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andreafmn · 4 months

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Kinktober ⛓️ Day 26

Word Count: 4.0K Paring: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Requested by @elizabeth916: "Supernatural" Prompt @kinktober2023: Masturbation WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), slight voyeurism, vaginal fingering, masturbation, joint masturbation

Summary: After a hard life and a close brush with death via vampire, (Y/N) is taken in by Bobby Singer and taught the way of the hunters, even if that was the last thing he wanted for her. Add Dean and Sam Winchester into the mix, and she's more involved in the hunter lifestyle than before. Now, Dean is always always at odds with the girl. Even if he was the one who asked her to join them, he's always the one getting in her way. Sam says it's because he's in love with her. (Y/N) just thinks he's stubborn. One way or another, she's gonna find out they're both kind of right.

A/N: whoop, still doing this, I will try to finish before this october 🫣🫣 I've only gotten to season 5 of Supernatural so sorry this isn't more canon-centric

MASTERLIST

Constantly being on the road provided little privacy. Being the only girl in a team of hunters made it harder to have some. Being the only girl in a team of hunters that were brothers made it nearly impossible to have any.

But (Y/N) couldn’t complain. The Winchesters were the closest thing she had to a family, and they needed her help.

She had lost her parents at a young age and had made a life for herself as best as she could. She was sent from foster home to foster home until, at eighteen, she met Bobby Singer by chance during one of his hunts.

A couple of days before, she had been kidnapped by a young vampire as she walked from work and took her back to his nest, where she was fed upon from the moment she arrived. She believed she’d die there with nothing to show for her life other than a rundown apartment and a shitty waitressing job.

But just as everything had seemed bleak, Bobby had come in swinging a machete around and killed every single one of the vampires that had resided in the abandoned warehouse. Seeing the girl who was barely clinging to life, the man took her back to his motel and waited until she had regained consciousness.

He was sure she would scream, try to run away, or even hit him. Yet all she did was flutter her eyes open and thank him. She wasn’t afraid, nor was she angry. She had simply accepted what had happened to her as something else she had to deal with.

“You really ain’t scared of everything I just told you?” he had asked her that night as they ate some burgers. “I mean, I just told you that you almost died because of vampires, and you were more surprised that they put pickles in your burger.”

“I’ve dealt with worse shit in my life to find the supernatural unbelievable,” she shrugged. “With how my life goes, dying from a vampire is the least of my worries.”

Bobby had only met one other teenager as nonchalant and used to peril, and he had not been able to help him as much as he wanted to. But he knew he would always regret if he left (Y/N) to her own devices after meeting her. So, Bobby offered her a chance at a different life. Going against everything he had ever believed, he offered her a room at his place and a new job. And she said yes.

That answer had changed her entire existence.

(Y/N) took to the hunting lifestyle rapidly, finding it easier than being an eighteen-year-old girl living by herself in a sketchy part of town. She invested all her time and energy to get stronger and faster, wanting nothing more than to become better and better.

Bobby tried his best to keep her life balanced, especially after seeing what the hunting life had done to John Winchester’s sons, Dean and Sam. For years, he pushed her to have a social life and do things normal young people would. Still, he couldn’t squander her determination. So, when Dean called her up one day to help him and his brother find their father, she quickly agreed, much to Bobby’s dismay.

But once her mind was set on something, there wasn't much he could do; all he could do was hope she’d one day come back safe and sound.

And that was the day she had lost all sense of privacy. The trio jumped from motel to motel, and there was not enough money for two rooms. Thankfully, there always were two beds and sometimes a rickety couch, not that it helped the choking sexual tension between (Y/N) and the older Winchester.

From the moment they met, there was an undeniable chemistry between them. Sure, Dean flirted with anything that walked on two legs, but it was different with (Y/N). He wanted much more than just a one-night lay with her. He wanted the entire package–the apple pie life he’d dreamed of.

But he wanted something different for her—something better than what he could offer. Like Bobby, he didn’t want her involved in the hunting business. He had even begged Bobby not to let her go. But Sam was right. If they had any chance of finding their father, it would have been with her by their side. Just because he had agreed to let her tag along did not mean he didn’t worry whenever they were on a mission. If he wasn’t making sure that Sam wasn’t hurt, he was worried that (Y/N) was, and more often than not, his concern came out more like hostility rather than worry.

Much like their latest case. The three of them were sat at a diner, a giant breakfast spread on the table before them, and the only one eating was Dean. (Y/N) and Sam had their noses buried in books and laptops, trying to gather all information they could about a particular nest of vampires that had made their home in a small town outside of Detroit.

The case was particularly personal for (Y/N). The vamps that had been running amok the town had been the same ones that had almost taken her life many years before. Just like Bobby had told her, they left an item of the person they abducted with a star drawn in their blood at the place they were taken from. The creatures looked for easy targets and always hunted in the darkest corners of the night.

Now, (Y/N) had a plan to get to their nest, but it seemed she was the only one who thought it was a good one. “I’m just saying that it’s worth a try,” she whispered as she sipped her coffee. “I can make myself a target, and they’ll think it’s fucking divine intervention that they got the one that got away. Then you guys can follow and kill them all. I don’t see what’s so bad about that.”

“Are you fucking serious, (Y/N)?” Dean seethed. “They could kill you on the spot. It’s too risky.”

“It’s the only plan we’ve got right now that could actually end this,” she countered. “Even Sam thinks that it’s good.”

“All I said was that it could technically work,” the younger Winchester defended. “But I also agree with Dean that it’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care if I get hurt as long as we get them.”

“It’s not about you getting hurt, (Y/N),” Dean spat, slamming what was left of his sandwich onto the plate. “It’s about you fucking dying.”

“Well, it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she countered with the same anger. “It’s my life we’re talking about here, Dean. Not yours.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth as he got up, grabbing his jacket in the process. “I’ll be in the room. I need to cool off.”

Sam and (Y/N) watched as the older Winchester left the diner, a cloud of steam almost visible in his step. It wasn’t the first time he had stormed out that way; it was his standard practice when things weren’t going according to his plan. But that moment, in particular, felt different. The energy was different.

“Okay, he needs to get over himself,” the girl muttered as she slouched in her seat, her arms crossed across her chest. “You guys cannot be the only ones allowed to sacrifice yourselves for the greater good. I know I can get hurt. I signed up for this job just like you guys did.”

“I don’t know who’s more oblivious,” Sam snickered as he popped a slice of bacon in his mouth. “You seriously don’t understand why he acts like that with you?”

“Because he’s a total douche with a god-complex?”

“No, idiot,” he laughed. “Because he likes you and cares about what happens to you.”

“Oh, come on, Sammy. We’ve been through this before,” (Y/N) said. “The only things Dean Winchester cares about are his car and you. I don’t even fall in the top five.”

“Jesus, you’re both just so stubborn,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Go talk to him, and then tell me if he doesn’t care.”

“He’s just gonna fight with me.”

“Go, (Y/N),” Sam exclaimed. “And actually talk to him.”

“Fine!” the young woman finally relented. “But you’re getting stuck with the research then.”

“Like that’s ever changed,” he scoffed jokingly. “Now, go.”

(Y/N) took the short walk back to the motel as slowly as she could, kicking a rock in her step as she fiddled with the key. It wasn’t the first time Sam had hinted at Dean’s supposed feelings for her. It had become his one source of teasing material since they had met for the first time. But she had always taken it as a joke, nothing more—just a quip a little brother used to bother his older brother. There was no way there was any truth to it. And if going to the room proved that, then that was what (Y/N) had to do.

