#Even now mentioning purgatory 1 is like asking for a fight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diavohno · 5 years ago

Text

peccant pt.1

▹ pairing: lucifer x fem!reader, mammon x fem!reader, leviathan x fem!reader, satan x fem!reader, asmodeus x fem!reader, beelzebub x fem!reader, belphegor x fem!reader

▹ genre: smut, rut!au

▹ words: 6.6k

▹ rating: nsfw

▹ warnings: mc curses like a sailor and solomon has no filter, lucifer’s had a rough time, a pinch of grinding, mentions of masturbation, hickies, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, rough sex

▹ notes: tadaa! this took a bit longer than I had originally planned (hence the big gap between the sneak peek and the full release) but I was determined to crank this out for @hornywrath‘s birthday! hope you enjoy a lil bit of mammon hun, and happy birthday! also, I guess this also counts for a 400 follower milestone, which we hit very recently! thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it ;)

“Solomon, I’m about ready to fight someone,” you seethed to the sorcerer as you glared up at his ceiling from your comfortable resting spot on top of his bed.

The entire situation was ridiculous. The brothers had been actively avoiding you almost all week, which was annoying enough, but today they had cut off all communication with you entirely. No one came down to breakfast, no one was in any of your shared classes, and no one even bothered to text you so you’d know what the hell was going on. If they were going to give you the cold shoulder the LEAST they could do would be to tell you why.

Instead, you were left to wonder what you had done wrong because surely there was some explanation for their behavior. After a full day of scouring your memory during boring classes (in which there was no one to distract you, unlike usual) you were still drawing a blank on what exactly you had done.

This only meant one thing: you were 100% innocent in this situation, and the brothers would never live this down if you had anything to say about it.

When you were about halfway back to the House of Lamentation after class your D.D.D. buzzed. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest seeing that the notification was a text from Lucifer. It was the first time any of the brothers had contacted you all day! With any luck, you’d finally get some explanation as to just what was going on, and (if you were lucky) an apology. The second one is highly unlikely given that it was Lucifer who had texted you, but you still had hope. That is, until you opened the message.

After class, immediately go to Purgatory Hall. You will be staying there with the other exchange students until further notice.

A second set of buzzes followed the first, in case one punch to your heart wasn’t enough.

Under no circumstances are you allowed to return to the House of Lamentation without permission.

Excuse you? Were you seriously just told that you weren’t allowed in your own house anymore? Sadly, yes, that seemed to be exactly what had just happened, and Lucifer isn’t the sort of person that you’d argue with about an order.

But come on, you hadn’t even gotten an explanation!

With no other choice, you turned your livid butt around and marched (read: stomped) over to your new home, ready to tell (read: rant to) your fellow exchange students of the injustices you had been served as of late. As if Lady Luck wanted to send an ‘F U’ herself, Solomon was the only one in Purgatory Hall when you arrived. Not the beautiful and benevolent Simeon, or Luke, who you thought of as an angelic younger brother, but Solomon, with a fox’s grin that was far too smug for your liking. And, unfortunately, the smugness only grew as you lamented about how abysmally bad your week had been thus far.

“Oh, y/n,” he said, a teasing coo woven into his tone. Your attention shifted from his incredibly interesting ceiling to his incredibly boring head that he was propping up on his desk with his incredibly boring hand. Solomon may be one of your best friends, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t push your buttons all the damn time. “You’re so naive to the ways of the world.”

“Sorry I’m not a fancy pants magic bitch like you,” you grumbled with no real bite behind your words. Would you believe he then had the audacity to snicker at you? Because that’s exactly what he did. It took all of your strength plus a little extra from the Big Man Upstairs to not clock the white-haired menace into next week. “Solomon, explain to me what’s going on before I do something I won’t regret.”

Ever the fake pacifist, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need for violence. And, really, it’s your own fault that you don’t know about demon ruts.”

Silence filled the room, leaving you to sit there and drown in it as Solomon seemingly decided the desk itself would make a much more comfortable seat than his chair. With just those few words he had managed to switch your brain from operating on Google Chrome to Internet Explorer, and what is the next thing he does? Perches on his desk like it was normal.

After some time passed with you buffering and Solomon preening as if he had just been graced by God, you finally managed to spit out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

More snickering. Try as you might, you couldn’t fight off the blush that had been steadily creeping onto your cheeks, so you instead gave in and decided to find out as much as you could. “You mean, right now, they’re at home—”

“Jacking themselves off on anything of yours that they can get their cummy little demon mitts on? Ding ding ding, you’ve guessed it! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been in your room already. Having a—” calculating eyes swept your form from head to toe before continuing irritatingly hesitantly, “presumably fertile female so close is akin to torture when they’re rutting, so what remains of your pheromones are probably the only thing they can smell at the moment.”

Taking the high road for once in your little gremlin life, you chose to ignore the ‘presumably fertile’ comment and remained focused on the topic at hand: the brothers were going through a demon rutting period. “That is so unbelievably disgusting and hot at the same time.”

So some of your inner gremlin slipped out, sue you.

Solomon sighed as if he expected nothing more from you, white strands of hair falling onto his face as he pressed it into the palms of his hands. “Leave it to you to be turned on by the suffering of others.”

“Shut it, Solomon, you know what I mean.” Heat flared across your cheeks at the insinuation. You may be many things, but a sadist was not one of them; Lucifer had that title locked down anyway. “Dammit. What do I do, Solomon? Lucifer texted me saying that I can’t go back, so does he really expect me to wear the same clothes for however many days it takes for their ruts to end?”

“Probably. He’s twisted like that. Ooh, what if he’s getting off to the idea that you’re—”

Before you had a chance to cut Solomon off from finishing a sentence that would have undoubtedly mortified you to no end, a series of rapid-fire buzzes from your phone did it for you. You had patted both yourself and the area around you on the bed down thoroughly only for Solomon to dangle your phone in the air. Warning bells sounded off in your head loud and clear the moment you noticed his cheeky grin.

“I think you should put this one on speaker.”

With a flick of his wrist, your phone sailed through the air and landed on the bed next to you after you failed to catch it. Ignoring Solomon’s snort, you flipped your phone over to see who was calling you. The name, along with everything you had just discussed with Solomon, caused your pulse to pound in your ears.

It was Mammon.

Panic ran through your veins like liquid lightning. Should you answer it? There could only be one reason why he would be calling if he was rutting. Warmth shot straight to your core. Deep down, you realize that if he was calling you to ask for help, you’d say yes. Solomon cleared his throat and gestured at your phone, reminding you to answer before you lost your chance. Without hesitation, you answered the call, switching to speakerphone with a pointed glare from the man across from you.

Within seconds, breathy groans rang out from the phone. Your face flushed as you spared a glance at Solomon, who had donned a shit-eating grin, before your attention snapped back to the phone upon hearing Mammon’s voice. “Where are ya, y/n?” he whined. “I need ya so bad.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip between them. “Lucifer told me not to come back for now, so I’m at Purgatory Hall.”

A string of expletives exploded from the speaker, although they died down as quickly as they started. When Mammon addressed you again, the pleading tone to his voice was in no way subtle. “Please. . . Please come help me, y/n. I need ya.”

“Mammon, babe, are you rutting?” Your eyes widened in horror while Solomon snickered gleefully; the question had fallen out before you could really even think about it.

You weren’t given much time to worry over it, though, as Mammon answered in confirmation, “Yeah. And everythin’. . . Everythin’ fuckin’ HURTS. It hurts so bad, y/n, please.” Images of some of your succubi and incubi friends flashed through your head. It would probably be best that a demon helped him through his heat. If you helped, you’d likely get hurt. You had just begun to offer to call one of your friends when your words were cut short with a growl. “No, dammit! I only want you! Only you, ya hear me, y/n?”

A milky-white hand clamped firmly against his mouth was the only thing preventing Solomon from alerting Mammon to the fact that you were not the only human hearing him at that moment, and that hand was getting dangerously close to not being enough to save the two of you. The thought of how Mammon would react upon finding the two of you out sent a shiver down your back. You could NOT let that happen.

Executive authority coursed through you as you turned off the speakerphone and brought it up to your ear instead; a curling lick of satisfaction in your chest was the only thing Solomon’s huff of discontent managed to elicit. “Okay, Mammon, I’m on my way.”

A pleased groan answered your words, followed by a click. You blinked a few times, waiting to no avail for anything else— he had hung up on you. Although you’re not quite sure what you expected (some thanks would have been nice) you couldn’t help but to notice how your body seemed to be thrumming with anticipation.

“Oh, you’re on your way, are you? You DO realize that if you go to help one of them you’ll have to help ALL of them, right? So are you stupid? Is that it?” the whirlwind that was Solomon accused, white brows furrowed in total scorn. “And here I was, thinking that you were a creature of intelligence. Oh, how it pains me to be wrong.”

Already on your feet, you pocketed your phone and smoothed out your clothes, ready to head to the House of Lamentation at any moment. After concluding that you were presentable enough to go have a demon rip your clothes off your body— a matter that you had grown incredibly serious about in a somewhat suspiciously short amount of time, as if the thought of being ravaged by the brothers had crossed your mind before— you turned to address the snarky sorcerer in the room. “You heard him, Solomon. He’s in serious pain right now, and he wasn’t going to accept anyone else’s help getting through it.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he said in exasperation. “He’s a DEMON. He’d say whatever he needed to in order to get you there!”

Arguing with him was clearly going to get you nowhere. Instead, you stared down Solomon, daring him to continue trying to change your mind. It was a battle of the minds, and luckily for you, you happened to be one of the most bull-headed humans to ever grace the earth. After what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Solomon relented with a burdened groan.

“Fine, just let me cast a spell on you so you aren’t impregnated and obliterated, for the love of God.” His eyes searched yours imploringly. If you didn’t know any better you’d almost think that he was worried about you, but that would be a ridiculous idea. Still, you agreed, to which he let out a breath of relief.

Without wasting any time he crossed the room and took your hands in his own. Low mutterings in a language you didn’t recognize left his mouth, so you focused on the feeling of his hands; they were surprisingly soft and a bit bigger than you had previously thought.

A faint warmth and a corresponding tingling sensation started at your fingertips and soon encased your entire body, the tingling somehow reassuring as it raised goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Your eyes flitted up to Solomon’s questioningly, only for them to widen in shock— his eyes had gone entirely white and were glowing. Just as you were about to admit that his magic was actually pretty cool, it stopped.

The warmth and tingling disappeared, and Solomon’s eyes blinked back to normal. The only effect of the magic that you could feel was a particular humming sensation in your lower abdomen. That, and you felt like you could take on Diavolo himself and win, but that wasn’t a new feeling; an uncommon one, sure, but definitely not new.

Satisfied with his work, Solomon staggered a few steps backward before flopping onto his bed. “You should be good to go.” He propped himself up on his elbows, fixing you with a squinted stare. “You’re lucky I enjoy our banter, y/n. Can’t let you go and get yourself fucked to death, now can I?”

“God, don’t phrase it like that,” you said in a strangled voice, to which Solomon cackled and dropped onto his back once again. Just when you thought the two of you might have grown closer, he had to go and say something as mortifying as that. With renewed vigor, you scurry out of the room.

Solomon’s silvery voice echoed through the open door behind you. “Like what, the truth?”

He just managed to catch your snort before you walked out of earshot, leaving the sorcerer sprawled out on his bed, his chest heaving in deep breaths of air. The spell he had cast on you had taken quite a bit out of him. Now, he struggled to even keep his eyes open as waves of sleep crashed over him.

Would it normally take this much energy to prepare a human body for a demon rut? He supposed not, although it wasn’t exactly something he did except on the rare occasion, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn’t just be dealing with one demon. There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Ah, well, it was sure to come to him after he had rested up again. The comforting blanket of sleep settled over him, as well as his own blankets after he slipped under their covers. Right before he entered dreamland, the vision of a glowing pact mark appeared in his mind. His eyebrows knitted together; was this a premonition?

However, the mark was soon swallowed up by the foggy mist of his mind, and Solomon drifted off to sleep.

x x x x x

Never before had you gotten to the House of Lamentation faster than you did today. Just going home wasn’t nearly the same level of motivation as going to get some demon dick, so you hauled ass in record time, weaving in and out of random pedestrians you encountered that were walking the paths around the Devildom. Your friends really were right: you had no hope of making it into heaven. The worst part is, they had no clue whatsoever how true that statement was.

You came to a halt in front of the dorm you had recently come to call home, your hands on your knees as you struggled to regain your breath. It took everything you had not to just collapse into a weary heap on the front steps, but the promise of what was to come was enough to keep you going. Instead, you took a minute to steady your breathing before climbing the steps and slipping into the house. Technically, Lucifer had forbidden you from coming home, so it would probably be best to not alert him to your unwanted presence.

Thankfully, you had plenty of practice tip-toeing around from all of the times you’d snuck out with Asmo to go clubbing. Lucifer would never know you were there.

As you snuck past the kitchen toward the hallway of bedrooms, the sound of the tap turning on freeze you in your tracks. With your heart in your throat, you slowly twisted your head toward the direction of the sound, hoping from the bottom of your sin-stained heart that the person responsible wasn’t who you thought it was.

There, his bare back hunched over the sink with a glass of water clenched tightly in his degloved hand, stood Lucifer. Although the mere presence of the man had you rattled, what he was wearing— or rather, what he WASN’T wearing— made you even more so. He had donned a pair of baggy grey sweatpants that rested low on his hips and had lost the rest, leaving little to be imagined. Little to be imagined of HIM, that is— the sight sparked plenty of thoughts on your part.

The temptation to slink away to Mammon before you were discovered was great, but the temptation of marveling this new side of Lucifer was greater; you steeled yourself and moved toward him.

His rut seemed to have taken quite the toll on him already, as his usually well-kept hair was now disheveled and somewhat damp as if he had just recently gotten out of the shower. A shiver ran down your spine as the image of Lucifer in his shower was plastered to the forefront of your mind. With much thanks to your abysmally short attention span, the thought was easily discarded when you noticed that his muscles rippled along his back with each movement he took: emptying his glass; placing it back down on the counter; pushing his hair back.

Even as he turned around and realized someone had joined him in the kitchen, you couldn’t find it in yourself to run for cover. Maybe you’d screwed up your survival instincts at some point?

“y/n?” Lucifer croaked, his gaze predatory as it raked down your form. Something akin to a harrowed smirk cracked across his face when you shivered at the intensity radiating off of him, yet it was soon replaced with a pained grimace. His hands clenched the edge of the counter behind him so tightly that his knuckles were white as he ripped his gaze away from you. “I believe I explicitly told you not to return here until you received further instruction. You disobeyed me.”

You’d be lying if you said that the commanding growl in his words didn’t turn you on. Hell, if anyone told YOU that you’d just laugh in their face because damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. Not to mention the electrifying effect it had on your body; it was as if every fiber of your being was on edge right now, acutely aware of every single thing that Lucifer said or did.

You found yourself longing to press your body up onto his, to entangle your hands in his already messy hair and mesh your lips together while you hook one of your legs around his waist to keep him close as he slams you up against the counter—

The purposeful clearing of his throat snapped you out of your imagination. It’s odd for you to have become so withdrawn from reality, but you just chalked it up to it being a side effect from whatever spell Solomon had cast on you. Anyway, Lucifer had asked you a question, and while it may not have been the smartest decision in the long run, you were in no mental state to be pulling lies out of your ass. “Mammon asked me to come over and help him.”

“Oh really? So you’ve discovered our dirty little secret, but still came?” he hummed in thought, more to himself than to you. Some switch must have flipped in him as he had gone from very obviously holding himself back to slowly stalking toward you with a wolfish glint in his eyes. It was at that moment that your survival instincts kicked in and you took two small steps back for every one Lucifer took forward. Sadly, you seemed to have walked further into the kitchen than you had originally thought you did and soon found yourself pressed along the center table with nowhere else to run from the demon in front of you.

A pink tongue darted out from his mouth, wetting the bottom lip that it dragged along. Lucifer had you right where he wanted you. It took a total of three steps for him to close the gap between you two, his arms resting on either side of you to cage you in. Desire flickered in his half-lidded eyes as he stared you down. ��Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?”

You hummed in response, too fixated on how alluring his slightly-parted, flushed lips looked. Due to your intense focus on said lips, you didn’t miss how the corners of his mouth quirked up before he leaned forward and out of your sight. Your breath caught in your throat as his heated breath fanned out across your neck while he spoke. “You’re lucky that you ran into myself and not one of my brothers. Unlike them,” his hips met yours and instantly began to slowly roll, “I can control myself.”

The hardness of his length and the waver in his tone seemed to suggest otherwise.

A devious thought pushed itself to the forefront of your mind, one that you were all too willing to go along with. One of your hands ghosted down his chest, your nails lightly scratching his pale skin while the other snaked upward and caressed his cheek. Lucifer shuddered into your touch and bit back a quiet groan, his hips grinding against yours with a tad more urgency.

