#I CANNOT PUT NAMES AND FACES TO THE VOICES JUST YET. NEED TO HEAR FULL SONGS AND SEE MORE. BUT... THE GAME HAS STARTED

[pachu09]

Esper/Guide, still Ninja AU

( Fire or any other Nin Countries still hasn't been unified in this AU )

Tobirama frowns, then proceeds to poke his pointer finger on the hand that was presented to him. He could hear Hashirama's loud exasperated sigh behind him. His scowled deepen. What?. Just because the one he's Guiding is a Senju doesn't mean he had to have a more physical contact with his....patients. He glared at the man in front of him and he felt pretty satisfied as the man violently flinch and looked away from his gaze. His cold Chakra immediately rushes into the veins of his patient to eliminate any toxins ( an unknown blight that plagues and accumulates in the internal body of the Espers; if they used too much of their Powers ) that was slowly spreading throughout the man's body. It seemed the idiot had tried to continously used his Esper abilities regardless of the imbalance in his body. He sneered at the man and internally he is satisfied as the man sweated bullets as he stared him down.

" Enough with the disappointed sighing, Anija. I am doing my job effectively, there is literally no reason for you to be this condescending about my work. " he shooed the man away when it looks like his complexion was back at its normal state. The man after murmuring a quiet thank you, literally jump out of the seat and nearly face planted on the floor in his haste to avoid more of Tobirama’s wrath. The Albino then glowered at his next patient, the woman who furiously blushes when he made eye contact.

" Akiho-san. You...do not even need my Guiding for today....." Tobirama wanted to close his eyes and pretend he doesn't have to deal with a Clan full of idiotic members. But he is a professional so he maintained his perfectly poker face as he non gently shooed away Senju Akiho. He ignored the woman's fake sniffling ss his Brother led her away. Tobirama’s eyes lost its frostiness as he looked down at his next patient. A small teenager that goes by the name of Senju Itsuki. The boy is only thirteen years old, yet Hashirama had to put him as a Frontline Fighter when the boy manifested as an Esper. Not yet powerful but he will be if he somehow survived up to his sixteenth birthday.

" Hello, Tobirama-sama. " Itsuki's shy voice made Tobirama internally melt.

" Hello, Itsuki-kun. I hope you had never push yourself to your maximum limit for today. "

Itsuki shook his head in denial, his blond hair looked unkempt after his impromptu shaking. " No. Aniki is with me; so I didn't really have to use my ability much today. "

Tobirama's eyes flick to the other teenager behind Itsuki. Senju Ichiro is Senju Itsuki older Brother by five years age gap. Whereas Itsuki still retain his childlike innocence. Ichiro had lost his, the day when a Gate opened atop of their house and killed all of their immediate family. Only Itsuki ( among the children ) survived that day since the boy was out with his friends to play, while Ichiro guarded one of the border of the Senju territory.

Tobirama did his best to care for the boys. But as a main Branch of the Senju he ( nor Hashirama ) cannot care for them personally but had to rely on the closest blood relatives the two boys had. Thankfully, their closest relatives are decent enough into raising the boys properly. As much as a child can be raised properly in a War torn Country that is.

The Albino took ahold of both Itsuki and Ichiro's hands. He ignored the sharp inhaling of both boys as he concentrated on expeling the foul toxins inside the siblings veins. Itsuki wasn't lying when he said he didn't use his Esper abilities since the toxins inside his body isn't much of a danger. But Ichiro did have an alarmingly high concentration of toxins already circulating near his heart. Tobirama with an annoyed huff easily guided his Chakra in smothering the noxious substance. It took at least a complete five minutes of Guiding before Tobirama deemed both boys to be healthy enough to go back to their own Home.

The Albino gracefully accepted Itsuki's bento box as a thank you gift. He ignored old man Masahiro's ( his next patient ) judging eyebrows at his action.

For the rest of the day, Tobirama did his usual routine of Guiding his Clanmates without a complaint. Even when Hashirama nudges him to eat his lunch first he ignored his Brother and continued Guiding some of the old Clan members who they cannot afford to be out of the Battlefield.

When the sun was near setting, ( and no Esper was left needing any Guidance ) Tobirama finally glance at his Brother and asked.

" There seemed to be something on your mind, Anija. Do you want to talk about it?. "

Hashirama staring back at him with a grim expression ( a first in a decade ) nearly made Tobirama jump up from his seat in surprise. He opens his mouth and was ready to demand an answer when his Anija beat him.

" Today, an Uchiha Clan missive was delivered to us. It contains a demand that they'll agree to a ceasefire and even an alliance if I let you heal one of their higher Clan mate. A strong Esper from the sound of it even. "

Tobirama took a deep breath and avoided his Brother's eyes. " The Uchiha probably thinks you'll agree in a heartbeat, since the one who needed treatment was Uchiha Madara. "

Hashirama's comforting Chakra suddenly stilling for a second made Tobirama felt quickly unsettled. He really didn't like it when his Brother controls his emotions because it always felt like a dying plant with his Sensing.

Tobirama grimaced. " I will agree to treat Uchiha Madara as if he's a Senju. Just make sure whatever contract they passed on you, Mito had to read it. Honestly, no offense Anija. But I don't trust you to read all the scrolls the Uchiha will send to us. You might missed something important if you don't let Mito take a look at it. "

Hashirama's grim face stared at Tobirama’s glowering expression.

" Are you sure you're up to do it, Tobi?. "

Tobirama's scowl deepen. " I'm a professional, Anija. I don't need you doubting me on this. "

Hashirama's face smoothens. " I am not doubting you. I am actually doubting Madara. What if you know...." his Brother trailed off. Tobirama knows what his Brother is implying. The rumors that Espers cannot resist in claiming Guides. And Tobirama with his outstanding Guiding ability ( no one outside the Clan really knows how great his Guiding was ) will probably be a great temptation to any Esper with a decent Sensing. Madara undoubtedly is one of them. He'll probably quickly gauge what Tobirama's level was if he got close enough to the man. Hopefully, by the time he managed to get rid of the Toxins inside Madara's body. The man himself would be too out of it to Sense Tobirama's presence near him.

Tobirama grimaced. " Well, I do have faith that Uchiha will be too disgusted at the thought of bonding with a Senju. So you may lay your worry to rest, Anija. "

Hashirama stared at him for a moment. " I still feel uneasy. Otouto. "

The Albino massages his suddenly aching temples. " We don't have a choice, Anija. We have to quickly unify most Clans if we want to survive the Gates for years to come. The Nin Clans all across the Fire Country cannot sustain their isolation any longer and we too are on the brink of it, whether we like it or not. "

Hashirama's unhappy expression made Tobirama soften for a moment. " Trust me on this, Anija. If we can make peace with the Uchiha, the village you dreamed of will finally come true. "

A week later, Hashirama sends his last Brother to the Uchiha with a heavy heart. It will take at least a week at most for Tobirama to heal Madara and negotiate with the whole of Uchiha.

But then a week passed and there is no Tobirama that went back to the Senju Clan. Instead, Hashirama received only a scroll of Uchiha Madara's handwriting that he will agree into building a Village with the Seniu as long Senju Tobirama will be wedded to him.

It took all of Mito and Touka's skill and determination into calming down an enraged Hashirama ( the man wanted to crush the Uchiha as a whole – peace negotiations be damned – for daring to detained and demand the hand of his Brother. )

Hashirama had to forcefully calm down his raging thoughts lest he killed most of the Senju. And for the first time in his life, he had to think logically about what correct steps he had to do next or he would never see his baby Brother ever again if he refuses to play his crucial parts.

~●~●~

It took two months of difficult negotiations before the Uchiha collectively agreed into building the village. Hashirama at that time had to restrain himself from killing the smug ( ex friend ) bastard that dared to claim his beloved Otouto.

Madara had acted as if he didn’t do any heinous crime. He talked to Hashirama as if he didn't took away the last person Hashirama whole heartedly cherished ( aside from his beloved Wife ).

When Konoha had been tentatively built with the bare bones infrastructures...

It was the only time Hashirama had finally met his Brother again...

And what he saw makes the rage in his blood roar furiously again.

He realized didn’t like seeing Madara practically smothering his Brother everywhere they went. Tobirama might not tell it with his expressions nor with words, but his cold and wintry Chakra wavering for a second whenever Madara invaded his space tells Hashirama all he needed to know.

That his Brother wasn't as happy to Bond with Madara like everyone thought.

All he know is that he needed to get Tobirama away from an obsessive Esper, who wouldn’t know how to treat him right.

( Hashirama was wrong about it, but that's a story for another time. )..

[chimchiri]

Poll Adventure: Rarijack Dinner

Index | [prev] - Part 04 - [next] Special thanks to @babydarkstar for putting out the great writing

Previous Poll:

~~~

“What did you have in mind?”

“Orchard’s a bit of a wreck this time of year,” AJ says, glancing out the window at the apple trees lining the hills and hanging heavy with fruit. Not too far off, Big Mac’s standing on a ladder situated under a tree; she can see Apple Bloom yelling up at him from below, barrels full of apples at her feet. She says something with that adorable, sometimes annoying little smug spark in her eye, and Big Mac shakes his head with a laugh before tossing an apple down to her. She lunges for it with her hands clasped behind her back, letting it smack her right in the face as she tries to grab it with the few front teeth she hasn’t lost to the tooth fairy yet.

Yeah. Definitely somewhere else. AJ loves her family more than anything, but—Rarity deserves to go somewhere nice. Across the house and through the open front door, she can hear Granny belting out an old song about pigs in mud—

“I’m thinkin’ we go out. You know the restaurant in town? Haven’t been in a while, and I heard there’s a new menu. How’s Saturday?”

“That sounds simply divine, darling, and I would love to…but I can’t commit to this weekend,” Rarity says regretfully, and AJ nearly drops her phone, “I’m in Manehattan the rest of the week for my new line. It is critical that I’m here to make the finishing touches. Fancy Pants is personally endorsing the reveal and there cannot be a single mishap, not one.”

“Oh—“

“Please don’t think I’m avoiding you, darling. Perhaps we can schedule something for the same time next week?”

“No!” AJ begins rather forcefully, and she clears her throat so she won’t say something else before thinking, “I meant…no big deal. How about I come to you instead? I’m sure I can find somewhere good for you—for…us.” 

There’s a short pause before Rarity responds. 

“Applejack, are you sure, darling? Of course I’d love to have you here…but only if it wouldn’t be too much for you. If you aren’t busy with your duties on the farm, as well. I know that the big city isn’t exactly your cup of…cider.”

“Nothin’s too much for me when it comes to you, sugar.” 

AJ’s heart flutters when she hears the soft, breathy laughter of her crush over the phone.

“If you insist,” Rarity says, the smile evident in her voice, “There are a few places I could call. I’m friends with practically everyone here, you know.” 

AJ shakes her head. “You just rest up and let me do the work. I’ll get everything together.” 

This isn’t up for debate—she’s dead set on being a gentlewoman. If this is going to be a real date then she’ll make sure it’s a damn good one. Which includes making sure that Rarity can just enjoy the evening and not have to worry about anything.

Rarity lets out a sweet laugh, which pitches high at the end, a little too strained. 

“Oh, no, there will be no resting for me. After I finish this job, I need to come up with something spectacular to wear for our date. Now that we’re going out on the town, I need something divine—something fabulous…” she trails off before continuing, “But I’ll be ready. Just let me know. Oh! When will you arrive, dear? I’m not sure I can make it to the train station to greet you…I’ll be so busy…but you know where the boutique is.”

“I’ll find you. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Not to worry, darling. I doubt I could ever work nearly as hard as you do.”

AJ rubs the back of her neck, her face hot. “Psshaw, I’m not sure about that…”

The toe of her boot scuffs the wooden floor and she stares down at it, grinning like an idiot in the silence.

“Well…shall I see you Saturday, then?” Rarity posits. 

“Yeah, Saturday.”

“Alright, darling, I’ll see you then,” Rarity says softly.

“Bye Rarity.” She sounds almost shy when she says her name.

There’s a click and then the call is over. AJ swears her heart skips a beat as she stares down at her phone. This is actually happening.

It still feels like a dream, and she hopes to never wake up.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. She could run a marathon with all the energy tingling up her spine.

But—

It already looks like she’s been running at full speed—she’s drenched in sweat. Well…no surprise there.

“Ugh…I should shower,” she murmurs upon noticing the stains under her arms.

~~~~

AJ thought she’d have trouble sleeping, but after finishing her chores with a spring in her step, she knocked out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, however, anxiety crawled its way into her chest. 

She couldn’t stop daydreaming at breakfast, racking her brain for a restaurant in Manehattan. There were so many other things she had to do before that, too. 

AJ didn’t really consider what it’d mean to have a date in Manehattan—she was just so sold on the fact that their date couldn’t wait. 

She has some nice clothes in her closet - but do they fit a fancy restaurant in the big city? 

Does she even know how to behave so she doesn’t embarrass herself and Rarity during the date? Sure, she’s polite, but she’s not versed on the social mores of Mane—

Granny snapping her fingers and hollering her name pulled AJ from her thoughts, only to find all three family members staring at her curiously.

“Sorry, Granny…what was it you said?”

“Well, it’s been s’darn long since I asked ya, I can’t remember nuthin’ I said!” 

AJ didn’t tell anyone yet. For one, she wanted to pull it through on her own. But she also didn’t want anyone to gossip beforehand and cause her embarrassment. She got enough inquiring questions about her relationship status, especially from Applebloom.

After breakfast, she got to work on the chores around the farm.

Anyways, now that she could think again…

Would she need a present for Rarity? 

Was there anything else she needed to prepare?

What if none of the restaurants she’d thought of end up being a good fit for Rarity?

AJ’s mind spins and spins and now she lays in the shade of an apple tree, staring up at the sky.

Well, she’ll admit it—she’s lost and has no clue where to start.

Yeah, she’ll definitely need some help…

She could ask one of her friends. She’s close enough to any of them, especially Rainbow—but Rainbow can’t keep a secret to save her life, and she’d probably just tell her to “Be awesome, duh” and that Rarity likes AJ enough that she doesn’t need to be fancy. Which…is a great sentiment, but would it help in the long run? Mm…she’s not so sure. AJ feels like it wouldn’t stay a secret for long if she told any of her friends. Would she even mind? They’re all helpful in their own ways. 

Then again…she could also ask her family for support. She hopes they would keep news of her date a secret. Oof…some of those conversations might be a bit more embarrassing, now that she thinks about it...but Granny’s lived and loved, and Big Mac always gives sage advice. Applebloom is her biggest cheerleader when it comes to anything at all.

 

---

Tag List: @mrrrpmeow @babydarkstar @butwerebothmares @chaosdraconequus @chrysaliswife @gaywombat @mulan-but-gay @jubjub05 @dan-chan-rn @sanybaby @horserepository @justletmesnarkandbark

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

Lights Camera Action

You have been making appointments with a certain Camboy for a while now. But it's getting to you, so this will have to be the last time.

Reader x Dick Grayson

1.7k

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub tones, swearing, mutal masterbation, degradation, praise.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

The lights in your office are out, the curtains drawn and the door locked as you sit at your desk. Reaching behind you, you flick the bright pink glow of your ring light on. “Nearly ready,” you mutter to yourself. Glancing at the clock on the corner of the screen, you see it’s 8:58. 2 more minutes. 

You shimmy the hem of your skirt up, adjust yourself in your chair and put on your headphones. Any minute now. 8:59. The paywall comes up and you confirm your account details. The anticipation somehow makes you giddy with excitement as you wait those last few seconds.

A soft click echoes in your ears and the screen sends you to the waiting screen. Fuck, only a few more seconds until you will have eyes on him. Another click confirms your payment and the call is accepted. Your screen goes dark, before slowly illuminating itself and the scene before you makes you re adjust your position in your chair. Your legs spread further apart as your heels wrap around the legs.

The man in question, a man whose name you've no real interest in knowing beyond the pseudonym he's chosen. Sits, his thighs spread wide on the edge of his bed. His dark hair falls into his eyes, his back arched in a hunch as his long fingers hold his pretty face. You can already see a light sheen of sweat over his toned, naked body.

“Nice to see you again, ma'am.” He says, not bothering to look up just yet. But the deep timbre of his voice is fucking divine and you cherish it almost as much as that pretty cock of his.

“Nightwing.” You start to tease yourself slowly grinding yourself down onto the soft leather of your desk chair. Confident that he cannot see the lust in your eyes with the lighting setup you have, “how are you?”

“Horny ma'am. My cock just won't go down.” he leans back, his dick on full display, standing up right between his toned thighs. His face finally rises and you see the tiny mask that covers his eyes. But you still feel them looking at you, even through the camera and the mask, “I need your help. Will you help me?” He pouts, his long fingers gripping the base of himself, “You know I can't finish unless you're watching.”

“I am watching, You may begin.” Your authoritative tone may sound convincing, even if this guy is turning your brain to mush. Over the last 3 months you've paid him on a Wednesday at 9pm and every single time you are convinced that it will be the last time.

“You like watching me,” he smirks at you as his strong hand on the base of his cock slowly starts to move, “don't you?” His free hand reaches over, pumping some lube onto it, before joining the other hand in slow meticulous strokes.

“Very Much,” your fingers gently trace along the inside of your thighs.

“You like it when I'm slutty,” he starts to speed up, while his face never looks down. His eyes locked on where he imagines you to be. If it weren’t for that mask and the camera it would be like you’re in the same room, “when I'm naughty.”

“You're very good at it.” you move your fingers, toying with the edge of your panties. “Such a naughty boy. Always tempting and misbehaving.”

“I'm your favourite aren't I ma'am?” He spreads his legs wider, while leaning his back towards the bed and fucking up into his hands. Your eyes drink in his sweat covered torso, until you hear him start to moan. Then your eyes quickly shift right back to his face. His mouth is hanging open, fuck you wish you could stick a few fingers in and have him suck on them for you. “Pleaassee.”

“Perfect naughty slut for me “ you don't mean for your voice to sound that sultry but apparently you can't help it. “fuck,” you surprise yourself so focused on the way his cock seems to be pulsing in his hands to notice where exactly your own hands have gotten to. But fuck, that feels so good in your clit. 

“I'll be such a good slut for you,” Nightwing pants as his hands start to twist over the tip, “Fuck. I wanna lick you while you watch me touch myself.” His teeth close down over his lip, trying so hard to keep those pretty whimpers in.