As she neared the motel, she caught a glimpse of Baby, and a slight chuckle bubbled in her throat. That car was Dean’s one true love, and she knew that. He treated his vehicle better than any of the women he paraded in and out of their motel rooms or even the ones who never made it out of the bars. Hell, he treated it better than her or Sam at times.

That was the reason she had never admitted her feelings in the almost eight years she had known him. (Y/N) knew they wouldn’t be reciprocated. Dean had never given a single indication that he’d ever share her sentiment. Well, other than Sam’s words. But who could believe him then?

All she needed was one sign. A simple whisper from the universe that he did share in those feelings. That the reason he fought with her so much was because there were so many emotions bottled up inside him that he couldn’t help how they came out. Just one sign.

“(Y/N),” she heard an exhale as she neared the motel door. It was raspy and guttural, and she knew it had not come from the wind. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

She could have been dreaming. In the supernatural world, anything was possible. But the metal doorknob felt too cold in her hand, and the key turned too loudly for it to be her imagination. Behind that door, a scene was unfolding that surpassed her wildest fantasies, and she was the main character without knowing it.

(Y/N) opened the door slowly, pulling it upward to avoid the whining of the hinges, and she came face-to-face with something she could have only dreamed of. In fact, she was sure she had dreamt it before.

Dean was splayed in the middle of her bed, his hard cock in one hand and a pair of her underwear in the other. He ran his hand up and down his length, easing his pumping with the leaking precum that stained him. After every few strokes, he’d bring the piece of fabric to his face, taking a long drag before muttering (Y/N)’s name once more.

His eyes were pressed shut, and his movements were erratic. Dean was close, that much she could tell. She could see it in the way he breathed, in the way his hips stuttered, and the way his skin had grown red and flushed. Dean was reaching his climax with her name spilling from his tongue.

“So fucking stubborn,” he croaked out as his seed spilled all over his stomach. “(Y/N), fu~uck.”

“Good to know my underwear didn’t just disappear three months ago,” she grinned as she finally made herself known. “Didn’t take you for a panty sniffer, Deanie.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean exclaimed as he tried his best to cover himself. He pulled the sheets from under himself, pulling too hard and falling to the floor with a loud thud. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know who you were thinking about,” (Y/N) taunted as she approached him. His legs were still on the bed, and his jeans pooled around his ankles while the sheet covered the rest of his body. At any given time, she would have made fun of him; tease him until he begged her to stop. But the heat that pooled between her legs had blurred her mind, and all that she wanted was to replace the hand that was working him. “Something you wanna tell me, Dean?”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Dean huffed as he tried to get up. “It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think, Deanie? What did I just walk into?”

“I just needed to relieve some stress.”

“Oh, and do you always relieve your stress thinking of me?” (Y/N) mewled as she knelt down, her breath hot on his skin as she whispered in his ear. He stiffened up at her closeness, trying his best not to touch her. “See what I think, Deanie, is that what Sam’s been telling me is the truth. That you like me and that you care about me. And since daddy never taught you how to express yourself correctly, you just let everything out when you’re angry.”

Those words ignited a fire in Dean. He no longer cared about his lack of clothing or the situation (Y/N) had caught him in. All he wanted was to regain control. “You think you’re funny, huh?” he growled as he flipped her onto the ground and towered over her. “You think that just because you caught me like this, you know everything now?”

“I know enough,” she smirked up at him as she fought against his grip. “Matter of fact, I can feel it against my leg right now.”

“And you think it’s for you? You think you’re the only (Y/N) out there?”

“I’m the only one you know,” she teased. “And I’m the one whose panties you were sniffing.”

“It’s just a matter of convenience, (Y/N),” he shrugged. “You’re here. That’s that.”

“Are you sure, Dean? Because I’ve never seen you hoard the underwear of any of your past playdates. So, why mine? And why were you jacking off with my name rolling off your tongue?” (Y/N) propped her torso up by her elbows, pressing the tip of her nose to his, testing the waters before diving in. “And what if I told you I felt the same way, Deanie? What if I said that I’ve thought of you with my own hand down my pants? That I’ve edged myself for hours thinking of what you could do to me. And it’s not a matter of convenience for me, Dean. It’s the real deal.”

Dean couldn’t believe what the woman under him was saying. He’d gone so long thinking his feelings were one-sided that Sam only told him the things he wanted to hear. To him, (Y/N) was too smart and too beautiful ever to want to be with him. He wasn’t what she deserved, but now he knew he was what she wanted.

“Tell me you’re messing with me,” he grumbled. “Tell me this is just one big joke.”

“Why do you want me to lie to you, Dean? Is it so hard to believe that someone can feel something for you? That I love you?”

“You don’t mean that,” he continued. “How would you know what you feel is real? It’s not like you have a lot of options on the road.”

“Because I’ve felt like this from the moment I met you, Dean,” she confessed. Her heart had begun hammering inside her chest, begging for a moment of rest. But that was the last thing she wanted. It was the last thing she needed. “Why don’t you want to believe that I could feel this way about you?”

“Because you deserve better, (Y/N),” he muttered softly, almost like he didn’t want her to hear it. “I’m not better.”

(Y/N) knew words were not enough to calm the doubts that drowned his mind, but she knew how she could show it. With a smile on her face, she pulled one of Dean’s hands with her own as she unzipped her pants with her other. She moved their interlocked hands to the wetness that had pooled in her core, pressing his calloused fingers on the aching bundle of nerves that had been begging for attention. “I know what I deserve,” she hissed. “And I know what I want, Dean. I want you.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he argued. But his fingers were telling another story. As if by instinct, his digits had started circling her clit, rubbing circles and shapes over the bud. “I’m damaged goods, (Y/N). I’m no good.”

“And I’m not better,” she added. “We all have a past, Dean. It can’t stop us from living in the present.”

“Is that what you’re doing, then?” Dean chuckled. “Living in the present?”

“We both are, Deanie,” (Y/N) grinned mischievously, knowing she had won him over. “As soon as you give in, baby.”

“You win, then,” he smiled. “For now.”

Dean pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s, savoring their softness and their warmth. It was everything he had imagined and more. They moved perfectly in sync, fitting into each other’s empty spaces like they had been crafted for each other. And maybe they were. Maybe they were part of some divine plan and had no idea. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. It was the fact that they were together that made everything just right.

“So, is this all because of me?” Dean taunted as he teased her folds. “This how you always are?”

“Yeah,” she sighed in pleasure. “I can’t help it when I’m with you.”

“Wish I had known earlier,” he grinned deviously. “I would have been taking care of you, (Y/N).”

“I think we’ve been taking care of ourselves quite well,” (Y/N) teased. “I mean, from what I saw today, you got your system down.”

“Oh, is that so? That mean you got your system too?”

“Well, I have not heard any complaints yet,” she chuckled. “I kind of know my body quite well.”

“Show me then.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” Dean smiled. “Get up on the bed and show me how you touch yourself thinking of me, baby.”

Dean slipped an arm under her legs and another on her back and carried her to the bed, where he laid her body softly on the mattress. He kissed his way down her body as he rid her of her clothes, revealing the valley of her skin and marking his path with his mouth.

“Show me,” he said as he kissed down her legs. “Show me what you do.”

“You gotta get off me first,” she chuckled. “Or are you gonna do the work for me?”

“As tempting as that sounds, baby, we gotta even the fields here. And we don’t have much time.”

With a slight chuckle, (Y/N) situated herself comfortably on the bed, propping her back up with a few pillows. Just enough so she could see Dean’s form. He had dragged a chair and rested it just at the foot of the bed, his eyes firmly trained on the woman’s body.