“What happened to being able to control yourself?” you asked breathily. With any luck, you’d be able to get his self-control to snap and he’d take you right then and there. Your thighs tensed slightly as heat shot to your core at the thought.

Then he pulled away and your entire mastermind plan came crashing down.

Lucifer stumbled backward, fingers pinching his nose tightly shut as he glared holes into the ground. Wait, do you smell or something? You could’ve sworn you had put deodorant on that morning. A discreet sniff of yourself reassured you that you did not stink, so why the abrupt stop?

“I believe that you should find Mammon in your room.” He staggered backward with urgency; so much so that he would have clipped his side on the counter had you not warned him. Pink dusted his cheeks for a moment as he cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed from not noticing the counter. Your bemusement was cut short, however, when he fixed you with a piercing look that sent shivers down your back. “I expect to see you in my room once you are finished.”

Unable to stop yourself, you quipped back, “I’ll think about it.”

“By all means, do,” he purred, red eyes narrowing into seductive slits. Even as he backed out of the room, sweat beads beginning to glisten on his forehead, he somehow still made you want to do nothing more than hand yourself over to him completely. “But let me assure you that the actual thing will be so much more enjoyable than whatever you end up imagining.”

With that, he was gone, and you were left with nothing but yourself and your newfound neediness. You had half a mind to chase after the first-born, but the other half of your mind was insisting that you go to Mammon, as he was the one who had called you in the first place. With a small sigh, you headed off down the hallway toward your room. It was a short walk, as per usual, but the anticipation that had once again began to swirl in your stomach lengthened it a good bit.

What, exactly, did helping a demon through their rut entail? You assumed that they needed help finishing, but was that it? Of course, you’d help the brothers out with anything, ESPECIALLY if they were in pain because of it, but it was a little unnerving not knowing exactly what you had gotten yourself into. Thank God that Solomon had been there to help cast a spell on you (which you still had no clue what it did, but you trusted him enough to believe that you’d be fine) because, now that you’ve had some more time to think about it, there was no way you’d be able to walk away from this little excursion of yours unscathed.

You hesitated outside of your partially opened door for just a moment before stepping inside and locking the door behind you. As you turned around to once again face the rest of your room, quiet huffing and groaning alerted you of the demon in the room with you.

The sight that blessed your eyes ignited a white-hot fire in your core.

Mammon was sprawled out buck-naked on your bed, your sheets and comforter rumpled enough to lead you to assume that he had been wriggling around on them for a while. As a surprise to no one, your eyes immediately zeroed in on his hand— namely, how said hand was loosely wrapped around his length and lightly jerking it. His caramel skin glistened under a sheen layer of sweat from his exertions, and his head was tipped back against your pillow as he chased a semblance of relief.

You mindlessly take a few steps toward the sight. Had he not noticed you were in the room yet? Considering how tightly his eyes were screwed shut and how his breathing was getting progressively louder, it wasn’t impossible.

“Mammon?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if you should be interrupting or not. Although, he had called you specifically to help him with this exact thing, so maybe you were worrying about nothing.

His eyes snapped wide open the moment his name came out of your mouth; he really hadn’t heard you enter then. A shuddering inhale shook his form for a moment before he pushed himself up to a seated position and said in disbelief, “You really came.”

As if you could ignore his phone call. You rolled your eyes as you finished closing the gap between the two of you, your hands lifting to cup Mammon’s warm cheeks. “I said I would, didn’t I?” Unintelligible mumbling followed that you silenced by pressing your thumb against his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

Without a word, Mammon’s hands gripped your waist and guided you onto his lap, your knees on either side of him. His hot mouth instantly found your neck, the feeling of his hasty kisses and the occasional nip stealing your breath away. Not staying in one place too long, the kisses quickly trailed their way down toward your collarbone, only for the fabric of your shirt to get in the way. Aside from his annoyed grumbling, Mammon didn’t make any comments about it and simply tugged at your shirt, wordlessly asking you to take it off.

Of course you complied (because why would you not?) and freed yourself from the now-restrictive fabric. No sooner had you wriggled out of your top than had Mammon’s hands begun to roam all over your body, almost as if he was attempting to commit your form to memory.

Everywhere his hands went brought a tingling sensation to your skin. Eventually, one dipped low enough to fiddle with the band of your shorts, although it didn’t go any farther than that. As great as the makeout session was, a growing firmness pressing along the inside of your thigh and the unsteadiness of his touch reminded you of exactly why you were called in the first place.

“Mammon,” you tried, but your words fell on deaf ears as Mammon was too lost in the feeling and taste and touch of you to even register that you had spoken. Fog rolled across your mind as he found a particularly sensitive spot and capitalized on it, teeth gently scraping against the skin which was immediately followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue. Still, you found it somewhere within you to try again. “Mammon, wait.”

“Hm?” His lips buzzed pleasantly against your neck, eyes turning up toward your own.

Your stomach flipped at the sheer want pooling in their golden ichor. “I’m here to help you with your rut, but right now I feel more like we’re focusing on me.”

“Of course I’m focusin’ on you,” he harrumphed, a look of embarrassment shading his features. “You’re a human! There’s no way you’d be able to jump right on in without gettin’ hurt, so I’m… I’m tryin’ to warm you up a bit.”

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair reassuringly. “That’s awful sweet of you, babe, but I’m seriously fine. Solomon hooked me up with some magic before I came over, so I’m all set.”

His grip on your hips tightened at the mention of the sorcerer, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his hands jumped from your hips to your shoulders, flipping you onto the bed with Mammon positioned between your legs. You’d never noticed it before, but his canines were slightly more pointed than a human’s; they’re all you focused on when a smirk crept onto his features. “You should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”

If before had been the warm-up, then the main event was the warm-up times ten. Your mouths crashed together, and you found yourself fighting to stay caught up with Mammon’s urgent pace. The bed creaked underneath the two of you as Mammon rushed to get the rest of your clothes off. It was impressive how he managed to slide off your shorts without breaking away from you, but you weren’t allowed to dwell on that thought for very long at all.

“You’re sure about this?” His breathless question warmed your heart. Even now, as his legs trembled with the discomfort he was surely in and his gaze grew hazy, he had the decency to make sure that you were sure. You hadn’t faltered from your original commitment once, but now you were certain you had made the right choice.

A cheeky grin split across your face. “I’ve never been more sure about something in my life.”

No sooner had you gotten the words out than had Mammon’s cock shoved its way through your entrance, his hips pressing flush against your own. The burning feeling of your walls stretching to take him in so suddenly proved too much to handle, your body arching into his own as a gasping whine tore from your lips.

For a moment— just a moment— he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size. One of his hands hooked underneath your knee and pulled it closer to your side so he could get a better angle. A shot of pleasure ran through you as the repositioning briefly caused your muscles clenched around him. Seeing the shudder rack your form, Mammon rolled his hips into yours. Your head tipped back at the feeling of his swollen length dragging against your walls, and he wasted no time in leaving blossoms of orchid and rouge along the now-exposed column of your neck.

As your eyes rolled back at the feeling, you missed how he shifted above you, gripping the head of your headboard with his other hand for support. You didn’t miss how his hips pulled back and thrust up into you, nor did you miss how each thrust following that was just as strong.

Unrestrained sounds fell from your open mouth as Mammon launched into an aggressive pace that left you scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders or back so you wouldn’t hit your headboard. The moment your hands bumped into something protruding from his back, your eyes flew open to search for what exactly you had just touched.

At some point, Mammon must have shifted to his demon form, as his wings were currently curling over the two of you almost like some sort of shield. Your legs squeezed together at the sight, allowing Mammon’s next thrusts to find your g-spot.

“Fuck, Ma-Mammon,” you cursed, the demon on top of you growling lowly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned before pressing a firm kiss along your jaw. “You’re doin’ so good for me, y/n.”

You answered with a keening moan, as you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to articulate any more actual words— not while Mammon kept plowing into you at this speed, anyway. Tension coiled tightly in your abdomen, each thrust drawing you closer and closer to your peak. You couldn’t tell how close Mammon was, but with as ragged as his panting was growing, you assumed he wasn’t all that far behind you.

With every passing moment, your body grew more and more flush with heat and your moans increased in volume, which Mammon encouraged with more whispered praise. One particularly strong smack of his hips against yours triggered the release of a loud whine from your throat, and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “Just like that, sweetheart.” His lips brushed tantalizingly against your ear, making sure that you heard him over yourself. “Let ‘em all know who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A few more solid thrusts were all it took to make you unravel, your toes curling and your body arching into Mammon at the utter bliss engulfing you entirely.

“Mammon!” you wailed, all other words escaping you as stars danced behind your eyes. Your walls clenching down on him pushed Mammon over the edge as well, his hips stuttering before pressing as deep inside of you as he could, release spilling into your throbbing core. A groan tumbled from his lips as his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck, the sharp stinging drawing a soft whine from yourself.

After a few moments of deepening his mark, Mammon flopped onto his back and rolled you on top of him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body to gently hold you against him. The bliss from orgasming was now wearing off and was being replaced with exhaustion. Tension seeped out of you in waves as you relaxed against Mammon’s heaving chest, his skin cool against your warm cheek.

Laughter soon met your ears, and the shaking body beneath you made it pretty obvious who it was coming from. Drowsily, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position and let Mammon slip himself out of you while you threw an inquisitive look his way. The eyes that met your own were no longer ones of a demon in rut, but ones filled with total admiration. “What are you laughing about?”

“You,” he answered simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear while his other hand rested loosely on your bare hip.

Your heart fluttered at that, but you played it off with a small smile and a tiny slap against his chest. “Why are you being so cheesy?”

He said nothing, only answering with another laugh as he leaned forward to pepper your face with soft kisses. His laughter turned out to be infectious as you, too, began to laugh, leaving the two of you giggling into each others’ mouths before he pulled away, resting his forehead against your own. “I’m just so happy you actually came, y/n.”

“Me too, I was starting to get worried there for a bit,” you snarked, the teasing lilt evident in your tone. Mammon scoffed at playfully rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk.

“Sure fooled me. You sure sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” Now it was your turn to fake being offended; you gasped indignantly before turning your head away in a fake pout.

“With this much disrespect, maybe I’ll just show myself out.”

“Woah there, let’s not be too hasty.” A thumb and forefinger grip your chin and turn your head back toward Mammon, who had a peculiar twinkle in his eye. It was something warm and knowing and light, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. The odd look didn’t leave when he pulled you against his chest for what felt like the hundredth time that day, nor did it leave when you tangled yourselves up in the other while you cuddled, just taking time to soak the other in.

Eventually, Mammon gave himself over to sleep, his light snores rumbling softly against the side of your neck as he unconsciously wriggled himself impossibly closer into you. You were just about to as well until two short sets of buzzes caught your attention.

Twisting around carefully in Mammon’s arms, you were just able to see your D.D.D. flicking off again after receiving the messages. Luckily, your shorts had ended up getting thrown onto your nightstand, so it wasn’t too much of a challenge to snag your D.D.D. from your back pocket without waking up the sleeping demon latched on to you.

Flicking it open, you saw that the messages had come from Levi.

come over please. I know your with mammon right now

I need help too y/n, please

You cast a glance over your shoulder at the said demon, guilt gnawing at your heart as memories resurfaced of how sweet he had been earlier; however, those memories were soon replaced with ones of Lucifer, disheveled and leaning into your touch, and of Solomon, warning you that you’d end up helping all of the brothers out. With a sigh, you tapped a quick reply to Levi that you were on your way and eased yourself out of Mammon’s arms.

As you got to your feet, you were surprised to find that you weren’t sore in the slightest, despite how rough Mammon had been. Solomon’s magic really was no joke. It didn’t take you long to slip back into your clothes (granted, you didn’t bother putting your bra and underwear back on because you’d just be taking them off again) and you soon found yourself staring down at Mammon.

You were still guilty about running off to go fuck his younger brother while he was sleeping, but at the same time, you’d feel even more guilty about only helping one brother and leaving the other six to deal with their ruts by themselves. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, you finally steel yourself and commit to your decision, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning around and marching yourself straight out of your door. You don’t look back, because you know that if you do, the rest of the brothers would end up suffering through their ruts alone.

#obey me #obey me: swd #obey me mammon #obey me smut #obey me mammon x reader #heat!au #obey me fic #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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mndvx · 3 years ago

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please enlighten me as to how much this episode sucked 🤭 bc from what i'm reading, it was even worse than last week

Turns out we finally found which episode of Titans is the worst!! (So far, at least.)

I have a feeling that the finale will be the most absolute insane pile of dog shit this show has ever had. And it's had a lot lately!! They really baited us into thinking there was a slight chance of it being good with the first four episode. I'm so mad.

Last week was a filler episode. And it was bad. But they really outdid themselves with this one, it's... yeah it's the worst episode of Titans, so far.

The GCPD is incompetent, that we already knew. So it's not really surprising when Random Nameless Cop #4 ends up being easily bought by Jason/Crane after we saw him have a little feely chat with Barbs about someone he knew dying from the fear induced riots or whatever

but before that, Crane sends all of gotham a little fanvid he made in his garage using footage from episode 1, not in any way shot differently, it's just episode 1 intro fight against Gizmo Guys copy pasted with a few flashing random buzz words, like "thief" "con-man" or whatever and him narrating about how the titans are bad guys and the reason why gotham's water is poisoned and says he put a bounty of 500K on the titans dead or alive. We get a little montage of every main character seeing the vid. With Conner and Komand'r spooning together in the living room d'aww and Gar reading up on Lazarus Pits then having a little DCney Prince moment with the bats in the cave before Kory comes in to tell him about the video.

So with that, what does Dick do? First he tells Barbara he's gonna fix this(tm) then he goes back to the batcave (off screen) and i guess tells the rest of the team (off screen) to get into a parking lot or something?? where they get surrounded by dozens of people and like... Fight four of them before Dick tells them to come back??? Also, at some point during this Dick is like "Me staying here, it's a mistake I should be with you guys" and Kory tells him "No! You got a bounty on your head, it's safer" so why is Gar not staying in the cave with him, he's not invincible either!!

Meanwhile, Donna is taking a taxi to get back to Gotham, because I guess she can't teleport anymore, that must've been some of that Purgatory juice that sent her from Themyscira to that other Wayne Manor to save Bruce (who we hear NOTHING about. I mean good, we're not here for him, but she literally just stopped him from kiling himself in another country and now she's on the way to Gotham all alone... That's weird

Same thing about Tim, we saw him come back from the dead last week, but he's nonexistent in this episode. No one, not a single person all titans included, even speaks about him or even vaguely mentions him being shot or asks if he's okay or anything.

and then that random Lydia amazon shows up saying she's been following Donna "for 10 minutes" which is really weird, because Donna definitely was moving for longer than ten minutes, i mean she was IN ANOTHER COUNTRY, so how the fuck did you show up specifically on that road to Gotham just ten minutes ago, CAN YOU TELEPORT LYDIA??? I guess she can because then she slams Donna down and she wakes up in some random woods she calls "The Training Grounds" like it means something. blablabla this is the B Plot i guess? It's dumb, it's pointless. It's Lydia fighting Donna for way too long, some random shit about Lydia's daughter Angela dying and how she's sad or whatever who cares, then telling Donna she has to rise, she was born to lead people etc etc (can you tell how hard they're trying to make a spin off happen?) before Donna can finally go back to going to Gotham (no she doesn't get reunited with the team.)

Dick and Babs meet in a bar for some reason, random pointless and annoying reminiscing about their past before Dick tells her he's gonna turn himself in as Nightwing, pay bail then vanish from Gotham so the people can supposedly keep faith in the GCPD and not turn against them?? idk, if Nightwing vanished like that right after being caught by them, I wouldn't trust them to protect me but that's just me!

Jason and Crane have a weird and cringey chat (again. they had one before as he prepared his fanvid, talking about... Breakfast?? Jason was annoyed and didn't get the point of it, same) and he goes on this rant about how Jason needs to believe in himself and all that, makes him go "Red Hood!! Say it with me! Red Hood!" for like... what felt like at least a whole minute before he suits back up and goes back to being the murderous little shit he CHOSE to be, Molly calls him and asks him to stop he says no i have to </3 (you don't dumbass)

Dick tells everyone his plan, they all eventually agree because that's totally not gonna go wrong 🙄🙄 so they suit up and go to the GCPD to make a little show of their surrender. The cop that was bought out apparently has a lot of friends bc most of the cops present during the thing start acting up and one of them pushes Komand'r first (geoff johns, i'm in your walls with a knife) which is only so Conner can go "HEY BACK OFF 😠😠" before they then start attacking everyone. You already saw Kom gets shot, so yeah... That happens. Con stopped one bullet and stood there just 🖐🏻😠 while another was shot and hit Komand'r in the stomach or something, the most boring fight scene ensues (gar gets shirtless yay! sorry.) Barbara kills the cop who had his gun drawn on Dick and she's later on arrested by Vee for it, which... what the fuck??

so everyone left after the whole boring fight, separating and hiding. Kory and Kom go to a church where Kory decides to use her powers to try and heal the bullet wound that is KILLING her sister, and Komand'r somehow (unconsciously) absorbs all of Kory's powers, which makes Kory mad and go on a whole thing wondering if this was her plan all along, making Kory care for her so she could betray her or something. Komand'r says it's not the case and asks what will it cost for Kory to trust her etc. (honestly this whole episode is badly written, but 🥺🥺 Kory admitted she cared about Kom). then they have another argument, because Kory wants to return to the Titans and help them, but Komand'r tells her they should leave and go somewhere alone the two of them, and that Kory is a queen and was never meant to be fighting a war that's not hers and they then separate because Kory is not going anywhere. Komand'r then leaves, Kory asks where she's going and Kom tells her she's not "the only one with unfinished business" which... what? So yeah, now Komand'r has Kory's full set of powers and Kory is COMPLETELY depowered.

