#also a good fic that uses this idea is falling stars for a fallen angel by redamber79 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fearandhatred · 5 months ago

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falling like the stars by crowleys-bentley-and-plants, fearandhatred

the extended constellation poem here!!

The Starmaker wore the freckles on his face without shame, each and every one of them representing all the stars he had ever created, all the fragments of grace he had put into them—that was before the fall. Millennia later, Aziraphale maps his own stars on Crowley's skin in the form of angel kisses.

individual sections below for easier reading and ✨️details✨️. the full unformatted text is under the cut, the clearer version + text is on ao3! any and all support appreciated <3

soooo... my beloved @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and i were on the topic of calligrams and we got carried away as usual. many, many, many ideas stacked on top of each other later, we ended up with this half-fic half-poem calligram artwork piece...? we are the absolute masters of "what if" statements tbh. love u bestie we are the unstoppable force that meets the immovable object (the definition of a poem)

text below the cut!

they all left marks, dotted warm and feather-light on my skin; that was the first i'd known of gentleness. the very first star swelled all-consuming in my palms, fiery and bright, twinkling with laughter. that's when i felt that first heat, and when i looked, there it was: a singular freckle stamped over my heart.

they all left marks, when i created star after star after star, on the hands i used to mould them into shape; on my collarbones where i pressed them into me; on my cheeks that i bore exposed to their splendour. and when i exploded the universe into being, the stars burned through all that i was, and i was.

they all left marks; they were mine and i theirs, and i was as much of them as i was myself. this must be love, i thought, cosmic and selfless, agape and divine. and if everything else were ever stripped away from me, i thought, i could still cling to the evidence that i had created something, that i was a part of something, that i was something.

they all left marks, and i knew them completely, like the back of my hand, like the constellations of my skin, and as i knew them completely, so also had i thought that i would have them completely.

but then i fell away

from them

and

they

were

gone.

He hadn't realised it then, in the seconds or centuries after his fall. It had been a while before the earth and before nights, before he was allowed to drag himself out of the fire and into the throes of humanity. All he'd known was that his freckles were gone, the only proof of his creations he could have had in Hell, where steel walls and a whole world separated him from the skies, and thus from himself.

So Eden was good, where his serpentine form meant that he wouldn't have to look at his skin, smooth and newly unmarred in its taintedness, in his failures. And he had a purpose. Not an deed of selflessness or love or pride, but a purpose nonetheless, where before he had none, and was nothing. And it was good.

Then came the first night.

He would have thought that the stars were just too far away for him to recognise them, looking up at them now, but no. He recognised them all—and none of them were his. There were the pre-aged stars, scattered around haphazardly by the more senior angels; newly formed ones birthed from other star factories; none of his.

He would have thought that the burning away of the marks from his skin when he'd fallen—searing and gaping bare like cavities—meant nothing, if it wasn't for the little bits of grace he remembered offering up to his stars when he'd made them. If it wasn't for the evidence above him now that when he'd fallen from grace, his stars had, too.

The thing about giving is that there's always someone else who gains. But sometimes when you lose, others lose just the same. You give too much, the sky told him. You lose too much. And then it turned away from him.

Stars as they are commonly known are full of light, powerful and giving; that's how he'd made them, and that's how he loved them. It was the kind of overpowering love you felt helpless in the face of, and he'd thought that was just how love always was. But then there was God, and after God; his stars and their deaths. It was only then that he realised that there was such a thing as too much: too much love, aggressive and selfish, blinding and devouring.

He was a star that trapped light, that swallowed darkness, that wrenched all he loved into himself, consuming, destroying, until he himself collapsed under the weight of his own gravity. Until he blew apart and brought everything else down with him. There was no saving him from himself, not unless one wanted to play a losing game. No light escapes a black hole, and nothing comes near it and leaves unscathed.

That's how it was. That's how it always would be.

. . .

The park, too, is how it always has been, even years later. The same expanse of lake, the night wind blowing soft ripples on the surface; the same pavements marked with a million footsteps; the same worn benches that Crowley sits on, with Aziraphale next to him.

There's a silent peace between them now that they're free from their respective sides, a security of being. But Crowley isn't… settled. All these years, he's carried himself as an amalgamation of parts with pieces missing, pieces that were destroyed and could never be replaced. When he rests, his parts fall against each other in jagged edges and loose fits, waiting for the inevitable collapse.

And although he holds onto that peace, to Aziraphale's presence, they can't be stuffed into and mend the cracks. All they can do is keep him upright. There's a breeze on his face, the sky painted a shade of deep blue, freckled with stars visible and unseen, young and long dead. He sits on the park bench, Aziraphale next to him, an angel and a broken man looking up at the stars.

I love you, Aziraphale says, easy as anything. Crowley loves him too. How could he not?

Are you sure? he asks.

Why wouldn't I be?

There's nothing left of me to love, he says, as a statement of fact. All I am is loss.

You haven't lost me, Aziraphale replies.

Did you know that black holes are invisible? They don't reflect light, or emit it. It's like trying to see in the darkest cave. There's nothing there. Crowley tilts his head up to the sky, where the only things they can see are stars. You can only tell where black holes are because of everything around them that they ruin.

He draws his knees to himself, and imagines sucking in all his stars, powerless to stop himself from annihilation. He imagines that the stars are Aziraphale.

Then he feels Aziraphale's fingers on his chin, gently turning his face towards him. I see you, Aziraphale says. I see you, and I love you.

That's how it always starts. And it always ends the same way.

It doesn't have to, this time.

It's not a choice I make, Crowley tells him, to ruin things. It just happens, over and over. It's only a matter of time.

Then I will gladly take all the time you give me, Aziraphale says quietly. Crowley looks away.

Aziraphale leans over and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, tender and aching. As he pulls away, Crowley gasps at the sensation, and there on his cheek is a singular, twinkling freckle.

it would be easier had i not know you then, the angel you were in both body and soul, creator and mirror of the universe.

for years i shouldered the burden of witness to the spattering of stars across your face as they burst into being. you called them gorgeous, i remember, and though i agreed i was looking only at you. but i knew even then that you and your stars were one and the same, and so i saw that you were gorgeous, and it was enough.

it would be easier had i not seen you then, but it is not an ease i want to bear: to have known you then is to know you completely now. and to know you completely is to love you completely. in your face then i saw all of creation as it had been; in your face now i see all that can be created.

i know there are marks on you, the type that are permanent, that rub you raw and leave you gasping. i know that all the marks you carry with you now are marks that you wish you never had, and that the marks you long for are long gone. i know that nothing i do could give them back to you, that some feelings, once lost, are lost forever.

but i can only hope that i can give you something new, a feeling that does not replace but understands. i can only hope that you consume me completely, draw me into you, and that when i stay, and stay, and stay, you realise that the strength of your love could never be a bad thing.

i can only hope that i can trace the streaks of light across your skin, kiss new constellations onto your cheeks, and that it would be enough.

#fearandhatred #fearandfics #fearandpoetry #the quality is SO BAD I HATE TUMBLR #good omens #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #good omens fic rec #good omens fanart

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maryholdenofthevalley · 1 year ago

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Mr Brown didn't die, as per Neil's answer, but I love everything else in this post, it points out everything I want to point out and even the thing I didn't notice.

That doesn't necessarily mean Crowley was an Archangel though, in fact I think he shouldn't be an Archangel, but the whole post is beautifully detailed. Anyway, my add in for this post:

- The purple plume (which looked more pink than purple) could be just a random choice of colour, or because Aziraphale and Crowley's combined power somewhat resonated with the power's target, Gabriel.

- Job minisode's Aziraphale also did a miracle right next to the angels but no one noticed. I don't think angels and demons can sense miracle done by others, part of the reason why Aziraphale begged Crowley to remove the stain, because if he did it himself "I would always know it was there" but apparently he won't feel it if Crowley does it for him.

- "How do you know it wasn't me doing it?" could be refer to him bluffed to Hell that he's immune to holy water in the past. If he has gone native, who can say he can't become stronger? No demon can answer that, so Shax was cautious.

- I don't think being able to use lightning is a thing only Archangel can do. Hastur can do it.

- Right, because we can get sidetracked and say 'what if Hastur was an Archangel', let's talk about "prince of Heaven". For now we know that there is only one prince of Hell (Beelzebub). We know that irl the Archangels were also called "princes of Heaven". We know Gabriel is the Supreme Archangel while others are just Archangels. I don't know how tittle in GO work, but from what Metatron said, we know that there was only one prince of Heaven that had Fallen and that was Lucifer. Could Lucifer be the only Archangel that fall? Possibly. But I still lean in the idea that Lucifer used to be the first Supreme Archangel and he was the only Prince of Heaven, that's why Gabriel is also the only current Prince of Heaven.

(That means there could be other Archangels that fell. That doesn't really support my "Crowley is not an Archangel", eh? I botched my own post shsjsjssk)

- Being a former Archangel and still not a very high ranking demon doesn't sound very likely. He was given important task like being the first one to work in Garden of Eden, delivery Antichrist, but I suppose it was because he knows how to appeal to the bosses and makes them trust him (like how he claimed the Spanish Inquisition).

- Yes I know this is about the show, but I still want to include this bit in the book: "Hastur was a Duke of Hell. Crowley wasn't even a local counselor." Crowley didn't think of himself or was perceived as important or strong enough against a duke of Hell. And, he didn't notice Hastur manifested himself in the car too.

- Being a Dominion fit him. Dominion controls stars and universe, also command and manage the angels below their rank, as we can see him yelling at his plants or the lower demons "You're out of order!". It also makes him high ranking enough to be powerful, but not too powerful that make everyone's so-so perception on him an odd thing.

Personally I would like to know his angel name in season 3, not so that we can deadname him (but some dick angels might, like Metatron, which would add into a good angst) (and I would't refuse a chance to have an official name for fic writing), but because I want to see how much he lost from the Fall he didn't want. Angst material. Make him mourn the innocence he used to has. Make Aziraphale sympathize with his fall trauma, and reminiscing a name that is long dead. Highlight how Aziraphale feel toward the contrast between the angel Crowley and the demon Crowley and understand that making him an angel again won't help anything.

But yeah, we don't really need his name to do that. Still, I'm hoping. At least I'm sure his name wouldn't be one of the existing ones.

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that's given to this season that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

#good omens #good omens 2

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kookiesjoonies · 5 years ago

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Stupid Game | JJK.

banner made by the ever so lovely @ppersonna, thank u bunches angel. xo

main pairing: jeon jungkook x college student!reader (established relationship)

fic type: one shot

word count: 2k

genre: smut, porn with (some) plot

warnings: language, slight exhibitionism, hand job, switch!jk if u squint, oral sex (m. receiving)

summary: all you wanted to do was study in peace, but that becomes impossible due to your boyfriend’s constant screaming at the video game on the television. so you decide to teach him a lesson; if he insists on being loud, you’re going to give him a reason to be.

A/N: apparently, i write blow job fics when i’ve been awake for almost 21 hours and half asleep. who knew?

If you had to hear your boyfriend yell at Taehyung through that damn headset one more time today, you were going to fucking lose it.

You had an important exam coming up that you were trying your hardest to prepare for. You’d tried moving to the bedroom to get some peace and quiet, but of course Jungkook was so obnoxiously loud that you could still hear him through the walls.

Putting in headphones was also a useless attempt at blocking him out. You’d even resorted to taking your laptop and textbooks outside onto your balcony, because surely him being inside and you being outside would make a difference. It didn’t.

You cursed at him under your breath and slammed your laptop shut and piled your books on top of it before swinging your front door open, only to slam it shut with a force that caused the picture frames on the wall beside of it to shake.

“Dude! Taehyung, are you fucking kidding me right now!” Jungkook nearly jumped off of the couch over God only knew what had happened during that stupid fucking game.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your books and laptop onto the kitchen counter.

You tried, for the millionth time, to reason with him. You massaged your temples with your fingertips, letting out a loud huff.

“Jungkook, can you please—“

You were cut off by his yelling at the television screen in front of him again, this time he was yelling at Jimin. He didn’t even hear you speak. Of course he fucking didn’t. You could hear the sound of fake gunshots coming from his headphones at full blast.

You were fuming, arms crossed over your chest now as you just gave him a deathly stare. You were sure he hadn’t even registered that you were standing beside of him.

So, you decided to step in front of him, blocking his view of the game on the screen.

He glanced up at you then, eyes going wide as he tried to move his head to either side of you so that he could see.

“Babe!” he yelled, “I can’t see!”

“Yeah!” you took a step closer, pulling one of the headphones back and then letting it go to snap against his ear, “that’s the point!”

He yelped at the feeling of the hard plastic hitting his ear, pushing his lip lower lip out and into a pout, “What was that for?!”

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. And your look of anger was quickly replaced with one of mischief. The corner of your lips pulled up and into a smirk and you made your way down onto the floor in front of him on your knees. If you had to suffer all day because of this stupid fucking game, then he was going to suffer because of it too.

He eyed you curiously, an eyebrow arching as his gaze followed you to the ground.

“Mute your mic.” You said, voice stern.

He obliged, telling his teammates that he’d be right back.

“Babe, what—“

“I have been trying to study for this fucking exam all fucking day. And I can’t,” your placed your hands on his knees, slowly pushing them up his thighs, “do you know why?”

He shifted underneath your touch, gaze glued to your fingers as they continued to inch their way upwards.

“Uhm, no?”

“Well,” you started, giving his thighs a squeeze as you reached the top of them, “I can’t fucking study because you insist on being loud as fuck playing this stupid game.”

Your fingers made their way over to the button of his jeans, snapping it open and slowly tugging the zipper down.

His eyes widened as he watched you, his dick immediately hardening as the realization of what was about to happen finally hit him. He felt giddy all of a sudden, but you were quick to shut that down.

“So now, I’m going to suck your dick and make you cum so hard that you see black,” you tugged his jeans down and he lifted his hips to allow you to do so, his boxers following suit and allowing his impressive cock to spring free, “and you’re going to play while I do it.”

He started to protest, fumbling over his words, “N-no! We can’t—, you know I can’t be quiet when you—“

“That’s the point. Unmute the mic. Now.” Usually, he was the one telling you what to do. This was definitely different. But judging by the way his cock twitched at the sound of your demanding voice, he seemed to be okay with it.

And you were too. Wetness was already beginning to pool between your thighs. You were definitely going to make him clean that mess up after you were done with him.

He opened his mouth again, thought about protesting. But truth be told, the idea of having to keep himself quiet and unsuspecting was turning him on more than he ever thought it could. So, he unmuted the mic and offered a quick apology to Taehyung and Jimin before rapidly pressing the buttons on his controller and rejoining his team.

You took a moment to gawk at the sight in front of you. You’d been together for years, and no matter how many times you saw your boyfriend’s dick, the beauty of it always managed to amaze you. He was so long and so thick, veins popping out here and there, and a perfectly pink tip to top it all off.

Your mouth watered and you could feel yourself beginning to drool. You parted your lips and spit onto your hand, bringing it down and onto his hardened length. You started at the head, running your thumb along the slit and using his precum and your saliva to lubricate his cock, giving it a few slow pumps. Your eyes shot up to look at the expression on Jungkook’s face.

He sucked in a breath at the feeling of your hand tugging along his length, his chest falling and rising at a quickening pace as he tried to keep himself from making any noise.

You smirked to yourself, knowing there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to keep quiet once you finally put your mouth on him. He never could. He was so vocal. He loved praising you, telling you how good you were doing, how good your tongue was. And his moans, his fucking moans. You loved them, swallowed around his cock any chance you could just to get him to let out those sinful sounds.

You wrapped your hand around his length as best you could, never fully being able to get your hand wrapped all the way around. You dipped your head down and poked your tongue out, swirling it around the head in painfully slow circles.

He’d never wanted to curse out a moan so badly in his life. He bit his lip, forcing himself to keep quiet as you slowly took more of his length into your mouth.

He glanced down at you for a split second. Big fucking mistake. You looked perfect, too perfect. Your cheeks all hallowed out and nearly full of him, your tiny hand moving up and down in tune with the way you were beginning to bob your head.

“Fucking shit—“ he groaned. His eyes widened as he threw himself into a fake coughing fit in a poor attempt to cover up the noise.

You laughed, sending vibrations straight through his dick. His hips jerked before he even knew what was happening and he was pushing himself further into your mouth as he began short thrusts.

He removed one of his hands from his controller, closing it over the mic so that he could speak without his team members hearing him, “Fuck, baby—,” he moaned quietly, letting his eyelids fall shut, “you can’t do that shit to me, I’ll never be able to stay quiet—“

You lifted your free hand to swat his away from his mic and he sucked in a breath as you shot him a look, one daring him to mute that mic one more time.

He hadn’t been quiet all day, why the fuck should he start now?

You moaned around him, vibrating his dick once again before taking more of it into your mouth and down your throat. Your hand was covering what your mouth couldn’t, pumping at lightning speed as you bobbed your head up and down, sucking him in and feeling the tip hit the back of your throat each time.

His hips were bucking off of the couch now and his head had fallen back against the back of the couch. He wasn’t even paying attention to the game anymore. He couldn’t. All he could focus on was you, and how incredibly fucking sinful your mouth felt. The controller he was holding had been abandoned, his hands now tangled in your hair and holding your head still so that he could fuck your mouth causing your eyes to water as he continuously pounded at the same spot in the back of your mouth.