Soon enough, (Y/N)’s hands set off to work instinctively. They roamed her body sensuously, squeezing and kneading her most sensitive spots. As they worked their way through her skin, one rested upon her breast as the other made its way between her legs. She spread her limbs wide, giving Dean the show of a lifetime as her digits spread her folds and gathered her wetness before landing on her aching clit.

She knew it was her hands that were touching her, but her mind quickly tricked her into thinking it was Dean’s calloused fingers running across her body. In her head, it was him that was toying with her clit, it was him that was pinching her hardened nipples, it was him that was bringing her closer and closer to her awaited orgasm.

But it was clear that it wasn’t. Where he sat, Dean had taken his hard cock back into his hand, pumping at the same rate (Y/N) was touching herself. He slid his hand up and down his length, using his thumb to circle the head as precum coated him. In his head, it was her hand wrapped around him, squeezing softly as he tried to ride out his climax as long as he could.

“Fuck yourself, baby,” Dean groaned out. “I’m getting close here.”

“I always knew you were always too fast to the finish line,” she teased, concealing a moan that burst through. “Might just call you two-minute Dean.”

“You really know how to shatter the fantasy, (Y/N),” he sighed. “Just do it, baby.”

“Alright, but stop talking, Dean. You’re wrecking my fantasy here.”

After Dean finally quieted, stifling a moan that was bubbling, (Y/N) continued with her work. The hand that had been touching her chest slithered down her body, sinking into her core as her other hand continued her attack on her clit.

Moans and pants left her as she pistoned into her cunt, her digits curling at the end to bring her that much closer to her climax. She could see how hard it was for the man before her to keep up with her speed. His skin had started to redden and beads of sweat had formed across his body. His chest heaved quickly, and his movements stuttered as he held onto whatever resolution he had left.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned. “I’m so close, baby.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he stammered. “Keep going. Cum for me, baby.”

(Y/N)’s picked up speed as she felt the tight coil in the pit of her stomach threatening to snap. She had done that dance many times before, searching, pushing, beckoning her orgasm to the brink. But it was the first time the Dean that was before her was real, close enough she could touch him. Close enough he could touch her.

It was that very thought that had her yelling out his name as her finish washed over her body, drenching her hands in her essence. Close behind, Dean burst across his stomach with her name dripping from his tongue, his eyes firmly trained on hers.

Dean took her into another rough kiss as they came down from their respective orgasms, her lips so irresistible he didn’t care how out of breath he was. “God, you’re perfect,” he panted. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

“Was that everything you had dreamed of?” (Y/N) teased with a grin. “Was that what was running through your head when I caught you?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled as he caressed her cheek. “It was more of a contact sport, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Well, we still got some time to kill before nightfall,” she offered. “And I’ve got enough for a round two.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby.”

As Dean kissed his way down (Y/N)’s neck, a knock on the door startled them apart, sending them scrambling for their clothes.

“Guys?” Sam called from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay with you two? We really need to get ready for tonight.”

“Fucking Sammy,” Dean grumbled quietly, his eyes rolling as he slipped his t-shirt on. “We were just getting done talking.”

“No fighting?”

“We were very civil, Sam,” (Y/N) called out, trying her best to swallow the laughter that was bubbling in her throat. The pair had gotten dressed in record time, fixing the bed and brushing their hair. She was slipping on her boots when she whispered to Dean, “We are definitely getting a raincheck on that round two, Dean.”

“Oh, you betcha, baby,” he grinned. “Don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to be caught in the act.”

“Just be grateful it was me and not Sam,” she smiled before kissing him once more. “Now, let’s go kill us some vampires.”

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itstheghostofmypast · 3 days

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Screw You!

Soulmate/Corporate AU Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Never had she met someone who would say their boss was a good boss, but if you ask her, the corporate warlord she slaved away for was the worst. A true hypocrite, with a pretty face, nice smile, and a rotten,ugly heart- an overtime loving prick. One she was stuck with on HER day, happy birthday to her.

Genre: Fluff

Rating: SFW

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6k

Est.Read Time: 13 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: Yes, I did write myself a birthday fic- I am not delusional. Also, I had been keeping @justsomekpopstuff 's request literally for this day!

Soulmates, the concept of love, the proof of your "other half" sounds like a load of fun until you realise there's an expiry date on that fun little deal. The beauty of this ideal world was that each soul is blessed with an ink, an ink that morphs into a phrase or a sentence, one that is uttered by their other half at one point of their lonely lives.

In this fundamentally twisted world, she was one of the few who had been blessed with one of the most horrendous soulmate one liners, "Being on time means, no overtime." One she'd gladly cover up with a long sleeved shirt, a cardigan, coat or whatever she could find- yes, she had once thought of getting a tattoo over it, but apparently that was illegal? Like, okay?

As a child, she'd stare at her forearm before glancing at her parents' palms. Both had a single word on their palms, their names. Her bestfriend had a cute phrase on her wrist, one that had her taste the bitter sweet awe at the back of tongue when she saw the boy mumble that question to her platonic soulmate, "Be my starlight?" It was sweet, adorable, swoonworthy even, but like any normal teenagers, her hormones told her a different story, "You're dying single."

As the years passed by she still clung onto some form of hope, wishing that whoever this was, was some good-looking corporate hunk and NOT SOME OLD MAN- mind you, this thought had only occurred to her when her sister had stumbled across her soulmate by accident at a cafe. The young but clumsy barista had almost dropped her coffee on her. Instead, he placed his hand in the way, smiling through the pain as he hissed, "Ain't hotter than you." Granted, Mingi was a weird dude, but he was the one her sister was destined with and as much as she admired the two pair in their late teens, the girl who had hit 21 had an epiphany, "Fate hates me."

Life went on, though. People around her were slowly reuniting with their other halves, but her- screw Plato's theory of other halves. He didn't know anything. Soon enough, she found herself coming home to an empty apartment, waking up in a cold bed, staring up at the dull ceiling, letting the silence hug her with its melancholic tune. There was not much she could do anyway, everyone would remind her not to lose hope, the ugly, rude, black ink in cursive was a sign of assurity that there was someone out there for her. Yeah, an old balding, stubby man, probably with a beer belly and all that crap- yes, this could be a horrid over exaggeration. Looks didn't matter. Personality did. That was true, but then, even if he was a sweet person, why would her other half say something so pointless? Something so blunt and rude?

Yes, that was the paradoxical dilemma that had her up on alternate nights. What if he is a good-looking hunk, but is a total prick! There was no winning in this situation. To top it all off, she had managed to somehow land herself a small little place on the corporate world- now proudly titled as a team leader, she could gladly say that this world was nothing more than a dog eat dog world and she was the bone fate had been chewing on for almost 26 years.

And when our poor, little, angel-hearted, extremely polite and definitely not bitterly sarcastic protagonist was not wailing about the ink on her forearm, she was daydreaming about choking the man on the 28th floor. The bastard who had been the bane of her existence, joining on the same day together but, oh, since he was oh so great at licking them boots, he'd managed to score a bit higher than her. Misogyny at its finest. Who cared if he wasn't even aiming for the same goal as her? Who cares if he was part of the finance team!? Sure it wasn't his fault the advertising head wasn't a fan of her, delaying her promotion till the old prick had finally retired- still, her current higher up, should have at least suffered the same way! To some extent.

"Some people are just lucky." She grimaced at the way her annoyingly sweet best friend had uttered during one of their afternoon coffees, placing a hand on hers, "And, if we remember correctly, you're the competitive one. I told you not to turn it into a competition." Yes, she did handle that situation maturely, chugging down her coffee, grumbling about how break was almost over, leaving the cafe with a, "I'll tell Seonghwa you've been eying up Choi Stupid from work."