And then we have a little montage of the city going to shit and full chaos, with Barbara being arrested for killing that other cop. Donna beats up a soldier who wouldn't let her come in Gotham. Because of course she comes back when everything's gone to shit, how convenient.

Gar is all alone in an empty warehouse type of place, after having been shot with a tranquilizer dart while the whole fight in the GCPD happened, (which was like half a day ago, idk how animal tranquilizer work but that must be strong stuff because he's still a little knocked out from it) he sees a raven that then turns into our beloved little Rachel!!! She tells him she found him because she felt his energy, and they have a quick recap chat where he tells her Jason and Crane turned the city into chaos she doesn't react in any particular way, so i guess she knows Jason is evil? whatever. the good thing about this scene is Rachel using her powers!! (and Ryan Potter's abs)

Then we see Dick and Conner on their own, with Conner insisting they need to go out there and help people but Dick being the dumbfuck he is tells Conner they can't, that they need to stay hidden and not be caught, so going back to Wayne Manor is also out of the question. But CONNER IS INVINCIBLE!!!!! FOR FUCK'S SAKE GRAYSON!!!!

And for our last scenes, Jason and Crane are in Wayne Manor. He makes Jason destroy a painting of Bruce and his parents because of course you have redecorate the place now that it's yours, Jason has quick flashbacks of his conversation with Bruce in Crime Alley in the shitty episode all about Jay and angrily stabs the painting like 20 times?? And Crane actually says "Welcome to Crane Manor", it wasn't just the synopsis being cringe!

ANYWAY. TERRIBLE FUCKING BAD EPISODE.

#jonskory #titans #titans spoilers #sorry it's a VERY long post

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9layerdevilfoodcake · 4 years ago

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HelloGoodbye/Part 1:It’s The End Of The World As We Know It

Summary: it’s the last day of life as you know it at Camp Redwood when the apocalypse comes calling, but what does that mean for the souls shackled to this particular hellmouth?

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of death, implied-ish smut, the end of the world?

The day the world ended started out the same as any other.

You woke up to the sunrise, wrapped in a jumble of blankets, limbs and bleached hair.

Sleep wasn’t really necessary for the undead, but it just came naturally, like muscle memory. Plus it was a nice way to pass the time.

But it was what came after a good night’s sleep that was your favorite part of the day, more specifically it was waking up next to him.

There are few things better in life (past or present) than waking up in his arms.

Your lover? Boyfriend? Mutual sufferer in eternal purgatory?

You’re not really sure what you would call him. You and Xavier both agreed the afterlife was no place for labels.

But if you asked any of the other souls shackled to this hellmouth with you, they would all call you two the same thing; inseparable.

It had been that way for decades, you spent almost every reawoken moment together. He was the one thing that made your afterlife feel as though it’s axis tipped more towards heaven than hell.

He was the light at the end of the tunnel. And looking at him now, eyes closed, lips parted, and sleeping soundly without a care in the world. You might go as far as to say you are thankful you didn’t listen to your gut, and made the (what at the time you thought regrettable) decision to take your friend's extra ticket and step foot on the haunted site for a music festival, one that never even happened mind you.

You got stabbed in the face and she didn’t get to blow Billy Idol, you guess you would call the weekend a bust for the both of you.

You’re comfortably laying back and reminiscing, when you feel Xavier stir.

The long hum that leaves his lips, followed by their soft touch on your shoulder lets you know he’s awake and it’s followed by a mumbled “Good morning”.

“Good morning” you answer back. Leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. A little too chaste for his liking, so before you can pull away he grabs hold of the back of your neck and pulls you back down for more.

One perk of being dead, no morning breath. There’s no need to break the mood with a trip to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Not that that would stop him anyways, through your time with Xavier you have come to realize that there are very few things he won’t try, and even less he would determine “too gross” to kill his mood.

So much like countless mornings before this, it’s a good couple of hours before you two make it out of bed and decide to properly “get up”.

“What should we do today?” He asks as he’s rummaging through the luggage some ghost adventurer left behind in their haste to “get the fuck out of this place”. It had been years since anyone around here had partaken in any blood sport. But that didn’t mean there was still no fun in scaring the tourists. (And maybe occasional bets were taken to see who could get a camper to wet themselves first).

He pauses and holds up a pair of dark blue wranglers, waiting for your opinion.

You just shake your head in dismissal.

“We haven’t been in the lake in a while. We could take a dip...then maybe you could take a dip…” you say wiggling your eyebrows to insinuate your innuendo, while you make your way over to the stash, taking over the search for yourself.

“No”

“Why not?” You know the reason for his rejection, but can’t help giving him a little pout anyways.

“After what happened last time? Not happening.” His voice is stern but with the underlying playfulness that’s always present between the two of you.

“Oh come on...I won’t let that happen again.”

“Believe it or not, drowning is not fun, dead or alive. And you know what’s worse than drowning once? Coming back to and drowning again because the person with their legs wrapped around your head hasn’t even noticed!” He emphasizes his “anger” by snatching the green umbro shorts you’d found from your hands and proceeding to dramatically stomp his legs through the holes before pulling them up around his hips.

“You only have yourself to blame for that, if you weren’t always such a tease I would have known something was wrong. I just thought you were trying to work me up and build my anticipation, not give me some signal your foot was stuck in the mud” You argue back tossing him a cut off Duran Duran t-shirt, that despite its tag saying 2018 has been given holes and bleached to give it a “vintage” look. The irony of donning such items always makes you laugh.

As he finishes getting dressed you simply look at him with that same pout back on your face, although it slowly morphs into a smile as you see his resolve slipping away.

Who is he kidding, he could never say no to you. He would do anything you ever asked. He would drown every hour, on the hour, if it kept you looking at him the way you are now.

“Fine, but if I start slapping your thighs it is not to keep you in line, it’s me begging for oxygen.”

“Ok” you agree with a chuckle as you grab his hand and head to the door, but he holds his place, making you turn and raise a brow at him.

“And the next time those birdwatchers are in camp, you have to blow me in front of that Condor’s nest they all jizz their jeans for.”

“Sure” you answer, shrugging your shoulders, not a bad trade...

“While they’re taking pictures of it.”

You pause for barely a moment to think that over, who were you kidding, you’re just as whipped as he is.

“Deal”

You weren’t in the water very long before you heard it, a siren sounding in the distance.

Xavier had only just removed your bottoms before you were pulling him up by his hair.

“What?” He asks, as he emerges, shaking droplets out his face with a look of confusion mixed with some underlying self doubt. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you hear that?”

As you both listen the sirens start to get louder and new ones join in the cacophony of sounding alarms.

“Yea, they’re probably just testing the storm sirens?”

“All of them?”

Before Xavier can talk you out of worrying and let him “get back to work” you’re interrupted by Chet yelling at you from the dock.

“Hey! You guys should see this”

Once you both redress you make your way to the cabin which once upon a time was assigned to the male counselors, but now it serves as more of a clubhouse for the lingering spirits. Upon entry you see almost every soul in the camp crowded around the TV.

There have only been two occasions when you have all collectively been in the same place at the same time; when you got revenge on Margaret, and when you made plans for what to do about the “Ramirez problem”.

Something big must be happening.

“What’s going on?” Xavier inquires as you join the group.

“The end of the world” Answers Montana, in a voice so calm she almost sounds bored, it’s like that happens every week.

“Oh no did Belinda Carlyle die?!”

“No...not yet anyway”

Your attention is brought back to the flat screen television Jingle’s son Bobby had gifted you. After his visit, he had been kind enough to set up wifi around the camp, as well as pay for a cable package, with the help of Brooke and Rita (or whatever her real name was). After hours of trying to explain how a touch screen works, as well as the grappling concept of Bluetooth; he deemed the pursuit pretty much a wash. But you did all know how to work a television, so most days were spent watching reruns of Knight Rider or Press Your Luck, and checking in with the nightly news.

So now you found yourself surrounded by your fellow ghosts, watching the man on the tv announce the incoming missiles and saying a teary goodbye to his family.

“What does this mean? I mean for us?” The question came from one of the victims of the first massacre in the 70s, whose name you were now feeling a little guilty for never bothering to learn.

It was a good question nonetheless, your souls kept coming back after just about any obstacle thrown at you, staying attached to the camp, but would they stay attached to a camp that wasn’t even there?

Unfortunately this was also a question nobody knew the answer to.

“Should we go to a basement or something?” Chet chimed in

“I doubt a basement will win the fight against a nuclear bomb, at least this close to the blast radius.” Trevor now spoke up, making his way over to the television to check another news channel, before addressing the group. “Besides does that even matter for us?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough”

As everyone is switching back and forth between intently checking the news and murmuring confusion between each other, you pull Xavier aside.

“Xavier, just in case we don’t make it. I just want you to know” you start, averting your gaze as you feel the tears begin to pool in your eyes. “...I just...I’m really...you’ve been…” you’re trying to find a way to tell him how much he’s meant to you, and the amount of gratitude you have for his patience and understanding, how he’s made every day a memorable one for you, how he’s the best person you’ve ever known, dead or alive. How you don’t believe you’ve actually been stuck wandering the earth together all these years, because when you’re with him you think you must have done something right in your life, because there is no doubt in your mind this is what heaven feels like. But you can’t, you can’t get a single word out if you want to keep any semblance of calm and keep the flood gates from opening.

Thankfully Xavier stops you before your nonsensical blubbering can go any further.

“I know, you have too.” He says this as he clasps your hands in his, before moving one hand up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek and bringing your attention back to him. As you look at him you see glassy blue orbs filled with tears that match your own, holding behind them eons of love and unsaid devotion. But he is much better at holding himself together so he marches on.

“If something happens and we don’t make it through this. Or we end up in some new shittier purgatory, I promise you I’ll come find you there! There is nothing in this life or any other that can keep me from you, okay? We’re gonna be alright though, I promise”

All you can do is nod your head, and muster up enough strength to get out a quiet “I love you”

“I love you too”

You and Xavier sit on the bunk that was once designated as his, all those years ago when he came here with the hope of a fun summer away from his troubles. Back then he was always running; running to something, running from something. There was never any certainty in his life, not even in his after life, not until you.

Now he’s starting to feel like that scared boy he once was. The one once found on the edge of death in MacArthur Park, trying so desperately to feel anything, and trying even more in vain to make that feeling last. He had nothing to loose back then in his desperate pursuit for euphoria. But he learned real fast that when things sounded too good to be true they most certainly were.

And that’s why he holds you closer now. Because you were the greatest good he has ever known, and there is certainly no way someone as wretched and cursed as him could ever keep someone as exceptional and pure as you.

He’d tasted bliss for too long now, and it must be time for the collector to come calling. But that didn’t mean he would let you go without a fight, because here in your arms is the only place that has ever felt like home, and he would protect his fortress come hell or high water (or the literal end of the world).

But that fight may or may not come and right now was about settling your nerves and keeping you calm. So he puts his resolve on the back burner and moves to pull you into his lap to whisper words of love and encouragement while you wait for the missiles to strike.

You feel them before you hear them, the impact on the earth, who knows how many miles away, before it broke the sound barrier. You didn’t even have enough time to process the incoming force before you were knocked out and everything and everyone you had known for decades was wiped away.

There is no way to tell how much time has passed when you wake in a pile of rubble and ash, with no discernable clue as to where you were in relation to the miles of identical rubble and ash that surrounded you. You weren’t sure where in the camp you were. The only thing keeping you believing this was even still Redwood were the semblance of remaining trees around you. Other than that there was nothing else insight but dirt and debri, and no sign of any other soul.

After you got your bearings you go in search of Xavier, or anyone else for that matter.

After a few minutes you come across a spot of land that seems vaguely familiar. Although there are no more cabins and no more dock, you’re pretty sure the crater that sits before you used to be the lake.

The lake where you died.

The lake you had no escape from for the past 30 years.

The lake you were swimming in only a few minutes ago.

The lake where you and Xavier spoke your first words to each other.

The lake where you sat on the dock dipping your toes in the water as you told one another that you loved each other for the first time.

The lake that you used to think if you never saw again, would be too soon.

The lake that you would now give anything to see full again.

After a couple minutes lost in your reverie, you hear a voice in the distance. One you’d recognize anywhere.

Without a moments hesitation you take off towards its source.

After tripping over countless branches and what you can only assume used to be one of the cabins you make it to a clearing and see Xavier bounding your way with Chet in tow.

“Oh my god! Thank god you're okay!” He breathes out as he pulls you into his embrace. You feel him exhale in relief as he holds you, before he lets you go in order to inspect you, searching for any signs of distress.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No I’m fine, are you ok?”

After looking him over in return to make sure everything’s alright and he gives you a nod, you look over to Chet, who you had quite honestly forgotten was there.

“You too?”

“Yea we’re fine, it’ll take more than one measly nuclear bomb to take down all this” he accentuates by raising his shirt and slapping his abs.

“I’m glad to see your modesty survived the blast as well” you answer giving him a wink and a nudge before you continue.

“we should find the others.”

It took a couple hours to track down the rest of your group. At least what felt like it, with the clocks gone there was no telling what time it was.

And the haze the bombs left kept it constantly looking like dusk.

After regrouping you all agreed you should look for any pieces of camp left behind, any signs of life, or just any signs of anything at all.

And that’s how it went for the next couple of days. You would walk around looking for signs of life, and finding very few momentos left behind by the camp. Then every once in a while you would all regroup in the middle of the crater that was once the lake, and switch between theories of what was happening out in the rest of the world and reminiscing about times when this place was still standing.

Almost everyone in your group of confidants, aside from Ray, was sitting at your usual meeting spot when he came barreling towards you all.

“You guys come here I have to show you something.” His voice was full of excitement.

“What?” Montana asked back, thoroughly unimpressed with his optimism. You had never met two people more different. To Montana, Ray was like a pesky mosquito, who she would often shoo away, that is when she wasn’t bossing him around and telling him to “make himself useful”.

“Just trust me it’s important.”

After a few minutes of grumbling and feet dragging. You and Xavier, Montana, Trevor, and Chet made your way to the empty piece of land Ray was pointing at. Picking up Bertie and the real nurse Rita along the way.

“What? What are we supposed to be looking at?” Bertie questioned, taking it upon herself to ask what you were all wondering.

“Right here.” He points to a spot on the ground, that aside from the line he had made with his shoe, looked the exact same as the rest of your surroundings.

“This is the entrance to Camp Redwood.”

“How do you know? There’s nothing here.” Xavier pointed out motioning around to the surrounding emptiness.

“I have measured the number of steps to the entrance, from just about every place in this camp.”

“God somebody needs to get laid. You have way too much time on your hands.” Xavier regards. And you can’t help but let a laugh slip out.

Narrowing his eyes at that comment, Ray attempts to defend himself. “We’ve been here for decades. Chet wouldn’t even talk to me for years, and before you met y/n, you and Montana only acknowledged me when I was cleaning up your messes, and I….you know what I don’t have to explain myself. What I’m about to show you will have you praising me for the way I chose to pass the time. You should all be kissing my loafers for this.”

Ray was really getting sick of still being the butt of the other counselors jokes and jabs. Even now at the end of the world, when he has made such a monumental discovery.

Deciding not to waste more time getting upset he proceeds.

“So as you know most of the camp has been destroyed and there aren’t really any notable places left behind? Well there is one. The tree we all signed our names on, well most of it anyways. But lucky for us I could still make out both Trevor and Xavier’s names. And exactly 644 steps straight ahead of those signatures is the entrance to the camp.

“You’re point being?” Montana snips, tired of waiting for him to get to the climax of his story.

“My point being. Right now I am in Camp Redwood.”

He says, before he slowly and dramatically takes one long stride over the line he had drawn.

“...now I’m not...”

“and I feel fine”

Notes: i wasn’t really planning on uploading any of my writing here, but I feel like there is more of an interest in Xavier content than on ao3 so why not? Basically the jist of this comes from speculating what would happen to the spirits stuck at the hellmouth’s after the apocalypse (which I know many people have wondered and we’ve never been given a definitive answer). So I wondered what would happen if the whole world became one large hellmouth and the spirits could roam free. This series follows you an Xavier as you eventually make your way to rumored Sanctuary. It will involve Michael Langdon, and as of right now might get kind of dark, so fair warning. Anyways, thank you for reading!