“Don't, let me hear them.” Your own fingers speed up, flicking over your clit while teasing your hole, “I wanna hear those slutty moans.”

“I ah-” he starts to pant, “yeees, I uhh- I caaann do that, ah- fuck me  fuck me, please, I need it.”

“Good boy,” your voice sounding as depraved as his, “show me what a whore you are. Sing for me.” Your fingers breach inside you as his moaning and whimpering grows louder.

“Your whore.” sweat drips from his forehead, his arms strained as the veins start to pop put of them one by one. You try to imagine how they’d feel under your hands, on your tongue, “fuck ma'am i want you so badly. Can't yoouu see it.” 

“I can see.” You lick your lips, dreaming of the way his precum would taste. Your eyes are glued to it as it drips down his hands instead of into your mouth. “You fuck, you are doing soon fuckin well.”

“Plesse ma'am, I want to be inside if you.”

“Would you lie down and take it like my naughty little whore?”

“Fuck, pllllleasse.” his whimpers are growing louder, his thrusts into his tight fist harder.

“Would you scream as I swallow you. Whimper in my ear as teeth mark your pretty skin.”

“Fuckkk ma'am, I'm so fucking close.”

“No you're not.” you command, but it's hardly compelling with your own moans barely contained in your throat. “You will wait.”

“Yes, I'll be good.” he nods with his lips pressed between his teeth. “I'll wait.”

“Did I say slow down?”

“No, no.” he begs, and the muscles in his legs tighten and flex. “I'm sorry.” He sits back moving his legs so they're under him and he rises to his knees. “I’ll be good.” his hair shakes and you can see the long dark strands that are sticking to the sweat on his face “can you still see me?”

“I see you.” you confirm. “I’m still watching.” he shivers at your words and you can barely keep the responsive moan you give at the sight. “You're Cock is so pretty,” you thrust in your cunt faster. With your eyes fixated on him you feel his cock inside you. Your eyes see what they want. Nightwing spread on your bed beneath you, his hands bound above his head as you show him just how generous you can be with nasty little whores, “it would stretch me so perfectly.”..

“Whatever you need. I just wanna be good for you. I want to make you feel how you-” his words become incoherent as he whimpers. 

“I want To sit on your face and smother you in me. Make you worship at my altar.”

“Fuck yes,” his hands are moving fast, but so are yours and you can feel your legs shake as he sits back on his, “drown me, fuck please, I wanna die between your thighs.”

“I’m close, you ready to give me all my naughty boy cum.”

“Ma'am”

“Be a good slut and cum I want ahhh, fukkk I wannmt fuck me, all ah ah all of it.”

“Yes, all of it all of me, ahh fuck, fuck, Fukkk.” He curses, his body shaking and his hands grabbing himself. The whimpers falling from his lips are insanely fucking hot and you can’t help but scream

Your free arm flies to your mouth covering just how loudly you're cumming so you're not overheard. Your teeth are biting into your skin as your eyes watch him spray his stomach with his load. He’s a mess, fuck you wish you could clean him up.

The call sits silent from a moment as you both catch your breath. You pull your fingers out just as you notice him gathering his cum on his, “how'd you taste?” You ask, desperate to know.

“I'll share if you will.” He smirks, sticking his fingers in his mouth teasing you with how slowly he's sucking on them.

You bring your face toward the camera, the light of the screen partially illuminating you, so he can only see your lips, “sweet as honey,” you smile, slowly sucking off each finger individually.

“You keep doing that bad imma and need to cum again.” He teases, by the way his cock twitches you know he ain't lying.

“What do you taste like pretty boy?”

“Salty, warm, But something is missing,” he taunts you, standing and moving closer to the camera.

“And what's that?”

“You,” his tongue darts out over his lips, inches away from. The camera, “my cum isn't complete without yours mixed with it.”.

“I-” your eyes go wide, unsure what to say. But before you even get a chance the screen goes black and you're left in the dark.

“Fuck. I'm so fucked.” You sigh, pressing your head into the edge of your desk, “What the fuck am I gunna do?” You start to roll your neck, cracking your shoulders as you move to stand. You swivel your head, sure that you heard something. But you’re pretty sure everyone left for the night. Maybe you’re just paranoid. “I’m completely fucked.” you whisper again as you flick on the desk lamp and move to grab your phone and purse. “I need to stop.” shaking your head you stand adjusting your skirt and throwing on your blazer. “I’ll just delete my history.” you nod. “Yeah, okay.” you lie to yourself, flicking the desk lamp off and heading out the door.

As the door clicks shut a tiny noise can be heard from your computer, “You can’t delete me Ma’am. I know what you look like now. I’ll find you and show you just how naughty I can be.”

[jantostolemyheart]

Fic #4

Title: Let Beauty Come Out Of Ashes

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam, Bobby

Pairings: Castiel/Dean

Status: Complete

Sam heard raised voices coming from Dean's room. He went to check, but when he tried the door, it was locked.

He heard Dean's voice saying "Cas, I already told you, I'm not gay! So stop trying to kiss me!"

And Castiel's reply- "And I told you, you don't have to be gay to kiss someone or be with someone of the same sex!"

Sam sighed. Evidently Cas was trying to help Dean get through his internalized homophobia and it wasn't going so well.

"Just shut up and kiss already!" he shouted through the closed door, before shutting himself in his own room.

Dean rolled his eyes. But whatever he was about to retort was cut off as the angel kissed him. It was a brief and gentle kiss, but it left Dean flustered and confused.

He pushed Castiel away from him. "What the hell, man?"

Cas frowned. "I'm trying to prove to you what I said! Sexuality isn't black and white, straight or gay. Crowley, and Sam, are both pansexual. That means they like whoever they like, regardless of gender. I'm gay. Meg might be a lesbian. You're probably bisexual."

Dean stared at Cas, processing his words.

Dean snorted. "I'm not bisexual," he protested. "I'm straight! And you, cannot kiss someone, even just to prove a point, without consent!"

He opened the door and stalked angrily out of his room.

Cas followed, keeping pace. "I'm sorry, Dean. Look, could we try this again? Sit down, hear each other out, and go from there?"

"You've made your point, as have I. Now leave me alone, Castiel."

Cas inwardly flinched at Dean's use of his full name. "Fine, if that's what you want." He turned and disappeared, giving the hunter his space.

The days passed, turning into weeks, then months, with no sign of Cas.

Dean hadn't prayed to him since before the day Cas kissed him. Sam tried, but he was ignored, as usual.

Sam and Dean were on a hunt with Bobby, and it was going badly.

"I think you need to call your angel friend, Dean," Bobby said.

Dean grimaced. "Do I have to?"

"Well our other option is probably death. And I'd prefer not dying. So yes, you have to."

Dean frowned, but dialed the number. "You're talking to him," he told Bobby, before putting it on speaker.

Cas sighed when he saw who was calling. "What do you want?" He was not expecting to hear Bobby requesting his help.

"Fine, but as soon as it's resolved, I'm leaving." He hung up and materialized where they were, helping them sort out their problem.

Before Sam could talk to him, or get him to talk to Dean, he was gone.

Dean stared at where the angel was, a wistful expression on his face.

"...Dean. Dean!" Dean turned, to see Bobby calling to him. "Boys, we have to clean what we can, let's get to it.

After, we're going to get dinner and you're going to tell me what is going on between you and Castiel.

Your reluctance to call him could've put us in danger, and if this continues, it will again." Bobby wasn't angry, not yet.

But his tone was stern and left no room for argument.

After they ate dinner, Bobby ordered them some pie, then pointed his fork at Dean. "Talk," he commanded.

Dean sighed, and explained what happened.

"And this was 2.5 months ago?? Sheesh, you'd have thought something worse happened from the way you were acting."

Dean looked at him in surprise.

"Castiel shouldn't have kissed you. However I also understand his point of view.

You need to pull your head out of your ass, stop being an idjit, and realize that you do, in fact, love that angel.

And no, I don't mean platonically. We all can somehow see it, except you. Even he can, and we all know how bad he is picking up cues."

Dean just stared in shock at Bobby, a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth.

"So here's what's going to happen," Bobby continued. "When you get home, you're going to call Cas, and talk this through with him.

Sam will tell me if you have or haven't. And I'll know if you try and pull a fast one. Understood?"

Dean blinked, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

That evening, Dean called Castiel for the second time.

"What?" the angel snapped, irritated to see Dean's name on his phone again, and because Chuck got pissy with him again.

"Cas?" came Dean's voice. "Is everything okay?"

"You ignore me for two and half months, you don't get to pretend to care now. What do you want?"

Dean frowned at his angry tone. "Could we talk, please? About us?"

"What more is there to say? You more than made your point. Now leave me be," he glowered, even though Dean couldn't see. Cas hung up, even more irritated.

Dean's frown deepened, and a tear trailed down his cheek. Cas was being harsh, but he probably deserved it, didn't he?

He went and told Sam what happened, more tears sliding down his cheeks. From Dean's pained expression, Sam realized he was telling the truth.

He got up from the couch and hugged his brother tightly. "I'm sorry, Dean. You did not deserve to be spoken to like that.

I'll call Bobby in the morning, and we'll work this out, alright?"

He hugged Dean again. "For now, let's get some sleep."

Dean nodded and dried his tears. "Thanks Sammy."

"Any time, Dean."

He watched Dean retreat to his room before following suit.

Dean lay awake, mind churning despite how exhausted he was from the day's events. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

From a dark corner, Cas watched over him, soothing him whenever he had a nightmare.

By the time Dean woke up the next morning, Castiel was gone. His mind of that night was hazy.

He remembered having nightmares that faded quickly, but he didn't know who stopped them. Though he was pretty sure it wasn't Sam.

And it couldn't have been Cas, because they were currently on unfriendly terms.

He brought it up to Sam over breakfast, but the younger Winchester was equally as uncertain. Another thing to tell Bobby about, he supposed.

In the meantime, he turned his attention to his rapidly sogging bowl of cereal.

Sam called Bobby and told him what happened.

"Right. Give me the number for Castiel. I'll call him and give him a talking to.

At this point he's being unnecessarily mean. I'll talk to him and figure out what the heck is going on."

Sam gave him the phone number and hung up, before dragging Dean to the couch to watch TV while they had some relative peace and quiet.

Dean was just stirring his cereal and staring at nothing, and Sam decided to keep an eye on him in case he decided to be stupid.

All Bobby told Cas on the phone was to meet him in his living room. He then sat the angel down for a talk.

Cas explained everything from his side, and talked with the older hunter. Bobby took everything into consideration before reaching a decision.

"C'mon, we're going to the Winchesters. You and Dean are going to talk. I don't care how long it takes."

Cas nodded, and followed Bobby to his car. He fidgeted, nervous about how things would go.

Sam and Bobby sat in the living room, while Cas and Dean talked in Dean's room.

The two talked a while, about things not only about the attraction between them. Cas also apologized for kissing Dean.

When they talked about that, Dean still insisted he didn't feel that way.

Castiel sighed in frustration, but kept his face neutral. "Then I think it's best I stayed away for a while.

We both need time apart from each other, clearly, or things will go south between us."

Dean nodded, but was still unsure.

With that, Cas disappeared. As soon as he was gone, he let his tears fall freely. He cursed at himself, for falling so hard for Dean.

After Cas left, Dean sat heavily on his bed, wondering why he suddenly felt so empty, like something was missing now.

Dean slid to the floor, talking, praying to Cas immediately. "Cas, come back- Please- I think we made a big mistake.

Come back, please-" He was begging, crying, for the angel to come back.

Cas heard, but he didn't answer.

"Castiel! Please..." Dean begged him.

At that, Cas paused. If Dean was calling him Castiel-

He decided to go back. "Dean?" he said, voice gentle. "Dean, what's wrong? What do you mean by a mistake?"

Dean didn't answer, he just jumped up and wrapped his arms around Cas, burying his face in the angel's shoulder.

His sobs faded, tears absorbing into Castiel's coat.

Cas just held him, rubbing his shoulder gently. He risked pressing a couple of kisses to Dean's hair.

"I'm here, Dean. I'll stay, if that's what you want."

Dean nodded. "Please stay-" He didn't let go of Cas, staying like that for a while, the angel comforting him.

Cas wrapped his wings around them both, to comfort Dean.

"I'll stay."

[swallowedbyfandom]

When Rae wakes her early that morning she wonders which gentleman has set the fire she will likely have to put out that day. Luckily Rae is an angel sent from heaven, so she brings tea with her tales. Dash it, Rae looks terribly amused which means it involves Bridgerton shenanigans. Of all the ridiculous noble families society has to offer, the Bridgertons remain the ones Rae finds most amusing.

The further she gets into reading the report from Whites the more she debates day drinking. Surely, her mama would understand her need for Ratafia with breakfast this day. She did not expect a Bridgerton in the wild last night. She really thought Ant and Ben would drink with Colin until they all passed out in the study. Yet somehow Benedict ended up starting a bar brawl with Debling over bird pornography? That cannot be right. She must have misread that bit.

Unfortunately she did not misread it. She Penelope Featherington is now a muse for terribly written poetry. She wonders if Alfred chose the bird imagery because her name is Featherington or because he called her his Dove. She also wonders what offended Ben more. That Debling wrote erotic poetry about her or that he wrote bad erotic poetry about her? It could go either way with Ben. She will have to get ready to receive a lot of callers. She can hear the rumors now, Penelope Featherington the face that launched a thousand bar brawls. She accidentally snorts into her teacup. No wonder Rae is so amused. Now to break the news to her mama.

She warns her mama to expect a large volume of callers . She does not warn her mama that half of them may look like they just arrived in from the front lines. She also doesn't warn her mama about the extravagance of Bridgerton apologies. The look on her mother's face when half the florist shop arrives on their door step is worth it. The flowers from Ant all hold a simple card.

I sincerely apologize for my brother's behavior.

I will ensure he acts with more care for your reputation going forward.

Fondly,

Viscount Bridgerton

The flowers from Ben are her favorite as they are as eclectic and artistic as he is. Also because his arrangements carry a card that reads,

Sorry my brother is a dim witted whore.

At least he is very rich and pretty?

Also the rest of us are fantastic.

Fondly,

B. Bridgerton

Oh dear, hedonist Ben calling someone a whore. She cannot breathe through the hilarity of it. She knows that message must have been drafted while he was still half drunk. Still Ben makes the best emotional support brother.

She spends her morning to her mother's sheer disbelief dazzling callers. She pretends she does not know why they are all calling. After all, a gentle lady like herself would have no knowledge of escapades taken in a gentleman's club. She thanks them for coming to check on her after the very public breakdown of her courtship. She is demure and sweet above all.

She plays nurturing and concerned to the injured lords who show up battered from last nights brawl. She is all mischievous deflections with the rakes. She is bold humor and silly tales with the genuinely charming. She is sharp intellect with the business and academic minded. With all her callers, she is guileless in the face of their probing questions. While she would normally never bother with this level of effort for the shallow sheep of the ton, if she is leaving after this season she might as well leave an impression.

Her conversation with Lord Fife is the most fun she has all morning. For it is the only time she unleashes the full bite of her wit. He tries so hard to charm her.

"Miss Featherington, may I say you look ravishing this morning. I see why Bridgerton has attempted to keep you to himself." Fife sips his tea regally.

She arches a brow and allows a giggle to escape, "I am impressed you noticed anything at all with how devoutly you have been eyeing my neckline."

She watches the way his eyes startle up to her face. She smiles at him with chaos dancing in her eyes.

"Contrary to the rumors, Mr. Bridgerton and I have always maintained a chaste relationship. If you were hoping to see how you compare to him perhaps one of the nice working girls you both enjoy visiting would be kind enough to measure for you."

As he chokes on his tea and begins to cough, she continues.

"I am not sure why gentlemen enjoy comparing foils, but everyone must have a hobby I suppose."

She hands him a handkerchief as he continues to cough.

"Leave me out of the games you play, My lord. I am not a light skirt and you are not a husband." She calls over a footman. "Lord Fife seems to be coming down with something, he appears quite flushed does he not? Please escort him out. I hope you recover soon, Lord Fife."

She stands to give a small curtsy. She watches Fife exit with a slightly enamored and dazed look upon his face.

Her mother arches her brows at her in concern. She shakes her head lightly in response. Fife is no threat, who would believe him? She has played the timid Lady for years. She has also maintained a touch of hesitation when interacting with her callers so each gentleman feels like they have accomplished a grand feat when they get her to relax. Each gentleman that has come to call today will swear on a stack of bible about her gentle and virtuous nature. While Fife has a reputation for inappropriate behavior.

When her mama finally puts an end to calling hours she nearly leaps with joy. She calls for a sandwich and cake lord knows she has earned it. She is going to escape for a long bath and nap after this. She needs time to decompress.

Her mama has a terrifying gleam in her eyes. Thankfully she hid everything god awful dress her mama ever picked out. They are boxed and wrapped up with Gen. She never imagined she would miss maternal neglect so much, but here she is. She lets out a sigh. Her mama will have her dancing with suitors all night at the ball she is sure.

"Penelope, where are Mr. Bridgerton and Lord Debling this fine Morning? Are you not concerned"

Of course her mama wants to ask about them as if there was not a house full of desperate men just here, panting after her like dogs in heat. She wrinkles her nose up at the image.

"Lord Debling is likely nursing his injured pride and his injured face. He was involved in a fight of some sort at White's last night. I would be surprised if he showed his face in society for a few days."

"The Bridgertons are all competitive they are not going to let Colin come to call until they are satisfied with his plans for courting. They will all be at the ball but he is likely too ashamed to approach me just yet. He will stand by the dessert table and stare at me all night. His brother's will likely dance with me to keep other suitors away. We will see mama."

[dreamingofyeo]

Mafia Mingi & Jongho x undercover reader oneshot tws: harsh language, suggestive, threat, angst, use of name ‘doll’

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

You delicately circle the rim of your glass with the tip of your finger at the bar, the ice has long since melted. You're not here for a good time. For such 'threats', the two men you're yet to see in the exquisite space aren't exactly punctual.

sending a subtle glance toward the door, you adjust your glasses, clicking the hidden button in the process to view the men's digital profiles again before the action starts. They're possibly the most useful tool for you in your line of work, subtlety and information at your fingertips, the entire database for Arriba is on them.

