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the-tarot-witch22 · 6 months ago

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Personality of your future spouse - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2

Pile 3/ Pile 4

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

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Pile 1:

(The cards I got for you guys - 6 of swords, king of wands, 4 of pentacles, king of swords and 9 of wands)

Okay so the first thing i heard and feel is they are quite chatty or like to talk a lot, or travel a lot too when they are sad or not happy with circumstances at hand, They are also very masculine and dominant, like a leader or very bossy, They are also quite outspoken like they won't be quiet, if they see something which doesn't sit right with them, they might tend to not indulge in things which are holding them back, they are quite a problem solver, their advise and wisdom is to die for, they will speak right thing at right time, they might be extrovert too, but they will balance you out well, they like to move forward, they are comfortable in their own skin, they might have had a time or phase where they didn't like how they looked and how they were but time changed them now they comfortable in their own skin, and they try to make other person very comfortable as well, they are not very judgemental, for some of you guys travelling is so prominent, like your future spouse goes to different place, experience different cultures, try different food, it's a part of their personality, they also seem very mature regardless of their age, their situation might have caused them to grow early, they might like to go out or have fun in adventure parks, greenery, they also like to run or keep themselves in shape, for some of you your future spouse seems like a computer geek, they have a very unique and very charming personality, they attract people both genders towards because of their unique sense of humour and personality, they have transformed very much in their lives, for some of you your future spouse has gone through so many changes, hardships which caused them to where they are, they also seem very focused and determined, if they want something they will get it type of attitude, "i heard failure doesn't scare me, not trying enough does" spoken like a real business man, they seems very wise guys, they are also very seductive and sexual , like they are secure in their body, they don't have fragile masculinity, they are very respectful towards people and others, they might not seem to show emotions very well, but you will know they care for you, their action speaks louder than words, they are also quite private about their personal life, they won't be spilling secrets to everyone, just to someone who are close to them, they are also very quite protective and jealous, they won't like anyone clinging onto you, let it be anyone even a pet, like "they are mine", they will make sure the other person knows, you are with them, their temper is calm unless someone provokes them, then they are like they don't even see who is in front of them, they won't hurt you, but their anger is quite bad if someone gets on their bad side, they also seem bit materialistic, because off their past, i feel, they also seem very logical and intellectual a great person to talk to and spend rest of your lives with, they don't take betrayal easy, they might cut off people easily, they sometimes tend to hang on past or just look back at things that has happened but they try not to do that, they know its only gonna waste time and nothing can happen, but they also get proud of their growth, quite confident, they also seem hardworking independent and the person who stands their ground very well, they also don't care what others think of them. They also seem very passionate.

Honestly? They are wonderful! You guys are lucky and so is your future spouse!

They could be fire and air sign in their big 3 or 6. Especially Sagittarius or Aries, or might be you guys as well. Or they can have fire or air midheaven.

Pile 2:

(The cards I got for you guys - 4 of pentacles, king of cups, 9 of cups, 5 of swords, The hanged man and page of cups)

Okay so the first thing i felt they wear heart on their sleeves a very honest and open book type of person, they are emotionally mature in tune with them, knows what they want in a person, so forget the fear of mixed signals, because your future spouse will tell you thousand times they want you, give you reassurance, the love you want and desire. They are the kind of person who would not like people eyeing you, very protective some of you can say over protective, but don't be scared they are not controlling but just scared to lose you, because you mean so much to them, they tend to think they are not enough for you and end up overthinking and becoming jealous, and honestly in a good way, i don't feel any negative and ill intentions from them, they tend to give you the world and love you want they won't be like refusing you, they will make sure your needs have been met, they are self sufficient too, and has a good job too, they seem very soft and loving, as i said an open book, so they won't hide things from me, they embrace their both sides, in bed they can be a switch, or be very versatile they tend to make you feel at home and very comfortable, their energy is calm, even while doing your reading i felt sleepy, very soft spoken and soft person, they also seem very curious to learn new things, they might have trouble saying no or might be you as well, They have a good heart, they don't like to cause pain to someone if they end up hurting someone , it will affect them too, they are quite sensitive too, they don't like conflicts they rather avoid having them, they also seem very loyal and honest, i heard "I will die for you queen", i also heard they are very caring towards environment, they will cherish you so much, they might sometimes take things to their heart, they are very sincere too, values honesty a lot, They also seem to have spiritual side, or they seem lucky in money or financial department, they tend to get anxious at times, like at time of conflicts it doesn't seem to suit them, i also feel their manifestations comes easily to them and they just don't realize it , for some of you they could be very religious, they might just be also lucky in general, they also have a tendency to win, or have competitive side to them, when it comes to their profession or you, they are very laid back to or might like procrastinate at times, for some of you your future spouse could be very lazy or just like to sleep in, very attractive and young personality, or they seem younger they might look young or have a heart of child, pure they seem to be very charming, can be quite flirtatious without realizing it, i heard "was it a coincidence, we met?", "i don't think it was i have dreamt of you so many times yet i can't remember you", wow, they just gave me something for you guys.

Your future spouse seem like a sweetheart honestly, so loving, love it for you guys!

Their possible zodiac signs could be - water signs in their big 3 or 6 especially Cancer and Scorpio , or for some of you - earth signs or they can have a water midheaven.

Pile 3:

(The cards I got for you guys - 7 of wands, 3 of cups, The empress, Temperance, knight of cups, 3 of swords, 5 of pentacles and the star)

Okay so the first thing i felt was they are quite hardworking, for some of your future spouse could be workaholic and they have so many responsibilities and burden on them, They tend to overthink a lot, they are quite righteous and stand up for people who have been wronged, they like to earn but with their strength and hard work, they also seem kind of serious but warms up when you know them, they like indoors, they might be ambivert and they seem very adaptable, they tend to find happiness in small things around them, their might be someone they are close to or helped them come out of their shell, they tend to have many people or friends but only few of them seem genuine, they also could be teacher or have that teacher personality they like to correct you or tell you things teach you stuff, they might be quite experienced in bed, they also seem very focused and determined to get things done, they don't like to left things on tomorrow, more like do it now, they also seem to like to have parties or small celebration with their loved ones, as i said small things can make them happy and small things can make them angry too, they really seem to focus on self and self growth, i heard "self - righteous person", they have so much to give, the love, the things to their loved ones, their love language could be act of services, they tend to meet their friends or pals a lot, they don't like to do flirting or leading someone on, they are very nurturing and caring too in touch with their feminine side, they also seem to love kids, or they might be good with them, they are financially abundant too, but all because of their hard work, they don't like people who are very codependent, they will care and open up but at their own pace, for some of you they could have a water venus, they are good and caring boyfriend as well as husband, they are also very balanced, or have became balanced, after the traumatic or bad experience in past, but that's for another thing and pac, i won't go in details, but i also feel they got their heartbroken or for some of you they broke someone's heart, but later they now realize their mistake and respect people's emotion, they also seem very gentlemanly, or charming person, they are quite a listener more than a talker, for some of you they like to things slow or for some of you they are quite forward, for some of you they might had trusted wrong people in their friendship or business or work, they seem to be vulnerable too, but with right people, not with everyone if you earn that, they love you, i also feel for some of you they might have brought up in poverty, but now they are doing very much better now and has good job or money, or had a hard time when they were kid or younger, they value for things and money, as i said very caring, i also feel their aura is quite healing or they might work in medical field. They might at time be judgemental or jump to conclusions too, but nothing too bad. I also they are quite happy, when they achieve their desire goals.

They seem like chill person honestly! love it for you guys <3

Their possible zodiac sign in big 3 or 6 - Scorpio, cancer, Gemini, Libra or Virgo and Capricorn, Aries or Leo too.

Pile 4:

(The cards I got for you guys - Wheel of fortune, 6 of cups, 9 of pentacles, strength, the star, king of pentacles, 4 of pentacles, 5 of wands and 10 of pentacles)

Okay so wow the first thing i heard and feel is they are quite the provider or has that let me do it energy, for some of you, your future spouse is very mature, they seem very lucky and have things on their fingertips when they need it, if their is a situation they don't like, the situation seems to improve on its own somehow, they believe in "time is precious don't waste it" very understanding, and have figured out their life purpose, they seem to move forward, for some of you your future spouse seems introvert, but they like to move forward in their own way, they like to win and go ahead, they also feel loved when someone appreciates them and shows them with their actions, they might like to read as well, like self help books, or might be you guys, but they seem into reading anything news, articles, they likes to be updated on political affairs, or what is happening around them, "i also heard timid and shy" so for some of you might be that at first, they created their own fame and luck type of vibe i am getting, they also has a very transformative personality, or went through changes, they might have lost someone young a pet or someone close to them, a grandparent, but all the changes and ending has made your future spouse stand on their own which makes sense why they are very wise or mature, you guys can check pile 1 too, i somehow got similar messages for pile 1, your future spouse personality is very interesting honestly, sweet, spicy and calm, love that vibe i am getting, they seem to like and feel nostalgic things, for some of you animals or helping people make them happy, they seem very sweet, they like to help people and go beyond for that, they might like flowers or nature a lot, they are also quite very independent, and self secure, like they know they are good, they don't need someone's opinion, they value facts or honesty, for some of you they are quite confident, they have worked hard and has achieved their goals, as i said they created their own fame self made person, they are brave , courageous and very spiritual too, they like to believe in old myths too, not a blind follower don't worry, they are quite focused and determined to make their life a better for themselves and others, they believe in equality, They will go to lengths to protect their loved ones, their love is healing, their personality is healing so maybe they have at times attracted broken people in their life, they like to go with the flow, they don't let people treat them as pushover either, in past for some of them could have been, but now it's very different for them, As i said they changed a lot, they definitely are a sugar daddy very rich guys very rich, they might also like to have everything their heart desire let it be anything, when they love they love very deeply, they are also very possessive over their materialistic things and their loved ones, "its mine, so its mine" no one gets to have it, but in a good way, its hot honestly, they are self build and for some of you they have gotten inheritance or comes from old money, they might have been close to their grand parents, i also feel they have stress or they take sometimes too much work pressure which causes them to have inner conflict with them, but they are learning with time, They are also very practical and logical a very much problem solver, they are quite ambitious too and love to work on their goals.

