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quarterlifekitty · 3 months ago

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Follow up to this post (sorryyyyyy this took like 300000 years) Simon Riley/Reader

You glance down at the list on your phone, slowly ambling along with the shopping trolley while Joey directs all of his focus towards the little tupperware of yogurt melts in the cupholder. He picks up another piece with his tiny thumb and forefinger, pushing it into his mouth and teething as is starts to dissolve. You could always trust him with food— ever since he'd been old enough to hold onto his snacks. He'd never spit things out or throw them to the floor. Simon never wasted food either.

A sigh leaves your lips as you're forced to recon with the price of cold medicine. You know you should get it now— it's snowing out, and it's be a pain in the ass to be caught without it. Well, you could probably make do, but you'd count yourself as a bad mama if you didn't at least keep some of the stuff for infants stocked. In the cart it goes, ticking up the total you're keeping in your head.

Joey makes a gurgle the calls your attention. You could be imagining it, but it seems like his hair is getting a little lighter— maybe he's taking after his father? The same dark eyes, too. You smile when you see him and all of the tiny little ways he's growing every day. But can't help but wonder if Simon might've stayed— if he'd known you were going to have such a pretty, sweet baby. Nothing short of angelic.

-x-

You look different. Of course, it wasn't as if Simon had expected you to look exactly the same. Truthfully, he wasn't expecting to see you ever again. You look, somehow, more beautiful than he remembered. Tired, but beautiful. The cute little fella in your cart doesn't hurt. While he knew he coudln't be the one to give them to you, he'd always known any baby that came from you would be gorgeous.

He wants to be happy that you'd found someone who could give you that. Someone who must've wanted the same thing you wanted. A better man than him, almost assuredly. He tugs the hood of his jacket up, as if that'll make his brick shithouse of a body any less conspicuous— he's wearing all black against the painful white of the flourescent light and linoleum floor. The jarring beep from the card reader you're using jerks him out of his self consciousness.

-x-

Fuck. Your paycheck must not've cleared just yet. You'd thought for sure it had, but you'd been wrong before and you'd be wrong again before the day was out, most likely. It was embarassing enough to have a card decline when you were alone, but with a baby in your cart? You hope to god no one's looking at you and thinking about calling social services. Just as you're about to take the world's deepest breathe to suck up what could potentially be a torrent of tears, a pale, tattoed arm glides into view and taps a beaten-up piece of plastic to the reader. You turn to see a familiar set of dark eyes perched above a black facemask.

You stutter out an unsteady th-thank you, almost in a daze. Joey picks that moment to mumble some vague simulacrum of the syllables you'd utter, trying to copy the intonation.

Simon had never been a chatterbox. Sometimes it was a relief, and sometimes it was agonizing. The silence that accompanies the three of you as he follows you to your car is somehow both. You put Joey, all bundled with his tiny striped hat pulled tight over his ears, into his car seat before anything else. Simon's already popped your trunk and started putting bags inside.

You walk around and turn the ignition, just to get the heat going for baby. And—

… there's nothing. You feel like the sound you release in frustration echoes in the snowy car park.

-x-

The energy in Simon's car was tense. He'd offered to jumpstart yours, of course, but you didn't want to have your baby waiting around in his car while you tried to make it work. Seemed a better option to just strap his car seat into Simon's car and have him drive you home. You'd go back for your car another time.

Meanwhile, Simon's starting to get more and more furious with whoever the father in this scenario is. It was becoming clearer and clearer that he wasn't in the picture— and why the hell not? You're beautiful, the baby is an angel— even if he hadn't been cut out for fatherhood, how could he do this to you? Leave the mother of his child without enough for groceries, and with that shitbox of a car? Before he knows it, Simon has a growing to-do list in his mind. Once he's got you home, he's going on a hunt.

Home. It wasn't his home anymore. You had gotten despondent, nervous, and he was terrified of not being what you wanted, what you needed.

He carries the groceries in for you, of course. He feels transfixed as he watches you handle your baby, setting him on you hip in a well-practiced motion while you dig out your keys and jam them into the lock. Must still be sticky, like it was when he left. Whether Simon knew it or not, he'd find himself offering to tend to that too.

You set Joey down on the old recliner by the door, tugging off his tiny boots, hat, and other winter accoutrements. They go onto the coatrack, though their size makes it look a little ridiculous. Like you have a fucking build-a-bear for a roommate. The empty hook stares back at Simon.

While you set your baby in his play pen, Simon finds himself falling into old habits. Putting away the groceries. Everything is more or less in the same place. There's a feeling in his diaphragm that wells up, empty and sorrowful at the knowledge none of this belongs to him, and as soon as these things are away, he should leave. Maybe threaten the landlord on his way out regarding the lock.

"I'm going to put on a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

He nods, feeling his words catch in his throat. You don't bother to ask him if he takes it the same way you remember. Some things never change.

The little table in the kitchen still has a slight wobble. He tags it in his mind as something that needs to be fixed. That mental list is a long one. Before long, you have a mug and an opened pack of Arnott's assorted biscuits in front of him. There's more scotch fingers than anything else. You never used to leave them for last.

When you're sat in front of him, after a few deep breaths and sips of your black tea (he'd watched you add the same metric fuckton of honey you always did), Simon finds himself feeling uncharacteristically… chatty. He has a million questions, most of which have answers that would probably hurt you to say and hurt him to hear.

"I don't know how to thank you… For the groceries, the ride, all of it. I'm not sure what I would've done. I wish there was more I could offer."

If you had to guess what he'd want in exchange for his kindness, you'd guess he'd want to be left alone. That you'd let him leave quietly again. But you don't know how to offer that without it sounding backhanded. He casts his gaze over to the playpen for a moment, and you follow it.

"'Ow old is he?" The question catches you off guard. It occurs to you for the first time that Simon might not know this is his baby.

"Eight months. His first birthday will be in March." He squints as if his eyes have the ability to zoom, watching as your son sucks on some silicone teething keys.

"Woulda thought he was… younger."

"He's kinda small. He was born premature and he still hasn't really caught up to where he's supposed to be, weight wise. But he's healthy otherwise. His name is Joseph, but I call him Joey. Hi Joey-bear," you say, waving towards the playpen as your baby gurgles happily. That's one thing he doesn't share with his father— the expressiveness.

Then again, Simon's currently got a look of concentration on his face as if he's helping mission control launch a rocket. He's doing mental math. And he suddenly feels ready to kick his own ass.

Premature. And you were alone.

"So he's mine." It's not a question. He may not have wanted to be a father, but he did love you. He trusted you. The baby couldn't have been anyone else's given the timing.

"Yes, he is. Biologically, at least." His jaw aches from how he clenches it.

"When did you find out that you were pregnant?"

"A few weeks before you left. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, and… I knew that the way you left… Well, you didn't leave like someone who wanted to be found."

He wants to ask why you didn't go after him. Call him up and tell him what a bastard he was and that he left you on your own with a baby. But he knows goddamn well why you didn't tell him.

Because you didn't think he'd want to know. That he wouldn't have wanted to help. That if he did come back to take responsibility that he'd end up hating you for trapping him and forcing him to turn into something he didn't want to be.

And you named the damned thing Joseph. He'd never told you about Joseph. What a way for fate to twist the long glass shard stabbed into his gut. It shatters from the torque and leaves a thousand little pieces churning inside him with infinite sharp edges grinding together.

"I always kind of had the feeling that you'd leave. At least this way… it was like I could hold onto a part of you."

Joey picks that moment to whine, starting to get fussy and squirming. You nearly spring up, speeding over to the playpen to lift him up and bounce him with a palm to his back. Simon gets an agonizingly good look at Joey's face while his head is perched on your shoulder, your back to the kitchen. He can't see himself in his face. Just you. Nervous-lipped and innocent.

And fuck, you just look like such a goddamn natural handling his son. That's the only way he can see it now.

"I have to— I'm gonna put him down for a nap, I think he's a little cranky. I'll be right back but, I… I don't want to keep you. Thank you again, Simon," you force out with the littlest crack in your voice, but it seems enormous to him.

The dark circles, the declined card, your car, the lock on your front door, and you're giving him an out. A chance to leave and forget this ever happened offered up on a silver platter. He follows you to the tiny spare room he used to use as some mockery of an at-home office. Now it's a rather quickly assembled nursery. All of it you'd done on your own.

The walls are yellow. There are pock marks from the way things had been mounted on the wall, before. Must've been in a rush to get things ready, hadn't had time to fill them in. He didn't need to know that you cried when the paint wouldn't fill in the gaps, not that you'd expected it to. It was just one of those days where you wanted something impossible to happen because it would've made life a little easier to bear.

You shush and coo at Joey, wrapping him up in his favorite blanket to help him settle. You scoop a plush lion off of the floor to tuck into his arms as soon as you set him down.

"Such a big day for my big guy," you say softly, "I'm sorry your mama keeps getting into trouble." You kiss your pointer and middle fingers, touching them to his forehead as he loses the fight to keep his eyes open. You gasp when you feel the once-familiar sensation of Simon's calloused hand slipping over yours. He pulls you, urges you, into the hall, softly shutting the door behind himself.

You're pulled against him as his restraint reaches its end, mouth hungry and wanting, the welling pit inside him black and empty without the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He always was a nasty kisser— tongue running against your gums and tracing your teeth. Saliva strings between your panting mouths by the time he pulls away. You just barely manage to wrangle your synapses enough to swallow and clear your throat before speaking.

"Simon. We shouldn't— I won't do this. I can't. I can't handle having you for a night and being alone again. You can forget today happened if you want, forget that you ever found out about us, just don't do this to me."

"You wan' me on my hands and knees, then?" Your brows twist in a pained confusion.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I'll beg. I'll beg if that's what it takes. If you let me be a part of this."

"A part of this what?"

"This family. I want it."

"You said you didn't—"

"I thought I didn't. I've never wanted to take something back more than that. I didn't… Didn't think anything that came from me could be good. Guess I forgot about your part of the equation. I left because I'm a fucking idiot and a coward. I thought you wanted me to be something I couldn't be." His hand circles the meat of your hip, thumb inching up the hem of your sweater. He feels a few more stretch marks than there were before. You grab his wrist as if to pull him away on instinct, but pause.

"I don't… It's not cute. How my body changed, that is. I don't… I don't think you'll find me all that attractive anymore." Rip out his heart and stomp on it, why don't you? You say it without a hint of bitterness. It wouldn't have hurt so bad if there'd been some venom in it, at least. But no, you say it like it's a fact. Plain and simple.

"Sayin' shite like that… S' like you want me to knock you up again to prove you wrong. Can't believe I missed out on seein' you all full and pregnant… I shoulda been here. Taking care of you."

It's hard not to melt against him. It always was. He's warm and encompassing and makes you feel sheltered.

"You have to promise you won't leave again. Not me, and not him." You've already pressed your cheek to the breast of his jacket. You don't know how you'll be able to live without this— if he decides it a promise he can't make.

He wants to tell you that you have cart blanche to kill him in whatever way you find most suitable if he does something that fucking stupid, but he knows that wouldn't make you happy right now.

"I promise, love. Never again."

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #sorrryyyyy abrupt ending i hate writing long thingssss #secret baby

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rewiringtoheal · 3 months ago

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My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs.

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight.

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her.

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore.

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race.

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree.

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind.

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye.

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close.

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least.

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear.

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions.

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms.

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice.

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time.

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear.

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind.

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was.

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking.

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.”

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need.

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake.

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone.

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?”

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling.

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit.

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand.

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock.

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem.

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit.

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt.

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you.

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste.

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief.

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing playful nips to the tips of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you.

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.”

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction.

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #natasha x you #creative writing #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x reader

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bellaxgiornata · 5 months ago

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You Are My Sunshine [1]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.3k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Summary: Recently released from a stint in Stockton Prison with a few of the Sons, Jax is still struggling with Tara returning to Chicago over a year after he killed Agent Kohn for her. When he returned to Charming, Jax noticed a coffee shop had sprung up across the street from Teller-Morrow Automotive and the clubhouse, oddly finding himself watching the strangely cheerful owner through the windows. One night he feels drawn to step inside, but he's left even more confused when the owner feels like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Jax quickly realizes that the more he visits her shop, the more at peace he finds himself.

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: Not everything will be true to canon in this little series, and this first part starts out in Jax's POV. I just couldn't resist the idea of Jax with someone so bright and bubbly bringing some happiness his way. As a note since I'm newer in the SoA fanfic scene, I always do my best to refrain from adding physical descriptions to Readers, but they are still some form of a character personality-wise. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Placing the cigarette between his lips, Jax flipped open his lighter and held the flame up to the tip of it. He was itching for something right now–a smoke, a drink, a fuck, a fight. He couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore. Everything felt the same–a neverending blur. The days had all begun to bleed together ever since he and the guys had been released from Stockton the other month.

And everything felt the goddamn same as it did before he'd gone in.

Taking a drag on the cigarette, he pocketed the lighter and leant back against the brick of the clubhouse behind him. Laughter and blaring music was pouring out of the building, the noise always far too loud to be contained by the structure. The Sons were partying again tonight, celebrating a successful closure of a deal from earlier in the day. But for some reason Jax hadn’t felt like partying. The air in the clubhouse felt suffocating, which was why he’d stepped outside into the balmy summer night for a cigarette instead.

As a trail of smoke curled its way upwards from between his lips, Jax stared vacantly across the otherwise empty lot, his eyes landing on the line of motorcycles across from him. His mind inevitably wandered back to Tara while he smoked, something it often did ever since she’d reappeared in his life over a year ago just to disappear all over again. Running away. That's what she had always done best.

He hated that he couldn’t get her out of his head even after all this time. But what he hated even more was that part of him still felt like it was holding onto the ridiculous hope that she’d come back to him. That she might wake up one day and return to Charming and somehow just accept him for who he was, who he'd always been. But that was a fucking bullshit hope and he knew it.

Jax’s jaw clenched in irritation, his fingers tightening around his cigarette as he drew it back up to his lips for another sharp inhale. It was impossible not to think that Tara had used him just to get rid of Kohn knowing that he’d be sympathetic to her situation. Knowing damn well that Jax would never have just walked away when she came to him for help. And it pissed him off that she’d played him like that–that he had let her play him like that. Especially when he’d been so fucking vulnerable after Abel had been born with all of his health complications weighing on his mind.

He had needed her in return, but Tara hadn’t cared about what Jax was going through. She hadn’t cared about the fact that until that moment, Jax had never killed like he'd killed that night for her. Every time before had always been for the club–for self-defense, retaliation. But that night? That night it had been out of love. It had been because he'd been protecting someone he cared about. And Tara had thrown him away a second time right afterwards, not even bothering to think about how any of it had affected Jax.

Movement across the street caught Jax’s attention, breaking through his spiraling, agitated thoughts. His head turned as he stood in the dimly lit parking lot, pulling the cigarette away from his lips and blowing out a plume of smoke as his eyes landed on you across the street through the large glass windows of your coffee shop.

Honest Coffee. You’d opened it at some point when he and a few of the Sons had been doing a few months in Stockton, but ever since he’d gotten out, he’d found his gaze drawn across the street to that building more times than he’d ever willingly care to admit. And he wasn’t entirely sure why, either. Jax was not the kind of guy you’d find sitting inside of a coffee shop sipping on some fancy ass, overly sweetened and overpriced bullshit cup of coffee. That wasn’t his thing. So of course he’d never actually ventured inside the shop that had opened up across the street from the clubhouse and Teller-Morrow Automotive.

But for some goddamn reason he couldn’t help but look.

The entire place stood out amongst the old, worn brick buildings beside it. You’d painted the exterior brick white and hung up some bold, black sign with the shop’s name on it above the entrance. There were even a few little tables and chairs on the sidewalk out front along with writing on one of the large glass windows that read ‘Support your local caffeine dealer.’ Which, for some goddamn reason, amused Jax to no end considering your shop was located across the street from actual arms dealers.

And there were plants. Goddamn, the amount of plants. A few large potted ones sat outside by the front doors, and there were a handful hanging over all of the large open windows. And, from what Jax had been able to see when he’d ridden past the place multiple times, you had plants on the tables inside, too. So many fucking plants it was like you were making coffee in a damn jungle. He didn’t understand why you had so many or how the hell they always looked like they were thriving. He’d often heard Gemma even compliment the goddamn plants the few times she’d stopped over to get herself coffee.

But it wasn’t entirely the plants or what you’d done to the building to make it appear so warm and inviting in downtown Charming that had him constantly staring across the street. It was you, if he was being honest with himself. You were always working there. He’d already come to assume that you were more than just a barista and that you actually owned the coffee shop with how frequently you were there. And you were attractive, that wasn’t even remotely a question. But you were nothing like the women at the clubhouse, or Redwoody, or Diosa. Where most of the women he’d encountered in his life were all rough and hard edges, you always seemed so soft and sweet. Like a warmth just radiated off of you everytime you smiled.

And you were always fucking smiling over there. Whenever Jax watched you through the windows, whether he was outside having a smoke with the guys or by himself, you were guaranteed to be standing somewhere in that shop talking to someone with a smile on your face. Despite the fact that he didn't understand how one damn person could smile so damn much in a day, he’d sometimes found himself wondering what it would be like to see that smile up close, to have it directed at himself. There was just something about it, even from this distance across the street, that made it look different from any other smile he felt like he’d been given in his life. Like it was real and not covering a hidden agenda.

Jax took a final drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground beside his feet, crushing it out beneath his shoe. His eyes were still on you through those large glass windows as he did. It looked like you were closing up the shop for the day. You were alone inside, the entire place empty as you swept the floor with a broom. But it almost looked like you were dancing as you cleaned, your hips swaying as your lips moved. The corner of Jax’s lips twisted upwards faintly at the sight. Who the hell were you? You were cleaning in an empty shop in downtown Charming, all alone just after sunset, across the street from the disliked and notorious motorcycle club, and you were dancing as you swept?

Who the fuck looked so happy to be cleaning?

Without even thinking, Jax pushed off the wall of the clubhouse and let his feet carry him away from the party raging behind him. An incredulous look was etched across his usually hard features as he began to cross the empty street and make his way towards your coffee shop. Eventually he came to a stop just outside of the front door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he watched the back of you for a minute through the windows. Unquestionably you were inside dancing and sweeping as you listened to–what Jax assumed as he stood just outside–stupid coffee shop music. An amused huff came out of him as he shook his head at the sight.

Not even bothering to check if your shop was closed on the hours listed on the door, Jax slipped a hand out of his pocket and pulled it open. No bell chimed to alert you of his presence, meaning you continued your cleaning and soft singing to yourself with your back facing him, completely unaware you had a customer. A smug smirk tugged at his lips as he sauntered further inside the shop, making his way over to the counter near the register before resting an arm against the white countertop. He leaned his weight against it, crossing his ankles as his head cocked to the side, his blue eyes fixed on you.

Christ, you looked adorable. Not a thought he often had about women. Usually he went for the ones at the clubhouse barely dressed in much of anything who were always very eager to spend the night with him. Even a few of the girls at Diosa and the pornstars at Redwoody that had sometimes caught his eye would never have been called anything close to ‘adorable’ by Jax. But you just looked so goddamn sweet and you hadn’t even noticed him standing behind you staring.

Clearing his throat, Jax figured he should probably alert you to his presence. He didn’t want to scare you, which he had a feeling might happen if you turned around and spotted someone that looked like him just quietly watching you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so damn happy sweeping a floor before,” Jax called out.

The way you startled at his voice, spinning around abruptly with a soft, surprised gasp while throwing a hand over your heart, had a pleased grin growing on Jax’s face. You looked so surprised with your wide eyes and parted lips. He almost wanted to laugh, but instead he bit his bottom lip and held the sound back.

“Relax, darlin’. I’m not here to rob your coffee shop,” he teased.

Almost immediately your expression shifted, the look of surprise disappearing and being replaced with a friendly smile that lit up your entire face. The sight of it did something to Jax, taking him by surprise. Because it was nighttime, you were alone in your shop, and here Jax had stood unannounced behind you, and yet your reaction was to just smile at him like he was some old friend you’d been expecting to see?

A soft laugh fell from your lips as Jax watched you turn around towards him, leaning some of your weight against the broom handle in your hands while your eyes took in the sight of him. He noticed the way you'd briefly scanned his kutte, but that kind smile remained stretched across your pretty mouth when your gaze once more met his.

