handed it to her before doing to the same from the pile of spicy takoyaki. Ashina handed Ace the spicy one and then dug out the requested amount of beri from her pouch. Once she paid, she looped her free arm through his and they started walking again.

She dropped his arm once they were clear of the crowd, and popped one of the little balls into her mouth. She hummed in satisfaction. “That’s yummy. Ramen and takoyaki, we’re going to make our way back to Fishman Island one day, just for the food. By the way, you never did say what the fight with Draw was about.”

Ace scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Oh, well… uh… he offered me a position as a Shichibukai, and I said no.”

“He did what?” Ashina stopped walking and stared at Ace with wide, surprised eyes. “Wait, you said no?”

“The Shichibukai work for the World Government, and I don’t want to answer to them. I’m a pirate, not a marine’s dog.” Ace looped his arm back around her waist and pulled her closer. “Come on,” he said, starting to walk again.

Ashina smiled as she fell into step with his pace. “They won’t like that you turned down their offer.”

“Draw didn’t. He did say he doesn’t like the idea of the Shichibukai either, but he got mad I rejected the offer. He set fire to some buildings and risked some people’s lives just to push my buttons. He pissed me off, and we started fighting.”

Ashina grinned as they reached the ship. “Your bounty is going to increase because of that, you know that, right?”

“That’s a good thing.” He gave her a big grin making Ashina laugh.

“Let’s go, Fire Fist.”

“So, Captain, where are we headed now?” Saber asked as the rest of the crew gathered on the deck of the Spadille.

The question caught Ashina’s attention and she looked up from the book in her hand. Ace grinned at the crew. “I’m going to find the man who saved my brother’s life when he was a little kid. Luffy used to talk all the time about Red-haired Shanks, so I’m going to find him and thank him.”

Ashina felt the blood drain from her face. Ace had never asked about her parents, and she’d never volunteered the information. In all of their late-night conversations, after the moments that shared Ace’s admittance that Gol D Roger was his father, they didn’t talk about it. Ace knew he mother was gone and that he father was somewhere out in the world, but… now it felt like she was going to have to come clean.

“Rumor I heard in the market is that he’s on a winter island,” Saber said.

Ace nodded. “We’ll go there first and see where the journey takes us. When I finally encounter Whitebeard, I’ll prove I’m going to be King of the Pirates.”

“Um… Ace,” Ashina began, getting to her feet. “I feel like now might be a good time to mention something.”

“What?” he asked, clearly confused. “I know you don’t like the cold, but-”

She cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand and blurted, “Red-haired Shanks is my father.”

Deuce and Saber’s eyes practically popped out of their heads and Banshee gave an unlady-like curse. Mihar and Skull shared a chuckle. Ace stared at her.

“What?” Ace managed to stammer out.

“Red-haired Shanks is my father,” she repeated.

“Oh. Well…” He looked unsure of what to say next as he shuffled his feet.

“It’s okay!” Ashina blurted reassuringly. Ace, I love my Papa. He’ll be surprised to see me I’m sure, since the last time he saw me he was leaving me on the doorstep of the Revolutionary Army. It’s been five years, I’d like to see him.”

Ace beamed and pulled her in for a hug, keeping an arm around her waist and close to his side as he turned to face the crew. “Set sail, men!”

Ace gave orders as Ashina stood beside him and the crew scurried around the deck as they set sail out from Fishman Island, preparing to enter the New World. Her first adventure on the second half of the Grand Line and she was going to see her father.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Huh?” He stopped giving orders and looked down at her.

“It might be a good idea to notlet my father know we’re a thing. I’d hate for him to kill you.”

Ace frowned, but nodded, agreeing to her suggestion.

“How’re we going to find him? Which island do we travel to?” Deuce asked, stopping beside them.

“Oh!” Ashina exclaimed, slipping a hand into her pouch. “I have the solution for that.” She withdrew the slip of blank paper. “I have his vivre card.”

“Can you use your Haki to tell where they are?” Ace asked.

He was standing close behind her, keeping her warm with his internal fire. “I could, but the vivre card will lead us to him.”

She shivered and Ace pulled her closer, keeping an arm wrapped around her front. It wasn’t snowing right now, but the cold, biting wind was relentless. “Let’s get moving then.”

It wasn’t long into their trek that the snow began. The further into the snowy mountains they walked, the harder the wind blew and the more snow fell.

“The snow storm is getting worse. Even with your extra heat,” Mihar commented.

“We’ll keep going until we find them.”

“Are you serious, Captain?” Saber yelled.

“I want to meet him. We keep going no matter what.”

Ashina just shook her head, trudging through the freezing snow behind Ace. Being near him was slightly warmer than the surrounding temperature, but that would end as soon as they reached her father. She didn’t want to give him any ideas that Ace and her were in fact lovers, mainly because she preferred her lover alive. It was late as they neared the cave opening and the sound of voices and smell of wood smoke reached them.

She already dreaded the idea of having to sleep through the night not curled up to Ace. Ashina fell back into the mix of the crew as they reached the mouth of the cave, suddenly nervous to see her father again. Deuce picked up on her actions, and stepped to the left, effectively blocking her from view.

“Who goes there?” One of the Red-Haired Pirates yelled out, Ashina recognized Yassop’s voice.

“I’m Captain Portgas D Ace of the Spade Pirates.”

“So,” a voice Ashina instantly recognized as her father’s answered. “The Spade Pirates? The famous Super Rookies… have come for me?” The slick of his sword being partially withdrawn echoed in the quiet cave.

“No, no that’s not what I’m here for,” Ace said quickly, shaking his hands in front of him. “My little brother owes you his life and he never stopped talking about you growing up! I just wanted to meet you and say thanks.”

“You mean Luffy?” Shanks replied excitedly, letting his sword fall back into its sheath. “I never knew he had a brother! I see. I’m glad you came. Please tell me more.”

“Oh, sure,” Ace hesitated and looked behind him, eyes scanning his crew, before he turned back to the Yonko. “but I brought another surprise.”

Ace turned sideways, looking back at Ashina, who was still partially hidden by Deuce, and she took a breath before stepping forward. Shanks took her in and his eyes widened as his smile grew bigger.

“Hi, Papa.” She gave him a small smile and a little wave.

“My baby girl!” Shanks jumped up.

“She ain’t a baby no more,” one of the men near the back of the cave said, earning a glare from Shanks before he turned his attention back to Ashina.

Shanks swept her up with his one arm, easily lifting her off her feet. All the worry and nerves left her instantly as she relaxed into the strong, loving embrace of her father. She returned the hug just as fiercely, burying her face in the collar of his shirt to inhale the familiar scent of ocean, sweat, booze, and something distinctly Shanks. She pressed a kiss to his cheek as he set her back on her feet.

“What are you doing in the New World with pirates?” he questioned, a teasing grin on his face. “I dropped you with the Revolutionary Army, not Rookie pirates.”

Ashina shrugged. “Got separated on a mission for Dragon. Orders were to stay with the Spades for now. Maybe he wants to see what’s happening on this side of the world? Who knows?” She skirted around the real truth that Dragon gave her a choice and she chose to stay with Ace… for a multitude of reasons.

Shanks seemed to accept her answer and nodded, but turned a hard gaze to Ace. “Keep an eye on my daughter, Rookie.”

Ace nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Shanks grinned then and spun around to his men. “Let’s have a party!”

This was awful. The idea of Ashina not sleeping beside him, curled into his warmth as she did every night never crossed his mind. Every night she lay in his arms, but not this one, and he felt a fool for not understanding sooner what she meant when she said to not let her father know they were a thing. All night she avoided being near him, because when they were near, they gravitated closer and always wound up touching.

Of course, her sleeping with him would clue her father in to the truth of their relationship. A truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to face the consequences for, because there would be consequences. One arm or not, Shanks was still a powerful Yonko, and Ace wasn’t wishing to test the man’s ability.

Ace glanced across the room and spotted those green orbs in the dying light of the fire. Ashina couldn’t sleep either. They stared at each other across the cave, neither speaking for fear of waking the others. Ace watched as she silently sat up and then stood. She made no sound as she tiptoed her way gracefully around the sleeping bodies of two pirate crews, keeping her blanket hugged tight to her shoulders. She folded herself gracefully down to the ground, and he scowled at her, even as he lifted his own blanket for her to slide in beside him.

Ashina hummed softly in her throat as she pressed her back against his chest. He amped up his internal temperate and she hummed softly again. Ace pressed his lips into her hair as he slipped a hand around her waist to pull her impossibly closer.

“What happened to not letting him know we’re together?” Ace asked softly, a teasing lilt to his voice.

He felt her shrug one shoulder. “It’s cold and I can’t sleep without you.”

“Your father is going to kill me in the morning. You know that, right?” he whispered in her ear.

She turned in his embrace to face him and dipped her head below his. Her lips pressed against the hollow of his throat. “Maybe, but it will be worth the warm night of sleep.”

He could feel the smile on her lips and huffed out a breath through his nose before pressing his lips to the top of her head. He couldn’t argue with her logic and he’d use any excuse to hold her slender frame against his.

The morning sun was beginning to rise and fill the cave with light when Shanks woke up. It took him a moment to remember it was real, but he quickly turned his head to look at his daughter. She was no longer on the mat she had fallen asleep on, and he frowned. He scanned the cave, scowling when he spotted her red hair.

“What you make o’ that, Captain?” Benn spoke quietly from beside him, already awake.

Shanks’ frown deepened as he studied the pair. They were lying facing each other and the curve and ripple of the blanket made it obvious the Rookies’ arm was curled tight around her waist, holding her close to his chest. His other arm pillowed her head. Her red hair was wild around them and the boy’s nose was buried in the wavy locks.

“I don’t like it, whatever it is.”

“You left her alone at fourteen with the Revolutionaries. Had to of known she’d grown up.”

Shanks sighed, unable to take his eyes away from his little girl, who was clearly no longer a little girl. “She’s growing up too soon. It shouldn’t be time for her to be doing…” he waved his hand at the sleeping pair. “things with boys.”

“Ace isn’t a boy, and she’s not a little girl anymore, Boss. At least she found a strong man.”

Shanks glared at Benn. “He’s still a Rookie… and I don’t have to like him, especially seeing as his hands are on my daughter… but he … he looks familiar,” Shanks trailed off, studying the sleeping Rookie.

“How so?”

Shanks shook his head. “What are the chances though?”

“Of what, Boss?” Benn asked, not following his captain’s random train of thought.

“I think he’s Roger’s kid,” Shanks breathed out.