Your future spouse is a package <3, good for you guys!

Their possible zodiac sign in big 3 or 6 - Earth signs especially Capricorn.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

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narizaki · 6 months ago

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bad habits suna rintaro x reader

― tags gender neutral reader, fluff, childhood friends to lovers

― notes wc is around 1.2k, maybe ooc suna, thank you for 100 followers, here's my gift to you <3

rintaro has many bad habits.

he’s well aware of them — so much so that he has a mental list of them. number 5 on the list is how he gets lazy during volleyball matches whenever he knows his team is in the lead. number 4 is how he never bothers to even attempt to mediate fights. though, he figures that one hardly counts as a bad habit, seeing as it’s the result of spending years around the miya twins. they would rather die than let anyone but kita or their mother get in between of their debacles.

“tell me a secret, rin,” you hum into the phone.

you and rintaro have ingrained late-night phone calls into your routines after graduating high school and separating your own ways. with him working as a professional volleyball player, you hardly see each other anymore. he's always too busy with traveling and training, despite the fact you still live in the same city. although he knows you’d never tell him, he’s aware that you were upset when he began to have less and less time to talk to you. after all, he hadn’t spent the majority of his life with you to not know what makes you tick.

so, even though he’s stumbling over his own feet walking home, he’s still on the phone with you. he vaguely understands what you say before spouting out the first thing he thinks of — another bad habit of his.

number 3: he loses his filter when he’s tired.

rintaro never had much of a filter to begin with, but his reserved nature essentially acted as one. he was certainly less blunt than people like kita and atsumu. as the years passed, though, it was made apparent to him that he became more curt with his words when in dire need of rest. he surmises that it’s something that happens to everybody, though, so he forgives himself for it.

“you know, i used to like you when we were kids,” he mumbles. “actually, it lasted until high school.”

you sputter on the other end, choking on your water. rintaro laughs at your incessant coughing.

“that was not funny! and, what? suna rintaro, are you drunk right now?” you yell into the receiver. the volume of your voice makes him wince, forcing him to tug his phone away from his ear. regardless, he laughs a little harder.

“full name? what happened to rin?” he almost whines, kicking a rock. you grumble on the other line. “and i’m not drunk.”

“rin,” you sigh, and he smiles at the nickname. “i know you like to fuck around with people, or whatever, but this isn’t something to joke about.” your tone is serious, almost scolding. rintaro only frowns. he’s not lying. he wouldn’t lie about something like this. he couldn’t, especially to you.

“i’m not joking, i swear. i did like you… or, still do?” he thinks aloud, questioning himself. rintaro is barely registering what he’s saying — mind fuzzy from the harsh day. his coach was particularly unforgiving today, leaving him sore and tired as he drags his feet back to his apartment. still, he continues. “yeah, still do, actually.”

“rin,” you say, exasperated, “you like me? as a friend, you mean?”

even in his slightly delirious state, rintaro can tell you’re trying to save face — for you or for him, he’s unsure. what he does know is that you’d never thought he’d see you in a romantic light. it was his fault, really — you’d always been a hopeless romantic, but rintaro knew you’d considered him off-limits. aside from your long-term friendship, there was also his disinterested approach to dating.

if only you knew how wrong you were.

he was never uninterested in dating — he just always had his eyes on you. that was where another bad habit of his shone through — number 2: he never tells anyone, anything. that, mixed with his hard-to-read demeanor, meant that nobody truly knew how he felt about you. of course, those around him could tell that you were close. everybody knew that you and rintaro had grown up together, so it was only a matter of time until people started assuming that the two of you had something more. while rintaro never gave those people the time of day, you’d always nervously deny their pries.

atsumu and osamu would always tease him (and sometimes, you) about it, but they quickly learned to give up once they saw his feigned indifference toward the subject and your immediate rejection to their statements. his default response was to brush them off — he’d rather die than give the twins out of all people anything to use against him, especially if it was about you. he’d never see the light of day again if miya atsumu was found teasing rintaro about something.

“rin? hello?” your voice echoes throughout his head, forcing rintaro into reality.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles. he’s considering taking his word back — telling you that yeah, he does mean it as a friend. but he decides that he’s already too deep in and fuck it, he’s going to tell you.

“i do like you…more than a friend. i have for a while, and i know it’s my fault that you had no idea, but i guess i’m telling you now?” rintaro grimaces at the uncertainty in his own voice. he’d always been so sure of himself — or, at least put effort into appearing as such. you’ve always been the exception to that, though, and he supposes that’s a fact that’ll never change.

a beat of silence passes until you reply.

“yeah. it is your fault.” you breathe.

suddenly, all the air is gone from rintaro’s lungs. it forces him to stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shoes skidding against the concrete. his grip on his phone tightens, and he’s considering mumbling out some half-assed excuse about how he is, in fact, drunk. he’ll pray that you believe him, so he can run back to his apartment and maybe actually get drunk before pretending that everything is okay.

thousands of thoughts run through his head. some of them are about how he’s going to play this off, while others are about where you stand with him now. is this what being a setter feels like? having to go through hundreds of different situations to decide what will bring the best outcome? how shitty. he vaguely feels sympathy for atsumu.

that is, until your laugh fills the air around him.

“but you’ve told me now, so i think you should turn around.”

he spins on his heel, coming face-to-face with you. your appearance is disheveled, looking as if you just ran to him — which, you did, based on the harsh breaths you’re taking — and you only have a thin t-shirt and sweatpants on. your phone is still by your ear, grinning at him. it’s childish and hopeful, reminding rintaro of the smiles you would send his way when the two of you would play on the swings during recess. he adored them just as much then as he does now.

rintaro has many bad habits. he’s aware of them, and despite what others may say, he’s come to terms with them.

but as he rushes forward and cups your face into his hands, he knows what he’d say if someone were to ask him what his worst habit was.

number 1: he can never say no to you.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna fluff #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou fluff

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 10 months ago

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The Ranger (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is trying to enjoy her vacation in the rainy forest in her cozy cabin when an unexpected heat comes on. But things turn dangerous fast and she needs the help of a local forest ranger to get out of it. But she wasn't expecting his help to include claiming her and being her true mate. Because something isn't right and her Alpha is keeping something from her...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 5,300ish

Warnings: language, life threatening medical situation, angst

A/N: Please enjoy this first part!

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This was not an ideal situation. You’d finally done it and taken that solo vacation in the mountains. A cozy cabin in a retreat from the world. The trees had turned already and were bare but the damp, cloudy rainy day would have been perfect to curl up by the wood fireplace and get through that stack of books you’d been meaning to.

Except your heat, your heat that’d always been on schedule since you’d started having them, was three fucking weeks early. You didn’t have any medicine besides a few pain killers meant for headaches, not dangerous cramps, and the cabin only had basics meant for allergies or a cold. You needed heat suppressants soon if you didn’t want to go into a full heat.

Which again, wasn’t an ideal situation since you didn’t have a flippin’ mate.

You could have tried to trek back to civilization through the winding dirt road but it’d taken two hours on the way in. Two hours of intense cramps? No way were you making that drive.

“Shit,” you said, walking slowly to the service room on the lower floor of the cabin where a radio at a table sat. Because of course you wanted to vacation somewhere without people, that meant no cell service either.

A rumble of cramps passed through you, warmth flaring your insides. You gritted your teeth and grabbed the radio, turning the frequency to the ranger station listed on the sheet on the table for emergencies.

“Hello, uh, forest service? I need help,” you said, closing your eyes as pain radiated up your spine. You frowned for a moment, the radio crackling. “Hello? I-”

“This is station 327, Ranger Winchester. What’s the emergency?” asked a strong, serious voice. You bit your bottom lip as you imagined he was an Alpha, your core quivering at the idea of getting a knot. “Mam? Please respond.”

“M-My heat’s early. It’s real bad and I have no medication. I-I’m in the Vrbo cabin off route 37, Mount Dusk I think it was called. I-”

“This line is for true emergencies. Your heat being a few days early and you being an unprepared Omega is not-”

“Listen asshole,” you snarled, gasping when your stomach threatened to curl in on itself. “It’s three fucking weeks early which everyone knows isn’t normal. I need a fucking heat kit, a strong one, or a fucking knot now and since I’m out here alone, all I got is your ass. So get me my shit and-FUCK!”