[ name : 송민기 Song Mingi ] [ 09.08.99 - 24yo - male - 1.83m ] [ member of 'The Black Pirates'. Specialises in pyrotechnics] [ wanted for: arson, assault, breaking and entering, murder ] [ only engage with backup ]

[ name: 최종호 Choi Jongho ]

[ 12.10.00 - 23 - male - 1.76m ]

[ member of 'The Black Pirates'. Specialises in reconnaissance ]

[ Wanted for: assault, breaking and entering ]

Only thing they’re missing is pictures next to them. You scoff inwardly at the level of supposed 'threat' they posed, you'd been sent on far more dangerous missions. all you had to do was your own bit of reconnaissance and report back to your leader. These 'black pirates' as they call themselves have been getting rather ballsy lately, almost half of Arriba's clientele have switched to them, a fact your boss is none to happy about. Your brief for the evening is to simply observe how they present themselves to said clientele, if you find an angle to work, their prospective 'customers' can be turned away. You could care less personally for the little turf war that is playing out, but its better to nip it in the bud than wait for them to decide if they want to wipe out your crew all together.

Just then, the sound of the bell in the entryway rings out behind you. You bring your glass to your lips but swallow nothing. The sound of boots on marble comes closer painfully slowly before coming to a halt, arms leaning on the bar table. He calls the barman over with a short tight whistle.

The man in question turns around, an equally tight smile forced onto his otherwise tense countenance.

"Ah Mr. Song, what can I get you tonight?" he gets out, customer voice on full display, so much so you almost have to suppress a chuckle.

"I'll get a tequila sunrise, and one for this lovely doll here" he says, you can hear the smirk on his lips as he says the words.

Knowing you cannot avoid the interaction, you turn towards him- putting on your best acting skills. The words from his profile screaming at you to get out of the situation.

"Hello, I'm sorry but I already have a drink, don't want to overdo it" you smile coyly at him.

the barman chuckles lightly, "You say that y/n, I'm not even sure why you're here tonight, it doesn't even look like you've touched your glass"

Bastard. You could slit his throat right now.

you only offer a light laugh in return before giving him and your onlooker a plausible story for your lack of drinking. Unfortunately, your alcohol consumption does not seem to be the only thing lacking as the man you're here for raises one eyebrow at you and the barman simply nods. Just great, if they didn't already know your face this Mingi would've definitely caught onto something being amiss by now.

it's then that you realise the lack of his partner and your mind freezes. You never gave the bartender your name.

Jongho specialises in reconnaissance, Mingi specialises in pyrotechniques. Mingi is near rows of alcohol, Jongho is somewhere in the room, waiting for the opportune moment to enact whatever plan they've got going. They know, they must've caught onto Arriba's plan- either that or there's a mole. You need to abort the mission, now.

You can't run. It's not an option, not when you don't know where Jongho is lurking. The possibility of a mole is information so crucial to return it's not worth the risk of being captured or worse, dying. The only plausible option in front of you right now is to play into the tone Mingi used when he first approached you- disgusted as it makes you.

"Yeah that was a lie, my apologies. I thought I'd try something different tonight but its not to my taste, I'll take that drink if its still on offer please sir." you delicately say, lightly placing your hand on his upper arm. You can hold your alcohol, you'll just have to hope he can't.

For a moment he looks taken aback, as if not exactly knowing what to do next. For only a moment, then he nods at the bartender who all but leaps into action making the tequila sunrises. Leading with your story, you decide to push it a bit further.

"Like I say, this is not to my taste, you're more than welcome to finish it." you say, pushing the glass towards him.

He takes it to his lips and takes what's most likely an amount equivalent to a shot straight. Enemy as he might be, you'd have to be blind to not acknowledge how attractive it is, or he is for that matter.

4 drinks later and you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Only to leave it coming face to face with a man. He is so uniquely beautiful you simply freeze in place. You don't even notice the familiarity of his shirt thanks to the alcohol.

He tilts his head knowingly before speaking in a low tone.

"Starstruck?"

this draws a light scoff from you, you're not that far gone.

"Cocky?" you counter. He smirks walking closer to you.

"maybe."

fuck...

"Either way, you don't seem to be complaining." he offers, now very close to you. Who cares. The mission went to shit anyway, why not enjoy yourself a bit.

"What's your name?" you ask lightly, his fingertips pushing a lock of hair behind your ear just as gently.

"You'll have to earn that one I'm afraid doll." He pulls back and tilts his head slightly again.

"what's yours?" he asks like he already knows the answer, you're so far gone from his proximity you can't find it in you to care if he really does or not.

fuck it.

"not a chance" you say lowly before leaning forward and connecting your lips.

He kisses you back almost instantly, fingers threading through your hair, connecting them to the back of your head. Your glasses bump against him, he removes them from your face without a word and goes back to you, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth gently causing you to gasp into his mouth. You feel him smirk against you before pulling away, leaving one last soft peck.

You know damn well your eyes are glassed over with longing right now, he chuckles at the fact before speaking.

"Sorry doll, you're a little too drunk for anything else, I'll see you again." He lifts your knuckles to his mouth and kisses them lightly before turning and walking out into the main room of the bar, turning right towards the exit.

As you collect yourself you realise like a punch to the gut that he still has your glasses. You race after him, only to find the bar now completely empty, not even the bartender is there.

The bartender.

The man's shirt.

The petname the man used.

How unusually badly you handled the alcohol.

The lifelike mask matching the bartender's face you spot laid out perfectly on the bar table next to where you now stand, a note at its side.

'sorry for getting you wasted doll' it reads. You can almost see the smirk on his damn face.

Specialises in reconnaissance indeed.

Choi fucking Jongho.

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

a/n: happy new year! written straight onto the post, will likely edit later. also I've never written a oneshot or anything suggestive before so please bare with me while I try to figure out how to do it well haha. I'm pretty happy with how this turned out though please lmk what you think and if you'd like to be added to the permanent taglist for my work <3

taglist: @jongnado @voicesinmyhead-rc @n3atjok3r246

[babulejka]

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ matchup trade with @tillichan ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

your match: Licht Jekylland Todoroki ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

love at first sight. affectionate looks. pastel blue sky and cotton-candy clouds. peace. someone's fingers running across your scalp after a long day. lipgloss. a signature perfume that you always associate with one person. kisses to the temple. eating blueberries. lilies. sheet music paper covered in lipstick. long staring at person you love and turning your blushing head away when they notice. looks that speak volumes and provide wordless telepathy-like understanding. butterflies and gardens. messy handwriting. colours: silver, baby blue and white. silk. compliments so poetic it's impossible not to blush. taking care of small animals. aesthetic plant pots.

your match is licht jekylland todoroki; the violence angel. the bright and sharp one believing in being send from heaven. the two of you are a calm, loving pair; a gentle breeze dancing among the flowers and leaves.

you're not like the rest of people, he knew that from a start. you're so different, so special. an equal, an angel. just like him. both, your appearance and sweet personality, actions filled with empathy and pure sympathy to another living beings, confirms him in this belief. it affects the way he treats you; with honesty and trust. he knows you'll understand. licht without hesitation will show you the most deeply hidden parts of himself, tell you about his dreams he's planinng to put into practice soon. and believe me, you're an inseparable part of each of them.

his frosty exterior he puts on in public melts unexpectedly fast whenever he sees you. licht can get all lovey dovey with you very quickly and will be as bold with it as when he announces to people that he is, in fact, an angel. there is a certain intimacy you share, subtle yet very visible to anyone seeing you. not so discreetly whispered compliments. kisses on the wrist or the corner of the mouth. gentle touches, accidental or not.

your persona and the serenity you bring licht is often used by his surroundings to soften his childish behaviour and make him less violent. he has a short temper, you know, but with you in near distance he cannot bring himself to attack the dark force being his very own servamp. the annoyance twisting his handsome face disappears in your presence. his lips softly curls in a small smile, sense of calmness in his aura.

after some time in your relationship you discover a great amount of silliness in him. licht referrs to your pets as mr. or mrs. with their full name. shakes paws with them imitating shaking hands as a way to say 'good morning' or 'goodbye'. he has specific sense of humour, but always makes you laugh. you share so many inside jokes it's impossible to explain them to anyone.

he began to compose a piece about you. many pieces. elegies, sonnets, hymns praising your charm, grace and delicacy. none of them good enough. licht has tendency to use big words to describe how deep is his love and admiration for you, and tries to put those feelings into music as well, yet it still feels too shallow, too bland in his mind, leaving bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth.

'please, let me hear them one day' you say, oh so softly, with your sweet voice, smiling at him 'i'd like to know how you perceive me'

'it's not ready. not yet' he says looking away, a slight blush decorating his pale cheeks. how could he show you something so imperfect? something that doesn't catch your whole essence at all? so he'll still work on it, giving it as many corrections as necessary, imaginating your smile and happiness when you'll finally hear this, until he creates a timeless masterpiece, only about you and dedicated solely to you.

he kisses your temple. 'i'll show it to you when it's done. i promise'

he doesn't need grandiose gestures to be assured of your affection towards him, just be there. time spent with you is the best time in his life. simplest activities becoming gripping and happy adventures. a good laugh is guaranteed with him; a fond memory made. botanical garden dates. slow dancing. playing with your pets. looking for constellations. climbing trees together. telling each other stories, form your childhood and more, sharing thoughts in the calming awareness of being understood and not judged. he'll learn how to take care of your plants. will give you flowers and kisses.

licht just loves loving you ♡

[wordtotherose]

"Stop walking away from me!" Elizia takes a deep breath, doesn't close her eyes or frown or furrow her brow, she stays perfectly still. "Listen to me for Hell's sake and stop lying. You aren't fine and frankly, if you couldn't tell, neither am I."

Astarion is a breath away from her face, fists in her nightshirt, holding her close without a care for the pull of the collar around her neck. His breath smells of wine, the bad stuff he only drinks when he's upset. And right now, he's furious. Incandescent with his rage. She cannot show how much his wrathful accusations hurt her, because he will fold into himself, he will crumple and this conversation won't have a chance in hell of progressing. It needs to happen, she knows it does, she's been putting it off and throwing herself into everything and anything to avoid talking to him. Because it's insane, what she's dealing with, absolutely batshit insane and if he doesn't question her sanity after she tells him then…then…well, then she won't know what to do. And that's terrifying. Far scarier than the vampire threatening her. Letting him win is the only way forward or they will be back to where they've been for the past however many days since they moved into this house. It's not yet a home, maybe one morning soon she will wake up and it will feel safe, it will feel like a refuge from the world and all its problems. It doesn't yet. It certainly won't if this is how they're going to be the entire time living under the same roof. And whilst it is entirely her fault right now, she wouldn't lie to him. She is fine enough.

"Astarion," she keeps her voice level, tone as clear of judgment as she can manage in this situation, "I am not lying to you."

He shakes her harshly before pushing her away with an aching look of disgust. "I don't understand, Tavaril. I cannot see what it is I have done between then and now, maybe it's just time. Maybe you've just finally realised the- the reality of chaining yourself to a vampire. An, in your defense in this, admittedly messed up vampire spawn. It makes sense. After all, this cannot be what you want. This perversion of a life. You are miserable, it hasn't escaped my notice that you can't stand to be in the same room as me let alone look at me or, gods forbid, touch me! This is the first time I've seen you in three days, Tav, and you're already leaving again."

Continue Reading on AO3 or under the cut.

He stops abruptly when she flinches, dismay breaking through her mask. He only calls her that when talking about her to the others. It is always, always an endearment or the full versions of her names when speaking to her directly. Never Tav. Not once since they met. She can't get herself together again quick enough to say something before he's back on his roll.

"What?" He snaps. "The truth not meeting your expectations? Lie to yourself, Tav, but don't you dare lie to me, I've had enough of that in my life. I know you're still not sleeping, I can hear you through the wall and yet you make me listen unable to do anything to help. You say you are 'fine' and you send me away. What changed? What did I fucking do? I thought- Gods! I honestly let myself believe you when you said you wanted to live with me, that you wanted our future. Together. But no. Of course not. Why wait until now? Why now, after everything?"

"I haven't lied to you," she repeats, knocked off balance by just how bad she has let it get, just how much she has hurt him, and, because she can barely find the courage to look at him with the guilt on her shoulders, she falls back on cursed old habits. "Astarion, my love, I have been busy, too busy, and I am sorry about that but can't we just-"

"Busy? Busy? With what, Tav? What could there possibly be left to do? What is more important than even just saying a gods damned cordial hello in passing? You know Gale came by trying to find you earlier? 'Where's Tav?' He asked and I looked like a fucking idiot without a clue because my own lover won't look at me let alone talk to me. 'Apologies, Gale, I haven't the faintest idea where Tav is-!' He was sympathetic, he was pitying, do you have any idea how mortifying that was? He's going to ask about it, Tav, at-"

"Stop it!" The shout is nearly a scream of frustration and she cannot regret it even when he looks feral in his own damned vindication in getting a rise out of her, she's playing right into his hand; deep down, she's grateful that he can do this, that he isn't afraid to do this. "Stop fucking calling me that. You never call me that. I'm sorry I've not been around, okay? I miss you, I miss you, you fucking idiot, but I have been trying to process the fact I died and that I have nothing left! I just keep losing everything. Not for one second have I wanted this, you're right, I have imprisoned you in this house and I- I have nothing left… nothing to give you, no leads to follow, nothing but my own trauma and my own gods damned ghosts. Can you honestly say this is what you signed up for? To have to look after me when I cannot think, when I cannot even get out of bed because of the pain? In the space of so many months I have lost everything I had. I- You all were a family to me, you became everything, I would have done anything for any of you and now where are they? I'm alone, again. And I didn't even get to say goodbye."

She squeezes her eyes shut against the prickling of tears, hides in her hands and drops into a crouch right there on their upstairs landing outside their bedroom doors. Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe.

"Nothing." Astarion's echo of her is empty, cold as the void of the Astral Plain. "Well. At least you're not pretending anymore, I suppose."

She scratches her fingers into her hair, forehead to her knees, and digs in with her nails to the short hairs that are doing a horrendous job at growing back. She honestly has forgotten about the sensitive scars until they sting and she's already letting go but Astarion is faster. He's on her in an instant, yanking her wrists away in a vice grip as he holds them to his chest. She glares up at him as he crowds over her, lips pulled back over his fangs in a snarl.

"Stop it, you fool!" Astarion yanks her into the curve of his body, twisting her to wrap his arms tight around her, back to his chest, wrists pinned to her own chest now in a cross.

She grunts and kicks her legs out in front of her, wriggling to try and break free but he has no problem holding on. He continues growling into her ear telling her to stop, to relax, to get it together. There's been moments, like this, since she woke up with half a brain still mush and a body lethargic no matter how much she sleeps. Moments when she cannot do it, this thing called coping or living or surviving, when she's fighting for her life on a brain above the sea again. When she wants it to just stop and that means winning the fight. Sometimes it's darker. A desire heavy and thick like wading through treacle in her mind as she craves and end to sensation, no more thoughts, no more arguing, no more having to try because if she doesn't try then who is going to try for her? No one. No one will. No one ever has.

Astarion is normally softer, more patient, gentler when he has to hold her still. Normally the words he repeats are comforting promises of peace. Normally he isn't accusing her of getting bored of him, of wanting to leave him. Normally…normally she trusts him not to leave her in the aftermath.

"Let me go, Astarion, let me go, please, if you're going to do this then just go, I don't want to do this to you, to us. If you want to go it's okay, I promise, it's okay, you can just tell me. Please just tell me," she begs, chin to her chest.

He exhales heavily and it flows through her. "You know I hate being the sensible one but since you're not stepping up, I guess you leave me no choice."

A sob escapes her as his chin drops onto the top of her head, at the start of her scars.

"When did you last sleep?"

It's not what she expects. Maybe that's why she tells him the truth.

"I can't."

"Right. And where have you been?"

Another sob. "I- it's stupid-"

"Tavaril," the edge is back in his voice, she buckles instantly.

"I can't find his grave," she cries, shaking in his hold as he settles more comfortably around her, legs cradling around her own; he starts to rock them ever so gently back and forth, like she does for him after a nightmare or memory. "I don't remember where they said they would bury him, I didn't go, I didn't- I didn't and all I could see when- when I was dying was him and he's lost. He's lost and he's haunting me, I can't let him go again."

"Oh darling…"

"I can't be- be happy, Astarion, it doesn't work that way. It has never worked that way. I lost him, I let him die whilst I fucking /slept/ and then you- I've ruined you! I've made you just as much a slave to me and my protection as you were to him after promising you what you wanted and then I died and then- then it hit me that I'm going to die again, Astarion, again and there won't be any coming back from that one!"

"...I forgot how much you can talk. It's all absolute shit, of course, but you can really keep it up when you get going."

She screams in frustration and tries to fight her way out again but he holds her tight until the energy seeps away once more, leaving her boneless and cold. After a moment Astarion clears his throat.

"It seems I owe you an apology, my dear. I may have let my own…insecurities," he says the word with a frown she can feel but not see as he hides his face in her neck, "rule my judgment. Though I am not alone in that, it seems. You are nothing like him, my sweet, and it…it pains me to know you think that about yourself. You have your ghosts and I have my own, seven odd thousand of them are in fact actually possibly looking for me so I think I have you beat there."

"I'm not lying," she whispers.

"No, you're not, are you? You damnably honest thing."

"Let me go…"

"You don't actually want me to, do you? Tell me you want me to leave, all else and I will stay. I will stay and you will sleep, in my arms, on my chest or on your own and I will lie on your back as you like. I- We will look together for his resting place. And you will eat. You will rest. You and I will stay here in this frankly hideous house and redecorate to make it liveable and you will remind me that if nothing else, I can protect you from yourself. We have time, Elizia. I promised you we would give planning our next adventure before diving into it a go and I'm not one for breaking promises. You don't have to do anything but rest and recover right now, darling, we will go looking for trouble and artifacts or spells or scrolls when we are both ready."

She shudders, curling her legs up and pushing back into him, reassured by his strength of presence. His words are honey sweet and missing all of the insincerity she used to be so used to. She's an idiot. An exhausted, forever in physical pain nowadays, self-sabotaging idiot.

"Why are you laughing, you weirdo? Do you have a single sane emotion in you at the minute or do I need to take you to get looked at, not that I imagine much can be done that hasn't already."

"I once thought," she says even though she probably shouldn't, "that we'd never get here."

"Yes, I know, you thought you were going to die. It was only a month and a bit ago, darling. You truly have a knack for making a painful conversation worse."

"No, no, I thought we'd never be here. Where I'd- I couldn't say what I want and you'd know anyway. You'd hear me anyway."