“Holy fuck—, babe!” He let a ragged moan escape from his lips, not giving a single fuck that everyone he’d been playing with could hear him.

His thrusts into the heat of your mouth were growing erratic, and you could tell that he was nearing the edge. Your eyes never left his face as you allowed him to continue his brutal assault on your throat. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was agape as a series of praises and moans of your name started to fly out.

Your fingers found their way down and to his balls, and as you began to roll them around he growled and hurriedly flung the headset off and onto the other side of the room.

“So close, baby. I’m so close—“ he warned, gathering your hair up into one hand and pushing your head further down onto his cock as he continued his rough, erratic thrusts.

You swallowed around his length three times in a row, and a loud, drawn out moan made its way past his lips as he came. Hot streams of his cum coated the back of your throat, and you eagerly gulped it all up.

“Fuck! You’re so good. Holy shit.” he was seeing stars, had to blink numerous times to get the black dots circling around his head to disappear.

He pulled out of your mouth and brought a thumb down to wipe the wetness that had gathered on your chin, admiring the way that your lips were now red and swollen. Your expression was completely fucked out and your hair was standing up in all different directions. He’d never seen you look sexier than you did right now.

“Come here.” he requested, and you obliged, standing up in between his legs.

You shrieked as he pulled you down onto him, your legs on either side of him as your arms went to wrap around his neck.

He leaned up and pressed his lips against yours in a quick peck. He reached a hand up to smooth your hair down, a frown creeping its way onto his face, “I’m sorry I was such a jackass today. I promise I’ll be more considerate next time.”

You sighed, your fingers toying with the sweaty strands of hair at the nape of his neck, “It’s okay, I forgive you. I just have to study for this test tomorrow, is all.”

You started to move off of his lap, but his grip on your hips held you in place.

“You can study later, yeah?”

One of his hands trailed downwards, dipping down and inside of your shorts. He dragged two fingers along your folds through the fabric of your underwear, hissing at the dampness that he was greeted with. Your head dropped against his shoulder as he began to circle over your clothed clit, whimpering at the feeling.

“Your mic’s still on.” You pointed out, and he picked up the pace of his fingers, causing you to cry out and push your hips against his hand.

“I don’t care.”

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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Heya! For the soft ineffable fic prompt, maybe seeing each other in pyjamas for the first time could work?

This took a bit, and went a few different directions, but I think I’m mostly satisfied!

“Er, Crowley? Are you…finished in there?”

“In a minute!” He glared into the mirror, adjusting every hair to lay perfectly in place. Rumpled, but not too rumpled. As if he cared, but didn’t…actually care.

Finally satisfied, he checked his teeth one last time (perfect, as always, though it was always good to look for a spot of green veg or the fangs that sometimes appeared when he was nervous) and ran his hands down his new pyjama shirt. It was black – very black – and a silk so smooth it felt like water, cool to the touch. All of his clothes were a combination of the finest designer wear and even-more-designer versions that he manifested himself. These were from one of the more exclusive shops in London. He had a simple pair that he usually miracled up, but for tonight…he needed something special.

“Crowley, your third cup of tea is about to grow cold, at this point it’s just irresponsible—”

“I said one minute!”

He eyed the door anxiously.

It wasn’t the first time they’d, well, made a night of it. Crowley had fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s sofa for decades (usually, though not always, after a night of heavy drinking). That first night in Crowley’s flat, awaiting the judgement of their former sides, they’d held each other for dear life, Crowley briefly falling asleep with his head in Aziraphale’s lap.

Afterwards, well, things had gotten interesting.

Neither angels nor demons had any natural desire for physical intimacy – sexual or otherwise. But the two of them had always been curious. And Crowley, at least, had learned very quickly that he liked few things as much as he liked the warmth of Aziraphale at his side, the press of their fingers twined together, the weight of the angel’s head on his shoulder as they sat together and talked of anything, or nothing.

He also discovered that he slept much better when he had…company.

They approached the idea cautiously, nervously. Sometimes, when Crowley stayed too late at the bookshop and sought his usual spot on the sofa, he found Aziraphale sitting there already, offering a lap to rest his head on, soft fingers to brush through bright red hair. Other times, when Aziraphale visited his flat, and they sat on the balcony watching the stars (light pollution didn’t dare intrude on Crowley’s domain), Crowley would drift off, curled up against that soft, warm chest.

But always as a sort of accident. This was the first time it was…deliberate. Planned. And, if you got right down to it, in a bed.

Crowley’s bed. Their bed, now, he supposed. Maybe. If it went well.

He glared at his hair again, and the silk of the pyjamas. Too clinging? Not clinging enough? What was the…the appeal with that? Was he supposed to show off…he tugged at the collar, wide like lapels, and felt slightly at a loss. Collarbones? He thought he’d heard they were considered…attractive.

“Crowley, do I have to come in there and—”

“I’m coming.” He slid his glasses back on and stepped out the bathroom door. Aziraphale stood down the hall, next to the bedroom, with an impatient look, a mug of chamomile and…

“Are you seriously wearing that?”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to.” Aziraphale glanced down with a frown. He wore an ankle-length white shirt, loose from the mid-chest down, with collar and sleeves fitted almost as closely as those of the shirt he wore during the day. On his head was a night-cap, long point hanging down to his shoulder, with a tartan puff ball at the end of it.

“Angel…that’s…it’s not…fashionable.”

“Isn’t it?” He swung his shoulders, sending a ripple down the voluminous lengths of fabric. “They were all the rage the last time I slept. Quite the modern thing, I’d thought. Before that, we slept naked.”

“Eurgh, yeah. I remember.” Crowley walked down the hall and took the mug from Aziraphale. “These days people wear…well…this.” He gestured to his carefully selected and perfectly arranged black silk ensemble.

“Oh. Well. I suppose that’s comfortable enough. Very, ehm. Chic.” His eyes flitted up to Crowley’s carefully arranged hair. “How do you keep your head warm while you sleep?”

“Central heating?” He raised the mug to his lips, scowling. “No one wears a night cap anymore, Aziraphale. Or…that.” He gestured to the nightshirt.

“I see.” Aziraphale twisted his fingers together. “Ah. Look. I. It would appear I’ve gotten this wrong. Oh. Bother…I just…”

Crowley felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that look on Aziraphale’s face, and he never wanted to be the one who put it there. “Look, Angel, it’s not that big a—”

“No, no. I’ve made a-a dreadful faux pas. Probably made the whole affair…er, that is…I’ve made things…Why don’t I just, well, I could change into…”

The angel raised his fingers to snap, but Crowley intercepted them, caught them in his hand. “Hang on. Are you comfortable?”

“I generally am in this. But that doesn’t mean—”

“S’fine then.” Crowley shuffled a little closer, shyly, not quite sure what to do with the hand he held. “Look…no one’s gonna see it but us. And I’ll be asleep. So, you don’t have to please anyone but yourself.” He shook his head, wishing he could figure out what he wanted to say. “I want you to be comfortable. Here.”

“Er. I am. Usually. I just. Do you like it?” He looked up with hopeful blue-grey eyes.

Crowley leaned down, brushed his lips across Aziraphale’s cheek. It was still new – still strange – but he liked the tingling rush it gave him, the way the round curve of Aziraphale’s skin dipped just slightly under pressure, the way Aziraphale smiled as Crowley stepped back. “Suits you.”

“Ah. Good. And yours is…” he tilted his head. “Very, er, demonic. I like the…black.” He gestured vaguely. “And the…collarbones?”

“Yeah, I think they’re supposed to, umm…” Crowley tugged at the collar again, “look like…like this.” He coughed and took a large gulp of chamomile. “Right, shall we?”

But Aziraphale was still studying Crowley’s outfit with critical pursed lips. “Something doesn’t seem quite right. Something is missing.”

“Nh. And you’re the expert now? You haven’t thought of sleepwear once in two hundred years!”

“One hundred-fifty, actually, but that’s a story for another time.” He stepped closer, tugged at the pocket of Crowley’s pyjama shirt. “And I do happen to be an expert in you.”

“You’re not going to add tartan, are you?”

Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “I know just the thing!” And before Crowley could object, he snapped his fingers.

At first, it appeared nothing had changed – black silk, shirt, trousers. It was only when he tugged at the collar again that Crowley found them.

At the widest part of the pyjama lapels, two embroidered ducks had appeared – on the left, a red one with little horns; on the right, a white one with a tartan bow tie.

“Angel!”

“Quite right.” Aziraphale rose up on his toes and pressed his lips to Crowley’s collarbone. He was getting to like that a lot, too, the hot press, the lingering warmth, the roll of breath across his face as Aziraphale stepped back again. “It suits you.”

“Mrrrrgh.” Crowley groaned and shuffled his feet, and downed the last of his chamomile, before he sighed and conceded: “They do, don’t they?” That earned him another angelic smile.

Crowley slipped his hand around Aziraphale’s waist, and together they turned to face the glass-fronted door of the bedroom. “Are you ready?”

Aziraphale leaned his weight against Crowley’s side and nodded.

And together, they stepped across the threshold.

#good omens fanfiction #asexual ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens prime #crowley's flat #after the apocalypse #My writing

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cerysdelaney · 4 years ago

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Hello! This is Sugar! Wanted to let you know I think you are an amazing writer and I believe in you! I had a quick question for you tho, how/when did you know this was what you wanted to do?

Sending you love!!💚💚💚

Short answer: This has been a long and broken path. Wanting something and making it happen was a series of false starts and self reflection.

But I have always loved storytelling. So here’s my long answer:

I started making OCs for my favorite shows since I can remember. They were all originally self inserts with powers or alterations. To name a few, I had a best friend to Sonic, a sixth Power Ranger, and an immortal being of the Force that helps Luke on his journey. There were so many.

My first fanfic was in Harry Potter, and… well… I don’t know if anyone remembers Fanfiction.Net and it’s toxicity level in the 90s… (who knows, maybe it’s never changed?) But my tiny little 12-year-old-written self-insert was eaten alive and spit out to die slowly. I had like 12 views, no likes, and 3 comments of vile cruelty.

So then I only wrote for my friends. I created a multiverse combining OCs from Dragonball Z to Star Wars… Gundam Wing to Harry Potter… Xanth to Xena and Hercules. I made their descendants, lore, etc. But it was all for my friends’ eyes alone.

In high school, I went to Creative Writing summer camps (which I later became a camp counselor in… Ah, summer jobs…). In college, one of my majors was English with an emphasis on Creative Writing. But I did realize I had another calling by then too. One that was a bit more stable. And, honestly, Creative Writing courses killed my drive to write. I was looked down on for aspiring to be a “genre writer.” And it’s crazy to think I listened to them, but I did… except once…

In my senior year of college, for my last story, I wrote about Lucifer’s fall from the perspective of the fallen angel himself. It was inspired by John Milton’s Paradise Lost (which I had taken an entire course on) and my own battle with my faith, Catholicism. I had been an active member in the church, but in college I finally let myself explore parts of me I didn’t before. I had sex. I let myself finally acknowledge that I wasn’t straight. I had more sex with everyone. I dated guys and girls, non binary and trans. And I became an outsider to the world I once knew. All that taken into perspective, I felt for a character who used to be so close to God’s right hand, and then loses his position because of choices that didn’t fall in line with the teachings. So I wrote from my heart in a tale as old as patriarchy.

And no one in class made a goddamn negative critique.

I don’t know how many of you out there have ever taken a creative writing class, but I still can’t put into words how shocking it was to not receive even a single red note. Not even that pretentious jackass who was already published in multiple online magazines had any comment for improvement. Instead, what was supposed to be a fifteen minute round robin of commentary became an hour long conversation about how jarringly relatable Satan is as a protagonist. Some were grappling with God as a tyrant. Others enjoyed the juxtaposition of Jesus and Satan. It was awesome. It was fun. It was everything I wished a my entire four years had been: talking about ideas.

But then I didn’t get a single call back from any graduate schools when I decided to use that piece and genre fiction in my portfolio. So I focused instead on the job I did get that does the other thing I love.

And I stopped writing.

Fast forward almost ten years. I’m now married, career secure, and looking to have a baby. I haven’t grappled with the fact that I love sex but have married an asexual man who I love beyond words. I’m also going into heat. (That’s a more honest way to describe the “ticking clock” everyone talks about as you near your 30s and then get into it. Holy hell ovulation is a hungry beast).

I needed an outlet, and it couldn’t be private. I was already too private. At the same time as I’m grappling with this, a friend introduced me to this deliciously dark character of Gaster in Undertale, and I just… started writing.

I created an AO3 account under the name Dark Crystal Demon and I let myself write whatever I wanted to write. I wrote rape by plants and ghosts. I wrote about women with dicks. Myself with a dick. I wrote about BDSM and Master/Pet play and It. Felt. So. Good.

I feel alive writing whatever I want because I can’t be whatever I want in real life. I honestly can’t. I’m highly respected in my career, but that all goes away if I reveal an account like this. I want to keep the career I have. So welcome to my secret den of dreams and nightmares. I’m very good at decorating closets I find myself hiding in.

I didn’t plan on writing for others, but my love for pleasuring others has definitely intermingled with my love for writing erotic content. Most of the time I write for me, but there are a few of you in my DMs who know when I’m writing for you ^_~ I can’t help but tease you. I adore you so.

Teasing friends made me realize I like world building around people’s desires. So that’s when I started taking commissions. But balancing family, career, and writing has been difficult these last five years. You all who have been with me for a while have seen my giant hiatuses in fanfics, etc.

During this pandemic I realized I wanted to finally give writing it’s chance. Instead of taking another career-advancing task, I decided to stay where I am in my job. So for the first time in a very long time, I can finally use my free time for my hobby and not extra work. (Can I just say, making a calendar for when I’m going to work on different fics, commissions, Master Classes, and erotic articles is exhilarating.)

So here I am. Told you it was a long story. Communities in writing are just like relationships, some are abusive and treat you poorly. I got lucky and found one that has let me be me. That’s why, when I tell you all I appreciate your support, it’s coming from the center of my soul. Thank you for letting me be me, especially you, Sugar. You are a very cherished supporter. 💜

#ask #sugar #Cerys talks #path in writing #long ramble #writing advice #write for yourself and your people will find you #at least that’s my experience #thank you for your support

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drop-of-infinity · 4 years ago

Text

Destiel fic time, this part canon compliant with season 12. As always, anything is quotation marks is directly from the show, and any chapter can be read alone.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

<><><><><><><>

Chapter 9: season 12

Keep Calm and Carry On

{“Whoa whoa whoa! It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s a friend.” On some level Dean knew that Mary’s gun couldn’t actually hurt Cas, but he still panicked at the sight of it pointed at the angel’s chest. Besides, he didn’t want Mary and Cas’s first meeting to involve anyone getting shot. Cas stared at him in shock, then immediately wrapped his arms around him. Dean sunk into Cas. I’m home, he thought.

{“Dean!” Cas felt like his chest was going to explode. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. He latched onto the hunter, desperately needing the contact, and almost cried when he felt Dean’s arms lift up to hug him back. This is real. He’s alive. When they separated, Cas found himself breathless. Odd, as I don’t technically need to breathe, his slightly scrambled brain thought distantly. He looked up at Dean who was smiling softly, and his heart clenched. I love you.

{“Cas Cas Cas! Don’t hurt him. Not yet.” Cas allowed Dean to hold him back. He was an angel, Dean wouldn’t actually be able to stop him from doing anything, but Cas had enough faith in him to allow himself to be manhandled. He still glanced up at Dean ruefully, although the effect was slightly ruined by the way he’d already melted under his hands.

The Foundry

{“Morning sunshine.” Sam gave Dean a weird look, and he realized he’d said that out loud. It was getting steadily harder to keep his thoughts under lock and key around Cas. Dean was used to hiding feelings, but four years was a long time to know you were in love with someone and never say anything. He took a deep breath and pressed everything down again.

First Blood

{“They’ve only been gone-“

“Six weeks two days and ten hours.” Cas’s chest hurt. He hadn’t stopped beating himself up for letting them go, even though Dean had told him to. Dean. Where was he now? Was he ok? Cas knew that the longing rolling off himself must be palpable but he didn’t care at this point. He just wanted Dean back.

{“Cas.” “Dean?” “Hey buddy, long time.” “What-what happened, wh-where are you?” Cas almost collapsed on the spot. His heart was trying to beat out of his chest and his knees were weak with relief. How many times had they almost lost each other by now? It didn’t matter, because every time it was the same bone crushing relief, the same lung deflating he’s okay he’s okay he’s okay. Cas grabbed the edge of a chair to steady himself, and took a deep breath for the first time in weeks.

{“Hey buddy.” Cas melted into Dean’s arms, barely holding back a whimper. The hug was over far too soon for his aching skin, and he turned his body towards Dean as he walked away, like a flower trying to catch the sun.

{As they sat in the back of the car, Dean considered what he had done and what he was about to do. There was no way he was letting Billie reap Sam or their mom. He was about to die. It was why he was sitting in the back of the car with Cas. He just wanted to be with him for a minute. Cas’s hand rested on the seat between them. Dean didn’t grab it, because he was, at heart, a coward, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted anything so badly. He could practically see the longing radiating off himself in waves.

Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets

{“Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Dean’s blood was boiling. This dickhead had no idea what Cas could do, what he had done. He might not command celestial armies anymore, but the dude was still amazing. It was more than just righteous anger though. Cas had rebelled against heaven for them. For Dean, or so he said. The way Ishim was talking to Cas, everything he said about how far Cas had fallen... it was all on Dean. He knew Cas would resent him for saying it though, so he didn’t.

{“I’m gonna cure you of your human weakness the same way I cured my own. By cutting it out.” Cas lay bleeding on the floor, unable to do anything, but he knew Ishim was wrong. Ishim’s love for Lily had turned him dark and twisted because she didn’t love him back. Cas knew Ishim could feel Cas’s longing, and saw a similar situation to himself and Lily with Cas and Dean, but he hadn’t accounted for one thing. Cas was at peace with it. He was prepared to always love Dean and never get an answer, and that wasn’t a weakness. It was what had made him strong enough to stop the apocalypse, to break free of Naomi’s control, to save the world from Amara. It was his greatest strength.

Stuck In The Middle (With You)

{“I think I’m dying.”

“No.” Dean could feel the panic rising into his throat, and he forced it down. Cas needed him right now, he didn’t have time for this. I can’t lose him he thought desperately. They had to do something. A distant part of his mind reminded him of something someone had told him once. “I watched the man I loved die. There’s no normal after that.” Dean steeled himself. He was NOT about to watch the man he loved die because they were going to fix Cas. They had to.

{“I love you. I love all of you.” Cas was dying, and he needed them to know. He needed Dean to know. He had imagined saying it a million times, and there had been dozens where it was on the tip of his tongue, but somehow he hadn’t pictured this. Dying in a barn, stabbed by a prince of hell. In some ways, Cas thought it was fitting. Dean met him in a barn after all. The beginning of the end. It didn’t matter now. He had said it. I love you. Yet somehow, Cas couldn’t even meet Dean’s eyes. He had a feeling the other man hadn’t gotten the real meaning behind his words. Not that it mattered. This was the end.

{Miraculously, Cas didn’t die. As Sam and Dean pulled him to his feet, all of his nerves were focused on the place where Dean’s hand held his. As the hunter let go, Cas chased his touch unconsciously, and felt Dean’s hand pivot back towards his and brush his skin again. His heart clenched painfully.

The Future

{“You know what, whatever. Welcome back.” Dean knew he wasn’t being fair, and he knew he was just making things worse, but he couldn’t stop. He was just so angry. He’d been worried sick about Cas and turns out... turns out the angel had just been ignoring him. It hurt like hell. He wanted... well that was the problem wasn’t it? He wanted. Dean rubbed his face and sighed. Just because you’re in love with the guy doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole, he told himself firmly. You wanted him back and now he’s back. Don’t be a dick.

{“It’s a gift. You keep those.” It was an olive branch, and Cas knew it. He was strangely relieved to be allowed to keep the mixtape. He remembered Dean giving it to him, and he remembered listening to it anytime he was driving alone. The music was... enjoyable. Cas found he liked the beats and the feel of it, but mostly he liked that Dean had given it to him. He was pleased to be allowed to keep it. Cas felt a surge of guilt about what he was about to do, but it had to be done. For the greater good, he told himself. He remembered repeating the same thing when he was working with Crowley all those years ago, and felt slightly sick. This time is different, he thought firmly. I’m not letting Dean do this. This... this is on me.

{“W-we?” “Yes dumbass, we.” Dean’s heart broke a little at the uncertainty in Cas’s voice. Sometimes the angel seemed seconds away from breaking, and Dean just wanted to grab him and hold him together. He pushed that feeling down, along with the way his chest ached with fondness at seeing Cas silhouetted in his doorway.

{“What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean shoved him up against the hotel wall as soon as he walked in, his arm warm against Cas’s chest. He hoped Dean couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating through the trenchcoat. Cas should really not be staring at Dean’s lips right now, but Cas has missed him so much and he wants so desperately. Sam called Dean over before Cas could do something he would regret. He ran a hand over his chest, aching and missing Dean’s angry warmth.

{“You’re hurt.” Cas reached out and touched Dean’s hand lightly, then slid up and wrapped his hand around Dean’s injured arm. It was not necessary to touch people to heal them, which Cas was hoping Dean hadn’t figured out yet. He drew his hand away slowly, and Dean looked down at his healed arm as though in awe. Cas couldn’t imagine why. He’d healed Dean countless times since they’d met.

All Along The Watchtower

{“Here Dean. Let me.” Cas touched two fingers to Dean’s head gently, and his leg healed at once. The cut on his cheek also stitched itself up. Dean felt his heart speed up a little as Cas drew his hand away, and Dean looked down, flustered. He sighed inwardly. He was a grown man, not a teenager with a crush. He didn’t get fucking butterflies. Except, apparently, he did.

{“No!” As Sam ran inside to find Jack and Kelly, Dean sank to his knees, overcome with grief. Their mom was in the other world with Lucifer, and Cas... Dean knelt next to the angel, too stunned to do anything. The outline of Cas’s wings stretched across the ground beside them, and Dean lowered his head. He felt hollow. He stood slowly, looking up at the sky. Cas had always loved the stars. Dean wanted to scream, to find God and rip him limb from limb, to do something other than sit here and drown in his sorrow, but he couldn’t. Dean looked down at Cas again. The angel’s eyes were closed. He was gone.

{Cas had felt the life drain out of him, felt his spirit fall into the earth and then sink beyond it. Now he felt nothing at all.

{Dean wished he could fly into the stars, find Chuck and make him bring Cas back. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything at all.

#supernatural #destiel #spn #deancas #castiel #supernatural thoughts #spn thoughts #spn season 12 #supernatural season 12 #lily sunder has some regrets #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fanfiction #deancas fanfic #deancas fic

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

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i never see top lock anymore, and i get why— but do you have a list of sherlock being dominant? i love when he’s possessive over the people who he loves.

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: do you have a master list of toplock?? i just love seeing sherlock jealous of possessive over john :)

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: do you have any possessive smut fics with sherlock topping? (or just rough sex in general) i really love jealous sherlock.

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Hi, do you have any top!lock stories? It can be fluff, or smut. I really was in the mood for some top Sherlock, and if you could maybe some Jealous top!lock too. Thank you very much!

Hey Nonnies!

I hesitate to say you’re all the same nonny, but the wording is very similar and these all came a few days apart. If you aren’t please accept my apologies, for that and for the delay; when I get fic requests for fics I know I have a decent amount of, it takes me awhile to go through all 1000+ of my bookmarks to pick fics to rec for y’all. That said, I know I don’t have EVERY fic I have bookmarked with toplock in it, but I do have a few already tagged, so that’s what this list is for you today

Hope you enjoy, and as always, lovelies, please add your own fics or recs to this list! haven’t added ALL my fics with toplock in it, nor fics with switchlock (that will be a separate list when the time comes), so I’ve definitely missed some fics I’ve recced in the past

TOPLOCK

See also:

Omegaverse

Jealous & Possessive Sherlock

Possessive Sherlock Pt 2

Husband by jinglebell (E, 2,003 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP, Anal, Multiple Orgasms, Fluff) – Sherlock orgasms when John refers to him as ‘husband’.

Caught in the Act – by Mycroft by ShirleyCarlton (E, 2,040 w., 1 Ch. || Unintended Voyeurism, Mycroft’s POV, Blow Job, Humour) – Mycroft had only planted the camera for Sherlock’s own good, simply to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he was alright. He hadn’t quite meant to see his brother this content, however… Part 4 of Caught In The Act

Stay by msdisdain (M, 3,561 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Angst / H/C, Bed Sharing, Nightmares, Blow Jobs, Anal) – John’s nightmares are nothing new. Sherlock’s inability to ignore them, however, is.

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981 w., 1 Ch. || Oral / Anal Sex, Food, PWP, Fingerfucking) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure. So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he’s not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong… Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,842 w., 1 Ch. || Domestic Fluff, BottomJohn / Topping from the Bottom, Fluff and Romance, Dirty Talk, Proposals) – What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, “Marry me.”

Take My Breath Away by Quesarasara (E, 14,240 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Angst & Fluff, Toplock, Smut, Lingerie) – Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his friend—his best friend—and slowly tips his chin down until his forehead rests softly against John’s. They stay that way for a long moment, lips just a whisper apart, warm puffs of air mingling as each of them struggles to breathe. It’s no wonder they ended up here, really, locked in this breathless moment balanced on the cusp of something new. They’ve spent years taking each other’s breath away…

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John’s head.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock’s failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he’s not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w., 14 Ch. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 77,750 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he’s kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 85,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides AU, Omegaverse, Aventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he’s kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, H/C, Dub Con, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #toplock #Anonymous #e-rated fics

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the-rawr-ster · 4 years ago

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Star for Comfort

Synopsis: You wake up from a nightmare. When you go get fresh air, you find Todoroki sitting on his balcony.

Genre: comfort, fluff, a lil angst.

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

A/N: This fic is very important to me. I get nightmares quite frequently and they’re really hard to talk about. They feel so real sometimes that it’s scary. And sometimes they wake me up in the middle of the night and I can’t go back to sleep. Anyways, this fic was inspired by Yagami Yato’s Dabi Nightmare comfort audio. If you like it I’ll consider making a part 2. I would also like to state that Todoroki and the reader are JUST friends, there is nothing romantic going on. Stars in literature can often symbolize guidance, a light in darkness, or even a fallen angel, so take this into account while reading.

Chills ran down your spine. Your skin crawled. You could feel the pain from being thrown around like a rag doll. You could hear the cries of your classmates. You could smell fresh blood and feel the wetness under your dark combat boots. And just before it was your turn, you woke up.Your eyes staring at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that you were really awake. Tears streamed down the side of your face, drenching your pillow. It felt so real. So, disgustingly, horrifyingly real.

“Why,” you whispered, choking on your sobs.

Nightmares were a common occurrence for you, but even then, you couldn’t get used to it. They broke you even more every time...and all you could do...was internalize it. You told yourself you could deal with it, but the truth is you can’t, because they’re just getting more and more vivid. You didn’t know if it was a result of overusing your quirk or something else entirely.

Your breathes got shallow and shaky. Just thinking about it made you’re body tremble. You felt like you were suffocating. The emotions were just pouring out of you like clouds on a stormy day. But maybe you deserve it, for being so useless all the time..for never being able to help anyone...save anyone. Bakugo was right, you don’t deserve to be here...because what kind’ve hero...just stands there...frozen? And your quirk? Useless too. How the hell is memory manipulation supposed to help you in the field?

The air in the room got heavy...pressing into your chest. The walls began closing in. You got up and ran out of the room as quickly as you could. Your body slouched over, hands placed on your knees. You attempted to steady your breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. You inhaled the scent of wet grass and cold air. Your exhausted body fell to the floor. You let out a small grunt and rolled over to look at the sky.

“Are you okay,” a familiar voice asked.

Todoroki had been leaning over his balcony, which was just above my yours. Every night, Todoroki sits on his porch, looking at the sky, taking in every little detail, counting the stars. It’s something he’s always done since he was a kid because the stars were the only things that always came back.

“Uh, yeah,” you stuttered staring up at him from the floor of your balcony.

“You’re a horrible liar, y/l/n,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you still up?”

“I can’t sleep.”

You both paused making small glances at each other. You fumbled the inside of your cheek between your teeth. What should I say? What do I say?

“Same,” you sighed.

“Oh, I thought you were okay,” he chuckled.

There it was again, that deafening silence between you and Todoroki. Neither of you knew what to say, so you continued staring at each other, briefly glancing away.

“How many stars do you think there are,” Todoroki asked, attempting to break the silence.

You were puzzled. Why would he ask such a ridiculous question? I don’t know. It’s an impossible question to answer.

“When I was younger, I would sit near my bedroom window when I couldn’t sleep and count the stars,” he lifted his gaze from your eyes to the sky, “It was the only way I could fall asleep, and take my mind off of things.”

“You’re quite talkative tonight,” you chuckled.

“I guess you’re just easy to talk to. I can be easy to talk to if you let me.”

You did want to talk to him. You felt compelled to tell him. Not talking to him about it was like trying to keep from puking.

“I just don’t feel like I belong here,” before you knew it, the words began spilling out of your mouth.

“Is it because of what Bakugo said? Because that guy is a-,” you stopped him before he said anything else.

“That’s part of it but he was right.”

Tears slid off the sides of your face. Drip! Drop! Drip! Drop! You looked away, embarrassed for getting emotional in front of someone. Todoroki was confused. He thought your quirk was pretty cool. Sure it couldn’t be used for combat but it could be pretty useful for intelligence missions one day.

When you looked back up Todoroki was gone. Did I scare him off? I shouldn’t have-.

Knock knock knock!

“Coming,” you whispered, slowly standing up and wiping your tears.

Knock knock knock!

“I said I’m-.”

When you opened the door, a pair of monochromatic eyes sheepishly stared down at you. He stood in a pair of slippers and a beige robe. His hair fell messily above his eyes. He had an awkward smile plastered on his face. He held two bowls of soba noodles and two sets of chopsticks.

...

“If I had known you were good at comforting people, I would have befriended you a long time ago,” you said slurping noodles. Todoroki stopped, and you could’ve sworn he smiled. Todoroki didn’t grow up with many friends, so the fact that you considered him a friend, gave him a sense of home...one that actually made him feel loved...and wanted.

You set your bowl on the side of you and hugged the railing, dangling your feet like a kid on a swing set. You sighed, staring up at the sky, counting the stars. Todoroki realized that his attempt of taking your mind off things had failed, as you had abandoned your bowl of soba.

“It was a nightmare,” you said, breaking the silence.

Todoroki placed his bowl next to yours and leaned back, staring up at the stars with you.

“I get those too. They suck.”

You plopped onto your back, your hands only inches away from his. Something about Todoroki, made you feel calm. You had come a long way from you violent panic attack that occurred only 30 minutes prior.

Todoroki didn’t force you to talk. He didn’t try to say things would get better. Just being beside you, trying to take things off your mind, was comforting.

“How many stars do you think there are,” you asked him. Todoroki had an intense, puzzled look on his face.

“Well it’s definitely over a thousand,” he replied.

“Let’s make a deal.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“Whoever figures out how many stars there are before we graduate, has to buy the other Soba noodles for the rest of their life. “

“Your obsession with soba noodles is concerning, y/n.”

“Oh yeah? Says the guy who knocked on my door at 3am with two bowls of soba noodles and chopsticks.”

Todoroki turned to face you, the only thing between you was four and a half inches of empty space. He let out a laugh, something that was as rare as a giant, blue star due to its explosive nature. Todoroki had more abilities, ones that only you knew about. He had the ability to make people feel better.

“Your quirk isn’t useless,” he whispered, thinking you couldn’t hear him.

“Thank you,” your gaze met his, and a small smile crept onto your face, “For everything.”

“I should be thanking you. I don’t have very many friends.“

I’m sorry. That’s what you wanted to say. You wanted to apologize for all the years of abuse he’s endured. But instead, all you could mutter was “of course, you’re a great person, and you’re so much more than your looks,” because that’s what he wanted and needed to hear.

“Since I’ve found out you’re an astronomer, tell me something about the stars.”

When you said that, you had no idea what you’d be getting yourself into. Todoroki may be quiet throughout the day, but when it comes to stars, he could go on for hours. You were okay with that though.

He pointed out constellations and talked about the names of stars. He had a very soft monotone voice but his eyes were filled with wonder. This was a side of Todoroki that nobody but YOU got to see...a deeper...amazing side of Todoroki.

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sevenincubistolemyheart · 5 years ago

Text

Of Leeches and Secrets

Au: Demon

Tag list: @xsunnyhoseokx @amiraclerenee @illneverrecover

Rating: M

Potential Triggers: Kinks in this fic include marking, possession, aphrodisiac use(supernatural power), and overstimulation. There’s also non-explicit mentions of torture.

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Supernatural Smut, Brief Angst, Fluff

Length: 3.2k+

A/N: Happy Valentines Day @illneverrecover!! I really hope you enjoy this bby! I struggled with including a certain someone but I hope you liked how I ended up including him and that his personality was okay!! Much love~ -Sheridan

All Taehyung had wanted to do was keep his race a secret from you. You'd been perfectly content with your normal, happy, Human boyfriend. But no- that bratty bloodsucker had ruined it all with his big mouth.

He'd had to teleport home in a panic as he felt a rush of fear assault him from your end of the bond. The Marks he littered all over your body served 2 purposes- showing his ownership to the Humans yes but also to the world you had no idea of- race after race of supernaturals.

He always ensured his scent was all over you too- clearly, it still hadn't been enough if the Vampire hovering over your small looking form on the couch wasn't enough proof.

He snarled and threw Baekhyun harshly into the wall by his collar and knelt down to look into your eyes, taking in your fearful, shock filled gaze.

He reached out to comfort you and his face and heart both fell as he saw you recoil.

Pain flashed across his face before a hiss of fury escaped him as he whirled to face Baekhyun who was effortlessly dusting himself off, a small smirk adorning his lips.

"You really shouldn't break your own apartment you know. The walls are thin as it is."

"What the fuck are you doing here? You know better than to touch-"

He cut himself off, knowing his continuation of 'what belongs to me' wouldn't sit well with the Human he adored so much.