You dropped the radio as you bent over, falling to your knees. Something was wrong. Heat’s didn’t come on this fast, not even when you scented your true mate.

You could hear noise through the radio but your head was thrumming, your body grateful for the cold wood floor below you. It wasn’t possible to die from a heat, was it? If you let the fever go you supposed but it took days and days for that to happen and you’d only felt crappy for an hour. Yeah, you’d be just fine. This guy would bring you medicine and you’d be fine.

Right?

You blinked open your eyes when you heard glass break. Crap, you’d passed out for who knew how long. The overwhelming scent of Alpha hit you and despite the pain, you shot upright, staring at the man in the wet raincoat as he reached his hand through the broken pane and undid the lock. He froze when he saw you, his own scent shifting subtly. A hint of fear under the surface.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, raking his eyes over your sweat drenched body. He took off his backpack, pulling out a white box and a bottle of water, cautiously setting them on the ground and sliding them over to you.

“I look that bad, huh?” you said, ripping open the box and finding the medicine you needed, knocking it back with a swig of water.

“You’re in heat and I don’t want to be accused of doing shit I didn’t,” he said. You narrowed your eyes, hand fisting in your own shirt over your stomach. That shouldn’t have been happening still. Heat medication worked instantly. “What’s-”

You fell over again, clutching your abdomen, head spinning, body going haywire at his scent.

“Please,” you whispered, finding his hard eyes. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I-I need you to-”

“I can’t.” A wracked sob slipped past your lips as something in your broke, pain flooding every single cell. You just needed a knot and it would be bearable. He muttered to himself and quickly you were in strong arms, your own wrapping around him shakily. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’ll pay you,” you whispered, hating how that sounded but he simply carried you out in the pouring rain, the cold air helping your skin not feel so hot.

“I’m on Novi-Alpha. If I knotted you,, you’d fucking die so I’m sorry but I can’t help you like that even if I wanted to.”

“I’m gonna die from this fucking fever anyways!” you shouted as he opened the backdoor of a rugged looking jeep.

“One’s a chance, one’s a guarantee,” he said, setting you down, your arms still clinging to him. He eyed you, forcibly grabbing your wrists and pulling them away. “You will not die, understand me? Now let me get you to a hospital.”

You reached for him but he moved away too quickly, closing the door. He ducked into the cabin to retrieve his bag before he was behind the wheel.

“Honey Dusk Hospital is aware you’re in a dangerous heat,” he said, turning the jeep around and driving down the dirt road, way faster than you had.

“Don’t kill me in a fucking car accident on the way,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“This vehicle is meant for these roads, unlike your car. We’ll be on route 37 in thirty minutes, at the hospital in forty five.” You threw your head back, his musky scent filling the small space.

“Distract me,” you breathed out. “Fuck you smell so good. If you weren’t on Novi-Alpha, I’d climb you like a fucking tree.”

“Whoa lady. Calm down-”

“Don’t lady me. We’re like the same fucking age.”

“You say fucking a lot, you realize.”

“You have your insides tearing apart and tell me you wouldn’t be cursing-” You shouted, bracing yourself against the door panel, feeling him step on the gas harder. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

“...I have an idea,” he said quietly. You flashed open your eyes, looking at his incredible scruff covered jawline, his gaze focused on the bumpy, wet road ahead.

“What? Are you a doctor? Are-”

“No. I only know my basic medical training.” He frowned, rounding a tight corner. “It’s probably not a heat and you’re just sick.”

“I know what a heat feels like thank you very much.” You shivered violently, the ranger sighing. “What’s your name?”

“Dean Winchester. Try to rest. We’ll be there soon.”

The ranger’s suggestion to rest had, shockingly, not worked. By the time you were speeding down this small town’s streets, you were shaking so hard you literally couldn’t stop. Dean had reached back more than once as he drove with a handheld thermometer, muttering a few f-bombs to himself.

At least he wasn’t the one with a hundred and five temperature. A hundred and five and a half to be exact. You were pretty sure your heat was about to boil the fuck out of you and kill you within the next hour.

Dean said something but you didn’t hear him over your screaming. The next thing you knew he was ripping open the door and running inside a hospital with you in his arms, nearly tripping into a stretcher where a team was waiting.

“She’s fucking dying,” he said as he set you down, the team of doctors and nurses rushing you into a side room.

“You said this heat came on suddenly?” he asked Dean, someone sticking a thermometer in your ear.

“106. She’s too hot,” called out the nurse, the doctor near Dean rushing over, the team suddenly pushing you out of the room and down the hall. You were shoved through a pair of double doors into a bathroom, a silver high walled tub in the corner.

“I got her,” said Dean, lifting you up and plunging you into an icy cold bath. You screamed as it burned your fiery skin, his hands on your shoulders forcing you to stay inside. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You couldn’t get the words out, taking in his green emerald eyes for the first time. His scent was still all around you, pine trees and vanilla beans, a cozy campfire and aged whiskey, fresh tobacco and soft linen. Your brain went fuzzy, blood pumping in your ears, thrumming in time with your heart. Was it getting slower? Your eyes were getting heavier, that was for sure.

But he smelled so pretty, so…homey. Rugged. Yours.

“We’re losing her!” someone shouted, just as one last image of his concerned face crossed your mind.

You felt strangely…blissed out when you woke. Satisfied, like you were after being on the receiving end of a knot but also relaxed and floaty, like when you finished a heat. It wasn’t exactly a problem your heat had passed but you remembered a whole lot of pain and a high fever which wasn’t normal.

So what the fuck had happened?

You stretched in bed and sat up, a doctor in a white coat stepping into the room with a smile.

“Y/N! Glad to see you awake. It’s been a few hours. How are you feeling?” he asked, gently taking your wrist and checking your pulse.

“Uh, pretty good actually. I take it my heat’s gone?” He hummed, raising your arm up, feeling under your armpit.

“Yes. There’s not many cases a year but some Omegas do unfortunately have a negative reaction.” The doctor put two fingers to your bonding gland on your neck, your eyes narrowing. Why would he be feeling that?

“What are you doing?” you asked as he pulled them back, glancing at a monitor.

“Just checking your bond is healing.” You stared at him, the doctor glancing down with a sigh. “You don’t remember, do you? What happened before you passed out in the tub?”

“I remember being dumped in ice cold water and a whole lot of people shouting but that’s it.”

“You didn’t pass out immediately. We determined while you were on the way here that your heat was triggered by the fact you came into contact with your true mate. Ordinarily, you would have picked up on this yourselves but your Alpha is on medication that has strong side effects. Namely, he was only vaguely aware of who you were through scent but there was no desire to mate as would be the norm. For you, unfortunately there is no recognition on a level that you’re aware of. You understandably would not know you went into heat early because of your true mate.”

You reached a hand up to your bonding gland, wide eyed when you felt…something. You flew out of bed, the doctor trying to stop you but you were quickly in the small bathroom, staring in the mirror.

“What the fuck is that!” you shouted. On your neck was a fresh, pink, bite mark. Someone had fucking claimed you. You angrily spun around, the doctor holding up his hands. “What kind of hospital is this! I’m suing the fuck out of you and this whole place!”

You caught a whiff of something…delectable, an Alpha’s scent somewhere close by. It calmed you, ever so briefly, the doctor sighing.

“The man that brought you in-”

“The ranger guy.”

“Yes he…well he…there’s no easy way to say this. He is your true mate. Ordinarily we would have used medication to mimic your true mate’s scent but seeing as he was there…when he was told he would be able to claim…” he said as you stalked out, eye twitching. “We were losing you and receiving a claim bite from your true mate was the fastest way to bring your fever down. In emergency situations, true mates are allowed to make medical choice for you if you’re unable-”

“He wasn’t my mate then,” you growled.

“Physically, no but on a metaphysical level, yes. Frankly, the health of my patient, you, is all I care about. We’d like to observe you a few more hours before discharging.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes.

“So my heat is magically gone and some random dude hanging out in the hall is now my Alpha?”

“That’s the more blunt way of putting it. We’ll send home medication to suppress your urges to mate physically. Your Alpha will be unable to knot you until he has completed his Novi-Alpha prescription.”

“And when will that be?” you asked, tilting your head. The doctor frowned. “When?”

“...You don’t know what Novi-Alpha is prescribed for, do you. That is a discussion for you and your Alpha.” You wanted to argue but he lifted his chin. “Please let me finish my examination and determine if your heat had any consequences.”

Three hours later they finally let you leave, a white baggie in hand that held a bottle of pills you were to take once a week for the foreseeable future. There were well over a hundred inside which made you more than queasy.

What the fuck was Novi-Alpha and why did a guy that looked more than healthy need to be on it?

You frowned when you stepped outside under the covered front entrance, the ranger standing from where he sat on a bench.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t give you permission to claim me.” His scent shifted, an edge to it you didn’t like. He narrowed his eyes, a frown growing on his otherwise handsome face. “Oh, don’t you start on that we’re true mates shit. You didn’t ask for my consent.”

“Excuse me but you were the one begging for it,” he quipped back. He took a few steps away like he was heading for the sidewalk, suddenly turning on a dime and getting in your face. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw. “You don’t feel…this and I get that it’s my fault. I barely feel it myself. And I frankly don’t care about your consent. My mate was five minutes away from death.”