He scoffs and prompts her to turn around. She goes, lets him manouver her to face him and he immediately crawls into her lap, straddling her legs. He's taller than her already but like this he has an extra inch or so. She wraps her arms around his back tentatively, tears drying on her cheeks until he brushes them away.

"I'm not leaving. So don't leave me either, Elizia, please. I'm not above begging for this. Not anymore. I spent too long thinking you died because of my monstrous needs to think I could ever really want to be parted from you. Self-sacrificing moron that you are trying to be."

"I don't know how to keep you, how to fix things," she says pitifully, looking up into his earnest expression like a penitent searching for absolution in the idol of their god. "I couldn't face leaving but I couldn't tell you to go either, even to save you. It's been so long since I remembered him so clearly and now I can't stop. He's driving me to destruction and I don't want to ruin you anymore than I already have. I promised you sunlight and I'm breaking my promise."

"Stop saying you've ruined me, would you? You're giving yourself far too much credit for everything that happened. I made my choices, you played a part, yes, but they were my choices, my actions. And you don't need to fix anything. Nothing is broken. I've lived two hundred years in the dark, in far, far worse conditions than this. You know that. You saw the state of the palace. You read their shitty little diaries, heard what Bodey said. Elizia, we have a home, we have…ugh friends, don't tell Gale I said that. I have a lover, a partner who is my equal and who I know, moments like this aside, has seen me at my worst and still trusts me, still cares for me."

"Loves you. Who loves you."

For the first time in so long she gets to see his smile, genuine and soft.

"Who loves me, yes."

"I shouldn't have said what I did. You're right. I have so much…so, so much."

"And just to check, you are including me in that, yes?"

She swats his arm before holding his hand, blushing a little when he presses his thumb into her palm like she does for him so often. "I don't know, that depends on if I'm still wanted. Screwed up as I am after everything. You've…I've been making you carry more than your fair share of all of this since the move. I should be pulling my weight better. I want to pull my weight, not just chase after one of my problems to avoid another."

He quirks a brow and she backpedals gracelessly.

"No! That's not what I meant. Stop being a bastard, that's not what I meant and you know it. You're not a problem. I promise."

"I don't know, I thought you rather liked how much of a bastard I am," he teases, pulling his most offended pout even as she swats at him again.

"Shut up," she grumbles, dropping her weight back to flop onto the floorboards fully. "See if I apologise again."

He runs his fingers mindlessly over her ribs, up around her chest, grazes the skin on show but retreats to the safety of fabric. "I accept your apology, my cantankerous darling. And I apologise too for assuming the worst of you. That was…"

"Understandable, it was understandable, Astarion. I needed pushing. Gods know how long I would have kept it up if you hadn't."

"Hmm…perhaps."

"Can we talk about the rest of it tomorrow? I am actually exhausted."

"Sulking your way round the city on your own does tend to have a depressing effect on a person," he muses, not making any start towards moving. "I've heard it's less so with company though."

Elizia drops her hands on top of his thighs, just resting them there as she looks up at him, apparently puzzled by his obvious offer. "You truly want to go traipsing around graveyards all day- night, sorry? You?"

"I am a vampire if you'll remember, I've done my fair share of graverobbing."

"You have not."

"Have too." He retorts. "People get buried with all sorts of treasures. As you well know, darling."

She yawns unexpectedly, her eyes stay closed afterwards. Like this, with the comforting weight of Astarion above, she feels like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam, utterly drained of all the tension of the past couple days. Well. Months. "You can prove nothing in a court of law," she says sleepily.

"Not without indicting myself, I suppose."

"My point exactly. Can we sleep here tonight? I don't think I can move anymore."

He shifts his weight and she swears if she could purr she gods damned would be as he carefully settles himself on top of her, head tucked under her chin, legs entwined sort of awkwardly with her own.

"Only so long as it doesn't become a habit. We finally have actual, honest to god, good beds and you still want to sleep on the bloody ground."

"Just leave me here when you get uncomfortable or bored if you're not gonna sleep."

"Yes because that will be so good for you, darling."

"Carry me then, I don't care. I'll be asleep."

"...Elizia."

"Astarion."

"Are…"

She cracks an eye open, concerned, and buries a hand in his curls, petting them as soothingly as she knows how. "Astarion," she repeats, softly pressing for him to continue.

He clears his throat to put it off a moment longer. "I simply meant to ask whether we are…okay?"

"Whether we're okay?"

"If you could refrain from the mimicry for the current moment, that'd be much appreciated."

She winces. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just…how do you mean? I think we're okay. I'm okay, well. No. But. Right now, I'm alright, honestly. Are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Just…not used to… Getting things wrong used to be much more dangerous. For me. It wasn't…well, it certainly never ended with a cuddle and apologies, that's for sure."

"Oh… I… I see. Do you…" biting her lip, she gently untangles a snare in the curls by his ear. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not tonight. Can we just…" he doesn't finish, falling into his own thoughts, beyond her reach; she lets him go, trusts that he'll come back, when he's ready, when he can.

She can't remember falling asleep but when she stirs sometime later, still half in a dream, she turns over in her own bed and finds red eyes glinting in the candlelight shining from her bedside table. They're perusing a book but drift down to her as she blinks slowly, ever so slowly, fighting off the cotton clouds of rest long enough to shuffle closer to Astarion. She wraps herself around his nearest leg and clumsily moves to rest her cheek on his thigh, ready to go back to sleep. Cool fingers stroke across her braid and stay there, supporting her neck in her awkward angle of choice so she doesn't slip back down at least while she's conscious enough to grouch about it. She thinks she mumbles a thank you but can't be sure before she's floating away again, peacefully content.

[myfairstarlight]

For Every Question Why (You Were My Because) - Chapter 1

AO3 Link // Next

Rated: T (for now)

Chapter length: 4k

Role Reversal/Roleswap AU. Summary:

In an attempt to protect the angel Aziraphale has found himself smitten with, he accidentally starts the Rebellion earlier than divinely intended. Now Fallen as a demon who walks the Earth under the name of Astrophel, he seeks to move on and make the best of his situation which is proven to be difficult when the angel he sought to once protect and who barely spared him a glance Before keeps seeking him out over the years, guilt pouring out of the angel's every word and action. Surely, nothing wrong can result from this predicament.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Before.

Time had no true bearing in their existence, and yet everything seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye. Aziraphale witnessed the creation of the universe, stars bursting right before their eyes, and suddenly here they were, as Time stood still for Judgement after a tenuous rebellion that turned into a full-blown War.

Lucifer stood in front of them all, arms outstretched as if attempting to protect them, protect them like Someone Else should be doing. Aziraphale looked upon the sea of angels surrounding them then up to the Archangels, their wings and halos on full victorious display. Gabriel and Michael seemed to shine the brightest as together they prepared the Fallens’ upcoming punishment, and Aziraphale could see a familiar face next to Raphael who looked down on the crowd, brow furrowed with concern.

In their shared moment among the stars, Aziraphale had forgotten the status the angel they so admired possessed. Janiel was a Seraphim often standing next to the Archangels, perhaps they never needed to be protected. Perhaps this was all futile, perhaps this could have been avoided. Aziraphale chuckled to themself and looked down. They did not regret it, however, perhaps it would be freeing, to not worry so much about what She thinks.

(And they refused to show fear, if a Fallen they must become, then they shall hang on to their Pride and Dignity for no one could take that away from them, not even the Almighty.)

And as their wings failed them when the clouds parted beneath their feet and brilliant light became all darkness around them, Aziraphale embraced it, they closed their eyes in acceptance even as they burned and bled ichor, and held their heart in their open palms as they dove into sulphury pits.

For, out of spite, they would carry Love until the very End (and Beyond).

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

At the beginning. Eden.

A lone demon stands on top of the Eastern Gate, pondering at the horizon when they hear the flutter of an angel's wings to their right. They usually would have flown away instantly but they cannot sense any hostility from the celestial being so they stay put, a little curious.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” says a new voice.

Aziraphale frowns. “Pardon?”

“I said, that went down like a lead balloon,” the voice is now much closer and sounds rather familiar.

“Oh, it's you,” Aziraphale says, turning around to face the angel. “Janiel.”

Janiel hums. “It is… and you…”

Awkward silence follows until Aziraphale understands they were meant to fill in the pause.

“Oh! Call me Astrophel, I suppose.” Astrophel. Aziraphale had come up with the name on the spot when Satan was about to name them instead— it sounded close enough to their angel name and they feared what Satan could have come up with when the demon in front of them on the line ended up with Furfur.

(They have nothing against Furfur as a demon, they just think the name sounds quite silly.)

Another shorter pause.

“You suppose? You don’t like it?” Janiel asks.

Aziraphale frowns. Are they that obvious about it? “Not really, but I cannot use my God-given name, She has forsaken me, after all.” Why were they being so honest?

“Then who says you can’t?” Janiel points out. “It was a pretty name, after all.”

Another goddamned pause. “You remember it?”

“Of course I do, Aziraphale,” Janiel answers quickly. There is a softness and sadness to their words. Something uncomfortable yet warm settles in Aziraphale’s chest.

“I fear it’s still Astrophel to you.”

Now disappointment fills the air. “Right, sorry.”

Aziraphale fiddles with their fingers. “So. Are we not addressing what just occurred?” they ask. “Adam and Eve escaped from the gate you were guarding after I tempted them to eat that Fruit and you’re strangely… calm about it. Come to think of it, there was a massive hole in the wall, or so I was told, how come you did not fix it?”

(The temptation was an accident, truth be told. Aziraphale had let themself be guided by the delicious scent of the apples gathered in the middle of the Garden and, feeling quite peckish, tried to take one with their beak. Eve just happened to be near and saw them, so Aziraphale offered the apple, comically cradled in one feathered wing.

“But it is forbidden,” she had said even as she welcomed the owl onto her shoulder.

“Why, dear, no one is guarding it, it is free for the taking,” the owl answered.

And so the Original Sin was committed.)

“Um…” Aziraphale can hear the angel nervously shuffle and twist the fabric of their robe. “I punched that hole myself and told them to go quickly…”

“You— you what?”

“You heard me perfectly, Astrophel.” Ah. Janiel sounds annoyed now. “I mean! It didn't seem fair to leave them trapped here, did it? If they wanted to go out, then so be it. That's their choice, and who am I to deprive them of that?”

“A Seraphim and the guardian of the gate meant to keep them in.”

Janiel winces. “Well, perhaps— even so! The Almighty would have cast them out as soon as She heard of this so it was better that they escape instead, I think. I just… don't understand what's so bad about them now knowing the difference between good and bad anyway.”

“But I made them eat the Fruit, though,” Aziraphale reminds them. “Remember? I do hope I did not accidentally do something good… I'm a demon, you lots were supposed to stop me or something? In fact, why haven't you smitten me on sight?”

“... I recognised you, and didn't want to.”

That uncomfortable and warm feeling is back in Aziraphale's chest and they ignore it once more.

“Perhaps you did the wrong thing then," the demon says.

“And you did the right one?”

“Would be an ironic predicament—”

“Why does Adam have a flaming sword?!” the angel exclaims suddenly. Aziraphale flinches at the outburst. “Where did that come from?!”

Aziraphale hears the crackling of fire beside them and they suppose the angel has summoned their own flaming sword, as if making sure it didn't go missing.

The demon suddenly looks up, badly feigning innocence as they feel Janiel look at them intensely.

“That was you, isn't it?”

Aziraphale can't quite place their tone. Not exactly accusatory, more curious. “Mm.”

“You managed to keep the sword you were given as an angel only to give it away to humans?”

Which meant something else neither of them wanted to address out loud.

Aziraphale didn’t fight.

“Such a dangerous power in that man's hand ought to be interesting,” Aziraphale sniffs. “I just thought it would be… chaotic, entertaining.”

(Well, the truth is, Eve was already expecting and Aziraphale knew the wild animals their fellow angels had created Before to surround the Garden and make it as hostile and dangerous as possible, never mind that the Almighty had strangely insisted pregnancy would need to be long and tenuous at a human standard, but the demon was not about to admit all that to the angel next to them.)

A pause.

“I don't believe that,” Janiel states bluntly.

“Believe whatever you want, dear.”

The bellowing scream of a dying lion echoes through the desert followed by exclamations of glee from Eve and a victory cry from Adam.

Aziraphale forgets to refrain from smiling.

“I think you wanted to protect them! So they can defend themselves!” Janiel exclaims then with childish glee. The demon winces.

“Don’t—”

Aziraphale takes a step back when they feel the angel try to get closer in their excitement before sensing droplets of water falling on them. Instinctively, the demon lifts their right wing, sheltering Janiel beneath it.

Aziraphale closes their eyes then, bathing in the silence only interrupted by the gentle plops of the droplets against the gate, against the leaves, against their tired wings. They can picture it so vividly still in their mind, Earth, people, everything they helped create before being cast down before sight was taken from them. They even remember which angel created rain, along with rivers and tears, and they wonder quietly if that angel is still in Heaven or has become a demon and they simply haven’t crossed paths again.

Aziraphale has always had a good memory.

“Astrophel, for all that’s worth, I’m sorry, for what happened.” Guilt radiates from the angel and Aziraphale sniffs. Guilt stinks, they learn now.

“I forgive you.”

The demon doesn't see the way the angel crumbles at the words. They don't see the way the angel tries to catch their eyes, only to notice that the once bright blue eyes they had dismissed before are now just staring ahead, bored, distracted. And they don't see the way Janiel clutches their heart and curses themself for being a coward who stayed quiet after all.

Aziraphale chuckles suddenly. “Just messing with you dear, you've got nothing to be sorry for. You're not the one who cast me down.”

A half-lie. Janiel stood alongside the Archangels and watched, after all.

“It must be some sort of misunderstanding though. You of all angels—”

“I have to stop you right there, dear. Don't get yourself into more trouble because of me. You'll have enough to deal with once they hear of this.”

“But—”

“I'm not worth it, Janiel.”

The conversation ends there just as the rain gives way to the sun. Janiel watches as Aziraphale shakes their head slightly, getting rid of the wetness in their curls.

Then the demon vanishes away as if they were never there.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Outside The Garden. After The Beginning.

Being a demon, as it turns out, is quite different from being an angel, Aziraphale comes to realise. Whereas he used to have very specific instructions on his tasks as an angel, Beelzebub now only tells him to “go cause some mischief on Earth” and then leaves him alone to do so until he is dragged back to report. He’s not sure yet if that is a good thing or not, however.

The lands outside The Garden are bare. He feels the warm sand beneath his feet with a pout, wondering where are the forests and meadows he had worked on, wondering if God had dismissed the concepts after the War. Or perhaps they are places humanity is yet to find and thus he has no reason to seek them out either until then. As he walks, time passes. Towns get built, rivers are born as the land shakes, life rises seemingly out of nowhere and Aziraphale witnesses it all.

After some time simply wandering, a demon comes to Aziraphale’s side.

“Astrophel,” he recognises Hastur’s voice. “Word is that Adam and Eve’s first children are at odds.”

Aziraphale hums, accepting the untold mission — mess with the brothers and further the chaos. Hastur disappears at once and Aziraphale takes his owl form to travel faster through the deserted fields until he finds the village.

And then, he senses quite a generous amount of divine energy surrounding Cain and Abel’s houses. The demon frowns, perching himself on a tree branch. Somehow, he’s able to crunch his beak as the scent of decay hits him.

Abel is killing his cattle?

“Astrophel?” an angelic voice calls and Aziraphale startles when he finds himself held in soft palms. He squawks and immediately flies away to turn back into his human-like form. “It is you, sorry, I wasn’t sure—”

“Janiel,” Aziraphale recognises the guilt stinking the air now with ease. “Refrain from doing that, please.”

He chastises himself in his mind. What kind of demon says please?

“I just never saw you as an owl before! Well, I did, from afar when you— anyway, what are you doing here?”

Again, the angel is awfully… friendly, and talking as if he was delighted to find a demon here.

“I could ask you the same.” Aziraphale fusses over his robe, waiting for the inevitable bolt of smiting that should be heading for him. “I was told the brothers were having… issues. I’m smelling death and decay already and I haven’t done anything yet.”

He doesn’t get an answer for a good while, he can’t even hear the other supernatural being breathe. Aziraphale thinks Janiel simply just left but then a hand grabs his arm and drags him away. He gasps, his first instinct is to struggle and try to get away but then he feels it. Or rather, Her. God’s presence is suddenly descending on Abel’s house. A shudder of fear grips him against his will as he lets Janiel guide him away.

It feels like forever until Janiel finally stops and lets go of him.

“They’re making sacrifices,” the angel says, which doesn’t explain anything at all.

“Sacrifices?” Aziraphale repeats. “To Satan? I would have heard of it.”

He feels the very obvious discomfort from the angel. “No. To God. Cain gives Her his best crops, and Abel gives Her his best sheep. Last week it was the cows I think…”

“... She doesn’t even need to eat, why would they do that?”

He doesn’t see but can guess Janiel is giving him an annoyed glance. “Anyhow, I’ve been trying to stir Abel away from killing his animals and Cain into giving his crops to the rest of the village instead but… they’re both very stubborn and want to earn Her favour again after their parents lost it. And it seems She has noticed them.”

Aziraphale hums. “And where did they hear about making sacrifices being the solution?”

A pause. “I was… I was assuming that was your doing, or at least Hell’s.”

“Afraid not, dear,” Aziraphale says. He will surely take credit when filing the paperwork later, though… it might allow him to be left alone for a while if they think he’s somehow convinced humans that sacrifices could also be made to Heaven.

“But no fear, surely now She will tell them what an absurd act this was—” Janiel cuts himself off and Aziraphale now feels horror clinging to the angel’s skin. “She blessed Abel.”

Huh.

“It seems this has been going on longer than you've been here, then,” Aziraphale points out.

Maybe he won’t take credit then if She approves of it. Wordlessly, Aziraphale takes his owl form once more and flies back towards Abel’s farm, and indeed, while God’s presence is gone, he can feel the remnants of Her blessings through the propriety, and completely lacking on Cain’s ground when he flies over there instead. In fact, upon spying, he hears the man complain about the poverty of the soil not allowing anything to grow at its full potential and blaming it for his brother getting favoured over him.

Jealousy, fury and desperation swirl in Cain’s head, Aziraphale can feel it so strongly he could almost shape it into the air with his hands. It looks like he doesn’t even need to provoke more discord between these brothers, She is doing it perfectly well on Her own.

(It sounds familiar, he thinks.)