“I wasn't thinking you were going to, you just startled me,” you answered. “You're extremely quiet on your feet, you know.”

Jax chuckled at the comment, his grin growing a little more amused. If only you knew the half of it.

“I may have been told that a time or two,” he replied, his eyes still taking you in without a hint of subtlety.

“Well,” you began, a playful lilt to your tone, completely unbothered by his gaze, “you know what they say about strange men showing up unannounced after closing, don’t you?”

Completely thrown by the unexpected teasing question coming from someone who looked as sweet as you, Jax couldn’t fight back the small chuckle that managed to fall out of him. “No, darlin’, I don’t. What do they say?” he asked.

Your perceptive eyes, which were still lit from the warmth of your smile, watched the way Jax continued to lean so casually against the countertop. You didn't appear even remotely fazed by his presence here and he found that so incredibly odd.

“That they want a coffee,” you answered matter-of-factly.

Jax raised a brow curiously at your response, your smile somehow widening even further on your lips. You were not what he'd expected–and he'd already expected you to be something sweet and nice. But it was almost like you were more than even just that. It felt like the goddamn sun was shining on him when you smiled at him, and he didn't know what to make of it. No one in Charming that was an outsider to the club was this kind and friendly to its members. Most of the town had a healthy fear and a good amount of disdain at this point for the Sons.

But not you, apparently.

“Thought you were closing?” Jax asked, shaking the thoughts from his mind as he eyed you curiously.

You laughed lightly yet again, turning and resting the broom against the shop’s counter now. “Didn't stop you from sneaking in, friend.” You glanced over your shoulder at him, completely genuine in your question as you asked, “So, would you like a coffee?”

An amused noise of disbelief rumbled out of Jax. You spoke to him as if he was any other goddamn customer coming into your shop. He'd never been treated so normal before.

“Guess if you're offering, sweetheart, then yes,” he finally answered. Jax moved over, lowering himself into one of the chairs at the small counter as he watched you make your way around it. “Though I can't say I'd normally be caught dead ordering anything from a coffee shop.”

Coming to a stop in front of him just on the other side of the counter, your head tilted curiously to the side as you studied him closely. Jax stiffened under the weight of your gaze. It almost felt like you were seeing right through him with the way your eyes ran over his face so carefully. As if you were really taking him in. He wondered what you saw when you looked at him, but then that damn sweet smile was plastered across your lips again before you were speaking.

“Then I'm honored to be the first. And,” you continued, the sound of your voice somehow temporarily soothing that constant burning rage inside of Jax, “I'll even make it on the house. Free of charge this time.”

Jax blinked back at you, stunned into silence for a moment. But then he shook his head, waving a hand at you. “Not gonna let you do that, darlin’. I can pay for a coffee.”

“Didn't say you couldn't, I'm just trying to spread some kindness. Looks you've had a rough day,” you replied, a softness in your voice that wasn't there a moment ago. But then the bright, playfulness was back as you pointed a finger at him. “You look like a regular coffee kind of guy. No creamer, bit of sugar. Am I right?”

“I…yeah,” Jax answered, a little taken aback at how quickly you'd read him and how easily you spoke to him. “Yeah, I am.”

“There's sweetener on that counter behind you,” you said, gesturing at something behind Jax before you turned around.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder at what you’d pointed out before he focused back on you. Watching in silence, his eyes remained on the back of you as you started on his cup of coffee, but his brows soon furrowed as he watched you work. He'd never seen someone make coffee the way you were doing now. What in the hell were you doing?

“Don't you just...have a machine, sweetheart?” Jax asked slowly.

A soft laugh came from you as you worked, your back to him as you answered. “Pour over is better than drip. I promise.” Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled at him once more. “Just trust me.”

Still baffled and confused as to what in the hell you were doing, he couldn't help but to keep watching you in silence, completely confused as to how in the hell you were making him what should be just a simple cup of coffee. He really never had stepped foot into a coffee shop before–a big chain one or a locally owned place. He didn’t even know why he’d crossed the street and come over here in the first place, especially with the party going on at the clubhouse where he was supposed to be.

Lost in his thoughts, Jax’s eyes inevitably dropped down to your ass, taking in the shape of it in your jeans. His head tilted appreciatively to the side as his attention focused on that instead of trying to understand the strange pull he'd felt to step inside your shop once and for all tonight. His tongue slipped out, running along the length of his bottom lip as he took in the unobstructed view before him. You filled your jeans out damn good.

“So you got a name, friend?” you asked, your voice breaking through his thoughts. “Or am I just supposed to keep calling you ‘friend’?”

Jax found himself mentally chastising himself at your interruption, his eyes moving back to yours as you turned around, leaning your back against the counter behind you. There was a sincere expression on your face, like you actually cared to know who he was, and that had him feeling guilty for the way he'd just been looking at you. You weren't like the girls he surrounded himself with, you were actually good. He shouldn't be eyeing you like that. There was no way in hell you'd ever be interested in a man like him, and you definitely didn't look like the one-and-done kind of girl.

“It's Jax,” he answered. “Jax Teller. You got a name, darlin’?”

A small smile curled the corners of his lips upwards when you gave him your name so easily. He had a feeling this was one of the rare times he wouldn't just immediately forget a woman's name after she'd given it to him.

“You always this cheerful, darlin’?” he asked next, unable to resist the question that had been gradually growing in his mind the longer he sat here. “Or is this some professional, friendly barista persona that you throw on when you're here at work?”

Jax watched as you turned around to the back counter against the tiled wall again, picking up the strange glass container you'd just made the coffee in before pouring it into a to-go cup for him. You were quiet as you worked before turning around and crossing the space over to where Jax was sitting. Reaching a hand out, Jax accepted the coffee from yours, but when his rough fingers brushed against your soft ones, he felt the corners of his lips twitch.

“Owner,” you said softly, your hands resting on the countertop. “Not a barista. And it's not a persona I throw on for work, this is just me.”

Jax’s brows drew together at that as he got off his chair and made his way over to the counter by the entrance to add in some sweetener to the coffee. How the hell was anyone just that friendly and cheerful naturally? Without it being a front? But as he stirred his coffee, wandering back over to the counter and taking his seat again, he noticed that you looked sincere.

“How the hell are you this friendly to everyone?” he asked, sitting back down in the chair at the counter, his coffee momentarily forgotten.

“Because I like being nice,” you simply replied.

Jax made a face at that answer. Who the fuck liked being nice all of the time? That had to be bullshit. There had to be people you didn't like, people that you weren't quite so kind towards. People like him who definitely didn't deserve an ounce of kindness.

“Bullshit,” Jax argued, eyes narrowing at you in suspicion. “There's gotta be rude customers you aren't such a ray of sunshine towards, right? Bad people you don't want in here?”

He watched as your fingers lightly drummed against the countertop, your smile smaller but not gone from your lips. Almost like it was just a permanent fixture on your face.

“I believe everyone deserves some kindness,” you answered genuinely after a moment, holding Jax’s gaze. “Because you never know the weight of what someone is carrying on their shoulders. And sometimes, all someone needs is a kind word or a smile in their day.”

Jax just sat there in silence for a moment, staring at you like you'd just said the most absolutely ridiculous thing. And honestly, he felt like you had. You looked so naive and innocent standing there behind your counter full of those goddamn plants you appeared to love so much.

“You realize who I am, right?”

The question had slipped out of Jax without much forethought, but he was curious now. Were you somehow that oblivious as to who your shop was across the street from? Was that why you were being so friendly to him?

“Yeah,” you answered with a nod, your eyes focusing behind Jax at the clubhouse through the window for a second before returning to him. “I've seen a lot of you with those…vests? Over there across the street.”

Jax couldn’t stop the chuckle that rumbled out of him. Vests. That was cute. Jesus, you really weren't part of his world at all, were you? You probably had no damn idea about the pistol in his “vest.”

“Kuttes, darlin’. They're called kuttes,” he told you as he drew his cup towards his mouth while he spoke. “They're a bit different and more important than just some vest.”

Jax took a sip of the hot coffee, entirely planning to continue his explanation about how wrong you were about the kuttes, but he was taken off guard by the drink. He hadn't expected it to taste as good as it did. He'd drank coffee before–a shitload of it most days because Jax was no stranger to sleepless nights even before Abel came into the picture–but this didn't taste like the acidic, burnt trash that he'd grown used to masking with sugar.

The sound of your delighted laugh drew his gaze back up to your face. A bright, amused smile was shining back at him. The sight momentarily had Jax forgetting about everything–the coffee, the kuttes, his anger at Tara, the clubhouse party he should be getting back to. All he could do was stare at you, taking in the sight of your smile and the way it felt like it had somehow warmed him more than that hot coffee ever could.

“Is it good?” you asked, gesturing your head towards the cup in his hand. “The coffee?”

Blinking a couple of times, Jax looked back down at the paper cup warming his hand, attempting to return to his senses. “Yeah,” he answered. Roughly clearing his throat, he snapped out of whatever it was that your smile had just done to him. “How the hell do you get your coffee to taste so damn good?”

A pleased smile spread its way across your face when Jax looked back at you. He liked the way a glimmer of something–pride, maybe–reflected back at him in your eyes.

“All about the roast and the extraction, Jax,” you replied. “Fresh, good quality beans that have just been ground make a world of difference. But I'm glad you like it. I've always said a great cup of coffee can help make a bad day better.”

Jax chuckled again, shaking off that weird sensation from a moment ago and drawing the cup up to his lips for another drink of the hot liquid. Goddamn, is this why people paid more instead of just making it their damn selves? Did it actually taste that much better from a coffee shop?

“Maybe for some people,” Jax mused as he lowered the cup, his eyes fixed on you behind the counter. “But I don't think a cup of coffee is gonna do a damn thing to fix my problems, darlin’.”

Unfazed by his attitude, you simply shrugged a shoulder in response. “You never know, maybe you just haven't had the right cup of coffee yet.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jax's mouth. You were adorable. Naive, but adorable.

“I don't think coffee is the solution to anything other than how damn tired I am,” he disagreed.

Loud shouting from across the street caught both of your attention from the shop, the noise interrupting the conversation. Jax noticed the way your eyes darted to the window almost instantly before he sighed and looked over his shoulder behind him. A handful of the guys were outside drunk and having a smoke in the clubhouse lot, a few of the hangarounds clinging to them in their short shorts and crop tops. The sight of them out there was sobering. He knew he should get back to the clubhouse, especially now with how he was beginning to feel a little guilty that he'd interrupted you trying to close your shop.

Turning around in his chair, Jax entirely expected to see some sort of judgmental look on your face at the Sons and the croweaters across the street. It was how everyone outside of the club looked at them. But there was only a hint of genuine curiosity before your gaze shifted back to him in front of you. His brows furrowed faintly together at that, but he quickly pushed the growing questions away. It didn't matter.

“I should get back over there,” Jax told you. “Make sure those shitheads don't cause too much trouble. And I should let you finish closing up.”

He rose from the chair at the counter, his lips straightening along his face as he got to his feet with his coffee in hand. For some reason, he found he didn't really want to go back over to the clubhouse, though. Whatever frustration he'd been feeling before he had walked over here tonight had somehow just vanished within the short time he'd spent sitting here talking to you. Something no amount of drinking, fucking, or riding his bike had even managed.

“You're right, it's well past close for me now,” you admitted, glancing at the clock on the wall behind yourself.

Another pang of guilt flooded Jax at your words. It was completely his fault that you were here so late now because he had stupidly walked in here for…he didn't even know what. Except that smile returned to your face again almost immediately, as if you weren't even upset that he had interrupted your night.

“I'm curious about something, sweetheart,” Jax found himself saying, his eyes narrowing at you as he spoke. “Would you have kicked me out at some point tonight, or are you too nice for that, too?”

Another small, casual shrug came in response to the question. “Eventually, yes,” you answered. “I do need to eventually go home and sleep before coming back here tomorrow morning.” You paused, that look on your face like you were seeing straight through him briefly returning before you continued. “But you looked like you needed…something. Figured a coffee wouldn't hurt, at least.”

Jax stood there staring at you, just taking in what you had said and that warm, friendly smile. It didn't make sense–you didn't make sense. And he wasn't sure how he felt about the way you seemed to actually see him. It was unsettling.

“You're an odd one, sunshine,” he murmured.

Almost instantly, a delighted laugh met Jax’s ears as he took another sip of his coffee. As he swallowed the drink down, his own lips couldn't keep from drawing themselves upwards at the sound.

“Sunshine?” you asked, both of your brows raising back at him.

Bottom lip rolling between his teeth, Jax bit back the grin threatening to spread across his face as he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sunshine,” he repeated. “Suits you. You're so goddamn friendly and nice.”

“Well that's a new one for me,” you told him.

There was something different about the smile on your face now, but Jax couldn't quite place what it was. He'd never had a woman smile at him like that before. Not even Tara.

The thought of Tara was like a kick to the chest, a jolt of pain shooting through Jax. His expression abruptly fell, aware that all the usual thoughts he'd had about her after she had left him a second time were going to come back and hit him hard the second he walked out of your shop.

“Right. I should let you close,” he replied tersely.

Giving you a nod in goodbye, Jax's mouth felt dry as he turned around towards the exit. A confusing mix of thoughts were swirling in his mind now.

“Goodnight, Jax,” you called out behind him.

The sweet, soft tone gave him pause as he rested one hand on the door handle. His blonde brows drew together, jaw clenching tight as that familiar rage and darkness inside of him felt like it was clawing its way up his chest, threatening to spill out of him in the form of some rude comment that would knock that friendly smile off your face. He didn't deserve you treating him like this. He was a terrible person. He knew he could prove it to you with just a few simple words, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke again.

“Feel free to stop in again sometime,” you told him. “You're welcome here anytime just like anyone else, Sons’ President or not.” A soft noise almost like a little laugh came next before you added on, “Preferably when I'm open, though.”

His body went rigid at that pleasant, melodic little laugh of yours. Slowly, Jax turned to look over his shoulder at you still standing behind the counter. You were indeed over there smiling, but the urge to be an asshole just to show you what kind of man he really was–that he shouldn't be treated like everyone else–disappeared almost immediately at the sight of it. How the hell did you keep doing that? Keep disarming him so easily with just a goddamn smile?

“I'll keep that in mind,” he muttered.

Without giving you a chance to say more, confused as to the weird effect you seemed to have on him, he pushed the door open and stepped back out into the summer evening. The noise from the clubhouse across the street carried its way to Jax’s ears as he began to make his way back over to where the Sons were smoking in the parking lot. He took another drink of his coffee as he went, his thoughts briefly straying to you and that entire strange encounter he'd just had.

There was just something about you that was so damn unfamiliar to Jax. You were all light and warmth, like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Nothing like anyone he'd ever met before in his life and it intrigued him as much as it bothered him. For weeks he had been watching you through your shop window wondering what it would be like to have you smile at him like he'd often seen you smile at all of your other customers, and now he knew. It felt like the summer sun finally rising to start the day after a long, dark night. And Jax found himself oddly craving more of your warmth, suddenly not giving a shit if he got burned in the process.

#jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy #soa fanfiction

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bitteriekitten · 2 months ago

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beach episode.

synopsis — a beach outing. OR what i thought sylus's birthday banner was going to be.

content — fluff, suggestive themes, (failed attempts of) crack, afab!reader, spending sylus's birthday at a private resort, kinda found family because the twins are here too <3, you in a bikini, sylus in swimming shorts, lowercase intended.

featuring — sylus + the twins (u can pry my found family out of my cold dead hands...)

notes — happy aprilus !! <3333 there were rumors that a non-rafayel beach-themed banner was set to release this year, and i thought that rumor was going 2 b sylus's bday banner LOL. also this is bc it's already summer season where i live (i'm from the PH !!!), so as much as i want to have a beach day w sylus in game, i know it wont happen bc of the other seasons in other places :PP nvrthless i still enjoyed sylus's bday card, i cried real tears by the end. he is so cute like that's MY BABY </33 also, one scene in this fic was directly inspired from a svt vernon fic by @shuaflix and i js died laughing. like what a sylus thing to do !

in all honesty, you were surprised that the twins knew how to drive safely and efficiently. the navigation app said you were set to arrive at the private resort in an hour, but kieran managed to get sylus's jeep to the destination in just half.

as for sylus, he sat in the back beside you with a thick blindfold over his eyes. his arms crossed, he looked like a petulant child who got told off for stealing cookies. you leaned on his shoulder with a laugh, wrapping your arm around his and cuddling into his side. "you look so funny." you said for the nth time during the trip with a snort.

"is the blindfold really necessary..."

"yes!" you replied mirthfully, "all so you won't ruin the surprise."

with a laugh, sylus blindly grabbed your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on the back. "even if i don't get surprised, i'm sure i'll still enjoy this celebration." he reassured you quietly.

"aww, you're so sweet." you cooed, kissing his cheek in return. "but i still want you to act surprised."

sylus, knowing he had no room to argue, just chuckled, "yes ma'am."

kieran parked the jeep by the rocky shore, where a nearby dining table was set up as per your request. the circular table was decorated with red and white table cloth, fresh flowers on vases, and gold foil balloons. all that was missing were the food, which the twins quickly took out of the jeep to display around the table.

you jumped out of your skin when luke opened the back door for you to exit. you and luke managed to take sylus out of the vehicle without him stumbling and falling. you squeezed sylus's hand in excitement; upon closer look at the table, your expectations were definitely exceeded. with the sun setting in a few hours, the whole set up was about to look exactly like how you imagined this to be.

as the twins made swift work of setting up the food on the table, you turned to the birthday boy – he looked unimpressed, even with the blindfold covering half of his face. "just a few more minutes, sy."

"i'm getting impatient, sweetie." he deadpanned.

you giggled and placed his arm over your shoulder, settling closer to him. "just a few more minutes, sy."

sylus huffed, "I can already smell the food and the wine."

"boss lady! everything's ready!" luke called.

you removed yourself from sylus's warmth and guided him closer to the dining table, where his red feather cake sat in front of him. you gave luke a thumbs-up and he lit up the lighter, letting its flame catch onto the wick of the candle. you then quickly removed the blindfold around sylus's eyes.

sylus blinked hard, getting used to the sun in his eyes. he then glanced down at the table in front of him, finally seeing the days of hard work you and the twins gave for his birthday. his irritated expression immediately softened, the corners of his lips lifting into a misty smile.

"happy birthday, boss!" the twins sang cheerfully, their arms spread.

"happy birthday, sylus." you greeted quietly, squeezing his hand.

sylus grinned, his face and ears becoming redder. "thank you."

"make a wish, boss!" the twins excitedly said, pointing at the little candle on his birthday cake. sylus indulged them, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together to make his wish. after a few seconds, he then blew on the candle, letting the smoke fly upwards.

the three of you cheered for sylus, who couldn't help but grin wider. you pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek and he chuckled, unable to stop the redness on his cheeks and ears from spreading.

"thank you, sincerely," he said again, his eyes glancing at luke and kieran then to you. "i now have something to look forward to next april."

kieran cheered loudly, with luke following suit. sylus pulled you into his embrace and kissed you on top of your head. "let's eat!"

after dinner, luke and kieran still managed to be excited to go swimming. the waves on the shore must've been teasing their feet, since they sat closest to the water while they ate. they quickly ran back to the jeep to fetch their clothes. sylus wanted to do the same.

he handed you your bag after fetching it from the jeep, where you packed your spare clothes. you were already wearing the red bikini tara gifted you a few days ago, covered by a sweater and a sheer shawl tied around your waist. you handed the swimming trunks you bought for him, where he took it with a raised eyebrow.

"no shirt, kitten?" he teased.

you scoffed, putting your bag onto your empty chair. "since when did you become conservative with me?"

sylus chuckled as he took the shorts from you. he then walked off to the back of the jeep to change into them.

the twins returned after changing into their rash guards, running at full speed and then splashing head-first into the clear waters of the beach. luke emerged out of the water with a big gulp of air, his brother following suit. they mirrored each other's wicked smiles and, without even saying anything, began play-fighting in the water.

"aren't you going to join them in the water, sweetie?"

sylus returned as well, sporting his black and red swimming shorts proudly. he held a beach ball in one hand and his discarded pants in the other.