Tagging this supporting queen: @guiltyfiend

#Xavier Plympton #Xavier Plympton x reader #ahs 1984 #michael Langdon

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jungkookiebus · 5 years ago

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Hellblazer pt. 1 | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut Rating: M Pairing: demon!Jungkook x FemConstantine!reader Warnings: demonic possession, wounds that would correlate with a “possession”, minor character death, mentions of suicide, rough sex, hair pulling, face sitting, multiple orgasms Summary: “Few people really think about dying... paranoids worry about it without really understanding it. Victims of fatal accidents and murder don't have time to think. You only really think about it if you take the time to. And you only take the time if you know it's going to happen.” -John Constantine, Dangerous Habits Pt. 1: The Beginning of the End, Issue #41. Author’s Note: You can blame the concept photos from today. Also, a kind anon requested it. :D

The girl’s deep, otherworldly screams filled the room as you secured her hand to the headboard.

“Hold her down!” you yelled.

Three men were on each corner of the bed trying to hold the frantic young woman down as she thrashed and threatened to rip everyone’s balls off.

Just your run of the mill demonic possession.

Sweat began to roll down your brow as you fought her. You were strong and equally strong willed, but these men were either scared to hurt her or scared of her. Probably both. She gnashed her teeth in your direction, spit flying, and her black eyes were focused on yours.

“You’ll never fucking get me out of here, Hellblazer,” she growled.

“Oh yea? Then how come you’re letting me tie you to this bed?” you struggled out as you planted your foot on the edge and pulled with all your strength on the rope.

“Your blood is just like mine. Why fight us?” her growls filled the room.

The priest that was residing over this possession was tucked away in the corner, clutching his Bible as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. The girl’s mother cried in the arms of her husband begging the demon to let her little girl go. Apparently, she had been possessed for months and when the priest was at a dead end, he contacted you.

Little did they know was that you were doomed to fail. You always tried, though, to redeem yourself for your sins; hoping that helping others would make up for what you had done.

When she was sufficiently tied down, you moved to your leather bag to pull out the relics you had brought. You always moved through the same motions, knowing what you were doing was right, but never quite getting there; a punishment in which you wish you could be freed.

The cross you held out in front of you pissed off the demon as it should since it was made from the same wood from Christ’s crucifixion, having been passed down through your family for thousands of years. Or so your dad had said.

“Sancte Michael,”

Saint Michael,

“defende nos in proelio”

Defend us in battle.

The demon writhed against its bindings as you continued the prayer.

“ut non pereamus”

That we might not perish.

“You’re going to hell with me, you bitch!”

She was pulling so hard now that the bindings were beginning to cut into her skin. Her eyes fluctuated from solid black to her natural green and back again. The veins were black and blue against her paper white skin, her hair was sparse where she had been pulling it out, and her body was covered in bruises. The demon was essentially killing her from the inside out.

“in tremendo iudicio.”

At the dreadful judgment.

Two hours later and the girl was gone. Yet another failed exorcism. As if you felt like this would go any differently. You told the uncle who was there to help it was probably because the demon had been inside of her for so long. At least it was half true.

You shielded your hand as you lit a cigarette, took a long inhale before holding it and releasing it into the air. Standing outside on the cobblestone street, you squinted up past the dim streetlights and up into the night sky. The stars sparkled above you, ever present and totally oblivious to the shit show going on down here. You suddenly wished that you were among them, burning until you exploded and became part of the universe once more. Maybe then your stardust would land on some other planet that didn’t see shit like that. But maybe there was a Hell there too.

Your boots clicked on the uneven, wet stone. Looking down at your watch you saw it was three a.m. The night was cool, it had just rained, and you breathed in deeply the fresh air. Your lungs expanded appreciatively, with no sickness, not anymore at least. You took another drag of the cigarette, noticing you were burning through it quickly. Your nerves were still on edge from the exorcism and you knew you’d be thinking about it for weeks before the nagging feeling of failure went away.

“Hello, little demon hunter,” you heard from the shadows of an alley you were passing.

You stopped, frozen in your tracks, but it wasn’t uncommon for you to meet unwanted people…or creatures for that matter from time to time. You made a mental checklist of every weapon and talisman on your body as you swiveled on your heel. Clicking the safety off your handgun, you pulled it from under your coat and pointed it into the darkness. You heard the click of a tongue in the darkness.

“That won’t do much.” It was a male voice, smooth as silk but layered in heat. Hell had a certain dialect and you knew that lilt anywhere. You were the only human that you knew that could travel through Purgatory, Hell, and Earth.

You saw the shine of his eyes even though none of the streetlamps reached into the darkness and you knew the dreadful darkness was made even darker by him.

“Then come out if you’re so tough,” you challenged.

He was a beautiful sight, as were most demons you had encountered, but this one was different. Based on his clothing; black turtleneck underneath an equally black blazer, dark jeans, and shiny boots, he was one of the higher denizens of Hell if not a general. One you had never met at that.

“What’s your name?” you asked, not lowering the gun.

“Why would I tell you that? Just so you can banish me?”

You scoffed as you squared the gun right between his eyes from that distance.

“I told you that won’t work.”

“Yea? Maybe I have special demon killing bullets since you seem to know me so well.”

“It’s not like I can possess you.”

“But you can kill me.”

“I can ensure you that I do not want to kill you.” He held his hands up defensively.

You examined his face. His hair was pushed to the side, exposing his forehead and the smooth expanse of his skin. You noticed a few tattoos on his fingers and hands as he raised them, but you still couldn’t figure out who he was, and you usually prided yourself in knowing everyone and everything from Hell. It was the smaller demons, the ones that possessed humans, that you didn’t know. The generals and Princes of Hell didn’t lower themselves to possession unless it was someone they desperately wanted. You knew of one Pope that was possessed for his entire career.

“Are you scared, ____?” he smiled.

“I’m never scared of your kind.”

He made a face like he was hurt by your words, clutching one of his hands to his heart. You saw a crown on one of his fingers and a few other odd shapes you couldn’t make out. Who was he? Then you saw the sigil when he moved a little closer. It was a small brooch on his lapel, and you didn’t need to make out the rest when you saw the gold glint of goat horns. He was of blood in the House of Satan, but who?

“Please lower the gun?” he asked innocently. His eyes softened as he looked at you and he dropped his other hand to his side, the other still firmly planted over his heart.

For some reason your resolve deflated. Slowly, you lowered your gun and by the time it was by your side, the man wore a wide smile.

Such a pretty smile…

You shook your head, bringing up the hand still holding the gun to press the ball of your palm into your temple. Eyes screwed shut, you willed yourself to think logically.

“What are you doing to me?” Your breath came out a little more erratic than you would have liked.

He looked even more innocent, eyes almost on the verge of watering as he stepped just a little closer to you. The tension between your brows relaxed and your hand dropped once more. He looked a little more satisfied this time as he approached. The clatter of your gun hitting the stones didn’t make it to your ears. Around you, the world seemed muffled. It felt as if cotton had been stuffed into them. A passing car, a person’s laugh, and crickets sounded around you, but you were deaf to everything but him. You still heard his footfalls the closer he walked. His grin was turning up at the corners and for a second he seemed wicked and a trickle of fear ran down your spine.

“Poor little demon hunter.” His voice dropped an octave as he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That exorcism didn’t work. They never do.”

This time his smile was wicked, and you felt exposed. He looked at you as if you were something to eat while still exploring your face for any change in your expression. You tried to not let your emotions show. You knew exactly where this was going.

Now, he was right in front of you. Dangerously close as your chest heaved in mild panic. You felt rooted to the ground. The world was no longer muffled, it was hauntingly silent. He leaned in closer and he smelled like a freshly burned out campfire with just the slightest hint of sulphur. His cheek was a hairsbreadth away from yours when he spoke again.

“That little suicide of yours will never be redeemed. You’re too selfish for that.”

Heat flushed through your body as the panic set in. He placed his hand over your heart now, pressing into your skin as he felt your heart beat furiously in your chest.

“And I know your soul is no longer in here.”

Your mouth was dryer than a desert by this point.

“But your blood is just like mine. It sings to me and I’ve never felt that before.”

His hand slowly slid up your chest and to your neck where he let his hand lay loosely there. His skin burned hotly on yours, further providing evidence that he was more than likely higher than a general. The higher you got the hotter the fire burned.

“And I’m not so sure I like that quite yet.”

His voice contained a mild threat. You had encountered many a demon and even Satan himself, been through the circles of Hell many times, and heard the cries of those stuck in Purgatory; but this type of fear was different. You were in awe of him, but at the same time completely repelled. You weren’t interested in seeing him in his demon form any time soon either.

His lips brushed your cheek as he turned his face. He wet his lips as he paused against your skin.

“But I’m more than willing to find out,” he breathed.

His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your body flush with a different kind of heat as your eyes fluttered shut. Why? you asked yourself. Why were you doing this? The rational part of your brain was starting to be overpowered by the irrational.

“You want to as well,” he whispered. “I can feel it in that soulless body of yours. You’re just as empty as me.”

You grabbed his wrist and he gasped at the coldness of your skin. Your eyes came open to meet his as he leaned away from you. They were no longer human, no, those baby brown eyes were now replaced with a solid black with a deep red burning within. A quick rush of wind surrounded you, enveloping you so tightly that you couldn’t breathe, your lungs constricted as you fought to take a breath, and right as your eyes started to burn, air filled your lungs as your back hit a soft surface.

You gasped for breath, enjoying the burn of oxygen flooding your lungs, before a pair of lips were on yours. He was over you and you felt an expensive silk blanket beneath your fingers. His tongue slipped passed your teeth and he moaned as he got his first taste. You dared to explore as yours brushed passed a suspiciously sharp tooth.

“Hmmm, careful,” he smiled as he pulled away from you.

He sat up, bringing you with him, and was slipping your jacket from your shoulders before you knew what was happening. He then reached for the hem of the sweater you wore underneath and pulled it up and off. Your mind could barely keep up as he examined you. His eyes focused on exactly what he was looking for. A scar. The sigil of Lucifer was burned into your skin over your heart. He ran his finger gingerly over it and you took his distraction as a chance to look around. You were sat on a large, four poster bed in an opulently decorated room. But it was so, so dark and not in just a way that you were standing outside at night, but the feeling was there as well. The shadows were omnipresent and seemed to be teeming with some dark fear. You could tell that there was a large fur rug before a roaring fire, but there seemed to be a dark gray film over everything. The only thing you could see in full color was him. He seemed to almost glow in the darkness, his alabaster skin absorbing any light it could.

“A deal’s a deal, huh?” he asked rhetorically.

He leaned down again, capturing your jaw in his palms and kissed you, inhaling deeply as he lowered you back down. He kissed hotly along your neck, suddenly desperate for more.

And you were more than willing to give it to him.

You grasped tightly at his jacket, feeling the metal of the brooch dig into your finger. He smoothly pulled the jacket off and broke away from your skin just enough to pull the last layer over his head. Blearily, you looked at him and noticed his chest was covered in tattoos, there were some runes you recognized, but beyond that you weren’t sure. They seemed to wrap underneath his arms and disappear behind him as well.

“Don’t look too close, angel,” he said as he dipped low, flicking the front clasp of your bra open, and attaching his lips to your nipple.

You moaned, chest arching, as he sucked on the sensitive nerve endings. His hand was on your stomach, fingers splayed across your skin as he pushed you further into the mattress.

Dread seeped through your bones when at the same time he was pouring warm honey into you. You were in the deepest depths of Hell. No normal human could survive here, but when you didn’t have a soul the effect wasn’t so bad. Regardless, you had feelings and right now they were so mixed that you didn’t know which way was up.

Somewhere in the mix of his wet mouth trailing across your chest to the other side, he had disposed of everything below your waist without having you notice.

Fucking demons, you thought to yourself.

His splayed hand was travelling downwards, and he was just on the crest of dipping his fingers under your hood when he stopped. He nuzzled his nose on your neck and breathed deeply.

“My sweet, little demon hunter. I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long.”

Your hips came off the bed, wanting him to touch you, but he kept his hand in place. He rose above you again, moving swiftly as he stepped off the bed.

“Up,” he demanded, motioning you to get off the bed.

He then took your place but this time he let his head hang from the bed.

“Ride by face, baby,” he said, hands reaching for your waist.

Whether he had planned this, or this was another one of his tricks, you were at perfect height.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you were the other way?”

“I want you to stand.” He was forceful as he grabbed your hips and pulled them, easily slotting you over him.

You gasped loudly as his tongue made contact with your clit. He pulled you harder against him as he sucked loudly on your clit before releasing it and laving his tongue over it. His mouth felt divine against you as you caught yourself on your hand. Your hips seemed to move on their own volition as you started to rock against him. He moaned loudly in approval the same time you looked between the two of you. With every other rock you exposed his glistening chin and strong jaw and you felt yourself getting more turned on. You ground harder against him mouth, rotating as he switched from stiffening his tongue to licking you sloppily. He sucked, licked, and moaned against you until you were shaking above him. You were on your tip toes, him chasing your pussy so that his mouth never left. You could see the prominent bulge in his jeans and you felt your mouth salivate at the prospect. Closing your eyes, toes curling as much as they could, and fingers digging into the silk, you came on his face. His moans almost matched yours as you continued to ride out your orgasm and he was licking up all your had to offer.

When your body began to shake with aftershocks and you flinched every time his tongue hit your clit, he pushed you off him. You landed on your back against the silk. He swung his legs around, stepping off the bed again and quickly disposed of his jeans. Weakly, you sat up and you physically felt your eyes bulge.

There was that wicked grin again.

“All fours,” he said, rotating his finger, demanding you turn around.

You flipped over but not fast enough for his liking as he yanked you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.

“You need to move like you want it,” he seethed between his teeth.

Your knees were almost at the edge as you got on your hands, shins and feet hanging off the edge. He ran his left hand slowly, soothingly down the middle of your back, hand creeping in your hair and you were about to lean into the touch when he grabbed your hair by the roots harshly and pulled back. At the same time, you felt the slam of his cock inside of you, and to the hilt. There was more pain right now that there was pleasure as he pulled you back against him, still holding you by your hair.

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he brought his fingers to your sensitive clit. “It’ll feel good soon.”

He cooed as you melted a little, pleasure coming back into your system as he rubbed small circles on the swollen bundle of nerves. He pulled out until he was barely in, bit down on your neck, and slammed back. Then, he started to move slowly, circling his hips every now and again to hit you a little differently while still rubbing slow circles on your clit. The skin of your shoulder burned as he bit and sucked, his sharp teeth surely leaving scars. His grip in your hair tightened as his pace quickened.

He gasped loudly as he detached his lips from your skin, eyes closed, cheek against yours as he gripped you tightly, thrusting into you faster and with more purpose.

There were so many sensations inside of you, pain, pleasure, fear, euphoria. The mix was intoxicating, and you found yourself losing yourself to him again. You were pushed over the edge and you felt a growing wetness as he pushed harder against your clit, rubbing and thrusting faster.

“Fuck, hng, ______,” he muttered as you tightened around him.

He was sweating and the slap of his hips against your ass was wet and loud, his chest seemed to stick to your back, but god was it hot.

You were slipping further and further. You wanted to beg him not to touch you, but he wouldn’t even hear you now. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and loud in your ear. His fingers dug into your scalp, skin burning as he pulled harder at your hair. His fingers, relentless, were throwing you into another orgasm that had tears streaming down your face. You no longer had the strength to hold yourself up, cry, or speak. His breath caught in his throat suddenly as he stilled, toned body rigid behind you as he came. All at once, his breath came out in a loud exhale as he moaned, body shuddering, cock still inside of you and filling you up to the brim. His cum mixed with yours, leaking out and down around his cock as he thrust a few more times. The sticky liquid dripped down your thigh and to the bed below you. After a few moments, he stopped. His chest still heaved behind you, but his hand in your hair loosened while his other wrapped around your waist. He kissed tenderly the bruises and small punctures on your shoulder, and you shivered at the contact.

“My little, demon hunter,” he breathed. “The taste of you is so sweet.”

You awoke to your alarm. Confusion settled in and you weren’t sure where you were. Pulling the covers from your face you squinted as the sun assaulted your eyes. You moaned as you rolled over, suddenly regretting the action as every muscle in your body protested. Every part of you ached in a way you had never felt before. Your neck burned and there was a slight headache between your eyes.

Was that some illusion leftover from the exorcism?

Fear, disgust, and a little of something else you didn’t want to admit washed over you as you turned to silence your alarm. Your heart stopped in your chest as your hand grazed across something cold. He had left his signature. Once again, turning the brooch in your hand, you didn’t need to examine it further to know there would be the golden goat horns.

He had been real. A demon of Hell had taken you as his own.