Faintly, he hears Janiel talking with Abel and getting thoroughly ignored for all of the angel’s arguments against killing the poor sheep were proven wrong by God’s appearance. Aziraphale observes — manner of speaking — perched on the farm’s roof. He can sense the angel’s growing distress and despite himself, he stays when he could call it a good day of work.

So eventually, as days pass and he feels the frustration and anger rise within Abel, Aziraphale pulls Janiel aside before he can get Abel definitely crossed with him.

“An advice dear, the more you bother the humans about something they shouldn’t do, the more they’ll want to do it,” Aziraphale tells him. “Keep telling the man he can’t keep killing his sheep for God and he’ll slaughter the whole herd in a day to make a point.”

“But that’s stupid, then he won’t have any sheep left!”

“She blessed him. He will probably find new ones wandering into his farm the next morning. The point is— you need a plan. If it’s not working with Abel, perhaps the other brother is worth considering.”

Janiel lights up at the suggestion. “You’re right!” And before Aziraphale can say anything else, the angel rushes towards Cain’s farm instead.

“Just as impatient as I remember,” Aziraphale comments, much too fondly, fortunately, no one hears him.

So he stays. Turned back into his owl, Aziraphale perches himself on Janiel’s shoulder when the angel visits the brothers and tries to enact his divine influence, with minimal success but Aziraphale doesn’t dare point it out with how excited Janiel always seems. The demon is intrigued, to say the least, because as established, God approves of these sacrifices so really, Cain and Abel should be left alone and yet here Janiel is, trying to prevent them. Telling Cain God appreciates his gifts as well but the village would do so even more. Telling Abel that killing his sheep is all well and good, but eventually, he may not have enough livestock for the winter season to come. Sure, it is not explicitly against God’s wishes, but it is… implied. And Janiel is as carefree and confident as ever, so unafraid of the consequences that might fall on him.

If any consequences there even are for him, favoured as he is by the Archangels. Aziraphale does wonder, sometimes. Considering the powerful celestial energy still surrounding the angel, he hasn’t been demoted following Adam and Eve’s escape, or perhaps Janiel… lied to get away with it. But that’s a ludicrous thought, angels don’t lie.

A week passes, and Janiel and Aziraphale sit on the roofs of Abel and Cain’s farms, respectively. Aziraphale dangles his legs in the space separating the two houses and supposes Janiel is doing the same on his side.

Aziraphale tilts his head backwards, listening intensely to Cain’s tired steps as he gathers his crops, his cuts shorter and less precise than usual. He can feel exhaustion and anger still brewing in his heart.

“Do you reckon Abel was also favoured by Adam and Eve?” the demon asks suddenly.

Janiel’s wings bristle. “I hope not. Why?”

“Ah. Just wondering. He seems used to being in his brother’s shadow. Undervalued. Forgotten.”

“You knew Adam and Eve, they’d never neglect their kid,” the angel states confidently.

Aziraphale grimaces. He wishes he did not doubt that.

(The way he started doubting—)

As if summoned by his thoughts, he feels Her presence descending upon Earth once more and Aziraphale promptly transforms into his animalistic form just as Janiel reaches forward and grabs him, hiding him, immaculate white owl feathers blending in perfectly with the angel’s robe.

Then everything happens all at once before Aziraphale can even process the feeling of Janiel’s arms around him and protecting him so fiercely. God blesses Abel once more, dismisses Cain, and then promptly leaves. Cain, still with his scythe in hand, gets blinded by rage and dashes through the short distance separating him from his brother.

Aziraphale is abruptly let go and almost crashes into the ground while Janiel’s voice, suddenly a distant sound, cries out a desperate “No!”. The demon smells it before it happens, the horrid stench of fury and murder and death.

(Aziraphale has a vivid flashback then, of the angel who created Death. They were one of his only friends, back then, in the Human Department. Passionate, bright, and wanted to test out every Concept they created or came across. When Aziraphale shaped Love after meeting a certain Seraphim, that other angel was eager to bathe in it and Aziraphale had indulged them. But then, the angel was asked to come up with a Concept that would allow humans to regulate their population, to counter Breeding. Death, or Azrael as they were named outside of their function, was thus born, the entity needed a test run to make sure it worked as intended and the angel—)

Aziraphale winces as Abel’s pained scream echoes into the air along with the continuous sound of Cain stabbing his gradually weakening body, over and over again.

He should enjoy this, a voice in his head that sounds strangely like Lord Beelzebub’s says, the despair, the betrayal, the chaos. He’s Astrophel, a demon, the demon of Forbidden Knowledge, bearer of bad news and a reminder of the awful nature of reality to send humans into despair and give in to temptation. And he wants to puke.

With effort, and with great reluctance, he stands up and makes his way towards the rapidly potent smell of rotting flesh.

(He needs something that could help him walk around, he thinks, he won’t be able to only rely on his demonic senses if he wants to blend with humans later on.)

As he approaches, he finally picks up Janiel’s frantic whispers and Aziraphale shivers as he senses the power emanating from the angel, desperate. Time stands still, except for him and the angel.

“Janiel,” Aziraphale calls. He hears the faintest of gasp. “He’s already gone. You can’t— you know we can’t. Death won’t be long now, to come collect him.”

“... I could have stopped Cain but my miracles didn’t manage to calm him.”

“When emotions are heightened, humans can be immune to our powers,” Aziraphale says, a bit gloomily. “The Almighty wanted them to have some sort of powers of their own so they're not just glorified puppets.”

Although they kind of are, the voice of Lord Beelzebub buzzes in his mind again.

“Well, it would have been nice to know beforehand,” Janiel scoffs.

“I thought you did.”

It is a decent assumption, Janiel was assigned to Earth for a reason, wasn’t he? Aziraphale was lucky enough to be assigned here full-time instead of Hastur precisely because of his previous involvement in the Human Department as an angel. Janiel oversaw the creation of the galaxies but if he’s monitoring Earth now instead of looking over his precious stars, Aziraphale wonders why when it seems like the humans are all so… surprising and new to him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Janiel,” Aziraphale says gently.

“Then whose is it?!” the angel replies, rightful anger and grief pouring out of his tired lips.

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

They both look up then, towards an endless blue sky. No words are needed.

“I suppose it must be part of some Grand Plan,” the demon muses. He may have lost faith in Her, but he still has the firm belief that She has an ineffable plan no one knows. That all this must mean something, even if that something may just be a game for an entity with such power who happens to be bored.

He misses the way Janiel just frowns, fists clutching the fabric of his robe where dried blood stains the immaculate white.

“I guess so,” the angel answers, hollow, tired. “I wonder…”

“Mm?”

“You… you didn’t… you didn’t influence Cain, right?”

For some reason, Aziraphale feels a part of him break where pride should burst out at the subtle accusation. “You were there at all times, dear, you would have noticed if I did.”

“Right… sorry. You tried to help me I shouldn't have—”

“Don’t apologise, I’m flattered you thought me capable of such deceit,” he lies through his teeth. And with those simple words, he turns around and flies away.

Cain would go on to become the symbol of the birth of evil for humans. Aziraphale makes sure to leave some whispered stories behind about how he was just a man, neither good nor evil, abandoned by God and laughed at by Satan.

(He also gets a commendation for Abel’s murder; although the man is now in Heaven, Cain is secured to be in Hell when his time comes. Aziraphale doesn’t correct Hell but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He supposes at least Cain will be reunited with his parents.)

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Hell

“Gotta give it to him, I did not expect Astrophel to do so well, especially against a Seraphim,” Beelzebub comments, reading the report once more. Humanity’s first murder, done right under God’s nose as well, and with the owlish demon escaping with no blatant injury.

“What ticks me,” Dagon starts, “is why Heaven even sent a Seraphim on Earth in the first place. Janiel, on top of that. These fuckers think groundwork is beneath an angel of that status.”

“Janiel was never known to know how to keep in place or follow orders,” Hastur chimes in. “It’s a wonder how he didn’t Fall.”

“It is a wonder,” Beelzebub agrees, then stands up, effectively ending the meeting. Dagon and Hastur promptly leave while the Prince of Hell still holds Astrophel’s report in their hands, thinking.

Janiel indeed has never been known to be quite the typical obedient angel, Beelzebub knew him Before, they were close friends, even — but Beelzebub could not stand Metatron who was so often by Janiel’s side so Beelzebub always kept a safe distance anyway — and they were so convinced Janiel would Fall with them and yet. Astrophel, on the other hand… Beelzebub recalls only speaking to him once Before, poor, anxious but eager Cherubim, it seems the Fall has given him a bit of the confidence he was lacking as an angel, but Beelzebub is more than aware that Astrophel stuck out as an anomaly within their ranks during Judgement, even if the demon then insisted on being put on Earth to prove his worth — there is also the fact that his memories from Before seem untouched, as opposed to the other demons who used to work in the Human Department as well so Beelzebub’s and Satan’s choices for Hell’s Earth agent were limited anyway. All that to say, there was no way he and Janiel had known each other, however, their statuses wouldn’t have allowed it.

But then again, Janiel was never one to pay attention to the hierarchy and there are too many anomalies surrounding Astrophel, which the demon doesn’t seem aware of himself. So perhaps…

At last, Beelzebub leaves their office and immediately heads for the Torture Department.

“You,” they call, pointing at a demon near the entrance leisurely playing with moths flying around the small flame in the palm of her hand. She doesn’t startle, just merely lifts her head. “Remind me your name.”

“Mara, My Lord,” she answers. “What is it?”

Beelzebub sets Astrophel’s report down on her desk. Mara tilts her head, squinting at the piece of parchment.

“I have a mission for you,” Beelzebub announces. “I have a suspicion that Astrophel might be a weakness in a certain angel that we can exploit, but I need to be sure of it.”

“So… you want me to spy on them? You can’t do that with your flies?” Mara asks.

“They’re too noisy,” Beelzebub groans. A fault in their designs, they have to admit that. “Astrophel would notice immediately. Your moths, on the other hand…”

The lower-ranked demon hums and grins. “Alright, sounds fun.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

[korereapers]

Title: Call me (Little Sunshine)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: D&D, Original stuff

Pairing: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Based on this song, of course.

Warnings: Devil/Human smut, expect some things that are not... very nice (but it's loving, nevertheless)

A little explanation of the fic: When Ohmrom loses his powers because of PLOT ISSUES, he goes back on a sacred mission to the Nine Circles of Hell... To get his pact back. AKA he wants to get dick

AO3

Blood drips against the floor, seconds before a way too warm tongue traces the wound, a dangerous mouth full of sharp teeth gently sucking on it.

Ohmrom isn't looking at him, his eyes on the ground, kneeling before the devil. He is tired, emotionally drained, but this is the way he wants it.

"Hell, I really missed your taste."

Something burns inside of Ohmrom, his knees trembling, but he still doesn't move.

"You may not have my faith," he starts, his voice wavering. "But you have my loyalty. If this serves to rekindle our… bond…"

Barkilara lets out a laugh, a big hand still holding Ohmrom's wrist, the wound closing slowly as he drinks from him, exactly the amount he needs, feeling Ohmrom's exhaustion.

"I knew you were a fool, but… coming to me to make another pact with me. Really, human?"

Ohmrom sighs, looking up slightly, still too nervous to face him, physically, for a long time. Red skin, proud horns and muscles. Chains around him, for those he has wrapped around his finger. Maybe Ohmrom himself is one of them. He finds himself not caring.

"I have never been too… bright."

"You can be impulsive. I never said I didn't like that."

Ohmrom's face seems to heat up, yellow eyes scrutinizing him with something Ohmrom cannot quite read.

"I missed you," he whispers, even if he is sure that Barkilara can hear everything. This is his domain, after all. That's him, putting himself in danger, and running straight to a certain death… or worse. Just because he missed him, his sassy comments, his ancient wisdom, his care, the way he took his body and soul and made him feel that everything was fine. That he was fine, that he deserved the affection and hunger in immortal eyes.

He swears that Barkilara's expression becomes a little softer.

Ohmrom is still holding the dagger when Barkilara speaks into his mind, a silent request engraved into his brain. Ohmrom kisses him, tasting his own blood, a big hand on his back as the devil deepens the kiss, so warm it makes him feel feverish.

"Onir… so that's how your skin feels."

Sharp teeth edge around his lower lip for a second. A warning.

"Do not mention his name while you're here. It's only me and you."

There is an unsaid promise in that sentence, and Ohmrom can feel his stomach clenching in excitement. He nods, letting himself be kissed, big fingers with sharp fingernails keeping him close, tangled in his brown hair.

"Call me, and I'll come for you. That's more than he has ever done."

"That's… yeah. Okay."

He is not very eloquent when he is nervous. Insecure and timid, that may be part of his charm, but he becomes speechless when someone he cares about talks to him with such intensity. For better or worse.

His armor falls to the ground with ease, but he is still holding the dagger. Barkilara takes it from his hand and places it on his improvised throne. He may not be a devil prince, or anything close to that, but that doesn't stop him from being full of himself.

"How… it takes me ages to put it on."

Barkilara smiles against his neck, just below his ear.

"Centuries of torture, sunshine. I know your kind really well."

Jealousy bites him from the inside, and Barkilara sucks on his neck with vehemence. He could just kill him, even more now that he is in his realm, and yet… he can almost feel his eagerness to touch him, similar to Ohmrom's.

"Relax. Not the kind of torture I have reserved for you."

His words are weirdly compelling, and even if Ohmrom knows it may be some kind of spell, he doesn’t resist. He feels his muscles relaxing, his mind clear as a hand pushes him downwards with ease, almost gently, making him kneel yet again.

“But you’re going to have to use that sweet, silver tongue of yours to get what you want.”

Ohmrom blinks slowly, shaking hands trying to reach Barkilara’s pants, unbuttoning them with impatience. His head is guided towards the devil’s groin, letting out his breath just before he opens the fly.

He takes him without thinking, his previous annoyance gone in a second. A big hand guides him, keeping him in place at times, making it harder to breathe.

��Use your nose. We have talked about this.”

He feels like a scolded child, but he obeys without question. He still gasps for air when Barkilara pulls him away, his chin wet with saliva, their eyes finding each other just before he is pushed forwards again, not as hard as before, letting him do as he pleases.

He likes the way the eternal body tenses up, how breath seems to fail him from time to time, the steady grip on his nape faltering a little when Ohmrom does something especially nice with his tongue and lips. When he finds the strength to use his hands, still shaking from excitement, Barkilara shows a smile full of teeth.

“There is no need to be nervous. Everything you have to offer, I am more than eager to take it.”

Ohmrom just lets out a small chuckle.

“Likewise…”

He almost feels proud of himself when he feels the devil tense, a sound caught in his throat that Ohmrom can feel deep inside his bones.

“Not as spineless when you’re truly passionate about something…”

“Someone,” Ohmrom corrects him, his eyes unfocused. “I may lack faith in you as a god, but I have devotion to spare.”

That’s enough for Barkilara to make him stop, making him get up yet again, and crashing his lips against Ohmrom’s. It’s somewhere between affectionate and violent, and Ohmrom finds himself moaning against his mouth, a big hand palming him, apparently done with his own pleasure for the moment. Which is a shame, to be completely honest.

The thought makes Ohmrom shiver.

Barkilara doesn't kneel before anyone. The moves him without effort, even if Ohmrom is a sturdy fighter, proficient with martial weapons decades before he even dared to make a pact. Toned legs tense when the rest of his clothes are gone, his knees on Barkilara's throne, strong arms trembling when he grabs it, visibly exposed.

He feels his ears getting red.

"I'm… kind of a mess. I fought my way down here, I'm all sweaty, and bloody, and-"

"Good."

That's the end of the discussion.

The good and bad thing about Barkilara is that he knows him. He has lived in his head for months, maybe years by now. They have been partners in more than one sense for a long time. He knows what makes Ohmrom tick, which buttons to push. Not that Ohmrom doesn't have the same knowledge about him, but he is not, and never will be, cunning enough to test it all. Barkilara knows what Ohmrom likes, and it involves this… evident power imbalance you get when you're in a relationship with a being that is millenia older than you, who is also a hundred times more powerful.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Overthinking…" is everything Barkilara says before Ohmrom feels his tongue on his neck, tracing an old scar. Barkilara loves those. Proof that he bled, and survived nevertheless. Proof that he will keep surviving. He knows them better than Ohmrom himself, keeping track of them after every fight. Tracing them with different fingers everytime, and now, touching them with his real ones.

"You're taking your sweet time," Ohmrom half complains, almost feeling Barkilara rolling his eyes, just before he feels a smile against his back.

"Anywhere else to be?"

"Yes, I mean no, but-"

He hears a chuckle, and it's embarrassing enough as it is.

"We have both wanted this for a long time. If you were a quick fuck to me, I would have discarded you ages ago."

Fuck it, that's even more embarrassing. That's probably the closest he'll ever get to a confession, and he is fine with it. He doesn't have to talk about what he feels in his brain and body every single day.

"That doesn't mean I don't want a bite."

That, Ohmrom can grant. He relaxes his neck and shoulders, stretching his neck to one side. There is no doubt in his movements, no fear. The devil holds his head, a sulfuric breath on Ohmrom's nape before it's on his neck, drawing a line on it with his tongue.

"Just like that? That easily?"

"I don't really see why not."

Barkilara kisses the spot between his neck and shoulder, his favorite place to drink from.

"Aren't you afraid?"

Ohmrom lets out a dry chuckle.

"I'm always afraid, as you probably know."

There is a smile against his skin, lips sucking on it immediately after, warming it up. He doesn't know if it's for his sake, to make it all feel less intrusive, or if Barkilara has his own reasons. He is not complaining, though.

It does hurt. It always does, his skin sensitive to the intimate pain. In this form, he can almost feel it feeding the devil, his muscles tensing, stronger than before. There is a noise, a wordless concept in Infernal, that Ohmrom feels deep in his bones. It is expressed among whispers as the devil licks his skin downwards, following the blood's trail.

He feels a big hand around his cock, almost dwarfing it. Barkilara's voice sounds positively hungry when he speaks, and Ohmrom feels himself getting harder against his palm.

"That's it… good boy."

They are close, he realizes. So close, it doesn't take much to feel him just behind him, hard as a rock, his hand masturbating him so slowly it's driving him mad. The other hand is on his neck, grabbing his throat without strength, as if he could break him effortlessly. Because he can.