Choi Stupid. Technically, that wasn't his name, but let's call him that. Initially, she had thought he was kinda nice, cute too, but then he was just too nice? How do you get everyone to like you? Can you actually be this nice? No, she was sure he was a snarky, mean bastard deep down- yes, he did manage to get the intern manager to like him as well, yes that man would praise Choi Stupid even if he was in the wrong, even if she did better than Choi Stupid, he was somehow appreciated that day too. Eventually she had just began to ignore him, only give him one word responses, but one thing was for sure, Choi Stupid was as competitive as her, but unlike her, luck had been on his side since the start, which is why his boss was a nice lady, while her's was Satan's retired manwhore- for sure.

And as fate would have it, with the annual dinner approaching, the teams and departments were working insynch, collaborating, especially the marketing and the finance department and although she loved such creative opportunities there was one problem- Choi Stupid by default was her boss during this project. And he had made sure to make her already miserable life ten times worse.

Never had she met someone who would say their boss was a good boss, but if you ask her, the corporate warlord she slaved away for was the worst. A true hypocrite, with a pretty face, nice smile, and a rotten,ugly heart- an overtime loving prick. One she was stuck with on HER day, happy birthday to her.

It all started when she had woken up to the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night, opening the door to her family and friends who had come to give her a surprise birthday party- hey, not her fault her birthday landed on a 'working Saturday'. So yes, like any unlucky, lonely, sad 26 year old she had celebrated her special day till around 3 A.M. before knocking out cold and waking up late for work- the best way to celebrate the new year.

With a sigh she leaned back against the chair, unsure if the creaking was coming from it or her poor back, before glancing at the wall clock, leave it to Choi Stupid to have her finishing up everyone else's tasks- technically the reports were her domain, she was team leader after all, but still, she has been here since morning, she had missed her lunch with her family and her usual afternoon coffee with her friends- what a way to enjoy the day.

There was no one else on the floor but her, a part of her wanted to abandon the work and just leave, but the more responsible portion of her soul was already busy beating her up for slacking off like this. Yawning in defeat, she hunched over the desk, glaring at the screen of her desktop, audibly sighing when the familiar clicking of shoes approached her, ignoring the way they progressively got closer.

She actually forgot about him for a moment, busy reading a report, thinking of what to add when she felt him hovering next to her, "It's bad enough you have me working on my birthday, I don't need you to baby me."

With a heavy sigh, he controlled the urge to roll his eyes, placing the coffee cup on her desk in a civil manner. What was she five? Complaining about her birthday like that, it's not his fault she was late. In fact, he had to stay overtime as well, because of her! Her presence was irritating enough, but the constant pestering of his friends about his lack of significant other had him huffing all day, especially when the boss-man asked him today, "Sannie boy, you better look for her quick, you seem to be sulking these days." He only gave the bastard a tight-lipped smile, easy to say for a man who apparently found his other half at the age of ten - oh how San would give anything remotely like that. Imagine knowing your other half for so long, hell, the only people he'd known for a while her of course, his family and friends....and....her.

"What you staring at, Choi? This part of your overtime punishment?" She snapped him back to reality, snatching the cup off the desk in a graceless manner. He didn't deserve a thank you.

He could only scoff at her reaction, pushing up his glasses before shaking his head, she was hopeless, whoever gets stuck with her probably would be sent directly to heaven- considering his punishment would be to spend the rest of his life with this creature. Giving her one more glare, he mumbled, walking away, "Being on time means no overtime."

Her body jerked at the sudden realisation, twitching as her head whipped in his direction, staring at that disgusting-or not- broad back, her lips moving quicker than her brain to process, her automatic defense system kicking in before she could stop herself, instantly having him freeze in his tracks as her voice echoed, "Oh, SCREW YOU!"

An audible gasped caught his burning ears, though he stood there in place, ever so slowly the pieces coming together, forming a picture that had him laughing at the irony.

Her hand slapped against her mouth, eyes widening when she saw him turn around and glare at her, slowly walking towards her, staring her down hard. Clearing her throat, she tried to mumble an apology- wonderful girl, make sure he hates you the moment you meet him, HELL HOW WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT WAS HIM THIS ENTIRE TIME!?

"S-San I-"

Her words caught up in her throat when she realised what he was doing. Approaching her with careful steps he tugged on his tie in an aggressive manner, ignoring her when she tried to speak as he trapped her between the desk and his body, popping open the first two buttons of his crisp white dressshirt with one hand, his other hand gripping her shoulder, rolling his eyes when he noticed her close hers in fear, hande covering her face.

"THIS IS HARRASSMENT-"

"Read." His calm voice cut her off, gently giving her shoulder a squeeze, signalling her to do as told.

She peeked through her fingers, scanning the exposed neck line, about to scream, or possibly kick him down south. That is when her eyes caught trace of a cursive right above his collar bone.

"What...the...hell. " With a faint whisper she lowered her hands, not noticing how he was now looking at her with a certain softness, not noticing how his hands were on her waist, too busy to notice how his face was flushed, his ears burning a bright pink when she traced the phrase on his skin with the tip of her fingers, mumbling, "Oh, screw you..."

"I can't believe it, all this time, it was you." He mumbled, letting her have her moment, but not stopping with his, staring at her with a new kind of tenderness, "I spent my entire life thinking this meant my other half would reject me...I was made fun of till this day....I just...If I had known-"

"I thought I'd be married to an old, bald suited man."

His eyes flickered from her lips to her eyes, "What...do you mean..."

"This, you fool, who says this to someone you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with?" She snorted, unbuttoning her cuff and rolling up her sleeve to show the statement on her forearm, letting him gently grip her wrist, bringing her closer so he could read, "I...yeah I see what you mean-Wow, we just had really weird things to say, huh?" He smiled, looking up at her, and for some ungodly reason, those dimpled and stupid glasses suddenly made her heart beat a little too fast for her liking.

"Speak for yourself. What I said was cool as hell." She mumbled, trying to distract herself, trying not to jump into his arms and break down, to think they met three years ago, and never knew any of this.

His brows raised at her statement, almost about to say something before choosing to lean closer to her, smirking at the way her eyes widened like a dear caught in headlights. Her hands gripped the lapels of his coat, eyes closing when he was a breath away - until she heard a soft click and his warmth disappeared.

"Oh, look, I guess you don't need to work overtime anymore." He chuckled, eying how she stood there dumbfounded, staring at the desktop he had turned off, while he placed her things in her bag for her before slinging the laptop bag over his shoulder, "I'd take your purse too...but...the red doesn't go well with my outfit."

A loud cackle resonated across the empty floor, causing Choi Stupid to smile like a mad man at the woman who was running towards the elevator with him hot on her heels behind her.

The doors closed with a ding as he glanced at her, blushing at how she was shamelessly staring back at him, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall of the elevator with a smirk.

"What?" He asked, tilting his head, knowing he wasn't gonna like whatever was coming next.

"Lady luck ain't on your side no more, buddy."

"Why'd you say that??" He asked, raising a brow, somewhat amused at this sudden boost of energy she was now blessed with.

"Gotta spend the rest of my your pathetic life with me."

"Actually, I think I'm pretty lucky. Not only do I get to do that, I still have an hour or so before your day ends...so technically, I think you're finally getting a bit lucky there...having your other half save you and take you out on a nice relaxing dinner for your birthday."

The doors opened as he walked out, chuckling at her gasp, amusing how quick she was even in those heels.

"Save me!? From who!?"

Opening the car door for her, he gestured for her to sit and smiled while closing it, "From Choi Stupid." Laughing at the muffled whining that he could hear while he walked over to his side of the door. Truly lady luck had never left his side, because from the day he had seen her, he had wished she was the one, even when she was being her gremlin self- a part of him wished it was him.