"eh, i'd rather not drown." you quipped, looking back at the twins, who were now choking each other. sylus handed you the ball and then tossed his pants onto the chair where he previously sat. "are they gonna be okay?" you asked, getting a little concerned over how the twins were toeing the line between play-fighting and actual violence.

sylus shrugged and grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it up to take it off and deliberately showing off his toned torso and glistening abs. clearing your throat, you refrained yourself from staring too much, not exactly in the mood to be teased.

his arm then wrapped around your shoulder, "let me ask again, then: aren't you going to join me in the water, sweetie?" he asked, his mouth directly close to your ear.

trying not to shiver, you shook your head and leaned into his hold, feeling his firm body against your side. "maybe later, I'm still waiting for the sun to set. I really want to go night-swimming."

sylus didn't respond. instead he frowned, displeased with your answer.

the twins' "play-fighting" soon resorted into just splashing each other. you and sylus watched them with amused faces, until one of them managed to make a huge wave that it hit you and sylus as well.

you gasped in surprise as the saltwater seeped into your clothes, laughing through chattering teeth when the cold water made you shiver. luke gasped as sylus laughed along with kieran.

"shit– i'm so sorry, boss lady!" luke yelped, but you waved him off nonchalantly.

"no worries!" you told him, where he then returned to splash around the water with his brother, this time away from you and sylus.

you grabbed the hem of your sweater and squeezed the water out. sylus chuckled beside you, "you're all wet, sweetie. i think that was the sign to go dip in the water with me."

"nooo. i'll just change my shirt – good thing you brought my bag here." you said, waving him off like you did with luke, approaching to your seat earlier where you hanged your bag onto its side.

sylus's scowl returned.

"hey boss lady, do you know where the beach ball is?" kieran asked, coughing out saltwater while shoving a finger into his ear.

you turned to the table where the inflated beach ball sylus brought sat next to your bag. "it's right here, i'll pass it for you." you said.

just as you were about to lift the ball and hit it to pass onto them, sylus swiftly moved to grab your bag, throwing it with all his might into the twins’ direction. you gasped as the bag narrowly missed kieran's shoulder, sinking your extra clothes under the gentle waves.

"oh, that's... boss lady's bag." luke said – he was clearly the more observant twin. kieran smacked him on the chest with a loud snort and went to grab the bag before it fully sunk to the ocean ground.

you turned to the tall, smirking man beside you, "sylus!"

sylus looked at you with a faux confusion, "oh, that wasn't the ball?"

you let out an exasperated sigh as kieran brought the bag back to you with a sheepish smile. sylus took the ball from your hand and tossed it to him.

"sorry, I got confused – they were the same color." he told kieran in an apologetic tone, flashing you a smile that did not look apologetic at all. kieran just nodded knowingly at his boss as he easily caught the beach ball and threw it in the other direction. luke then swiftly dived after it.

you glared up at him. they were definitely not the same color – the bag you brought was beige, while the beach ball was bright pink.

sylus grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you into the ocean and ignoring your protests. "hey, at least let me change into my bikini!" you whined, unbuttoning your wet sweater as your feet entered the clear waters. sylus, without any word of protest, lets go of you, letting you finish unbuttoning your clothes.

you tried not to give away how flustered you were as you shrugged off your sweater and placed it to where his pants were. you quickly untied the shawl around your waist and tossed it in the same direction. you cleared your throat as you dared to look up at sylus, who was quiet the entire time he watched you undress in front of him.

"stop staring," you commanded weakly.

sylus grinned, "no."

sylus continued guiding you into the water, you shivering in the cold waves. he noticed immediately and pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. he leaned his head to yours, pressing a kiss onto your hair.

"where did you get this?" sylus asked with his voice muffled by your hair. his hands traveled down to the waistband of your panties, caressing you on the hip. he presses another kiss to your temple.

"I got this from a colleague," you replied.

"...a male colleague gave this to you?" sylus asked, snagging the fabric upwards and letting it snap back to your hip. you hit him on the chest for that and for his nonsense accusation.

"no! tara gave this to me." you said, walking a few steps ahead from sylus's embrace, "I usually never go out swimming with my friends at work, so when I told her we were going to a resort for your birthday, she gave this to me and told me to take pictures."

sylus hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "is that why you wanted to go swimming after the sun sets? just so you could get good pictures?" he asked, smile lopsided and teasing.

you gave him a look that hopefully told him the answer. he laughed and pulled you back into his chest, kissing your forehead.

"I'm sorry sweetie. I'll take your photos for you later." he said.

a comfortable silence followed after, save for the gentle crashing of the waves on the shore and seagulls flying overhead. you nuzzled your head onto sylus's chest, giddiness and warmth slowly spreading throughout your body. it was quiet, save for the steady heartbeat of the man cuddling you in the ocean.

"so, how will you rate this birthday experience?" you asked. you were obviously hoping for a positive answer from him, but a part in your brain braced you for an unexpected answer. you looked up at him to see him already staring down at you, his smirk ever-present on his handsome face.

"why do you need a rating, kitten?" he questioned, his head tilting.

"well, I want to know if there are things to be improved upon for next year." you shyly said, looking away from his intense gaze.

with that, sylus's arms around you tightened. he held your chin in his grasp, lifting your face up to face him once more. his eyes drifting down to your lips, his thumb gently caressed your bottom lip as he bit down on his own. he looked back up to meet your eyes again.

"the fact that you want to celebrate my birthday next year is enough for me to give you a perfect score." he said, tone sincere, eyes tracing every part of your face, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. "I'll never stop thinking that... I don't deserve... this kind of treatment from you. but I'll forever cherish anything you do for me, no matter how big or small it is."

sniffling, your eyes welled up under his gaze and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling widely at him. "happy birthday, sylus." you greeted him again.

sylus didn't respond, instead he leaned over to you to kiss your lips tenderly. you tilted your head to the side to kiss him deeper, taking in his scent as he invades your space, your everything. your arms found their way over his broad shoulders as the kiss intensified, while his arms began wandering over your sides and back.

you abruptly pulled away a few moments later when sylus suddenly stumbled backwards, landing the both of you into the water and soaking you. you shared a laugh with him, completely delirious with joy. sylus kissed you once more as he sat down in the ocean, settling you in between his open legs, facing the sun as it sets over the horizon.

"thank you, sweetie." he whispered into your ear, giving you one more kiss on your temple.

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#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus fluff #love and deepspace fluff #lads #lads x reader #lads sylus #lads fluff #lnds #lnds fluff #lnds x reader #lnds sylus #sylus qin #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lili writes 💋

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 2 months ago

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Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 3

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

gif by me (tumblr is making gifs that i upload extra potato quality lately and I'm not happy about it at all)

summary: You're feeling lighter and freer now that you and Matt are seeing each other, only to have it all come crashing down when Frank strolls back into your life. When you go to tell him you're pregnant, it doesn't go as planned.

warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio or I will block you!) AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Mention of pregnancy. Fingering, unprotected P in V. Pet names. Angst.

a/n: This is gonna be the last chapter with the flashback parts, so thanks for sticking through it if that style was confusing!

w/c: 2,940

Still a few weeks earlier

It was far too comfortable in your bed to even think of opening your eyes, let alone getting up and starting your day. The glow of the light streaming in from the morning sun was warm against your skin and encouraged you to burrow further under your plush duvet. The way Matt’s fingers also sleepily danced at the waistband of your panties while he lazily kissed at your neck and pressed his body against your back didn’t help you to fight the urge to stay in this blissful state of near slumber all day.

“Come on sweetheart, let me in. Just a little bit before I have to go.”

His voice was husky. Still shaking off the sleep as he cooed in your ear between haphazardly placed presses of his lips to the skin where your collar bone met your neck.

You couldn’t help but grin, rolling your leg so that your knee bent towards the ceiling, allowing his gentle hands to easily access you.

“Matty.” you cooed in a whispered plea

“Shhh”

You arched your back as he finally swiped a finger through your already drenched core, still leaking the mix of yours and his fluids left from just hours before.

In the few days since you and Matt had gone out, things heated up quickly. You’d woken up with him in your bed three nights this week and any notions of keeping things casual and taking it slowly had gone out the window. At least sexually, that was. You still were holding him at an arm's length emotionally and you were sure he’d complain about it if he weren’t so busy spending so much time between your legs making you both feel good.

Preening at his touch, you softly whined when he inserted two fingers into your heat, loving the way they scissored and explored inside you.

Fuck, he was so good at this. Using his heightened senses to read every clue your body gave and bring you to levels of pleasure you couldn’t have fathomed were possible.

It was a slow climb this morning, each of you allowing hands to explore sleepily for a long time. Eventually, he had you flat on your back, nestled comfortably between your thighs as he gingerly pumped into you. He moved as if there was no rush, no world outside that needed your attention, despite the impending threat of each of your morning alarms and the responsibilities of the day that awaited. Just the two of you and the warm glow of morning.

It was pure ecstasy when you reached your peak, shuddering under the weight of him as your heat contracted in slow steady pulses in a drawn out orgasm. He moaned into your mouth as he felt you clench around him, so wishing this could be the only way he needed to spend his day, but also chasing his own release, spilling inside you unable to resist giving into how good you felt fully anymore.

A satisfied hum escaped his lips as he collapsed on top of you, nestling into the crook of your neck while you stroked his back.

You were so content in the moment. Happy to hold him close and revel in the bliss of it all.

Until his phone beeped out, his morning alarm cutting through the rosy haze you were both in.

Still, the two of you remained snuggly as you prepared for the day, unwilling to be away from each other’s touch for too long.

“You know, we could try that Indonesian place down in Chelsea that Mahoney always raves about.” Matt said, sipping at his coffee while you packed up your bag for the day

“I can’t tonight Matty, I have the gala, remember?”

“Oh shoot, that’s right.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to be any more handsome, but his still kiss bitten lips cracking into a groggy smile as he stood in the morning glow in your kitchen certainly had you considering calling off for the day and dragging him back to bed.

“You know, I could go with you. As your date? I shouldn’t be in court past five tonight if you want some help charming those donors.”

“Thank you for the offer Matt, but I think showing up with you to a work event when we’ve been going out for less than a week feels very much like putting a label on this. Which I thought we were trying to avoid.”

You could tell from the way Matt ran his tongue along his teeth that he was not thrilled with your continued stance on the state of your relationship. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be seen in public with him, actually quite the opposite. God, how you’d love to know what it was like to be his truly and fully; to show up to the gala and let the world know that someone thought you were special. Worthy of being with. Not just someone but Matt. You could feel yourself already falling faster and harder than you’d ever planned. In fact most days, Frank was just a whisper of a name that echoed in the back of your thoughts. But you knew if you let yourself jump head first into this, whatever was still lingering in your heart about Frank would inevitably bubble up to the surface and ruin things. Plus, you expected Matt to eventually grow bored of you, a handsome and successful lawyer like himself had plenty of options. You were sure he’d find someone better than you eventually. Best not to let yourself fall too hard and end up hurt again.

You also couldn’t deny the disappointment you felt at losing the opportunity to see Matt all dressed up for a black tie event; knowing he’d probably spend the entire evening schmoozing and charming you and showing off.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you deflected, trying to defuse his mood “I also really do not want to hear it from Colleen if I show up with you on my arm. She tries to set me up with every even moderately hot dude we see because she thinks I’m too lonely or something and I just do not want her to even have a smidgen of notion that she’s right.

“Fair. Honestly, I don’t want to hear it from her either.”

Matt put his coffee mug in your sink before making his way to you and giving you a quick kiss.

“Maybe you can make it up to me though, let me cook for you at my place on Friday?”

“Mmm you cook?”

“I do.”

“You any good?”

Matt scoffed at your question, letting his eyes roll as he playfully smirked and drew you into his arms.

“I haven’t ever heard any complaints.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna make for me?”

“I have a shrimp scampi recipe that’s my go to. You’re gonna love it, sweetheart.”

“I like shrimp scampi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a date.”

The gala was a great time, even without Matt’s presence. You were exhausted though when you finally walked through the door of your apartment shortly after midnight. Wasting no time, you kicked off your shoes and changed into something comfortable. Just as you were about to shut off all the lights and head to bed, you heard a thud come from your fire escape.

You had joked with Matt earlier about Daredevil one day maybe making an appearance late in the night, but with him being vague about his stance as a vigilante lately, you didn’t think he’d actually commit to the joke.

With a roll of your eyes, you made your way to the window, unlocking it and tugging it open.

You weren’t expecting to see Frank standing there instead.

“Jesus! Frank, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to scare you.”

The tender way his eyes scanned you nearly had you crumpling to your knees. Frank always looked tired, but right now, only bathed in the light of the city and hastily shoving his hands in his coat pocket, did you realize how broken he looked. As you took in the sight of him before you, all the feelings you’d been pushing to the side in the days since you’d seen him last came flooding in. A burning welled in your eyes and the lump in your throat only grew by the second.

A week and a half was not a long time to go without hearing from Frank usually. But this was different. Things had shifted between the two of you after that night.

The way your gaze tore down and away from him broke his resolve, coming to stand before you in one large stride and leaning into the window sill to gently take your face in his hand.

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he kissed you fiercely, not like the heated and desperate kisses you shared last time, but soft and full of yearning. As if he was trying to throw every apology he couldn’t back up with true action into his kisses.

It didn’t take long to get you inside. He didn’t bother to break his lips away from yours as the two of you bumped around your dim apartment until he found your bedroom.

The measured way he undressed you and laid you down consumed you with an understanding; this was his goodbye. His 11 o’clock number in the story that was the two of you. Not unprepared by the heat of the moment like last time and the awkwardness that followed, but carefully planned to take you apart and put you back together as a parting gift.

But still, you allowed it all to happen. To let the car crash just to stand in the glow of the flames to keep yourself warm, if only temporarily.

Frank’s skin was heated as he pressed his bare chest against yours, clinging to your skin in a desperate attempt to keep you as close as physically possible. He shuddered softly and nuzzled his carved nose into the dip of your collar bone, gently tugging at your thigh to pull your leg up as he pushed inside you slowly.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

All you could do was whimper quietly and hold on while he made love to you, trying so hard to enjoy the moment and not overthink.

And as the two of you laid there in the mellow afterglow and you dozed off in his arms, limbs still tangled together and covered in a light sheen of sweat, you let yourself finally hope.

Maybe he’ll stay.

But when you woke up, still in a daze of pleasure, the cold sheets beside you let you know; Frank was gone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now

The abandoned warehouse smelled mustier than usual thanks to all the rain that had fallen on New York this past weekend. It made you sad to think that this is how Frank lived, only surviving in cold, barely habitable hideouts, only eating canned food and plotting his next hit. You made your way through the echoing hall, bobbing and weaving through the doors and tunnels as you navigated. After your last encounter, you were certain you’d never see him again.

Now things were different.

Matt handled the information that Frank was the other potential father to your child shockingly well. You knew many a conversation needed to happen about how you all wanted to proceed further, as well as you finally getting the full story on their history. Matt agreed to let you have the space to tell Frank the news on your own though. You were tempted to text or call him but knew it would all go unanswered anyway. So, you came here to tell him in person.

You finally reached the door you were seeking, covered in chipped paint and rust from years of neglect. Trying your hardest not to startle him, you knocked just loud enough so that he could hear you.

“Frank?”

No answer.

Just in case Frank was hiding in a corner with a weapon or something, you gingerly turned the handle and poked your head in slowly so he had plenty of time to see it was you.

But the room was too dark to see anything. When you flipped on the light switch, you swore you heard the sound of your heart dropping.

The cold concrete room was mostly empty. Free of all Frank’s gear; his carefully organized supply of guns and amo, his stockpiled perishable grocery supply, the ratty mattress on the floor. All gone. All that remained were a few shelves and lockers; cleaned of all the things that once sat in them, and the worn metal desk; which had on top of it only one thing.

Frank’s old Marine sweatshirt.

It wasn’t odd for Frank to move locations from time to time. You tried to calm yourself with this information and stop from jumping to the worst case scenario as you reached in your back pocket and retrieved your phone.

You only had the number of his latest burner. The calling tone only rang out once before there were three beeps and a robotic voice spoke.

“We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”

It was as if a landmine went off in your heart, sending splatters of veins and ventricles into every direction of the cinder block cave. All at once it felt as if the room was spinning and your knees wobbled. You picked the neatly folded clothing article off the desk and held it close as you choked out a sob and crumpled to the floor.

Frank was gone. No note. No way of contacting him or finding him. Just gone.

And you were pregnant. And there was a very good chance the baby was his.

And you loved him.

Your heaving cries stopped just as suddenly as they started when you heard footsteps behind you. They were slow and clearly being intentionally loud enough for you to hear.

“Frank?!” you cried out, whipping your head around to see him enter the abandoned hideout.

But Frank was not standing there, ready to pick you up off the floor and comfort you.

Matt’s lips pursed in a grimace as he crossed the room toward you, tightly gripping his cane. His expression read of pity for sure, but also with an air of “I told you so and I really wished I would have been wrong” to it. It took him little effort to lift you off the floor and pull you into his strong embrace as your tears flowed once more.

“You said you were going to let me do this alone.” you coughed out

“I know. But I was waiting just down the hall, listening. I needed to hear how this went. To make sure you were okay.”

“Frank wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I didn’t trust him to not be an asshole.”

“Well it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone.”

“I know.”

Another wave of tears washed over you. You breathed out Matt’s name out in a plead, decibels below a whisper so that only he would ever hear. His lips came to press softly into your hair as he comforted you. Nuzzling into his strong hand as he cupped your face, he reassured you over and over.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Running his fingers along your cheek to wipe away the tears, Matt pressed his forehead to yours as he heard your breathing finally begin to even out.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You and I. Well do this together.”

“What if it’s Franks?”

“I don’t care. I don’t.”

“I can’t hear your heartbeat but I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not. You and this baby; I’m going to love you both and we’ll be a family. We don’t need Frank to complicate that.”

Love

The word sent an icy dagger into your heart. Could he? Could you ever? You took a step back, wiping the last of the salty droplets from your cheeks.

“You sure you don’t want a paternity test?”

The chuckle Matt released reverberated in the echoing space. He shook his head, moistening his perfectly pouty lips before speaking again.

“I’m sure.”

“I thought a lawyer would be smarter than that.” you said with an attempt at a smile, albeit a melancholic one

“You know sweetheart, my dad died when I was young. He made a stupid decision and left me all alone. And my mom wasn’t in my life, well not in the way I needed her. But that’s even more complicated...”

It shocked you a little bit that Matt Murdock had not always been a charming, smart-mouthed, successful lawyer; but at one time had actually been a scared little boy who had been hurt by the world. The way he tilted his head up in the dim fluorescent light as he swallowed thickly, recounting his family history, made you wonder how much there was to his story and if he’d be willing to tell you sometime.

“Anyway, they both chose to leave me in their own ways. I didn’t have them there when I needed them most. And I promise you right now, I will not repeat their mistakes. I will not let this child; our child, feel abandoned.”

The way he said ‘our child’ lit a glimmer of hope inside you like seeing a lighthouse through a storm. Matt’s earnest sincerity made you actually believe him, if only a little bit.

“Okay. We’ll do this together.”

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#frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #Judex Judicum Infantem #frank castle #daredevil #daredevil born again #fratt #matt x reader #frank x reader #matt x frank x reader #nmcu #mcu #mcu fic #daredevil smut #matt murdock angst #frank castle imagine #charlie cox #jon bernthal

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alloftheimaginesblog · 11 months ago

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first love {e.m}

plot: you were eddie's first love and you never forget your first love.

character: eddie munson x reader

Everyone knew about you. A day never passed without Eddie mentioning you and your name whether it be a passing "(y/n) loved that" or a more in depth conversation about you or a memory but Eddie always spoke about you. You and Eddie were high school sweethearts. You'd been friends for years and everyone thought that you'd eventually end up together and they were right.

Eddie was your first. First boyfriend, first kiss, first love. You were the same for him and everybody knew it.

The way Eddie spoke about you made everyone smile. He spoke so highly of you, always complimenting you and telling the craziest stories. The two of you were the perfect couple; the 'it' couple as they say. The pair of you together were free, no cares in the world and just happy. God, the two of you were just so damn happy.

"Well, where is she?" Dustin asked with that toothy grin after Eddie had finished telling him a story about the time you and him broke into the school and ended up catching two teachers making out, "You're always talking about her but where is she?"

Eddie's face fell and it was in that moment that Dustin knew he'd fucked up.

Around the room, everyone who knew the truth's eyes widened and stared at Dustin then Eddie then Dustin. Eddie's eyes glazed over face unreadable as Dustin frowned and looked around the room, "What?" He asked, "Did I say something I shouldn't have? I was only asking where (y/n) is, you all look like you've seen a ghost- Oh."