Shanks stared hard at the dark mop of hair. It was dark and wavy like his former Captain’s had been. He’d caught glimpses of Roger’s ghost in Ace’s smile and eyes in firelight of the party. He’d also noticed the shared glances between him and Ashina. Shanks should have known they’d be together. He tried not to think too much on how they passed their time, he was more worried about her future. Being a pirate was dangerous, and the Rookie had big dreams. Ashina was smart, and strong, but a father worried for his daughter.

His only child. He knew she would remain secret no longer. Her secrecy was his only request to Dragon when he left her with the Revolutionary Army five years ago. Keep her secret, she’s already a skilled kunoichi like her mother, train her to be stronger, stealthier, help her remain unseen, unknown. With Ace, the Marines would soon learn of her, and there would be no mistaking who her father was. Shanks only hoped Ashina was ready for the dangers she would encounter here in the New World. He also hoped the young man, who he was positive was his captain’s son, would be strong enough to protect himself and her.

“Where’s Papa?” Ashina asked, looking around the cave in the early morning light.

“Went outside since the snow storm calmed,” Benn answered. He gave her a knowing look. “Was wanting to speak to you.”

Ashina frowned slightly but nodded. She pulled her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders and headed out of the mouth of the cave. He wasn’t far from the entrance, perched on a snow-covered boulder near one of the only, scraggly evergreen trees that stood near the cave. He looked up as she walked over, but did not speak. She hopped up onto the rock and leaned into his side. She still found it strange sometimes that he was missing his left arm. She remembered when it was still there and the year he had returned and it was gone.

“The Rookie’s Devil Fruit seems to have lessened the snow storm,” Shanks commented, breaking the silence.

“He’s strong.”

Shanks snorted. “He’s young and reckless.”

“Weren’t you young and reckless once?”

Shanks grinned at her. “You callin’ your old man old?”

Ashina giggled and shook her head. “Never, Papa.” Ashina paused and then added. “Ace is strong and he’ll only get stronger.”

“Strength is good, Ashina, but it will bring danger.”

“I’m not afraid,” she stated with confidence.

Shanks kissed the top of her head. “Of course you’re not. You’re your mother’s daughter after all. You look like her more and more each time I see you, Ashina.”

He was quiet for a moment and they both watched the softly falling snow. “I wasn’t much older than you when you were born.”

“Papa…” Ashina cut in, hoping he wasn’t going there. Her mother gave her the embarrassing sex talk, and she didn’t really want to hear her father stumble through it.

“I want you to be careful, Ashina.”

“We are careful, Papa.”

“We? So you are having sex with the Rookie?” Shanks leaned back, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks slightly red with anger.

Ashina waved a dismissive hand. “He’s not my first, Papa.”

Shanks waved his hands in front of him and shouted. “I don’t want to know this about my baby girl! Now I have two boys to murder. It is just two, yes?”

“Papa!” Ashina felt her cheeks burn from her blush. He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t going to admit that either.

Shanks smiled good naturedly and bumped his shoulder to hers. “Please be careful, Ashina. You have big dreams. I hope you still have those dreams. Don’t let them go because of a boy.”

“I still want to change the world, Papa, and I can still do that being a Spade pirate. But… you know, I didn’t stop your dreams.”

Shanks sighed. “I wasn’t a good father either.”

Ashina frowned and took his hand in hers. “Of course you were, you are, Papa. Just because you weren’t there all the time doesn’t mean you were a bad father. You’re a pirate Papa, I learned what that meant and how much it meant to you. A pirate drop anchor in one place? Papa you’d be bored out of your mind,” she said on a giggle, making him smile. She paused for a beat and then added softly. “I don’t plan on babies, Papa.”

“Things happen, Ashina.”

“Well, fuck, Papa don’t jinx me! Jeez. We’re careful. I’m careful. I promise.”

“Good. I want you to be happy. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to wring the Rookie’s neck for touching my daughter.”

Ashina giggled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I think you’re allowed to feel that way, just please don’t act on it.” She rested her head on his shoulder and he squeezed her hand.

“I love you, Papa.”

“Love you, Baby Girl.”

Shanks wasn’t ready to tell Ashina goodbye as they stood next to the Spadille in the late morning sun. Growing up, he’d made it happen where he could see her once a year, with the exception of a few times where it just didn’t work, for a few days. Then she’d traveled with him for a year before he dropped her with the Revolutionary Army on Baltigo. That was five years ago. She was nineteen now, a young woman in her own right, but she would always be his little girl. It worried him that he didn’t know when he’d see her again. Not to mention the lurking, deaded thought of ifand not when.

“Stay safe,” he whispered, pulling her into a hug.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “I will, Papa. You be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me, baby girl.” he said to her, keeping her held tightly to his chest. “Keep up your training, okay?”

Ashina nodded.

“Good. I won’t have to worry too much then. Until next time, baby girl.” Shanks kissed the top of her head and then let her go.

Ashina stepped back, and then lunged forward to hug her father once more before turning to board the Spadille.

“Ace, a word.”

Ace stopped in his tracks, nodding to Ashina to go ahead, and turned back to Shanks.

“I know you and my daughter are… together. Break her heart and you’re going to join the one-arm club, and if she gets hurt, or worse, I’m going to kill you, got it, Rookie?” Shanks asked Ace in a low voice giving him a deadly stare.

“Got it.”

“Good.” Shanks stepped back, clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at Ace. “Safe travels.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks. It was nice to meet you, Shanks.”

Ace turned on a dime and quickly boarded the ship.

Shanks waved goodbye to Ashina, who stood at the rail of the ship, waving back to him. Ace gave the orders for the crew to set sail, and Shanks watched as he came to stand beside Ashina, an arm looping around her waist.

Benn chuckled from beside him. “You’re maturing as you age, Captain. I half expected you to not let her go with the Rookie.”

Shanks laughed, but then sobered, eyes watching the ship was the sails unfurled and she picked up speed, carrying his daughter away from him once more. “Eh. As much as I’d like to castrate the boy for being with my daughter, I can’t hold her back. Tsuna would never forgive me for not letting our girl chase her dreams and be free.”

#Portgas D. Ace #fire fist ace #one piece #one piece fanfiction #fanfic #original female character #oc #Akagami no Shanks #shanks #Spade Pirates #red hair pirates #Ashina #Read All About It #my writing

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not-a-space-alien · 5 years ago

Text

Into the Unknown, Part 12: Brainstorm

Series masterpost

On AO3

The predominant thing about the Pit was that it was dark. Crowley had no idea what it actually looked like, just that there was some hard surface there under his feet, stumbling along in absolute pitch-black.

It was also a number of other things. Hot, for one. All of Hell was hot, really, but here it was really the only tactile sensation you were given. It was also large—Crowley had yet to encounter a wall. He would occasionally bump into something he suspected was another body judging by the sounds of surprise the collision elicited—but maybe that was just himself, and the rapid footsteps from an unseen source pattering away from him was just him dissociating from this horrible situation.

Crowley had never felt so trapped and utterly alone. Being in the Pit was, of course, unpleasant. But the crushing weight in his chest was the sense of Loss.

Loss of the new order of free will they had worked so hard for. All his friends he had worked so hard for. He had been safe. He had been happy. He had been surrounded by people who cared about him. And it was all just gone, somehow, as though it had all been a dream from which he had been awoken back into this, the living nightmare of Hell and being a demon.

Maybe this was the real punishment. Maybe the Fall had just been the start of God’s torture of him. The Almighty had seen fit to give him everything he could possibly want, just for the pleasure of watching him writhe as it was all taken away, to make their absence ache. This was true damnation.

Crowley clutched the ring on his hand, rubbing it. His finger never left it for even a second. It never glowed. Everything was absolute pitch-dark.

Crowley had made some attempts to walk around and call out for the first few hours in the Pit, but after a while he simply curled up into a ball on the ground and lay there. Like a depressed human who can’t work up the energy to complete simple self-care tasks like getting dressed, he no longer felt the need to sustain his human form, so he slumped into his basest state, a pile of red and black coils looping around each other like a dejected garden hose. The only object he didn’t disappear with the transformation was his ring, which rested on his snout.

He couldn’t even see it, but the physical sensation of it against his scales provided the only modicum of comfort available: the reminder that someone, somewhere used to value him. He felt like the piece of rubbish forever smushed into the corner of the kitchen because whoever had thrown it had missed the bin. It was worse than any physical torture Satan could have inflicted on him.

There was the distinct possibility that someone might come and step on him with the way he was lying there, but he couldn’t care. His tongue occasionally flicked out, providing him with strange smells, with the reminder of where he was, if the crushing darkness wasn’t enough.

He just lay there. There was nothing else to do. He lost track of time. It was just a monotone of darkness.

Then, a miracle: A light, incredibly bright to his unfocused eyes, glowed softly right in front of him. He would have squinted had he had eyelids.

Then he would have wept had he had tear ducts. His ring was glowing. He felt Aziraphale’s caress, faint but definitely there, reaching out to him.

“Asssssiraphale? I’m here. I’m here.”

The glow faded.

Crowley coiled up around the ring, body shaking with tearless, animalistic sobs. Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was looking for him.

Crowley ought to do something. He had been given just a tiny flame of hope. He could manage to slither at least. Slithering, he could manage.

To where? There was nowhere to go. But he could so something, surely. Something was better than nothing.

He morphed the ring into his body to be stored with the rest of his clothes and slithered off into the unknown.

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

In the end, Maltha simply blew a hole in the back of the bookshop for them to escape through. Only afterwards did Aziraphale point out that they could have exited through the window in the upstairs flat, to which Maltha responded by storming out without answering him.

By the time they safely escaped the patrol that had been summoned to investigate, the sun was well below the horizon. They decided to take the night to regroup with Mykas, rest, and brainstorm.

They went back to the church, nestling among the spires on the roof. Holy ground had effects on demons, but they could safely sit on the roof. So there they sat, waiting for Mykas and contemplating their situation.

Victoria paced around the edge of the roof, keeping watch in an aggravated way. Uriel sat on the back of one of the stone statues, facing away from everyone else, watching the stars contemplatively. Maltha practiced her staff work on a gargoyle which she was pretending was Satan.

Ramial came over and curled against Aziraphale, where he had seated himself on the slope of the roof tiles. “This sucks,” she said.

Aziraphale nodded morosely. He played with his ring on his finger, rubbing it to activate the charm, hoping that it had maybe finally charged up.

It glowed faintly in the darkness. He could feel Crowley’s aura. It was warm. Missing him. And so, so scared.

Aziraphale palmed it, clutching it to his chest, weeping. The glow had died by the time he drew his hand back and looked at the ring again.

“We have to do something,” Aziraphale said thickly. “We…”

“Okay,” said Ramial. “Let’s do something.”

“We have to plan,” said Victoria.

“Okay,” said Maltha. “Then let’s plan. So. We know that Uriel is Satan in this universe, and that Satan has Crowley. We don’t know what she did with him, but she was likely the last one to have him and decide what to do with him. Right?”