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #bts smut #demon!au #demon!jungkook #jungkook x reader #constantine!au #constantine x bts crossover #fem!constantine #demon hunter #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts au #nonidol!au

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hoodoo12 · 4 years ago

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Elegy (1/6)

What follows is a story of Miss Argentina and Beetlejuice and how their own personal issues keep them locked in their own private hells. Contains smut and angst. It was done as a rp between @clairjohnson and myself. NSFW. Beetlejuice/Miss Argentina. Beej is a combination of movie and musical; Miss Argentina has contains hcs (such as her name and circumstances). Also contains minor mentions of OC Dante’s Inferno employees. (Tagging people who have asked in the past. If you’d like to be tagged, hmu. If you’d like to be untagged, hmu. @turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @angelicspaceprince) Enjoy!

He’d married, been murdered, vanquished the evil that was Juno – he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again anytime soon – said some weird heartfelt goodbyes to people he just terrorized, and was carried off by his clones in the smallest, most subdued mosh pit style ever, for an exit that was worthy of some kind of award, just for the theatrics of it.

The second he was through the swirling mists of the doorway that separated the living from the Netherworld, he turned on his own clones and attacked them remorselessly, using claws and teeth to tear them apart, growling like he’d lost his mind and spitting like he was rabid.

None of the clones attempted to fight back or escape. They were part of him, and he was so fucking angry – it made him angrier that they just took their destruction passively, his destruction, a destruction of self that made his hands drip with gore, his mouth taste like clotted blood, and his clothing, the tuxedo conjured specifically for something positive in his fucking waste of a life, a deeper color.

He hated this fucking suit.

He was too exhausted by the end of his rampage to flick it away, however. Stepping over the piles of meat that had been clones, he wiped his hands down his front and winced as they brushed over the new ventilation that goddamn teenager graced him with. He kicked the door to the waiting room hard enough that it bounced off the interior wall of purgatory, startling the assholes sitting around waiting for their stupid numbers to be called.

---

It had been another slow day in the waiting room. Not that Miss Argentina had any way to count “days” – time had little meaning in death – but her job was as uneventful now as it had been several hundred new arrivals ago. Staring down at her clipboard Maria crossed out the name of the last soul she’d sent back to meet their case worker. Juno was surprisingly absent at the moment, but the receptionist wasn’t too concerned. Her boss was a work-alcoholic and honestly, what else did Juno have to do? She’d be back soon.

In a practiced motion, one she’d done a million times, Maria stood and slid open the dividing screen to the waiting room.

“Number 5,678 Mr. Hen – “

The rest of the name caught in her throat when the door to the left of her was blown open, rattling on hinges that threatened to give. A split second of panic washed over her, an emotion really only needed for the living, before she saw who it was.

Betelgeuse.

“Mr. Hendrix,” she finished, moving her gaze from the fuming poltergeist to the sorry looking dead man standing up from his seat. “Your caseworker is waiting for you – please step through those doors.”

Maria placed her clipboard back on the desk then leaned out the window a little further, giving the older, bloodied man a deeper once over. “Back so soon, Mr. Betelgeuse? Should I pull you a number?”

"Fuck this place and fuck the numbers!" he spit, literally spit, making the ghost sitting nearest in his line of fire wipe his face as he hoisted himself up – some kind of heart attack took him, no doubt, from the lack of obvious trauma and the effort he took to get out of the molded plastic chair – and hurried as fast as he could out of range.

He could take that chair and beat down every wall in this place. He could tear apart every single soul in this forsaken pit. He could bypass the eons of fucking waiting and just march right down the hall to the Lost Souls' Room –

– scary thing was, that option held some real fucking appeal at the moment.

Beetlejuice glared at each and every dead person cowering in place. Fucking losers. Just like the fucking Maitlands, but worse, because they followed the goddamn directions in the fucking Handbook and were now stuck here.

But what did that say about him? the voice in the crate in the back of his mind whispered. You tried, and you still ended up right.here.with.them.

Beetlejuice grabbed the side of his head, mindless of the residual tackiness on his hand, and gave his hair a yank. Sometimes that dislodged the voice enough to make it shut up.

His gaze fell on the beauty queen behind the partition. He couldn't tell if she was politely waiting for his tantrum to subside, or if she was being indifferently patient, having seen it all before.

Maria wondered, absently, where all the blood had come from. She noticed the gaping hole in his chest and assumed it might all be his – but it was always hard to tell with Betelgeuse. His brand of “bio-exorcising” wasn’t the cleanest. However, based on his outfit, she doubted his day job was what sent him back here. The fool had tried to get married again.

Fixing him with a cool, pleasant smile, Maria yanked a number from the ticket dispenser and held it up. “I’ll just pull one for you, then. You know the rules – no number, no getting to see Juno.”

The beauty queen leaned further out of the window and rested her chin in the palm of her hand – her clipboard and list forgotten for the moment. Red tuxedo – a classic for him. How many times had she seen him in it? She could remember at least four, and she guessed he’d worn it twice as many times before she’d crossed over. Betelgeuse never told her how old he was, but after working with him for over three decades, it was clear he had a few hundred years under his belt.

When was he going to stop pulling this stunt? It never worked. Always ended up with him down in the waiting room – back here with her. Maria bristled, both angry and jealous that he got to leave this hell and go gallivanting top side as he pleased. Her smile tightened and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“You never invite me to your weddings,” Maria said casually, lifting the hand from her chin to examine the ruby manicure. “Any good plans for your honeymoon?”

She flicked her gaze up to catch his reaction.

The bitterness and pure rage inside him managed to ratchet up another notch with the receptionist's detached apathy to his situation as she offered the ticket out to him.

Anyone else, and he'd have taken that hand off at the wrist; he could feel his teeth lengthen in anticipation of it. As it were, he snatched the paper away with enough force to tear it. He crumpled it in his fist and shoved it into a pocket without looking at it, casting his glance around the room again at all the lesser assholes who were pointedly trying not to look at him and become the focus of his ire.

Maria's words, her barbed little query spoken in her light accent, just poured salt into the gaping hole in his chest.

"Fuck you," he roared. His voice cracked.

Maria was used to seeing Betelgeuse angry. She was also used to seeing him happy – manically so. The man had a way of taking emotions to the extreme. She was not, however, used to hearing the crack in his voice. The next biting remark died on her tongue and she peered up from her nails, her brow furrowing.

“Oh, don’t look so upset.” She tutted, but there was less sarcasm behind it. “You have all the time in the world to try again, don’t you? It’s not like you’re stuck here (like she was). Not for long, anyway.”

Had this time been different from his other attempts? The pain in his expression suggested so. If he kept this up she may just bring him around back to avoid disturbing the waiting ghosts. Maria didn’t like bending the rules, but for the good of her job she’d bend them. That’s what she told herself at least. For the job.

try again

not like you're stuck here

Her words meant to comfort stung, jamming themselves like smaller spears into his chest. She was partially right. It wasn't like he was stuck here, so long as he could convince some dumb sucker to fulfill the terms of the contract. Finding the right dumb sucker was what took the time and energy.

That led to the whole "try again" debacle. What was the point? He'd never succeed; despite the seemingly impressive power he had in the upper world, it was useless. He was useless, like everything was smoke and mirrors and the one being fooled was him.

He realized he had his fists clenched so hard he was shaking. The ghosts surrounding him in the mismatched furniture, patiently waiting their turn, still did their damnedest to pretend they heard and saw nothing.

"No one is like me!" he'd shrieked in the Maitlands' faces.

The stupid deads sitting here proved it. He had half a mind to grab the nearest one and rip him apart like he'd treated his clones, just to continue to give his rage an outlet, but on top of everything else he didn't want to deal with the consequences of that. Maria was still watching him, as if she expected him to do something of the sort, like she was steeling herself to have to intervene and de-escalate him, even though he knew it wasn't anywhere near part of her job.

The shaking of his fists drew her gaze down – would he really be so brash as to tear through the souls waiting? Not that he could actually kill anyone, but it would make them have to get a new place in line . . . and the paperwork involved would be a headache.

Maria lifted her Miss Argentina sash over her head and draped it on the back of her chair. Quietly, but quickly, she moved around her desk and out the side door that led to the waiting room. Like approaching a wild animal you didn’t want to startle, Maria crept forward. Delicately, she placed her fingers on the side of his arm to get his attention, keeping her back straight and her expression calm.

“How about you come wait in the back, Mr. Betelgeuse.”

Her voice was smooth. She had started adding in the “Mr.” when he’d gone rogue and stopped working for Juno. The days of familiarity, of her calling him “Beej”, were long gone. Maria still kept a certain level of fondness for the poltergeist, though she’d never admit it aloud.

The roots of his hair were probably the color of this fucking suit.

When Maria physically approached and laid a manicured hand on his arm, he almost spun on her. When the pressure on his arm increased, aided by her nails digging in so hard he could feel them through the layers of fabric, he forced himself to relent.

"Fine," he agreed bitterly.

She’d felt him tense at her touch, and Maria briefly considered she’d made a grave mistake approaching him, until his muscles relaxed – slightly – under her fingers. Thank goodness.

Keeping her hand on his arm the receptionist guided him to the office door. She peered out to catch the relief on the newly dead faces before shutting it behind her.

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the chair next to her desk and sat back down on her own. She wanted to stay disinterested, wanted to keep things professional, but she couldn’t.

“So.” Maria pulled some papers together and tapped them on her desk until they were even. “Is most of that blood yours? I haven’t seen you looking so . . . out of sorts in quite some time.”

The beauty queen looked at him from the corner of her eye, pretending to keep most of her attention on the work in front of her.

He sat where indicated, in the hard straight back chair beside her desk. If he wanted, he could look up and see the filing cabinets, the paths in the rug worn through to the subfloor underneath, the endless stacks of paper, and the hallway where the caseworker's offices were.

He didn't want to. He could walk through the place blindfolded. Nothing changed in the Netherworld; it was all slog and dismay. And they thought he was crazy for wanting back out?!

A cigarette appeared in his hand. Sticking it between his lips he glanced up at her question and statement.

"Yeah. The blood's mine. First from that goddamn teenager and second – " He broke off there and used lighting the cigarette as an excuse not to finish and admit he'd torn apart his own clones in a fit of rage. " – never mind. Nothing matters. It's the same shit for eternity."

Maria watched, with pointed interest, as he brought the cigarette up to his mouth. Well, at least the blood was his. Less mess for Juno to clean up later.

“Thanks.” She drawled sardonically, bringing her own cigarette into existence. “I’d love one.”

As she took a drag, Maria let his remark sit in silence for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. Most of the dead seemed to be having an on-going crisis – and if Beej had been feeling the same, he’d never let on.

“You’ve always been one for the dramatics. But never nihilism.” She paused, “ – also, did you just say teenager? You know what – I don’t want to know.”

She threw her hand up at that, waving the question off. He was a scumbag, to be sure, but the thought of him being that scummy was not an idea she wanted to entertain.

He'd have felt bad about not offering her a smoke if he was in a different state of mind. As it were, it didn't even register until she pointed it out. Even then he couldn't quite bring himself to care. It was easy, however, to fill in the blanks she left out.

"It was a fuckin' green card thing," he growled. "Most teens – especially gothy ones who think their existence is the worst of anyone, ever – are dumb as shit. Easy to manipulate. Except this one was too damn clever for her own good. She used – "

It was on the tip of his tongue to admit his naked, desperate desire to be accepted was used effectively against him, but that made sour bile rise in the back of his throat and he had to swallow it down again.

" – ugly art to impale me," he corrected after only a brief hesitation. He took a deep drag, and was dismayed to see that some smoke drifted out the hole in his chest. That kid must've punctured a lung. He sighed as he pulled at his shirt to try and cover it.

From the corner of his eye he watched her watch him. He didn't want her pity. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew he didn't want her pity.

Maria felt herself relax at his growled response – pleased to hear he was still a normal scumbag of the con-man variety. She couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips into a smile when he admitted how he kicked the bucket this time around. She’d seen a lot of dumb ways to die, but ugly art was a first. Chuckling through a drag, she eyed the smoke coming out of his chest, causing her lips to curl even further upward.

As good as it was to have him talking, the anger radiating off him was still obvious. She could practically feel it on her skin. Whenever he got out of hand Juno was usually around to deal with him – but not this time. She was still surprisingly absent. Fortunately, Maria had worked here long enough to know what her boss’s trump card was.

“Juno’s been away from the office today.” she started, putting out her cigarette in the glass tray on her desk. “And you look like you’re in the need of a distraction after . . . your little accident.”

The receptionist spun her chair to face him, one slender bare leg crossed over the other, and raised a brow at the bloodied ghost.

“How does a drink or two at Dante’s sound? On Juno’s tab, of course.”

She smiled, scarlet lips parting to show off her straight white smile. In many ways the two were opposites. Beej was unapologetically himself, moss and all, while Miss Argentina went to great lengths to appear perfect. Even though she had let some of that anxiety go in death, bad habits were hard to break.

“I’ll join you – if you don’t mind. I could use some time out of the office.”

In an effort to appear disinterested in the state of both his clothing and the new hole he was going to have to figure out how to close, Beetlejuice kept his eyes on the paperwork she'd straightened. A kid's profile, from the looks of it. One perk about working as Juno's assistant way back when was helping the kids when they came through –

He glanced up sharply when Maria mentioned Dante's. Actually suggesting it, and accompanying him to it. He would've thought that the beauty queen would pretend that place never existed, although he knew she must have been both scouted and offered a job there.

"On Juno's tab? A drink or five sounds great."

Some time that old hag was going to show up again, slathered in Sandworm spit and gastric juices, and he'd much rather not be found here if possible. He stood up abruptly, making the wooden chair squeal against the floor.

"Fine. I'll let you take me out."

“Only drinks, Mr. Betelgeuse. I’m not paying for any other services.”

Miss Argentina hadn’t had a chance to be out in quite some time. With an eternity stretching out in front of you, there was little rush to do much of anything other than your assigned job. Peering down at her burgundy gown, she also realized she hadn’t changed her outfit in years – wearing the same dress to two different parties used to be a mortifying thought when she was alive.

How things change. The beauty queen stood, and with a few moments of concentration, changed into a red cocktail dress. Her French curled hair now in tight waves around her shoulders. It felt nice. A little like being alive, even. Even if it was just to go out and watch this man get drunk off his ass. But she understood his desire to live again – didn’t all ghosts wish they could be top side? He was certainly the most tenacious about getting there.

“All right, ready when you are,” she said while smoothing down her new outfit. She turned from the older man and started towards the office exit, throwing a ‘are you coming?’ glance over her shoulder at him.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her hands smoothing down the fabric of her choice of dress. With his cigarette still caught between two fingers, he ran his thumb over his lower lip, thinking about the differences between the dead and the breathers changing clothing – the breathers had to take it off and put it back on, versus simply willing a new outfit into existence.

Of course the dead could be titillatingly mundane, if they chose. It was too bad this was the never-closed office, and there was a waiting room full of ghosts on the other side of the glass partition –

At her invitation and with a sigh, Beetlejuice stepped off the road that daydream was headed. He'd lost the chance with her a long time ago.

He flicked his still lit cigarette into the ether and decided if she was going to be dolled up, it wouldn't be right for him to accompany her in what he was wearing. Between one step towards the door and the next, his blood-soaked tux became his favorite striped suit. He left the hole in his torso under his shirt.

"Lead the way, muñeca." tbc . . .

#writing #role-play #BeetleTina #Beetlejuice #Miss Argentina #Beetlejuice x Miss Argentina #Movie Beetlejuice #musical Beetlejuice #fanfiction #rp

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estrel · 4 years ago

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Catalysts & Changes: a 15x16 Meta

I wanted to talk really quickly about Dean’s change this season, especially regarding 15x16.

My main focus of this meta is to talk about Mary’s impact on Dean being the catalyst for this change we’ve been seeing, but I’m also going to be mentioning some Cas/destiel things to tie into this. So, here we go:

I. Mary as Catalyst & Myth

Mary is Dean’s reason. By that I mean that literally the whole reason Dean hunts--or, rather, continues to hunt, since John honestly forced it on him--was all in the hopes of catching what killed Mary. That was the main purpose of season 1, other than finding John. This is Dean’s motivation, his basis as a character.

Dean has also mentioned on multiple occasions that Mary was why he was brave, why he kept fighting, and that he often thought about her.

Dean: I was scared, too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom...I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day (1.03 Dead in the Water)

Remember this quote, because I think it’s eerily similar to the one in 15.16 that I’ll talk about later in this post.

This makes sense--she’s his mom, he should be affected in some way about her death. But Dean takes it to the extreme, based his life around it, held on to it for far too long. Sam was different, because he never actually knew Mary, and we know from earlier seasons that their feelings about her are pretty different.

Meanwhile, almost any time Dean has dreamt of something ideal, Mary was there (think of his djinn dream in 2.20 where Mary never died, and in heaven in 5.16). We can especially see that this is true because of what Amara said in Gimme Shelter:

Dean: What was the point?