With a horror filled expression, Dustin turned to Eddie and his suspicion was confirmed, "Oh fuck," Dustin whispered, "Eddie, I'm so- fuck, man, I didn't know- I'm so sorry-"

Eddie shook his head, swallowing hard and forcing a quick smile, "It's fine." He stood and cleared his throat, "I just need to get some air."

The room was dead silent until Eddie left and then Steve whacked Dustin on the arm, "Dude!"

"Why did none of you freaking tell me his girlfriend is dead?!" Dustin hissed to Nancy and Steve, "You- You made me look like an idiot! Fuck!"

Outside, Eddie was on the hood of his car, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket along with a lighter to light it up. He looked up to the darkening sky as he took a puff and closed his eyes. He liked to imagine you up there with all the legends, partying and singing away, just waiting until it was his turn to come and then you'd party for all eternity with each other. It had been almost two years since he lost you and there wasn't a moment where he didn't think about you. Every single decision Eddie made, every thought he had... it was all connected to you. Eddie had bought his new van based on what he thought you'd say about it. Eddie wore the outfits you bought him or at least modelled himself in similar items of clothing to ones he knew that you liked. You were gone but you truly lived on in Eddie Munson's day to day life.

It was a few minutes later when Eddie was pressing the cigarette into the grass under his boot that Dustin came out, "Hey, kid," Eddie said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "Come, sit."

Dustin awkwardly sat beside Eddie on the hood of the car, he was shit scared and Eddie could tell, "Dude, I'm so-"

"S'alright," Eddie said with a half smile.

"No, Eddie, seriously, I didn't-"

"Dustin," Eddie's voice was louder but he wasn't angry, he was calm. This was probably the calmest Eddie had ever been now that Dustin was thinking about it, "It's alright."

Dustin nodded and released a long breath allowing his shoulders to sag. He was silent for a few seconds before he said it anyway, "I didn't know... I'm really sorry."

The older boy dug around in his pocket before he pulled out two things; a photo and his lighter. He handed them both to Dustin, "There's my girl." The smile on Eddie's face when he looked at your picture said it all, "That's (y/n) and that lighter was (y/n)'s. She carved our initials into it, see?" Dustin flipped the lighter and sure enough, yours and Eddie's initials were carved onto the black metal, "I carry those everywhere I go... so that she's always with me."

"Can- Can I ask what happened?" Dustin handed the picture and lighter back to Eddie.

Eddie shrugged, "I lost her, that's the long and short of it all. Got hit by a drunk driver one night when we were stopped at a red light. She was gone instantly. I..." Eddie sucked in breath and released it, "Sometimes I wish I'd gone that night too." Dustin didn't speak, he just let Eddie talk, "She hadn't wanted to go out, she wanted to stay in but I wanted more beer. Had I not wanted it-"

"It's not your fault, Eddie."

Eddie nodded, staring down at his photo of you, "Would you believe me if I said it makes it easier if I blame me? No use blaming the other driver, he died that night in hospital. He's dead, can't blame a dead man but I can blame me... and if I blame me, it means that I can be better; I can better myself for her, for (y/n)."

"What was she like?" Eddie spoke about you that much that Dustin already had a pretty good idea of what you were like but he wanted to hear it from Eddie in this heartbreakingly raw moment.

Eddie's face stretched into a wide smile, "Henderson, you would've loved her. She was fiery, didn't take anyone's shit. She was funny, could make friends just like that. She loved D&D, she was the one that coined the name Hellfire Club. She was... She would've done great things. She would've loved you."

The pair smiled at one another before Eddie's eyes returned to the sky, "S'alright, Henderson. You didn't know, don't feel bad about it."

Dustin nodded, realising that was Eddie ending the conversation, "You coming back in?" He jumped from the hood of the car and looked expectantly at the older boy.

"In a minute," Eddie sighed, "just gonna chat to my girl for a minute."

"Say hi to her from me."

"Will do."

Dustin gave him a small smile before walking back inside. Eddie's eyes closed as he looked up, "I wish you could meet them all, pretty eyes, Henderson especially. I think he would've loved you almost as much as I do... Ah well, I better go back in. Don't want them thinking I've gone all soft, eh?" He opened his eyes and looked at your picture once more before pressing a gentle kiss to it, "I love you."

#one shot #os #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson #imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things reader insert #reader insert

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zerocoded · 4 months ago

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summary: arguments rise between the two of you, but what you don't know is that caleb would let you punch him how many times you wished.

authors note: banner credits to the one and only cutie who draw this and i found it on pinterest! i decided to split this in two because the word count was already pass 16k, so yeah. posting the smut in the next chapter! this sucks bc i don't know how to write happy characters, i'm so sorry. i wish you a happy reading! this series was supposed to be three chapters but now it's four, i hope you don't mind hehe, enjoy!

warnings: HEAVY ANGST • bad talk about ourselves again (booh) • doubts and feeling of betrayal and guilt • we get introspective all the time im sorry • MINOR INJURY • mentions of psychological and physical torture (in the past) • obsessive!caleb • UNCANNON bc i finished this before caleb release so this is the lore i created ok • hurt/comfort • THIS IS NOT A LIGHT READING, but i promise it'll get better next chapter

word count: 9.9k

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃caleb uses you as a hostage at the farspace fleet┃you're here┃caleb teaches you his love language

colonel caleb wore real gold on his uniform and carried a fire in his gaze. his steps were precise, almost mechanical, and his towering height commanded respect wherever he went. his voice never wavered, firm and unyielding, and any flaws he might have were buried beneath the weight of his presence. the insignias on his chest gleamed like silent declarations of victory, each one a testament to battles fought and won.

the metal where there should have been flesh and bone was a source of both mystery and awe to his subordinates. what might have seemed a reminder of pain to him—his bionic arm, a testament to his devotion—was, to others, a symbol of unyielding strength. even the faint hum of its servos as he moved carried an air of authority, a silent declaration that he had sacrificed and endured more than most could fathom.

but in the quiet of his own room, colonel caleb felt less like the commander everyone revered and more like the boy you had grown up with.

his height, which once seemed awe-inspiring, became almost comical in the simplicity of his surroundings. even though the entire space was designed to accommodate him—a luxury that often left you struggling with the proportions—he still seemed impossibly large as he moved around in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. if you closed your eyes, you could almost see a younger version of him—slightly shorter, a little less broad—fumbling around granny’s kitchen, trying to fix something for the two of you to eat before bed.

after you both got out of that conference room, caleb seemed recharged in a way that was impossible to ignore. despite the distance still lingering between you and the stark confusion of where you both now stood, caleb seemed brighter, lighter, as if the mere fact that you were sleeping in the room next to his was enough to bring him back to life.

that observation made you see him in a different light, made your resolve crack just enough for the resentment you’d been holding onto to soften by the end of the day. it was impossible to ignore how palpable his love for you was, woven into the very air of his chambers, clinging to every word he spoke and every glance he stole.

it left you feeling recklessly cherished. dangerously so.

the notion was both thrilling and unsettling—how much power you held over him, how much of himself he seemed willing to give just to keep you near. and with that realization, the suffocating weight that had pressed on your chest since the moment he appeared at your front door in linkon city five days ago began to ease, just a little. it was still there, still sharp and heavy, but the edges had softened with the knowledge that, in some inexplicable way, you had always been his anchor.

since the false interrogation he’d orchestrated, caleb had taken to sleeping on the sofa, giving you the bed without question. you often woke to find him there, sprawled in uncomfortable positions that looked at odds with his commanding presence during the day. his sacrifice was unspoken, like so many of his gestures—a quiet, steady offering of himself to make you feel safe.

his voice carried a tender, teasing lilt every time he spoke to you, as if he couldn’t help but let his affection seep into his words, smoothing the sharp edges of the bluntness that a few days ago defined him.

in a way, you couldn’t decide if you were grateful—or terrified—to be the center of this man’s world.

you had experienced something you hadn’t in years: the giddiness you were often reproved for as a child. it crept up on you in the quiet moments—the teasing glint in caleb’s eye, his sharp wit, the way he quirked an eyebrow when he was trying to get a rise out of you. his funny remarks and old quirks, things you thought you’d forgotten entirely, came rushing back, leaving you disarmed.

you found yourself laughing at things you hadn’t noticed were funny, smiling in ways you hadn’t realized you still could. the sense of euphoria was intoxicating, almost overwhelming. it burned through the shadows of doubt that had lingered since you arrived, leaving you to wonder if caleb’s presence—his persistence, his warmth—was the very thing you needed to feel whole again.

but that wasn’t all. caleb had made it his mission to spend every waking second with you now, as if making amends for the two days he left you alone when you first arrived at skyhaven. he cooked for you—something he didn’t have time for before. his presence became tangible in ways it hadn’t been in years. he started tagging you along for his tasks outside the dorms, immersing you in the controlled chaos of his world.

every time you asked a question, his answers were immediate, clear, and unguarded. every time you wished for something, he set his mind to making it happen. just that morning, when you wondered aloud how daa pilots coordinated emergency landings so precisely, he’d whisked you away to the base, brimming with enthusiasm, to show you the mechanics of their operations. he even placed you inside a trainer aircraft, insisting you try it out—his face lighting up like a proud instructor—only relenting when your panicked pleas got you safely back on the ground.

he almost sounded like a nerd when he explained things, which you found oddly endearing. familiar.

even in moments of uncertainty and vulnerability, caleb remained steadfast. his decision to confine you to his chambers during the first two days—something that had frustrated and angered you—still lingered in your mind as an unfair choice. yet, he never hovered. instead, he occupied himself with tasks in the background, always ready to comfort you if needed but careful not to suffocate you. as if he understood that no amount of effort could undo the hurtful choices that had brought you both to this point.

the storm of emotions from your first 72 hours here in skyhaven still stole the air from your lungs during the nights, leaving you gasping in a silence that felt too loud. you cried yourself to sleep with an ache that defied words, an emptiness that gnawed at your chest and refused to let go. it wasn’t just the weight of what you had learned—it was the crushing realization that so much of your life had been shaped by truths you never knew, by choices made for you without your consent.

caleb noticed everything. he noticed how your showers stretched on endlessly, the way the sound of running water masked the quiet sobs you thought you could hide. he saw how your eyes darted away from his when the weight of his gaze felt too much to bear. the way your hand would unconsciously clutch at your chest, as if holding yourself together, as if your heart might betray you if you let it go.

he never mentioned it. not once. his silence wasn’t dismissive; it was deliberate, as though he understood that words could only do so much. instead, he stayed close—close enough that you could feel the steady presence of him, grounding you when you felt like you might unravel. but he never pushed. he let you have your space, retreating to the far corners of the room or busying himself with tasks that gave you room to breathe.

one night, when the weight of it all became too much, you broke. the tears came suddenly, unstoppable, as if they’d been waiting for this exact moment to escape. you didn’t even try to hide them this time, your body trembling as you sat on the edge of the bed, clutching your knees to your chest.

caleb was there before you could even process his movement, his warmth engulfing you as he pulled you into his arms. his grip was firm but gentle, like he was holding something fragile. he didn’t say anything at first, just rocked you slightly, his breath steady and grounding against the chaos in your mind.

when the murmurs started, they were soft, barely audible over the sound of your sobs. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of something that made your chest ache even more. “i’m so, so sorry, princess. i know. i know.”

his lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before moving to your hair, your temple, your ear—soft, fleeting touches that carried an apology too big for words. you felt his chest shudder beneath your cheek, and it took you a moment to realize that his breaths were uneven.

caleb was crying too.

his words, his presence, the steady beat of his heart against your ear—it all worked together to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself. you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, the two of you wrapped in each other, but eventually, exhaustion won. your sobs quieted, your breathing evened out, and before you knew it, sleep took you.

the next morning, he didn’t bring it up. instead, his apologies came in other ways.

he made you breakfast without a word, setting the plate down in front of you before retreating to clean up the kitchen. when you needed a moment alone, he gave it without question, hovering just close enough to remind you that you weren’t truly alone.

it didn’t fix everything, not by a long shot. but it was a start. and for now, that was enough.

caleb’s quiet determination to make things right showed in ways he didn’t even realize. but for all his efforts to rebuild the fragile connection between you, there were moments when his own vulnerability slipped through the cracks.

the first time you truly saw his bionic arm—not just his hand but as an undeniable reality—was one of those moments. it wasn’t something he wanted you to see.

you caught glimpses when he wasn’t looking, stealing moments to trace his body with your eyes, searching for the details you still weren’t used to. it was as though he wore it like a symbol of his own ruin when in front of you, a quiet badge of loss. he always hid it beneath long sleeves as if punishing himself for its existence.

the only time he didn’t—when necessity gave way to something more human—was on the first morning after the investigation episode. unable to bear staying in the bed that smelled so much like him, you’d wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of pans and the faint smell of food. and there he was, standing by the stove in a sleeveless white shirt, his bionic arm fully exposed for the first time.

at first, you hadn’t noticed it, your groggy mind too focused on the surreal sight of him cooking breakfast. but when his eyes met yours, everything shifted. his posture stiffened, and his entire demeanor changed, as if you had caught him in a moment of weakness. the confidence he usually carried so effortlessly vanished, replaced by a flash of vulnerability so stark it made your chest tighten. it was as if your gaze alone had stripped him bare, as if you weren’t supposed to see him this way.

as if he didn’t want you to see him this way.

he turned his body slightly, instinctively shielding the metal limb from view. the movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you noticed. it was in the way he avoided your eyes after that, focusing too intently on flipping the eggs in the pan, his silence louder than any words could be. it was in the way his shoulders tensed, betraying the emotions he wouldn’t let surface.

you let it go for now, though the image stayed with you, lingering like an unanswered question.

it was your sixth day in skyhaven. yesterday evening had been spent making phone calls to friends and colleagues, reassuring them after your sudden disappearance. you’d explained the situation to everyone who mattered, carefully crafting the details to sound less alarming than they truly were. but one call had remained undone—zayne. the reasons for not dialing his number sat heavy on your chest, unspoken and hard to name. but you left it at that.

the sight of caleb cooking should’ve felt mundane by now, honestly. you’d seen him shirtless more times than you could count, growing up together had ensured that. you both had been at the mercy of puberty and hormones, awkwardness softened by familiarity. but something about the way he stood now, his presence so certain yet so quietly domestic, struck you differently.

it was a stark contrast to the lean boy who used to tease and prod at your attention; now, caleb stood tall and broad in front of the stove, his muscles shifting with precision as he moved, every action pulling a reaction from you—a warmth that crept into your cheeks as a flashback of your first kiss in your apartment left you momentarily off balance.

all the thinking and pondering you’d done over the past three days hadn’t wavered the anger simmering inside you—not yet. caleb might have also been a victim, but he wasn’t innocent in the slightest. his choices, no matter how well-intentioned, had left scars on you that you couldn’t ignore. and you’d finally decided how to deal with it.

you were going to punch him.

in the face, preferably.

it wasn’t the most rational plan, but it was the only way you could see to start letting go of the frustration and rage that had been building inside you. you could start your healing journey from there. but first, you needed this. he had faked his death, left you to mourn him alone. if that didn’t earn him a solid right hook, what would?

so you stood in the doorway of his bathroom, your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, watching caleb move around the kitchen like he belonged there. his back was to you, broad and steady, muscles shifting under his skin with every precise movement. his bionic arm rested at his side, but you refused to let your gaze linger on it—it wasn’t the time.

he glanced over his shoulder, offering you a small, warm smile. “morning,” he said casually, as if the weight of the last few days hadn’t fractured something between you.

and then you saw it—that small, almost imperceptible movement. the way he shifted slightly to hide the metal limb from your line of sight, as if shielding himself from judgment he thought he might find in your eyes. the gesture was subtle, but it struck you like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fire that had been smoldering in your chest.

why did he keep doing that? why did he act like he had to hide from you? as if you were the one who couldn’t accept what he’d become, when he was the one who had shattered your world?

the tick of irritation swelled into something sharper, something more visceral. you stepped into the room, your movements slow but deliberate, the sound of your footsteps catching his attention.

“why do you do that?” you asked, your voice low but edged with something brittle.

his brow furrowed, his eyes flicking to you as he turned, uncertain. “do what?”

“this,” you said, gesturing toward his arm. “you keep hiding it. like you think i care about that more than everything else you’ve done.”

his expression shifted, a flicker of something—shame, maybe—crossing his face before he looked away, focusing on the pan in front of him. “it’s not that simple, pipsqueak” he said, his voice quieter now, guarded.

“no, it’s not,” you shot back, stepping closer. “nothing about this is simple. but you don’t get to act like you’re the only one carrying this weight.”

his grip on the spatula tightened, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t respond. that silence, that calm restraint, only made your anger boil over.

“you don’t get to hide, caleb,” you said, your voice rising. “not from me. not after everything you’ve put me through.”

he turned then, fully facing you, his expression hard but not unkind. “what is it with the lashing out just now? i’m not hiding,” he said evenly. “i just—”

“you just what?” you interrupted, stepping closer still. “you just thought it’d be easier to let me think you were dead? to leave me to grieve while you played hero for people who didn’t even care about you?”

his eyes widened, the calm facade he usually wore cracking just enough to show the vulnerability underneath. “i—i told you i’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet but edged with something raw. “i explained my reasons at the time, it was not like that”

you almost felt pity for him—almost. but the ache in your chest, the anger clawing at your throat, wouldn’t let you soften. not yet.

“then what was it like, caleb?” you demanded, your voice trembling with the weight of your frustration. “because from where i’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like betrayal.”

the words hung heavy in the air, the silence between you thick with tension. you could feel your chest tightening, the storm of emotions swirling inside you threatening to spill over.

and then, without thinking, you took a step forward and swung your fist. your knuckles connected with his jaw, the force of the punch sending a sharp jolt up your arm, but it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fight wanderers by yourself. he stumbled back a step, his hand flying to his face as his eyes widened in shock.

caleb had expected it—not like this, not right now—but the moment your fist collided with his jaw, a strange sense of inevitability settled over him. he let out a sharp breath, his fingers brushing against the tender spot where your punch had landed. the sting was immediate, but it was nothing compared to the ache that had been simmering inside him for days.

he stayed still for a moment, the weight of your anger washing over him like a tide he’d been bracing for but never truly prepared to face. you were trembling, chest heaving, your knuckles still clenched as if you were debating whether to hit him again.

caleb straightened slowly, his jaw throbbing as he met your gaze.

the room was silent, save for your ragged breathing and the faint sound of the pan sizzling on the stove.

for a moment, you thought he might lash out, might yell or demand an explanation. but instead, he let out a soft, incredulous laugh, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“you’ve got a hell of a punch, pipsqueak” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, though his eyes still carried that familiar weight.

“don’t,” you said sharply, your fists still clenched at your sides. “don’t laugh this off. don’t pretend like you didn’t deserve it.”

his smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. “you’re right,” he said quietly. “i did.”

those words took the wind out of you, leaving you standing there, unsure of what to do next. the anger that had driven you moments ago was still there, but it felt different now—muted, as if the act of hitting him had let some of it go.

“feel better?” he asked, his tone light but not mocking, hand still holding his jaw.

but his calmness, his ability to shrug off what you’d done as if it were nothing, only made something inside you snap. “no,” you said sharply, your voice trembling. “no, i don’t feel better. because none of this changes anything, caleb. none of this fixes what you did.”

he watched you quietly, his expression steady, patient. that calmness—the same calmness you’d once found reassuring—now felt like a wall you couldn’t break through. it only fueled the storm building inside you.

“you left me,” you said, your voice rising as your emotions spilled out, unchecked. “you lied to me throughout all my life, you should’ve told me something, should’ve… i don’t know!”

his lips parted as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“and then you show up again—alive, bigger than life, barking me orders as if i was a stranger to you. you think you can just apologize and everything will go back to how it was? do you have any idea how much you broke me?”

your voice cracked on the last words, and the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill. you stepped closer to him, your fists pounding weakly against his chest, frustration and grief bubbling over. “i should hate you forever, caleb.”

he didn’t move, didn’t stop you, his hands hovering at his sides as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to touch you. not when your words sounded so heavy.

"god," you felt your voice crack and tears started forming on your eyes.

caleb wasn’t allowed to say anything but, “i’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking under the weight of his words. “i’m so sorry.”