“Right,” said Victoria. “What would she do with him?”

Victoria glanced at Uriel. Uriel didn’t respond, still staring out at the sky.

The head snapped off the gargoyle Maltha had been playing with, chipping as it fell onto the tile work of the roof. “I say we just storm Hell and kick ass until we reach Satan and demand his release. Michael was able to do it in our universe, and here he has me and Victoria to back him up.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, unable to bear the thought of any plan that would require more waiting. “Let’s do that.”

“Now hold on a minute,” said Victoria. “I’m as much of a fan of direct action as anyone, but we don’t know what Hell is like here. We don’t know anything about the layout. And we don’t have any low-level demons with us that could slip in without drawing attention to scout it out.”

“Well, why does that matter?” said Ramial, who was a very sweet person, but no battle tactician. “Don’t we have enough firepower that we could just…blast our way through?”

Uriel turned with a creaking of the tiles under her. Everyone looked at her.

“If Satan knows what we’re here for, she might hurt Crowley or use him for leverage against us,” she said quietly.

Aziraphale put his head in his hands.

What was making this really difficult for all of them was the unpredictability. All the angels and demons in their home universe had know each other for thousands of years. They had all been created together. After that long, you develop a sense of intimacy even with enemies, to guess with reasonable accuracy how they behave. Taken out of that context, they all struggled to plan, treading water in a deep ocean of unknown factors and wrong assumptions. They didn’t have the luxury of being confident anymore.

Maybe Satan would hurt Crowley if she knew they wanted him. Maybe she would kill him for fun. Maybe she would be completely amicable and escort him up as soon as she heard someone was looking for him. They had no way of knowing. They were in unknown territory.

“Okay,” said Ramial, scooting closer to Maltha. “What if we sneak it to break him out?”

“We have no idea where he’s being kept,” said Victoria. “No way in Hell that would work. It seems like they’re way more organised here than ours, so I don’t think they’ll have huge parts of Hell unguarded.”

“Um,” said Uriel.

“You have an idea?” said Maltha.

“Could we….Could we, perhaps, call Satan, explain the situation, and ask for Crowley back?”

“Stop being foolish,” Aziraphale snapped. “This is no time for jokes.”

“No, well, wait…” said Maltha.

Victoria leaned against a gargoyle, thinking very hard, hand on her chin. “That…that could work, actually. That might be worth trying.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

“Satan might think it worth handing him over to avoid a conflict. We do have significant firepower on our side. We could do some serious damage.”

They all looked at each other.

“That’s too simple,” said Ramial. “…Right? There must be some reason why that wouldn’t work. …Right?”

Maltha palmed the cool stone of the statue next to her. “The risk is that if we spell out our interest in Crowley without a backup plan, it would give away our advantage of surprise. She’ll know exactly what we’re after. Mounting a full-frontal assault or a sneak attack after that would likely be impossible.”

“We’d face the same problem if we tried to bargain for him,” said Victoria.

“As soon as she knows she has something we want,” said Maltha. “She’ll fortify her defences and keep him under lock and key.”

“We don’t know that,” said Victoria. “We don’t know anything about her. Why would she be so hell-bent on keeping him? Why would she value him so much she’d want to thwart us?”

“I don’t know!” Maltha exploded, because she was not handling being out of her element very well. “I’m just assuming that everyone in this horrible universe has it out for us! Call me pessimistic I guess!”

Mykas chose this moment to arrive and regroup. “Hey guys!” he said, bouncing happily in the air. “How’s it going?”

The glowers his cheerful tone got was enough of an answer. He slunk behind a gargoyle. “I took care of Angelo. He won’t give us away. What’s the situation?”

“Satan has Crowley,” said Aziraphale flatly. “We were just trying to strategise how to get him away from her.”

“Oh no,” said Mykas.

“All right,” said Victoria, counting on her fingers. “Trying to take Crowley by force presents a risk to Crowley’s safety. Trying to sneak in will probably fail and we’d fall back on taking him by force anyway. Asking for him or bargaining for him gives away the element of surprise and consequently makes a second attempt much harder.”

“There must be some way,” Aziraphale moaned, biting his knuckle.

“We could try bargaining for him,” said Uriel. “We haven’t eliminated that possibility yet.”

“Bargain with what?” said Ramial. “We don’t have anything Satan wants.”

They looked around at each other.

“We can’t trade one of us for him, surely,” said Aziraphale. “That’s robbing Peter to pay Paul.”

“We wouldn’t have to actually give her a prisoner,” said Maltha. “We would only need to get far enough into the bargain to reveal where he is and get close to him. We could demand the exchange take place on Earth instead of Hell, which would take away her leverage. She doesn’t know we have two archangels and two archdemons, so we could likely overpower her.”

“That could work,” said Aziraphale, stroking his chin. “But how would we spin this without arousing suspicion that something is off?”

“Mykas is part of the infernal court here,” said Maltha. “We should be able to leverage that somehow.”

“Yeah!” said Mykas. “I could be a spy.”

“We don’t know where Here Mykas is,” said Victoria. “Or anything about him. It would be really hard for you to impersonate him convincingly, and to make sure you’re never in the same place at the same time.”

Mykas sat back on his haunches, thinking very hard. “What if we could cause a big scene, with enough fighting that Hell would have to call out the infernal guard? Then when the real Mykas was away, I could go in and pretend to be him.”

Victoria tapped her chin. “That’s risky. That’s…dangerous. Presumably it would be me that would do the fighting that would draw Mykas out, and I don’t know if I could win.”

“That would spread us too thin,” said Maltha. “And it would be disastrous if it went wrong.”

“What if,” said Uriel. “We offer a trade, but instead of offering up one of us, we offered her an object she would desire more than anything else, something she wouldn’t be able to turn down.”

“Like what?” said Ramial.

“Like… the Book of Life.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I’m not sure what she would want it for,” said Uriel. “I’m not sure what she could do with it, or if she could even touch it. But it’s the entire reason for my existence. I assume that she’s been separated from it here, that it’s still up in Heaven. She must be aching for it, yearning for it. Think of the way you aimlessly tried to fulfill your purpose for 6,000 years after falling, Maltha. You tried so hard and built a parody of what you had in Heaven.”

Maltha’s face scrunched up.

“It’s what all the archdemons do, in their own ways. If I had fallen, I would…I would want the Book of Life back most of all. It has a power in it nobody understands fully, not even me. It’s the most powerful magical artifact that exists.”

“Giving the Book of Life to Satan would be supremely unethical,” said Maltha. “We have no idea what it would do. How powerful it would make her.”

“We don’t even have it to give her,” said Mykas.

“We don’t need to have it,” said Aziraphale. “Nor actually give it to her. It’s just to lure her out into a position where we can better overpower her to snatch Crowley. We can communicate with her and arrange a meeting without revealing the exact extent of our firepower, and leverage the element of surprise.”

“Okay,” said Victoria. “Okay, that might work. But, assuming Heaven does still have the Book of Life, why would they would Crowley bad enough to trade the Book of Life for him, of all things? No way they’d give it up so easily. She wouldn’t buy it.”

“We can say he has information we need,” said Maltha. “Satan probably already knows there’s something strange about him. She knows he’s a special case.”

They hemmed and hawed about this.

“We could pretend to be renegades,” said Aziraphale. “Someone who broke away from Heaven and stole the Book of Life.”

“This might work,” said Victoria. “Might. I still think we should try just asking for him first.”

They looked at each other hesitantly.

“I don’t have any better ideas,” said Victoria. “Anyone else?”

“I don’t,” said Uriel.

“Me neither,” said Mykas.

“Maltha?” said Victoria.

Maltha grimaced and looked to Ramial, who shook her head.

“Then let’s get to it, I suppose,” said Aziraphale.

They found a patch of the roof flat enough to draw an infernal communication sigil on. Between the six of them, it only took three minutes to construct it.

“Okay,” said Aziraphale. “Uriel, you’ll probably have the most insight into Satan’s thought processes, so maybe you should do the talking.”

“All right,” said Uriel. “Okay. I will.”

“Don’t mess this up,” Mykas growled.

Uriel knelt and palmed the sigil to activate it.

“Dagon, Lord of the files,” the bureaucratic voice rang out.

“Hello,” said Uriel. “Please connect me to Satan. I need to speak directly to her.”

There was an awkward pause. “And whom shall I tell her is calling asking to speak directly to the Queen of Hell?”

“An archangel,” said Uriel. “I assure you it’s quite important.”

Another pause. “A what?”

“An archangel.”

“All right,” said Dagon. This, and only this, was enough to rouse him from his state of boredom so that he sounded merely slightly impassive.

Uriel pumped her fist as the hold music played. “All right. All right, I can do this.”

“Who dares call me, Satan, Lord of Darkness?” said a voice dripping with venom. “What lowly worm, what insect from the Kingdom of Heaven dares speak to me?”

“You’re the only insect here, you utter imbecile,” Uriel snapped. “You are speaking to the most sanctified member of the Host of the Most High, and you shall act like it.”

“I care nothing for the sanctification of blind sheep,” said Satan, with an audible sneer. “I would first march up to Heaven and tear down the gates with my own hands than respect you.”

Everyone’s eyes bounced back and forth between Uriel and the circle as though it were an interesting tennis match.

Uriel took a deep breath. “I suppose I should have expected hostility by calling you first,” said Uriel. “But I didn’t call you to antagonise you. You have something that I want.”

There was a very, very long pause on the line. “I have something Heaven wants?” said Satan disbelievingly.

“Yes.”

“Hell is explicitly designed to hold all the damned creatures Heaven doesn’t want.”

“This is a special case.” Uriel looked up to Maltha, who gestured for her to keep going. “You see, well…I’m not actually a representative of Heaven.”

“…What?” said Satan. “You are an angel, aren’t you? Then what else could you be a representative of?”

“A certain faction, with considerable firepower, that’s loyal to neither Heaven nor Hell.”

Uriel looked up for more guidance as Satan sputtered to make sense of that. Aziraphale and Victoria nodded their encouragement.

“An archangel who’s not loyal to Heaven?” said Satan. “That’s unthinkable.”

“Regardless, that is of no concern to you,” said Uriel. “I’m not interested in explaining all the details to you. The simple fact is that you have something I want, which is of no particular value to you, but of great interest to us, and it would be best for all of us and avoid considerable trouble on your part to simply give it to us.”

“An interesting thing to say,” said Uriel. “I don’t know what it is I have that interests you so much—”

“It is an anomalous demon, who fits into the ranks of neither Heaven nor Hell, a member of our faction that was brought to you recently.”

“Oh, him?”

“I see you know exactly to whom I am referring.”

Aziraphale perked up, face tight, fists clenched.