Amara: I wanted two things for you, Dean. I wanted you to see that your mother was just a person. That the myth you’d held onto for so long of a better life, a life where she’d lived, was just that: a myth. I wanted you to see that the real, complicated Mary, was better than your childhood dream because she was real. That now is always better than then. That you could finally start to accept your life. (15.15 Gimme Shelter)

Here, Amara was anticipating a turning point. She had wanted Dean to be “released” by having Mary back, but obviously this didn’t happen. Instead, Mary’s death was once again the catalyst for Dean’s change, just like it was the first time when Azazel killed her. We can also see from this that Dean has always been stuck in the past, hence Amara telling him that he should be focusing on now, instead. Another thing to note for future reference is the “real” line. Remember Cas saying “we are” when Dean asks him what is real.

Mary was also not exactly what Sam or Dean--hell, not even the viewers--had been expecting when she returned. She was scared, alone, and had trouble dealing with being back in a new century with her little boys all grown up and even worse-- hunting. But Dean eventually accepted this. He accepted the real version of Mary, but continued to idolize her and bring up the past.

II. Mary’s Death

Now let’s take a look at what’s happened since Mary’s second death:

Denial. Dean hopes Mary isn’t actually dead, even though all signs point to this.

Grief. Dean cries alone at the site of her death.

Blame. Dean blames Jack and Cas for what happened.

During and after the funeral, Dean avoids talking about it with anyone. However, he is obviously affected by her death. Sam even holds Cas back from going to Dean while burning the pyre. Bobby makes a comment about Dean being a lot like him and not wanting to show his feelings to others.

These all sound like the Dean that’s been built up since season 1. Not dealing with his feelings properly at all, pushing people away, denial. The one thing that makes this time different from other deaths, though, is that--just like the first time Mary died--there's no body to bring back. It's implied in 14.19 that if there had been, Dean would have tried, because he even tells Sam:

Note: This is also an episode where we see Jack being a mirror for Dean by doing exactly that--doing everything in his power to try to bring Mary back by himself. It doesn’t work; Mary’s gone for good. And she’s happy--she’s in heaven!

In addition to there not being a body, Dean also knows who did it. It's not some unidentifiable yellow-eyed demon that he can spend years tracking down, it's Jack. It's his son, it's someone he can't and won't kill, because he's family, even if he’s guilty. So Dean has no outlet for his rage except to put blame on not only Jack, but Cas (specifically in 15.03 The Rupture, Jack is dead at this point and he pushes Cas away for several episodes). And here is where Dean begins to change.

III. The Shift: Anger, Apologies, and Forgiveness

Because then, in 15.09 The Trap, there is a big, significant shift. Dean forgives Cas:

Dean: You’re my best friend, but I just let you go. ‘Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.

He cries, looks around, and gets on his knees.

Dean: I don’t know why I get so angry. I just know-I just know that it’s just always been there. And when things go bad, it just-it comes out. And I can’t- I can’t stop it. No matter how--how bad I want to, I just can’t stop it. And I forgive you, of course I forgive you. I’m sorry it took me so long to...I’m sorry it took me ‘til now to say it. (15.09 The Trap)

This is an incredibly important scene because it shows that Dean knows about his anger--the anger that Amara talks about in 15x15, and he wants to stop it.

Amara: I thought having [Mary] back would release you...put that fire out. Your anger. But I guess we both know I failed at that.

Dean: You’re damn right. (15.15 Gimme Shelter)

After this, Dean clarifies that he’s not only angry, but furious. This is change, this is change caused directly by Mary’s death--by Amara bringing her back again. Dean might say he is furious, but he has also said before that he wants to stop his anger. And, in many ways, he’s been taking steps towards doing that:

For example, here in 15.09 when Dean forgives Cas, (gif credit)

and here in 15.14 when he tells Jack he’s trying to forgive him for killing Mary, (gif credit)

and again in 15.16 for not telling Sam and Caitlin about the dead bodies when they were younger (gif credit)

and most recently, at the end of 15.16, when he didn’t tell Sam about Jack dying. (gif credit)

So now we’ve taken the turn towards forgiveness. Dean has been handing out apologies and forgiveness like never before this season, which is a definite change to how it used to be with him. He’s opening up, and he is trying to do better and be better than before. Billie also tells him this at the diner:

(gif credit)

I’m inclined here to believe that Dean is on that road to forgiveness with Jack. I mean, he said it himself in 15.14 that he’s trying, and Cas also vouched for him when Jack asked if forgiveness from Dean was a possibility. So in 15.16, when Dean says they have “no choice” but to let Jack die, it’s not because it doesn’t haunt him. It clearly does, with the entire episode dealing with Dean coping with the deaths of children, even his brother. He doesn’t want Jack to die, but his anger, his fury towards Chuck is taking precedence over that. It’s something he wants to change, but feels like he has no choice in the matter.

To add on to this, Jack has been a clear mirror for Dean this entire season. Dean’s argument with Sam about them having no choice is an indication of this. Just an episode prior in 15.15, Jack told Cas that the choice wasn’t his whether or not Jack died. So the pair ups in 15.17 aren’t all that surprising. With the episode being titled “Unity,” I think that the four of them will reach an agreement by the end of the episode (I keep mentioning agreements in all of my metas, because I think Chuck/Amara and Sam/Eileen’s agreement had important implications, but alas...), and be unified in a new plan to defeat Chuck.

As for Dean? I don’t think his ending is going to be expected. He is changing--he won’t be making the same decisions he used to make in earlier seasons.

I also find it fascinating that they made 15.16 a flashback episode to their past as children. Not only did 15.16 show us Dean being annoyed by sex, ignoring a possible love interest (which we were right as an audience to assume it would be written that way, because it has been so many times before), and how he’s dealing with the prospect of Jack’s death (with all of the imagery of dead children), but it really brought to light how much Dean has changed.

The most obvious way they showed us this was through this scene with Caitlin (who looks eerily like a young Mary...interesting), who says this:

(gif credit)

Dean: Always am.

Caitlin: You have changed. The old you never would have admitted that.

Dean: Well, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Caitlin: I think so. What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because lies...they don’t make anything better. (15.16 Drag Me Away (From You))

Now, ignoring the fact that Dean has admitted this (in 1.03), we know that the only time he has admitted to being scared before was in relation to Mary. But I think what the writers were going for here was not only to highlight Dean’s recent character growth by admitting to Caitlin that he’s changed, but also the running theme of lying this season. I’ve said it before that Sam has been the only one telling the truth in s15, and I think it’ll eventually come into play during the final episodes. The truth/lies aspect will become a central plot point--I mean, it already is. But I think it’ll factor into how the show will end as a whole, especially with this episode and previous ones alluding to normalcy and the possibility of it for Sam.

I’m going to finish this here, because I’ve dragged on too long, but some other (destiel) things to note are:

Dean falling to his knees in the hallway as a parallel to falling on his knees in Purgatory, praying to Cas, apologizing.

Dean cutting off Baba Yaga’s fingers, whereas Cas restored a woman’s fingers in 15x15. The pastor telling Cas that people are god’s hands; they lift each other up with each finger. The implications of Dean cutting people off, and Cas bringing people together.

another amazing meta regarding 15.16 and another about dean changing + 15.16

#i have literally spent HOURS on this #im so sorry it's so long oh my god #supernatural meta #rambleoncas meta #spn 15x16 #spn spoilers #spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #roc original #my post

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that-good-trash · 4 years ago

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Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy.

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You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

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After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

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Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.

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It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

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A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”

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#shoto todoroki x reader #bnha #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha shoto todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha todoroki

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milfjensenackles · 4 years ago

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to purgatory and back: chapter 1

2k words | read it on ao3

Dean had been trapped in Purgatory for at least a month now. He could barely keep track of time at this point. It’s not like it mattered. The world felt muted here, the sky grey and lackluster. Dean subsisted on whatever food he could find, whether that be a fish he miraculously found in a nearby water source or the flesh of a large beetle (that had been a terrible day, one he wishes he could forget). He was miserable. He wanted to get back to his brother and start hunting again. Every day was the same here. Every action he took was only what was necessary to stay alive. Kill monsters, look for Cas, sleep, repeat.

He hadn’t seen Cas since the day Dick exploded and sent their asses here in the first place. He just up and disappeared, leaving Dean to mutilate Leviathans and various other monsters on his own. Dean didn’t even know why he fought for so hard for so long. He didn’t know if Cas was alive. He didn’t know if they could escape, even if Cas did survive the last month alone against the unforgiving terrain that was Purgatory. All he knew was that he had to try to find Cas as soon as possible.

And then he met Benny.

Benny was an… interesting character, to say the least. He was snarky, reckless, and honestly? He could be pretty annoying sometimes. No wonder they got along so well. Dean ran into Benny during what was now a routine Leviathan attack that might have been Dean’s last. The Leviathan had Dean restrained in the air, holding on by the collar of his t-shirt. Something managed to knife the thing before Dean had a chance to get near his own weapon.

“I had that under control,” Dean mumbled from the ground, attempting to brush some debris off his jeans until he realized that, based on the amount of grime currently covering his person, there was no point in trying.

A large, scruffy-looking man looked down at him and smiled before winking at Dean, intentionally flashing his sharp fangs. “Sure you did.”

Dean gaped at him and immediately pointed his knife at the man’s neck. “You’re a vampire.”

“No shit. Really?”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why did you help me? So you can drink me dry?”

“Nah, I’m not that kind of vamp. Human blood doesn’t do it for me. Seemed like you were in a bit of a pickle there, so a ‘thank you’ would be nice,” he said, looking Dean up and down with a smirk and a look in his eyes that Dean couldn’t quite pinpoint. The vampire stretched out his hand to shake Dean’s. Dean looked at it for a brief moment, hesitating to align himself with someone he would have killed without a second thought as a hunter. Normally, Dean wouldn’t even consider trusting him, but what choice did he have? It was either work with a vampire or die at the hands of a different one. The vampire seemed to sense his hesitation but leaned his head forward and moved his arm even closer to Dean’s. Dean rolled his eyes, lowered his weapon, and clapped their hands together. “Nice to meet ya. I’m Benny. I can help you get out of here.”

So Dean and Benny continued forward into the endless cycle of fighting monsters and waiting for something dangerous to find them. Dean could feel himself warming up to the vampire, against every fiber of his being that warned him against it. Dean told Benny the story of how he and Cas were sent to Purgatory, and Benny told Dean the story of his death. Benny tried to convince Dean to move on without Cas, but Dean refused each time he tried. Dean wasn’t leaving this terrible place without Cas, even if it meant he had to stay forever.

“So, are you in love with this angel or what?” Benny asked as they warmed themselves by the small fire Dean built. It was dark, and Purgatory got cold at night. Dean was lucky he and Sam taught themselves how to make a fire when they were kids, otherwise he’d more than likely have frozen to death by now.

Dean spluttered out a noise that was a mix of the words “What?” and “No!” while aggressively shaking his head.

Benny laughed. “It’s just that all I’ve heard about him from you is that he has the most dreamy eyes ever and he’s so strong and smart. Not to mention all the ‘where’s the angel’ crap I’ve had to listen to every time we try to gank somethin’.”

Dean stared into the flames before quietly saying, “First of all, I never said his eyes were dreamy. And second of all, I ain’t into dudes.”

“You coulda had me fooled,” Benny mumbled under his breath. Dean heard it and chose not to respond.

Dean and Cas had a complicated relationship. It didn’t help that one of them was always dying. Dean wasn’t in love with him, though. Benny was just being antagonistic as usual. Cas was his brother. His family. That’s why he was so desperate to find him. You don’t leave family behind.

Every night, Dean and Benny slept on the ground as close as possible to the fire, waiting until it inevitably fizzled out and they had to depend on their thin jackets to keep them warm. Dean learned to block out the noise of screeching and wailing that came from deep in the trees over time, allowing him to get a few hours of sleep after their light source disappeared for the day. He found comfort in praying to Cas. He had no idea if Cas was listening, but it made him feel safer as he laid there, everything surrounding him engulfed by the dark Purgatory sky, rocks pressing into his back.

“Cas, if you’re out there… I hope you’re still out there. I don’t even know if angel radio works in Purgatory. I’m going to find you. We’re going to get out of here. I just… I miss you, Cas. You’re my best friend. You’re family. I’m not leaving without you. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek as he finished the prayer, hands clasped together and eyes squeezed tight in an attempt to make his effort feel more sincere. He’d never been one to pray, but he would try anything to get into contact with Castiel. Dean took a few deep breaths and slipped into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt of Cas most nights. Cas dying at the hands of some monster and Dean can only watch, can’t move to save him. Cas leaving him, choosing not to come home from Purgatory. Dean would wake with a start, the vision of Cas drifting away slowly, only to find himself an empty clearing with Benny fast asleep nearby. Sometimes, though… he had good dreams about Cas. Cas grazing his fingertips across Dean’s lips. Cas ghosting his mouth along Dean’s jawline. Cas pressing into Dean until all he can do is gasp Castiel’s name…

Those dreams terrified him just as much as the nightmares.

Dean was a wreck the next morning, having barely slept. He pushed himself off the ground, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. God, did he miss coffee. He missed having breakfast with Sam and Cas after a long hunt. He missed normal food, like bacon and pancakes. He missed Cas. Dean was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. Maybe his nightmares were trying to tell him something… Maybe Cas didn’t want to be found.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Benny asked after a few hours of wandering through the forest.

If Benny noticed, Dean was being more obvious with his moping than he had originally thought. He sighed before responding, “I’m sick of it here. I want to shower. I want to see my brother. I want to find Cas. And I want this stupid beard off my face.” Dean rubbed at his chin, which was now layered with thick stubble. Normally, he would shave at least every few days, but that obviously wasn’t possible here.

Benny snickered. “I think it suits you.”

Dean grimaced. Benny held up a finger to him, indicating that he should stop whining for a moment. He searched through his pockets and eventually presented Dean with a pocketknife. “I can use this to shave you. If you’d like.”

Dean looked at the knife, and then at Benny. “You sure that’s a good idea? What if you cut me and you can’t control yourself?”

“I think I can handle it. I want to make you feel better.”

While Dean wasn’t ecstatic about the idea of a vampire and a knife all up in his face, he did really hate the scratchy feeling that came with excess facial hair. Dean eventually resigned himself to the fact that this was happening and settled on a tree stump near the water’s edge. Benny kneeled in front of him and pushed his knees apart to get close enough. Dean watched as Benny wet the knife in the river before pressing it against Dean’s jawline, scraping away the thick hair that had grown uncontrollably over the past few months. As Benny concentrated on Dean’s beard, Dean was watching Benny’s face. He wasn’t bad looking by any means. Dean’s eyes flicked from the top of Benny’s head to his eyes, and then down to his lips. Benny happened to look away from shaving Dean at that exact moment, catching Dean openly staring. Benny inhaled quickly, and shakily whispered, “Like what you see?”

Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed heavily. He was lonely and had nothing to lose at this point. It was just a friend comforting another friend. Nothing wrong with that. Cas was probably dead, anyway. Why was he thinking about Cas right now? Dean watched as Benny leaned in, slowly, waiting for Dean to confirm that he was okay with this. Dean gave a small nod and Benny’s lips crashed into his.

***

The morning after… whatever happened between Dean and Benny wasn’t as awkward as Dean expected. Dean didn’t want to think about it. Benny was acting normal, so he could act normal too. Just guys bein’ dudes. Relieving some tension. He had been stressed, and it felt good to enjoy himself for once. It felt good to do something normal. Dean couldn’t help but wonder though… if this meant that he was actually ‘into men’, like Benny suggested so long ago. He really didn’t have time for a sexuality crisis right now. They still had to find Cas. Dean pushed the thought to the back of his head, making it a problem for his future self to deal with.

“Hey, Dean. I see something over by the river.”

Dean’s eyes followed where Benny was pointing. There was something… someone, maybe… crouching down on the rocks. It looked like they were desperate for water, like they hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. As Dean got closer, the shape became clearer and the tan color of a familiar trenchcoat came into view.

Cas.

Dean felt himself move toward Cas and wrap him in a hug. A grin stretched across his face, threatening to break him apart by the seams. They found each other. His thoughts became a repetitive cycle of telling himself that Cas is alive, Cas is safe, Cas is okay.

They had never hugged before. He didn’t want it to end. After months of searching for him, all he wanted to do was sink into his best friend’s warm embrace for as long as Cas would let him. Dean pressed his face into Cas’ shoulder, breathing him in. He felt Cas relax against him, and they stood there for what felt like an eternity, as though each of them was making sure the other person was real. As he pulled away slightly, his eyes roamed over Cas’ face with abandon. His bright blue eyes, his cheeks smeared with dirt, and his plush lips parted in a way that made Dean feel insane. Cas was looking at him, head tilted, a small smile growing on his face. Dean’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt more relieved, more peaceful, more… full of love.

Oh, shit.

He’s in love with Cas.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #purgatory!destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #lauren writes #there's some deanbenny but it's like. for the plot

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

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Chapter 6

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

MASTERLIST

You're in your element.