“stop saying that!” you cried, your voice rising in a mixture of anger and desperation. “sorry doesn’t fix this. it doesn’t fix us, you asshole!”

your fists hit his chest again, harder this time, and he caught your wrists, gently but firmly. “i know,” he said, his voice steady now. “but it’s all i have. it’s all i can give you right now, princess.”

his grip loosened, and before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. “i’m so sorry,” he murmured again, his voice low and heavy with emotion. “i know i hurt you. i know i can’t fix it overnight. but i swear, i’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me.”

his words broke something inside you, and the tears finally spilled over. you buried your face against his chest, sobbing openly as his arms tightened around you. his hand rested on the back of your head, cradling you gently as if he were afraid you might shatter completely.

“don’t give up on me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “i’ll be okay if you hate me forever, as long as you’re happy. that’s all that matters.”

“don’t say things like that,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him. “don’t be so dependent on me. you’re a dick.”

his arms around you tensed for a moment before loosening, his breath brushing the top of your head. “i’m trying not to be,” he murmured, his tone so soft it felt like a confession. “but you’re the only thing that kept me steady until now, Y/N. the only thing that makes me feel like… like i’m still human.”

his words struck you, sharp and raw, cutting through the haze of your emotions. you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “caleb…” you started, but you didn’t know what to say, how to piece together the whirlwind in your chest into anything coherent.

he gave you a small, almost broken smile, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i don’t mean to put that on you. i know it’s not fair, and i don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me too. but… i just need you to know that you matter. more than anything.”

“you can’t do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “you can’t put me on this pedestal. it’s not right. it’s not fair to either of us.”

“i know,” he said again, his voice cracking slightly. “but you’re not on a pedestal. you’re… you’re home. and that’s not something i can turn off, pipsqueak.”

fuck. why did he sound so broke too?

you pulled back slightly, wiping at your face as you looked up at him. his eyes were red-rimmed, tears threatening to fall but never quite spilling over. it was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

he glanced down at his bionic arm, flexing the fingers absently before letting it rest at his side. “i hate this thing,” he said suddenly, his voice low and quiet. “it’s a constant reminder of when i hurt you the most.”

you frowned, confused. “caleb…”

“ever wanted me to lose more than this arm,” he continued, his tone growing darker. “they wanted me… broken. half of my body was supposed to be destroyed in their ‘plan.’ they thought they could control me better that way. make me more… dependent.”

your stomach churned at his words. “why didn’t you tell me? why do you keep hiding it from me?”

he shook his head, looking away. “i’ve already put you through enough. i didn’t want to burden you with this.”

it was strange how the weight of forgiveness didn’t feel like a single, decisive moment. it wasn’t a clean break or a sudden realization; it was more like erosion—a gradual softening of the jagged edges of anger, resentment, and grief. it was in the quiet moments, like now, when his voice was stripped of its usual command, when he stumbled over his words, when his walls came down just enough for you to see the pain he carried. it made you question your own anger, not because it wasn’t valid, but because holding onto it felt heavier than letting it go.

"but i want to know," you pressed, your voice trembling. "i need to understand, caleb. i need to know what they did to you. i need to understand why."

forgiving him didn’t mean forgetting what he’d done. it didn’t erase the nights you’d cried yourself to sleep, the hollow ache of mourning someone who wasn’t really gone. but it meant acknowledging that he’d suffered too, that his choices—terrible as they were—had been born from a place of love and desperation. of obsession.

as much as you wanted to cling to your anger, you couldn’t ignore the cracks forming in its foundation. his actions, his words—they chipped away at your defenses, forcing you to see the pain he carried. and in those moments, you realized that forgiveness wasn’t about absolving him of what he’d done. it was about freeing yourself from the weight of it. it was about choosing to let go, not for him, but for you. because holding onto that anger wasn’t just hurting him—it was hurting you too.

his jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as he finally looked at you. his eyes were dark, stormy, filled with something that looked too much like shame. "it’s too much," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "it’s graphic, and cruel, and i can’t… i fucking can’t make you see me like that, Y/N."

"i already see you, caleb," you countered, stepping closer still, voice cracking over something close to desperation. "i see the way you try to protect yourself by being harsh towards everyone, the way you tense up when you think no one’s looking. i see how much pain you’re in, and i see how hard you’re trying to hide it. you don’t have to protect me from this. don’t keep lying to me, i beg you."

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "you don’t have to beg for anything when it comes to me, princess," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "it’s not about protecting you. it’s about not giving you more reasons to hate me, do you understand? ever was shit to both of us, they still are."

"i don’t hate you," you said quickly, your voice firm. "i’m angry, yes. i’m hurt. but i don’t hate you, caleb. sometimes i wish i could."

his eyes softened, but the anguish in them didn’t fade. "i don’t want to fucking trigger you, princess, just let it go," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, flesh hand running through his brown locks in a dismissive act. he took a step back and turned to the stove, turning the fire off while avoiding your gaze.

“i can’t forgive you if you keep hiding these things.” you crossed your arms, looking at his posture, “if i thought i couldn’t handle, i wouldn’t be asking you this right now. why did you let them do it?”.

he shook his head, his hands coming up to cover his face. "you have no idea," he said, his voice breaking again. "the limits i’d go to for you. the things i’d endure. i’d let them do it all over again if it meant you’d be safe. i’d let them tear me apart piece by piece, because i—" he stopped, his hands dropping to his sides as he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten, as if just imagining his devotion was already physically exhausting. "because i love you. so much it terrifies me."

he looked away again, his jaw clenching as his fingers flexed at his sides. you wondered for a second if he expected to hear those words in return one day.

"princess, i just don’t want to drag you into something you can’t unhear. something that’ll stick in your head and haunt you the way it does me.” breakfast long gone, he turned to the counter and leaned his weight on it, crossing his arms over his chest.

"but that’s not fair," you pressed, stepping closer, your voice softer now but no less determined. "you keep everything locked up inside, like you should be this invincible man. i want to know. you don’t have to protect me from this, for fuck's sake."

his shoulders sagged, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he rubbed his hand over his face. "you think i’m protecting you?" he asked, his voice low and pained. "i’m protecting me, princess. because if i see that look in your eyes—the one that says you pity me, or worse, that you’re scared of me—i don’t think i can handle that. not from you."

you reached out to touch his arm. "i’m not scared of you. and i’m not going to pity you. just fucking tell me already."

his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, the silence between you thick and heavy.

he shook his head, his bionic fingers twitching as his hands curled into fists. "they broke me, okay?" he said, his voice raw and trembling as if his patience were running thin from your persistence. "they strapped me down, cut me open while i was still awake just to see how much i could take. and i took it, all of it, because i thought if i didn’t, they’d turn to you instead. and the fucked-up part? i was willing to let them do it again if it meant you were safe."

your breath hitched, the vividness of his confession slicing through you like a blade.

“this arm,” he points and looks at it, “it has to go through repair oftenly, it hurts like a bitch, the electric current, everything… they keep increasing the power every time i go there.”

"do you know what it’s like to hear them talk about you like you’re a bargaining chip?" he continued, his voice rising slightly, anger and despair mingling in his tone. "to know they saw you as leverage, something they will certain have on the future? i couldn’t let that happen. so i let them do whatever they wanted to me, make me stronger. and yeah, it hurt. but it was nothing compared to the thought of fucking losing you, Y/N."

you swallowed hard, tears prickling at your eyes as his words sank in. "you shouldn’t have had to make that choice," you said, your voice shaking. "it wasn’t your responsibility to protect me like that. gran should’ve… she shouldn’t have put that on a child."

"but it was," he insisted, his voice firm despite the emotion cracking through it. "it’s always been my responsibility. ever since we were kids, i promised myself i’d keep you safe. and i failed you once—i’m not failing you again."

was granny josephine truly blameless, or had she knowingly set these events in motion? had she purposefully placed caleb in harm’s way, using the innocent, budding love he had for you as a tool to safeguard her fears and protect her secrets? had she manipulated his loyalty as a child, planting seeds that would root so deeply they’d shape his entire existence?

the silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions. you stepped closer, your hand finding his and squeezing gently. "you didn’t fail me," you said softly, your voice breaking. "you’d died for me more than once, that’s already too fucking much, caleb."

his patience made you wonder: how many times had caleb carried this same burden? how many nights had he endured this same hollow ache you have been feeling these past few days, but without someone by his side to share it with?

did he ever feel alone? did he feel the crushing isolation when cruel people, hidden behind the guise of scientists, broke and prodded at his skin? when they searched for cracks in his mind, trying to shatter him into pieces so irreparable that the boy he once was could never return? had he felt the same suffocating weight you carried now—the weight of being someone else’s creation? of knowing that your very existence was shaped by murderous intent and corruptive minds, calling your body their experiment?

ever hadn’t succeeded in making him a servant—he told you that—, but hadn’t they almost gotten there? hadn’t they stripped away enough of his humanity to leave him standing like this, a shadow of the boy you once knew?

he looked at you then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice barely audible.

"you may not deserve it," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "but i think i want to give it to you anyway." the words felt fragile, like they might shatter under their own weight. you looked at his bionic arm, its polished surface catching the light, and noticed the way his jaw tensed, just barely. he didn’t say anything, but the tension in the air told you he was bracing himself, waiting for whatever came next.

you also expected him to say something, to break the tension that hung in the air, but the silence stretched so long it began to feel awkward. just as you were about to open your mouth and fill the void with some kind of sentence—or at least an acknowledgment of what had just happened—you saw him grimace slightly, his hand coming up to palm his left cheek.

oh. right. you had hit him. you’d almost forgotten.

"oh shit, i’m sorry," you blurted, guilt suddenly surging up as you watched him rub his cheek.

but he waved it off, not even glancing your way. "don’t worry, princess," he said, his voice casual, though there was a faint edge to it. "i’ll finish breakfast and put some ice on it."

"are you sure?" you asked hesitantly, your guilt gnawing at you.

he nodded, finally meeting your eyes. "yeah, I’m sure. it’s not the first time i’ve been hit, and it won’t be the last."

there was an odd kind of amusement in his tone, but it didn’t do much to ease your discomfort.

"do you want something else to eat? the eggs are probably cold by now," he added, gesturing vaguely toward the pan on the counter, his tone shifting back to the calm, measured one you were used to.

you didn’t know what to say, the words catching in your throat. everything about the moment felt strange, like you were navigating a space you didn’t fully understand. "no, i’m fine," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. "i’ll… i’ll eat later. i think i want to take a shower first."

his gaze lingered on you for a moment, unreadable, before he gave a small nod. "take your time, princess," he said, turning his attention back to the stove.

you nodded awkwardly, already stepping back toward the door. the guilt and confusion swirling in your chest made your movements feel clumsy, uncoordinated. you needed a moment to yourself, away from his steady presence and the weight of everything unsaid between you. a shower sounded like the perfect escape.

that morning, you skipped breakfast. instead, you locked yourself in his room—ironic, wasn’t it?—and spent the hours replaying the moment over and over again in your head. the sound of your fist connecting with his jaw, the way he stumbled back, the stunned look in his eyes.

his words, your words—they lingered, looping in your mind like a broken record. every syllable from that morning carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated, carving deeper into your already-frayed emotions. you could still hear the way his voice had trembled, how it softened in places you didn’t expect. and the way yours had cracked, betraying the storm you were trying so hard to contain.

you hated that you couldn’t let it go. that you kept picking apart every second of the exchange, trying to find something you missed, some meaning hidden between the lines.

the shower ended up lasting an embarrassing thirty-five minutes, and by the time you got out, your skin felt like it was starting to peel. turns out, skyhaven’s technology was far more advanced and exclusive than linkon’s. their residents had access to countless showers and sinks with customizable settings and precise temperature controls.

despite everything, you couldn’t help but enjoy every second of these little luxuries. you found yourself wondering if caleb might let you take some of his fancy dermatology products back to linkon with you.

by the time you got out, you remembered that caleb had mentioned during yesterday’s lunch that skyhaven would soon begin its monthly isolation week—a period where all soldiers and officers were confined to their bedchambers. it was a precautionary measure, meant to ensure that the magnetic fields and protocores keeping the island afloat remained stable and resistant to any potential failures.

the thought of spending the upcoming period together in isolation left you with an unexpected wave of embarrassment gnawing at your mind.

your fingers curled into the sheets as you sat on the edge of his bed, your mind a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. after your prolonged shower, the scene of the punch replayed endlessly in your head. you’d gone over every detail, from the sharp crack of your knuckles against his jaw to the stunned look in his eyes. had you taken it too far?

if you were going to spend the next seven days confined in this dorm with him, wouldn’t it be better to try to make amends? the tension already felt unbearable, and avoiding him would only stretch it further. you needed to face him, didn’t you?

your gaze flicked toward the door, hesitation pulling at you. you’d skipped breakfast to dodge the awkwardness, telling yourself you needed time to sort through your own emotions. but now, the thought of him sitting alone in the kitchen, nursing a bruised jaw and left to wonder about your silence, made your stomach twist. he deserved some sort of explanation—or, at the very least, acknowledgment of what you’d done.

“he’s fine,” you told yourself, standing abruptly and pacing the room. “he’s a soldier. he’s been through worse.”

but the image of his expression—the way his eyes softened, almost tender, when he said, “i did”—refused to leave your mind.

you felt like you were going crazy. for six days, emotions like confusion, guilt, regret, anger, and love had taken turns coursing through your body, leaving you utterly whiplashed. every time you thought you had a handle on one, another would rear its head, demanding to be felt. it was exhausting.

in the last three days, caleb hadn’t been anything but kind to you. he’d gone out of his way to make you feel comfortable, to give you space when you needed it, and to be there when you didn’t. his words, his actions—everything he’d done had been soaked in care.

“pipsqueak?” caleb’s voice came through the door, soft but clear, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. “can i come in? you didn’t eat breakfast, so i brought some fruit.”

your heart leapt into your throat, and for a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do.

was he reading your mind?

“o-oh, it’s okay,” you stammered, grimacing at how shaky you sounded. “i’m not hungry.”

there was a pause, followed by the low rumble of his laugh. it wasn’t mocking, but it carried that familiar teasing edge that made your stomach twist. “please,” he said, his tone amused. “you’re always hungry. that hasn’t changed, has it?”

you swallowed hard, your eyes darting to the door as if it might give you an answer. what was he doing? why was he being so normal? like nothing had happened? you both basically confessed your undeniable pull towards each other a few hours ago, and now he was out here laughing about your appetite.

“i’m really fine,” you said, forcing your voice to steady. “you don’t have to—”

“too late,” he interrupted, the doorknob jiggling slightly. “i’m coming in.”

panic surged through you. “wait!” you blurted, stepping toward the door instinctively. “i’m—uh—I’m not decent!”

there was a pause, and then his voice, lower but undeniably amused, came through the door again. “you’ve said that before. pretty sure it was a lie then too.”

your face heated at the memory, and you clenched your fists, both at him and at yourself for reacting this way. why couldn’t he just leave you alone for five minutes to figure out what the hell you were feeling?

“caleb,” you said, your tone sharp but shaky, “just—give me a minute, okay?”

another pause. “fine,” he said, his voice softer now. “but i’m not leaving until you eat something. deal?”

you huffed, running towards the door and fixing your hair. “deal.”

before you could change your mind, the door clicked open. caleb stepped inside, balancing a plate of sliced fruit in one hand and a small ice pack pressed against his cheek in the other. he was shirtless, his bionic arm fully exposed, the metal catching the light as he moved. it was the first time he hadn’t tried to hide it from you, and the sight made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

you barely registered the plate of fruit before your eyes caught on the bruise forming along his jaw. your fist had left a mark—faint, but undeniably there. guilt flooded your chest, your earlier resolve crumbling.

“hi,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing lilt as his gaze shifted to you. his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. “nice shirt, by the way.”

you glanced down, realizing with a jolt that you opted to put one of his shirts after the shower, the fabric oversized and hanging loose on your frame. your cheeks heated instantly.

“i—it was just comfortable,” you stammered, tugging at the hem as if that would somehow make it less obvious. “don’t read into it.”

he chuckled, stepping further into the room and setting the plate down on the nearest surface. “oh, i’m not,” he said lightly, though the smirk never left his face. “but if you want to borrow more, just let me know.”

your embarrassment shifted into a mix of irritation and concern as your eyes darted back to the ice pack on his cheek. “what happened to not leaving until i ate?” you said, trying to deflect as you stepped closer.

“still holding you to that,” he replied, his tone playful but soft.

but you weren’t paying attention to his words anymore. your gaze was fixed on the faint purpling of his jaw, the guilt clawing its way back to the surface. without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his face as you gently turned it to get a better look.

“does it hurt?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the concern threading through your words catching even you off guard.

caleb stilled under your touch, his gaze steady on you as you inspected the bruise. “not really,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “i’ve had worse.”

you frowned, ignoring his attempt to downplay it. “you’re not supposed to just brush it off,” you muttered, your thumb lightly grazing the edge of the bruise. “i shouldn’t have—”

“hey,” he interrupted, his voice gentle. he reached up with his flesh hand, carefully wrapping it around yours and pulling it away from his face. “don’t do that. don’t feel bad.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “i was expecting you to be mad,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i thought you’d yell at me, or… i don’t know, something.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “why would i be mad? i deserved it.”

“you keep saying that,” you said, pulling your hand free and stepping back. “but why? why do you think you deserved it?”

he sighed, his expression softening as he leaned back against the table. “because i’ve been waiting for you to hit me since the fake interrogation. hell, i was starting to get worried when you didn’t.”

“worried?” you repeated, your brows knitting together. “why?”

he hesitated, as if weighing how much to say, before meeting your gaze again. “because the girl i grew up with wouldn’t have let me get away with half the crap i’ve done,” he said simply. “she’d have punched me the second she saw me.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, a strange mix of emotions welling up in your chest. “well,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, “maybe she’s not the same girl anymore.”

he smiled at that, the kind of smile that carried a weight you couldn’t quite name. “maybe,” he said quietly. “but she’s still in there. i see her every time you look at me like i’ve done something stupid. every time you call me out on my bullshit. and i’m glad she’s still here.”

you didn’t know how to respond to that, the raw honesty in his words leaving you momentarily speechless. instead, you looked down at the plate of fruit he’d brought, your fingers brushing against the edge.

“fine,” you said, your voice still quiet but steady. “i’ll eat.”

his smile widened, a hint of relief flickering in his eyes. “good,” he said. “because i wasn’t kidding about not leaving until you did.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. as you picked up a piece of fruit, you couldn’t help but glance at him again, the bruise on his jaw and the faint smile on his lips making your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to name.

the room settled into a quiet rhythm as you nibbled on the fruit caleb had brought, the faint rustling of his movements behind you blending into the soft hum of skyhaven's faint mechanical undertones. he had settled onto the bed at some point, the ice pack still pressed lightly against his cheek.

you didn’t look up at first, focused on the sweet tang of the fruit and the thoughts circling your head. when you finally did glance over, you saw him lying back against the cushions, his large frame sprawled out comfortably across the bed. it struck you—how long had it been since he rested properly? since he allowed himself this kind of moment?

there was something oddly humanizing about the sight of him now. his broad chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his muscles visibly relaxed beneath the glow of the dim room lighting. his eyes were closed, and for the first time since you’d arrived at skyhaven, he looked… content.

his bionic arm rested on the bed, unmoving, and yet it seemed a part of him in a way it hadn’t before. the faint light caught the edges of the metal, highlighting the intricate details of its design. you noticed the tension that usually coiled through his shoulders was gone now, replaced by an unfamiliar ease.

you wondered, as the silence stretched between you, how the two of you had gone through so much in just one week. grief, anger, guilt, and even flickers of something softer—it felt like a lifetime had been compressed into the span of days.

just as you were sinking deeper into your thoughts, his voice broke the quiet. “did you call zayne?”

you blinked, the question catching you off guard as you chewed the last piece of fruit. you swallowed quickly before answering. he probably heard you talking to your friends yesterday.

“not actually. i still don’t know what to tell him.”

he shifted slightly, turning his head to look at you. “why not?” his tone was calm, curious rather than accusatory.

“it’s… complicated,” you admitted, setting the plate down on the desk beside you. “zayne’s always been logical, rational. and this? this is anything but that. you were his friend too so…”

he seemed to consider that, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighed and leaned back into the cushions. “did he comment on anything from my… from the explosion?” his words were careful, almost hesitant, as if he was testing the waters.

you hesitated, unsure if he was fishing for something deeper or just looking for updates on zayne. the memory of zayne handing you the documents—grandma josephine’s documents—flashed through your mind.