“Yes, I am familiar,” said Satan. “You want me to just give him to you? Why?”

“As I just said. Because he is of no particular value to you, but of great interest to us, and releasing him would avoid considerable trouble on your part, as we are prepared to go to some lengths to recover him.”

“If you’re prepared to go to great lengths to recover him, then he must be of some objective value,” said Satan. “I don’t know for what purpose you desire this demon, but I have a very hard time believing releasing any of my assets—no matter how negligible the supposed value—to a rival faction would be in any way beneficial to me.”

Uriel bit her lip. Aziraphale’s face became stormy. Maltha chewed on her knuckle. Mykas’s face was twisted as though he smelled something foul. Ramial looked like she wanted to cry. Victoria’s eyes bounced around the roof as though the gargoyles might have a hint for her.

Uriel looked up at Maltha and mouthed, “There’s no way she’ll believe we want him for sentimental value and not something strategic.”

Maltha grimaced and nodded her agreement.

Uriel mouthed, “What do I say?”

Maintaining the same facial expression, Maltha held out her hands.

Uriel turned her attention back to the communication channel. “Ah, yes, well… You’ve…You’ve made an assumption by believing we are a rival faction. No, I assure you our interests do not align with Heaven’s.”

Everyone visibly relaxed.

“No, we are not acting in any official capacity as agents of Heaven.”

“Intriguing,” said Satan. “Considering all rebel angels fell with me at the beginning of Time, and all factions not loyal to Heaven are loyal to me. Yet you claim to represent some third side. I assure you no such thing exists.”

“Um,” said Uriel.

“And furthermore, if you seek to pledge loyalty to me as rebel angels, calling me up with demands is the furthest you can get from ingratiating me from the start.”

“Look,” Uriel snapped. “We’re not pledging loyalty to you, and we’re not trying to engage you in war. We’re above the petty concerns of the fight between good and evil. We have our own agenda.”

“Which is?”

“None of your business.”

Maltha cringed and made a “cut it out” motion across her neck. “I mean,” said Uriel, easing back. “I mean, ah, our agenda is still of the utmost secrecy, but I assure you refusing cooperation with us is by no means in your interest. As I said, we have significant firepower on our side and are prepared to go to some lengths to secure this demon—”

“All demons belong to me,” said Satan. “They always have been, and they always will be. I fail to see what I would get out of defying that Order and releasing him simply because you want him.”

Plan A had failed. That much became obvious to everyone as soon as Satan said that. Victoria crossed her arms and shook her head. Maltha gestured for Uriel to commence Plan B.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Uriel. “Which is why we’re prepared to offer you something of some value.”

“And what could that be?”

“What your heart most desires….Uriel.”

Uriel smiled wickedly as Satan exploded into a hissing fit of shrieking static. “How dare you! You wretched scum! You intolerable celestial mongrel! When I’m done with you, you’ll be flayed and writhing in—”

“The Book of Life,” Uriel interrupted her.

There was a stunned silence.

“Have I caught your interest?”

“You expect me to believe you’ll trade the Book of Life for a lowly demon? And one whom, as you claim, supposedly has no significant value?”

“Yes,” said Uriel. “As I said…our interests do not align with Heaven’s.”

There was a sniff on the other end of the line. “I don’t want it.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I already have a Book of Life. I don’t need Heaven’s.”

Uriel looked up sharply at the group, and they all paled at the thought that they had calculated wrong and the Book of Life wasn’t in Heaven here, but…

“She’s lying,” Maltha mouthed to Uriel. It was obvious from the way Satan’s voice faltered with barely suppressed desire.

Uriel nodded and turned back down. “You…already have one?”

“Yes. Even Heaven should have heard by now about my Book of Life.”

“You…made a copy of it.”

There was silence on the line.

“…Or tried to.”

“Mine has everything anyone needs to run Hell,” said Satan. “It’s just as good.”

Uriel set her chin on her hands. “Come on, now, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

Silence.

“We have the real one. Not a knock-off.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“He must be extremely valuable,” hissed Satan. “That, or the Book of Life is actually worthless, somehow. Either way, there’s no way you would do this unless you came out on top.”

“We’re not with Heaven, and we have no interest in fighting you. It’d basically be a double-win for you, if you think about it.”

“Who are you?” Satan demanded. “With whom, exactly, am I speaking?”

“Don’t ask too many questions,” Uriel said. “Do we have a deal or not? The Book of Life for the anomalous demon.”

A long pause.

“Hello?”

“I’ll send a representative up in exactly one hour,” said Uriel. “We shall meet beforehand so I can confirm you actually have the Book of Life.”

Uriel’s smugness shattered instantly. “Excuse me?”

“I want to see that you have the Book of Life, then I’ll agree to a meeting to exchange this demon for it at a later time. Understand?”

“Bring—Bring him up with you. We have no time to waste on formalities,” said Uriel.

“Absolutely not,” said Satan. “I won’t believe a single word you’ve said to me today until I see you with my own Eyes and that you have the Book of Life. Neither I nor this asset you desire shall leave the ninth circle of Hell one minute before that. Understand?”

Uriel cringed, looking at the others around the circle. Aziraphale and Ramial looked panicked. Victoria grimaced and held out her hands helplessly. Mykas bit his lip. Maltha’s reddened face was hidden behind a hand.

“All right,” said Uriel. “Where shall we meet?”

Satan provided them with a location, and then Uriel broke the circle to sever communication before the final flurry of insults that would surely serve as a sign-off.

“Shite,” said Aziraphale. “Fuck.”

“You made things worse,” Mykas growled.

“What do we do?” said Uriel.

“Surely we can ambush the representative,” said Ramial.

“That won’t accomplish anything because they’re not bringing Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped. “They’re only going to let us near him once we’ve proven we have the Book.”

“We can fake it, surely,” said Victoria. “Right? Right?”

“She’ll know,” said Uriel. “She’ll be able to tell if it’s anything less than the genuine article. I’m sure of it. You can’t copy the Book of Life; that was the whole point in convincing her that her copy wasn’t as good.”

“I don’t suppose you brought ours?” Victoria said hopefully.

Uriel bit her lip and shook her head.

Maltha began, “Then the alternative is…” and trailed off.

“I can get it,” said Uriel. “I know I can. This is why you brought me.”

Maltha took a deep, deep breath. “Then I guess we have one hour to steal the Book of Life.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic

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serpentupemotions-blog · 6 years ago

Text

I’m With You | Sweet Pea x OC | Part Three

“Tell me you don’t, it feels like you do // Opening up can open some wounds.”

Cora Chase doesn’t really know what to expect when she moves back to Riverdale, only that it’s been thirteen years since she’s been gone and she wants to rebuild her relationship with her father. She definitely doesn’t expect to be thrown into a friendship with Sweet Pea, the boy looking for a job at her father’s auto shop.

Warnings: Just a sad backstory

Word Count: 5k+

Thanks again to @steve-harringtonnn who has helped me out so much with this fic and literally everything else I’ve written in the last little while.

Cora walks down the hallway, a familiar voice in the living room drawing her away from getting ready to go meet her friends at Sweetwater River for the afternoon. She freezes in the entranceway to the living room, eyes landing on her mom, Debbie, sitting on the living room couch with Joe. “Mom?” Cora croaks uncertainly.

“Hey, sweetie,” Debbie says, springing from the couch and all but bounding across the living room to wrap her arms around Cora. “Do you know it’s been two whole months since you moved in with your dad?” Debbie whispers, rocking back and forth with Cora in her arms.

“No,” Cora mutters, trying to pull away from the embrace without being too harsh about it. “I didn’t know it’s been that long.

“Well it has, and I’ve missed you. So, I thought I could come by and surprise you.”

Cora looks over Debbie’s shoulder, towards Joe who was still sitting in the same spot on the couch with a tight-lipped smile on his face. “How long, um, how long are you going to be here?” Cora asks. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, even if it did make her feel guilty. Since moving to Riverdale things had seemed to fall into place, for once in her life things felt okay, there was a newfound stability to her life. It was a stability that filled her with unease, uncomfortable at the newness of the sensation. But she knew that it wasn’t a bad thing, even though her brain was screaming that something was wrong, that she had no right to be so comfortable.

“Oh, I don’t know, hun. I left my job, so I’m currently on the hunt for a new one. I’m not sure where I’m going just yet, but I’ll figure it out, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Cora mutters, walking around her mom and over to the couch where Joe was sitting silently. Leaning down Cora gives him a hug and quick goodbye. “Of course you will mom, you always figure out exactly what you should be doing,” Cora states sarcastically, her pace quick as she makes her way towards the front door, grabbing her bag and keys on the way. “I have plans today though,” Cora says, opening the door.

“Sweetie,” Debbie calls, following Cora through the house and towards the door. “Come on, I don’t know how long I’m going to be in town. Can’t you cancel your plans?”

Cora scoffs, looking back to her mom. “No. I could. But I’m not going to, because unlike you, I stick to the things I say I’m going to do.” Cora walks through the door, closing it a little harder than she intended, not to prove a point or make a statement, her body was just pulsing with anger and she hadn’t realized the force behind her pull.

“You okay?” Sweet Pea asks as Cora trudges alongside him down the path to the river. Everyone else was already at the river. Cora had already been running a few minutes late and Debbie’s arrival had only set her back further. Sweet Pea had hung around to meet her, even though she was more than capable of walking down the short path on her own.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Cora says, watching the ground as she walks. “My mom just showed up today.”

Sweet Pea is silent for a minute, glancing over at Cora, unsure of what to do with that information. “That’s not a good thing?”

“It’s fine,” Cora dismisses, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and looking at Sweet Pea as his pace noticeably slows.

“You’re not a good liar.” Sweet Pea comes to a complete stop, turning to face Cora.

Cora sighs and shrugs, shaking her head a little. “I just…she’s here because she quit her job, again, and it’s weird because I’m not with her this time,” Cora’s voice is unsteady as she looks to the side, blinking away the tears that were forming in her eyes. “Every other time she’s self-destructed, decided that things weren’t right and ran off, I was towed along with her. But now I’m here and it’s weird to know that she’s going to go off and find some other city to live in and try to figure out her life and I’m not going to be there to help her sort it all out.”

“I didn’t know... I guess I knew that you moved a lot. But I didn’t know it was-.”

“Sweet Pea,” Cora interrupts, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just forget about this and have a good afternoon, okay?”

Sweet Pea hesitates, the only sound the distant rushing of the river and birds chirping in the trees overheard. “Okay,” Sweet Pea finally whispers, continuing to walk down the path. The rest of the walk is silent, neither of them daring to look at each other.