“-random people you don’t know!! Our issue has nothing to do with her!”

Baekhyun hummed, eyes wide and innocent as he shrugged.

"I haven't touched her once. Just told her a few things. She deserved to know the truth. I mean you have been keeping an awful lot of secrets from her. I couldn't help but want to dispel the poor things ignorance. What if a mean, scary Vampire wanted to suck her dry~?"

He flashed his fangs and let the true red of his eyes appear for a moment in a playful gesture.

"She should be reassured having an even scarier demon on her side, don'tcha think?"

Taehyung let his words sink in and soon had to take a deep breath to stop his furious shaking as he turned his attention to you- ignoring Baekhyun for the moment. Bastard always knew how to push his buttons and he clearly wanted him to snap so he'd scare you more.

"...Are you okay baby?"

His voice was nothing but gentle as he knelt down and looked up into your eyes.

You finally spoke, eyes oddly resolute compared to the blank pools they were moments ago.

"I'm fine. Just tell me the truth. Are you really a Fallen Angel like Baek said?"

The nickname you used for the Vampire made him bristle but he nodded.

"Mm. I know this must come as a shock but-"

You shook your head and laughed weakly as you stood up to pace.

"Actually it just makes me feel like I'm finally not crazy. You disappeared every night and now there's a good reason. Do you…"

You bit your lip, looking hesitant for the first time.

"Do you actually torture people?"

He looked to the side knowing his answer wasn't one most Humans would like.

“I...Yeah. They're truly vile people but it’s my job. Being here on Earth doesn’t change that. I could switch to espionage on the Angels if that would make you feel more comfortable-”

Perhaps not nearly as fun as his current position but what could he say? He’d fallen for you and he was willing to sacrifice for that.

You bit your lip, a nervous tic he’d noticed you did when under stress and hesitantly met his gaze.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes. Very much.”

He answered without hesitation.

Your eyes lowered once more and you fiddled with your thumbs as your voice grew quieter.

“Would...you want to do that to me if I ever went to Hell?”

He couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaped his lips if he tried, trying to get it under control as your head snapped up in surprise.

“Ahaha!! Oh, sweetheart, you are not going to Hell.”

You frowned slightly, voice growing stronger.

“That’s not what I asked Taehyung. Do you want to hurt me? To torment me like you do those people? Has this all been a game to you!?!”

Your voice rose and the glassiness of your eyes made his laughter cut off sharply as he gently cradled your cheek in his large palm.

“Oh, baby no. I...I may be a sadist, yes but I would never want to hurt you. You showed me that humanity wasn’t such a vile cesspool beyond saving. You made my fall for being curious worth it. “

His face held a serious expression so unlike him that you let out a sigh of relief as you nuzzled your cheek into his hand.

“...And what about the other boys? And Baekhyun's group? Are you all demons?”

Baekhyun snorted as he slung himself on the couch on the opposite side to you carelessly.

“Don’t lump me in with those weak fear generators. It’s just Kai and me who’re Vamps. The rest are Humans. We both figured it’d be fun to spend the next while influencing the world through our music.”

He shrugged, sounding bored as he yawned.

Taehyung scoffed, as a ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips.

“At least I’m more than a common mosquito. As for the other boys- we’re actually all different races. It’s part of the reason we’re as successful as we are. Between Jimin as an Incubus, Yoongs as a Siren and Hobi as an Angel with memory manipulation- there’s plenty of supernatural appeal pulling Humes to us that we have no control over.”

Seeing your wide wonder-filled eyes he chuckled under his breath and opted against keeping you in suspense like he could’ve.

“Jungkook is a Shifter- he can take on any of our appearances and also take on one of our abilities in addition to his own. He can mimic our voices easily too. Namjoon is a Bloodsucker like this one-” He raised his chin at Baekhyun who rolled his eyes. “But he’s much more bearable. Jin is a Human but a gifted time traveler so he’s wiser than any of us would typically care to admit. That’s everyone.”

You let out a little laugh of disbelief at both of their answers.

“That’s...damn. Kai too?”

You asked Baekhyun who smirked.

“...Vamps can read thoughts just so you know love.”

He mentioned offhandedly, relishing as you gasped and were quick to look away. Your cheeks turned red from the blood rushing to them as you blushed madly and he took in your scent with great pleasure.

Taehyung’s eyes darkened as he took in the exchange but he said nothing, merely settling for looking between the two of you.

“But yes, Kai too. There’s a reason you’ve never been left alone with him and why Tae is so careful about being near whenever we’re at an event with you. He can be a bit...unstable with those with blood as sweet as yours appears to be.”

Taehyung had had enough of being left out.

“Isn’t it about time you left? Got some mice to suck dry?”

He managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Baekhyun only beamed.

“I don’t think I want to~. And I’d say your pretty little thing doesn’t want me to either, if her thoughts concerning my appearance are anything to go by.”

His eyes darkened as he suddenly was much closer than before; his sudden lunge at you leading to him looming over you. He turned your face to him with two fingers as he made you meet his gaze, giving a lustful snarl that went right to your core, making you shiver.

“Every thought you had when you saw us perform, when you met me the first time-” His smirk was one of a shark, sharp fangs only drawing the comparison closer as he clearly smelled blood in the water.

“Especially that time when I made eye contact with you…”

Your eyes widened as you immediately recalled what he was talking about. He’d made eye contact with you while at soundcheck during one of their sexier routines and while you couldn’t remember your exact thoughts...they sure weren’t decent with how wet you’d been.

“If you still want I’d be glad to fuck an irresistible girl like you till you see stars and are so thoroughly fucked out you don’t know whether to beg for it to stop or for more.”

You barely mustered the strength to shake your head and only came back to yourself when Taehyung roughly pulled the Vampire off you with a hiss between teeth that equal parts frightened you and turned you on. There was a dark undercurrent to his voice you’d never heard before and-fuck what was wrong with you? It felt like you were drunk all of a sudden.

You could barely focus on anything but you’re growing need to be filled and while sure; you had your hormone jumps and often had horny spells they were never this intense.

“Baby? What did that bastard-”

Taehyung loomed over you with worry in his gaze but you were too focused on how pretty his lips looked and roughly pulled his lips to yours with the hands around his neck, cutting him off abruptly.

You made out for a few moments but Taehyung quickly put together that something wasn’t right. He was typically the one leading you- you’d never been so absolutely ravenous for him before. He forced himself back with difficulty, caressing your midsection and neck to offer you a sensation to focus on as he turned his attention to Baekhyun who was pouting and looked positively annoyed.

“What the Hell did you do to her?”

Baekhyun shrugged.

“I just turned up my aphrodisiac meter some to entice her is all. I didn’t expect it to backfire so much.”

His eyes still very much held his want for you, if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by anyway...and that gave Taehyung an idea.

Even Baekhyun couldn’t hold back his shudder at the dark smirk and sadistic gleam in his eyes.

"...You think playing around with my girlfriend’s pleasure is okay hm? You poor little leech~ She'll never be swayed to you when she has someone who can actually make her feel pleasure instead of your artificial bullshit. Though I suppose I'll give you the honor of a front-row seat so your efforts don't go to waste."

Taehyung’s voice was low and almost gentle but rich with cruel happiness that made Baekhyun puff his chest and stand up straight in an attempt to appear more intimidating.

"It's not artificial! I'm sure the slick currently pooling underneath her is proof of that."

He sniped, only to flinch as Taehyung lunged at him and...tapped him?

He hesitantly peeked one eye open and saw they were now in the Master bedroom. Ugh. Teleportation. He tried to move but frowned as he realized he couldn't move an inch.

A quick glance at Taehyung had his eyes widening as he hissed under his breath.

"...Kanima venom."

Taehyung smiled smugly- taking off the glove he'd used to smear the gel-like venom onto his intruders' bare skin carefully and tossed it in the trash.

"Your ability to speak should be going next. Try and be a good boy and enjoy the show hm? Maybe they'll teach you a lesson about spilling secrets that aren't yours."

He turned his attention to you who was pouting at him and already halfway through taking off your top only for the buttons of your top to have gotten stuck in your hair.

He chuckled fondly, eyes softening as he gently helped you to untangle yourself.

"Silly girl; didn't I tell you to wait for me? Now I'm going to have to punish you. I know you're eager but you know better than to disobey your Sir."

The whimper that fell from your lips may have been caused by the aphrodisiac but truthfully you knew it was all his doing. Taehyung always knew how best to make you unravel.

"B-But Tae-"

Your whine made him growl; that demonic undercurrent from before making you arch in need but he still wouldn't touch your core, instead letting his fingers play with the button on your jeans- already undone.

"No buts baby. I'm gonna make you cum so many times you'll wish you were in Hell with me."

Your breath hitched and the smirk that bloomed across his lips made you shiver.

"Ahhhaha~ I see my hypothesis was right. You like that your boyfriend is a demon don't you? My precious little slut~"

You blushed and tried to deny his claims.

"I-no that's not it! I just…"

You squirmed clearly embarrassed and he chuckled darkly before leaving a trail of hot kisses up your neck until he reached your ear where he bit down.

The hiss of pain you let out caused him to moan before he licked at the red area causing a sharp spike of pleasure to make you mewl.

"Naughty girl~ thinking you can lie to your boyfriend who can read like you a book...and hear your heartbeat."

The tickle of his breath on your ear and his fingers brushing ever so gently over your covered core made you finally cave as you nodded.

"Okay okay fine!! You win! I find it really hot and I want you to make me beg!" .

You admitted in a rush.

A muffled moan made your attention turn to the new fixture you'd completely forgotten about.

Baekhyun looked wrecked. He was panting; clearly desperate for relief if the large bulge set to burst out of his pants was any question, eyes glassy with need.

When you locked eyes with him you found yourself being drawn in, unable to look away. Maybe you could help him, get fucked by both boys at once-

You found your face being sharply turned back to Taehyung as well as your senses.

"Don't make me blindfold you Baek. I want you to savor every second of her pleasure as I bring her to the peak mercilessly."

He spoke the words to Baekhyun but his eyes never left your own and you found yourself immediately complying as Taehyung ordered you.

"On your back baby, knees apart."

You did as instructed and he helped you remove your jeans leaving you in nothing but your underwear and bra. Perhaps you might've been insecure with having Baekhyun watching you like this as well if you weren't so focused on Taehyung and his hands as they roamed from your neck down to your breasts as he lightly flicked his thumbs over the fabric, smirking as you keened and shivered, jolting a little as his fingers brushed across your nipples.

"Ahh I almost forgot your little aphrodisiac trick increases sensitivity too. Makes the blood pump faster doesn't it…?"

He questioned innocently, knowing he wouldn't receive a response.

"And unfortunately for you-"

He nuzzled your mound and relished your needy moan.

"That enhanced sensitivity is only gonna get more and more intense the more times I make you cum for me."

The gentle touches and playful teasing were quickly growing to be too much for you with how worked up you were.

"B-Baby please! I'm sorry okay I'll never even think about Baekhyun or any other man but you again you know I only have eyes for you-!!"

Taehyung's eyes darkened at the sound of your begging and you squealed as he shut you up by simply pulling your underwear down and off you too quickly for you to see before attacking your core like a man possessed.

His tongue relentlessly lapped over your clit while also detouring to your lips now and again to keep you on the edge.

"That's right. You belong to me. No-one else. Least of all that vile brat needing a tan."

Even the feeling of his breath made you pant as you arched up- needing to feel his lips against you. Ugh, you were so close!!

"Something wrong babygirl?"

He taunted with a smirk, now skirting ever so slowly around your clit with his tongue.

Tears of pleasure were starting to dot your vision and you felt your thighs trembling; a telltale sign of your impending orgasm.

"P-Please. Make me cum Tae. Please. I...nngh…can't bear it-!"

You mumbled weakly.

And then you were gasping as he easily brought you over the edge- attacking your clit viciously as his tongue lashed mercilessly over the over-sensitized bud. As your 2nd orgasm of many approached you clenched around nothing at the demonic hiss that left his lips.

"Oh I'll make you cum alright. I thought you'd never ask."

Needless to say your night was filled with many more orgasms. Whether from his gifted tongue, his merciless fingers or his dick. And you were absolutely littered in marks by the end of the night. At one point he'd even broken the skin just to add an extra layer of torment to his little captive. You'd talked before about overstimulation but by the time he was done you were so tired he had to clean you up and tuck you into bed.

As you slept soundly he smiled knowingly at Baekhyun, the poor Vampire having cum multiple times himself from the display. He leisurely made his way over to him, lifting the broken boys' hopes of being given the antidote to the venom.

Instead, Taehyung pet his hair softly for a few moments with a gentle, kind smile on his face. Thankfully, the venom was slowly beginning to finally wear off on its own so he was barely able to speak.

"Taehyung? What are you-hnn!"

He yipped like a kicked puppy before moaning as Taehyung cupped his oversensitive crotch, shivering in fear as Taehyung's expression didn't change once even though his eyes were dead and completely devoid of emotion.

"...Try and come near my girl again. Ever try to manipulate her like that again- and this will be child's play compared to what the succubi and incubi I throw you to will do to you. For a year. Got it?"

His voice was pure demon now, so growled and low the Vampire barely understood it as he rushed to voice his affirmation.

"Y-Yes! Okay okay please just-"

The world tilted and he closed his eyes, only to find himself back at his apartment with the other boys.

"The venom will wear off naturally. Pray it's Kai that finds you and that he's not in a mood."

Was all Taehyung called over his shoulder with a smirk before he disappeared, ignoring the vocalists call to let him free.

Taehyung sighed in relief as he snuggled into bed with you, taking off his jeans and placing the antidote in his drawer before crawling beside you and enveloping you in his warm arms. You cuddled into him as you always did- a small hum of contentment leaving your lips and making his eyes soften as he pecked the top of your head.

Yeah. Maybe you finding out wasn't so bad after all.

#sismh: fics #secretadmirer2020 #sismh: secret admirer project #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #v x you #v x reader #ksmutclub

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purplebass · 5 years ago

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Forgiven: A Herongraystairs One Shot

This is my one shot gift for my 8,7K followers celebration for @daisyherxndale . I really hope you like this because I tried to pour my heart into it. It was really hard to write because I usually never kill anybody in my fics, but it doesn’t hurt to try (lol).

If somebody also wants a one shot gift from me, just hit my ask box. 😊

Couple: Will Herondale x Tessa Gray x Jem Carstairs Warning: death of a major character Setting: The Last Hours timeline

You gave up the fight You left me behind All that's done's forgiven You'll always be mine I know deep inside All that's done's forgiven

The starless night loomed on the London Institute like a thick cloth of dark blue velvet, and as Tessa was staring at it from the balcony of the drawing room, she felt happy. She had all that she wanted in her proximity: her husband, her children, even Jem was close although he couldn’t be as close to her as she wanted, but it was okay. Despite everything that happened lately, things seemed under control. She probably shouldn’t had been optimist because things could change in the blink of an eye, but what could she do?

“Mom,” James called from behind her and she turned with a smile. The lights were off, but James’ face was not completely hidden in the darkness. “You need to come out. Lucie has fainted, and…”

Tessa’s expression abruptly turned to apprehension. “What happened?”

“Come with me and I’ll explain, I-,” he began, then his voice stopped, as if he was chocking, and grabbed her hand to lead her to where his sister was. “I’m sorry, mama. I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry for what, James? Tell me what happened!” she demanded, trying to keep calm. “Why haven’t you taken her inside? Where is your father?”

James didn’t reply, he hurried towards the big doors that lead outside, moved by an oppressing anxiety. She had never seen him like this, she thought, but perhaps he hid it well. Once he opened the doors, Tessa couldn’t help herself and run towards Lucie. Cordelia and Matthew were also there, her parabatai keeping Lucie’s head on her legs while the other tried to hold her in place.

Lucie’s face was partially covered with blood, and her hair attached to her forehead. Her face was ashen, too pale, too lifeless.

She fell to her knees besides her and grabbed her face, caressed her forehead, and checked her pulse. “What happened, Cordelia?” she demanded again.

Cordelia was covered by blood herself and it had stained her dress. “We wanted to tell you, we really wanted to tell you and your husband about it.”

“What did you want to tell us? What, Cordelia? Speak, we don’t have much time!” she commanded, checking her daughter’s breathing. “Thank you,” she murmured to herself more than to them. “She’s still breathing. Have you applied some iratze?”

Tessa looked at James, who looked at Cordelia, who looked at Matthew. The three of them exchanged glances that she didn’t like – they were surely keeping something from her, and she wondered why they weren’t keen on revealing it.

“James…” Cordelia said, her voice almost a whisper in the dark. “Should I?”

James’s expression was grave and he shook his head. “I should,” he agreed, then his gaze moved swiftly from his two friends, who nodded. “We went to our grandfather.”

Tessa froze in place. “You did what? James, I told you, you shouldn’t look for him. We all told you. I don’t care who he is or what he does, I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. We are sorry. Lucie… she… we…” James voice shook, and Tessa felt remorse in his words. “He struck her with his magic. We arrived just in time because she went alone to where he was hiding.”

Tessa squeezed Lucie’s hand and looked at her. “Oh, Lucie. Why? Have you called Jem?”

“Will went to Jem,” Matthew explained listlessly. “We met him when we got there. He decided to personally go to him because he didn’t trust somebody else to call for him.”