“not much,” you said eventually, your tone thoughtful. “he just gave me the documents grandma left with him. said she wanted me to have them. after that, he helped me deal with… everything else. the grief, mostly.”

caleb nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “he always was good at that,” he murmured, almost to himself.

you tilted your head, studying him. “why ask now?”

his lips quirked into the faintest smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i guess i’ve just been wondering… how much he knew. if he ever blamed me, or if he…” he trailed off, his voice growing quieter, “if he thought i could’ve done more.”

“zayne didn’t blame you,” you said softly, the certainty in your voice surprising even yourself. “he never said anything like that. he just… he cared. about both of us. since always.”

caleb’s shoulders relaxed a little at your words, the tension easing from his frame. he let out a long breath, his eyes closing again. “that sounds like him.”

the comfortable silence returned, but this time, it felt heavier with unspoken thoughts. you stayed where you were, watching the way his breathing steadied, his face softening in a way that felt so achingly familiar.

caleb sat up from the bed, stretching lazily as his muscles rippled under the warm light of the room, leaving the ice pack on the bedside table. the movement drew your eyes almost involuntarily to his chest, his defined pecs and the subtle line of his collarbone. you realized too late that you were staring.

“like what you see, pipsqueak?” he teased, smirking as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

your face heated instantly, and you scrambled to find a response. “i wasn’t—i mean, you’re not that impressive,” you shot back, your words stumbling over each other in your flustered state.

he laughed, low and amused, clearly enjoying your reaction. “sure you weren’t.”

before you could retort, he straightened up and glanced toward the door. “what do you want for lunch?” he asked casually, his slightly red jaw stealing your attention for a few seconds.

“lunch?” you blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “i forgot we’re supposed to spend the next few days confined,” you admitted, your tone dipping with mild disappointment. “i was really starting to like the restaurant food we’ve been eating.”

caleb chuckled, his expression softening. “well, you’ll have to settle for my cooking again. i think you’ll survive.”

your mood lifted almost immediately. “oh!” you said, excitement creeping into your voice. “can you make that dish you used to make me when i came home from college? the one with the rice and that weird sauce you wouldn’t tell me the recipe for?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “hmm… you mean my secret signature dish?”

“it’s not that secret if you made it for me all the time,” you countered, grinning now.

“fine,” he said with a mock sigh of defeat, standing up from the bed. “i’ll make it.”

as he moved toward the door, you hesitated, shifting awkwardly in your chair. “uh… caleb?” you started, your voice quieter now.

he turned back to you, raising an eyebrow. “yeah?”

you fiddled with the hem of his shirt, avoiding his eyes. “i was just thinking… if you wanted, you could, um, go back to sleeping in your bed. you know. with me. it’s big enough, and the sofa doesn’t look that comfortable…”

his sofa was actually very comfortable and big. but you felt bad either way.

he stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a slow grin spread across his face. “are you worried about me, pipsqueak?”

“no!” you said quickly, your face flushing. “it’s just… i noticed the marks on your back from sleeping there. you look uncomfortable.”

his grin widened. “so, you’ve been staring at my back?”

“caleb!” you protested, standing up and trying to shove him toward the door. “don’t twist this into something weird.”

he laughed, letting you push him as he pretended to resist. “all right, all right,” he said, still grinning. “if it makes you feel better, i’ll sleep on the bed again. but…” he tilted his head slightly, the grin widening into something teasing. “can you at least warn me before you decide to punch me next time? because, honestly, this thing hurts like a bitch.”

you froze mid-push, your face heating up in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “don’t tempt me,” you shot back, trying to sound stern but failing to keep the amused lilt out of your voice.

he chuckled, stepping just outside the door but turning back to look at you, his expression softening. “deal?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

you sighed, shaking your head as a reluctant smile crept onto your face. “fine. but only because i want to avoid another bruise on your face. it’s bad enough looking at this one.”

he chuckled, stepping out of the room but turning back for a moment. “get comfy, pipsqueak. i’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

lunch came and went, the hours passing in a strange haze of quiet conversations and unspoken tension. turns out caleb’s cooking skills have improved since your last meal together, and you’ve caught yourself praising his abilities more than once.

the gaifan with baozi left you content and vibrant for the rest of the day, the taste of familiarity spicing your tongue along with the steamed dumplings.

at one point, caleb insisted on showing you how skyhaven’s isolation worked—something about magnetic fields and protocores stabilizing the entire floating city. you tried to follow along with your hunter’s brief knowing about fluctuations, but the way he lit up as he explained it was far more captivating than the details themselves.

“this is why we have isolation weeks,” he said, gesturing toward the ceiling as if the intricate systems were visible through the walls. “the magnetic fields can’t handle too much strain for extended periods, so every month, we scale back activity to let the systems recalibrate. it’s boring, but it keeps us alive.”

“boring?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “you’re talking about living on a floating island, caleb. that’s not boring.” you smiled. “i remember you dreaming about coming here for the first time when you graduated high school.”

he smirked, leaning against the edge of the counter. “guess i’ve been here too long. you kind of get used to it.” his tone was casual, but there was a flicker of something softer in his expression, a quiet pride that reminded you of the boy who used to explain the constellations to you back home, his enthusiasm unshakable.

later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, he led you to the living room, where floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the sky in breathtaking clarity. you stood there for a while, the silence between you broken only by the occasional hum of skyhaven’s systems. the view was mesmerizing—clouds streaked with gold and pink, the faint glow of the city’s lights flickering to life below.

“do you ever get tired of this?” you asked, voice quiet.

“not the view,” he said after a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “it’s the one thing that reminds me we’re all still connected to something bigger. even up here.”

you glanced at him, surprised by the weight in his words. for a brief moment, he wasn’t the confident, larger-than-life caleb you’d known these past few days. instead, he felt like something closer, more familiar—a reflection of the boy you once knew, the one who used to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders even when it wasn’t his to bear.

his gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, but his fingers brushed the edge of the glass as if reaching for something out of sight. that first night, neither of you could sleep. the air between you was heavy, the silence stretching long enough to make you wonder if he could hear the way your heart raced.

“can’t sleep?” you finally asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“not really,” he admitted, his tone unusually soft. “too much on my mind.”

you turned to face him, the dim light casting shadows across his face. “like what?”

he hesitated, his jaw tightening. “everything,” he said finally. “you, mostly.”

“me?” the word came out sharper than you intended, your chest tightening.

he nodded, his gaze meeting yours. “i can’t stop thinking about everything i’ve put you through. how much i’ve hurt you. it’s like this weight i can’t get rid of, no matter how hard i try.”

“yeah, you hurt me,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened with the admission. “there’s no denying that, caleb. but carrying it around it’s not going to undo anything.”

his eyes softened, the vulnerability in them cutting through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. “you’ve always been too good to me,” he murmured. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”

you wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his bionic arm. “you didn’t deserve what they did to you either,” you said quietly.

for a moment, he didn’t respond. when he did, his voice was barely audible. “i would do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.”

the weight of his words hung between you, heavier than the silence. you didn’t know what to say, how to ease the ache in his voice. so you didn’t say anything at all. instead, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder brush against his. it was a small gesture, but it felt like everything.

you fell asleep before he did, your breathing soft and steady in the quiet. he stayed awake, watching the way the faint light danced across your face, tracing the lines he’d memorized a thousand times before.

he turned his gaze to your sleeping form, the rise and fall of your chest a quiet reassurance that you were here, that you were safe. it was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept the shadows of his own mind from consuming him whole. and for the first time in days, the knot in his chest loosened just enough to let him breathe.

you didn’t know—couldn’t know—how much he’d thought about this, dreamed about this, clung to the fragile hope that one day he could be near you again. that he could protect you, not just from the world but from himself, from the consequences of his failures and the monsters he’d let into your life. it wasn’t just love. it was something darker, deeper. devotion that bordered on obsession, a desperate need to be the shield between you and everything else.

he would protect you. from ever, from the shadows of the past, from anything that dared to hurt you. again and again and again, until there was nothing left of him.

author’s note: it was so hard to write this one guys, i didn't know if y'all would like caleb's switch up from such a hateful man (ugh) into this more real one but yeah, i had a good time writing this. I KNOW THE ENDING IS BAD, but it's not the real ending yet! see you next chapter (very soon!), xx. THE SMUT IS COMING I PROMISE. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @bbieainee

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florencebirdsong · 2 months ago

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Happy Valentine’s Day!!!! I love your writing. Could I request Dom Wanda? I’ve seen you write some somnophilia before and I would love it if you could write some with Wanda? Maybe sneak in a bit of breeding in there too 👀 Anything would be amazing thank you!

Happy extremely late valentine's day :)

The breeding kink is only there if you squint sorry but I hope you still like it! Here is some very soft and very sweet somno 🙂‍↕️

Valentine's Day Event 2025

tags: somno, mommy wanda, praise, fingering, ficlet

Wanda cracks the door to the bedroom open. She smiles fondly when she finds you curled up on her side of the bed. She creeps over, wanting to take you in while you’re still in the softness of sleep. Her fingers trail over your cheek fondly.

Your bare shoulder peaks out of the covers and she raises an eyebrow. Carefully pulling the sheet back, she finds your top half naked. She lifts the sheet up to see that you are, in fact, completely naked.

“Naughty thing,” she murmurs with a hint of a laugh in her voice.

She lets the sheet fall down and climbs on top of you, settling herself between your legs. She pops two fingers into her mouth and sucks lightly to get them wet before she uses them to circle your sensitive clit. Her touch stays light and she delights in the way your little face furrows, how you begin to squirm as your body craves more contact. She applies more pressure on the next few circles only to return to her lighter touch just to enjoy the frustrated huffs you make. She does it a few more times until you’re close to waking.

She leans down and lightly rubs her nose against yours. Her fingers slip lower to find you soaked. Grinning, she runs teasing circles around your entrance.

Your eyes open, seemingly in protest of the continued teasing, and you blink sleepily up at her.

“Hi, baby,” she murmurs as she flips her finger inside of you.

You greet her with a whimper. Your confusion quickly falling away when you see her on top of you. It’s not unusual for your mommy to wake you up this way. She always says she can’t help herself. You’re just too cute like this.

She gently fills you, over and over again, until you’re a squirming mess below her. Mumbling pleases and clinging to her shoulders.

“Want to be full of mommy?” she asks, in a teasing voice. You nod eagerly. “Yeah? What do we say?”

You whine. You were beyond words before you even woke up.

“C’mon, be good for mommy. You can do it,” her fingers find your clit again. “How do we ask nicely?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please wanna— wanna be full of you.”

“Oh, good girl,” she purrs, curling her fingers. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

“Gonna come,” you gasp, since she hasn’t actually given permission yet.

“Let go, baby. Come all over mommy.”

She stays gentle as you do, but firm enough for you to be gasping in her arms. Coming down is sweet and she manoeuvres you until you can nuzzle into her hold

Mornings like this are always the sweetest release.

#birdsong writes #wanda m.#valentines day event 2025 #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #mommy wanda #mommy wanda x reader #mommy wanda x you #reader insert #smut #fanfiction #wanda x reader #wanda x you

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oblique-lane · 11 months ago

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idk if youve done it yet but i would actually lose my mind if you did an analysis for demo

Aye aye captain 🫡 Time to overdramatize again!

Let's address Demo's wounds

(Demo's backstory was changed through the years but I'm sticking to the older version because I find it more grounded)

Demoman's story is easily one of the most tragic of all the mercs. Imagine you have been abandoned from birth, your parents simply rejected you for what you are. But luckily you have been adopted by some good people who replaced your parents and made you a relatively happy child.

And then you accidentally kill them. You're 6 years old. How does that feel?

I can't even imagine how a child's brain can't comprehend the idea of being a murderer. It was an accident, of course, they were blown up by a big explosion he created (genius kid found out how to do that, huh?) but still. His parents were dead and he knew it was his own fault. He learned he was dangerous as he is.

How was it like pondering about it in the orphanage?.. "I didn't want this! I want to go back and fix it, I'm so sorry", something like that. But he couldn't go back in time, so being covered in such an avalanche of guilt, he learned he needs to repress himself.

Demo have always had an explosive temper (no pun intended), it was his true nature, pure emotion: if he's happy, it's 100%; if he's angry, it's a full blown storm. If he loves, he loves with all of his heart, and he has a big one.

Living on the impulse, all or nothing, that crucial accident revealed that letting his true nature go will only end up as destruction in the end. Irreparable damage.

We don't know what exactly was happening to him during his orphanage years, but if I'm to guess, repressing everything about him: his interests, his character, his whole nature, was a thing to choose. He thought that he had to become still and quiet as to not to repeat that kind of tragedy ever again. He probably didn't have people to be friends with either, either because people rejected him for his past, or he avoided them himself due to his internalized shame, at least that's a guess.

But everything repressed returns to the surface sooner or later. As a child, living for so long under overwhelming guilt, grief, hate, pain and sadness, under the skies that are almost never sunny in a all-year-long damp and coldness of the Ullapool. Incomprehensibly grey. It was depriving.

He was always fascinated with explosions. He didn't touch it for a long time, but maybe something like seeing fireworks again one day made something inside him tremble... And to remember.

Explosions. Launch... Acceleration... Release. And every time the release happens, his soul fills with excitement, the body feels lighter and shivers go up the spine. Release happens inside his head too, for the explosions make his worries and pain go away for a moment.

He couldn't find another way to release his bottled up emotions, so gradually he returned to make explosives again.

It was something like an addiction. Similar to pyromania, except no one bothered to research this one. At the moment of explosion he could let his anger out, he could scream, he could run around freely, he could sense heat in his chest; he could be himself. As he once was.

Everything was cold. But the explosions were hot.

He thought it was under control, just a little bit of KABOOM after school, but he craved more and more every time, more vivid, more violent...

That's how he lost his eye. (...Was it a subconscious act of selfharm?)

The missing eye was a forever reminder of how deviated he actually was. He learned that he couldn't repress or change what he truly is - a monster. A Black Scottish Cyclops, wether it were his peers who called him like that or he himself, out of misery. There was indeed something seriously wrong with him.

It seemed like the only thing he was capable of is destruction. Destruction is the only environment he's comfortable with. Peace was always so anxious and depriving, and breaking things felt calming, so he figured it must be right.

And then his birth mother came and took him back, "now that's he's a worthy DeGroot". It was unexpected but... Pleasant. So he wasn't THAT worthless after all, huh? Turns out, it was really familial, the destruction thing. At least he found out that there was a reason behind all of this.

His new mom was, saying honestly, pretty cruel with words. She was not at all gentle, she was very strict, demanding and straight up abusive. It was never enough for her no matter what Demo did. She didn't want results from his work, she's just always wanted to mess with his brain.

And for whatever reason... This setup felt right for him. To be thrown around like that, to be humiliated harshly, it felt fitting, it wasn't causing anxiety or anything. He has to be a scapegoat, he had to forget about being a child and to start working as an adult, at the same time somehow replacing a father he still didn't have, but it felt good enough. Confusing relationships felt good enough.

Destruction was his habitat, and his heart could no longer accept anything else.

Cruelty wasn't warm though, just familiar, just an environment to not to go insane. But he craved warmness so badly... Yet every time he would get close to someone and receive a little gentleness and care, it would feel sickening. It felt unnatural, it reminded him of his lost parents and of everything that's wrong about him.

The only warmness his body could accept was alcohol, making him bubbly and comfortable and relaxed. He almost felt normal, happy even. Alcohol heat made him melt, and he felt so fulfilled as if he was in paradise, back to the womb.

Yet after the effect wears off, he feels lonely as ever. Quickly, existing without alcohol becomes pain. Existing at all. He became an addict.

Not that everyone he met rejected him, rather, he subconsciously reached out to those who would be cruel to him. Again, gentleness hurts wether he knows it or not. He's only good in destruction.

Lonely and clingy, ready to overshare, overall mess yet carrying a big baggage of love that has no one to give it to. Maybe because he can't give it to himself in the first place. There's so many issues unresolved because he can't handle them alone, yet there's no one to help since he was already trapped in a closed circuit of self sabotage.

He will keep acting like a party beast, always crazily emotional and overdone upbeat, a simple drunken man who will not be taken seriously that way. Maybe that's what he wanted, to not be seen as deep by anyone for not be reminded of his misery once again.

Seems like we bought that too.

...

The enemy Soldier might be an exception though. The man he really treasures his friendship with turned out to be an enemy; repeating the rule again: it's only acceptable when dangerous. Soldier deeply cares for Demo, however he's not gentle or pitying, he's as destructive and explosive as Demo is, and these two are a very rare perfect combination of destructing each other in the act of love. Both broken beyond repair, soul on soul, forever to be misunderstood by the outsiders. This is something about this relationship that looks like a golden lining.

They will not fix each other, but they sure are going to have a good time!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #team fortress #demo tf2 #tf2 demo #team fortress demoman #tf2 demoman #artists on tumblr #my art #tf2 theory #tf2 headcanons #boots and bombs #demosoldier #psychoanalysis #chatacter analysis #tf2 character analysis

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addledmongoose · 5 months ago

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Best of 2024 Good Omens Fanfiction

Welcome to my list of the best Good Omens fanfiction I’ve read in 2024! These are my favorites of all the novels, short stories, and series I’ve read this year, and they’re the ones I have or am most likely to read more than once. There’s so much amazing talent in the Good Omens fandom, and I will never be able to read every great story, but I’m happy to have found these fantastic works. (FYI, I added up the word counts of all the stories on this list, and it’s over three million!)

First of all, if you haven’t read the stories on my 2023 Best Of list, be sure to check out the amazing works there. There are a lot of older classics, like Or Be Nice, Slow Show, and Pray For Us, Icarus and some stories written after season two released, like Factory Setting and Married At First Sight.

Secondly, here is the entire list of every recommendation I’ve made in 2024. There are far more great stories than can fit in a single year-end list. I’ll be unpinning that list and pinning up a new one next year.

Last year, I was able to split my list up more evenly into canon adjacent/compliant and human AU. This year, I read a wider variety of stories, many of them quite long, and more series. I’m splitting the list into three categories: canon, human AU, and non-human AU. There's no order or ranking to the list; they were mostly just added as I read them.

There are also no WIPs here; all of the stories are complete. The series are also complete at the time of this list or are a series of standalone shorts that don't need to be read in order. My preferences lean toward funnier, lighter stories and are often heavy on plot. If you’re looking for dark stories with a lot of angst, you won’t find as many here as other blogs might recommend. It’s not that some of these don’t have dark, sad moments or moments of angst, but Aziraphale and Crowley must have a happy ending, and I prefer stories that don’t make me cry or cause a lot of stress.

If you like these stories, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for the authors!

If you hit that "Keep reading" button, strap in! This is a very, very long post.

Canon

They’re still angel and demon. I’m counting Reverse Omens in this category.

The Seventh Prince of Hell (56K; Rated M) by @evilasiangenius

Reverse Omens. This is actually part of a series, but I’ve only read the first book, so I’m not listing it as a series. Aziraphale is the Seventh Prince of Hell. His animal aspect is the octopus. Crowley is an ordinary angel. Both are assigned to Earth. They have adventures!

Genesis 3:(-7)-5.5 -7 And they assembled all the Lords, the Princes of Hell into a congregation together sometime after the seventh day, but not on a day of rest because even the Dark Council has a day off. -6 When it came to pass that all grew weary of the powerful pointing presentations, Lord Beelzebub spake with a loud voice, saying unto them, One of uzz brotherzz muzzt go to Earth as Hell’s Represzentative and thwart the doings of Heaven; there izz no choice now that the Almighty has created humanzz. Who amongzt uzz shall take up the project? It comezz with a great deal of extra paperwork, much travel, and no overtime pay. And we shall not reimbursze anything and there shall be no per diem. [...] -3 And of the seven Princes of Hell, three stepped forward, and only three; not two nor five, which are the other prime numbers near three and definitely not one, which is not a prime at all but the unit. The first was the Second Prince, who is called Asmodeus and is a demon of lust. The second was the Seventh Prince, who is called Aziraphale and is a demon of collecting stuff. And the third was the Fourth Prince, who is not worth talking about because they only appear in this one scene and for no other reason than to have three characters. I think that Prince is the demon of executive dysfunction or erectile dysfunction or something like that. Maybe both.

***

Nice And Ominous: a reluctant eschatology of the Second Attempt (series) (117K; Rated T/E) by @e-rated-beardo

A three-part, post-s2 series with gorgeous art by the author. Part I is Crowley’s POV as he deals with the loss of his angel. Part II is from Aziraphale’s POV as he tries to stop the Second Coming and deal with the loss of his demon. Part III is the thrilling finale (and the happy ending). Expect a lot of angst but great characters and plot.