“Cora,” Toni calls as she emerges from the path, eyes scanning over the group of people on the gravel beach of the river. Towels and blankets spread out, music playing through a small speaker balancing on one of the larger rocks. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

“Sorry,” Cora replies with a smile, walking over and sitting down beside Toni. Cheryl was laying on her stomach on the other side of Toni, her arms folded underneath her head. “Something came up at the house, but I’m here now.”

Cheryl turns her head towards Cora, about to ask further questions about the vague statement before deciding to not press it based on the look on Cora’s face. Cora was trying her best to hold the fake smile, though her brain was filled with thoughts of her mom. She hadn’t even stopped long enough to ask where her mom was staying. Was she going to go home to her mom sleeping on her dad’s couch? On the couch of a man she hasn’t so much as spoken to about anything more than child support in thirteen years.

Sweet Pea’s presence beside Cora draws her attention. “Not going to join them?” Cora asks, nodding towards where Fangs, Axel, and Fin were tossing around a football.

“If you’ll come too,” Sweet Pea replies, resting his arms on his knees that were bent towards his body.

“I’m not upset, Pea. You don’t have to try to cheer me up,” Cora whispers, looking into Sweet Pea’s eyes, hoping her words would come across genuinely.

Sweet Pea glances over to Fin, Axel, and Fangs, watching them for a minute before standing up and stepping in front of Cora. He reaches both his hands down, waiting for Cora to place her hands in them before pulling her to her feet. “I don’t know how to throw a football,” Cora admits as she walks beside Sweet Pea.

“What?” Sweet Pea chuckles, looking over at her. “You’ve never thrown a football?”

“No.” Cora watches as Axel throws the football to Fin who catches it easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s not hard,” Sweet Pea assures, catching the football as Fangs tosses it in his direction when Cora and Sweet Pea get closer. “Here,” Sweet Pea says, handing the ball to Cora. “Just put your fingers like this,” Sweet Pea says softly as he positions Cora’s fingers on the football. As she watches Sweet Pea’s fingers move hers she tries her best to listen to the instructions he was giving her. But it’s not until he takes his hands away from hers that she can clearly hear what he’s saying, like she had just emerged from underwater. “…just try and keep some space between your palm and the football when you throw it,” Sweet Pea says, finishing his instructions before stepping back to let her throw the ball.

Cora watches the football wobble in the air after she throws it, moving in the general direction of Fin who runs to catch it.

“Well,” Sweet Pea mutters, holding back laughter. Cora giggles and looks over at Sweet Pea. “Could have been worse.”

“Not sure how,” Cora says, watching as Fin raises their arm up, sending the football back in Cora’s direction.

“Try again,” Fin suggests, and Cora catches the ball easily. “Good catch,” Fin states encouragingly, attempting to infuse her with some sort of confidence before trying to throw it again.

Sweet Pea tries explaining everything a few more times, each time the ball flies from Cora’s fingers unsteadily, wobbling in the air.

“We’ll bring a frisbee or something for you next time,” Toni calls from where she was sitting with Cheryl, both of them watching the antics of Cora trying to throw the football.

Cora laughs and tries to throw one last time, not getting any better. “I just don’t think football is in the cards for me. I’m disappointed, really crushed my dreams of being an NFL star.” Cora takes a step away from Sweet Pea, in the direction of where Cheryl and Toni were hanging out by the river. “Keep playing though…I’ll watch,” Cora says with a smirk and a playful wink, turning around and walking back to where she had been sitting beside Toni not long before.

The warm sun begins to dip over the horizon as the day goes by, the sky alight with orange and pink hues. Fangs was busy lighting a fire, cursing out Axel who lounges not far from him spewing critiques over everything Fangs was doing while refusing to make any actual move to help.

Cora pulls her phone from her bag, unlocking it and looking over the notifications. A couple missed calls and three text messages from her mom, a text from her dad, and a couple text messages from her friends from high school. The latter didn’t concern her much, nothing urgent about those. But the calls and texts from her parents formed an anxious pit in her stomach. Placing her hand onto the gravel beside her, Cora pushes herself to her feet, pressing the button to call her voicemail as she paces a few feet away from the group.

“Hey, Cora. You didn’t answer your text messages so I was hoping you might answer the phone. Anyway, your dad and I were just making dinner plans and I was hoping you would join us. I guess not. Call me back, please.”

Cora deletes the voicemail from her mom, before bringing the phone back to her ear to listen to the next one.

“Cora, it’s me, your mom…again. Your dad and I just finished dinner…we went to Pop’s, it’s as good as I remember. Have you been there since you’ve been back? ... Of course, you have. It’s been two months already. Okay, so we’re back at the house now. I’m going to spend the night here, so I’ll see you when you get home.”

Sighing Cora deletes the second voicemail, making her way back towards the fire and sitting down next to Sweet Pea. Bringing her legs in front of her she crosses them and carelessly drops her phone from her hand onto the ground in front of her. “You can totally say no, but could I maybe sleep at your place tonight?” Cora asks Sweet Pea hesitantly.

Sweet Pea turns his attention to Cora, his eyes locking on hers as he stares at her in silence for a couple seconds. “Of course,” he says softly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Cora nods, forcing a smile as she runs her fingers through her hair nervously. “Everything is fine, my mom is just staying at my house so I thought I would let her have my room, so she won’t have to sleep on the couch… I know that I’m going to be sleeping on the couch at your place too, but…” Cora trails off as she feels her lie start to slip out of her control, sighing as she stares into the fire, flames flicking into the air.

“Cora.” Sweet Pea places his hand on her knee, drawing Cora’s attention back to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You can stay at my place anytime you want.”

Cora smiles uneasily, using all the willpower she had not to look down at his hand on her leg. His hand was warm on her bare skin. Something about the gentleness of the touch, the subtlety of his fingers barely resting against her skin, sent a shiver down her spine. It was like she could no longer fill her lungs, the air leaving her lips in jagged breaths. Her heart was hammering heavily in her chest, hard enough that Cora was almost certain if he got even just a little closer to her, he would be able to hear exactly how he was making her feel. “Thank you,” Cora finally croaks out, her eyes lost in Sweet Pea’s eyes. Not seconds later his hand leaves her leg and Cora’s lungs contract rapidly with a sharp exhale, the last of the air sitting heavy in her lungs that she hadn’t been able to move under his touch finally escaping her body. He didn’t even have to try. Just placing his hand on her was enough to coax her body out of her control.

Cora follows Sweet Pea up to his front door. The trailer park was quiet and still with sleep at two in the morning. Sweet Pea unlocks the door before pushing it open, hand moving out of second nature to the light switches. The room is illuminated by an artificial yellow glow, warm and inviting. The trailer lacks air conditioning and the room feels warmer than the night air outside.

“Sorry, it’s really hot. I haven’t been here all day, so all the windows have been closed,” Sweet Pea explains, walking to the closest window and pushing it open.

Cora slides her shoes off, leaving them by the door before walking the couch in the living room and sitting down. “It’s fine, Sweet Pea. You’re letting me stay here, I’m not going to complain about it being too hot.”

Sweet Pea trails a couple feet behind Cora into the living room, stopping to lean against the wall when he sees her sitting on the couch. “You can sleep in my bed.”

Cora shakes her head, scooting down the couch and laying across it with a giggle. “No, I’m sleeping right here.”

Sweet Pea chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re my guest.”

“I invited myself.” Cora rolls onto her side, looking across the living room at Sweet Pea. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and Cora was looking just as tired, the afternoon at the river had turned to early morning very quickly. “Can I borrow a t-shirt to sleep in though?” Cora asks. She had opted not to go home to get something to change into, knowing that would entail going into her bedroom where Debbie would inevitably be sleeping, and that was just not something Cora was feeling up to at two in the morning.

Sweet Pea yawns, nodding as he disappears down the hallway without saying another word. Though he had only been gone for a few moments, by the time Sweet Pea returns with a t-shirt Cora is already dozing off. He stands near the entrance of the room from the hallway for a minute, eyes fixed on Cora’s figure curled up on his couch.

Cora’s eyes flutter open with a sharp inhale, trying to fight off the sleep. “Thanks,” Cora whispers, seeing Sweet Pea standing there with a t-shirt in his hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my bed? It’ll be more comfortable.” Sweet Pea walks over as Cora sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch and tiredly pulling herself to her feet.

“Your couch is very comfortable,” Cora says, taking the shirt from Sweet Pea when he gets closer. The fabric feels soft in her hands, like it had been worn and washed many times.

“Okay, well, you know where everything is. So, I guess I’m going to go to bed now…just come wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

Cora laughs softly and nods. “You’re a good host, now go to bed, you look tired.”

“Aren’t you the one who said you’re not supposed to tell people they looked tired? That it’s like saying they look like shit?” Sweet Pea chuckles, yawning again.

“I’m too tired for this…just go to bed,” Cora giggles, watching Sweet Pea turn back down the hallway, walking back to his room.

Cora walks down the hallway and into the bathroom, pulling her clothes off and changing into the t-shirt that Sweet Pea had given her. Standing in front of the mirror in the small bathroom she stares at herself in the shirt. The soft black fabric hangs over her frame shapelessly, yet she couldn’t stop admiring the way the shirt draped over her body, the oddly comfortable way she felt wearing his clothes.

The doorknob rattling draws Cora’s attention away from staring in the mirror and she quickly gathers her clothes up. Hesitating she looks back in the mirror, at her bare legs. Grasping her shorts, she contemplates pulling them on before deciding against it. He had seen her in a bikini when they had been swimming at the river one afternoon not long before, his t-shirt covered much more than that bikini ever had.

Cora opens the door and glances down the hallway to where Sweet Pea’s bedroom door was half open. “Hey, Pea. I’m out of the bathroom,” Cora calls, curiously peering into the bedroom before Sweet Pea emerges in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe as he leans against it.

Sweet Pea’s eyes scan over Cora’s body, lingering on her thighs before moving back up to her eyes. “Goodnight,” Sweet Pea says quietly, his eyes remaining locked on Cora as he says it, his voice lower than normal, dragged down with the heaviness of his tired state.

Suddenly Cora’s own tiredness is lifted slightly as her heart speeds up, keeping her eyes locked with Sweet Pea’s, refusing to look away first. “Goodnight,” Cora replies, turning around and walking back down the hallway only after Sweet Pea glances away first.

Cora opens her eyes to the sound of a cupboard shutting in the kitchen. Slowly she sits up, hands wrapping around the thin blanket draped over her body. Staring at it quizzically she tries to recall covering herself with a blanket, falling short. Though she was grateful for it now, the air in the trailer noticeably cooler than it had been the night before. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders she trudges through the trailer to the kitchen.

“Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet,” Sweet Pea says upon seeing her standing in the kitchen.

Cora smiles and shakes her head, “it’s fine, I needed to get up anyway.”