Ohmrom may be a seasoned fighter, but he is still a mortal. He is no match in strength for someone almost twice his size. Barkilara drinks from him like dealing with the sweetest delicacy, and he moans, not so secretly dying to be bent over the throne and fucked raw.

"Nuh-uh. We cannot have that yet. Now that I finally have you here…"

Ohmrom's mind goes blank for a second, his words deep inside of him.

"I… you know I won't last."

A smile curls against his neck just after a particularly wet kiss on his skin.

"I know. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be done with you just yet."

Ohmrom gulps, the hand on his neck tightening a little. Just a little.

"I can make you beg. You know I can. I can keep going until your body gives up and your mind isn't even fully here anymore."

Ohmrom just nods, trying not to focus too much on his words, trying to keep himself from coming, a thumb on his tip making it fucking harder.

"You would love that, wouldn't you? Aren't we a match made in hell…"

Ohmrom swears that his sight is getting blurry, his breath uneven, voice broken.

"Yeah, I…"

"My sweet, little toy… let me take care of you."

And just like that, he is done. He doesn't know if it's the praise mixed with the slight degradation, or the way he can feel Barkilara's hand tensing around his cock. Maybe it's the calculated tone, the words, the precise effect they have on him. As if he were important, as if he were-

"Good, you're so good."

He almost lets out a whine.

“That wasn’t fair…”

The air in the Nine Circles feels even more stagnant than ever, both the exhaustion of fighting and sex catching up to him. He feels dry blood in different places, and he blinks slowly, trying not to think about it.

“Is that a complaint?”

Ohmrom just sighs, his legs aching because of the posture. He says nothing when Barkilara’s hands help him yet again, making him sit, fingers distractedly caressing his thighs. As if trying to ease the pain a little. He doesn’t register it at first, but he is, indeed, sitting on Barkilara’s throne. They have been having sex on Barkilara’s throne. He perks up, his ears burning in embarrassment and… something else.

He looks up, yellow eyes glinting as the devil licks one of his fingers, seemingly unaware of Ohmrom’s internal turmoil. He knows that’s a lie, though. A big, fat lie.

“I… I don’t know if I can keep ruining your furniture.”

The devil raises his eyebrows, a grin going back to his features.

“Why not? I am ruining you in return. I’d say it’s a fair trade.”

This time, the heat flows everywhere in Ohmrom’s body. He swears he can feel himself blushing in places he didn’t know he could blush. He still opens his mouth, a little bit of cheekiness left in him. Even if his voice is trembling.

“Wouldn’t a fair trade be me ruining you in return?”

And, Onir be damned, he swears there is something in the air the moment he speaks. A click, somewhere, like when Brea or Cash manage to open a lock on their first try. Like one of those tomes Noire manages to crack after hours of study. Like Natura’s smile, bright under the sun, flowers in her hair, as if she understood something about the world that he doesn’t.

And in that moment, he does. He swears he does. He opens his mouth, but says nothing. Barkilara’s expression is intense, but there is no anger there. There is nothing that actually makes sense, nothing that explains the way that Barkilara gets closer to him, making him tilt his head slightly, their lips almost touching.

“You can be bright. Impulsive, but you aren’t bad at reading people, aren’t you?”

Ohmrom knows a liar when he sees one. He is one of them, after all. A coward hiding behind façades and false information. In that sense, Barkilara has always been way more honest than he is.

He does the only rational thing. He closes the gap between them, kissing him eagerly, trying not to think. There is no violence in the kiss, but Barkilara doesn’t seem to have any complaint. Both his desire and his insecurities can be felt in the air, dense as fog.

“Lord. Fuck me. I’m not going back without…”

He feels a smile against his lips. A promise.

“That was the plan from the very beginning.”

He doesn't have to ask him to get rid of his clothes. A pointy tail circles one of his ankles, a warm caress while strong hands position him. Ohmrom doesn't really know when he got hold of one of the convenient bottles he saves in his backpack, the ones that aren't full of blood to drink. The ones for more pleasurable matters.

"I'm not going to give you more than you can handle," Barkilara says, almost smugly, and Ohmrom would like to retort, but he has no reason to. He has felt his length in his mouth, and even if he can probably handle it, it's going to be a tight fit.

"I think I'd like anything you give me…" he manages to mutter, trying not to look too much at the way Barkilara coats his fingers with the oily substance. He can feel his eyes on him, and that's more than enough for his sanity.

"I know."

Even his fingers are bigger than what he is used to. Ohmrom likes bigger men in general, but this is dealing with a whole different species, and he cannot avoid tensing a little when a finger slowly gets inside of him, warmer than it should be.

"Relax…" he hears, and he feels the word in the back of his brain, reverberating inside of every nerve. He doesn't resist, and he can feel his body relaxing, accepting a second finger not long after.

He feels full. His eyes feel a little heavy, his muscles slowly regaining full agency. He tenses around the devil's fingers, the involuntary movement rewarded with a smile.

"I really, really want to feel that around my cock."

The words go straight to Ohmrom's cock, and he swears he is getting a little hard again, the fingers inside of him curling slightly, testing the waters.

The devil knows where and how to touch. He has been exploring his body for some time now, and he has known his mind for a longer time. Ohmrom bites his lower lip, trying not to make any embarrassing noise. Barkilara seems to take it as a personal challenge.

"You cannot win this game. You know that."

Ohmrom knows, but he has always been good at pretending.

"Sorry," he answers without thinking, and it's enough to earn him a chuckle.

The devil's in the details, though, and he can feel it in the way the fingers curl inside of him, the motion slow and calculated. Barkilara's arm tenses, and Ohmrom exhales when he moves, almost melting against the throne when he finds his prostate.

"Fuck, that's…"

Barkilara just hums, smiling slightly wider when Ohmrom grabs his shoulder, not to make him stop, but to get something to hold onto. The hand touches his neck, and then his face, going up to the horns and tracing one of them without thinking. It's only when he feels the devil tense, his skin slightly warmer than before, that Ohmrom stops, his hand trembling in the air.

"I never said you should stop," Barkilara says, a second before Ohmrom apologizes. "That was just unexpected… not unpleasant in the slightest."

It's Ohmrom's turn to smile a little, his hand back on one of the horn's roots. He traces the rough skin, mesmerized, and Barkilara has to remind him whose mind and body is getting wrecked. What’s the status quo of their relationship.

"Comfortable?" He asks, sardonically, and a row straight, human teeth greet him.

"Sorry. I got a little too excited."

The movements of his fingers become rougher, more insistent. Ohmrom lets out a small sigh, and Barkilara quickens the pace, enough to draw a low moan out of him.

The caress on his horns becomes more distracted, but he doesn't let go. Barkilara lets out a chuckle, oddly fond.

"Look at that… you really love it."

There is tension building up in Ohmrom's expression. His face is a little flushed again, drunk with pleasure and feelings that threaten to drown him. He looks at the devil with hungry eyes that remind him of himself. Jaw clenched, sweat on his forehead, biting his lip softly when he is afraid of being too noisy.

Barkilara's other hand travels to Ohmrom's mouth, his thumb effortlessly getting inside. If he is going to try and be silent, he at least wants to be able to feel every noise. For now.

"Bite," the devil orders, yellow eyes darkened with lust. "You won't hurt me."

Ohmrom knows it's a bad idea to be blind with trust, especially if it's towards a being like him. He still muffles his next moan with Barkilara's finger, biting it without holding back. His mouth suddenly tastes like something like blood, and his face goes white with both fear and regret. Barkilara keeps him in place, grabbing his face with the remainder of his fingers.

"Drink it."

Ohmrom does as he is told, his lips stained with the devil's blood, his eyes still wide, his body trembling. Barkilara licks his own lips, a smile back on his face. Ohmrom still doesn’t know, but that’s exactly how they’re sealing their new pact. Drinking from each other until they are linked by blood.

"You look so fucking pretty with my blood on you…"

Ohmrom moans at his words, the massage on his prostate both teasing and calculated.

Barkilara takes the thumb out of his mouth, and Ohmrom's expression seems so genuinely disappointed he wants to kiss him and make it better.

"I want to fuck you so, so bad. Would you like that?"

Ohmrom's words definitely sound like a yes, but his voice is hoarse, uneven. Barely human.

"My sweet, little pet…" Barkilara murmurs, his hand back to Ohmrom's nape, holding him dexterously, his fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him still when he kisses him. Ohmrom opens up to him eagerly, like the most delicate flower, and Barkilara feasts on it like a ravenous beast.

Ohmrom complains about the emptiness inside of him when Barkilara's fingers leave him, but he knows that something better is coming. He obeys when he is told to get up, and lets out a strangled sound when Barkilara sits on his own throne, gesturing him to get closer. A single finger telling him to take a seat on his lap, a promise between his legs, big and proud.

Barkilara's nails not so gently dig on his butt when he sits, Ohmrom's legs around the way too warm body. They have done this many times, in many different bodies, Ohmrom guiding his cock until he feels it slowly penetrating his rim, closing his eyes and enjoying their intimacy, the entangled thoughts and feelings, the pride of having such a powerful being looking at him with those eyes. 

This time feels different, though.

It's not just about the length. The temperature and texture of a devil’s skin is different, and Ohmrom wonders about all of those mortal women getting pregnant by different devils, giving birth to cambions, dying during childbirth most of the time.

Ohmrom can understand how and why someone would willingly have sex with a devil. Barkilara is thick inside of him, slowly pushing himself deeper and deeper, Ohmrom's throat hoarse, his eyes bright with tears because of the intensity of what he is feeling.

He doesn’t cry, but he is awfully close. It’s all a mix between worship and degradation, about sharing your darkest parts and being… understood. About not feeling lonely anymore. Neither of them.

"Good?" The devil asks, his voice not as confident as it usually is, maybe sensing Ohmrom’s emotional turmoil.

"Perfect…" Ohmrom sighs, and Barkilara smiles, his cock pulsating at his words.

He can also like praise, after all.

He can almost feel Ohmrom's thoughts, spilling all over the place. He digs his nails into them, and the kind of satisfaction they bring him could only be compared to the physical sensation they are both feeling. Desperate, overwhelming.

He wants more of it.

The funny thing is that they don't really last long. Their limbs are entwined, hands wanting to be everywhere, Ohmrom's movements messy, Barkilara's ones so precise and yet becoming more and more erratic.

"Fucking tight…" the devil half complains, half praises. He chases Ohmrom's orgasm with insistence, even more when he feels him squirm on his lap, his cock largely ignored while his prostate receives most of the attention. His thrusts are not gentle, but also not quick or brutal like they are both used to. They can't. Not this time.

"Big… you're so…"

Ohmrom's muscles tense around him, and that's enough to push Barkilara over the edge. It's surprising, to say the least, when he had mostly forgotten about his own pleasure, wanting to grant Ohmrom his second orgasm, but not last.

Luckily for him, when he spills himself inside of him, Ohmrom seems to react to it, a tired moan masking the intensity of his own orgasm.

Ohmrom lets out a weak laugh, and Barkilara smiles in return. This human of his, he can be kind of cute when he isn’t even trying.

"Now breathe… and try to cast an eldritch blast."

Ohmrom raises his hand a little, slowly darkening because of the use of his magic. Just another proof of how linked they are. Ohmroms eyes become red, the same as when Barkilara uses his magic, and his hand starts glowing in a crimson color, even darker than it used to be.

"So, the pact…"

"It's done, yes. Rekindled."

Relief washes over Ohmrom's expression, and Barkilara shares the sentiment, but he is still not satisfied. He probably never will be.

"Don't even dare to think I am done with you, though. This was just… an appetizer of sorts."

Ohmrom's smile becomes something between a bashful and an anxious expression.

"You're going to get me killed…"

Barkilara's eyes shine, a finger tracing the human's features, but his expression remains only slightly amused. Confident. In control. Ohmrom closes his eyes, breathing down, enjoying his short rest.

"Nothing you cannot handle, sunshine."

[alyosiuscreightonward]

This is from the Drew Barrymore show with Jack Antinoff.

DB: I knew that I felt comfortable with you. I told you, the thing you always made me feel was at ease. I’m going to carry this conversation a lot. Also, in tandem with my need to tamper down my negative self-talk and…

JA: You have negative self-talk?

DB: It’s been bad my whole life.

JA: What’s your shadow? Does it have an actual form? Like, is it too big or is it too small?

As I was watching the Drew Barrymore show today and she was talking to the lead singer of The Bleachers. It was a deep dive.

I can’t get into it, but dayum yo.

This past Friday, I went to a memorial for a friend/work colleague at the Holy Trinity Parish Church in Lowell. Yes, I got my church on. My empath streak was on full tilt boogie. I felt it. I’m not going to debate you. You will say it was and I would tell you it wasn’t because I know what I felt, period. Full stop.

As I looking inward and I was actually praying for her soul and not to be in pain but I wanted her to rock on. For a moment, a nanosecond, I felt your hands on my shoulders. I heard you whisper. I knew it was you and I won’t debate you. I believe outside our selves that we can manifest beyond ourselves and now matter what we do to prove the cynics wrong.

With your earbud in and you jamming to whatever, I came across your mind. My face popped up. You saw me. We made eye contact and you went back to whatever you were doing. Yet I still knew it was you. That moment was so real. It was as if you were actually standing there. I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. You were there. It wasn’t her or anyone else, period.

People will chime in and say shit, but I know what I know and you can say that it was and mysterious ways and just because I was there in that moment and in Church, it was. Again, I won’t debate you.

Yet when I heard someone say, I know how much you “love…” and my sarcasm came out of my mouth when I said, “…more like my nemesis.” Because we both can’t, cannot and will not accept that nor will we ever cross that line. As I said earlier, that’s on you.

I know our connection is there but we have boundaries to keep. I don’t know exactly how you actually feel though I know what I know. No one can change how I absorb the energy and I do know how to step back from it all and just wait.

Though I’m angry with myself for being like this and having these feelings. I scream in the car and I scream into my pillow because I can’t process the fact that I have these feelings and emotions. I kept them hidden, I put them and completely hid them where the darkest shadows cower. They were never to be seen again by anyone. I muttered to myself that I loathe, detest and even hate you. But when I heard you on the phone, I could hear a change in your voice. It was wonderful to hear that lilt in your voice that night.

I also know that one day, we will most likely go our separate ways and never have another chance. I accept, acknowledge and affirm that will happen. We had it. We had our time together.

I will never have another like you. I will always have those moments where I debase myself and have those negative feelings about myself for having these feelings about you. Fuck!!! Why did this happen to me? I’m fucked.

The other day I was driving to work and on my jukebox playlist and I heard Steve Grand’s “All American Boy.” I then remembered that I had watched the video once before and I never watched it again. It’s also just like “Brokeback Mountain.” I can’t watch it anymore. The cologne you wear is named after a color. I texted you about something trivial yet you responded and I could hear you and I could feel you. I was on the verge of tears, but I sucked it up and then did my job. I spoke to several people and as soon as they left, I went from being pleasant to sullen in the blink of an eye.

Fuck!!! I don’t want these feelings, but they are here and I just can’t stop them. I still can’t understand why. I know that you have “care” and “we” can’t talk about it. I want you to hold me in your arms. I know that you can’t because that’s “Gay.” I don’t know where my feelings will stop. Like Pat Sajak and Vanna White, I don’t where the wheel will stop. I can’t buy a clue. But when you do walk away from me, I want to know, can I get fries with that shake? Can I Super Size for sixty nine cents?

Please don’t be mad on me. I have a feeling that you are exasperated with me. I fight with my demons and just for you I will not allow them to win. The nanosecond of attention you give me is going to get me through the day.

Enough. I CANNOT DODGE THE RAINDROPS OF EMOTIONS!!!

[aspiestvmusings]

THE MASKED SINGER (US) S3

THE MASKED SINGER (USA) SPOILERS! 

Here’s what we know so far. 

Premiere date: Feb 2nd (02/02/2020) right after SB

Clues: There will be clues (video clips?) aired/shown during SuperBowl (commercials) on Feb 2nd

Clues/Clue packages: will be presented differently this time...to make the guessing harder.

Voiceovers: This season the clue package voice overs apparnetly won’t be done by the celebs themselves, who are in the costumes, but by their family members/relatives/friends - people, who know them. (Why not hire a VO actor to read all of the contestants clues instead of involving more people - because the more people that know the identities the harder the secret is to keep, right?) 

SEASON 3 COSTUMES: 

A-Z 

Astronaut 

Banana 

Bear 

Elephant 

Frog 

Kangaroo

Kitty (Cat)

Llama 

Miss Monster 

Mouse 

Night Angel 

Rhino

Robot

Swan 

Turtle 

Taco 

T-Rex (EDITED TO ADD: JUST REVEALED)

White Tiger 

And based on the order of the revealed masks, it looks like they are divided into three groups in the following way (these are my guesses based on the order in which each mask was revealed, but there could be mistakes in my guesses): 

Edited: to correct the names/masks of the 6 contestants in group A, because it’s not the first 6 costumes revealed. Same with Groups B & C. The order of costume reveal is not the order they’re divided into groups of six. 

. 

GROUP A (1) 

(Pink) Miss Monster Mask (looks female & she is short!) 

Robot Mask (looks male, but he is short-ish; costume: vintage robot)

Llama mask (looks male; costume: tourist w. a camera style)

Turtle Mask (ETA: sounds male, & he is short-ish, could be a team-sports baller - athlete, but sounds like he can sing; costume: punk style leather)

White Tiger Mask (looks male & he is very tall - looks to be around/almost 2m) 

Kangaroo Mask (ETA: looks & sounds female...actually...)

GROUP B (2) 

Banana Mask (cannot tell if M or F, but possibly a female artist) 

Mouse Mask (looks female) 

Frog Mask (looks female to me, but could be male, is possible an athlete; costume: purple “Mask” suit)

Kitty (Cat) Mask (looks female, costume: LV burlesque show style)

Elephant Mask (looks male, & he is tal-ish; costume: design gives me MCU quantum realm/time travel space suit vibes)

Taco Mask (cannot tell if M or F) 

GROUP C (3) 

Astronaut Mask (cannot tell if M or F, most likely male, they are short-ish) 

(White) Swan Mask (looks female)

Rhino Mask (looks male, costume: safari & pilot jacket)

Bear Mask (looks female, costume: purple & pink teddybear) 

Night Angel Mask (looks female) 

T-Rex Mask (looks male; costume: Reneissance/Shakespeare style look)  PS. it seemed to be something resembling a 2-headed dragon or so.. so  2 people in one costume or like llama, who has two sets of legs... but instead...it’s a “dinosaur”) 

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

This year the US show has record number of masks/celebs (18), so they are divided into 3 groups (last year it was 16 and 2 groups). And this year the show is filmed and airs differently. First the first group filmed all their episodes, then the second group, and lastly the third group (filming currently). Then only after that all remaining contestants from each group are “united” and compete against each other in the “quarter finals”. 