It was a shit day. All the days had been shit, and there had been rather a shitload of them so far. Tucked away in a disused corner of a car park in a retail park in Croydon, a lanky man cracked his eyes open and scowled out the side window of his car. There were raindrops hitting the glass and clouds massing towards the eastern horizon suggested a storm was on its way. He had slept uncomfortably across the front seats for a good amount of time (it didn’t much matter what exact amount), and despite the car being a vintage and exceptionally attractive specimen, nobody had paid it much mind—and the few people who had had the idea to come over and have a look at the ostensibly abandoned vehicle had all suddenly realised how much they actually needed to go buy a sofa or something at that Ikea over there, right about now, in fact. Untangling his various limbs, the man in the car—who wasn’t exactly a man, as such, but close enough for government work—reluctantly sat up, his boot brushing against one of the empty bottles on the floor. He had neglected to sober up before going to sleep.

***

Too Hot for Heavenly Handling (2.4K; Rated E) by @hollybennett123

Crowley says yes to returning to Heaven. The two enjoy three fornication-fueled weeks before they’re hauled before the Metatron and the other archangels for a disciplinary hearing. Rating-aside, there’s not any actual sex in this story. It’s implicit; not explicit.

I’ve read this story more times than I can count (ok, it’s seven). I nearly choked the first time I read it, because I was laughing so hard. Every sentence is a gem. The timing of the jokes is impeccable. There’s not a single bad line in this entire piece.

“No angel shall pretend to be of a lower status than their actual ranking,” Aziraphale reads aloud. “What does that have to do with — ohhh,” he says, wide-eyed, remembering their ongoing little roleplay. Crowley, an angel of the lowest ranking in their little game, seeking favour from an Archangel; offering to service him in secret so he might earn a series of Heavenly promotions. It had been jolly good fun, actually. “Misuse of Heavenly furniture,” the Metatron continues. “One count. Again, the actual number is unknown. Quite frankly, no one here is willing to research it further to gather any more evidence than the minimum required to bring you before this Council.” Looking back, Aziraphale’s desk has seen quite a bit of action in recent weeks. And the chair. The walls, too, if they count.

***

Aziraphale’s Diaries (series) (11K; Rated T) by @fellshish

A series of standalone fics written as Aziraphale’s diary entries. They don’t need to be read in any order. All of them are fantastic, but I probably laughed the hardest at “Adventures of a mystery shopper in the bookshop.” Aziraphale decides Crowley must be bored after the Nomageddon and in need of work and decides to “let” him take care of his bookshop while he’s away, but then he worries the demon might sell some of his books.

29 August 2018 I’ve informed Crowley I’ll be going away for about three weeks, to perform an exciting and complicated blessing abroad. In reality, I’ve booked the Ritz for myself, where I’ll be forced to act human and eat breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Anything to keep a close eye on Crowley! 30th August 2018 It’s my first day away. I decided to go by the bookshop in an “old and confused man disguise” so I could look through the window. I was just in time (a three hour window between lunch and afternoon tea at the Ritz) to see him read the letter I’d posted a few days ago so it would arrive just as I’d left. It was cleverly addressed “To the owner or the current guardian of this bookshop”. I used all my knowledge of humans, gathered via the cleverest of ways (a lot of reading), to write it.

***

A Special Place In Hell (50K; Rated T) by @hotcrosspigeon and @mirach

When Adam shifted reality and caused Satan to disappear, the nearest supernatural entity became the new King of Hell. As it so happened, a certain angel was standing just a little closer than his demon.

Aziraphale, while not Falling, becomes the new ruler of Hell and must navigate Hellish politics, find a role for the love of his life, and maybe bring some proper tea time to the infernal realm. I stumbled upon this story purely by accident one night, and it was a pure joy to read. It’s one of those stories I wish was a series, because I could read so much more in this world.

"Hello, Crowley, my dear fellow. I would like to discuss a certain issue with you. You see, I somehow got into a very peculiar predicament..." Aziraphale sighed in frustration, pacing in his bookshop. "No no no, that sounds like I got my hand stuck in the sweets vending machine again." He cleared his throat. "Hey Crowley, what's up? Better sit down because I have some news to tell you... And by some news I mean... errr..." The angel groaned. "Oh Heavens, there's just no proper way to say this. Ugh, come on, Aziraphale, buck up! You just need to get to the point, that's all. Say the things as they are. No going in circles around the matter. Nice and accurate, right. Just tell him..." He turned at the sound of the bookshop doorbell. "Hello Crowley! Nice weather, isn't it?" "Wha..?" Crowley raised an incredulous eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses, a drop of water running along the edge of his nose. His red hair was plastered to his forehead. He turned to look out the window, jerking a thumb at the onslaught of vicious hail and rain that pelted the glass and plinked against the pane. "Oh, ha ha , very funny. It's bloody bucketing down, angel! I legged it in here before I got clonked on the head with a hailstone the size of my fist." He stopped and frowned at the angel in concern. "Er... you all right? You're looking a bit peaky."

***

Flowers From Hell (42K; Rated T) by @entanglednow

Crowley creates a hybrid demon flower that turns out to be a little more than he intended. This was such a sweet, beautiful story of found family and love, and you’ll absolutely fall in love with Ivy and want to do everything to protect him.

There's a low, quiet rustle from the atrium, where Crowley keeps his finest plants. The beautiful and often terrified rows of them are always so tall and glossy, and fantastically well maintained. Aziraphale regrets that he hadn't taken more of an interest in Crowley's hobbies. It wouldn't have been too difficult, he imagines, to seek out rare specimens to offer the demon. When he's been given so many long sought after volumes, and unpublished manuscripts in turn. Perhaps he could encourage Crowley to open up more, with a few well thought out questions pertaining to his plants, and their various needs. He knows Crowley has been absorbed in a special project recently, he'll make a point to ask about it today. Aziraphale heads into the stretch of greenery, following the tap of feet on tiles, and the quiet swish of foliage. He catches a flash of red hair at the end of the room, behind a messy spray of deep green leaves, then another flash, of what might be the long, pale curve of a shoulder. "Crowley?" The whole room smells damp, thick with fresh soil and crushed plant matter, and it grows stronger the deeper in Aziraphale ventures. He's sure the room wasn't quite so large before, it's clearly been expanded since he visited last, a deep bed of soil is now packed at the back of the room. "Crowley." Aziraphale eases a large spray of damp leaves aside. "I hope I'm not too early, I was -" Crowley is standing by the far wall, carefully touching the valley in the middle of a large leaf with curious, repetitive motions. He's also quite naked. It's - it's unexpected to say the least.

***

Time Marches Forward (129K; Rated M) by @bellisima-writes

While Aziraphale is in Heaven trying to thwart the Second Coming, Crowley is trying to help a frightened 15-year-old Adam learn to deal with his powers. I consider this the definitive S3 (even having written a post-S2 myself), regardless of what the upcoming finale gives us. Every character is wonderfully fleshed out. The plot is intriguing. I read it as fast as humanly possible, barely stopping to do anything else.

Crowley felt the air in the Bentley shift slightly. “What are you doing here?” Crowley jumped in shock, hitting his head on the roof of the Bentley so hard his sunglasses fell off. Adam was suddenly in the passenger seat, studying him cautiously. “Hey! You can’t just come into my car, uninvited,” Crowley hissed, grabbing his glasses and placing them back on his face. He realized he was still slouching, making Adam appear much bigger than he was. He sat up straight and crossed his arms in an attempt to look more intimidating and less drunk. He wondered if it was wise to try and glower at the Antichrist. “He can, actually,” Pepper said from the back seat. Crowley turned and snarled as he noted the three other teenagers in his car. Wensleydale and Brian sat beside her. “He can do anything.” “Yeah well, that may be so but that doesn’t make it right. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” he looked Adam directly in the eyes as he said this, assuming no one else around him would ever be so blunt. “What are you doing lurking around my house?” Adam asked again plainly. Crowley’s glowering was not working. “Ngk. I didn’t come to see you, if that’s what you're asking. I’m as shocked as you are to find myself here. I was asleep for a few days. The bloody car did it; blame it for the lurking”

***

The Last Angel (162K; Rated E) by @bellisima-writes

Crowley's been Hell's Grand Inquisitor for millennia now. Ever since the Apocalypse, he's managed to carve out a relatively cushy life for himself. Hell won the War, Angels were essentially eradicated and all human souls were Satan's. Everything was fine. Until one day he hears a rumor that the Last Angel in the universe was finally captured. Until Beelzebub is suddenly ordering him to get information from said Angel, information that's critical for Hell's survival. Until the moment he first locks eyes with the last Angel, and everything he's ever known starts to crumble around him.

I can’t come up with a better description than the summary. Much like the author’s previous work, Time Marches Forward, this is plot-heavy, exciting, action-packed, and gorgeous. The characters are detailed and realistic. The plot sings. And you won’t see the surprise until it’s already there.

“What kinds of rumors?” he asked, shifting in his seat to properly face Eric. Words were one thing, but body language was another. As Grand Inquisitor, Crowley learned early on to weigh both when evaluating information shared by a source whose reliability was questionable. Eric was a nice kid, sure. But their reliability would definitely be categorized as questionable . Eric’s mood shifted as they glanced around the corridor. Crowley hadn’t realized how quiet the cells had gotten. The bloody humans were eavesdropping again. He dug deep and pulled up a hiss so loud and laced with demonic power that it rattled every cell door in the entire block. Eric motioned with their hand for Crowley to follow them into a corner and out of earshot of everyone else. As Crowley pulled himself up and started walking he sent searing looks down each row of cells around him. They were all going to have a talk about this later. “What?” he asked when he got close enough to Eric. Still eyeing the cells behind them, Eric leaned in closer and whispered, “Hastur finally found him."

Crowley shook his head. Eric’s shiftiness was starting to annoy him. “Found who?” “The one who killed Ligur. Crowley, Hastur’s finally captured the last Angel.”

***

Kidnapping A Supreme Archangel For Fun And Profit (series) (31K; Rated T) by @waitingtobebroken

Mostly outsider POV. Four short stories told mostly from the points of view of Agiel, the Supreme Archangel’s assistant, and Kric (Eric with a K), the Grand Duke’s assistant as they try to figure out why the Supreme Archangel is so unworried about all the times he’s getting himself kidnapped by the Grand Duke. In the meantime, the two assistants find that maybe they have more in common than they would have expected, being hereditary enemies and all.

Being Lord Beelzebub's demonic assistant had been easier than overseeing the third circle of Hell. Just stay out of the way, don't make eye contact, not that Kric could, having been blessed with a distinct lack of eyes, and do not talk to the Prince of Hell, unless it was a 'Yes, Your Highness' or... No, that was pretty much it. You did not go around saying "No" to Lord Beelzebub. And of course, just as they had finally grown comfortable in their position, had even found the perfect time to ask for an assistant of their own... There had been a change in leadership. And Kric had found themself serving Crowley. The Original Tempter, the Snake of Eden, the Earth Walker. Kric was not impressed. Flash bastard. And suddenly, they were expected to be in the throne room at all times. To answer when addressed. Proper, actual answer. None of that automatic 'Yes, your Highness' they were so used to. The first time His Rottenness had held up two sashes, before the monthly meeting between Heaven and Hell and had asked which one made his scales look more iridescent and Kric had answered in the only way they knew how... Well, let's just say that hadn't gone well. They had been sent to something called Fashion Week. To better their understanding of clothes and colour theory, something they could sense had been invented by a fellow demon. Lord Crowley, most probably, judging by the way His Wickedness had grinned when he had told them that.

*****

Human AU

Fully human characters. No supernatural/magical elements.

Waking Up Slow (88K; Rated E) by @themoonmothwrites

After both being exposed to covid, strangers Crowley and Aziraphale wait out their isolation together (there’s only one bed!) at a cottage by the sea. This is complete cosycore fluff with just a touch of angst (and a happy ending) near the end. This gorgeous story has stuck with me for so long. If you want something that’s just plain pleasurable to read, this is it.

“Lovely view.” The voice was low, with the slightest hint of gravel, and right next to Aziraphale’s ear. He made an undignified noise and spun round in fright. “Where the devil did you-?” he started, high-voiced, before his foot caught on a stone and he lost his balance. The stranger was standing so close that Aziraphale toppled right into him, and the pair of them went down together in a tangle of knees and a solid thunk to the forehead. “Ow,” the man said, squinting up at Aziraphale, gaze unfocused, before his eyes fell closed. “Oh no!” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh dear. What do I-?” He’d left his blasted phone at the cottage, now of all times when he actually needed it! With an unconscious man lying before him! And it was all Aziraphale’s doing! “I can-- I can-- I know what to do!” he told himself, attempting belatedly not to panic. The best thing to do was not to think too hard. Tipping up the stranger’s chin, Aziraphale pinched his nose and lowered his face until his mouth closed over the other man’s.

***

The Prince’s Consort (142K; Rated E) by @ineffable-toreshi

Aziraphale is the crown prince of a fictional nation. Crowley is a Lily, trained in one of Lucien’s brothels and kept a virgin for the eventual sale to a wealthy master. Against the brothel owner’s wishes, Crowley is purchased by the prince’s adviser, Gabriel, as a companion for Prince Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t want a purchased mate, however, and decides to court his new consort the old-fashioned way.

The description makes this sound like a darker story than it is; it’s actually a really sweet story with only one bad guy (and it’s not Gabriel).

I wrote a much longer review here if you’d like more details.

“I...I was just wondering, my Lord,” Anthony said, nervously nibbling on his lip and twisting his fingers in his lap. “Why did you choose me ?” Gabriel cocked his head to the side. He leaned back, reclining with his arms thrown up over the edges of the bench, and seemed to think about the question. By the time he finally opened his mouth to answer, Anthony was practically vibrating with curiosity. “There were a few factors,” he explained thoughtfully. “I’ll admit that your appearance was the first and foremost. I prefer women, myself, but I know beauty in a man when I see it. And I’ve seen the types who’ve caught the prince’s eye over the years. I’m quite confident that he will find you more than pleasing, from an aesthetic standpoint.”

***

Keep Digging (7K; Rated T) by Appleseeds

After panicking and losing his nerve trying to ask out Aziraphale, the co-worker Crowley has an enormous crush on, he tells a little white lie that ends up completely spiralling out of control since he can't seem to stop digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Now he's obtained plans to help him break into a school, inadvertently funded the purchase of explosives, and, knowing his luck, the fake blood will end up permanently staining the tiles. Who knows though, maybe in the end, it'll all turn out to be worth it.

Another one of those stories that are so funny tears stream down my face every time. Even going back through it to find an excerpt had me choking down laughter.

“I actually used to be a music tutor. That was one of the little jokes I liked to tell.” Aziraphale giggled again. Nhhhhh. “Wish you could tutor me…” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are you wanting to learn to play a musical instrument?” Aziraphale asked brightly. Crowley’s eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. Of course, he wouldn’t have heard it if Crowley had just kept his big mouth shut. “Um. Yeah.” “Wonderful! Which one?” FUCK. How the hell was Crowley supposed to answer that? Whatever he said, he might end up having to get one of said instrument, and he didn’t know much, but he knew musical instruments could be incredibly expensive. There must be something that would be cheap enough to procure if needs be, right? And with that thought, Crowley responded. “The triangle.” Oh Jesus Christ.

***

Temple of the Muses (241K; Rated E) by @ajconstantine

It’s the start of the Season in 1841 Victorian England. Mr Anthony Crowley has left a life of working at a luxurious high end bordello in Paris behind him and is now a courtesan intent on climbing the social ladder in London to increase his status and social connections. After unexpectedly inheriting the title of the Earl of Eastgate, Aziraphale finds himself trying to navigate the complicated world of the aristocracy. Duke Gabriel purchases a month-long contract with Mr Crowley for Lord Fell as a surprise gift to Aziraphale’s astonishment and dismay. He declines to take full advantage of Crowley’s charms but agrees to an arrangement of pretending to be Crowley’s paramour in exchange for lessons on the etiquette and expectations of Society. It’s a practical arrangement, nothing more. Certainly no feelings will be involved...

One of the best, most well-researched stories I’ve read. The historical elements are fascinating, and the world-building is top notch. Set in an alternate 1841 where there’s no stigma on same sex relationships, but same sex marriage is still not allowed. The story alternates between the present time, with Aziraphale and Crowley navigating their growing relationship, and Crowley’s time being trained at one of the most elite bordellos of Paris.

Crowley has a lot of autonomy in this story. He actively chose to become a sex worker. Once he leaves the bordello and becomes a courtesan, he can refuse to sign with a client. And while there are consequences for breaking a contract, a courtesan can walk away from a troublesome client.

��Exactly what position do you think I was hired for?” Crowley interrupted, pulling the shoulder of his robe back up. The Earl looked at him as if he’d asked a ridiculous question. “Valet, of course.” Crowley barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Duke Haven didn’t tell you about me?” The Earl pursed his lips, tilting his head in puzzlement. “Not you precisely. I was at his house last week, and he chastised me when I mentioned that I didn’t have a valet, insisting I needed one even though…” His eyes widened. “Oh no. What… what did you think you were being hired for?” Struck by the absurdity of it all, Crowley fought the strong urge to laugh outright. Instead, he gave the Earl a roguish grin and bowed with a flourish. “Mr Anthony Crowley, at your service, sir. Duke Haven procured a contract for me to be your... courtesan.” Lord Fell's mouth dropped open as he gaped at him in apparent shock. “You— I—” He floundered, at a loss for words as he looked away from Crowley. His eyes landed on the bed. To Crowley’s growing amusement, the Early actually blushed, red staining his cheeks as he swiftly averted his gaze.

***

#RAINBOWROAD (series) (407K; Rated T/E) by @nieded

If you haven’t heard of this one yet, you’re one of today’s lucky 10,000. This is one of the best, most well-written human AUs that anyone has produced for Good Omens (or really, of any romance). It’s a three-book, three-short series set in the world of Formula 1 racing. You heard that right. You don’t need to know anything about F1 racing. You don’t even need to like F1 racing. You just need to want to read one of the best romances ever written to enjoy this series.

Ezira Phale is a rookie F1 driver. AJ Crowley is an F1 veteran and an idol of the 25-year-old racer. Everything changes when Ezira meets and falls in love with Crowley, and the older driver (by about 10 years; there’s not a massive age difference here) seems to return his feelings. I wrote a very long review of the series here, so I won’t go into a ton of detail again except to say, if you love human AU, this should be on your list. The author adds notes at the end of the chapters explaining some of the more technical aspects of the sport, or talking about some of the real racers, and it’s fascinating.

Ezira makes his escape from the after-party after stealing a handful of fig tartlets from the hors d’oeuvres table. He ducks out the service exit before looping back to the front of the hotel. God, he wants to sleep off his tipsiness. It’s significantly cooler at night, and he wraps his arms around his shoulders before slipping inside, making a dash for the elevator. Punching his floor number, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes, waiting to be taken to his floor. Then the elevator jerks as someone jabs their hand between the sliding doors, forcing it back open. Ezira lifts his head and glares at the newcomer before his eyes widen, flushing when he recognizes the red hair and black Renault polo. AJ Crowley throws himself into the opposite corner of the elevator and pulls the brim of his hat down. He turns to look at Ezira from under his cap. "Tough luck out there today, huh?" he asks. Ezira frowns and blinks. And because he’s a little drunk and high on adrenaline, he says, "Didn’t you place seventh? I thought that was fucking brilliant." This earns him a snort, and then a bit of stifled laughter. "You can’t say fuck." "You say fuck in almost every interview you do." Not that Ezira has watched every single post-debrief involving AJ Crowley. This makes Crowley laugh harder, and he wipes at his eyes. "You just look like you should be in a painting or something. You’re like a Hummel." Flabbergasted, Ezira stares. His cheeks grow hot when he realizes AJ Crowley is taking the piss. "I don’t even know what that means." Crowley wipes his eye with the back of his hand and then presses his lips together in a feeble attempt to hold back another fit of laughter. "I’m sorry. I’m just very, very drunk, and was not expecting you to say ‘fuck.’ You look like those cherubs from Italy."