By the time the two had gotten to the road a comfortable silence had settled between them, and a small smile had graced his lips, especially when he had felt her lace their fingers together, giving his hand a light squeeze.

She glanced at their hands, sighing in relief, grateful and somewhat pleasantly surprised, feeling a bit too giddy when he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand, before casually beginning to drive again.

What a birthday surprise indeed.

Taglist: @edenesth @skteezcursed @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

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her-satanic-wiles · 4 months

Text

Dawn Chorus - I

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.5k.

Reading Time: 26 min.

Warnings: attempted execution, blood, detailed aftermath of war, detailed deaths of children, detailed grief, detailed pain, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of rape, torture, violence

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976

Author’s note: This part of the story contains the origins of the Zionist argument, claiming that the land of Palestine belongs to Jewish people by will of God. I have written this section of the chapter as close to the Christian Bible as possible in an attempt to avoid Zionist ideology or propaganda - and I want to make one thing abundantly clear: this is a pro-Palestine blog. I will always and forever stand with the people of Palestine, and do my utmost to use my platform to promote the liberation of the Palestinians under Israeli apartheid. Zionism and Zionists have no place at my table. Please continue to boycott companies, platforms and people who send aid and support to the colonial state of Israel. Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise like a human billionaire and his taxes. You had shown yourself alternate scenarios in which this didn’t happen, in which you’d still be safe in the Humanities Department of Heaven, distributing angels to help God’s children and guide them to the Light. Or enjoying the presence of a fellow guardian angel at the proverbial water cooler. The other side of the battle was autopilot-mode, no thoughts, no feelings, just running to save yourself.

You had a fierce belief in your Leader - almost entirely unwavering and unquestioning. You were His daughter, mirrored in His image and devoted only to Him. You did His bidding as requested, journeyed to realms under His name, played the messenger when He had something important to say to His children. You were there when Gabriel delivered God’s message to the Virgin Mary, hovering in the background and keeping Mary safe from harm in order to protect the coming of Christ. You aided in escaping Peter from prison, making him invisible to the guards as you and some others guided him to freedom by the will of the Almighty.You believed in Him so strongly, that you didn’t need to question Him - because He was always right, and His plan was always just.

You saw how the people of Egypt suffered at the hands of your Lord, and personally watched as the souls of the firstborn children who were slaughtered by Him as an act of protest against Pharaoh and his tyrannic reign. You kept your mouth shut at the livestock, knowing that food could be replenished easily enough. You thought about saying something when you saw the innocence of Egypt battling against the boils that God had given them. By His grace, you could even turn a blind eye to the adult firstborns who were killed as collateral damage. But the children? Some as young as newborns, all the way up to twelve years old. Pure babies without an ounce of hate or sins in their hearts, who didn’t understand the difference between their heathenish beliefs and their Hebrew friends. Who had never whipped a slave, or ordered the execution of God’s children. Who never had the cognitive capacity to think of such a thing, because their brains hadn’t had the chance to learn, to change, to join in God’s favour.

You’d never forget the small boy you watched over in the seconds before he took his last breath, sleeping soundly in his bed after a long day of studying and games. He couldn’t have been older than six. The oldest child to a woman whose husband had passed on mere months before. To a woman who was hanging on by a fragile thread as it was. You watched the boy’s breath rise and fall steadily in his peaceful slumber, until his chest fell for the final time. You watched his soul rise from his body, confused for a moment - painfully unaware that his mortal life had ended. You saw the fear in his eyes when he looked at his lifeless body in his bed, and felt his frustration when his mother ignored his pleas for help, not understanding that she couldn’t see his soul. You observed as Horus came for the child, wrapping His arm around him and offering some comfort to his distress. Horus looked at you as you stood in the doorway of the bedroom, His avian eyes full of the darkest of emotions as He guided yet another soul to the underworld, to have their heart weighed and judged by the guardian at the gates. His loathing poured off of Him as He shot you that look, before disappearing into the night with the child. You didn’t kill the boy, but under the gaze of Horus, you felt as though you had.

Leaving the boy’s home, the streets were full of lost and confused souls, ranging in age and wealth but all sharing the same sorrow and fear. Among the devastation stood your doubts of the Almighty’s plan, and the question of why lingered on your lips even as you were summoned back to Heaven to give a report on the situation - on its success. You felt uncomfortable as you summarised what you saw to the archangel Michael, who looked triumphant in God’s success, knowing he had carried it out perfectly for Him. He thanked you for your hard work - and in that moment, you had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Of course, your thoughts were never your own, and you were called in to meet with your superiors about your doubts. They seemed to be reasonable, and understanding, especially given that this was your first offense. They promised to set your mind at ease, and reminded you that you were merely a foot-soldier in the Great Plan. You didn’t need to worry, you just needed to do as you were asked. Then they kicked you out of the office with a bad taste in your mouth, and a sense of foreboding of the things to come. Surely His plan couldn’t get any worse?

Then Canaan happened.

After the Israelites escaped slavery in Egypt, they wandered in the wilderness for forty years, led by their leader, Moses. During this time, God promised them a land of their own, a fertile land called Canaan, where they could settle and prosper. When Moses died, a new leader named Joshua arose to lead the Israelites into Canaan. Before entering the land, Joshua received a command from God to conquer it. God promised to be with Joshua and the Israelites, assuring them of victory if they remained faithful. Under the pretext of divine sanction, and God’s name on their lips, the Israelites engaged in systematic warfare, besieging cities, slaughtering men, women, and children, and plundering their possessions. The conquest was marked by bloodshed, devastation, and the utter annihilation of indigenous populations. Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the Lord’s house. Jericho fell to ruin, crumbling in ashes on the ground as fire engulfed the buildings and eating everything it could. You watched as they celebrated over the dead, drank themselves into a stupor in the ruined homes, covered in the blood of the innocent. They didn’t bother themselves to move the corpses until the celebrations were over, days after they declared victory.

Despite the humans being unable to see you, you were still a real being wandering the streets of Canaan, sobering at the sights before you. Your beautiful, white wings dragged on the floor as you walked, gathering the dirt and the blood at the tips of your feathers. God’s children had got the land that they were promised, but what was the cost? From the freeing of the Hebrews to the conquering of Canaan, all you could see were the bodies that had been left behind of the civilians caught up in the fight. Though the blood pooled in puddles no more than 3cm deep, it felt as though you were in it up to your neck. You looked at the conquerors in disgust, and with a rage you’d never felt before - especially when you realised that, for Joshua, peace was never an option worthy of consideration. You were suffocated by the sinners that surrounded you, the murderers and looters, the fornicators who lurked in dark alleyways to celebrate with any passerby willing or otherwise. You watched as indigenous stragglers were dealt with, some more humanely than others and you wondered: was this truly God’s will all along? Did He plan for such brutality? Did He allow Joshua to go as far as he did - and did He give Joshua the strength and the power to do so? Or did He look at His children in disgust and disappointment, ashamed of them for turning to sin and Satan so easily in a moment of pure happiness? Despite claiming to worship a God of love and justice, the Israelites demonstrated cruelty and brutality in their pursuit of land and power - and your faith wavered a second time when you realised that your worst fears were true: God really did give Joshua the power to do as he did, and He felt no remorse for it.

You were pulled into your superior’s office again, this time scolded with much less understanding than before. Gabriel and Michael looked at you with disdain, nothing but anger in their eyes and on their faces as you sat before them in the celestial white room, eyes aching from the brightness.