“Oh, I did not sign up for some toxic asshole,” you said, shaking your head. You took a step, Dean grabbing your wrist. He looked ready to snarl, lip curling up.

“True mates are never, ever bad mates. Stop hating me for saving you.”

“I don’t even fucking know you. This whole situation is your damn fault in the first place.” He twitched his eye, yanking on your arm so you stepped forward. “Get off, ass-”

“I am your Alpha and I’m taking you home,” he said, tugging you along after him, your feet cold on the wet ground, socks already soaked through.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you growled. Dean whipped around and in a second, you were tossed over his shoulder. “Dean! Put me down!”

“You’ll wear yourself out if you don’t calm down.” You growled, punching his back twice. You raised your fist again but felt dizzy, your hands instead gripping him tightly. “Did you listen to the doctors at all? You need to take it easy.”

“Just take me to my cabin,” you grumbled. He didn’t speak again, only grunted once when he opened the passenger door of his truck to slide you inside. You were too tired to deal with this crap. You’d go back to the cabin, sleep for a solid twelve hours and figure out this mate crap tomorrow.

The roads were unfamiliar as Dean drove in silence, winding and twisting as he drove away from town and off a small road. It was a gravel road unlike the one to your cabin but you perked up when you saw a cabin in a small clearing after only a few minutes.

“Uh, that’s not my cabin,” you said. Dean put the truck in park, turning it off. “I was out on Mount-”

“This is my house…our house,” he mumbled the last part. You shook your head at him, Dean rolling his eyes. “You need rest, not to sit in a car for hours. I’ll get your shit from that rental and bring it here. We’ll figure out the rest of your crap from wherever you’re from later.”

“Excuse me? We’re mates, as much as that appalls me. We make decisions like where to live together. I have a job, a life-”

“We live here. End of discussion,” he growled. His scent was raw, twitchy. There was no room for arguing. You were ready to fight back but you forced yourself to calm down. He was your true mate and as much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. True mates were never bad to one another. He wouldn’t harm you but good god was this guy protective.

You frowned when he held up a finger to you and got out. He threw up his hood, rain coming down harder. In a flash he was at your door, picking you up bridal style and rushing you over to a covered porch. He set you down to unlock the door, flipping a light switch before he stepped back. You walked past him, surprised to find the cabin quite spacious and modern.

He disappeared behind you, returning with your white paper bag, now wet. His boots were removed and you peeled off your soaked through socks, following him slowly as he went to the open kitchen area on the right. The bag was set down, Dean moving to his fridge and taking a few things out.

It was open concept, kitchen on the right, living room on the left, a dining table in the front by the windows. There was a hallway in the back and one off the kitchen, probably leading to bedrooms and a garage. A large fireplace was nestled in the corner of the living room and you saw Dean cross into your vision, going to it to toss in a few logs.

Honestly, it was nicer than your rental had been.

Once he had a fire going, he turned back to where you stood on the front rug, water dripping off of you. His lips pressed into a thin line, looking you up and down not like an Alpha would his Omega. No, he was being very clear.

You were the stray that’d followed him home he hadn’t wanted.

“I don’t have to be here,” you said when he approached, staring up at his dark eyes. “This isn’t normal. We’re supposed to be all over each other and clearly we’re not. We-”

“There’s a stew going on the stove. It’ll be ready in an hour. Just leave it alone.” He put a hand on the small of your back, walking you down to the back hall, motioning you to the last door on the left. He flipped on a light, cascading you into a cozy bedroom with soft white bedding and a dark green flannel blanket on top.

He cleared his throat and went to a closet, pulling out a few pieces including a t shirt, hoodie, sweatpants and pair of boxer briefs.

“You should warm up in the shower. Bathroom is right there. The laundry room is on the other side of the house, near the kitchen and garage. It’s coming down harder so it’ll take me a few hours to get to the rental and back here. You should-”

“Take it easy. Yeah, I got that.” He nodded, pausing at the bedroom door with his back to you.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve it.” You quirked your eyebrow up.

“You’re my Alpha. We’re soulmates. I guess this is supposed to happen.” He was still, the air thick. “I…listen I know I was…I wish I’d been aware of what I’d been saying but…”

He smelled tense, his hand in a tight fist by his side. What the fuck was up with this guy?

“Whether we like it or not, we’re mates,” you said gently. “When you get off that medicine, it’ll feel different-”

“I can never get off it and I can never knot you. You’ll never feel a damn thing for me.” Then he was gone, tearing down the hall and out the front door before you could even move.

An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine that he was right.

Your feet moved on autopilot to the bathroom, stripping out of the wet clothes and standing in front of the nicely tiled shower. In seconds you were under hot water, cascading down your back, through your hair. Fingers reached up to your neck, rubbing over your bond.

There were no sparks or flurry in your veins. You were supposed to be able to feel Dean, feel your connection, feel his soul.

But there was nothing. All you felt was empty.

You couldn’t feel the other part of your soul and he blamed himself.

“Fuck that,” you said, quickly finishing and getting dressed in the clothes aside from the sweatpants that were too long.

You found his computer in one of the spare bedrooms, stealing it along with a notepad and pen. Out in the kitchen, you settled into a seat at the island and drew a line down the middle of the pad. One side for information about Dean, the other Novi-Alpha.

With a quick stretch, you cracked open the laptop and got to work.

Three Hours Later

It was dark by the time headlights flashed through the front windows. The computer said it was just after six thirty and you knew you were about thirty seconds away from an argument. Ah, what a wonderful way to spend your first night with your Alpha.

Out of view you heard the door leading from the garage to the house crack open, wet boots against the tile in the mudroom.

“I’m back!” he called from around the corner. “We’ll unpack your stuff tomorrow. How was…”

Your eyes darted over to the hallway he exited from, his socked feet padding his footfalls on the woode floors that covered the rest of the house. He stared at where you had his laptop, a charger plugged into the side of the island, a stack of papers next to you, your notepad, pen, three different highlighters and a cup of coffee.

“Are…are you working?” He asked, face souring. “You should be resting. I thought you were here on vacation anyways.”

“I am and this isn’t work related.” He narrowed his eyes, not saying anything as he went to the sink on the other side of the island to wash up.

“Did you eat yet?” You shook your head, typing some more. A heavy sigh left him. He went to a cabinet, pulling out two large bowls. “You really should have eaten something. You nearly died this morning. Your school project can wait.”

“I’m not in college,” you said, jotting down a few more notes before you saved what you’d been working on and signed out of your account. You closed the screen, watching water trail down from his wet hair and soaking his shirt collar. “Why are you wet?”

“Because there’s a thunderstorm outside. It rains here most days,” he said dryly, giving you a side glare as he walked the two bowls of stew over to the kitchen table. You cocked your head at him as you got up, Dean quickly retrieving utensils. “What?”

“You parked in the garage just now and my cabin was far enough away that you’d be dry. Where’d you stop on the way back?” He slammed the drawer shut, eye twitching. “Strike a nerve?”

“I asked you to do one thing. One thing. Rest. And y-you’re writing a research paper or some crap? Sit down and eat your damn dinner.” You would have told him off but truth be told, you were starving a bit. You took your bowl and moved it to the seat across from his, Dean angrily setting down a spoon. A few moments later, a large glass of water was in front of you and he had a bottle of beer on his placemat. Dean sat with a loud thud, shoveling a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Why are you wet?” you asked again, crossing your arms.

“Why does it matter? Fucking eat.” You leaned back, Dean dropping his spoon in the bowl. “Really? This is how it’s gonna be? I’ve been nothing but nice-”

“If this is you nice then I’d hate to see you mean.” You raised your chin, picking up the spoon. “I’ve always heard alpha’s protective instincts are unmatched. You can barely feel whatever this bond is and you’re so worked up-”

“I almost watched you die today.” You closed your eyes and sighed. A small noise made you open your eyes, Dean sliding a small white box over to you. You frowned, lips parting when you saw the newest iPhone inside. “I got you a phone on the account your other one was in your pocket when you took your artic dip. I rushed to the store before they closed. That is why I’m wet. I’d never want you to feel like you’re trapped here, especially when you can’t feel our ‘whatever bond.’”

“Thank you,” you said quietly. You ate in silence, the only sounds coming from the rain on the roof, the clanking of spoons and the quiet thrum of a soft rock station in the living room.

He seemed…stressed. Maybe you should wait for the morning to bring up what you’d found.

But you didn’t get the chance when he picked up and glanced at your notepad. Green eyes scanned over the pages before he gathered up everything you’d been working on.

And tossed it straight into the fireplace.

“Hey!” you shouted, rushing over as he stopped you in your tracks. He leered down, eyes dark. “That was-”

“You will delete everything you saved on that computer. Now.”

“You can’t-” He gripped your arm tight, so hard he was shaking it.

“Do it or I will make your life hell.” He released you, spinning you around towards the computer. You didn’t believe he’d hurt you. True mates were incapable of it. But you didn’t want to tempt him anymore than you already had.

Ten minutes later, your backup was gone and after a through examination by Dean, he took the computer and tossed it into the fireplace as well.

“I know you have questions,” he said quietly, back to you as the flames danced around the melting device. “I never should have gone hiking this morning. You caught my scent in the wind and-”

“Why would you go hiking in the pouring rain? It was raining this morning too. I had my coffee under the covered porch but it was coming down like bullets. No one would be out there willingly.” He turned and faced you, eyes roaming over your body, stuck on how his boxer briefs molded to your legs.