And they also air the episodes this way: First three episodes are group A. And since each week one mask is voted out, then in the end that leaves 3 masks standing in Group A “finale”. Then next three episodes (eps 4-6) is group B. And then next three eps (eps 7 - 9) is Group C. That means that during the first 9 episodes each group competes separately. 

Then all remaining 9 contestants (3 + 3 + 3 from each group) get together, and form one group...and the show continues as known from previous seasons. And still each week one (or in some weeks 2) masks are voted out. Til only 3 remain by the Finale episode. This means that S3 has most likely 15 episodes or so (depending on how many weeks have double-eliminations between episode 10 and The Finale)

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

Each costume looks kinda male or female. But you cannot judge the gender of the celeb under it by the look of the costume. If the costume is pink and/or has a dress, it’s not definitely a female celeb wearing it, though they do prefer to use pink for girls & blue for boys...so far. And if the costume is dressed in a suit, it’s not definitely a male celeb wearing it. 

Some costumes, which show the persons physique more, make it a lot easier to guess who is wearing it (their gender, their size - height & bodytype), but even then there could be curveballs thrown in there. 

I have added guesses on who I think is wearing the costume (male or female celeb) based on how much of the person can be seen under the costume. And based on whats shown in the video clips, and promo pics...the little clues about the celebs that we’ve gotten. Some of these estimates might be off. 

We know based on the little info that has come out that there is (at least) one very tall celeb in the costume (Taco, Tiger?). And we know that at least two contestants are not very tall (a bit or quite a bit shorter than the shows host, Nick C., who is 6 feet..or so = about 180cm tall). 

Regarding height: When Turtle, Miss Monster, Kangaroo & White Tiger stand next to each other, then they are in order of height with Tiger the tallest & Turtle & Miss Moster the shortest. Miss Monster is quite a bit shorter than host Nick. Robot is also shorter than host Nick. Other short or short-ish contestants include: astrounaut...

IF we assume that (like in most of the time on this format) there are equal number of male & female contestants, then... that makes the guessing based on just the costumes easier...on which one each is. 

EDITED OUT AFTER EP 1 HAD AIRED.  

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

STATS: 

The 18 celebs in the costumes, combined have: 

in total: 69 Grammy nominations (so at least a one or few big(ger) names from music world) EDITED on Feb 3rd: - 25 (the number of noms that the Robot, the 1st mask voted out, has) = 44 left for the remaining 17 contestants 

in total: 88 gold record (so at least one or a few big(ger) names from music world) EDITED on Feb 3rd:  - 12 or more...depending on which ones count here (as far as I know all or almost all of the Robot’s albums have gone Gold and/or Platinum, and he’s released over 10 albums + mixtapes etc) = 76-ish left for the remaining 17 contestants 

in total: 11 super bowl appearances (this doesn’t mean that they’ve played during SB, it also includes all apperances during SB games...like performing during half-time, ...any celeb appearance during the game/broadcast...)

in total: 3 stars in the (Hollywoood) “walk of fame” (so at least 3 big names, who have been given a star there) 

in total: 160 tattoos (this means at least a few celebs, who have a lot of tattoos, because 160 divided by 18 gives us 8-9 per person, but I’m guessing some have none/max 1, and some have more than 10)  EDITED on Feb 3rd: - 86 (the number of tattoos that Robot, the 1st mask voted out, has - his tattoos made up about half of all the tattoos) = 74 left for the ramaining 17 contestants 

in total: 1 title in the “Guinness Book of World Records”** - this one could be easy to figure out if someone took the time to check the list of record holders in those books...

** There are quite many celebs, who have been in Quinness World Record Book. It doesn’t have to really be a “real record” - it can be something like “reached 1 million followers on IG the fastest” or “took the most selfies in a limited timeframe”. Some of the famous people, who have/had in 2019 (when they were cast) or have had titles of Guinness Records include: Eminem, Ariana Grande, Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, Shakira, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, Justin Bieber, Dolly Parton, Ozzy Obbourne, The Rock, RDJ (kinda, thanks to his fans), Ellen DeGeneres, Jennifer Lawrence, Cristiano Ronaldo (athlete), Alex Rodriguez (athlete)

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

And that is basically all theyve revealed so far. Which I personally consider a plus. And I hope that theyve really upped their game, and dont make guessing so easy. For profesisonal singers among the contestants their voice alone will give them away most times (examples: Leopard, Rottweiler last season... who have such unique, well known voices). So it’s a bit more challenging for people guessing for the clues not to be so easy. Which is why I hope they really made the clues harder...like they have promised in the previews. 

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

SPOILERS: We have knows for a little while who would be eliminated first. Because weve seen the four costumes that make it to the last epsiode of Group A (ep 3x03) - Kangaroo, Monster, Tiger, Turtle. Since the Robot was unmasked first, that means Llama will be unmasked next (on Web, Feb 5th). We know this because they always miss that they’ve included soem revealing bits in their promos (or include the pictures/clips on purpose). They accidentally included an image of the last four masks for griup A. And you can also determine who stays for how longif you pay attention to the clips - you can tell how many different performances each mask has - cause for some they include just one, for some several, and the more different songs/performances the further they make. 

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

How many different perdormances from each mask/contestant have they included in their promos/promo clips (this means: they persorm AT LEAST this many different songs): 

Astronaut

Banana = 1

Bear

Elephant

Frog = 1

Kangaroo = 1 + 1 

Kitty (Cat) 1

Llama 1 

Miss Monster 1 + 1 

Mouse 1 

Night Angel

Rhino

Robot 1 

Swan

Turtle 1 + 1 

Taco 1 

T-Rex 

White Tiger 1 + 1 

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

[lyneira]

♡ *doki doki* ♡

-> things that would make their heart beat a little bit faster

Seeing you smile

Itto, Diluc, Childe, Venti, Thoma

He absolutely loves seeing your face brighten up with a genuine smile. It has him subconsciously mirroring you, his face also turning aglow (even if it's in the most subtle way for someone like Diluc) And especially when you're smiling at him, that love grows tenfold and his own smile grows deeper. He can't help but be full of adoration for you upon seeing that lovely expression. More so when that beautiful smile forms into a laugh, oh his heart is soaring.

That's why he often makes it a point to make you smile whenever he sees you. Whether it's doing something kind for you, telling you a joke, or surprising you with a gift, he's going to find any possible way to make you smile. Your smile is just so precious to him as he knows how fleeting happy moments like these can be, despite how much he wishes they'd last forever.

So he will protect it with all his might, and God forbid someone ever makes that smile turn upside down.

Feeling your touch

Xiao, Tighnari, Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Gorou

Your touch soothes them, assures them, warms them. You needn't even give them a big hug. The moment they feel your skin on theirs, even if it's barely a ghost of a touch, they're folding. After all, I honestly don't these guys would be used to skinship even though it's what they'd secretly crave for the most.

He nearly holds his breath as he feels your fingertips gently caress his skin because if he were to let go, he'd be all over you. Each time you touched him, he'd desire more of that warmth. He wanted more of you. You, who would put his mind at rest and feeling your touch reassures them of that. You make him feel safe

Staring deeply into your eyes

Alhaitham, Zhongli, Kaeya, Cyno, Kaveh

There's an unspoken trust and connection when you two gaze into each other’s eyes that there is no need for words to let them know that you love them.

Your eyes say words that your lips cannot express to its full extent, and most of all, your eyes can never lie. That's why when you look into his eyes with so much love, he knows that it's true and it makes him feel warm. He's so happy that there's no denying you love him as much as he loves you.

Hearing your voice

Ayato, Heizou, Kazuha, Albedo, Baizhu

I feel like these people wouldn't like hearing a lot of noise, but on the contrary, I would think that they didn't mind listening to you.

Your voice is such a distinguishable part of you which makes it his favorite. There's no one else who has that same exact tone of voice, the same exact intonation you use, the same laugh that you have, and all of the other sounds you'd make. They love it so much because it could only belong to you. And when his name would come out of your mouth so sweetly? He'd swoon a bit each time.

Any sound from you meant it was a sound from his favorite person in all of Teyvat. So if he wasn't looking and didn't know you were coming to see him, the moment you call out his name, he'd immediately know it was you and he'd smile. His beloved was here.

a/n: this prompt is heavily inspired by one of the click and drag games I made a while ago on @deescade (hehe, shameless plug per usual). I haven't created a genshin one yet, but I currently have a twisted wonderland one and obey me one if y'all are interested!

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[poetryinsilence]

Oceans and Engines (part I)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female!Reader

part I | part II | part III | part IV | part V

A/n: It's October so you know what that means! ✨Whumptober✨ Fluff to Angst fic. This is a love letter; signed, sealed, and undelivered with unsaid things to no one in particular. I wanted to make myself cry because life got me in a chokehold. And what better way to do this than write a fic that takes away -1hp with every word written. This is a full-on SOBFEST, so, enjoy :) I wanna apologize beforehand because there are just so, so many metaphors and ocean-themed and that's on me :')

Summary: So what if you've found the right person; so delicate with love that he could run his fingers lightly on your face and you would burst into flame? But what if he’s also the wrong person, one that doesn’t put up a fight and runs away? Loving Robert Floyd felt so easy, yet hurts so much.

Wc: 2,290

His breath felt heavy in his chest, tightening with each inhale he took and exhaled with a shaky sigh. Hands sweaty as he wipes it away with the fabric of his pant legs and swaps between what's clutched in his hand. He got on one knee in front of a crowd of party people and drunkards at The Hard Deck as his trembling voice asks:

“I love you from the moment you walk into this bar, and I will always and forever love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

The gathered crowd gasps at the scene in front of their eyes; you could hear a pin drop at this moment as they await your answer. You were stunned by this sudden proposal proposed by your boyfriend; eyes gazed into yours with affection and adoration. A few strands of his golden hair curl just above his cerulean blue eyes- hiding behind big gold-rimmed glasses. His boyish grin radiates warmth, but his affection cannot penetrate your heart because you know that you are undeserving of taking his last name and starting your own family with him for the rest of your life. You do not deserve his unconditional love because, to you, he’s not the love of your life.

Minutes seem to slow down at the very moment when your eyes travel to the entrance of The Hard Deck, and there he stands tall and upright, with his wire-framed glasses shaped perfectly on his pretty face, just as you remembered it. He gave you a soft smile and a nod. The light behind his ocean eyes flickered with a twinge of sadness, but he knew it was what he must do.

The swarm of people crowds this beautiful moment; he’s the only one that stands out and captures your attention. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd. He was once your dream. A story of the future that you had, but the pages crisped and torn without knowing what the end truly holds—the one true love that entangles with your soul. And the one that also slipped away.

———

You decided you needed a change of pace from the small town you once grew up in, but now it's just a place blended into one giant shade of monotonous grey. Its cultivation in prime time is long gone and people who remain there either moved away to find a better future for themselves; or are just halfway through death’s door.

That’s when you wanted a clean slate; at the age of 24, to cut out the suffocation and the repetition of your old, stuck-up job. Where else would you rather be other than California? The literal opposite of your childhood town. A place where the heart of the city and its people are, well, alive!

You sat on the beach with that sweltering sun beaming down at you; the grainy sand cradles your feet. You wonder when was the last time you ever felt this feeling of hope and excitement spilling out from your core.

As the hues of the sky entwined with the ocean at the horizon in a sunny shade of orange, the waves draped along the shoreline one moment and pulled back the next, leaving a brief imprint of their existence. Eyes drooped closed as you listened to the crescendo waves ripple in tempo until a sudden searing pain smacked dead across your arm and the backsplash of rough sand splattered across your face.

"Oh God, I-I-I'm so sorry. I-It's my fault! The ball slipped out of my grasp and-and are you alright?" A panic and concern in his trembling voice. You look up to see a black silhouette blocked out by the sun; the shape of his outline appears lanky— hunchback with his shoulders rolled forward.

He crouched down to inspect the damage he had done to your arm. Now in full view, you see his features; eyes wide and filled with blue mimicking the vast ocean, his hair slick back with hair gel or sweat— maybe a mixture of both— along with an old school wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose and tightly fitted with a saffron colored shirt. His lips are pursed together as worry has taken over his face.

The pain in your arm no longer matters when you catch sight of his gaze. He softly smiles at you, and without missing a beat like the waves pushing against the shore- everything about him pours right into your world. The warmest blue eyes and that innocent, boyish smile— you drink it in. And he does the same. Take in your deep-set eyes, trailing down to the top of your nose and lingering on your bitten red lips. You felt intoxicated simply from just one look; the butterflies in your stomach threatened to escape and flutter out to the world, embarrassingly exposing yourself.

He opens his mouth to speak before getting cut off by distant shouting. “Got your foot stuck in the sand? What’s taking so long?” A handsome man, flexed with washboard abs and flocks of blondes. He yells out. He’s good-looking, you’ll admit it that much, but his lack of mannerisms took a toll on you. If he wiped that cocky-ass grin and pretentious personality off his overconfident face, maybe you might just tolerate him.

“I-I think she’s injured! I’ll take her to Penny’s. You guys go on ahead!” He swoops up the football and launches it in one full motion. What surprised you was your underestimation of his physique when he swung the football back to his teammates across the beach with a rough estimation of 30 feet apart. If you weren’t impressed by him before, you sure are now.

He turns back with his brows knitted together. “Let’s get that iced before it gets any worse for you.” He helps you up on your feet and offers support on your elbow. When his touch grazes your arm, the heat of his fingertips lingers and sends a shock of warmth down your spine. Goosebumps light their way on your arm, and you hope he hadn’t noticed as he guides you across the beach to a homey-looking bar with ‘The Hard Deck’ inscribed on the front. He pushed his way in and worked around before seating you on the bar stool.

“Seems like you know your way around here.” You broke the silence with curiosity, as he rummaged around behind all the beer taps. You glance around, taking in the sight of this shack; rows of cups decorated and hanging low from the ceiling, and a piano sits isolated on the opposite side of the bar while the jukebox plays a slow, sultry tune in the background.

It's unusually quiet for a bar, with barely any patrons or servers in the early afternoon. You listen loosely to "I’m in the mood for love" and think to yourself about the irony of this situation. Sure, you just met this guy approximately 15 minutes ago. But he's also the first person you’ve actually had a proper conversion (kind of) in the state of California, where you’re a million miles away from where you came from, and yet, there’s something unique and different about him but can’t quite put it on a canvas.

He whips back around with a bag of ice ready in his hands and treats it gently on your already purple bruise. He frowns. “I um, I-I just come here quite often. I don’t drink, but um- the guys outside hang around quite a lot, so I usually just join them.”

He pursed his lips together again, wondering if he had said the right thing. The icy coolness seeps across your injury and follows up your fingertips, but this arctic temperature could not calm the flush spreading along your cheeks.

His posture slumps, leaning on one hip and still hunched— making himself smaller than the space he’s occupied, but correct himself once he sees you observing his every move. You can’t help but chuckle.

“It’s probably rude of me that um- that I haven’t introduced myself.” He sheepishly pushed up his glasses, “I’m Robert, Robert Floyd. But you can call me Bob. That's what everyone calls me anyway. But also, that is kind of my name.” Bob mumbles on, reaching out his hand for you to reciprocate the handshake, but was immediately taken back by him.

“Oh, sorry…I didn’t- that was your injured arm.” He casually collides his palm back and forth with the side of his shorts before reaching out. You gladly accept the gesture and, in turn, unveil your name. His lips softly repeat your own back to you; in slow syllables, causing your heart to skip a beat. Or possibly just stop beating all at once.

“I think that should be my line since you’re the one that’s helping me. Well, cause the damage and then patch me up.” you jest but noticed the colour drained from his face. You shook your head and wanted to tell him you were joking. But he interjects,

"I-I-I am really, really sorry about that. It's unusually clumsy of me and-and—" fingers fiddling in anxiousness, his chest rises. With a heavy sigh, he opens up again. "Can I buy you a drink as-as an apology and to make it up to you?"

Bob swallows, awkwardly looking down at his shuffling feet against the hardwood floor, waiting nervously for your answer. You can almost see the thoughts in his head, screaming out: 'Is she going to reject me? Am I being too straightforward?' as you hold in a giggle.

"Yes, I would like that very much" a beat, "and...apology accepted." 

Bob's shoulders relaxed, and his face beamed with relief and delight. He hadn't noticed the breath he held in with his mind fully preoccupied with the thought of your rejection and possibly resentment for his own little football mistake. But he felt grateful it gave him an opportunity to have the courage to talk to you. 

He noticed; you sat by the shoreline, mesmerised by the twinkle of ocean waves, attentive to the sound of nature clashing and contemplating. He wondered what you were thinking, what you were feeling. He wanted to peek inside and see. The mellow breeze blew past you, strands of hair caught across your face as you tucked them behind your ear with your delicate finger, and a few locks weaved freely, where he thought they were radiating in the sunlight. His soul was screaming at his feet to come up to you and strike up a conversation, yet in his gut, he knew he wouldn't have the bravery to be able to keep you around. But all it took was one brawny pass from Hangman, and an accidental slip-up sends Bob landing at your feet as the fates have it.

Conversations flow effortlessly between you and Bob. How he was growing up, living off his family’s ranch on the outskirts of Texas, where he helped raise cattle and sheeps with his father. He remembers every Saturday, his mother would make him omelettes with an extra side of buttermilk pancakes and explained that's his favourite. His eyes twinkle with childish joy as he runs through his nostalgia, and you laugh along when he exaggerates the motion of hands, so immersed in his stories that made you wish you had witnessed it too. In return, you shared your side of the story.

Little by little at first; then all at once, you spilt them out. You’ve never met someone that listened to your life story as intently as him before. Most people you’ve met quickly brush you off as sensitive or overreacting, but Bob, he listens. He laughs along with you at the parts that made you happy and frowned at the memories you lived through that made your eyes wet. He understands how lonely you felt, living in a repeated cycle, but you’ve always looked on the brighter side of life. A life that’s filled with nothing but love, and he hoped that he could be a part of it someday.