Gabriel, with his luminous wings unfurled, regarded you with a solemn gaze. “Again, ___? Hast thou not learned from thy previous lapse in faith? Our duty as angels is to serve unquestioningly, to uphold the divine order without falter.”

Michael, his expression stern and unwavering, spoke with commanding authority. “Indeed, ___, the Almighty’s will is not for us to question. It is our sacred duty to carry out His commands with unwavering devotion.”

You bowed your head, feeling the weight of their reproach heavy upon you. “I understand, my lords. But I cannot help but struggle with the suffering and turmoil wrought by our actions. Is it not within our power to seek mercy and compassion, even amidst the fulfilment of divine justice?”

Gabriel’s gaze softened, though his tone remained firm. “Our understanding is limited, ___. We cannot comprehend the intricacies of God’s divine plan. It is not for us to question His wisdom or to challenge His authority.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “Our loyalty to the Creator must remain steadfast, even in the face of uncertainty or doubt. We are His instruments, His messengers, and His will shall be done.”

You sighed, “But His will brings the destruction of cities and the deaths of children. His own children. It is difficult for me to truly follow Him when there is so much devastation.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, his expression a mix of compassion and admonition. “___,” he said gently, “we are but conduits of His divine will. Our mortal understanding pales in comparison to the grand tapestry of His design. Though we may not comprehend the reasons behind the trials and tribulations, we must trust in His wisdom and benevolence.”

Michael’s gaze remained steely, but a hint of empathy flickered in his eyes. “Indeed, ___,” he spoke firmly, “the path of righteousness is not always easy to tread. But it is our duty to carry out His commands, no matter the cost. Our faith must endure even in the face of adversity.”

You felt a pang of uncertainty gnaw at your celestial essence, torn between the call of duty and the ache of compassion. “But what of mercy?” you questioned, your voice tinged with desperation. “What of compassion for His creations, even in their moments of waywardness?”

Gabriel’s voice held a note of solemnity as he responded, “Mercy and justice are intertwined in the divine order, ___. Though His judgments may seem harsh, they are tempered by His boundless love. We must trust that His actions serve a higher purpose, even when they are beyond our comprehension.”

Michael’s voice continued in his firmness, his tone sharp and parental. “Let this be the last time we speak of this, ___. There will be consequences to thy actions the next time thou decidest to question the Almighty.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words pressing down upon you like a leaden mantle. The gravity of his warning was unmistakable, a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance in the face of divine authority.

“Yes, my lord,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

As Gabriel contemplated the situation, a solemn expression settled upon his countenance. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke, his voice measured and grave. “___,” he began, his tone tinged with a sense of sorrow, “in light of thy transgression and the gravity of thy doubts, it is clear that a lesson must be learned.” He paused, as if searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. Then, with a decisive nod, he continued, “I propose thou be assigned a period of reflection and penance. During this time, thou wilt be tasked with assisting souls in need—those who have lost their way, who suffer in anguish, or who cry out for guidance.”

Gabriel’s suggestion carried the weight of solemn judgment, yet also held the promise of redemption. It was a punishment tempered with compassion, an opportunity for growth and renewal amidst the shadows of doubt.

“Thou wilt walk among mortals,” Gabriel concluded, his gaze unwavering, “bearing witness to their struggles and offering solace in the name of the Almighty. May this experience serve to strengthen thy faith and reaffirm thy devotion to His divine will.”

“Let her spend time in Canaan until her penance is served, as she holds so much sympathy for the dead sinners.” Michael suggested, a smug tone oozing from his voice. He almost lit up at the look of protest you shot him, wanting to argue but Gabriel raising a hand and stopping you from speaking.

“It is decided. Thou may only return to us here when thou no longer holdeth contempt for our Lord. Dost thou have anything thou wishest to say?”

You stood and spread your wings, stretching them out and flapping them sharply in frustration. “There are several things I should like to say.” You retorted fiercely. “I shall restrain the urge, however. The Almighty gave me a tongue to use and a brain to think, after all.”

“And thou would doest well to remember that.” Michael commented, the smirk fading from his face. “Go. Leave us, petulant child. Perform thy duties and know thy place.”

Your time in Canaan was dreary - especially given that you didn’t want to be there in the first place, surrounded by those who used His name to spread evil. But still, you guided His creations as you were told to do, their guardian spirit keeping them from harm and returning them to the Light when their own beliefs had wavered. You felt somewhat like a hypocrite, guiding the wayward souls back to their own beliefs when you, yourself, were questioning yours. And, if you were to be truthful, your faith never completely restored to how it was before Canaan was conquered. You still held even the smallest amount of contempt for the Almighty, and silently questioned everything He did, wondering if His plans would succeed in peace or be laced with blood. But eventually, Heaven forgave you and told you that you were welcome to return, and you did so as though it was the easiest choice you had ever made… because, well, it was.

But all of that lead you to your third strike.

It had been some time since you entered the Mortal Realm, choosing to spend your time in Heaven and directing other angels to their tasks. You hadn’t really paid much attention to God’s creations as a result, almost entirely out of the loop. Since your time in Canaan, according to your fellow angels, much had changed. Great churches were built and devoted to God, while wars waged in His name and His word spread to those who needed it the most. Yet, in those churches, you discovered corruption everywhere you looked. The righteous taking their power and using it to abuse others, in God’s very own home, watched by the Saints and Apostles as they committed the most disgusting of acts to the vulnerable and the needy, as though they condoned such behaviour. You saw people, of all ages, routinely touched against their will, forced into submission and shunned if they dared to say anything - blamed by God’s other children for a crime they didn’t commit, but were the victims of instead. You watched the cycle repeat, families torn apart, and all the while the situation was monitored and allowed. Perhaps, even, ordered by the Lord Himself. You couldn’t bear it - you couldn’t fathom that the Almighty who you’d followed blindly your entire life could hurt another being like that, when He often portrayed Himself to be a kind and benevolent soul, a loving father to those who loved him. You needed to know why. Why must he enact such cruelty on his own creations?

You stormed into Michael’s office, where he, Gabriel, and Raphael met, staring at you in disbelief that you’d have the audacity to do such a thing. “I wish to speak with the Lord.” You demanded, anger coursing through your veins like never before.

Raphael’s brows furrowed. “Directly?”

“Yes.”

He laughed in disbelief. “Child, not even we get a direct audience with the Almighty. Whatever could thou say to Him?”

Gabriel sighed, disappointment oozing from his celestial being. “Thy faith hath wavered yet again, hath it not?”

“Aye, I stand before thee once more, yet again with a heart heavy with doubt.”

Michael’s own anger was bubbling under the surface. “Speak, and let us hear thy grievance.”

“My lords, I cannot remain silent any longer. I have witnessed the depths of depravity within the Church, the desecration of innocence by those who claim to be servants of God.”

“Thy words are bold, ___,” Gabriel said, his tone remaining level. “What troubles thee so?”

Your anger surfaced and manifested as a raised voice and shaking limbs. “‘Tis the scourge of sexual abuse that plagues the holy sanctuaries. Innocent children, robbed of their purity by those who should protect them. How can a just and loving God allow such atrocities to persist within His own house?”

Raphael nodded, unfazed by the spectacle in front of him. “Thy anguish is understandable.” He found this more entertaining than impertinent, clearly unaware of your two strikes before. “Yet thou must remember that God’s ways are beyond our understanding.”

“How can we stand idly by while the innocent suffer? Are we not tasked with defending the weak and the vulnerable?”

Gabriel rested his forehead on his hand. “Thou dost speak with passion,” he was exasperated by you, “but thou must not forget thy place. God’s will is inscrutable, and we are but instruments of His divine plan. How many times must we remind thee?”