***

Lunacy (57K; Rated E) by @snae-b

@snae-b writes some of the best sci-fi GO stories you’ll ever read. This is hardly the only great story of theirs I’ve recommended; it just happens to be my personal favorite. Crowley is the crew chief of a mining operation on one of Pluto’s tiny moons. Aziraphale is a geologist there to study the structural integrity of the moon. But something seems to be alive, something that shouldn’t be there. This is pure psychological horror, the kind of story where you’re never quite sure what’s real and what’s a hallucination. You’ll find definitely NSFW artwork throughout, so take note not to read it around people you wouldn’t want seeing porn on your screen.

Crowley zones out as they continue their conversation. Things had been weird in the mine today. For the past month really. Tech malfunctioning. Batteries draining when they should have been able to hold a charge for days. Half the lights were on the fritz. As if it weren't dark enough in there already. He'd had to trek nearly a mile into Sheol with only the lights on his helmet to repair them. And his crew had their hands full with extraction, so he’d had to do it alone. The darkness really starts to play tricks on you in there. He spent as much time looking over his shoulder as he did working on the lights. Kept thinking that he was seeing something. Something hiding in the shadows. Something that lived in his peripheral vision. As he tugs a beanie on over his head there’s a light rapping on the wall and everyone glances up to the figure in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Crowley. If you have time in your schedule, I really need to discuss the most recent surface scans with you. Could you come by my quarters before dinner?” Crowley sighs as he snaps on his mag boots. “Yeah. Sure thing doc. I’ll be by in thirty.” The scientist only nods before he disappears down the hall. Dr. Aziraphale Fell. He doesn’t wear the standard issue jumpsuits. He wears thick sweaters and wool trousers that look ridiculous with his mag boots. And when he isn’t wearing them, he can hardly get around. Bumps into everything and everyone. He’s never been off planet before and it shows.

***

Miracles on Ice (131K; Rated E) by @henriettarhippo

It’s the “Blades of Glory” AU you never knew you wanted. Crowley and Aziraphale are men’s figure skaters who get banned from the sport after a fight on the podium. Years later, Aziraphale’s coach, Gabriel, suggests the two of them team up to compete in the Olympic’s pairs event. Only problem is, the two skaters hate each other.

This is very much an enemies-to-lovers story, and Gabriel as their coach and sponsor is the perfect combination of asshole and good guy. He genuinely does care for his two skaters, and he’s generous with his money, but he also has that rich guy attitude of being used to getting what he wants, and he’s not afraid to tell them to stop being dumbasses either.

“Hey angel, was that your routine? Because it looked to me like a lot of swanning about on the ice with a few pirouettes thrown in.” The mocking drawl came from the figure making his way towards Aziraphale on a pair of sharp blades. Clad in skintight black velvet trousers and a black turtleneck adorned with glittering red crystals—to match the striking red curls that stopped at his shoulders—Aziraphale’s skating rival Crowley beamed down at him with a malicious grin. “Also, you’re a bit late. They handed out the women’s medals earlier today.” He pulled down the dark shades he always wore to give Aziraphale a wink. Aziraphale bristled and sat up straighter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That was textbook precision, and I think you’ll find it was the same scores I beat you with last year in Oslo.” “The hotel had a free bar I don’t even remember Oslo,” Crowley said dismissively as he approached the entrance to the rink. He turned back and gave Aziraphale a grin. “But I do remember Boston, and that victory was almost as sweet as the look on your face when you botched that triple loop.” Crowley let out a laugh at the scandalised look Aziraphale gave him. The loudspeakers started up with the first booming notes of a rock song and Crowley hopped up onto the ice and skated away from him before Aziraphale had the chance to reply.

***

Friends Don't (33K; Rated E) by @missunderstoodlyrics

Human AU. Another fantastic enemies-to-lovers by MissUnderstoodLyrics. This is the newest story on this list.

Aziraphale and Crowley are rival advice columnists whose companies are merged. The CEO, Gabriel, tells them they now have to do a joint video podcast together. The snark and bickerflirting are top notch, and this story kept a smile on my face. They have to keep their romance a secret, because the whole schtick of their podcast is their very public rivalry, but it gets harder and harder the closer they become.

Aziraphale attempted to drown his mirth in his wine glass, which was precisely when Crowley decided to position his mouth millimetres from the angel’s ear. “Blair. Have you met him? Worst. Comb-over. Since. Thatcher,” he whispered and then found himself helpfully patting Aziraphale's back as the man choked and spluttered, his cherubic face turning a delightful shade of pink. “Absolute fiend,” Aziraphale managed once he’d caught his breath, but the corners of his mouth were twitching traitorously. Crowley clocked Michaela out of the corner of his eye; she was leaning forward to shush them. Aziraphale escaped her wrath by standing and marching to the stage, his back straight and shoulders squared. He planted himself solidly in front of the microphone and proceeded to destroy what was left of Crowley’s sanity. “I once met a man-shaped snake,” he stated, his gaze firmly locked on Crowley. “Whose snark was taxing to take With swagger and pose He turned up his nose But his wisdom was rather half-baked.”

*****

Non-Human AU

One or both of them are non-human, or have some sort of supernatural abilities (like magic) but aren’t angel or demon. I’m including omegaverse in this category.

Mark of the Serpent (150K; Rated E) by @naromoreau and @summerofspock

Prince Aziraphale is about to be crowned King of Angelhaven when he's taken captive by pirates. When he's sold as a pleasure slave to King Crowley, ruler of the nation readying for war with his, he is forced to keep his identity a secret as he tries to find a way home and keep peace. But not everything at King Crowley's court is as it seems and Aziraphale will have to face machinations of a Royal Court that are far more complex than he had thought. A Captive Prince AU with an omegaverse twist.

The first omegaverse story I genuinely liked, even though Crowley is pretty awful toward Aziraphale at first. Since then I’ve come to enjoy more of them, but this is the one that got me into the genre. This is another one I’ve written a much longer review about here including an explanation for the “extremely dubious consent” tag.

"What about this one?" the omega king asked, eyes fixed on his face, a strange curl to his mouth. "He's an Angel," Hastur sneered. "Pretty, isn't he? We were trying to pick a variety for your majesty to choose from since you didn’t deign to accompany us, but we didn’t find out his origin until after we brought him. He probably doesn't even speak the language." The words manifested in Aziraphale’s mind, and he immediately saw the genius in them. If he didn't speak the language, he could hardly be appealing as a consort to the king. He would be dismissed, sent back to Tracy's, and given time to heal before making his escape. "An Angel?" the king repeated, something passing over his face that Aziraphale didn't like. "What's your name?" "I’m sorry," Aziraphale stammered in Angelic, sticking to his hastily made plan. "I don’t...I don’t know what you're saying." King Crowley smiled and said, in perfect Angelic, "I asked what your name was." "Oh, um, I- you can call me whatever you wish," Aziraphale said, not wanting to risk even a part of his name. The king laughed. "I'm choosing the Angel. Send him to my quarters." "But your majesty-" The omega king turned on Ligur. "You wanted me to choose a pleasure beta and I did. It's done. Were there any other highly important council matters or can I get back to my day?"

***

Saltwater on Skin (186K; Rated E) by @candyqueenblog

Another one with a longer review here. Ezra Fell is an award-winning novelist celebrating the millionth sale of his newest books with his friends and baby brother, Gabriel, on a rented yacht. He falls overboard and washes ashore on an uncharted island, and while awaiting rescue, he gets the strange feeling he’s not alone.

This is a low angst love story between the human and the naga who rescues him, and you’ll fall in love with the island and Crowley’s four sisters. Gabriel is a peach here, much younger than Ezra and very much the caring baby brother.

And if you’d prefer an Ineffable Wives version of the story, you can find that here. I haven’t read it, but I assume it’s equally good.

Ezra couldn’t stifle the flood of tears as he threw his arms over his head with a scream. Then a pair of rough, but blessedly human hands, covered his wrists. “You… scared?” The stranger’s voice was gravelly, most likely from disuse, but to Ezra it sounded more beautiful than all the angelic choirs. He sobbed in relief. “Oh thank heavens! I thought for sure I was going to-” His words sputtered and died when he opened his eyes to look at his rescuer. It was a man… ...from the waist up. The man’s bare torso was thin, but well defined with long arms lean with muscle. His face was all angles framed by a shock of red hair that curled down his back. His eyes were captivating. They were human enough, save for the iris being the color of spun gold and sliced right down the middle by a slit-shaped pupil. That was about where the human similarities ended. From the waist down the man’s skin melded into a massive snake tail that was wider than Ezra’s entire body and covered in black scales with a red underbelly that matched his hair.

***

FAETED (series) (251K; Rated G/T) by @ineffably-good

The only story in this category that’s not rated E. A three-book, one-short series where Ezra, an English teacher at a public school accidentally ends up in the Fae realms and in the hands of the Unseelie king, Crowley. The world-building is fantastic, and the books use some of the side characters so well, especially Hastur and Ligur, two of Crowley’s most trusted advisers. Crowley is good to Ezra, but he’s spent a thousand years ruling over the chaotic and dangerous unseelie fae, and he doesn’t always know how to handle being in love with a human. And Ezra doesn’t understand the difficult and often prickly politics of the fae, so the two have a lot of misunderstandings to work through. It leads to several fights, but they are usually resolved within the chapter.

The stories are heavy on plot, mostly around the world of the fae, which is one of the things I love most about this series. I could easily read dozens of books set in this world.

Lord Crowley watched as Ezra emerged from the coach, curious to see how this strange mortal would react to his first sight of the Dark Court. Would he blanch in terror? Would he be curious? He didn’t know or understand the creature across from him, but he knew one thing— his reactions, to date, were not what the Prince expected. This was oddly refreshing. It had been so, so long since anyone had managed to surprise him. He watched as Ezra emerged, his fluffy golden hair sticking out in all directions above the dark gray travel cloak he’d donned. He smiled faintly and with studious politeness at the horrifying gremlin who helped him down the steps, brushed the nonexistent dust off himself, and took in his surroundings. Crowley was gratified to see his eyes widen as he looked around. They were standing in the center of an immense cavern, almost as if a mountain had been hollowed out inside by an immense blast. The rock walls climbed up above them and came together at an unmeasurable distance overhead and were dotted everywhere one looked with cavernous openings, some of which flickered with the light from a fire further inside. Creatures here and there, too murky to make out fully, hovered near the openings of some of them, peering down at the return of their Prince with eyes he could not read. Further ahead, the floor cracked into a massive chasm which ranged across the rest of the cavern and was crossed here and there by rickety-looking bridges. It was lit from below by the light of flames and the scent of sulfur. Stalagmites rose from the floor at irregular intervals, some of them paired with stalactites dropping from the ceiling like large, rocky icicles. Their surfaces glittered here and there with what looked like mica or gems. Crowley watched as Ezra took all of this in at a glance. “Thoughts?” said Lord Crowley, sidling up to him. Ezra turned astonished eyes the color of blue sky to him. “It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like this.” Crowley searched his face for mockery or insincerity but found only earnestness. The Prince felt a tingle of pleasure at this, at least for a moment, until he ruthlessly slammed that feeling down inside himself and returned to his usual sardonic detachment. He hadn’t brought the human here to be his friend.

***

If He’s Your Cleric, Why Is He Putting Me In His Bag of Holding? (300K; Rated E) by @noodlefrog-omens

I read this twice in a row. Literally. I stopped it and almost immediately started it again. I played D&D 3.5 for many years, and I absolutely loved seeing a D&D adventure played out in the GO universe. Aziraphale is the cleric of an adventuring party that stupidly decides to abandon him in the dungeon (you don’t abandon your healer!). Crowley is a very hungry mimic who ends up nearly dying in Aziraphale’s bag of holding before the cleric rescues him. (Look, if you’re going to look like a fancy book, don’t be surprised when the man tries to steal you).

Aziraphale still needs to find his adventuring party again, and the mimic decides to travel along with him. Along the way they find kobolds, a doppelganger, traps, and the obligate dungeon maze, all the while getting to know each other. Aziraphale recognizes his feelings toward the mimic fairly early on, but it takes Crowley longer to even understand what his feelings even mean.

The porn doesn’t start until chapter 33 (of 40), and only covers maybe three of the remaining eight chapters. You can read the entire adventure and stop once they leave the dungeon if you don’t want any monsterfuckery, or you could skim past the smut to the ending. I don’t know if the author has any plans for sequels, but if he does, I’ll be right there ready.

In that moment, Crowley knew that he had found the right bait to lure this human right to his doom. He waited as patiently as he could while nearly vibrating himself into a puddle, watching as Aziraphale puttered around the room cooing over all the books and scrolls in the room as though they were living creatures. “Just you wait,” Crowley thought to himself, inordinately pleased to have figured out what made this stubborn human tick. “One of them will be.” “There must be centuries’ worth of knowledge collected in just this one chamber,” Aziraphale said in a reverent whisper. Finally, finally he started touching things in this dungeon. He even took his heavy leather gloves off, tucking them into his belt before running a fingertip along the spines of the books chained to the shelves. Crowley watched him take one right off the shelf and thumb through a few of the pages. “We must have walked right by this room. I don’t know why Sandalphon told me there wasn’t anything behind this door. He must not have looked closely enough.” Aziraphale turned his back to the shelves to glance back at the door, and Crowley took his chance to crawl up the side of the bookshelf and arrange himself in front of the chained tomes in pride of place. It wasn’t difficult to change himself into the shape of a book, but this was always about the details. It was an art form. Which books, exactly, had Aziraphale been drawn to? Old ones with leather covers, mostly. Ones with bits of fiddly decoration on the spine. Ones with a bit of mystery. Aziraphale was a cleric, so he was probably interested in talking to the Gods and shite like that, or at least understanding them. That was an angle Crowley could work with. He gave his skin a supple leather texture, inky black and vaguely shimmery in a way he knew would catch the flickering light being thrown out by that sword. Gold edging and lettering crept across his cover and spine, promising divine secrets and cosmic mysteries to anyone who would just reach out and touch. He couldn’t see himself, but Crowley knew that he was a very sexy book right now. Aziraphale would have to be mad not to notice him.

***

Crowley And The Chocolate Factory (55K; Rated E) by @entanglednow

Crowley has to step up for his nephew Adam when he wins a ticket to tour the famous chocolate factories, run by the reclusive and deeply strange Zira Zonka. It doesn't take Crowley long to decide that he wants nothing to do with the man, who's clearly hiding dark and mysterious secrets.

Do you like your Crowley grumpy and cynical? Do you like your Aziraphale weird? Did you think the one thing missing from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory was sex between Wonka and one of the parents in a vintage Bentley? Then this is the story for you!

Crowley doesn’t know what to make of the definitely strange Zira Zonka, but he finds himself drawn to the man nonetheless. The story is set in modern times, but if you know the original (at least the movie version; I can’t speak for the books), you have a general idea of what’s going to happen to the children.

Zonka releases the arms of his partners for long enough to jerk his cane towards the sky, which erupts in a shower of flower petals and candy - a large proportion of which fall on the immediately excited crowd. Crowley's fairly certain he gets hit on the head by a soft fudge. God, this is humiliating. Zonka dances right and then left while the audience cheers in appreciation. He does another circle, separates from the row to do some unimpressive spins while trying - and failing - to find a good rhyme for liquorice. "My candy emporium has so much in store. Just step right up and walk through the door!" Zonka's gold and white cane snaps up into the air again, this time leaving a burst of light and his name written across the sky in sparkling gold calligraphy. It seems to be a dramatic ending, Crowley certainly hopes it's a dramatic ending. "Half of those lines were a stretch," he complains, but quietly and mostly to himself, because the audience seems to have found the whole thing captivating, Adam included. "And there's only five kids, not six, he can't even count." The Erik's all unlink arms, to thunderous applause from the crowd behind him, and Zonka gives the widest grin Crowley has ever seen. His hands flung on his hips, like the world's most enthusiastic children's entertainer. Crowley half expects him to ask who wants to see a magic trick. "How has this man possibly managed to stay out of the limelight for twenty years?" he wonders. "Or twenty minutes."

***

Villainous (217K; Rated E) by @ineffablepenguin

Once Upon A Time… There was a red-haired sorcerer who lived alone in a high tower, and a blond prince who lived in a palace full of people. And they were both of them desperately lonely. The Kingdoms of Empyrion and the Sorcerers of Apollyon have hated each other for hundreds of years, ever since the Great War. They do not interact, other than to occasionally try to kill one another. And they certainly do not make friends. Crow is an exhausted sorcerer who just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone: for the Sorcerer’s Council to stop harassing him to live up to his potential, and for wannabe Empyrion Heroes to stop attacking his tower to try and kill him. Until one day when he meets Prince Azra of the High Fells, who doesn’t behave anything like he’s supposed to…

This is one of those stories a lot of people recommend for good reason. It’s a fantastic fairy tale full of love and romance between two people who seem destined for one another. The writing is gorgeous, the world-building is fantastic, and there’s really great artwork scattered throughout. Some of the artwork is fairly suggestive, and all of it is stunning.

Crow slowed to a stop, and his gaze flickered bemusedly over him. The man was…not tall. Or remotely intimidating. He stood a couple inches shorter than him, even with the thick boots. Wide eyes shone resolutely grey-blue, the precise shade of his doublet, under a tumble of feathery white-blond curls cut a bit too short to be fashionable. And... his stubbornly-set jaw was rather less chiseled than Crow was used to seeing. No conveniently placed scars, no gritty dents or smudges on that immaculate armour. Heroes usually had cheekbones that could cut glass, but this one’s were rounded, and slightly rosy to boot. Cherubic was the word that came immediately to mind, and Crow nearly snorted out loud. He looked to be roughly Crow's own age, and was staring determinedly, if anxiously at him from behind that enormous broadsword. There was a long, tense silence as Crow and the armoured man sized each other up. The Hero spoke first. “Now see here, villain, I don’t want to have to kill you, so just turn about and head right back where you came from.” His voice was precise and educated, nearly fussy, and while self-assured was lacking in the usual bravado. Crow blinked, taken aback, and the flames in his hand faltered. “You don’t want to kill me?” “Well…no, not particularly.” The confidence wavered for an instant, then solidified. “Which is not to say that I won’t! Rest assured I will if you cause trouble!”

***

The Crawly Chronicles (series) (179K; Rated T/M/E) by @theladydrgn and @sylwritesstuff

When Aziraphale Fell, reporter for The Daily Messenger, is tasked with a simple story on smuggling, he isn't expecting to find out that Lightbringer, Inc. has been experimenting on something that could be an animal, an oil slick, or something else entirely. He especially isn't expecting that being to come home with him and change his entire life.

I’m a fan of the Tom Hardy Venom movies, which made this two-book, two-short series perfect for me. The books follow the plot of the first two movies, though book 2 also starts with the sexual relationship between the two characters.

My favorite parts of the story are of the two learning to live together while sharing a body, and Aziraphale trying to figure out how to handle having feelings for a creature he’s permanently attached to who is so completely alien (literally) that he’s not even sure that romantic and sexual love are even an option.

The food the human was making already smelled good enough to eat to them, and they did not want to wait twenty minutes. This time their control of the human's hand was less subtle as they dipped fingers into the leftover batter and brought a generous scoop of the chocolate mix to their mouth. “Nasty human's is what they were.” Aziraphale froze or at least tried to. His mouth seemed to have other ideas, cleaning the mixture from his fingers. “What- Who said that?” he demanded messily, looking around. “I did.” Aziraphale took several steps back, grasping for the cane he'd left leaning against the counter. The voice sounded as if it were everywhere around him or- or in his own mind somehow. “That's hardly reassuring. Who are you? How did you get into my home?” “Got in the same way you did, human.” They grabbed the bowl of chocolate mixture before the human stumbled too far from it, fingers scraping the last dregs of it to not waste a single bit. The cane fell to the floor. Aziraphale tried stopping himself, but he couldn't seem to make his hands do what he wanted them to do. “Stop! How-” What in the world was happening and how did he stop it? “No. I'm hungry.” “That doesn't make any sense! Stop!” he demanded, struggling to keep his chocolate covered fingers away from his own mouth. “Fine.” They still felt so weak that fighting this human for control was a struggle and a challenge that they did not want to have. It was just so much easier to slip out between their cells and wrap a long tongue around their fingers instead.

***

And finally, if you made it all the way to the end, thank you!

I have three Good Omens novels of my own I hope you’ll check out, a post-S2 with an upcoming sequel; a “they never met”/fake marriage adventure; and a reverse omens (a WIP as of 27 Dec, 2024; chapters are released on Fridays, and it should be completely posted around mid-February 2025).

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #best of 2024

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