“In another life, we could have been happy. I would have given you everything you asked for. But not this one. I will keep you safe but that is all we are. We don’t get our happy ever after until we’re both dead.”

You swallowed, stepping into the living room, stopping a few feet away. “You hurt my arm just now.”

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again as long as you don’t do stupid things.”

You were getting angry again, Dean holding up his hands. “Stupid shit like try to know my new Alpha who just left me all alone? Sorry for trying to look up your damn social media. Asshole.”

Dean dropped his hands and went back to the fireplace, poking the computer with a poker, shaking his head.

“The more in the dark you are-”

“I’m a corporate forensic analyst, Dean,” you said, Dean’s shoulders stiffening. “Those notes on the computer? In that pad? Those articles? You can burn them all but it’s in my head. I don’t need the internet anymore to figure out what’s going on.”

“And what does your analysis tell you?” he grit out.

“Novi-Alpha is a cancer medication specifically for Alphas. But you don’t have it and never have. So why would an otherwise healthy Alpha take it? Well, it apparently has other uses that the public doesn’t know about…if you’re willing to live with the side effects. Side effects like knotting becoming a deadly activity to the person on the receiving end. The inability to feel your mate. Scent changes. And my personal favorite, if taken without the binding agent that’s given for cancer treatment, it changes your DNA coding without changing your DNA. Apparently law enforcement doesn’t want that news to get out there because it’s a bitch to catch people if they find out they can change their DNA on tests.”

You grabbed his arm and made him face you, a loud crack of thunder echoing in the room. Dean breathed calmly, eyes finding yours.

“Why are you taking medicine to change your DNA?”

“Because I did something bad, Y/N.” He got closer, pressing his chest to yours, forcing you to tilt your head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Fingers brushed over your cheek, thumb swiping over the curve of it slowly. “Because your true mate is a monster. And once you know the truth, you’ll want to run away…and I don’t think I’m strong enough to let you go.”

The air was thick with his scent, dark yet pleasant. Painful even. You leaned into his touch, Dean’s green eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Novi-Alpha prevents Omegas from feeling their true mate. But I know you feel me.” You closed your eyes, breathing him in. “You have to tell me the truth eventually.”

“No I don’t,” he whispered.

“You’ll tell me,” you said, opening your eyes, Dean’s hand sliding down to your mark. “Because I’m in danger if you don’t.”

He shook his head, pulling away from you. “Don’t pull that crap, Y/N. You’re safer not knowing.”

“Right. That’s why you burned everything just now.” He looked up, like someone else would magically tell him what to do. “You need to protect me. It’s your job. So you have to tell me the truth, Alpha. You have to.”

He laughed quietly, running a hand through his damp hair. “Using my title to get what you want. Manipulative. Maybe you were meant for me.”

“Dean-”

“The Ranger.” You raised your eyebrows at him, Dean wandering to the dark window.

“Uh, what? This is because you’re a forest ranger?” He laughed again, crossing his arms.

“No. I do that because…it’s a pretty isolated job. Small town work.” He looked to his right, a sad smile on his face. “The Ranger. That was my name when I had a different job.”

“That’s not a name…” you said, Dean shrugging. “What’d you do when you were The Ranger?”

He smirked, meeting your curious gaze. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

He slowly stalked back to you, tilting his head. He leaned in close, glancing at your lips. “N-No, can’t say I have.”

“Ever kill an animal?”

“I hit a squirrel with my car once. I cried all night for that.” Dean rested his forehead against yours, his scent rolling off of him in powerful waves. “D-Do you hunt animals?”

“No.” He brushed his lips to the shell of your ear, his pulse strangely calm. “Now people, that’s a different story.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#dean x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean x #dean x you #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #abo #alpha!Dean x omega!reader

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

Yuta finding out you've got severely injured at Shibuya and freaking out

Pairing: Yuta x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: When the news of Shibuya begin to flood in, Yuta almost loses his mind over you. Without thinking twice he pays you, the secret love of his life, a visit.

Warnings: reader is depressed over her injury/disabilities so if that's not for you don't read it, Yuta is very confident in this one like he should, hurt/injury, comfort with my boy Yuta in the end

„Don’t tell me she was there too.”

Pictures flood Yuta’s mind uncontrollably. Your oh so gorgeous doe eyes, your breath-taking smile. You with your hair done the way you know he likes, you in that uniform that suits you so well.

You, lying on the floor covered in your own blood.

The news of what happened at Shibuya already pulled the ground underneath his feet. But given the fact that everyone was involved like Miguel said, you must have been there. They would be reckless to not rely on your powers.

You, a grade 2 sorcerer who would have become a grade 1 within the next few months. You, who promised him that you’ll stay safe.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, okay? This is a great opportunity to get a hold of your great powers, Yuta. I mean of course I’ll miss you terribly, but not enough to destroy this for you. Watch out.”

He had a bad feeling right from the start. After everything that happened just a few months ago, letting you go was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. But you were right with what you’ve said, to accompany Miguel and invest his time into training really was the wisest thing he could do back then.

Except for leaving you behind.

“You mean (y/n)? Both you and I know she definitely was.”

His heart drops in an instant, eyes widen in nothing but pure horror. Hearing that none other that Satoru Gojo got sealed, countless lives ended within only a couple of hours…

You can’t be dead, right? No, it’s simply impossible that you leave him alone like this.

“I hate the thought of dying during some pointless battle. This just doesn’t make sense to me, y’know? I’d rather die as a hero or not at all until I’m old and ugly.”

“But (y/n), you’re a jujutsu sorcerer. Many people just die on the battlefield without a special purpose.”

“I won’t, then.”

God, your wide smile back then. It really made him believe that you are the type to survive everything, that nothing and no one is able to bring you down.

But Shibuya managed to even get a hold of the strongest of them all. So what about you?

His lips begin to tremble uncontrollably, hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood begins to spill.

“Tell me she’s alright. Tell me (y/n) made it without getting hurt.”

Miguel signs, the sheer power that radiates from Yuta’s shaking figure running shivers down his spine.

“As far as I know she managed to get out…Somehow.”

That means you’re alive, right? That means you were able to escape certain death. But…

At what cost?

“How is she, then? Tell me already”, Yuta barks at the man standing in front of him.

God, he can’t lose you. Not know. Not when he wasn’t even able to admit his feelings to you, to thank you for always standing by his side, before telling you how much he adores you with all his heart.

“I don’t know! Everything is pure chaos over there”, Miguel replies dryly.

“If that’s so, I will go and pay her a visit.”

“Now? Did you forget you’re here to get trained by me? You can’t just fly over there because of a girl-“

“She is more than just a girl”, Yuta interrupts him immediately.

“And I will go and look after her myself.”

-At Jujutsu High-

Urgh, how much you hate opening your eyes since that fateful day. Yes, you are very much alive and in proud possession of all your limbs. But that’s it, basically.

“Hey, how you’re doing?”

“Better than yesterday, still not fine I guess.”

It haunts you. The pictures of Shibuya plague your mind day in day out. Closing your eyes means seeing all of their faces before they die, opening them reminds you of the fact that you survived despite losing everything else. The sight of your left eye, the ability to move your arms freely, your capability to walk a straight line. The fucking special grade curses hit you hard, burned you to the ground, sliced you open like a fish.

And now you’re laying here as one of the few people that survived Shibuya. Right next to Shoko who cares for you every free minute.

“So glad you didn’t tell me you hate your life again, pessimism doesn’t suit you at all. What would that boy say if he could hear you blow misery?”

That boy named Yuta. It seems like everyone except himself knows about the huge crush you have on him. Well, not very surprising considering the fact that you talk about him day in and out, asking whenever he’s doing fine in that foreign land before even saying hallo.

“Haven’t heard from him since that shit happened. My phone got kinda destroyed and well, most of the time I laid here passed out on the bed”, you reply briefly, staring at the ceiling with no aim.

Oh, how much you long for him, how much you miss to hear his comforting words in the middle of the night. But you know it wouldn’t be wise to tell him what happened. As far as you can tell, Yuta would take the next flight to Tokyo and stay by your side day and night. And even though that sounds more than appealing to you, you just know this isn’t what he needs. He needs to stay where he is, safe and sound while sharpening his abilities. And you aren’t on that list.

“Well, someone definitely told him.”

You squint your functioning eye, staring at the unbothered woman in front of you in confusion. What the hell is she talking about?

“Why are you saying that?”

“(y/n)!?”

Your heart stops, eyes widen. That voice. That oh so familiar voice you heard over the phone for these past months. The voice you dreamed of day and night. Can it really be…

“Yuta?” you breathe out, eye searching for his familiar figure.

Yes, is really is him, standing in the middle of the room with his familiar white uniform. He looks so…different. The dark circles under his eyes are completely gone by now, his dark blue eyes glooming in the dim light. He definitely is a few inches taller than last time, features more mature than before. And his hair…it seems like he finally began to style it a little.

Without hesitation he storms towards you, glistening orbs scanning what’s left of your crippled body.