“I refuse to be silent any longer! I will not turn a blind eye to the suffering of the innocent, even if it means defying the will of my superiors.”

Michael slammed his fist on the white desk, standing from his seat behind it. “Thou dost tread dangerous ground. Thy defiance borders on heresy!”

You echoed his tone. “So be it! I would rather be branded a heretic than remain complicit in the face of such evil. This smells of the Devil, not of our Lord. I do not understand why He sits by and allows it to happen.”

Gabriel tried to keep the peace between all of you, but he was losing control of the situation quickly. “Thy faith hath faltered, and thy words ring with rebellion. Thou must reconsider thy stance before it is too late.”

“I cannot, in good conscience, remain silent any longer. If God truly exists, then He shall judge me for my actions. But I cannot stand by while His name is used to justify such abominations.”

“Then so be it, ___,” Michael resolved through gritted teeth. “If thou wilt not bend to the will of God, then thou must bear the consequences of thy defiance.”

“So be it.”

“Thou hast been found guilty of heresy and defiance against the will of God for the third time. As Archangel of Judgment, it falls upon me to administer thy punishment.”

“Thou may judge me, but know that my heart is true, and my intentions pure.”

“Thy intentions matter not. Thy actions have brought dishonour upon the celestial host, and thy defiance cannot go unpunished.”

Gabriel stood and walked over to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking urgently into his ear. “Michael, perhaps we should consider a less severe punishment. Her heart may yet be turned back to the path of righteousness.”

Michael shook his head. “Nay, Gabriel. The time for leniency hath passed. Ariel’s repeated offences demand a swift and decisive response.” All the while, his wrathful gaze never left your face. “Thy fate is sealed. As Archangel of Judgment, I hereby decree that thou shalt be cast out from the celestial realm and condemned to the Abyss.”

Raphael’s eyes widened with shock, but he said nothing.

Gabriel shook his brother and with sadness, he said, “Michael, art thou certain this is the right course of action? Once the sentence is passed, there can be no turning back.”

Michael replied firmly, “It is done, Gabriel. Justice must be served, even if it breaks thy heart. Let the punishment be carried out.”

Knowing your fate was worse than death, your body reacted for you - even before your brain had decided the best course of action. You turned swiftly on your heels and made your escape, wings flapping and trying to gain enough speed to remove yourself from the Heavens. Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising from the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise.

The portal to the Mortal Realm was just in your grasp, so by only the adrenaline that you were running on, you forced yourself to speed up - making a mad dash for the open world in front of you. You could hear Michael’s calls to, “Close that gate! Do not let her through!”

Someone had listened and had begun closing the portal. The closer you got to it, the smaller the hole became, shrinking and shrinking until all you could see was the tiniest speck of blue peeking out. But you couldn’t let that deter you - if you were caught, your future would hold horrors beyond celestial comprehension. You made a dive, perhaps it was your madness that drove you to do it, the adrenaline, or even your desperation, but you dove nonetheless. Your whole body ripped through the closing portal, feeling the walls shut in on you and grip onto your body with a searing, hot pain you’d never experienced before. Escaping from the Heavens was never a kind task, otherwise more angels would have done it, but now you were caught in Earth’s atmosphere, the planet’s gravity pulling you down to its very core with all the force it could muster.

The warmth was the first thing you noticed, the friction caused by the air resistance generated intense heat, turning your body into a blazing inferno akin to a comet streaking across the sky. Your skin prickled and your hair stood on end as the flames licked at your body, consuming everything in their path. The feathers on the outside of your wings were flying off and burning up in the flames, turning to ash in the atmosphere and disappearing entirely. The rush of wind roared in your ears, drowning out all other sounds as you plummeted towards the ground. The air around you shimmered with heat, distorting your vision and adding to the surreal sensation of falling through space. Tears appeared in your eyes but you couldn’t tell if that was because of the pain you could feel or the wind biting against you.

Despite the intense heat and the overwhelming sense of impending doom, there was also a strange beauty to the experience. The fiery trail you left behind painted a mesmerizing picture against the night sky, a fleeting spectacle that few that resided on this planet would ever witness. The sight of the planet from so far above reminded you just how the Almighty had made it: some land, but mostly water. As you fell, you recalled the horrors of the deep, the mammals with sharp teeth and stomachs bigger than your entire body. In that moment, for the first time in a while, you prayed to Him. You begged Him over and over to guide your body to land. You were an angel, you were likely to survive the fall despite the pain you were about to endure, and your weakened state couldn’t handle a battle with a sea creature that only wanted you for lunch.

Hurtling towards the ground, the last thing you remembered thinking was, this is how hellfire must feel. And that was when the world went dark.

“Clearly … happened … Sister.”

As you slowly regained consciousness, you became painfully aware of the searing agony coursing through every inch of your body. With your eyes tightly shut, you focused on the sensation of pressure and discomfort, trying to piece together what had happened. Your limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and sharp pains shot through you with every movement. It was as if your body had been battered and broken, the impact of the fall leaving you bruised and battered beyond recognition. All the bones inside were broken, the bridge of your wings included, and your head throbbed beyond belief, as though you had a thousand hammers raging war against your skull.

Despite the overwhelming pain, a sense of relief washed over you as you realized that you were still alive. The thought of having survived such a catastrophic event filled you with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Despite everything, He had heard your prayers and allowed you to touch ground - or perhaps this was the worst outcome… perhaps He wished for your pain as penance for your disobedience. Regardless, you would heal and be well, and then you could begin to live with the mortals and hide from Michael and his wrath. You were safe here… you were sure of it.

“… working … heard … looking … angel …”

The voice was registering with you now that you were regaining your cognitive abilities after the crash. Your brain was working over time to translate his words, though, leaving you slightly confused as this was phrasing you’d not heard before. You muttered something, your words coming out in Hebrew and silencing the man.

“What … ?” He asked, speaking some more but the rest of his words sounding fuzzy.

You tried again in Hebrew, but when that proved unyielding, you switched to Arabic.

“… know …?”

With great effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking away tears. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that you were lying amidst a pile of rubble, surrounded by the charred remnants of your fiery descent. You sat up a little, beholding the scene around you that was surreal and unsettling. The ground beneath you was scorched and blackened, a stark contrast to the surrounding, luscious, green landscape. The crater itself was a testament to the sheer force of your impact, a deep indentation in the Earth’s surface that stretched out before you in an almost perfect circle. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and charred debris, making it difficult to breathe. The heat radiating from the ground beneath you was intense, searing your skin and making you sweat profusely despite the chill of the night air.

Looking around, you could see the devastation wrought by your fall. Trees lay shattered and splintered, their branches twisted and blackened by the flames. Rocks and debris littered the ground, scattered in all directions by the force of the impact. On the edge of the crater, the man you heard stood, staring at you in disbelief.

He wore robes; a symphony of rich, deep crimson, a colour that seemed to capture the essence of devotion and authority. Crafted from the finest silk, the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, accentuating the dignified stature of the wearer. Each stitch, meticulously placed, whispered of skilled hands that had laboured to create a garment befitting its esteemed purpose.

The robe’s skirt, adorned with intricate gold and black embroidery, depicted sacred symbols and religious motifs that told tales of faith and tradition - resembling the cross that Yeshua died upon, but placed upside-down. The golden threads shimmered in the ambient light, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the reverence with which the garment had been crafted.

A matching red sash, elegantly tied across the man’s chubby waist hid the many buttons that ran the length of the garment. Its edges, crisply pressed and perfectly straight to show his precision and need to look as clean as possible.