All of you, really.

The demons love Solomon—well, "love." Most of them still avoid him, never really having taken the effort to look past the shadiness of his outward personality, but the few demons that have stuck around have been added to his collection of pacts, and they have iron-tight bonds with the sorcerer. You've never seen him so pleased.

And then there's Simeon: probably one of the most goodhearted angels even in the Celestial Realm, so blissfully kind that even the demons have grown used to him and his little antics. Of course, it absolutely helps that the angel is nowhere near as innocent as anyone expected, constantly keeping the demons on their toes, but they seem to consider that thrill an added bonus to his company.

Luke...well, Luke might be the one having the hardest time, if you're perfectly honest. He still gets teased by the lower demons for his youthful appearance, but once they grew to learn that he was more bark than bite, even they began to relax with the insults. By now, the angel boy is quite happy, with Beel readily available to taste whatever treats he produces, and Barbatos always equipped with a new "recipe he doesn't have time to make but would like to see made."

And of course, there's you.

Well, you always knew that R.A.D. would be a blast. Even if the lower demons hadn't grown to love you for your bubbly nature (a fresh change, they say), you had the entire House of Lamentation to keep you entertained. And not to mention the fact that you and Lucifer grew involved at the beginning of the year—that thought alone still sends a flutter of butterflies to your stomach.

But you can't think of Lucifer like that right now.

No, Lucifer is the enemy.

"MC, catch!" Luke exclaims, tossing two water balloons your way, which you somehow manage to grab without popping them on contact. "Everybody ready?"

You glance around at your teammates: the nine demons remaining alongside you, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke. Everybody has two water balloons in their hands, and your faces are all rock hard with the memory of your comrades who have fallen at the hands of the enemy team.

A firm frown fixes its way onto your face when you recall how Belphie and Beel had cornered you from the treetops earlier, and had almost released an entire bucket full of liquid onto your shoulders before you bribed your way out with promises of paying for dinner next time the three of you go to Ristorante Six.

"Alright, split into teams!" A demon shouts, and then you're at Solomon's side. The mage enchanted your body earlier with a weightlessness spell that makes it even easier to sprint around and evade balloons, and you're not about to leave his side after he already helped you out once. "And go!"

Wordlessly, you and the mage begin sprinting along the treeline, both of you harnessing the full strength of Solomon's enchantment to jump and land in the treetops, where you have the best view of what's going on below.

"What if someone else is in the trees?" You ask, making a long leap from one tree branch to the next. Your figure peaks out over the treeline every so often, but the giant oaks are so high up that you doubt anyone will see.

"Shouldn't be a problem. Demons don't like using spells to boost their bodies, and Diavolo said that shifting out of human forms will lead to an instant game-over for that person."

You nod, continuing the journey forward in silence.

The other demons may be taking this lightly, but for you (and the rest of your dormmates in Purgatory Hall), this is your only shot—and you all plan to win.

You briefly recall the assembly this morning from when Levi took the mic. At the time, you'd been shocked that the shut-in otaku was willingly giving a speech in front of the entire student body, but you quickly realized that this was a major source of his ego. At the end of every sentence, as Levi explained (probably for the thousandth time, since he remarked that this was an annual occurrence) the rules of the Water Wars, cheers would erupt from the entire student body.

It took a message from Lucifer to calm everyone down enough for you to actually learn the rules of the Water Wars, but they were simple enough.

There are only four rules.

Rule 1: No switching sides. Everyone is assigned to either the Southern Water Fortress or the Northern Water Fortress, based on which half of the campus their dorms are on. Friendly fire, even if accidental, is grounds for "Water death"—a fancy phrase Levi coined for being 'out,' but you're determined not to let it come to that.

Rule 2: No leaving the R.A.D. campus. Yep, for the annual Water Wars, Levi has clearance to use the entire R.A.D. (buildings included!), though the students who are more interested in playing will stay towards the center.

Rule 3: Participants must get one 'kill' every half hour. Evidently, the entire Water Wars game was framed in the image of an actual military war, so getting someone out counts as a kill, and being killed yourself really only means that you're out of the game. Rule 3 is what prevents students from hiding during the entire game, since it only lasts one day, and is enforced through an enchantment spell everyone was bound to at the start of the game.

Rule 4: Avoid killing. And now this is probably the only rule you actually have a problem with, since it only says "avoid" killing without explicitly prohibiting it, but Simeon reassured you that demons won't actually take it to heart.

But if Rules 1 through 3 attempt to create a semblance of order, the subtle openness of Rule 4 wrecks it all, perhaps the only reason why these Water Wars have begun to feel like actual war.

And Lucifer is the enemy.

It's nearing the end of the day, and both teams have suffered heavy losses. The enemy team is exclusively the remaining members of the House of Lamentation and some other odd demons, while your team's numbers are even fewer. But that's why you and Solomon are going straight to their base—to eliminate the brothers before they can eliminate you.

You glance at your wrist, where there's a timer that dictates how long ago your last kill was. Eighteen minutes.

"How much time is left for you?" You ask Solomon when the Southern Water Fortress becomes visible. It looks empty, almost completely abandoned, and the sight worries you.

"I need to make a kill within ten minutes," He mutters back, squinting at the ground in case any lingering demons are foolishly wandering around.

You don't bother.

This is the endgame, less than twenty people left on both teams after the eight-hundred that started the game, and no one who's lasted this long will be making careless mistakes.

"Ready?" You call to Solomon when the fortress grows close enough for the two of you to jump onto it. For a moment, you worry that his human body won't be able to take the force of the collision, before realizing that he's not stupid enough to allow something so trivial to kill him.

He nods.

The two of you jump, landing weightlessly in the heart of the enemy fortress not seconds later. Staying back to back, you slowly begin walking around until you realize that your earlier worries have indeed become reality.

"They abandoned their fortress."

"Damn," Solomon mutters, standing up straight after he realizes you're right. "Shit. Five minutes before Rule 3 gets me out."

"Same," You mutter worriedly, seeing that the timer has approached twenty-four minutes on your wrist.

But before either of you can further comment, an announcement from Diavolo interrupts you both, his figure lighting up the sky over the R.A.D. campus.

"Greetings, students!" He exclaims happily, arms crossed with a pleasant grin stretched across his face. "At this point, there are less than ten students remaining in Leviathan's annual Water Wars!" You hear a cheer go up, but you can't tell where it's coming from. "To keep with tradition, the formal betting will now begin! More interestingly, it is now exclusively exchange students versus demons, with three exchange students defending the Northern Team and seven demons remaining in the Southern Team!"

You and Solomon exchange wary looks.

Shit.

"In light of this turn of events, your host Leviathan has decided to refill both fortresses with holy water and hexed water! The rules of elimination have been altered: to eliminate an exchange student, you must tag them with hexed water; to eliminate a demon, you must tag them with holy water. That will be all! The next update will come in either one hour when this session of the annual Water Wars comes to a close or when there is a winner!"

Double shit.

"Um, won't holy water kill a demon if it touches them or something?" Solomon asks. "And won't the same thing happen with angels and hexed water?"

"Not quite," You murmur, grabbing Solomon's arm and using all your strength to jump up with the sorcerer, the enchantment carrying you high into the sky where you can already see a group of demons returning to refill their water balloons. The two of you float to the ground right in front of their fortress, realizing that you're in for an all-out battle. "It'll sting a lot, but that's about it. Levi is probably only doing it to make us scared so that we fight even harder."

"Alright…" Solomon trails off, nodding his head hesitantly. "So, what's our current plan for those demons heading straight for us?"

"The reason they're returning to their base is because they need hexed water to get us out, right? That means they can only tag us with normal water right now," You respond, grabbing your two sad-looking water balloons.

Solomon nods, grabbing your arm. "Ready?"

"Ready."

And then the two of you have jumped forward with all your strength, soaring over the demons and their looks of utter shock as you begin the return to the Northern Water Fortress.

***

You and Solomon had managed to reset your Rule 3 timers on your journey back, both of you dropping water balloons on an unsuspecting Mephistopheles. It hadn't counted as a kill, but it had worked to give the two of you an additional thirty minutes.

On your return journey, you'd been completely cautious, making every effort to avoid demons for the sake of your own protection.

It seems that Simeon, on the other hand, went all-out.

"I'm not sure how they got here before you did, but the Southern team attacked our fortress!" He exclaims with his usual pleasant smile, sliding you both water balloons filled with holy water. You would worry at his revelation, but he says it with such a calm demeanor that you can't help but be suspiciously at ease as well.

"How did you manage to evade them?" You ask, squishing a balloon experimentally.

"Evade?" Simeon asks, shaking his head with a smile. "Luke and I attacked them, of course! Though Luke sacrificed himself to take Beel out. The lower demons came in range of the water cannons, so I managed to get them out like that—but I actually had to venture out to fight the rest of the brothers." He shakes his head, frowning. "I was only able to get Mammon and Satan. Lucifer is still out there."

Who put this overpowered angel on defense? You can't help but wonder, realizing that he's successfully reduced the entire enemy team to one demon in a single attack.

"Simeon, you're amazing!" You exclaim, wrapping him in an excited hug. Before, your team was the underdog—but with only one demon on the other side, your chance at victory has never been higher!

"What about the rest of the brothers?" Solomon asks. "Levi, Asmo, Belphie—are they already out?"

"Levi couldn't play, since he's hosting the Water Wars. I think Asmo got out in the morning because he didn't want to play and risk ruining his face and Belphie…" You actually don't know about Belphie. "I'm guessing he fell asleep and also got out because of Rule 3."

"So that means…"

"Right."

There's only one enemy left.

"Alright," You say, crossing your arms. "Then let's make a plan."

In the end, it's really Simeon who makes the entire plan while you and Solomon stare at him in awe, wondering whether he was a battle commander in a past life. The angel's reasoning is perfect, and he thinks of everything: a counterstrategy, four different what-if scenarios, and a plan to throw Lucifer off-guard. And it absolutely helps that he still remembers everything about the fallen Morningstar, using his current knowledge of the demon to even pinpoint where Lucifer must be right now.

And, from your position in the treetops, it seems that Simeon was right.

You wave at the angel subtly, keeping movement minimal to not draw attention. He's hundreds of meters away, but you can still make out the subtle nod he gives you and Solomon, all three of you now in-position for the plan.

As expected, Lucifer is standing in the middle of an open field, arms crossed, with a bucket of water balloons next to him. His pride won't allow him to seek out the enemy on their terms, so he's forced the three of you to come to him, and now he waits. You know all too well that he's waiting for a single one of you to make a sound, so that he can pinpoint your location and throw a balloon filled with hexed water your way to knock you out. But you won't give him that chance. You bend your knees, hands firm around the two water balloons in your palms.

Ready, you mouth to Simeon. Solomon must do the exact same thing, because in seconds, the angel is moving—your own cue to begin the assault.

Simeon stays low on the ground, zig-zagging his way toward Lucifer as the demon pauses and aims, focusing on the angel while Solomon makes his own lunging jump forward with three haphazard balloon tosses.

Lucifer manages to dodge all three, barely taking a second to grab a balloon and knock Solomon out with it—the impact of the collision dropping Solomon's body to the ground, and you can't help but wince—before he's back to focusing on Simeon.

With the demon's brief shift off balance, you recognize your cue to make your jump out of the treetops, soaring over Lucifer while Simeon draws ever closer, and—

Oh no.

You can feel the precise movement when Solomon's enchantment wears off, likely caused by the sorcerer's sudden unconsciousness, and Simeon pauses for a moment to glance worriedly up at your flailing form. You've already jumped, but your body is no longer weightless, and you're charging headfirst at Lucifer with gravity pulling you down all the way.

Sensing Simeon's hesitation, the firstborn demon wastes no time in delivering a swift throw straight to Simeon's chest, the added sting of the hexed water crumpling Simeon to the ground in a hiss.

Still flying through the air, you decide that it's too late to turn back, so you do your best to take aim and throw your balloons at Lucifer, now approaching him directly overhead. Powered by your strength, the balloon cuts through the air faster than you, and it makes a streaming sound as if approaches Lucifer overhead, and it's so close to hitting him, just another hundred feet and he'll be out, and you're so close and—

Damn it.

Hearing the sound, Lucifer looks up, only briefly stunned by the fact that it must look like you're falling out of the sky armed with water balloons. His eyes widen, realizing that both his hands are empty, and then he comes up with perhaps the most frustrating solution he could possibly think of: throwing the entire bucket of hexed water balloons up at you, the pink and purple and yellow balloons soaring up into the air at top speed.

When they collide with the two balloons from your own throw, the sudden stop after such overwhelming speed is nothing short of chaos.

Seven hells.

The balloons collide in a deafening pop! that sprinkles holy water and hexed water everywhere in a mini-explosion: onto you, onto Lucifer, and every inch of space in between.

Your body streams through the suspended water particles in the air, and you hiss at the sensation of hexed water. On the ground, Lucifer is wincing with the same pain, feeling holy water sizzle on his skin—but really, that should be the least of either of your problems because your jump was extremely well-aimed and any second now gravity is going to your body all the way and you're going to collide with Lucifer and—

Goddammit—really, can you catch a break?

The two of you groan in pain, skin hurting from the holy and hexed water, bodies aching from you literally crashing into Lucifer from almost a thousand feet up in the air.

"Are—are you okay?" You manage to ask him, wincing as you try to stand up, only collapse onto his chest again.

"All...good…" He mutters, groaning. "And you?"

"S-same," You manage to stutter, holding your head.

And then you both black out.

***

Today's dinner is served in the House of Lamentation, with the food prepared by Luke and Beel.

At the beginning of the school year, you would all eat in your own dorms, separate from one another. But by the end of the second week of school, there was no point to it. You would always be texting the brothers on a group chat, Solomon would always be video calling Asmo, and it got to the point where even Luke, with his self-proclaimed hatred of demons, was texting Beel on his D.D.D.

Simeon and Lucifer got together and agreed that, to cut down on everyone's phone usage at the dinner table, your dorms would begin eating dinner together once a week. And then it turned into twice a week. Soon, thrice a week. And then it was every other day, and now the only time you guys don't eat together is on weekends.

But today, there's a competitive edge in the air, all of you having come fresh from the Water Wars. (Well, others did. You, Lucifer, Simeon, and Solomon were all temporarily stored in the infirmary until you regained consciousness.)

"Oh please, Asmo." Solomon crosses his arms, tapping his fork on his plate while Beel brings the dishes from the kitchen over. "You were out in the first half hour, there's no reason for you to act all cocky."

"Excuse me!" Asmo gasps dramatically, crossing his arms. "What if someone threw something at my face?! I know you're okay with being knocked out, but I have to look perfect all the time. You could never understand, Solomon."

"Alright," You interrupt, leaning back in your chair. "But I'm sure we all know that our team actually won, right? Lucifer totally lost to me."

"Those are bold claims, MC." Lucifer regards you with a smirk. "If I recall, I wasn't the one who was completely soaked to the bone afterward. Look, your hair is still wet."

"Shut it, Luci." You scowl. "The only reason it even counted as a tie was because gravity did all your work for you when I fell through the water. How did that feel, hm? To know that, if not for the Devildom's natural forces, then you would have lost?"

"Wasn't it you who came crashing into me, though? You needed me to break your fall. Are all your plans so thoughtless?"

"Only because Solomon's enchantment spell wore off!"

"And you didn't think of that as a possibility? Tsk, how disappointing."

"Hey!" You protest, crossing your arms. Lucifer still wears that devilish smile, daring you to continue. And you absolutely would, if not for Simeon.

"Now, now. No need to be upset, little lamb." Simeon pats your head, frowning slightly at the dampness before his lips curve upward once more. "We all know he's simply jealous because he knows we were the rightful winners."

"Simeon!"

A wave of laughter rises from the table as you continue to taunt each other, only finding eventual peace when Luke brings out the last of the food. You mindlessly take spoonfuls of whatever looks good, your plate a mixed assortment of Celestial and Devildom food. It took two months to get to this point, but you've finally grown used to the local cuisine.

Everyone seems extra talkative today, the excitement of the earlier events still not worn off. Levi chatters animatedly about everything that happened, regaling you with all the details you weren't able to see in person.

"Still, though. I can't believe no one thought to dry you off," Simeon tuts disapprovingly, a frown present on his face. "I hope you don't fall sick, little lamb."

"Oh, right!" Mammon exclaims, glancing at you. "I forgot that angels fall sick so easily. How ya doin', MC? All good there?"

"I feel fine," You say, stretching. "I think falling onto Lucifer was worse. He's not comfortable."

But as if on cue, you suddenly cough, a shiver following soon after.

Simeon sighs, his frown deepening.

The rest of dinner passes by quickly, but no one's in a rush to leave. As with tradition, the Water Wars took place on the third Friday of the second month of school, and no one has any plans for the evening.

The eleven of you end up spaced out over various couches (with Belphie napping on the floor) in the common room, chatting aimlessly about all the projects you have coming up. As usual, Mammon keeps trying to convince you all to play card games—and thus, to gamble on them—but Lucifer shuts him down quick enough.