Yuta feels like dying. You’ve been through so much; your usual bright eyes show nothing but emptiness and agony. What did they do to you? Why does it have to be you? You, the most precious human being walking on this earth. You, the girl he’s secretly in love with since that horrible fight over a year ago. He can’t stop the tears from taking his sight, hands desperately grabbing yours.

“I’m so sorry (y/n). I should have been by your side. I shouldn’t have left you here alone, I-“

“Shut up, Yuta”, you interrupt him before hearing another word.

“You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect our first meeting to be when I…look like this…”, you mumble, gaze avoiding him at any cost.

“What are you talking about, (y/n)?”

His heart hammers against his chest, hands on their way to gently caress your cheek when you just turn away.

“All this time I had the chance to tell you that I love you and now…Look at me. Shoko said I might be never able to see again, countless scars will be visible on my body for the rest of my life. My leg got completely destroyed, to the point where even she might not be able to fix it. I’m not the (y/n) you know anymore. I’m a shadow of myself”, you bark at him.

Fuck, don’t cry, don’t let feelings overwhelm you. After all, Nanami-san told you how well you fought.

Just before dying in front of your very own eyes.

Your hands begin to tremble uncontrollably again when pictured of all the death and misery flood your mind. Why can’t you just turn it off? Why aren’t you strong enough to outstand all of this? Desperately you hold your own head, squinting your eyes shut. Please, just let it stop. Let it all go away.

Yuta doesn’t think twice. Gently, he places his hands on top of yours while pressing your head against his chest. It’s just not fair. When he left, you wore your smile so effortlessly, your joyful personality radiating to the outside for everyone to see. But now…you look so broken it kills him from the inside.

“I love you too, (y/n). Just the way you are. No matter how injured, no matter how bad you feel. I will always see the striking (y/n) with the most breath-taking smile and the worst humour of all times in you. We’ll get through this together, okay? I won’t leave your side.”

You crumble against his chest, letting everything out your hid so well within these last couple of hours. Oh, how much you fucking missed him, how much you longed for his touch all this time. Is it really possible that he doesn’t care about your state? Could it really be that…

Yuta Okkotsu loves you the way you are?

“You don’t care about how miserable I am?”, you whimper, taking in his delicious scent that hasn’t change even after all this time.

“Not the slightest. But I will kill everyone who did this to you without blinking”, he remarks in all seriousness.

You gaze up at him. The unsure boy in him seems to be vanished in thin air, eyes filled with confidence while he balls his fists behind your head.

Yuta Okkotsu might have changed, but the tenderness he holds in his gaze when his eyes meet yours is still the same.

“I swear that nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll stay here with your and will make sure you’re safe.”

Your glossy eyes widen, mind trying to process his words.

“But you…you weren’t even supposed to be here. You still have to train-“

“No training in the world is more important than you. I love you, (y/n). And even though I wasn’t able to admit it back then, I want to stay by your side.”

And then is lips meet yours. Before he losing the courage to finally do what he dreamed of countless nights, to make sure you understand how much you mean to him. He will make them pay for what they did to you, he will move heaven and earth to make sure they get the punishment they deserve.

But for now, he gently strokes your hair while kissing you with all the desire he hit over the past months, will all the love he holds for you.

“I’ll be there for you, okay? And I will kill every single one of them with my own hands.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi

there you have it @lees-chaotic-brain I really hope you like it <3 I know this isn't your request yet but I thought you'll enjoy some Yuta content still @belovedvamp

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

AITA for making a "Hate Club" for my sister? My sister (13) and I (16) have never been close. She is very loud and energetic whereas I am not. She always has been a bit of a jerk sometimes, but recently she has been unbearable to be around. She has been outright mean to our parents, calling them names, screaming at them, throwing things, and doing so every morning when she gets up for school, and every evening when she has to go to sleep. Because of her "screaming schedule", my already bad sleep schedule has been ruined, and I need multiple naps to make it through my day properly because she wakes us up so early. I talked about this to some of my friends who know her, and we decided to make a group chat called "(Sister's name) Hate Club" where we could vent about how she has affected us personally. Sometimes our vents would devolve into mean comments or theorizing about why she's like this, but we never said any of this to her in person, or to anyone outside of our group of 8. However, one night when my mom (63) and I were coming home from a play we had gone to see, she saw a notification for (Sister's name) Hate Club. I had my phone connected to the car's display to play music, so she saw the notification, clear as day. I lied to her at the time, and told her that it was a group chat for stuff in our scout troop, as I didn't feel like explaining what it was on the way home. I thought that she would be mad at me. After I told her, she didn't talk much for the rest of the night. The next day, she confronted me as I was leaving for a doctor's appointment. She said "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm pretty angry at you right now." When I asked her why, she told me the group chat. She started saying how I was a bully, and how I was acting just like my sister does when she's mad. She wouldn't let me get a word in, so I rolled my eyes and left in the middle of her sentence (which I understand was not a good move, but I was already running late and I was angry now too). When I was done at the doctor's appointment, I decided to text her that it was actually a vent group about my sister to try and explain why the group wasn't actually a hate group. When I got home and into my room, she confronted me and we had a big argument. She kept on saying how I was bullying my sister, and apparently she talked to 2 of my friend's moms, saying "If your child made a hate group about someone, would you be mad?". They both responded with some form of "I'd be livid". One of those people got in trouble with their mom and had to write an apology letter to mine once their mom found out what my mom was talking about. In the argument, I told her that "I need a space to vent" and she said "The venting is not the problem, the name is". When I told her "It's just a joke name, because I obviously don't legitimately hate her", she said I was still bullying her. After that I got very defensive and started swearing (not directly at her, but for word emphasis), and she started saying I was disrespecting her now too. At that point I said I would change the name, because I know she's a hard-head and would rather die than admit that she's wrong in any given situation. I've changed the group chat name twice, and now were acting like nothing ever happened. I've talked to my friends that were in the group, and they've said that I'm NTA, but I'm still not sure if they are right or just biased because I'm their friend and they were hearing everything from my perspective. So AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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olailamajnoon · 13 days ago

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Kara Zor-El was sneezing out into a clump of tissues what sounded like heavy glutinous nasal discharge.

Clark was looking at her without much sympathy. The rest of the Justice League were looking at Kara with fascinated revulsion.

"You have a cold," Bruce observed.

"You are the world's greatest detective!" Kara replied, awed.

"How," said Bruce. "How did this happen."

"She was exposing herself to Kryptonite," said Clark, turning to Kara with a look that said she deserved every bit of what she was going through.

"To build my resistance!" said Kara." I'm not going to be vulnerable to and at the mercy of a puny green element!" She sneezed again for a long time into the napkin, and by the time she was done the entire Justice League looked faintly like they were about to throw up their breakfasts.

"So your compromised immune system got infected by an Earth virus," said Bruce calmly.

"He's a brilliant man," said Kara, turning to Clark. "I can see why you keep him around."

"If you die," said Clark, "don't you dare come haunt me. Let the record show that I tried to dissuade you from hurting yourself."

"Ghosts don't do rules. I will come haunt both of you," said Kara, pointing at Bruce and Clark. "Just for shits and giggles, and because I can."

Bruce was giving her a Look.

"Hey, don't you dare look at me like that!" said Kara. "It's not my fault I don't feel safe around you, Mr. Contingency Plans Consisting Mostly of Kryptonite."

Bruce was still staring at her, saying nothing.

"He's still giving me the Look," Kara said, pointing and turning to Clark. Clark opened his mouth and closed it.

Kara sneezed again, noisily and moistly.

"Take your disgusting mucus-filled sinuses elsewhere," Bruce snapped.

"Don't tell me you're a germaphobe." Kara smiled serenely.

"I'm an idiot-phobe," said Bruce.

Kara sighed. "I just want to be a better fighter. A better...whatever it is I do. If I get taken down everytime by a green glowy rock, it just...sucks."

Bruce steepled his fingers and leaned forward, and began talking earnestly. "When you joined the League, you signed a few papers, making your health and well-being a League monopoly. You do not own your person anymore. Your body is a Justice League asset, and what that means is, you cannot hurt yourself—for any reason—without permission from the team. You do not so much as stub your toe without our say-so."

"That sounds deeply disturbing," said Kara.

"If you find it deeply disturbing, you are free to leave." Bruce's mouth was firm. Kara turned to look at Clark. Clark was looking at the table.

"Clark?"

"It's one of the by-laws," Clark said finally. "Technically the Justice League can hold you responsible for any self-harm. That's why I told you to read the papers before you signed them."

"What?!"

"Now the JLA can sue you for damages to League property."

"I don't—I don't even have a legal presence, oh my god!"

"So, Kara," said Bruce, frowning. "What's it going to be? The door or the rules?"

"I wanna punch you both so bad right now!"

"Understandable," Bruce said. "But ultimately your health is a priority. You're not to do this again."

"I have to second that, Kara," said Diana softly. "If you had mental health issues that would be one thing. But you did this not to escape from any pain, but simply to...I don't know, prove yourself?"

Kara's face was white. "You people," she said finally, "are the world's biggest arseholes."

Hal Jordan huffed a laugh. "We can sue you though. So knock it off."

"I guess I have no choice?" Kara said hesitantly.

"None whatsoever," said Bruce. "The next incident of you injecting Kryptonite into your body, you will be suspended."