She felt relieved by the news, but still, something was wrong. “Why is she here, though? Do you want me to help you take her inside?”

“She’s here because she can’t move past the entrance,” Cordelia said, resigned. Tessa could tell that Lucie’s friend was trying hard not to be affected by the moment, but she could see it in her eyes. She wanted to cry. “It’s like there is an invisible barrier that doesn’t let us pass,” she explained.

How serious was this?

They all heard footsteps coming from the gate, and Tessa was relieved to see Will and Jem running to them, the carriage of the Silent Brothers barely inside of the entrance as if they had hopped off before it would completely enter the cobblestone yard of the Institute.

“Has she regained consciousness?” Will wondered, putting a hand on Tessa’s shoulder, as Jem knelt down to check on Lucie.

How long has she been like this? Jem asked to the younger onlookers.

James passed a hand through his already tousled hair. He was pacing behind Cordelia, and he couldn’t stay still. “A while,” he admitted, sighing in frustration. “Maybe an hour.”

“An hour? Why have you waited so long to call somebody?” Will demanded, his voice as sharp as a knife. He didn’t intend to unleash at James, but he was losing his mind. “What if she can’t be fixed?”

Calm down, Will. She’s still breathing. Now I need to…

Jem’s words were cut short, and nobody realized what had just happened until it was too late, because they were shoved away from the scene with a powerful thud.

Tessa stood still as intricate vines held her legs rooted to the place. She didn’t know how she was standing since she had been on the ground less than a moment before, and what was worse was that it wasn’t just her legs bound by the shrubs, but her hands as well. She looked down and saw the vines already cutting her skin, drops of blood falling on the cobblestone of what she called her home staining the pavement. That place had witnessed many encounters with their enemies, like during the clockwork war more than twenty years before, but she thought they were safe.

She thought the Institute was safe. She had been very content just a few minutes earlier, staring at the peaceful sky full of stars above her, why had life decided to change her mind and play this trick?

She didn’t believe in religion, she didn’t believe in any faith, but somehow, she felt as if this was the payback for something. Had she wished too much? Was this what fate reserved to people like her who were cursed with the special gift of immortality?

She felt her throat dry at the sight of her bound hands, but it wasn’t over. She glanced around her to check that everyone was alright: Will and Jem were getting back on their feet, while Matthew, Cordelia and James were still in a corner, huddled together and checking on each other. They didn’t look hurt from where she was, but she wasn’t able to see clearly. They had been thrown in opposite directions and quickly caught sight of her.

She searched for Lucie and she felt her heart fall in her stomach when she couldn’t locate her. She couldn’t move, and she could only see a part of the yard, but Lucie wasn’t there.

“Where is Lucie?” she asked the others.

“Tessa!” Will hurried to her without thinking, but Jem stopped him. He gazed at his friend with a frown. “Why are you stopping me, Jem? We need to free her!”

Look behind her, Jem murmured, and Tessa, despite being far from them, could also hear the tinge of agitation in his voice.

“How is it…”

“Possible?” Lucie inquired; a smug grin painted on her face. Tessa couldn’t see her daughter, but she knew she was behind her. “Everything is possible when you are a prince of hell, my dear shadowhunter. Oh, have I said dear? There is nothing dear about you. Your life is meaningless to me. But you were essential in the creation of my -”

“Who are you? Where is my Luce?” Will demanded angrily, balling his hands into fists. He wanted to advance towards Tessa and whoever was impersonating Lucie, but Jem was still holding his arm to keep him from rushing closer to his family.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to dispose of her body, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s still here,” she touched her chest with a finger, “but if I decide she’s to my liking, I may not leave her. She’s a pretty girl, smart, willing to collaborate. Do you know that she came to me asking to resurrect her boyfriend?” she asked to no one in particular as she walked around Tessa until she could look her in the face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tessa Gray. I reckon you’re my daughter, apparently,” she said with disgust.

“Belial,” Tessa recognized with contempt.

“The one and only. Your son over there tried to destroy me and didn’t let me take his body once I returned from my little vacation, but your daughter here… it’s good you had two children.”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. She had often asked herself who her father could have been, but she had always dismissed the idea of even trying to look for him, to know who he was, to find out what were his powers and what she could do with them. She thought it wasn’t worth it. She knew her father was a prince of hell, and princes of hell were almost like them, except they were fallen angels, which meant that they also took pride in having really lived in heaven before their fall.

Somebody gasped in the distance, probably Cordelia, and Tessa saw that she was wielding Cortana.

Belial turned, following Tessa’s eyes to her daughter’s parabatai. “That would be useless, my dear,” she mocked Cordelia with a bat of her lashes – so unlike Lucie. “You already tried to hurt me with that petty golden thing once, but I won’t be fooled again. And ah, a little reminder. If you stab me, your friend will also die.”

“No one is going to die tonight, Belial. If you leave quietly,” said Will.

Belial gazed at him, tilting his head with a smirk. His eyes were still Lucie’s light blue, but they had lost their depth. Now they were hollow, and mocking. “You don’t interest me, or you’d be already dead, William Herondale,” he admitted. “I came for the most valuable piece,” Belial continue, moving around Tessa and stroking her chin. But the gesture lacked affection, because that wasn’t Lucie, it was just her body. Tessa shivered.

“What do you want?” Tessa inquired brusquely. “If it’s something I can give you, I will. But you need to leave us alone.”

The prince sneered at her. “You have such a temper, Tessa Gray. The sacrifice will be worth it, for sure. Tatiana will finally be disposable after this.”

She didn’t have time to ask what was he saying, because it all happened too quickly. Tessa just saw Belial grab Cortana from Cordelia’s hand, and in a swift move, the demon freed her feet and her hands from the vines. She barely registered Belial’s movements as he used the legendary sword to pierce her skin. And yet, she had just glanced at her hands for a second.

She felt her chest warm, and she realized that it was her blood scorching her. Why was her blood so heated? She feared that Belial would strike her again, but she barely had the time to think about this as she dropped to the ground, her strength suddenly leaving her body. She would have probably hit her head if she hadn’t fallen on her arm. She noticed Lucie’s body lying on the stones and she felt relieved. Belial had probably left her, or so she hoped.

She was losing consciousness by the second, but she saw that Lucie seemed to be waking up, and she looked startled?

“Mama,” she heard her say, then she felt her daughter grab her hand.

She felt another person put her head on a warm surface; perhaps it was a pair of legs? She tried not to close her eyes and she saw a flash of black and blue.

“Will,” she whispered, but her voice was a distant murmur.

“Yes, Tessa, I’m here. I’m here, Jem is here, you’re going to be alright,” he tried to reassure her, touched her face with his hand, kissed her hand… she noticed his hand was red, too red, too fast… “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded.

“My blood stained your hands,” she told him, as if she was saying something random, something ordinary. She thought her brain was acting up, why was she thinking about his hands?

But he didn’t care. He removed his evening jacket and pressed it on her chest, on her heart. Her heart. She had all the people she cared about around her. They were all part of her heart, and they were the reason why she woke up every morning. And yet, she felt her beat slow down, as if the love she had for them and the affection they also felt for her, wasn’t enough to let her heart keep its heartbeat. And in that moment, she was sure…

There is nothing we can do, she heard Jem say. His tone was blank, but she detected sorrow in it. Her time… her time has come, he added.

“What? But she’s immortal! She can’t be dying, she can’t!” Will shouted in the dark of the yard, his eyes still fixed on her. She could barely see him. “Tess, tell him. Tell him that you’re not leaving.”

Tessa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. “I’ve… I’ve always loved you. I love… everyone of you,” she murmured as she tried to look at all of the faces around her. “James, Lucie, Will, Jem… I love all of you.”

“I love you,” Will told her, his voice breaking by the tears falling on his face, which were now wetting her own. She noticed they were warm. “You are strong, Tessa. I know you’re a warrior. Remember what I told you once? You’re like Boadicea, you fight. You win.”

She tried to smile, but she didn’t know if she succeeded, since she felt a strange feeling seeping in. Emptiness. She was drowning somewhere, far away. She wondered if there really were a heaven and a hell, and if there were, where would she go?

“Don’t blame yourself for this, bach,” she told him. “This is not your fault. Not Lucie’s, not… James’,” she coughed, then she closed her eyes. Closing her eyes was comforting. If she would only…

She felt at peace after shutting her eyes, but she couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t know either how that night, which seemed so beautiful and haunting, had turned into her worst nightmare.

They would never forget the moment when Tessa died.

The way Will cradled her limp body into his arms to check her heartbeat and found no sound: emptiness, hollowness, as if Tessa had turned into a doll, a mannequin. The screeching sound of his heart breaking in the dead silence of the night as he wept on her corpse, who just a few hours before he had made love with. The same body he had worshipped countlessly as if she was a goddess, his goddess who would live forever. But then, why…

He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t be saved – there must be something they could do, something the Silent Brothers could do. But Jem was sure. He was sure that she couldn’t be fixed, there was no cure for her, and this shattered the heart he still knew could feel with clarity, with emotion. Because a part of him had died too, just like Will had lost a part of himself that night.

And James and Lucie were crying besides their father, both asking for forgiveness because they had been reckless, they hadn’t asked their parents and uncle Jem for help, and now this was the result. They shouldn’t blame themselves; Tessa had said, but what could they do?

Everyone was falling apart that night, even Cordelia and Matthew who weren’t related to her at all.

Who would have thought that a night so dazzling and full of bright stars would bring such an agonizing demise? But that was the beauty and the bitterness of life: it played with death every day as if living was a game of chess. And sometimes, life lost the bet, and the devil came to collect.

#will herondale #tessa gray #jem carstairs #will and tessa #herongraystairs #james herondale #lucie herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #matthew fairchild #wessa #the infernal devices #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #jessa #jem and tess #my edits

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sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 5 years ago

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All is Fair: Ch 11

Hi, Y’all! Thank you for being so patient and not giving up on this fic even though I have been egregiously late with updates. At best, my life is erratically populated with periods of leisure time and periods of hectic, soul-crushing work. I, like many of you, am in the midst of a forced period of leisure time, so you will probably see more frequent updates. I appreciate those of you who are willing to stick around to see what happens next, and I hope you are in good health. Tell me what you think! x

Discovery and Dissolution

Polly Gray sat in her Bentley, wrapped in fur. Through her dark glasses, she watched the scene on the street where Lia worked. The bitter north wind cut straight down the sidewalk in front of the library and sent patrons scurrying for shelter within. A cluster of people shuffled through the arched brass doors, and Lia stepped out. She was a vision in a blue cashmere long coat, a mink collar clutched around her neck. The wind caused her coat to flap and play peek-a-boo with leather boots that stretched up to her knees. Both items were gifts from Tommy, Polly surmised. She noticed that Lia still wore an older pair of wool gloves. Guess he couldn’t think of everything.

Despite the cold, Lia wore a little smile as she walked along. She’d been hard at work referencing and cross-referencing research with a professor of Art History at the University of Birmingham, and he was pleased with the help she’d given him. He had mentioned working with her again in the near future. Lia had come a long way from shelving books. She was beginning to realize the kind of life she had only dreamed was possible when she first came to Birmingham. As she neared the corner, though, she was pulled out of her thoughts when she noticed familiar-looking woman in a posh car was watching her.

Polly lowered her window and called out, “Lia, Lia Montrose!”

Lia slowed down and warily approached the car. Polly extended a sumptuously gloved hand, looked over her sunglasses at Lia, and introduced herself, “Polly Gray…Tommy’s Aunt Polly.”

Lia visibly relaxed and took her hand at those words, “Mrs. Gray…I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Get in, it’s time we got acquainted.”

In a matter of minutes, Lia found herself sitting in the kitchen at No. 6 Watery Lane while Polly found two cups and put the kettle on. She then reached into the cupboard where she found a tin of tea. Upon opening it and sniffing the contents, she decided that it would do. Decked head to toe in Parisian tailor-made garments, she looked odd moving around the kitchen with such familiarity.

While they waited for the kettle to boil, she offered Lia a cigarette and lit one of her own. They’d spoken hardly a word since they entered the house. Lia was loathe to break the silence with small talk, so she waited for Polly to say what was on her mind. They sat, smoking and soaking in the dusty quiet of the dimly lit room.

Only when Polly poured the tea did she finally speak. “I brought you here so that you could see where Tommy lived...where we all lived before the money came.”

Lia looked all around the room and smiled, “So this is where Tommy began.”

Polly waved her hand with a flourish and laughed, “Who knows where Tommy began. If I hadn’t witnessed his birth I’d swear that he was flung out of heaven and barred from hell.”

Lia smiled knowingly, “Well, Lucifer was a fallen angel.”

“Exactly.” Polly raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the rickety chair. “I want you to understand why Tommy is,” she searched for the right words and finding none she continued, “the way he is.”

Memories flooded Polly’s mind as she looked all around herself, gesturing here and there with the hand that held her cigarette. “Look around you, Lia. This is where we moved when things got better. You don’t want to know where we lived before when things were worse.”

Lia swallowed hard and held her cup with both hands as if to draw every bit of heat out of it. She was suddenly cold. She had not grown up with much, but she was certainly comfortable. Her home had a lightness about it. The room where she sat with Polly was cozy, homey even, but the air was laced with soot and traces of despair.

“Does that explain why he is so driven?” Lia wondered aloud.

“Partly,” Polly mused. Then she looked at Lia with soft brown eyes, almost like she sympathized with her. She felt sorry for anyone who loved Tommy, even herself. “He has always been different. Clever and driven since the night he was born.” Then she looked away, “But he did have a big heart.”

Did.

It wasn’t Polly’s intention to make Lia uncomfortable or uncertain of her place in Tommy’s life, but Lia couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Lia’s chair creaked as she shifted her weight and sat her teacup on the table, and Polly saw in her eyes a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

“We all had to make sacrifices to get where we are today, but Tommy has sacrificed the most. Business comes first. Always. Ada says that Tommy likes you, he may even grow to care for you, but there are certain things you will have to accept if you want to be with him...”

“So he has said,” Lia broke in. She immediately regretted cutting Tommy’s aunt off, though Polly showed no sign of being offended. She just sipped her tea and smiled.

“Has he said what he plans on doing with you when he returns to London, Dear?”

Lia winced a bit at the question. “No.”

There was silence between them again. A clock ticked out the seconds from the next room and the sounds of people shouting to each other in the street filtered through the walls. Having finished her tea, Polly lit another cigarette and let the quiet grow around them. She believed that you could learn a lot about a person by how they chose to deal with spaces in conversation, so she waited and watched.

Lia ruminated on Polly’s last question as long as she could, then stood and looked toward the parlor, silently asking permission to go in. Polly rose and accompanied her. Dusty furniture and photographs sat frozen in time as if they were waiting for Polly to run the sweeper or Ada to polish the tabletops. The fireplace sat waiting to be lit. But she couldn’t see Tommy until she looked up the shadowy stairwell. It was narrow, and she could barely see the top stair in the darkness, but something in the woodsy smell that drifted down reminded her of him. Polly caught the wistful expression on Lia’s face and placed her hand on Lia’s back.

“His room was up there,” Polly nodded.

Polly peered into the darkness and flipped a switch, then nodded in the direction of the stairs, inviting Lia to climb them.

***

The sleek grey Bentley rolled along Cannon Lane and splashed slush in its wake. Lia sat in back with a heavy woolen blanket wrapped around her legs. She made small talk with Rodney, the Blinder up front. Already, she knew that he had a fiancé and that they were to be married in June. His mum and dad were from Coventry, and they were both deceased. Also, Tommy had taken him under his wing as a boy of thirteen. Tommy kept him from starving and from, as Rodney put it, “…falling in with the worst sort of criminal element.” It seemed like everywhere she turned there was another person with a story about what Tommy had done to help them.

Rodney delivered her to her door, and eager to get out of the cold, Lia darted inside.

“Jenny, are you here?”

A few snowflakes floated to the floor while she hung up her coat and unbuttoned her mink lined gloves. She noticed that the kettle was on, and so she called out again.

“Jenny!”

Her cousin bounded down the stairs, pulling her arms through the sleeves of a cardigan as she came.

“Jesus, Lia!” she laughed. “Is the bloody house on fire?”

“I have news,” Lia beamed.

Jenny nodded her head and set about fixing tea, “Go on then. Tell me your news.”

“WE have the use of a car.”

Jenny froze and her heart sank. “Come again…”

“A car, Jenny! Tommy doesn’t like the idea of my riding the bus and walking to work, so he is sending a car ‘round for us every morning and afternoon. One of his men will drive us to and from work,” she enthused.

Jenny stood blinking at her for a moment then responded in a monotone voice. “A Blinder, Lia. ‘One of his men’ means a Blinder. I’d rather walk in the rain and snow.”

She turned her back to Lia and got out the plates, careful not to take her simmering mood out on the crockery. She tried her best to keep her distrust of Tommy out of her relationship with her cousin, but it was hard to keep things light when every other word out of Lia’s mouth was “Tommy”.

Jenny had taken quite a bit of flack at work because of Lia’s connection with Tommy Shelby. She’d had her fill with entering rooms full of chatter only to have them go silent, and she had dodged several sideways comments about her recent promotion. She hated to kill the mood, but someone had to be the voice of reason. Rolling up to work chauffeured by a flat cap wearing thug was more than she could tolerate.