Sweet Pea pulls a mug from the cupboard behind him, stepping closer to the coffee maker sitting on the counter.. Pouring a cup of coffee, he hands it to her with a teasing smirk. They had been working together long enough now that he understood the only way for Cora to become a functioning person in the morning was through numerous cups of coffee. “Thanks,” Cora laughs softly, taking the mug and bringing the warm ceramic to her lips. “Did you put this blanket on me?”

Sweet Pea looks down at the ground, avoiding looking into Cora’s expectant eyes. “Yeah,” Sweet Pea mutters. “It was a bit cold when I got up and you weren’t, you know, wearing much...cause it was so hot last night. So, I just thought you might be cold.”

Cora smiles, nodding as she watches Sweet Pea’s flustered demeanour. As if she had caught him doing something wrong, rather than the exact opposite of wrong. She wondered if perhaps he would have been more comfortable with that, with getting caught doing something wrong than with having his kind acts pointed out.

“Do you want breakfast?” Sweet Pea asks, walking to the fridge, hand wrapping around the handle as he pulls the door open. The light inside the fridge flicks on to reveal the nearly empty shelves.

“Jesus, Pea. When was the last time you went grocery shopping?” Cora asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as she stares into the abyss of his fridge.

“It’s been awhile,” Sweet Pea admits, pushing the fridge door shut. “I hate it.”

“You hate grocery shopping?” Cora giggles. “I didn’t know it was possible to have feelings that strong for something so…blasé.”

“Alright, Mariam Webster.” Sweet Pea leans against the closed fridge, his arms folded over his chest, smile on his lips. “Do you want to go out for breakfast?”

Cora fights the smile on her lips, nodding in response to his question. “Can I finish my coffee first?”

“I don’t think you need it, throwing blasé into a conversation five minutes after you wake up,” Sweet Pea chuckles, walking back into the living room. He sits down on the couch, Cora trailing behind with her mug of coffee.

“And then we’re going grocery shopping,” Cora tells Sweet Pea matter-of-factly, not willing to argue about. He needed groceries.

“Fine,” Sweet Pea chuckles, his eyes on his phone screen as he leans into the back of the couch.

“Can I ask you something?” Cora asks, adjusting the blanket around her to cover up the fact that she was still only wearing his t-shirt.

Sweet Pea puts his phone down, looking over at her curiously. “Yeah, of course,” he says, eyebrows furrowed slightly. She had never asked permission to ask him anything before, the forewarning draping the conversation with apprehension.

“It’s not just weird when I called you Nate, it’s more than that. You get uncomfortable, nervous about it. Why?”

Sweet Pea swallows hard, his fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh as he stares across the living room. “It’s not…it’s not a happy story, Cora. It’s not fun or exciting, it’s shitty.”

Cora sighs quietly, her hands wrapped tightly around the mug in her hands. “It doesn’t always have to be fun.”

“Yes, it does...because that’s all you ever are. We’ve known each other for over two months, Cora. We’ve seen each other almost every single day during that time. Twice you’ve come close to talking about something serious and both times you’ve shut it down before I can ask anymore questions...Everything is always sunny and bright in your world, I’m not going to bring my shitty issues into that.” Sweet Pea’s voice is louder than Cora had ever heard him before, like the thoughts weren’t new, like he had been thinking them for some time now and it was all spilling out now.

Cora’s eyes dart around the room as he looks at her, not knowing how to deal with what had just happened. “It’s not,” Cora croaks, clearing her throat as she sets her mug down onto the coffee table. “It’s not all sunny and bright, Sweet Pea. I have to make it seem like that...I have to. I don’t have people to tell, I can’t chase people away with my problems. I don’t have long, I never have long. Everything is always taken away.” Cora doesn’t recognize the emotions behind the words she’s saying till she realizes her cheeks are damp with tears. Doesn’t realize that Sweet Pea doesn’t understand a single thing she’s talking about, but that he’s breaking right there with her regardless. Sweet Pea begins to reach across the couch, to pull her into a comforting hug, a moment too late as Cora springs up from the couch.

Her legs feel shaky as she fumbles to pick up the pair of shorts she was wearing the day before, yanking them over her legs. Wiping desperately at her face to get rid of the tears she gathers her belongings into her arms, clutching them all tight against her body.

“Cora,” Sweet Pea says, her name falling from his lips like a question, not understanding what was happening, if she was okay or what he should be doing.

“I have to go,” Cora mutters, shoving her shoes on and digging her car keys out from her purse. “My mom is in town, I have to go see her,” Cora adds, as if that was a believable excuse, like she just remembered that her mom was around and not that she was running away from dealing with her emotions. Before Sweet Pea can say anything more Cora is gone, she yanks the door shut quickly, hurrying to her car before anymore of the tears can fall from her eyes.

Cora holds herself together till she gets out of the trailer park, pulling onto the side of the quiet road, surrounded by forest. The trees loom over her car, casting shadows that hide the morning sun from view. Shutting the car off Cora places her arms over the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against them as her breath catches in her throat, heaving out of her unsteadily as more tears stream uninhibited from her eyes. Cora’s shoulders shake as the sobs wrack through her body. Sitting up straighter she wipes at her eyes repeatedly till the delicate skin under her eyes sting with every brush of her fingers against it. Cora was all but pleading with herself to get her emotions under control, to seize the steady stream of tears from her eyes. She was not a stranger to theses moments, of unadulterated, uncontrollable sadness. But she had never let anybody see it, never had anyone in her life around long enough to feel comfortable letting anyone in.

Cora glances in the mirror of her car visor one last time, each time she had looked at herself that afternoon she had been sorely shocked at how little improvement the time had shown. Her eyes were still bloodshot, under eyes puffy, and skin splotchy. Sighing Cora pushes the visor back up, taking a deep breath to try and forget about the fact that there was no hiding her appearance at this point. But perhaps he wouldn’t even be home, she thinks, as she climbs out of her car, pulling the bags of groceries from the trunk of her car and walking back up to Sweet Pea’s front door. She contemplates just leaving them on the stairs, deciding against it as she brings her hand to the door, three solid knocks against the door before stepping back and waiting.

“Hey,” Sweet Pea says, his voice quiet, drawn out after he opens the door. His eyes search over Cora’s face, over the obvious signs that she had continued crying long after her hasty departure from his house earlier that day.

“I want you to tell me,” Cora says, her words obviously rehearsed. “I want to hear the stuff that isn’t happy or exciting or fun. I want to know about it, Sweet Pea.”

Sweet Pea hesitates for a second before reaching over and taking the grocery bags from her hands, stepping back to give her space to walk into his trailer. “Come in,” he says softly, waiting for her to walk inside before shutting the door behind him.

“Why did you buy me groceries?” Sweet Pea asks when they’ve both made it into the kitchen, the bags sitting on the counter.

“Because I said we would go grocery shopping and then I just took off…I don’t want to be like my mom, Pea. I don’t want to run away, I don’t want to drop my responsibilities and commitments anytime something less than perfect happens.”

“Come on,” Sweet Pea says gently, reaching over and taking Cora’s hand in his, guiding her through the kitchen and back to the living room where he sits down on the couch. Cora takes a spot beside him, fiddling with a loose thread on the shorts she was wearing. She had gone home after sobbing on the side of the road, had a shower, got changed. She hoped it would make her breakdown less obvious. It hadn’t.

Sweet Pea sighs heavily, his hand still folded around Cora’s hand. “My dad left when I was really young, I don’t remember him, my mom never talked about him. He’s always been a stranger in my life. I don’t know where he is now, don’t know if he’s even still alive.”

Cora shifts on the couch, turning her body to the side to face Sweet Pea, her eyes on his as she listens to him talk. She didn’t want to give any indication that it was too much, that she wasn’t willing to hear about the bad stuff, about the clouds and the rain.

Sweet Pea watches her for a moment before continuing on, as if waiting to make sure she wasn’t going to back out, to run off again. “My mom wasn’t around much when I was young, she worked crazy hours to make ends meet, to take care of me. It was just her and I for awhile. But she got sick when I was thirteen…in the beginning I didn’t think anything of it, you know? I didn’t think she was going to…,” Sweet Pea hesitates, his voice breaking slightly as he stares off somewhere across the room. Cora can sense his body tensing as he talks, can tell that it isn’t something he talks about often.

“Anyway, she fought the cancer really hard, for three years, but it just kept spreading through her body. It seemed like every time she had to go for tests they just found more cancer in her body...For awhile I went with her, to her appointments. But she stopped telling me when they were, stopped letting me come...because it was always bad news. She was just trying to protect me, but-.” Sweet Pea stops talking after his voice wavers, sitting in silence for a minute. “But I wish she would have let me go, so I could have been there for her. So she wouldn’t have had to go through it alone.”

Cora stares up at Sweet Pea, wanting to say something. Something that would make it better, that would take away the pain that was evident in his eyes. But she knew there wasn’t anything she could say. That sometimes the worst things happened to amazing people and there were no words that could make it better.

“I joined the Serpents a year after she got sick. They became my family when the only family I had was barely making it through the day. They never called me Nate.”

Cora pulls his arm closer to her, her other hand wrapping around the hand he was holding of hers. Running her thumb delicately across his skin she waits for him to go on, letting him tell her as much as he wanted.

“Most people in the Serpents have nicknames, some are from their real names…It was Bonnie who was the first one to call me Sweet Pea. She’s this little old lady, the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, until you do something to upset her. Then she’s the scariest person you’ll ever meet,” Sweet Pea pauses to chuckle bittersweetly, his eyes fixed on Cora’s hands wrapped around his. “She’s been a Serpent for ages now. She was at the Whyte Wyrm the day after my initiation, got me to open up about my mom. I’m pretty sure all she said was ‘oh, sweet pea’, one of the guys overheard and well, they never let it go. I was embarrassed by it at first, I was only fourteen and hated the idea of everyone calling me Sweet Pea. But I started to like it more once my mom was gone, because she was the last person who was still calling me Nate and being called Sweet Pea meant I didn’t have to always be reminded of my mom passing away.”

Cora watches as tears fill Sweet Pea’s eyes, though he refuses to look at her. She slowly lets go of his hand, moving a little closer. “Can I give you a hug?”

Sweet Pea simply nods in response, still refusing to meet her gaze before she wraps her arms around him. Cora is tiny next to Sweet Pea’s large body, yet she feels like she’s doing everything to hold him together in that moment. “Thank you for telling me, Sweet Pea,” Cora whispers, keeping her arms wrapped tight around his frame, not willing to be the first one to pull away.