"Indefinitely," said Diana. "We are not a group of friends who hang out in silly costumes. We are a team, with definite goals and objectives. The fate of humanity very often lies in our hands. Being vulnerable isn’t a weakness, not trusting your team is."

Kara felt guilty and relieved at the same time. The Kryptonite was humming in her blood. Weakness. "Fine," she said, sulkily. It wasn't worth it, getting kicked from the League just to be a cold-ridden Kryptonite-laden corpse.

"You'll have to do better than fine," said Hal gently. "Give us your word. No more idiotic experiments."

"I give you my word, dipshits," said Kara bitterly, and looked at Clark.

Clark looked relieved. "You'll be fine, Kara. It's okay to feel...like you've got to carry the whole world's weight on your shoulders. But sometimes you gotta let go, kid."

"Letting go is the story of my fucking life!" Kara snarled. She got up and tottered out of the room, slamming the door in her wake. The sound echoed silently for a while.

"So," said Hal once she was gone. "Whose brilliant idea was it to come up with that bullshit? About that clause in those documents?"

"She was hurting herself," Clark said dimly.

"And I knew," says Bruce, "that she wouldn't listen to reason. She needed a compelling...threat."

"You fucking a-hole control freak," Hal muttered.

"But Bruce, what if she goes searching the contracts for those by-laws?" asked Barry timidly.

"It's a long afternoon for me," said Bruce, holding up a sheaf of papers, "of retroactively editing signed documents."

"You mean forgery," said Diana.

Bruce smiled grimly. "Potato po-tah-to."

"So, I'm guessing," said Hal, "that I can sue you for that time you forced me to take my League salary on pain of expulsion."

"You’d lose," said Bruce casually, getting up. "I have better lawyers."

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itneverendshere · 2 years ago

Note

I've had thots about Toppers girlfriend with Rafe and his wandering hands and yall are so turned on you both can't stop touching one another you're practically dry humping in front of everyone (ya know the whole hiding in plain sight)

i did something bad - r.c (18+)

warnings: rafe cameron x kook!reader; cheating; boyfriend!topper (not really lmao poor thing); public sex?; dry humping; mentions of alcohol and drugs; possessive!rafe; almost having sex in the middle of a party I guess;

You don’t even know how the hell this happened.

How you ended up right here, right now, with him. You don’t know where to put your hands, your eyes, or your thoughts. You’re lost. Completely speechless.

Yet somehow, there's nowhere you’d rather be than sitting here, pressed against Rafe Cameron's thighs. And yeah, you're dating his best friend. And yeah, as if you’re not in the middle of a roaring party, filled to the brim, at Topper’s house.

He brushes his thumb over your hip, cautious, like he’s testing the waters. “You good?”

All you can manage is a weak, “Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

Oh god.

Of course, Rafe would catch every little thing you do. Probably been watching you the whole night. Your heart stutters when your eyes lock with his.

That hand on your hip grows bolder, fingers tracing your skin in slow, teasing circles. If you died right now, you’d die happy. And maybe, just maybe, your biggest turn-on is feeling understood. Feeling seen. Rafe does that for you. Topper? Not so much.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night,” he murmurs.

You exhale, trying to sound casual. “Really?”

This thing between you two — it’s like a storm you can't escape from. No matter how hard you try. But in moments like this, you can’t run. It pulls you in.

“’Been trying to get your attention all night, you know that?”

You are just about able to breathe out a quiet, “Really?

This attraction between you two is everything you’ve ever needed and wanted, and yet in moments like these, you panic all the same.

You know it’s safer to run from him than to run to him like you always seem to do, but the truth is, you can’t stop. Your steady composure evaporates around him.

Rafe nods, utter confidence in the gesture. Not that you’d expect any less from the kook king himself, he always knew what he thought and felt, and wasn’t afraid to let people know. He owns every single bit of himself.

Unlike you.

“Why are you surprised, flower?” he murmurs, “You know I only got eyes for you.”

You stare back at him, mouth dry and head empty. You want to call him out on his bullshit, put the truth on a silver platter, and hand it to him, but you’d be a hypocrite. How can you tell him you hate seeing him with other people when you’ve got a boyfriend yourself? His best friend. You’ve got no moral high ground here.

So you just nod. Close your eyes, block out the world, and pretend this is fine. Pretend you’re anywhere else but here.

“Is that so?”

He's now grasping both your hips, “Don’t look at me like that. You know I mean it.”

A thrill shoots through you. His touch is scorching your skin, “Not doing anything.”

But fuck, this feels like everything. Cheating on a relationship is a distraction, a self-delusional addiction. This will end in a breakup or breakdown... or worse. You haven’t crossed that line, not physically at least. Not yet. But you feel like you are about to.

“Trust me, you’re doing just enough.”

The way he says it, like it's the easiest thing in the world to want you this bad, makes your pulse quicken. You’re crazy. His lips are so pretty, just the thought of them has you dizzy. Of course, your blush is a dead giveaway.

“Where’s your date?”

“Don’t know,” one hand moves down, “Don’t care.”

“You should.”

His lips twitch, fingers skirting down, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His eyebrows rise, eyes flickering over the room curiously.

“Where’s your boyfriend, flower?” He all but purrs in your ear. Your face is most definitely on fire.

He stares at you, and you simply stare back. The tension that clouds the air is almost too much.

“Outside.”

“Now, what would he think if he walked in here and saw you in my lap?” Rafe’s voice is raspy, “Hmm?”

Every bit of confidence you had is nowhere to be found. He always knows how to play your strings. It’s twisted, but the thought only makes you want Rafe more.

“You think about that?” You ask breathlessly, and the hard outline of his cock through his jeans is confirmation enough. You should shove him away. You should feel guilty. But instead, you press yourself against him, his thigh between yours, your brain already melting at the feeling.

“You are really trying to make me fuck you right here, aren’t you?” His voice is lethal, he all but groans, leaning down and sinking his teeth into the side of your neck, just above your pulse, “I’m trying to be good, flower.”

“You’re not good, Rafe Cameron.”

The solid press of his body on yours is all too much. His lips on your neck are everything you’ve fantasized about and more.

“I could be,” Those blue eyes fill with mischief, “For you, I would.”

Your stomach drops and you shove him off, ignoring your flushed cheeks. But then he grins, that shit-eating, sarcastic grin of his, and your glare pierces through him, attempting to keep some space between you.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“You think I can’t be good?”

“I don’t think,” Your reply is mockingly sweet, and for once he doesn’t smirk, in fact, his grin is half-hearted now, “I know for a fact, you can’t.”

“Right,” His hand works its way from your cleavage, down to your stomach where he lingers for some time, “Good thing you’re dating a good guy, yeah?”

The urge to touch, to be inside you is overwhelming. He’s never felt so desperate to feel someone. The laugh that escapes you is almost bitter, and he knows it. He knows he’s got you. And the worst part? You’re letting him.

“Yeah, good thing,” You breathe, body pressing into his. Your heart thumps wildly between your ribs and you know you’re going straight to hell.

“Do you want me?” he whispers, arm snaking around your waist to bring you even closer. Again.

“Please.”

In one swift movement, he pulls you down to the couch he’s sitting on. He supports your body with one hand under your upper thigh, whilst his free hand cups the back of your head, fingers interlacing with your hair. The way you situate yourself on his thigh so quickly is too natural, and he does give a little condescending laugh.

There are people everywhere. The party rages on. But it’s like the world has shrunk to just you and him.

You stare into each other’s eyes, panting shakily – lips inching closer and closer together. Rafe lingers there, flushed lips parted, waiting patiently for your move.

“Rafe?” Your voice is quiet, and yet he still hears you despite the music. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand so close without devouring him whole.

His eyes flicker to yours, “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

Before you know it, his lips crash into yours roughly, almost bruising them. He’s so hungry for you. For your touch. He has wanted this for so, so, so long. And fuck, so have you.

The hard press of his cock pushing right against your center is torturous. As if his stupid muscular thigh wasn’t enough. You ground yourself down on him, breathing a moan against his lips.

“My flower,” He pants into your mouth, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, “Gonna be good for me?”

“So good.” You rock against him, your teeth grazing his lips. His fingers untangle from your hair, and cup your cheek, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. You push yourself further against him, rocking your hips. He groans against your cheek, thrusting up.

A large hand slides down your neck and grips it gently, earning him a sudden, breathy moan, “Want me that bad?”

Your legs tighten around his waist, “Yes.”

“'Y'sure, flower?”

“Yes.”

“More than him?”

“Don’t tease,” you whine lengthily, frustration so pent up it leaves you breathless, “You know my answer.”

“Do I?” Rafe hums, fingers rubbing tight circles into your clothed clit.

“Rafe.”

“Keep talking.”

You try hard to focus on the budding feeling in your core, to chase it so you can finally know what a proper orgasm feels like. Can’t remember the last time you had one, delivered by a man.

“I want you,” You mumble, grazing your teeth on his pulsing throat as you suckle on his skin, leaving behind a bruise-like mark, “Always want you more.”

“Fuck—” he gasps, hips giving an involuntary jerk, “I’m never letting you go back to him, you know that right?”

Your grip around his neck tightens, fingernails digging into his tanned skin, “All yours.”