Lia balled her fists and tried to modulate her voice as she asked, “Why do you hate him so much? Hmm? He is good to me and he wants to help you too.”

“Help? Is that what he calls it?” Jenny turned back around and eyed Lia’s obviously new and obviously bought by Tommy clothes. “If you want to play house with him and let him dress you up as his little doll that’s your business, but I won’t be ferried around town in a car that was paid for with blood money.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. Our family weren’t always saints. Granddad was the first one in the queue to spunk away his wages on the horses and the last one out of the pub at night.”

“Right, and it was people like the Shelbys who were more than happy to take his wages off of him while Nan and our dads went shoeless.”

She had a point. Lia hated the fact that she had a point. Damn Jenny for always knowing how to snatch the stars from her eyes. Lia sat down and put her head in her hands to hide her tears. It was so easy to let Tommy do little things for her, to buy a scarf here and some gloves there, to make life easier for her in a thousand little ways. He never made her feel like it was payment for services rendered. How could Jenny take all of Tommy’s kindness and turn it into something dirty, something tainted and wrong? The gifts and the thoughtful things he did for her were not part of a transaction, they were just part of the way he liked to take care of her. She wished that for once Jenny could see the goodness in Tommy.

Since Aunt Polly had shown her the house and the betting shop where Tommy had launched his empire, she had a deeper understanding of him. Since she’d stood in his tiny bedroom where he had wrestled with the echoes of the tunnels and sweated through nightmares of poverty and war, she saw him through different eyes. She had grown to tolerate his last-minute cancellations and welcome him without pouting when he’d kept her waiting half the night.

Polly had opened her eyes to the man behind the façade in a way that he could never do himself. With that understanding, she opened herself up to the possibility of a life with Tommy. No, nothing about what happened between them was mercenary. Tommy just took care of people in his life. She was used to Jenny acting like an older sister and alerting her to pitfalls she had overlooked, but this was too much. The tears of frustration and despair that she had hidden behind her hands were becoming tears of rage. Over and over Jenny had proven that she wouldn’t ever approve of her relationship with Tommy, and Lia was finished with seeking her cousin’s approval.

She wiped her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, “You know, Tommy has offered to let me stay in one of his properties near the library. Maybe it’s time to take him up on that offer. I’d hate for my reputation as the Shelby whore to rub off on you.”

Jenny put down the knife she’d been using to slice the bread. “Calm down. I didn’t say that…”

“But that is what you meant.” Her words came out clipped and cold. “I don’t want my reputation for sleeping with the Gangster of Parliament to ruin your chances with some nice mid-level clerk, so I’ll just move out.”

“No…don’t! I’m just worried about you. You are like my little sister and I’m afraid you’re riding for a fall. What happens when this is over?”

Lia abruptly stood and lashed out at Jenny, “Over?” Lia growled.

The word struck a chord of fear in Lia that made her dizzy. In an instant, all of her nights with Tommy, the taste of his sweat, the feel of his mouth, the smell of his sheets, flashed through her mind. She turned that fear into rage and took a step toward Jenny as she shouted, “I love him! That’s enough for me! Why can’t it enough for you?”

It was true. She loved him so much that it hurt. Her face was red and blotchy and her chest heaved with every breath. She was tired of fighting Jenny at every turn, and at that moment all she wanted was Tommy’s arms around her. She needed him so badly that she felt like she would fly into a million pieces without him holding her together.

Jenny took a step backward and bumped into the kitchen counter. Lia looked truly deranged. A realization came over Jenny like a wave. Lia was a different person now— a person who turned a blind eye to the ugly side of her man and made excuses for his shortcomings. It had been happening gradually over the last few months; the absent-minded dreamer that she had grown up with had disappeared. Back then, no matter how far out Lia got Jenny was always the voice of reason who could reel her back in, but Lia wasn’t listening to her anymore. This was different.

There seemed to be no turning back. Jenny knew that she had already said too much, but couldn’t resist a parting shot as she headed for the stairs. “Love? How can you love him when the only things you have in common are each other?”

Even as Jenny said it, she wondered if it was true.

***

Tommy and Arthur were sitting opposite each other at Tommy’s desk in their shirtsleeves talking about horses. Arthur had put too many logs on the fire and the room was like an oven. It was past the close of business and they should have been heading home, but they had lately taken to staying for drinks a couple of nights a week. Arthur would tell stories about Billy and the chickens, and Tommy had even opened up a bit about Lia. Arthur was cursing the heat and rolling up his sleeves when they heard someone pounding at the door.

“You expecting company?” Arthur asked in his rough, whiskey soaked Brum.

Tommy ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth and shook his head, “No.”

They stood and Arthur made his way toward the door, his hand on his pistol.

“Who’s there?” he boomed.

A muffled voice called, “Lia Montrose. I need to see Tom…Mr. Shelby.”

Arthur turned in his brother’s direction and feigned seriousness. ”Shall we let her in, Tommy?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed, “Open the fookin’ door; it’s freezing out there.”

Lia entered the building shaking snow from her disheveled hair and stamping the slush from her boots. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes were a bit watery from the wind. She imagined that she looked a fright, but Arthur thought she looked like an angel.

Arthur stood there looking her up and down while she tried not to gawp at the pistol hanging loosely under his arm until Tommy cleared his throat and began to make introductions.

“Lia, this is my brother Arthur. Arthur, Lia Montrose.”

Arthur straightened up and offered to take her coat. As he hung it on the rack, he smiled a bit too broadly and said, “Tommy has told me a lot of nice things about you.”

Tommy knew that something was wrong because he and Lia hadn’t planned on seeing each other until the weekend. After a few pleasantries, Tommy stared at Arthur until he made his excuses and left.

Chills shook her body; she was shaking like a leaf, so Tommy took her by the hand and led her into his office where a fire roared and two glasses of whiskey were already waiting. He sat her down on his desk and took a seat in front of her, all the while rubbing the warmth back into her arms and hands. She looked down into his crystalline eyes and tried to find the words to say what she’d come for. At that moment, she was ever so grateful that Tommy knew how to take his time with her. He would wait until she was ready to talk.

She finished her first glass of whiskey and leaned into him. She breathed deeply and sighed, feeling better already simply for having him there to hold her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she mumbled into his collar.

“About…” he prompted her while stroking her head.

She sat back up and his hands went to her thighs rubbing slow, soothing circles over her skirt. She watched his hands and thought about what Jenny had said. She didn’t know very much about him, other than what they did together. Hell, she only just met his brother. His business dealings were a mystery and she had learned more about him from the papers than from his own words. So what if she became breathless around him? So what if her tummy fluttered every time he entered the room? Surely there was more to love than the helpless infatuation she felt for him.

Tommy lay his head in her lap and wrapped his arms around her hips thinking that maybe she would be able to tell him what was wrong if his eyes weren’t watching her. She ran her fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Is that right?” Tommy whispered.

Lulled by the sensation of her fingernails on his scalp, he could feel the knots in his shoulders loosen. He was trying his best to be attentive to her needs, but his mind drifted to what he’d like to do with her on his desk.

“Jenny and I had an awful row… the worst one we’ve ever had,” she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and went on, “I can’t live with her anymore.”

That got his full attention.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fiction #Tommy Shelby #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #all is fair

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wilwywaylan · 5 years ago

Text

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 4979 words

Following of this first part, written for the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge !

Also on AO3 !

There was no music the next day, when Grantaire opened his windows. Weird, the weather was quite good, so it couldn't have been the rain chasing him inside. Maybe he just wasn't there today ? He certainly had a whole life beside trying to power through a song. Grantaire sat back at his easel, started working, trying to ignore his suddenly gloomy mood. He wasn't blind enough to wonder about the reasons of that sadness, of course. He'd become used to the music, discordant as it was, as a companion. He should have known that it wouldn't last forever, of course, but now that it wasn't ruining his eardrums anymore, he was almost missing it.

Out of habit, he leaned on the windowsill to smoke and enjoy a bit of fresh air. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, carrying the first fallen flowers with it. As Grantaire's gaze followed their slow dance, he suddenly noticed that there were shoes on the balcony. Red shoes, with feet in them. Ah, so the boy was here. But not playing. Grantaire bent as far as he could, and called :

- Hey, down there ! Everything okay ? Did the cat eat your guitar or something ?

At first, there was only silence, and Grantaire thought that, maybe, he'd been mistaken and those shoes had been just abandoned there. But after several long seconds, they moved, and he got an answer :

- I can't do it.

- You can't ? Why ? You've been making progress, and...

- I can't, the boy repeated. The protest is on saturday, and I still can barely play a few notes.

- It's still something, Grantaire offered.

- I'm supposed to demonstrate that music is inspiring and something we must have in our lives. All I'm going to do, he said in a pitiful tone, is to comfort them in the idea that those programs need to be destroyed as soon as possible if the only thing they can create is that... horror.

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to jump on the lower balcony and give him a hug to get rid of the sadness in his voice. But he was no Tarzan, and maybe Enjolras would find it a little weird. So instead, he said, as casually as he could with his heart beating so hard :

- Maybe I could help. You know, a little.

There was a new silence, louder, this time.

- You could ?

Did he really hear that note of hope in Enjolras' voice, or was it just his imagination ? He really, really hoped on the first.

- Yeah. I mean, I could give you some advice...

- Can you ?

- I just said...

- No, I mean, right now.

Grantaire's heart did a somersault and stuck itself right in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He did his best to talk around that sudden lump :

- Yeah, if you have the time, I can drop by. If it's okay with you.

- I'm at number 32.

- Okay, let me just find my shoes...

And my composure, Grantaire mentally added as he dove back inside. He rummaged for a moment through the mess on and around the couch. There was absolutely zero chance of finding his shoes here, but he needed a little time to calm down before he did something weird or too embarrassing. Once his heart was back to something tolerable, he went to the door where his shoes were patiently waiting for him.

The hallway outside seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him, perilous trek full of danger, and the two flights of stairs were made of cliffs a mere man could never pass. And still, the next second, he was standing in front of a door that looked exactly like his own, but with a shiny 32 exactly at its center, with no idea how he managed to cross the obstacles.

He barely had time to knock that the door opened, and something hit his legs, hard enough to make him stagger back and look down. It was a cat. A big, fluffy cat with white fur. It seemed as distraught as him by the sudden collision. Bending down swiftly, Grantaire grabbed it before it could run away, and hoisted it up in his arms. Luckily for him, the cat didn't seem too angry at being manhandled (cathandled) like this, and just kneaded at his sleeve.

Grantaire turned to give the cat back to its rightful owner... and froze. Because in front of him, standing in the doorway, was the vengeful angel from the staircase. For the third time today, Grantaire's heart decided to do a little gymnastics. And then, the angel spoke :

- Oh thank you, you caught him ! He's always trying to run away, and I'm always afraid that...

The angel was speaking in a very normal, non-angelic voice that Grantaire was very familiar with, given that it was Enjolras' voice.

Enjolras and the vengeful angel were one and the same.

He'd just been invited by the man he couldn't forget the face, to give him a guitar lesson because the beautiful angel he'd seen for five seconds and the dorky boy who was complaining about his fingers hurting were the same person.

The man - the angel - Enjolras stepped forwards to get his cat back, and Grantaire noticed several things at once. One, he'd have to touch up his drawings a little ; he'd got the beautiful blue eyes and their long eyelashes perfectly right, as the soft oval of the face, and the small curls, and the lovely mouth.... But the nose was a little straighter than he had thought, and there was a little scar on his forehead, almost hidden under the curls. Two, that their respective places on the stairs had made Enjolras seem way taller than he was in reality. The top of his curls could barely tickle Grantaire's nose, and that's only if he were standing on his toes. Third, that maybe Grantaire needed to breathe if he wanted to be able to give that guitar lesson and not faint on the spot. So he handed the cat to his master, who immediately cradled him to his chest, and announced in a tone that he hoped was relaxed :

- So, how about we take a look at this song ?

Enjolras nodded and led him inside. The flat was almost the same as Grantaire's, the only difference being the size of the living room and the balcony. There were high windows with that weird tilting part at the top, an open kitchen on the right, and a small hallway on the left, leading to the bedroom. It wasn't very messy, but it was covered in books. On the shelves lining the walls, piled on the coffee table, the couch, on the floor... It was a wonder there was still furniture, and Enjolras wasn't just living on books.

The guitar was resting against the metal chairs on the balcony. Grantaire took it, sat on one of the chairs.

- Do you have the sheet for that song ?

Enjolras looked at him like he suddenly grew a second head.

- A what ?

- The notes, you know ?

- Ah... no. I can't read music.

- So you were... playing by ear ?

No wonder it had sounded so weird. Grantaire refrained from making any semblance of a biting remark that would have gotten his ass kicked. Instead, he put his fingers on the fret :

- Okay, look, you put your fingers here, and here....

~*~

After four hours of efforts only interrupted by some coffee (Enjolras owned a wonderful coffee machine that looked a bit like a spaceship, and made very good of it), Enjolras was finally able to get something out of the guitar that almost sounded like Wonderwall. He'd still need a lot of practice, sure, but he was on the right track to be ready for Saturday with all the notes he took on Grantaire's advice.

Grantaire got up, his back and neck cracking after so much immobility. He would have liked to stay like this for a few hours more, sitting on that balcony with Enjolras beside him, close enough so he could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against him, his eyes on him, watching his every move... But he had to leave. Enjolras had a life beside him, it was starting to get cold, he was tired, and he was getting too close of saying or doing something extremely stupid. Too much exposure to such a pretty boy, probably. He didn't want to break the fragile link that had formed between them by doing something perfectly idiotic, rude or a combination of both. It was time to gracefully leave. Which he did, assuring Enjolras that it would be alright and he'd do a perfect job during the rally.

As soon as the door closed, Grantaire made a beeline to Eponine's door and banged on it until she opened. He didn't even give her any time to protest, just dove in, flopped on the couch, buried his head in his hands and started whining. Eponine came to sit beside him, pushing his feet (and almost the whole of him) off the couch.

- What's wrong with you ?

- He is... oh, he is... The Sun, the Moon and all the Stars, he's just.... oh, he's....

Props to Eponine who managed to piece together what he was talking about. Okay, it was pretty clear to anyone whose brain hadn't turned to mush, but still.

- Which one ? The Angel ? Or the musical one ?

Grantaire moved a hand to look at her.

- They're the same.

Eponine just nodded.

- Only you can get a crush on two different people who happen to be exactly the same. So, how did you discover that you're an idiot ?

Grantaire summed up the events of the afternoon, trying not to sound too gidy despite the shivers still running up and down his arms. He didn't gush too much, at least he hoped.

- So, let me get this straight : you fall in love...

- I did not.

- Did too. You fall in love with a pretty guy you don't know the name of and only saw for five seconds in the staircase, and you also fall in love or whatever with the downstairs neighbour because he plays the guitar like I play the bagpipes.

- I'm sure you play divinely.

- Shut up. So he calls you to his help, you of course drop everything to go - and you did, don't even try to deny it - and then you realize that he's your dream angel. And then, instead of ravishing him, you spend four hours playing guitar with him. Did I get that right ?

- More or less. But I wasn't going to jump on him right now. Imagine he doesn't like men ? What if he prefers women ?

His stomach knotted itself at the thought. He hadn't even thought of it. Gay and bi men weren't exactly a dime a dozen, so what was the chance of another one living in his building, especially in his age range and exactly to his tastes ? Not very high. Not high at all. The fact that Enjolras was tiny and adorable didn't automatically mean that he prefered men. Which he, of course, told Eponine.

- You know, she said, there aren't many ways to be sure.

- I am certainly not going to knock on his door and kiss him senseless.

- Too bad. I'd love to see if he's able to punch you.

Grantaire made a face that she ignored.

- So if you're not going to kiss you or something, what are you going to do ?

- I don't know. Sigh and waste away, probably ?

- You're an idiot.

- And you're so nice.

They bickered for a few minutes, trying to push each other from the couch. Eponine put an end to it by smacking him on the head with a pillow.

- If I find a way to put you and Angel-Ass...

- Enjolras.

- Angel-Ass in a romantic mood with the possibility of kiss, what will you give me ?

- I'll give you the world and everything in it. Or more pragmatically, I'll be your slave forever. Which means a week. And I'll buy you the boots of your dreams and your choice, no restrictions.

- Careful with what you say.

She got up and went to the door, to Grantaire's surprise. By the time he'd gotten up and followed, she was already knocking at door 32, too late for him to stop her. He hid behind the railing to better listen.

- Yes ?

Enjolras' voice gave him goosebumps, and he mentally kicked himself. Come on, he had just left him ! He couldn't just be that affected by a voice ! And still, yes, he could, so much that he had to pinch himself to get back to reality and listen to what Eponine was saying.

- I'm having a party on Saturday night.

- I don't mind the noise, came the immediate answer.

- It's not about the noise. R seems to like you, and you're invited.

- R ?

The question hit Grantaire with the force of a punch from Bahorel. During all their exchanges, he hadn't thought, even just one second, to introduce himself. Of course, first he had just thrown comments into the void, and then it would have been too awkward. Also he just didn't think of it.

- Your neighbour. Tall, looks like something the cat dragged in, very dorky, black hair ?

Grantaire promised himself that he'd find a way to avenge his honor. But the description seemed to click, because he could hear the smile in Enjolras' voice.

- Is that... is he called R ?