Another violent cough is ripped from your throat, the room going silent at your momentary struggle.

"Little lamb?" Simeon questions, concern present on his face. "Are you sure you're alright? You know that this is how all our illnesses start, and I don't want—"

Another coughing fit comes from you, only stopping when Simeon moves forward to rest his hand on your back. "Little lamb?" He repeats, voice gentle.

"I, um…" You place your hand over your chest, where it still tingles from all your coughing. "I don't feel too good."

Simeon brings a hand to your forehead, and when he steps back, his frown is even deeper. He turns around, glancing at the brothers. "I'm going to take her back. Her forehead isn't incredibly hot, but it's warmer than usual."

But Lucifer shakes his head. "You know how cold Devildom nights get, Simeon. The journey back will only make things worse." He glances at you, worry written into his features. "It may be best if she spends the night here."

Simeon looks hesitant about the idea, still incredibly aware that the exchange students dorm separate from demons for a reason, but when he sees you shiver, he relents.

"I'll fetch her things," He says, unclasping his Celestial cloak in favor of using it to cover your body as a blanket. "Solomon, Luke, let's go."

"I'll come, too!" Asmo exclaims, jumping up as soon as his eyes settle on Simeon's bare shoulders. An amused smile dawns on the angel's face at the realization, but he humors the fifth-born and allows Asmo to tag along as he ushers the rest of the residents of Purgatory Hall out, Asmo practically clinging to his arm the whole time.

When they're gone, the air in the room changes.

"Are you alright?" Lucifer asks, moving to sit next to you on the couch. His lips ghost over your forehead, earning a small groan of protest from Mammon at the PDA. Even you're surprised at it—given that Lucifer has never liked showing affection so openly, even when it's as small as this—but when you look into his eyes, you see genuine worry.

"I'm fine," You respond, laughing a little. "Don't kiss me, or you'll fall sick, too."

"Demons don't fall sick as easily as angels," Satan comments from the other side of the room, leaving to give you some privacy. The other brothers soon follow suit.

Lucifer watches them leave, waiting until they're all gone before he pulls you into his lap, pressing his forehead to yours. "Excited to spend the night here?"

You laugh lightly, leaning into his warmth. Even with Simeon's thick cloak wrapped around your shoulders, you feel undeniably cold, and you shiver in the demon's arms.

"Still cold?" Lucifer asks. You nod, and he lifts you. (You have to stop yourself from gasping when you realize that he's carrying not only your body weight, but the weight of your Celestial cloak, plus the weight of Simeon's even-heavier cloak.) "We have a guest room in the House of Lamentation, so I'll set you up for the night in there."

"I can walk," You say, pouting lightly as he carries you up the stairs, but Lucifer ignores all your protests.

"You're sick," He justifies, entering a room you've never seen and setting you down on the bed. He goes as far as to tuck you into the covers, batting your hands away when you try to do it yourself. "Rest and sleep is the best remedy for a common illness like this. If we were in the Celestial Realm, I'd get you some medicine, but…"

"Luci," You reach your hand out of the blankets, slipping it into Lucifer's. "Don't stress. I'm fine."

You hold back another round of coughs, but not for long, and in half a minute, you're in a seated position once more, coughing into oblivion with no signs of stopping.

"Shower? Do you think a shower will help?" He asks as he helps you lie down, his eyebrows furrowed. "Or do you want warm water? I can get you some more blankets, too, but if you want some—"

"Lucifer," You interrupt, silencing him with a hand. "I'll be fine by tomorrow morning, really. I'm not as sick as you think."

But he's far from convinced.

"Fine, do you really want to know what might help me right now?" He nods, crossing his arms, ready to travel to the ends of hell to get you whatever you say you desire. "You. Come and lie next to me."

You tug him into bed, giving him no chance to retaliate as you snuggle into his side.

"Simeon will be returning…" He begins, hesitant.

"Shush," You say.

You close your eyes, forgetting how cold you are when Lucifer silently wraps his arms around you, keeping an ear open for the sound of a message on his D.D.D. or any approaching footsteps. But the only thing you register is the soft sensation of his hands as they go up to stroke your hair, and the feather-light kiss he lays against your forehead.

"Get well quickly," He murmurs softly, pressing his lips against yours as if he knows that you're already drifting off, and the action is more than enough to keep all bad thoughts away from your dreams as you're pulled into a deep slumber.

***

Simeon didn't leave your side the entire night.

Angels certainly fall sick more often than demons, but it's still unpleasant whenever it happens—and the last time Simeon had seen you shiver this violently was six centuries ago.

He frowns as another gasping cough tears its way through your lungs, your frame curled into itself as you try to stop the sickness from progressing, and a wave of sympathy washes over Simeon's heart.

Being sick is never pleasant.

But it seems that he's not the only one concerned for your well-being.

"You don't need to watch her from all the way over there," The angel calls, not bothering to turn around and face the demon standing at the door. "Come inside, Lucifer."

Simeon hears the firstborn hesitate before he finally accepts the request, quietly walking over to the other side of the bed.

"How is she?" Lucifer asks, raising a hand to your hair, brushing the loose tresses out of your face. You flinch at the contact, but your body leans in to the additional source of warmth soon enough.

"Worse. She began shivering around midnight. I think her fever started up two hours later. It broke for a while in between, but…"

"It's back."

Simeon nods, tightening his grip on your fingers as he holds your hand, thumb brushing over the knuckles as you sleep. He glances upward, trying to catch Lucifer's eyes, but the darkness is too overpowering. The moonlight falls into the room at the perfect angle, illuminating your body but neither the angel nor the demon, the two men as hidden from each other as their thoughts.

He watches with bated breath as Lucifer's hand trails from your hair to your cheek, gently stroking the skin in soothing circles, just how Simeon had done an hour ago.

"She's beautiful," Simeon comments, more to fill the silence than anything.

"She is," Comes Lucifer's response, a confirmation, but it's something more than that. It's an affirmation, a silent you're right, and you've done well that comes from the guardian of old to the guardian of new.

And then the angel doesn't bother saying anything else, because the silence that wraps around Simeon and Lucifer isn't a veil of awkwardness or edge, but one of serenity. Their faces are tranquil as they watch over your figure, at peace as they bask in the quiet knowledge that the bond they share—two guardians, past and present, connected through you—is something that words can never convey. Their bond goes deeper than brothers, deeper than the love they have for one another and deeper than any materialistic birthright that could bind them together: no, they are bound to each other by their love for you, pure as an angel in Simeon's case, passionate as a demon in Lucifer's.

The demon bends low against the bed, cupping your jaw gently with his hand to lay a chaste kiss against your forehead. It looks innocent, sweet; but Simeon knows the truth.

As Lucifer's lips ghost over you, you begin to stir in the slightest, eyes fluttering open as you look up for the first time since falling asleep. "Luci?" You ask, though it's more of a quiet mumble than anything.

"I'm here," He mumbles, leaning back. "Go back to sleep, MC. Save your strength."

But you don't heed his words, tugging insistently on his sleeve before he can draw your hand away. Your eyes are clouded with drowsiness, but your request is clear: "Come closer, Luci. Lie down with me."

There's a moment of silence, one where Simeon presumes the demon is raising his eyebrows in shock at the boldness of your request, before he lowers his head. The moonlight catches his eyes just the slightest, and Simeon can make out the question in his gaze—the silent May I? that Lucifer is requesting.

Simeon smiles. "Go ahead."

Lucifer is stiff as he shifts onto the bed, your body embracing him instantly with no regard for Simeon next to you in your compromised state. Your chest is soon rising and falling in a calm rhythm once more, arms wrapped tight around Lucifer's waist as you press into his warmth, but the demon is more preoccupied with Simeon than anything else. Now, in the moonlight, Lucifer's face is completely bare—the angel is the one who is concealed.

"Simeon, I—"

"You don't need to pretend," Simeon cuts him off, a soft smile present on his lips. "I already know, Lucifer."

"You...know?" Lucifer asks, voice incredulous.

Simeon can't help but laugh a little at that, the sound soft as it leaves his lips. He smiles, even though he knows that Lucifer can't see it in the darkness. "Being her guardian for four thousand years has taught me how to read MC well. She hides the truth with her lips, but not her actions. Even Solomon has figured it out."

For a moment, Lucifer is left speechless, evidently not having expected this of all things. And then, Simeon feels guilty for having his face hidden by the darkness and he sits on the bed, facing Lucifer where they can both have an honest conversation illuminated by moonlight.

"How long?" Lucifer asks, relaxing the slightest when he sees the kindness in Simeon's smile. "How long have you known?"

"As long as this has been going on, I suppose." Simeon taps his chin. "Though I only grew confident in my deduction that night before school started, when you called and covered for her."

Lucifer nods, remembering the night well.

And now, it's Simeon's turn for a question.

"Do you love her the way she loves you?" He asks, though he suspects he knows the answer.

"No," Lucifer murmurs, looking down at you fondly. "I love her more."

"I'm sure she would say the same thing."

"I don't think it's possible to love anyone the way I love her," Lucifer responds, raising his eyes back up to Simeon's. For once, the angel realizes that Lucifer isn't trying to hide any of his emotions behind his wall of pride, and everything is evident on his face: the love he harbors for you, the adoration, the inexplicable infatuation that nothing seems to surpass. "A part of me suspected that you knew," Lucifer comments, twirling a strand of hair between his fingers. "MC told me that you never asked questions, so that meant that you either hadn't noticed anything at all or you were consciously letting us be. And you've always been…" The edges of Lucifer's lips curl upward. "Observant."

"I wanted her to tell me when she felt ready," Simeon whispers. It's the truth—he knows that if he were to ask you an outright question, you wouldn't lie to him. "And I wanted to give her the option of keeping the secret. I can't imagine this relationship…"

"You can't imagine it has a happy ending."

Simeon nods quietly, dropping his gaze.

He knew from the start that this would happen. When you begged the High Seraphs to send you to the Devildom for Diavolo's exchange program, your heart only thought of Lucifer platonically—but that was before the element of temptation had been introduced in your relationship. When you used to both be two holy beings, proud and pure, it was unsurprising that only a friendship blossomed between you two. But when Lucifer's wings turned black, his nature changed as well, and four thousand years had only furthered your subconscious desires for the man.

And the High Seraphs knew it, too.

Part of Simeon's role as your guardian was to save you from temptation, to keep you walking the holy path and to halt any potential relationship between you and Lucifer. But he had never sworn it. And so when he saw the light in your eyes as you talked about the demon, he knew that he would not pry you away from the man who made you so happy.

Because he knew that in the end, the two of you would be separated regardless. So why not allow you the mercy of happiness in between?

"That night she left Purgatory Hall crying. It was two months ago, but I'm certain you remember. That night, she went to you. Tell me, Lucifer." Simeon's eyes darken, an occurrence rarer than a blue moon, but Lucifer doesn't flinch as their eyes meet. "Were you the cause for her tears that night?"

There's a moment of silence between the two, Simeon's protective instincts over you colliding with Lucifer's natural urges to shield you away, but Lucifer finally speaks.

"You are asking if I hurt her, correct?"

A nod.

"I did not." Lucifer casts his eyes away. "But I was inadvertently the reason she was crying."

A spark of curiosity lights Simeon's eyes for a moment, but it's gone as soon as it arrives. He does not seek forth anything beyond what is necessary, and the temptation for answers is one that cannot influence him. "Very well," He says, lips curved upward. "If you have not hurt her, then the two of you have my blessing."

Lucifer smiles.

The look in his eye is amused, and Simeon understands the reason for it. A relationship blessed by an angel is fated to succeed, it is said. Neither of the two know if this is truth or merely a myth cultivated from the heavens above, but both want to believe in it.

"Blessing a relationship that is doomed to fail," Lucifer mutters. "You have always had a strange sense of humor, Simeon."

"I have still yet to see a failed union that was blessed by an angel. Who knows? Perhaps, there will be happiness for you both in this."

"Perhaps," Lucifer responds.

The two of them remain in silence for the rest of the night, all things that needed to be said having been said. They only speak again to soothe you in hushed whispers when your figure begins to tremble particularly violently, or your cough grows especially bad. By the time the sun has begun to rise, you've broken out into a cold sweat, your entire body shaking as you try, in vain, to get warm.

"Are you leaving?" Lucifer asks when Simeon finally gets up, surprise written onto his features.

"Not quite. The High Seraphs gave me some medicine to use in case of an emergency...I know that a common cold such as this hardly constitutes as an emergency, but I'll deal with them later if I need to fetch more."

Lucifer nods, bidding Simeon farewell while the angel promises to return with Solomon and Luke, hoping that by the time he can bring you medicine, you'll be woken and eager to see your friends.

"Go," The demon says when Simeon hesitates. Only a final promise actually convinces the angel to depart: "I won't leave her side until you return."

***

As expected, mornings in the House of Lamentation are chaotic. Add all the residents of Purgatory Hall into the mix, and the house can hardly go a full ten minutes without a shout or the sound of something breaking.

Thankfully, both the parental figures of the dorms are locked by your side, tending to you while the brothers (and Luke and Solomon) pop in and out of the room.

"How long does the medicine take to work?" Lucifer asks impatiently, crossing his arms as he stares down at you. Simeon administered the aid over half an hour ago, but you've yet to show any signs of getting better. If anything, you've gotten worse.

"Relax," Simeon comments, amused at his friend's impatience. "It should kick in any second now. We'll know when it's working."

"How?" Lucifer asks, tapping his foot on the floor.

"Goodness, Lucifer," Simeon tuts disapprovingly. "Have you no recollection of how Celestial medicines work? We know it's kicked in when her angel form materializes. The natural boost to her magical power will force whatever toxins are causing this illness out of her system, and—"

"Her angel form will materialize?" Lucifer asks, with an intensity that Simeon doesn't understand.

"Yes. And then we'll begin to see symptoms of—oh look, it's already begun!"

Simeon watches with a pleasant smile as he recognizes the familiar light overtake your body, observing as you transform from human to angel. He hums approvingly, noting that it's been quite some time since he's actually seen you in this form.

And then the light fades.

Simeon's smile drops.

"Little lamb?" He whispers, eyes round in confusion. It quickly fades into horror, and then fear. This can't be right. His eyes are failing him, surely. How can it be possible that your wings, so pure and white and precious, have turned black?

The angel glances up at Lucifer, desperate for answers, for solace, for help, but the sympathy in the demon's eyes stops Simeon completely.

Lucifer knew.

There's another moment of confusion: a second of agony where Simeon simply doesn't understand why you would keep something so important from him but would tell someone else, why you would hide a change that must have torn your heart apart, why you would act like nothing is wrong when something clearly is.

And then the pain clears, and there's a flash of understanding where the truth dawns upon him. Not just the reasoning for your blackened wings, but truly everything. Why you never told him about your wings. Why you hid your relationship with Lucifer. Why you thought you could protect him if he never found out.

The two men glance at each other, eyes communicating more than words can ever say as they mutually vow to protect even this secret.

But then the sound of footsteps—the sound that they've both heard over ten times in the past hour alone—draws nearer once again, and they realize that while they can protect your secret, the moment the other residents of Purgatory Hall find out, it's over.

The door! Simeon's eyes seem to shout. But neither the angel nor the demon can move as they stand frozen at the sound of the footsteps drawing nearer. It roots them to the spot, freezing them like an enchantment stronger than anything they've ever experienced.

"Hey, guys!" The familiar voice of Luke calls out, drawing closer and closer. Simeon wills his legs to move, his mouth to say something, but his body isn't his own anymore. "Breakfast is ready!"

And then Luke is in the room.

Simeon doesn't think he'll ever forget the deafening silence of this moment, as the secret of your blackened wings that you've tried so desperately to keep hidden comes unraveled.

Because in one second, Luke is screaming at the sight, flinching at your impurity, and calling Michael's name at the top of his lungs, summoning the archangel in what he doubtlessly thinks is the right thing to do.

We failed her, Simeon and Lucifer seem to say to each other as they maintain eye contact, unmoving despite the sudden chaos that has gripped the room. They don't move, nor do they speak, nor do they flinch when the holy light of Michael's spirit materializes next to them, the rest of the brothers soon following suit.

I'm sorry.

The words are meant for you, a quiet beg for forgiveness that Simeon couldn't protect your secret. Would it have been different if he had known the truth from the start?

It matters not. I have failed her.

The angel's turmoil is written in his eyes, in his furrowed brow, in his slumped shoulders. But as the world around him continues to move in slow motion, he closes his eyes, sending a quiet prayer to God that this situation may somehow be salvaged.

Though in his heart, Simeon already knows that all is lost.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 7.1k

Notes: Posting this really late at night because today was wild :( Also i took a nap in the afternoon and i am like 90% sure that it was just a graphic sex dream (straight up porn, but like mild plot) which is extremely interesting because i am not a horny person and he’s the last brother i would expect to dream about but maybe its a sign that i should give him sum attention

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Next Update: 6/9/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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