Taglist: @reblogserpent @salutetomeimurserpentqueen

#sweet pea #riverdale #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea fanfic #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea riverdale #riverdale sweet pea #riverdale serpents #riverdale x oc #fic: I'm with you #fic: IWY

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webcricket · 7 years ago

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Hell for the Holidays

Characters: Castiel X Sister!Winchester Reader ft. Lucifer

Word Count: 1910

A/N: Drabble for my SPN Advent Challenge December 13 Prompt Get Your Coda On - My reader insert coda for what happened to Cas and Lucifer after their imprisonment in SPN season 13 episode War of the Worlds. Warning - written erotica content! You and Cas find a delightful way to torture the devil and pass the time in Hell. Fluff and smut!

“Cas?”

The angel disregards your soft utterance of his name. He stands at the bars of your shared cell, craning his neck to peer down the hallway, both of you prisoners of Asmodeus. He’s been at it for hours today and you don’t know what he expects to find. The cell door is warded. The hall is abandoned save for an uncharacteristically silent Lucifer sulking in the iron-barred chamber opposite. A demon lackey already delivered a pitcher of questionably murky water and a loaf of stale bread for you to ingest this morning. At least you think it was morning. There’s no way to know for sure in this pit. But nothing has changed in days. And you know nothing is going to change until Asmodeus needs to leverage one or both of you as bait to lure in Jack or thwart your brothers. Heck, you could be celebrating Christmas and New Year’s in this hole for all you know.

“Castiel?” you whisper again. Moving to his side, you trail your fingertips down his arm to twine your fingers into his limp grasp, wrapping his hand between both of yours and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Hey, come sit with me.”

Jaw flexing, he avoids looking at you. He hasn’t talked about it, but you know he blames himself for what happened, for you being stuck here.

“Come on,” you insist, tugging him as you step backward.

He acquiesces to your persistence, settling into a despondent crumpled trench coated heap beside you.

Your fingers play with the curls of hair at his temple. “You know this isn’t your fault,” you murmur.

“Isn’t it?” His eyes flash to search your aspect.

“No.”

“Dean was right,” he sighs, “I should have listened to him. Should have let him come with me to meet Duma.”

“Maybe, or maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Maybe it would be you and Dean locked up in here instead of us.”

“I shouldn’t have called you.” His apologetic regard flits to the soot covered floor.

You move your palm to massage the muscles of his neck, perpetually knotted with the self-sacrificing burden of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long. “You should always call me,” you reassure, “and I will always come when you call. We’re partners, got it? No matter what. Or who.” You arch a brow in Lucifer’s direction.

“But-”

“No buts! What happened, happened. And you know, it could be worse.”

“I don’t see how. Asmodeus has tricked Sam and Dean into believing we’re following a lead. I overheard him on the phone with your brothers earlier. They’re not looking for us.”

You give his hand a squeeze, drawing the clasped fist to your lips and pressing a warm kiss to his knuckles, physically reminding him that at least for the moment you’re together, and alive. And that’s something. You’re sick and tired of always wondering where the angel is – if he’s okay, and despite the dire situation, you’re thankful to be trapped here with him. “I love you, angel.”

He meets your adoring gaze and a small fond smile traces his mouth. Focus wholly on you, distracted by the knack you have for finding the bright side of any situation, of reminding him of what is truly important, all he has to be grateful for, he forgets the bars holding you captive.

“I mean it.” You reflect his smile.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He places a lingering kiss upon your lips.

“Oh, for the love of dad, can you two love-struck idiots keep the PDA to a minimum? Some of us prefer to do our suffering in peace.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, grimacing at you from his vantage across the hall.

“You realize that’s kind of an oxymoron, right?” You reluctantly remove your lips from your angel’s to hiss back. Cause if you’re being totally honest with yourself, you absolutely do blame someone for what happened, and that someone’s name is Lucifer. Asmodeus wasn’t looking for you and Cas – the prince of Hell showed up at the bar looking for his long lost creator. You were a collateral bonus.

Cas casts his brother a chiding glare for interrupting your kiss.

Lucifer mockingly wags his chin, crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “You’ve literally found a way to make Hell even more tormenting. You make the cage look like Club Med.”

“That so?” You narrow your gaze.

“Yup,” he clicks his teeth, forehead crinkling for emphasis. “So, stop it,” he orders as if he has even a sliver of power or authority over you and Cas.

He’s so smug and conceited in his demand, you’re inspired with an idea for sweet satisfying revenge. You wink, purring, “Stop it, or what?” Smirking, you swing a leg over Cas’ thighs and shift into his lap and face him.

The angel fidgets beneath your weight and tilts his surprised countenance askance as he peers up at you. For an entity who allegedly doesn’t sweat, Cas’ forehead shines now with perspiration in the dim light. It’s sultry as Hell in here, and the oppressive warmth has a lot less to do with the whole fire and brimstone bit and the fact you’re in Hell than it did five minutes ago.

Maybe your better judgement is muddled by the heat; or maybe you and your angel both simply need to blow off a little steam, Lucifer be damned. You begin to loosen the knot of his tie.

Blue gaze widening as he realizes what you’re up to, Cas’ broad hands reflexively slide to your waist. “What are you doing?” he asks in a gravelly hush.

“Oh, you know.” Your hands smooth over his torso as you lean in to kiss the line of his scruffy jaw, peppering an affectionate open-mouthed trail to whisper in his ear, “Torturing the devil. You game?” You grind hard against him.

“You’re not actually going to-” Lucifer gapes, rushing the cell door to test the bars and search the hall for help – it’s as empty as any threat he could make against you right now.

Cas’ head slumps heavy to the wall, thick lashes shuttering as he stifles a groan and tries to maintain control of his vessel’s arousal. “What about Lucifer-” he tries to reason with you through gritted teeth.

You can tell from the bulging twitch in his trousers he’s not truly protesting or turned off by having a devilish audience. “What about him?” you simper, rolling your hips again.

Blue irises blown black with lust blink open to meet yours. His fingertips skim beneath the hem of your shirt to snake up your back, digging into the soft flesh there to pull you flush and gasping to his chest. A throaty growl spills from his lips as his mouth attaches to the exposed salty skin of your neck.

“Come on!” Lucifer whines. “We’re all buds here, right? Common enemy and what not. Castiel? Have a little mercy on a brother.”

Your fingers seek Cas’ belt buckle, making quick work of the barriers of fabric to free his straining cock. He kneads the rolling curve of your hips, biting into the delicate arc of your collarbone when you grab the base of his cock and twist your wrist in a fluid upward motion. He gasps, growling the Enochian equivalent of the word fuck into your marked skin.

You giggle, his deep voice resounding in the cell and vibrating to your core.

Lucifer pleads to deaf ears, “You want me to get on my knees and beg? I’ll do it. Do anything. Name it!”

Stroking the angel a few more times, you shimmy backward off his lap. You stand between his knees as he continues to palm himself and watch you undress. Unzipping your jeans, you wriggle out of them and kick the denim aside.

Nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal, Cas lunges, grabbing the hem of your panties to pull you close. Mouth caressing your flesh, he murmurs ancient breathy veneration for your beauty as he kisses a deliberate line downward from your belly button, pausing to nose and mouth the thin stretch of soaking wet fabric shielding your center.

It’s all too much for Lucifer – the sweetness and worshipful adulation of your love – he retreats to the corner of his cell, curling into a ball on the bench and covering his ears with the lumpy stained excuse for a pillow provided therein.

You tangle your fingers in Cas’ hair and yank back, forcing him to look up at you. Normally you want this, want him to take his time, to taste and explore every inch of you with his tongue until your knees are weak and you’re begging to come – but you’re already trembling with excitement and you want him inside you, stretching and filling you with that perfect burn of bliss. You don’t care that you’re both still half-dressed. You’ve had a lot of practice fucking like this on account of your brothers’ stubborn penchant for giving you very little alone time. Fortunately, with his angelic grace, Cas doesn’t need you undressed to make you come and his stoic resolve means your deft fingers can occasionally return the favor in the backseat of the Impala without your brothers suspecting anything.

As the angel stares up at you, you don’t need to say anything for him to know what you need. He sits, urging you to straddle his lap once more. Nudging your panties to one side, a guttural groan rumbles his lungs when he swipes his fingers through your damp folds.

Moaning, you can’t help rocking against the slick digits in anticipation of what’s to come. You reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance as he lifts your thighs. Gazing into your hooded eyes, he slowly lowers your shuddering body until he’s fully seated, your tight walls scorching around his aching cock as he remains inert, waiting for you to move.

Resting your forehead to his, you undulate your hips, nails scraping the nape of his neck.

His unleashed grace tingles, pinching and tweaking your nipples. He captures your mouth in a kiss, stealing your breath as your tongues dance a passionate waltz until you break away, panting and dizzy and then dive in for more. Grabbing fistfuls of your ass when you begin to falter, he thrusts upward, pace escalating mercilessly as he hits every sensitive spot over and over, sending a slithering wisp of grace to coil around and tease your clit until you’re screaming his name in ecstasy for Lucifer and the entirety of Hell itself to hear.

Breath quivering and ragged against your neck, his orgasm quickly follows, the rhythmic pulse of your pussy milking his hot release. He holds your languid figure in a tender embrace, fingertips tracing meandering lines over your body, grace flowing warm to sooth your overstimulated nerves and worn muscles until he softens inside you.

“You done?” Lucifer’s hopeful inquiry rings out into the silence. He dares a tentative glance over his shoulder.

You stir in your angel’s arms, shaking your head no in reply to Lucifer’s query. You nuzzle Cas’ prickly neck with kiss bruised lips.

“No, not nearly,” Cas answers with a grin, again growing hard as you sit up and start to unbutton his shirt. You may be in Hell, but you can think of a lot worse ways to spend the holidays.

#CricketsSPNAdvent2017 #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castielxreader #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #castiel x y/n #you x castiel #reader x castiel #lucifer x reader #castiel drabble #castiel imagine #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #cricket writes cas

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dreamersrazor-blog · 8 years ago

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Some Advice on What You Can Do When You Feel Hopeless (right now, by yourself)

Well, the first thing should be “Don’t look up lists of what to do about it.” I learned that today. Everything I found on such a search made me feel worse, somehow. No joke, one suggestion was literally “fall in love,” like that is something one can just do. Whatever, let’s move on. Coarse language warning.

Feeling like the world is just having a grand ol’ time shitting in your mouth nonstop is possibly one of the worst sensations a person can feel. Sorry for the imagery, but it’s my best way to describe it when decent-folks terminology just falls short at explaining to someone how downright insufferable everything is in that moment.

When I feel hopeless – and I mean legitimate, absolute, can’t-be-bargained-with hopeless – the only thing I want is for something, anything, just one fuck-mothering thing to go right in my life, just for a moment, and give me something to smile about without immediately kicking me in the balls afterward.