- He'll introduce himself. Saturday evening. Bring something to drink if you want.

please say yes, please say yes, he thought. He even crossed all the fingers he could to add to the effect.

- So ? Eponine insisted, will you come ?

- I have a rally on Saturday evening, and we may celebrate with my friends, but I'll try to make it.

- Cool. See you then.

The door slammed, and Grantaire heard Eponine climb the stairs.

- I know you're hiding up there, you idiot.

No need to hide himself. Grantaire got up.

- So, aren't you glad ? Blondie will be there on Saturday, and you can flirt with him as you want. You're going to flirt, she adds before he could protest.

- And you call this a romantic meeting ?

- Just trust me for once, you animal.

They retreated to the couch again. As she unearthed the remote from the cushions, Eponine asked.

- Are you going to that rally ?

- Of course not. What would I do there ?

Eponine just snickered, and launched one of the millions cooking videos she had recorded, leaving him all the time in the world to replay the afternoon in his mind in peace.

~*~

What am I doing here ? Grantaire thought for the umptenth time, tapping his feet on the ground to get them warm. The weather had taken a turn for the rainy and chilly, and it wasn't very enjoyable, standing like this without moving. He wasn't a fan of big crowds, at least not that kind. Not that the people here looked dangerous, or aggressive, but there was something in the air, something... electric, that seemed to run through the crowd. It felt like an anticipation, an expectation. Like something was going to happen, but he wasn't sure it was going to be a good thing. Oh well, he was there, after all. He could spare a few moments. Out of simple curiosity, nothing else. Par pure curiosité, bien sûr.

After ten minutes, something finally happened. A tall man with glasses climbed on the stage and started talking about the reasons for the rally. Nothing that Grantaire hadn’t heard from Enjolras already, and he half-listened while scanning the crowd to see if he recognized someone. He thought he had seen some of his friends on the other side of the place. But before he could move, the guy with the glasses announced the first manifestant. And Enjolras stepped on the stage. He looked taller, up there, and more impressive, clad in a pair of jeans that didn't leave much to the imagination and a shirt with a slogan that Grantaire couldn't read from there. He grabbed the mic stand and started talking.

And how he talked. If Grantaire had been attracted by his voice beforehand, he was now mesmerized. Not by his words ; the arguments had been carefully constructed, crafted, even, each word had obviously been weighted to get a maximum effect, but nothing Grantaire couldn't poke a few holes in if given enough time. But the way Enjolras talked... the passion, the fury, the conviction in his voice... He was fire, he was burning, so hard and so brightly that the sun even looked paler next to him. He was talking, arguing, convincing, and Grantaire could feel the warmth, the energy, from where he was standing. He himself felt braver, stronger, as if a bit of Enjolras' strength was passing through his words.

Enjolras finally stopped, and Grantaire released the breath he had been holding. But the blond boy, apparently thinking that he hadn't shaken Grantaire enough, grabbed his guitar. He sat on the chair chair that his friend brought out, and started playing. It wasn't perfect, but it was miles above where he'd been a week ago. He'd been working very hard, and Grantaire felt a little proud of them both.

And then he started singing.

It was too much for Grantaire. The fire, the passion, and not this, the soft voice, almost lulling, and his smile.... No, he couldn't handle this. He was only human, and this was too much for him to handle. He retreated to the edge of the square, then turned heels and all but ran away. But no matter how fast he ran, the song was still bouncing in his head, and the smile when he started playing. Oh yes. He was fully and thoroughly fucked.

~*~

By the time Eponine's party rolled by, Grantaire had mostly recovered. He still felt a little feverish each time his mind started to wander in the direction of the events of the afternoon, but he could play the part of the guy cool enough to casually go to a party and spend some good time with friends and acquaintances.

When he knocked on Eponine's door, the party had already started, judging by the music pouring by the keyhole (or at least it seemed) at a volume that defeated the purpose of knocking. So he let himself in. After all, he was a friend of the house, wasn't he ? He almost lived here. He stepped into the living room bathed in a soft glow, where half a dozen people were trying to fit on the couch without falling over, things made difficult with Montparnasse who absolutely refused to squeeze himself against the armrest in fear of creasing his coat. Grantaire made a beeline to the table where the bottles had been gathered, put his own among them, then filled himself a glass that he emptied in one go. Armed with a second, he turned to the room, ready to face the crowd. Mingling in during a party had never been a problem for him, and soon, he was caught in a conversation, happy as a clam.

He was on his third glass and caught in a conversation about the latest modern art exhibition he'd seen, when a new group of people near the door drew his attention. Or rather, the very interesting color choice of one of the newcomers. There were very few people in the whole town who dared to sport such a garish pink, and only one who'd wear that much of it, especially with a very low collar to show off his chest. Grantaire made his way to the door to greet him. He noticed that Bahorel hadn't come alone ; his friend, a tall, lanky redhead, abandoned him immediately to go and talk with Montparnasse. Very interesting information that he'd need to think about later.

- Bahorel ! Grantaire screamed above the music. Fancy meeting you hear !

- What can I say, when there's an opportunity to drink and have fun, I'm always ready. Nothing better than a party after a fight !

Now that he looked closer, Bahorel had several cuts that had barely stopped bleeding, and there was a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

- Why am I surprised ? Grantaire asked. A day when you got into a fight ? Must be a day ending in -day.

- Not my fault... this time ! We were nicely minding our own business, having our rally like well-mannered people (Grantaire snickered) and suddenly, a bunch of idiots decided to storm the stage, push everyone down, scream slurs, the whole nine yards. And you know how it goes : things escalate, someone throws the first punch...

- That someone being you, I bet ?

- Not me, in fact.

Bahorel stepped aside, to reveal Enjolras standing just beside him and currently talking with another man with curly hair. Both guys looked battered, Enjolras sporting an impressive black eye, and his lip had been split. Grantaire refrained from running to him and doing something stupid, just nodded in what he hoped was a relaxed way.

- So your blond friend threw the first punch.

- Yeah ! And then it became something like the Third World War or something. Everybody started fighting, kicking, punching, it was wild ! And then of course, the police decided to step in, so a few of our opponents sided with them to hit us, and some sided with us to fight them... It was really truly epic.

- And you didn't get arrested ?

Bahorel looked offended by the question.

- How dare you imply that I'm not swift enough to leave and smart enough to know when to do so ! We missed the haul, barely, and ran home.

- All of you ?

- All of us ! It's the first time none of us got arrested. This deserves a celebration !

Bahorel grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders and dragged him back to the drinks, to Grantaire's utter despair. But he went with him, because pretty boy or not, Bahorel was his good friend, and if he wanted to celebrate with him, Grantaire wasn't going to deny him the joy. Still, he threw a look at Enjolras, and was very surprised when their eyes met. He waved at him, and was delighted when Enjolras waved back. He let himself be dragged, trying not to feel too giddy or to check again that the blond boy was looking at him.

~*~

The party was well underway when Grantaire finally managed to untangle himself from all the social interactions he was caught in for a well-needed smoke break. He was stepping on Eponine's tiny balcony, when he realized that someone was already occupying the spot, leaning on the metal railing. Someone wearing a worn red hoodie, with long, blond, cascading hair pooling in the hood. Grantaire's heart rate doubled, and he almost fell backwards. But after several hours spent talking and drinking, he needed some cold air to clear his mind, a cigarette to calm his nerves, and get away from people and the music for a moment. And Enjolras had turned around when he'd heard the window open, and he was now looking at him. If he backed down, God only could know how he'd fix the situation.

So he walked to the railing too, cigarette in hand, praying all the deities he could that Enjolras wouldn't start obnoxiously coughing to show his displeasure or ask him to put it out. But no, the other boy just looked at him. Grantaire lit his cigarette. Immediately, the sweet feeling filled his lungs. Elbows on the railing, he blowed a long puff of smoke towards the starry sky.

- Can I ?

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras, who was holding another cigarette.

- You smoke ?

- Don't I look the type ?

Grantaire refrained from answering, not wanting to aggravate him now. He motioned him closer to light his cigarette with his own. Suddenly, Enjolras was close to him, so close, that Grantaire could almost feel the warmth from his hair. The spark between them grew a little brighter, sending small shards of light on Enjolras' cheekbones, lighting gold sparks in his hair. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to touch him, right now, stroke his smooth skin, wrap those beautiful curls around his fingers, again and again.... but he simply drew back a little. Enjolras nodded in thanks, and they both resumed their stance, watching the smoke billow above us.

It was... nice, just staying like that, their arms almost touching, in a lull only troubled by the muffled sound of the music behind them. Almost... intimate, in a way. But it was just a small moment in time, a bubble that could burst at every second. A cigarette didn't last long, and Enjolras would probably go back inside once he was done. Grantaire watched the small burning spot, knowing that it may be the only thing that still kept Enjolras beside him. He needed to do something, and quickly. But what ? He couldn't kiss him now, could he ? He'd probably earn himself a punch, and never see him again.

- You were amazing, this afternoon, he blurted.

Good. Nothing embarrassing. Enjolras looked surprised.

- You came ?

- Yes ? I mean, I was curious about the song. And maybe your rally too, a little.

Enjolras smiled. He smiled, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile back.

- You were very good, he repeated.

- Wait, are you talking about....

- Both. Seems that the practice really did you good.

- And the rest ? Enjolras asked, eagerly.

- Very interesting. A few weak points here and there, of course...

- Weak points ?

Enjolras was frowning. Not very good. But life couldn't just always be peaches, right ? And Grantaire was on a roll.

- Yes ? Some of your arguments - very well phrased, I must say - are a bit weak, and could be countered without too much effort. But for a speech, it was okay. Convincing enough. You need to aim for the feelings first, and that did the job.

Enjolras' expression was hard to read in the low light, and Grantaire hoped that the red on his cheeks wasn't due to anger. Oh fuck, it probably was. He was angry.

- As if... he started, but Grantaire cut him.

- No no, sorry. Please don't take it the wrong way. I'm not starting to pick a fight. Even if I am, usually. I mean, I love poking holes in arguments, it's my favourite sport, and not just because it's not physical. I love nothing more than a good argument. Not the kind where you throw the furniture down, of course. The one that allows us to find flaws in arguments.

- So what ? You just said that for my own good ?

A beat

- Maybe ? I mean, if you want to perfect them, I could help. Discuss them with you. Play around until there aren't any holes to poke at them.

- So you want to help me. Like this.

- Yes ? I....

He sighed. This was quickly becoming a nightmare. He was going to wake up.

- Listen. I'm not usually.... I can be kind of an asshole, but that wasn't my goal. You.... you asked for my advice. I could have lied, but... that's not how I work. But I didn't mean to sound like an ass. Or judging. Or.... this.

A few seconds flew by, during which Enjolras simply looked at him. Then, slowly, his brows relaxed. He didn't smile, not yet, but at least he didn't look like running inside anymore.

- Yes, I asked you. I....

He crossed his arms, almost nervously, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to hug him right this instant.

- I may still have some trouble with criticism, he confessed. Especially coming from someone I don't know well.

- Maybe, Grantaire offered, I could drop by tomorrow or something, and discuss it with you ? This don't seem like a good moment for criticism, it's a party and... you look battered enough without me adding to the pile.

Enjolras gave a small chuckle.

- You're right. Maybe that could be beneficial. I can't swear I'm not going to try to convince you, or not get angry, or...

- Don't worry. I can handle it. In the meantime, maybe we should head inside ? Your friends are going to look for you.

- They know where to find me.

Had he heard right? Yes he had. Enjolras settled back beside him. Grantaire did the same, without a word. He didn't trust his voice right now to speak. So he just stayed beside him, their arms brushing sometimes, enjoying his presence in the calm of the night.

(inside, Eponine had wasted no time in gathering the different bets on whether or not the two would finally kiss before the end of the evening… )

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #jude the cat #more dorks #and the meeting !#how many times can I describe grantaire seeing enjolras #at least once more

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ddae208e · 5 years ago

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Maybe (goodbyes are in order) I Renjun x Reader, Yangyang x Reader, ft. Haechan

Maybe everyone has a soulmate – maybe when your soulmate dies, your memories of that soulmate are erased – and maybe then you get assigned a new soulmate.

And maybe in this scenario, your dead soulmate loves you too much to let you go, and therefore on his quest to seek your love (and make sure it stays his) maybe he gets a little help from a fallen angel.

Word count: 3k Angst, ghost!au, demon!au, Warning: death, mention of death

Inspired by “The Good Place” (Only watched 2 seasons so pls don’t spoil!!) and Desiderium by Jaeminhours (one of my favourite fics!!)

After a long and dreadful week of school, the weekend awaits you. What better way to start your supposed-to-be stress-free weekend, than by getting caught in the rain with no cover of any kind and in the very dark and very lonely park? The rain continues falling and your ears are filled with nothing but the sounds of pitter-patter and the boisterous winds. Maybe you should have taken the bus home instead of walking – but no way to change the past so you must live in the present. You finally decide to seek shelter while waiting for the worst of the storm to be over, then you can run home.

As you stand under the roof of the bus stop, you hear someone calling out your name. At the same time you receive a message. It is your mother – Honey, it seems you have a new soulmate. We got the letter earlier but wanted to surprise you once you got home. He could not wait though, so he has run out to get you! His name is Yangyang. He seems lovely :)

You chuckle at your phone, quickly sending your mother a heart emoji before putting your phone back in your pocket and then turning around, searching for the source of sound. “Oh, hi!” A boy a few inches taller than you almost runs into you but steadies himself in time. “So clumsy, sorry about that!” His sweet laughter puts a smile on your face. “Ah yeah, it’s nothing. Hey, uh, are you Yangyang?” You smile shyly at him. “Huh?” He looks at you with big puppy eyes. “Ooooooh, your mother texted you already? I wanted to surprise you, saying I would like, kidnap you, and then slowly make you fall in love with me, stockholm syndrome you know?” He starts laughing loudly and even though he is already one of the weirdest people you have met – who tells their soulmate, who they have only just met, that they planned to kidnap them? – you can only stare at him as if he has stars in his eyes.

You feel the calmest when Yangyang pats and traces his warm hand across your back. It always makes you feel super dreamy and you wish for the moment never to end. “You’re my person,” you hear Yangyang whisper softly. You look at him and smile saying “and you’re mine.”

“Stupid. Annoying. Loud. Oblivious. Better off without him,” you ramble on and on as you walk through the same exact park in which you met this newfound problem of yours. It has been two years since you met Yangyang, and he is indeed the sweetest soulmate you have ever had – he is also the only one I remember, you think – yet this time, it feels as if maybe you have been assigned a wrong soulmate. Not wanting to think more of him and the reason for your unanticipated anger, you walk along the blooming lilac paths as you feel a pang of deja vu. “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” A soft voice asks and you turn around quickly. In front of you stands a dull-looking boy. The wind has swept his hair in every direction all at once, his clothes look old, dirty and worn-out as well as his face looks extremely tired based on the bags under his eyes. “Yeah, they are.” You say as you start to turn around again. You do not want to be mean or judgemental, but it is dark and night and you are all alone in the park with this guy. “Do you know what it means?” He asks another question. Taking in a deep breath, you turn around again. You shake your head and look at the ground. He is not wearing any shoes. “Lilacs are a common flower, yet I do not think a lot of people truly know the meaning behind them. I used to gift these flowers to my soulmate every time I’d see her. I can’t do that anymore, because I never see her.” He smiles sadly and looks down too. Then he bends down and picks a couple of the lilacs. “Youthful innocence. First love.” He takes small steps towards you, making sure not to scare you off. You slowly nod at him, letting him know it was okay. As he stands directly in front of you, he hands you the flowers. You do hesitate for a minute, but then you do take the flowers. But it feels weird. You were so sure you would touch his hand when he handed over the flowers, but you did not actually feel anything. Just a quick whoosh as his hand fell down next to his side again. There is disappointment in his eyes, yet you have no idea why. Maybe because he misses his soulmate? “Sorry, I’ll… I’ll see you around.” He says and then he is gone all at once. He just turned around and disappeared into thin air. “It’s not even foggy out..” You tell yourself as you quietly walk back home, the lilacs still in your grasp.

Immense agony. Immense agony is all that Renjun can feel. “Now you listen to me, Renjun,” says a light voice. Renjun strains his eyes, trying to focus in the dimly lit room. “Where and who are you?” Renjun asks without expecting an answer. “Nevermind that, only mind the fact that I can help you make that Yangyang dude either disappear or be put in misery. You decide.” Renjun’s facial expression changes as he furrows his brows and slightly open his mouth to ask another question – but the voice of the unknown beats him to it. “I only want to be of assistance. I will find him and bring him to you, and then you get to do all the action. I’m fine with just watching.” Renjun hears a snicker. “It won’t make you feel any better, you’ll still be in all of this unexplainable pain, but at least you will know that he won’t get the pleasure of being with your soulmate.” This is what sends Renjun over the edge. “Do it.”

Before Renjun’s vision goes dark once again, he hears another vile-tainted whisper, yet he decides to ignore it. Maybe he should have taken it as a warning sign. “Quid pro quo.”

You curse under your breath as the cold winter-air hits your soft skin. The sun set a couple hours ago, yet you were too stubborn to stay home and simply go buy snacks tomorrow. So here you are, tightly clutching bags of snacks close to your chest, walking with a fast pace through the dark of the night.