Aviators started to roll into The Hard Deck, and that’s when you both knew it was your cue to leave. Bob insisted on walking you home, but you politely declined and reassured him you lived close by. That it’s perfectly safe to walk home while the sun is still up. Before he leaves, he turns and blinks at you, debating something inside his head but decides to ask anyway.

“C-can I see you again? I hope this isn’t too much, but I want to um- talk to you again. I uh- Oh, I work nearby- I-I’m a naval officer, like one of those aviators, well, a lieutenant. Actually, a weapon system officer, w-which is-“ he sealed his lips together to stop himself from babbling on any further embarrassment. But you find his reaction rather cute.

“I knew you were special,” you whispered inaudibly to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing…Um, of course! I’d love to meet you again.” You flashed a toothy smile in response.

Bob instantly melts into your grin, and the word ‘love’ echoes inside his head. He never had anyone use the word ‘love’ to him before, not in a genuine way. He heard his teammates use it in the context of things like 'Hangman loves the feeling of the need for speed' or 'Rooster loves to beat the shit out of Hangman when he steps out of line.' All of these were in the context of things. But hearing in your silky voice, it’s something he never learned until now. That the word ‘love’ has such a powerful feeling— this intense warmth he never wants to let go of and one he can’t bear to lose.

[moonlesslights]

Going down (NSFW)

Ramsay Bolton

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Summary: You are the betrothed of Ramsay Bolton, however, attending to a celebration on the South, he gets a little too jealous of all the eyes on his lady. You take him to another room to avoid an scene a both decide to enjoy some time alone.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex.

(this is part of a serie of OS I want to start for Ramsay and “us”, it won’t be really a serie but fragments of their lives)

Enjoy!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The first time I decided to go deep throat on him was before an event with some lords and ladies.

He was jealous. Some lord of the south had been insinuating to me, being a little too friendly and Ramsay felt like people still didn’t get the fact that we were together or, what was driving him crazy, the fact that people though that i didn’t want to be with him… or was it?

—Calm down, love.— I say, my hands on his chest moving up and down.

—He was talking about your ass with his friend, in front of me… do you think that’s okay to let go?

—They are southerners, Ramsay. You know their manner of be is by far a lot more relaxed than ours.

—They are disrespecting you. They are disrespecting the Lady of Dreadfort and our house with it.

He is still trying to look for one of the windows in the room we were in, the room I took him trying to avoid an scene. I place my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. His eyes connect with mines, deep blue blending under the light of the candles, still confused when I smile.

—And what are you going to do, love?, are you going to flay them?— He can’t. I know it, that’s why I’m taking this so calm, if we were on the North, I would be fearing for their lives.

Ramsay frowns, biting his inner cheek and avoiding my look again. Now I know that this is not only jealousy, something else is upsetting him.

—What is going on with you, mhm?— I push my finger on his jaw, redirecting his face to me.

—Nothing.— He’s angry, I can tell by his voice and how he raises his eyebrows with annoyance.

—Tell me.— I insist. —We can’t go back out there with you looking like someone died… Or like you tried but didn’t succeed.

He ignores my words, only furrowing much more when he looks at me and finally continues:

—Yes, we are going back out there. With you in that pretty dress and hundreds of looks on your back.— His voice drops, and I can tell he’s about to spit what is burning in his throat. —But I’m not sure if you would like to go back to the North with me…

—Ramsay…— My heart gives a skip. What is he talking about?

—After all, we aren’t married yet, and you were only betrothed to me, so why wouldn’t you look for someone else out there?

The words hit in my brain and then I can get to feel how much this man loves me, even when he acts like this, like he would give anything make me leave him alone. My expression softens, putting my hand on his cheek again and felling, even as he resist a little, how his face seeks the touch of my fingertips.

—You’re not so clever as you think you are, my lord.— I murmur, smiling.

He turns to me and opens his eyes, confused.

—What do you mean?— Ramsay asks.

I don’t respond, instead, my head does a click with the idea to show him what I meant.

I fall to my knees, Ramsay leans immediately, trying to take my hand and whispering if I was okay, however, his attempts to put me back on my feet decline when I reach under his upper clothes. The second my fingers rub from his belly button to his pants, passing for the fine path of hair, he feels a chill run down his entire spine until it settles in his crotch. He clenches his jaw, slightly surprised of what I was doing.

Usually, he’s the one to star any kind of encounter that leads both of us to sexual pleasure. So, this, is a huge step for me and for this part of our relationship, because of what he said: we aren’t married, therefore, we haven’t had sex. However, since we started to sleep in the same bed at the Dreadfort, it was hard for Ramsay to keep his hands to himself. I said no the firsts times and he respected that, but as time passed and I got to see him in plenty of ways, I accepted that I was somewhat of touch starved… Even thought, not so much as him.

The first time I let go was at his office, late at night, when he kissed me with such hungry and desperation but yet so careful to not make me back away that I couldn’t take it anymore… And he realized that. He took me from my hips and place me on one of his legs, holding me tight. The rest was amazing: him, making me grind on his knee, moving me up and down for the fabric of his pants, asking me if it felt right that or this. Smiling until he had to put his hand covering my mouth to avoid my voice woke up half of the people there, no, then he wasn’t smiling anymore, he was laughing. One of the most precious laugh i’ve heard.

Since that moment, he haven’t stopped. Grabbing me by my hips again one morning, holding my back against his chest and with one hand around my stomach and the other going down on my pussy, he fingered me until I couldn’t stop shaking from pleasure with his digits hard and deep in me.

Other time was when, while I was grinding on his leg, I reach for the bulge among his legs. It took him by surprise, I guessed based on the way his head dropped back, murmuring a soft “fuck” under his breath. He wanted to be touched, I realized, he was dying for me to go for all on him but he never intended to push me, after all, I had just accepted for any of us to die of touch starvation.

That same time was the first time he made me scream his name high and clear. None of us could help it (I tried, I swear), but when he got too excited with my hand going up and down on his member, he turned us, positioning himself above me and beginning to simulate hard thrusts on me. He has always been a quiet lover, he groans and moans, but just never too loud. But me and the wooden bed?, well, we kinda woke up everyone in the castle that night.

So now, with me on my knees and pulling down of the fabric, he really doesn’t know if I’m going to do what he is thinking. His fantasies flying around his mind, he didn’t thought that, during this travel, it was going to happen.

—Did the cat ate your tongue?— I ask, smiling. He’s always nonchalant about how nervous I am during our time of pleasure, but know is him who doesn’t talk at all.

—We need to be quiet.— He murmurs, seeing even a little bit anxious. I chuckle.

—No. You need to be quiet.— Ramsay clenches his jaw again, watching out the window with a frustrated look.

I take his cock on my hand and hear him take a deep breath. I lick my lips at the same time I start to do some movements with my wrist. Then I look at him, asking if I should do the next step.

Ramsay loses his breath at the incredibly erotic sight. Passes saliva and nods, slow. Then, his head drops back when my tongue starts to move at the tip, circling it with my lips.

I give several movements with my head, turning to see him with each of them, trying to guess if I was doing it right. Ramsay continues to answer me with nods of his head, and as his breathing becomes more and more pasty, I feel him grow in my mouth.

—Go on, darling.— He whispers, letting out a heavy sight.

I focus on extending my tongue its full length before beginning to delve into my throat: I go down a little and go up again feeling my eyes watery, but then, I try again, playing with my hand with what I cannot take. I continue like this for some more minutes, greedy growing in my chest with the sounds and gasps that my betrothed lets go from his lips.

—You almost get it, dear.— I close my eyes when I feel his hand getting tangled in my hair.

Ramsay takes control, pushing my head against him and loosening only when I ask to go back. His brow furrows and insists again, my lips close around his member and then I proceed to open my jaw to the maximum that it gives me, closing my eyes, already too foggy anyway, until my nose touches something: his skin. My lips meet just at the base of his dick. Ramsay presses one hand at the base of my neck while the knuckles of the other on the table behind him turn almost completely white.

I push back and, with difficulty, he lets go, but just enough. As soon as I have only the tip in my mouth again, he pushes back inside, giving quick and calculated thrusts. His hand on the table tightens even more and the blood seems to drain from the layers of his skin.

—Look at me.— Ramsay demands. He’s about to come, I know: he always wants me to look at him before he does.

He takes one last thrust, drawing me back to the bottom and base of his member. He pushes, pushes and pushes until he makes sure that I have everything.

His hand drops my hair and, by the moment I try to clean that what felt out of my mouth, he takes my arm and makes me stand on my feet again. Two of his fingers trace my lips and his own cum before pushing them into my mouth.

—It’s all yours, darling.— He smiles, rotten. —Take it.

I swallow and clean my chin with the sleeve of my dress, smiling too. My cheeks red and heart pumping on my chest.

—Was it okay?— I ask. The doubt was still consuming me: Ramsay have had plenty of lovers, a lot that had done that to him…

—It was better that okay, darling.— He laughs, putting all his clothes back on and then turning me to give him my back. —You made me touch the bloody heaven.

I laugh, felling like I always did every time I was with him, doing wrong things and sharing private moments: alive. He makes me feel alive.

I noticed his fingers running through my hair and it don’t take long until I realize that he’s making my braiding again. I smile, confident. He had practice sometimes before, when we were late because he just didn’t want to get off of bed, or when I fell asleep during long travels and by the time we arrived my hair was a total mess. So he started learning to do it.

—Done!— He cheers, proud of himself after thirty minutes. I turn around and before I can say anything, he presses his lips on my forehead. I close my eyes for a few seconds and by the moment I open them again, he’s looking at me. This time, his smile it’s just the same I see when I kiss him goodnight, or when he says “love you” after coming back from some trip with his father. The same smile he has every time I wake him up with a lot of kisses. —I want to marry you.

—We are going to get married.

—I want to marry you now. Let’s just do it right when we get to Dreadfort again.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he wraps his own around my waist, pressing his forehead with mine.

—Why?, you can’t wait to have sex with me?— I ask, smiling.

—Yes. And I might be tempted by the vows of spending the rest of our life together.— I laugh as he giggles, giving him a quick kiss.

…

By the time we got out of there most of the guesses were already on their table, eating. And when we sneak into the celebration, Roose was already raising an eyebrow at us.

Ramsay and I looked at each other. Roose didn’t know what we did, but he exactly did not not know what we did.

For the rest of the dinner, I had to enjoy my plate under the reprimands of my future father and the disobedient laughs of my betrothed. Yet, the scenario couldn’t feel more like home.

A/N: Sorry if there’s any gramatical issue, english it’s not my first language and I still get a little confuse on log narrations. Hope you liked!

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

How about a major nsfw scene where they are walking around the castle, just talking, but end up in the dungeon, if ya know what I mean ;)

@krispytidalwavesheep This is the fic I was talking about from your ask!

Warning: NSFW

“...And you’ve contacted the florist? Will the flower arrangements be arriving by tomorrow?”

“Yes, my Lady,” you say, pushing your glasses back over your nose as you check over your checklist for the hundredth time that day. You and Lady Dimitrescu had been going over the preparations for the ball tomorrow all morning. She had followed you around as you walked the length of the Castle, making sure everything was perfect for the occasion. The parquet floor has been swept to perfection, the windows polished, the banisters a riot of flowers.

As you are walking, you turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor. You turn to Lady Dimitrescu, a question forming on your lips. Suddenly, you hear a guttural growl, and find one of the Moroaicǎ bearing down on you with a Claymore. A scream rips from your throat as you cover your eyes, bracing for impact. It doesn’t come; instead, you hear the slash of metal slicing flesh. You open your eyes and find Alcina standing before you with her claws extended. The Moroaicǎ’s head rolls forgotten on the floor.

Alcina immediately runs over to you, cradling your face in between her large hands, running her thumbs along your cheekbones. “Darling, did it touch you? Are you hurt?” Concern is evident in her golden eyes.

“I’m fine, my Lady,” you say, feeling your face go scarlet at Alcina’s ministrations. “Really.”

The truth was the two of you had gotten rather close over the past couple weeks after the manthings’ attack on Castle Dimitrescu. You had even shared a couple nights together. When you saw Alcina’s muscles ripple as she severed the Moroaicǎ’s head from its body, you remembered what it was like having those arms wrapped around you and you felt your core heaten with desire.

Alcina smiles and kisses the back of your hand. “Come along, pet,” she says, taking your hand in hers. “Surely there won’t be any preparations needed for the dungeon?”

She turns to go, but you suddenly find yourself rooted to the spot. She looks at you in confusion.

“My, Lady,” you say slowly. “I know that we’ve been intimate…”

Alcina chuckles. “Whatever made you think of that, dear?”

You blush further but press on. “When you make love to me, my Lady,” you continue. “You’re always so gentle with me. As if I’m a fine piece of china and you fear I might break.”

Alcina puts her hand under your chin and tilts your face up to meet hers. “And do you not like the way I touch you, ingeras?” Her tone is mild, but her aureate eyes are alert and you find yourself unable to break away from her intense gaze.

“No, my Lady,” you whisper softly, holding her hand in place to your cheek. “I rather enjoy it. But there are times when I wish you would be...rougher with me.”

Alcina’s eyes are half lidded with desire. “And is now one of those times, pet?”

You suddenly find it difficult to breathe as you whisper, “Yes.”

She moves in suddenly to kiss you but you quickly sidestep out of her reach. She chuckles low in her throat. “Feeling a bit of a tease tonight, are we?”

You dance your way back to her, taking her hand in yours and leading her to a set of manacles chained to the wall. “Now just what are you planning?” she wonders, an amused smile playing at her carmine lips.

Taking the manacles in your hands, you clasp them over your Lady’s wrists. Then you pull the chain running through them until her back is flush against the wall, her wrists chained above her head. You turn your back to her but feel her eyes upon you as you turn around in the middle of the room.

Without once breaking eye contact with Alcina, you slide your hand up your skirt and slip two fingers into your core. You know your own touch cannot possibly compare to your Lady’s but it is so worth it to see Alcina’s mouth fall open in shock, her golden eyes burning with jealousy that she is not the one touching you, that it is not her fingers buried in your core.

As you increase the pace of your thrusting, you spot the Moroaicǎ’s discarded Claymore and get an idea. You take it and slash open the front of your dress. You rest the tip of the sword over your collarbone and press in slowly until blood begins to pour down your chest, settling between the valley of your breasts.

Alcina is snarling and railing against her bonds. Her teeth are bared, fangs glinting in the torchlight as she struggles to break free. You feel your climax building as she growls in frustration, spittle flying off her lips.

You hear the sound of metal screeching as Alcina finally breaks free of the manacles with a snap. Within seconds, she has crossed the distance between the two of you. With another slash of her claws, she rips the rest of your clothes off, like they were so much tissue paper. Holding you flush to her body, she runs her tongue over your collarbone, greedily lapping up any leftover blood.

Alcina pins you to the wall, slapping your hand away before sliding her fingers into your already dripping cunt. She does not maintain the pace she usually uses. Her movements are faster, more hurried this time. You rock your hips in time to each thrust, but soon find it difficult to keep up.

The two of you have made love plenty of times before this, but this is one of the few times you’re actually getting fucked.

She leans down and intermittently darts her wicked tongue into your core, stroking your inner walls, alternating her thrusting between her fingers and her tongue. Her nails bite into the curve of your hips as she holds you in place. You wrap your legs around her waist, leaning your head against the wall as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Is this what you had in mind, slut?” she hisses, nipping the shell of your ear with the tip of her fangs. “I hope you’re prepared for what comes next.” She gives you a manic grin as she slips another one of her fingers into your core.

You choke out a gasp as the extra digit is added and Alcina gives you a satisfied smirk. “This is what our stretching sessions have been about, dear,” she cooes. “Come now, I know you can take it.”

You’re riding three of her fingers now and she is continuing her thrusting at a relentless pace. The stone wall against your back feels cold and clammy even as you feel yourself breaking out into a sweat due to Alcina’s ministrations.

When you finally orgasm, your voice echoes along the dungeon walls as you scream out Alcina’s name. Sinking along the wall, you find yourself going limp in Alcina’s arms. You feel Alcina’s tongue rasp along your thighs as she laps up your juices. “How very sweet you are, draga mea,” she purrs. She looks up at you and you see her ruby lips are dotted with flecks of white. Holding out her hand imperiously, she proffers her fingers slick with your orgasm. “You should really sample yourself, dear.”

You take her hand in yours and gently wrap your mouth around each digit in turn, rolling your tongue around each finger, suckling at your leftover juices. You feel her golden eyes upon you as you remove your mouth from her last finger, your lips making a firm popping sound.

Alcina can see that you are happy but exhausted. She runs her dry hand through your hair, now snarled and full of tangles. “Looks like I’ve tired you out, my dear,” she says, kissing your forehead. “We should get you cleaned up. How does a bath sound?”

You smile at her and give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “That does sound lovely. Thank you.”

Alcina carries you through the castle to the Hall of Ablutions and if anyone is curious as to why the Countess is carrying you naked and bloody, they at least make sure not to ask questions. When you finally arrive at the bathroom, Alcina orders the bathroom attendant to draw you a bath and waves her off after the tub is full.

You step in and sigh as the hot water makes contact with your sweaty and clammy body. You lean your head back against the porcelain and enjoy the warmth of the water seeping into your bones.

“Is there room for one more, draga mea?” Alcina teases. You look up and see that Alcina has already discarded her clothes on the floor. You smile and scoot up a little bit to make room for her. Alcina settles herself behind you and you sit on her lap as she begins tenderly massaging your scalp with soap, getting rid of any leftover blood that may have made its way to your hair.

“Do you know why I am usually so gentle with you?” she whispers.

You turn back to look at her. “You tell me,” you return, smiling mischievously.

But Alcina is serious. She turns your face to her, rubbing a thumb along your jawline. “It is because you are precious to me. When I see that someone so kind and so pure as you would want to be with someone like me. A monster like me-”

“Don’t say that,” you say fiercely, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Don’t even think it.”

“Even so,” she continues and you are shocked to see her eyes are starting to pool with tears. “The fact that you know what I am, what I am capable of, and yet you still choose to be with me means more than any words I could hope to express. You are precious to me, my dearest darling. You are a treasure. And I love you.”

You can hardly breathe. Technically this is the second time she has told you that she has loved you. But you are ready for it this time. You kiss her hard, weaving your fingers through her dark locks. You pull away and look into her fathomless golden orbs as you say, “And I love you too, Alcina.”

“Well,” she says, chuckling low in her throat. “After all the the times we’ve spent with each other, it's about time you called me by my true name.” You feel another chuckle ripple through her body as she moves to kiss you again.