Unfortunately, that outcome is rare for me. If you’ve been drawn to this post, then I’m guessing it’s rare for you, too. I can’t say I have a miracle cure for feeling like your life is a train wreck where all the cars were filled with eggs, live ammunition, and orphans; but I do want to share the coping methods I’ve been using when Google just offers me suggestions that, were I able to act on, I wouldn’t be so hopeless in the first place.

For the record, I promise that statement does mean more than just that absurd “fall in love” tip above. It just seemed like a good note to start with. An important aspect of this post is to assume that you basically only have an internet connection and a few minutes to spend on yourself. I do list some examples with things that you might not own, but they are largely secondary to the points made. Just as well, they don’t involve anyone else.

My first suggestion might sound counter-intuitive, but it helps me for some reason or another. I have some theories on it, but we’ll get to that. The suggestion is to subject yourself to something sad on purpose, within certain “safe” boundaries. Now, what does that mean, and why on Earth would we do that? Well, hear me out.

This can be a movie scene, a story, a picture – whatever works for you. In my case, it’s a couple of songs. The key thing here is that it’s a… healthy(?) kind of sad stimuli. i.e. something that can make you feel things, spring up some (manly) tears just a bit, but not necessarily a song to cut your wrists to or whatever; or something that you’re overly emotionally invested in.

For me, one such experience is the song 1,000 Words from… from whatever Final Fantasy game it’s from. I’ve never played the game, the lyrics don’t apply to me in any way, but the song is a rubber mallet straight to the feels for me, regardless. While it might conjure up some (extremely masculine) misty eyes, it’s a different sensation than the self-loathing, hopelessness, and general give-me-one-reason-not-to-die-right-now sensations that drive me to it. I find myself in a better overall state of mind after totally-not-crying to it for a few minutes when I’m at my lowest.

The potency of this method can be diminished if you draw from the well too often, so to speak. (if it worked for you to start with, anyway.) My therapy song won’t work near as well if it’s something I listen to frequently or have heard a gazillion times already. The aforementioned tune did absolute wonders for me the first few times, but after hitting that one a few too many times, I had to move to another one to achieve the same effect. Still worked, though.

While it might seem like a “bash thumb with hammer to cure toothache” kind of solution, I think it’s a less-invasive method of self-harm. I’ve never intentionally hurt myself, so I don’t personally understand the mindset of cutters and such. Having known a couple, however, a common purpose of self-harm seems to be a sense of control. I feel that my sad-time-song has that same effect of inflicting a normally-undesirable sensation on myself; but it’s something I choose to do, something I have control of.

The thing is, it’s an emotion that doesn’t make my current situation worse, which is something sad stimuli tends to otherwise do. Hence my emphasis on it being a “safe” source of feels. My advice isn’t just “make yourself sadder on purpose,” it’s… I guess I’m saying “make yourself a different kind of sad.” I think. I don’t know.

For example, another such feels-y moment for me was the very end of the movie Logan. The thing X23 does right before the credits. You know the part. Thing is, that was a leaky-eyes moment for me, but purely on a symbolic level. I’m not specifically a fan of Wolverine, or the X-Men in general; so that bit, to me, is a “safe” sad.

In contrast, the opening minutes of the movie Arrival hit really close to home for me. Dwelling on that one doesn’t produce feels, it produces legitimate sorrow. This is an “unsafe” sad, because it makes these negative emotions worse; or adds to them.

Now, I get that not everyone can immediately think of something in the “safe-sad” category for them. If that’s you, I’d just suggest keeping an eye out for such sensations going forward. Something that can tempt your face to leak, but not because it reminds you of your own troubles or struggles.

My next suggestion is something of an extension of the first. A spinoff, if you will. While I certainly encourage you to do anything (within reason) that you feel might improve your mindset, I know a mistake I inadvertently made quite often was to indulge in things that would inadvertently make it worse.

This is meant more or less as a direct disclaimer to the common advice of “engage in your hobbies!” or “make time to do something you enjoy!” because frankly, that can be dangerous in some cases.

To borrow terminology from myself, there are basically “safe” and “unsafe” variants to the good things as well. Identifying the difference can make a huge… difference. This part gets a bit sob-story, so I totally understand if you want to skip it.

The gist of it, though, is that when trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming shittiness of your situation, you must be mindful with what you turn to. Some things that you might think are beneficial or helpful might actually be harming you under the surface, and determining what “good” things to avoid can be the key to lessening the weight of hopelessness.

Anyway, my bit is as follows; with some examples of things that I thought were helping, but were, in fact, making it worse.

I love metal music; and on a good day, I can listen to it all I want without issue. The thing is, in my darkest hours, watching the Little V Mills cover of Heavy Day, despite essentially being my favorite thing ever, does more harm than good to my psyche. Perhaps I’m just slow, but I dug myself into that pit several times before I made the connection as to why such an otherwise feel-good endeavor would backfire on me when I needed it most.

I played guitar for a few years – it was easily one of my favorite things to do for a long while. Because of [medical] I haven’t been able to play it for many years now, and will likely never be able to play it again. Even though I love the song and Little V, listening to it in bad times is just a subconscious jackhammer to my dead guitar dreams.

“That’s the easiest connection in the world to make” you might have said just then, but please understand, my guitar dreams died long ago, and I haven’t otherwise been bitter about it. I don’t watch a musician play something and consciously think “oh, if only I could still do that!” or reminisce lovingly about all the one-man shows I used to put on in the kitchen for my mom and dogs. (shut up.)

That whole chunk of my life is honestly a non-issue at this point, as far as my conscious thoughts go. Beneath the surface, however, those wounds are quick to reopen when you’re grasping at anything to distract you from how terrible things are at the time.

I love the shows RWBY and Death Battle, but watching them in low days just hammers home my failure as an aspiring animator. I rely on ASMR videos to sleep at night; but when every last ounce of shit in life is hitting fan blades I didn’t even know existed, I find it better to deal with insomnia than for the lovely ASMRtist ladies to be a frustrating reminder of how painfully single and lonely I am.

Now, I know that when you’re in a bad enough spot, you can look at anything you do in that sort of self-defeating light and use that to make your hopelessness worse. As of writing this, I’m actually in such a spot. Fun fact: being reasonably proud of my passable grammar and wordsmanship without any tangible recoil from it is the entire reason I’m writing this tonight.

So, explore with caution, I guess. If you feel overwhelmed by finding a self-defeating aspect of everything you do, then just do nothing. I’m not saying to quit your job or whatever, but sometimes the best answer is to not seek answers, if that makes any sense.

In the “do nothing” category, I find Youtube channels like TED and TEDx Talks quite efficient at filling my brain with something neutral to listen to; depending on which subject you click on, of course. That conveniently segues into…

Third suggestion: Learn Something Irrelevant. As with the other two, this one is highly subjective; but hey, so is this entire topic. Another coping method I’ve come to rely on is to just space out with a bunch of useless trivia I have absolutely no need for.

The speeches given on those TED channels are a great example of this. They’re nice and long for maximum time absorption, while slotting neatly into the “mildly amusing” category most of the time (for me.) The big asterisk on this is to not invest yourself into something that does draw your active attention.

That probably didn’t explain much. Another example: I love reviews. I don’t know why. I can listen to a professional-sounding reviewer talk about pretty much anything and be at least marginally entertained by it. Perhaps you don’t feel that way, but give me a second.

I watch Anthony’s Customs in such circumstances. He reviews collector’s action figures and such. This is a subject I have roughly zero interest in, but that’s what makes it good for me to learn about in bad times. Watching reviews for something I do care about, say, video games I can’t afford or movies I can’t go see, just makes the crushing hopelessness worse. (I know, duh.) This ties back to the second suggestion – ingesting a review for something I desire just shines a spotlight on my inability to obtain it.

This is probably more of a simple distraction tactic than anything specifically helpful, but that’s not to say it doesn’t work. Giving the brain something else to chew, it will stop poking at the ulcers in its mouth. Imagery!

Fourth and final suggestion, to be taken with a very large grain of salt: Embrace the Bitterness… Carefully. I’ll go ahead and put that “please hate responsibly” or “scowl in moderation” disclaimer up front and center. It’s a fairly obvious tip that I’m sure many people already act on. Maybe this is more of a warning for how to do safely.

If you’re like me, raised on the idea that negative emotions and mindsets were bad for you, then the act of feeling bad in your bad situation probably makes you feel worse. I felt like being in a bad mental place was a sign of weakness on my part, like I was failing for feeling such things.

Think back on those Saturday morning cartoon moral lessons – things like how the bully is only hateful because he has a broken home. A tragic villain, but still a villain. No, being mean to others isn’t the right way to handle your stresses; but just like the other entries above, there are “safe” alternatives.

I suggest watching channels like CinemaSins, which comedically picks apart every little thing “wrong” with movies, or looking into reviews for films or products you know are bad, just to revel in someone else��s failures. An easy suggestion would also be an RPG or something where you can choose to be the bad guy.

Heartless? Probably. Healthy? Maybe – in moderation. The guideline here is to get your catharsis from something that won’t actively hurt someone. I’m not saying to find a way to justify being an asshole, I’m just saying to find a way to come as close to being an asshole as possible.

The reason I gave those examples is because they’re as close to a victimless attack as you can get, I think. When your pent up bitterness explodes in the voice chat of Overwatch and you tell your incompetent teammate the exact number and volume of bags of dicks they can eat, that dingus Genji main might have deserved it, but he or she is still a victim, and you’re still being an asshole to them.

Meanwhile, bathing yourself in the glorious misteps of something like Mass Effect Andromeda is a reasonably healthier way to throttle that hate-boner, for a number of reasons. For one, content creators know full-well the risk they take in putting their work out there, and are usually prepared for at least some level of backlash. Second, being a passive consumer of such media, such as watching a highlight reel of ME:A’s awful facial animation, is much better for you than actively calling someone mean and hurtful things.

Therein lies my warning. As my circumstances and mental state got worse, so did my already-lacking social skills. If anger and catharsis-by-proxy are solid tools for dealing with your anguish, then use them; but be mindful of their cost. Putting on a fake smile and small-talking your way through your interactions is a horrible way to live, but the alternative is letting your problems become toxic to others around you.

That’s not to discourage reaching out to friends or family for help, but a central aspect of this post was the idea that you might not have such a network. It still applies to the randoms you meet online, though. It can do wonders to vent that bitterness and resentment; but do so in a safe, controlled manner that won’t cost you existing relationships or sour the day of someone you don’t know.

Such were my suggestions for coping with hopelessness. I can’t offer much in the way of finding new hope to actually cure the underlying problem, primarily because that depends immeasurably on everyone’s individual trials; but also because I haven’t gotten my own ducks in a row, yet. All I can do is share what works for me and… well… hope that you might benefit from it.

Stay safe out there.

#depression #hopelessness #help #advice

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