On your way, a dilemma occurs: do you choose the long but illuminated path, or the very dark path surrounded by overgrown trees and bushes? You choose the lesser-wise option: the latter. The leaves are rustling beneath your feet and above your head, and you hear the crushing of branches even though you are one hundred percent sure that you only step on small pebbles from time to time. A few minutes pass, and you still cannot shake the thought that you are being followed – so you quickly turn around, and once you see the black silhouette standing right in front of you, you gasp loudly, throwing your snacks at the person before sprinting off. While running, you look back for one second and as soon as you turn your gaze back in front of you, you run into something. You run into someone. You slowly turn your eyes upward to see the face of the person – a male, you presume. “Hey there, be careful. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt now,” says the guy lowly. He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs them gently. “Who are you?” You stutter. The man in all black clothing chuckles, turning his head slightly to the left, letting the moon shine on his face. His eyes are red. “Are you wearing contacts?” You ask naively, to which he frowns. “No. Why would I be wearing contacts?” You shrug and smile slightly. “Well, thanks for looking out for me. I’ll just be on my very way,” you start as you shake off his hands, yet as you try to step away, you simply cannot. Your legs will not move. It feels as if you are paralyzed. “Not so fast, honey.” He says smugly. “My friend needs to tell you something… Of the seven sins I am envy, but you should call me Haechan.” He snaps his fingers and your surroundings change.

In front of you stands Renjun. “So sorry about that, I just needed to speak to you and Haechan told me he could easily get you. Also, I bought you some new snacks. The other ones got dirty and I saw some animals ripping the bags and eating it, so yeah…” He walks toward you and you grab the snacks. “Could I eat them now? As you speak?” You ask mellowly, retrieving a smile accompanied by a small blush from Renjun. He nods. “Um, not sure how to start… Alright, well, cut to the chase, we used to be soulmates.” You choke on your chips. He hurries next to you to pat your back, “are you okay?” You can hear the worry in Renjun’s voice. You nod and gesture for him to continue. “I’m a ghost. I’m dead. I- don’t want to get into the specifics, but I died a while ago and only realized a couple weeks ago.” You look dumbfoundedly at him. When did he realize? How? “When I handed you the lilacs.” He replies as if he had read your mind. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this – or actually I am. I was hoping you could be mine again, as fate had decided, but I’m not too sure now, seeing as you have already been assigned… Yangyang.” As the name rolls off his tongue, Renjun’s nose scrunches, his eyes turn a slightly darker brown and he frowns. “All I want is for you to be happy, but I would rather it be with me than him.” You have no idea what to say. “Is this a prank?” You ask quietly, putting away your snacks. Renjun shakes his head and sighs deeply. “Chan?” He calls out and Haechan appears in an instance. “Take her back,” Renjun says and Haechan nods with a smirk sitting on his lips. “I love you, but I’m sensing you’d rather be with him than with me.” The hint of sadness in Renjun’s voice makes you want to cry. You stand up and run toward him with open arms, but all that happens is that you run right through him. You turn around to look at him, and it seems that he is straining his eyes as to not start crying. “Haechan,” Renjun calls and you hear a snapping of fingers.

“Yang?” You call out to a seemingly empty house. “Yes, baby? In here!” Yangyang’s softly distant voice reaches your ears and you hurry toward your bedroom. Yangyang lies on his back while looking up at the ceiling. He seems to be deep in thought, yet as soon as he hears your footsteps approaching, he uses his elbows to push his way up so that he can look at you. He smiles so sweetly at you, and you think about just dropping the whole thing and letting him stay in this happy-peace-of-mind. You decide against it, though. There is a reason that the two of you are soulmates, and if it is not about honesty, then what on earth could it be about? So you tell him about your encounter with Renjun, apparently an earlier soulmate of yours. “We talked for a while, mostly him though, and then I wanted to touch him – hug him, just to let him feel safe or something, you know? But I fell right through him, so I guess he really is a ghost. He must really be dead.” No matter how hard you try, you simply cannot decode Yangyang’s expression. You fear the worst, but luckily you are wrong. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. I’m not mad.” He coos as he softly pushes some of your hair behind your ear. “He knew your name, a lot of facts about you, your whole life story basically. I honestly believe he was your soulmate once. But that is all he ever was and ever will be. An ex-soulmate. I guess that if you could actually touch him, maybe it could have been different. Like, if you got those feelings for him back, I would not blame you. He was your soulmate before me, and it sounds like he was so for a long time, maybe even your first and only soulmate – until me, of course. Just know that I will stand by you no matter what. Okay?” He pecks your lips and stares at you with a small smile playing on his lips and nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Do you think any of your soulmates are dead? Have you had any before me?” Yangyang’s smile slowly disappears. Maybe you were not supposed to ask him that. Maybe he had also been contacted by a former soulmate, whom he still loves to this day. Maybe you should not have told Yangyang about Renjun. Maybe you should have just forced yourself to believe that Renjun played some really well-thought-out prank on you. Maybe you should have just ignored Renjun. Acted like you did not see him. That should not have been hard, for no one else seemed to be able to see him. “As far as I know, I do not know about any former soulmates. No one has told me anything, at least.” You mumble a quick “sorry I asked” before wrapping your arms around Yangyang and hold him close. Trying to cheer him up since you are the cause of his sudden sad face. He snuggles further into your embrace and mumbles something you do not clearly hear. All you know is that you hear the word “love” and it brings a smile onto your face.

As the sun starts to set, both you and Yangyang start to doze off on top of your soft and super comfortable king-sized bed. Yanyang’s arms are lazily wrapped around your waist with your head lying on his chest. A very serene moment for the both of you. You both wishing it would last forever. Spoiler alert: it does not.

As soon as your eyes shut along with Yangyang’s, it feels as if the two of you enter an endless void. It is scorchingly hot in there, and since you for some reason are barefoot, it only makes it worse for it feels as if you are stepping on a path of fire. You wince as Yangyang’s hand holds yours – “too hot, yeah, sorry,” he says with an awkward smile as he rubs his neck. A deep roar can be heard, and you jump, grabbing Yangyang’s hand instinctively. He snickers at this, calling you a hypocrite. “So when I hold your hand, it is a sin, yet when you feel like holding mine, it is an act of love?” He laughs at your cutesy pout. Then he shakes his head and points at something behind you. Actually not at something, but rather someone. Just as you are about to turn around, you are flying through the room, being pushed backwards and away from your soulmate. A shiver runs down your spine as a somewhat acquainted voice whispers into your ear: “I want you back, and I want you all to myself.” Then you wake up. Looking around frantically, you shake Yangyang’s body, trying to wake him up. He does not budge. “Yang? Yangyang!” Panic starts to arise in your voice and breathing also gets harder. Why is he not waking up?

“I’ll go easy on you, okay?” Renjun mutters as he tightens his grip on Yangyang’s neck. “Maybe I could suffocate you with an article of your soulmates clothing?” Renjun states rather than asks. Yangyang whimpers and lets out cries as he begs for his life. “Too feeble to save yourself. How would you ever be able to save your soulmate, huh?” Renjun feels absolutely no remorse. He is wrapped in feelings of despair and wrath as he tortues the innocent boy. “Too gullible. Easily hoaxed into becoming a demon for eternity. My new best friend. Wrath really did choose you, huh?” Haechan says, imitating Renjun’s last word as a ghost.

“What do you mean you will be meeting your new soulmate today, ? I already have a soulmate! His name is Renjun and I demand to see him right this instant!” Your parents are wearing very worried facial expressions, but you do not understand why. It seems that when Yangyang died, not only were your memories of him erased, but so were the memories and knowledge of Renjun’s death. Maybe you even regained the memories of the two of you before his death, and now that is the reasoning behind your sudden madness and outburst. A mere whisper leaves your mother’s lips. “Darling, Renjun- … He passed away.” Your father sighs as he pats your mother’s back, slightly reassuring her that everything will turn out fine. Just as you are about to talk back to your mother, you hear a voice inside your head. “I cannot go back, Haechan, and you know it!” The voice belongs to Renjun, yet it sounds different than his usual laid-back tone. He sounds frantic. You clutch your head as you fall to the floor and your parents hurry to your side. “I love her. I do. But the… The wrath got the best of me. It is unforgivable. I killed her soulmate because I wanted to be her only. He didn’t deserve her. But neither do I anymore.” You regain your strength and stand back up, starting to pace and roam around the room. The curiosity is killing you. You want to ask your parents about your old soulmate – how did he die? – but you choose not to. “Well, let’s meet my new soulmate, then.”

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sharkfish · 5 years ago

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ps i loved this one

(rereading bookmarks edition)

i’ve been rereading stories from my bookmarks as a comfort thing. i’m getting real deep in there to stuff i haven’t (re)read for years, and damn do i have good taste. the ones i’ve read recently that you should, too:

(under the cut so i’m not that asshole that makes you scroll past an endless post)

A Change of Scene by SurlyCat

When Dean goes over to see his Dom on Christmas Eve, he isn't expecting Cas to play naughty Santa, and neither of them is expecting how it turns out for them.

ooooomg fuck me up with that sex to lovers thing featuring bdsm. yessssss

A Room of His Own (or not) by Valinde (Valyria)

Dean took a deep breath and reassessed the situation. He was in bed with a guy, sure, and technically they were snuggling, but it was Cas. The guy had absolutely no reference on what was appropriate physical contact between two dudes sharing a bed in the... normal, completely unsexy, no-funny-business, way.

cas is fallen, dean is confused (what else is new), A+ cuddling. that’s the fic.

Boys On Film by LoversAntiquities @tragidean

But maybe that’s what it is—maybe Castiel’s finally realized something Dean is too chicken to admit, despite the fact he’s been jerking off to the idea of Castiel fucking him for the past few weeks. The idea warms him as much as it pains him to think about, his friend not being able to talk to him about something like that. That has to be it—it’s the only explanation. Castiel likes him.

“Or maybe he knows you do cam shows.”

Dean chokes on his burger.

idk what to say, i love a good sex worker fic and here you go. @tragidean is always here with that first-class content.

Castiel's Angel by Valinde (Valyria) @valinde

The angel took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He was fidgeting Cas noticed. Usually he was so bizarrely at ease in his human form, lounging around and tossing winks and smirks at anyone with a pulse. That more than anything had Cas straightening on his stool and wishing he was a little less tipsy.

“Ineedyoutogroommywings,” Dean muttered in one long, almost unintelligible, string. He was blushing.

all my fellow wing hos should flock* to this fic. i also love me a good switcharoo with angel dean (and hunter cas, as this is an alternate canon universe). and dean gets all claim-y, which is also my jam.

*this was unintentional but a pretty funny joke

For Science! by pm_lo

Selected transcripts and supporting materials from Dr. Castiel Williams and Dean Winchester’s seminal study on physiological and psychological sexual response by gender designation.

i believe this was the first abo fic i added to my bookmarks. story time: many, many moons ago, i kept track of my reading list. i was doing that “50 books a year” thing so it was mostly for tracking that, but i had another tab for fics, because i read few enough that i could track them. i rated things and sometimes left notes, and by all the abo ones i was like “don’t tell anyone i read this.” yes, i shamed myself for liking abo. it was a dark time in my life.

anyway, then i read this, and was like, all right i can see what’s going on here.

this is a great fic for multiple reasons, and the format is one. it’s written as dialogue-only transcripts from their experiment. it’s hard to make that kind of format work, but pm_lo ain’t fucking around.

Just a Stranger On the Bus by Amelia_Clark

December 31 9:32 PM When Castiel boards the bus in KC, they think it’s empty at first—but when they toss their backpack onto an aisle seat and climb in after it, there’s a muffled yelp from the dimness at the back of the bus. They turn in time to see a man in a faded Carharrt jacket, sitting up and yawning as he rubs sleep out of his eyes. The man’s hair is greasy and matted down on one side, and there’s drool on the side of his face; nonetheless, he’s ridiculously good-looking.

“Hey man,” he says. Castiel does not correct him. “This can’t be Chicago.”

the non-binary tag, just like the trans tags in general, are a house half-built and left to rot in the rain. even if that wasn’t true, this series is goddamn amazing. also there’s rimming. also there’s a line in there that said something like “they don’t dislike their body, it just never felt like theirs” and i had a lightbulb moment irt my own experience. did dean ever wear carharrt in the actual series? if not, mistakes have been made.

Just Turn Around and Go by PorcupineGirl @porcupine-girl

Dean should be happy. His best friend and housemate of five years, Castiel, is moving out to live with his boyfriend, Balthazar. Dean's career is going great, so he can easily afford the house on his own now. This is just growing up, moving forward to the next phase of their lives.

It would be awesome, if he weren't in love with Cas.

Well, here we go, he thinks as he opens the refrigerator and digs around for sandwich supplies. First day of the rest of your life. Time to move the fuck on. As he slams his meat and mayo and pickles down on the counter, he considers adding the bottle of whiskey he knows is hiding in the cabinet, but decides that he has enough self-respect to wait 'til five. Then he'll get fucking blackout drunk. Yep. Awesome.

y’all, do i even have to say anything about this? roommates to friends to a pathetic amount of pining without saying shit to disgustingly in love. also i think i cried, but i’ve been in tears so many times in the last week, who’s to say.

Plus One by ceeainthereforthat @ceeainthereforthat

Castiel Novak might have to attend three weddings in two months, but he’s not about to let his brother play matchmaker. His family’s Internet streaming company is too important to let a relationship steal his time, but he knows exactly what to do–hire someone to pretend to be his boyfriend.

Dean Winchester has worked five-star hospitality long enough to know how to fit in with Castiel’s crowd, and this job could score him the connections to make his acting career take off. It’s a business deal, no matter how they’re drawn to each other. When the lines of their contract start to blur into real feelings, can they withstand Castiel’s family and jealous fans working to split them up?

there are a lot of great fake dating stories out there, but this one takes the cake (or, at least, a slice of it). also, i cried a lot rereading this, both “ohhh god i love their love” tears and also “ohhhh god this hurts so bad” tears.

Should've Just Asked by Annie D (scaramouche)

Despite their age gap and differing social circles, Castiel has struck up a warm friendship with Mary Winchester, a wealthy widowed socialite. When Castiel needs a place to stay, Mary invites him into her house, where there’s loads of spare room. Castiel’s aware that they make an odd pair, but he doesn’t fully realize how things look to outsiders, especially to Mary’s eldest son. All Dean Winchester sees is that his mom has apparently hooked up with a hot young guy (who is totally Dean’s type) and that makes things… weird.

they’re both oblivious idiots in love, cas is grey-ace, dean’s a total dork, it’s all just very lovely (and frustrating in the way oblivious idiots can be!!!).

PS - annie d is writing marvel fic lately and i’m sure it’s fantastic if you’re into that kind of thing.

Support Your Local Gay Beekeeper by Powerfulweak

It’s not like Dean goes on Grindr very often, just when he’s bored and alone. The blue-eyed guy's profile reads "Beekeeper, 29, 5'10, Single, I watch the bees." Dean is intrigued. He has to send a message.

this is a series that starts with some great phone sex and then goes on to very, very awkward sex injuries. a goddamn cringefest that had me in complete horror imagining it. but it’s fun! they persevere! people so rarely write about Sex Going Wrong and i love @powerfulweak for taking the bullet for us on that one.

Take Me Home Tonight by Persephoneshadow @persephoneshadow

“Come on, we’re finding you someone to…engage with sexually or whatever,” Dean explains, chancing another swig of beer before going on. “Anyone in this bar, no limits, who would you would be your top choice to bang?” “Well, you, ideally.” Dean spits out some beer before collapsing in on himself, legitimately choking this time. “Excuse me?!” ---- Or the one where Cas wants to have sex and Dean is there to help.

your classic denialist “i’ll be your wingman” turning to “actually imagining someone else touching you makes me want to punch someone.” which is dumb, because cas actually wanted dean all along.

Words with Friends by betts

"Dean Winchester is as straight as an arrow. He’s a lady’s man of epic proportions: the king of the one night stand, the messiah of the friends with benefits paradigm, the emperor of perpetual bachelorhood.

Except, apparently, when it comes to his best friend, Castiel Novak."

***

Wherein a longstanding acquaintanceship leads to friendship, then best friendship, then sexting, then dirty talk, then mutual masturbation, then, inevitably, fucking.

look i think you’re always in good hands with @bettsfic. but this one has some good sexting and phone sex right at the start, which i’m totally into, and then it gets even better. cas is a lil bossy, by which i meant to say he’s the kind of bdsm geek who has equipment installed in his bedroom for sex purposes.

You're The Only Stranger I Need by lyndsie_l

When Castiel receives a text from a stranger, he finds himself engaging in conversations daily. He's drawn to the outgoing college student and longs to interact with the other man as often as he can. Slowly, he finds himself falling in love with the other and can't imagine ever meeting a more beautiful person.

The only problem?

He's never actually met this other man.

be still my heart! a long distance/texting/phone sex thing! i want to read it again right this second. cas is such a cool nerd, dean is a brat, it’s a good time all around.

if you enjoy these fics (and you should), please give the writer some love via kudos and/or comments. <3

ps - as always, if i didn’t tag the writer and you know their tumblr, please tag in the comments. i don’t think there’s a writer alive who wouldn’t be happy to be on a rec list. :)

#sharkrecs #sharklist

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