The man’s sleeves, were straight, yet too long for him, as was the rest of his attire. As tidy as these lines were, as much care went into keeping it pristine, it was far too big for him like it had been handed to him from someone else that used to wear it perfectly. The cuffs ended midway down his palms, which, themselves, were hidden beneath leather, black gloves.

One hand was up to his ear, holding something to it and speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand. Your eyes travelled over his face, his white skin dimmed by the light of the moon, but mismatched eyes shining brightly beneath black paint around his eyes. One was the colour of ice, the other was the colour of the trees. You’d never seen such a thing before in all of God’s creations. A moustache of mouse-brown sat above his top lip, which also had been painted black. As he spoke, you looked at his teeth, perfectly white but canines sharper than most mortal’s dental structures. You had heard of such a thing - rumours spreading amongst the Israelites as they told each other stories in the dark of the night - abominations so foul they ate people, consuming the blood from their bodies and ending their lives in a moment’s notice, hiding in the shadows of the night as the sun would kill them. You’d reported back to Gabriel, who’d confirmed these abominations were the work of Lucifer, an archangel who had fallen many eons ago and had renamed himself to Satan. Your eyes had fallen upon a vampyre, and as your eyes roamed over the rest of his body, you saw your halo clutched in his left hand, pressed between his fingers firmly as though you may make a grab for it at any moment.

You made an attempt to back away from the monster, but the bones in your body were still healing - taking longer now that your halo was in the hands of another and not atop your head as it ought to have been. You took in your surroundings a little more, brain power restoring to maximum as you realised he must be of the ancient Romans, the very same people who had killed Yeshua.

“I pray thee, do not harm me,” you said, your tongue switching to Latin. This got the man to stop again and look at you.

“You’ve hurt yourself enough without me getting involved, haven’t you, Angel?” he asked, responding in Latin back to you. His tone was unsettling, confident and dark. The glint in his eyes mimicked this. “… Latin.” The switch in language made you realise he wasn’t talking to you, but an invisible person in your midst.

“What tongue dost thou speak?”

“You’re a servant of the Betrayer and you don’t know my language?” he laughed, then spoke again to the invisible one. His hand moved from his ear and you saw light coming from his hand - expecting pain from Hell, you flinched. When the pain didn’t come, you heard him again. “It’s just a phone,” he explained, making a mockery of you. “I thought everyone up there knew what was going on down here.”

You sighed, “I have not visited in a while.”

“Oh really? When was the last time you were down here, then?”

“I am not compelled to divulge aught to thee, foul creature!” your voice was laced with disdain as you looked at him, fangs exposed as he grinned at you. He took a step towards the crater, and you tried to move back, howling in pain as you did so and earning another laugh from him.

“Then I’m not compelled to help you get your bearings.”

You stopped for a moment and thought - more knowledge would be useful at this stage. And keeping him talking would buy you some healing time and strengthen to get your halo then run again. “I beheld the passing of Yeshua - and that was mine ultimate moment in this earthly realm.”

The vampyre hissed at Yeshua’s name, almost as if he was in pain just hearing the name of the Holy Son. He straightened himself up and then took a seat on the edge of the crater. “That was two-thousand years ago, Angel. A lot’s changed since then.”

“What other tongue didst thou employ just now?”

“It’s called English. A mixture of Latin, Greek and German.”

A Germanic influence - you wondered why you were only picking up the Latin words at first. You were only prepared with the languages spoke around the time of Yeshua, meaning anything new that had been developed since was completely lost to your ears. Now that you knew the main languages, you commanded, “Speaketh once more in the English tongue.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He replied, but he did so in English.

“I comprehend thy words now. I give thee thanks.”

He scoffed. “That was fast.”

“‘Tis a… gift… from the Almighty.”

He looked at you in disgust.

You felt your body had healed enough for the pain to mostly subside, allowing you to fight your way to your feet. Your wings were still shattered, however, making you feel like a broken bird, vulnerable and weak in the eyes of her prey. The vampyre was preying on you, after all. “I express gratitude for the knowledge shared, yet I must make haste on my journey. I shall reclaim my halo and depart henceforth.” You held out your hand, silently praying that he’d be courteous and return your halo to you.

He looked at your hand and then at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He stood from his seat and took a step towards you, watching you flinch as you stepped back. “The son of the Dark One has an angel in his grasp - what makes you think you’re going anywhere, hm?” He was moving towards you at an alarming rate, rendering your body useless against his speed. He gripped hold of your arm, tightly trapping you beneath his gloved fingers. You struggled against him, pulling back as hard as you could but failing, your body still not strong enough. “The way you fell makes me think you came here without permission, right? Which means, we have a lot to talk about.”

“Release me.”

“Or what?”

“I shall slay thee.”

He simply laughed, before turning to a person who was walking towards you, emerging from the darkness. She was a woman, visibly older than the vampyre and a little chunkier, too. She had long, blonde hair and looked more human than monster, though, you came to quickly realise she was a monster like him, and when she spoke, she did so in English. “The Unholy Father blessed us with a gift tonight,” she commented through a smile.

“What do we do with her now, Sister?” the vampyre asked, English rolling off his tongue easier than the Latin he spoke to you in.

The woman entered the crater and grabbed hold of your chin, looking at your body in one, fell swoop before making her decision. “Take her to the basements and strap her up - we have a lot of questions to ask about her home, don’t we, little angel?”

“Unhand me!” you yelled, struggling against both of their grasps.

The woman gripped onto your wrists and tied a metal chain around them - the metal burned against your skin as you fought against her, the pain getting worse and worse until you were forced to still. “Forged with hellfire,” she explained, “you’re not getting out of that easily.”

The vampyre dragged you across the grass and into a building, smelling old and of incense. You could tell that the building techniques were similar to the Babylonian buildings, but with Roman Corinthian architecture thrown in. There were also elements to this structure that you hadn’t seen before, and was only paying attention to because you needed to escape.

The vampyre pulled you down some steps, travelling further and further below ground as though he were walking you to Hell, until you finally stopped at a door. The room he threw you into was cold and dark, and it smelled almost exclusively of damp. In the centre of the room was a table, propped up on wood and resembling a crucifix. You were strapped onto it, similarly to the Messiah, except your device was made exclusively of hellfire-forged metal, making your entire body tingle with pain. You fought against him all the while, trying your best to escape, but all your efforts proved to be in vain. Once the woman entered the room, the torture truly began.

They both asked you things, questions about Heaven and the Almighty’s plan that you couldn’t answer even if you wanted to. When they were met with answers they didn’t like, they would reopen wounds that had healed and damage your body in ways that were unimaginable once upon a time. Feathers were plucked from your wings to start with, following cuts to your skin, slaps, and then short bursts of hellfire that rose from the ground. But you remained silent throughout, save for your screams of agony.

Eventually, they grew tired, and as the vampyre left, he looked at you and smirked. “We all have eternity, Angel. You’ll be here for the rest of it if you don’t cooperate.” He winked at you. “See you tomorrow.”

The door to the room closed behind them, slamming shut with an echo that reverberated throughout your entire being. Your halo sat on the other side of the room, resting on a table and taunting you. You could hear it crying out for you and your body begging for it. If you wore it, you’d heal in no time and regain all of your strength. But just being in its presence meant it would take longer. You were never without your halo and your holy light, but you’d seen what had happened to angels who were. Fearing that this was to be your fate, you wondered if it would have served you better to be caught by Michael and thrown to the void. Or perhaps you should have just continued on in blind faith of the Almighty, doing His bidding despite your heart breaking each time.

Strapped to Hell’s crucifix, all you could do was think of all the regrets you had, and beg into the darkness that He would show you mercy and allow you to come home. Or die quickly.

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