You’re so, so wet and you haven’t discarded a single piece of clothing. All he wants to do is replace his thigh with his cock but, he can’t. Not here anyway, so he settles for this. He’d settle for anything you give him right now. Lost to the sensation his head falls back, his eyes screw shut, his breath coming out in short pants.

“C-Can we–Oh!– Can we leave?”

“Easy,” He hums, eyes still squeezed shut, brows gathering, “Not yet.”

“Please,” you beg quietly, squeezing his waist with your legs as your body tries to shove him closer.

Your pussy swells with pleasure, moans becoming deeper and more strained. He knows you’re close. He’s not far behind and there’s something so primal about making you cum in a room full of people, who’ve yet to take a second look at you two. The alcohol and the drugs in their veins become your accomplices.

He feels the tension in your body, the way it seizes up, trying to fight the unbearable heat pooling in your pelvis. The sound of his husky moans in your ear is about to send you over the edge – heated coil unraveling, stomach muscles relaxing.

He relishes in the way you’re staring into his eyes with your mouth open. It feels so good, so right. The way his body completely envelopes yours.

You can’t believe you’re about to cum from dry-humping Rafe Cameron.

“This what you want?” He mutters.

You nod as best you can with his palm on your throat.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait, huh?” His jaw ticks. “That desperate?”

You nod again. Fuck, you’ll tell him whatever he wants if he’ll just touch you.

Focusing on the budding feeling, your hands grip his veiny forearm. His sleeves are shoved up to the elbows, cuffed there and you can feel a muscle twitch in his forearm.

It turns you on. You let go of any thoughts, allowing your body to take over. You moan into his shoulder, grinding erratically into his hand.

“Good girl,” His voice is thick with desire, shaky from the buck of his hips. He has your face in his hands before you can shrink away. He's gripping your jaw between desperate fingers and tilting to your chin up, “So fucking good, flower.”

When Rafe begins to bounce his leg up and down and you bite your lip to silence your moans.

“If you ever let him touch you again, I’ll break his fuckin’ arms.”

A whine seems to be the only thing that your brain can come up with.

You can feel the fire pulsating through his lips; you can feel it radiate off his body.

He leans in to brush his lips against yours—feverish and light. His tongue swirls through your mouth from desperation starting to lock inside his chest. You have made him feel all kinds of things over the years. He needs to feel you, needs to touch you, constantly. After the searing memory of Topper’s hand on your waist, lips dangerously close to yours, he needs to be close to you.

"M'gonna come—baby, please let me,” You cry out and dig your nails into his skin, chest heaving rapidly.

"Go ahead," He gulps, ready to take you home, he presses his forehead against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck, "'M right here."

Your stomach churns as the thin thread that is holding your composure together snaps. The tip of his nose drags over your jaw, a soft kiss pressed there as he nudges your head to fall back onto his shoulder.

And then he has you shaking, hurtling towards an orgasm that leaves your mind spinning. His lips move to your neck, tongue, and teeth stinging and soothing, mumbling praises and filthy promises.

“Oh, my fuckin'—God!”

He doesn't let up, not when your clit begins to throb, or walls pulse.

Not until you're shaking so hard through your orgasm that you are all but crawling up his lap, leaving you unable to breathe.

“C’mere,” he says, softly, although you haven’t moved. He lifts a hand to your face to brush the hair back from your eyes, lingering for a moment before his gaze slides up to yours.

“You’re mine.”

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kaylinelizabeth4004 · 1 year ago

Text

Heaven is Here

SYNOPSIS: Through many fleeting moments throughout history with a strange woman, Aziraphale and Crowley learn they accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth, stuck to reincarnate forever.

TAGS: Aziraphale x Crowley x Reader, fluff, slight angst, soulmate au (on accident), history, historical settings, no beta we die like men

WORD COUNT : 12,253

A/N: This fic is kind of accidental. I’ve always been more about Aziraphale/Crowley in this fandom than any reader insert, but one day I happened upon a Tumblr fanfic and had an idea. This probably won’t be a regular thing - except I am planning a sequel to this exact fic - but I thought why not. Im still more Aziraphale/Crowley.

55BC—————

"And you love this?" Crowley asked, holding the seafood up to the light as though it would reveal to Aziraphale all the disgusting little details.

"It's delightful!" Aziraphale insisted, showing Crowley how to eat the oyster. "Try it, dearest. You might just enjoy it."

Crowley pursed his lips, not wanting to put whatever the hell this was in his mouth. But Aziraphale was looking at him with those eyes. He didn't know how describe them, and he didn't want to analyze how they made his heart hurt inside his vessel's chest. So he closed his eyes and ate the damned thing.

He put a hand over his mouth to stop the gagging. This Angel's taste was not quite normal if this is what he considered fine dining. He tried to smile politely, to not let him know that it was utter horseshit.

"You don't like it," Aziraphale said with a rather disappointed voice.

"N-No, I don't," Crowley said, and he didn't know why but he was sad to disappoint the angel. He was just trying to be kind after all, it wasn't as though he had properly sinned. But why would a demon feel bad for an angel? That went against his lot's whole thing.

However, Crowley found a wicked part of him that liked pissing off his lot. He'd never put it in as many words however.

"Pity, they are quite delectable."

"Sure, angel," Crowley said, sipping a large mouthful of wine. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, eating and drinking as they'd like. Then Crowley looked up to Aziraphale's soft "ahem." He was pointing behind Crowley, and when he turned he saw what caused it.

A young woman was sat in the corner, a large glass of wine in her hands, and she was weeping to herself. It wasn't loud or particularly noticeable, if it wasn't for the tear tracks down her cheeks, glittering as they caught the light. She was looking at her lap and sipping the wine, balking at the taste yet coming back for more.

"She looks happy," Crowley said.

"She looks sad! You demons need to learn the proper emotions."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment, wondering if he was joking. Upon realizing that Aziraphale was, in fact, not joking Crowley said, "that was sarcasm, Angel."

"What was sarcasm?"

"My comment, 'she looks happy.' Of course she doesn't look happy that's why I said it."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, "but your words meant the opposite of what you said."

"Exactly," Crowley said. And with a flourish he added, "it's called sarcasm."

"But why say something you don't mean? Isn't that lying?" Aziraphale asked, in all sincerity.

Crowley thought it over, "s'pose it could be seen that way. Most people view it as ironic."

"Oh, yes, of course." Aziraphale took an anxious sip of wine, looking back towards the girl.

"Angel..."

"Yes?" He was avoiding eye contact

"You don't know what ironic means, do you?"

Aziraphale pouted, "no I don't and I quite detest that you do."

"Ironic literally means saying the opposite of what you mean for some sort of point. Mine being that she looks downright miserable."

"Even though you said she looks happy." Aziraphale said slowly as he tracked that line of logic through his head.

"Right, even though I said she looks happy."

"And that's ironic?"

"Don't ya think?" Crowley said with a wide smile, his teeth appearing almost like he had pointed fangs.

"Why yes I do think-"

"Angel, that was irony."

"Oh." Aziraphale blinked rapidly a few times then sipped his wine, embarrassed he didn't know something that Crowley did know. He thought he was the knowledgeable of the two. "Well, sarcasm or not, we should help her."

"We?"

"Why - yes, we're both here and we see -"

"I don't help people," Crowley said quickly, his voice deep and harsh. "I'm a demon, I do the opposite of help."

"Well, yes but-"

"There are no buts with this. My lot were created to ruin your lots pickings. I pillage and plunder, that's my job." Crowley said this firmly as though it would make his point clearer. The more intense he was, the more his words seemed to slur together a bit.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, and Crowley wondered if he was about argue his point once more. "Isn't the phrase rape, pillage and plunder?"

"I don't do that. I'm not a monster," Crowley balked. He finished his wine and set the glass down. Throwing some money on the table he said, "sorry Angel. Got a priest to tempt. Catch you later."

"Oh, goodbye." Aziraphale said as Crowley ambled off through the restaurants doors. But despite himself, Aziraphale found himself smiling. Crowley wasn't truly all bad, even if he thought himself it. His gaze at the doors quickly moved over to the pretty girl weeping. She was still crying and her glass was a lot emptied.

Aziraphale got up, straightened his toga, and walked over to the girl. "Oh, um, hello. I'm -" oh shoot, he hadn't thought of this part yet. He had to quickly think of a name. Instantly his eyes shot up to the art above her, a fleece. Aha! "Jason. My name is Jason. Pardon the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice you're upset."

She sniffled, setting the glass down on the table. Aziraphale was struck by her face, now that he could see it not turned down and hidden. She was pretty. She eyed him warily, "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Aziraphale sat down on the chair opposite her, "I wondered if I might be able to help."

She laughed bitterly, "only if you can stop the Emperor." Aziraphale's eyebrows raised at that and she rushed to cover for herself, "oh no, I didn't mean that. All Hail the Caesar and what not. He's doing a mighty fine job."

"It's certainly not a 'mighty fine job' if he's got you crying as such."

"No, I s'pose not."

"What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she said honestly, wiping the tears away quickly. "Honestly, Jason, I appreciate the thought but what's done is done. You can't change the past."

Aziraphale made a face in slight disagreement, though he knew he couldn't explain that to a human female. "Then perhaps telling someone will make you feel better. I harbor no connection with the Emperor, your opinions are quite safe with me."

She stared up at him after he said this, looking him truly in the eyes as though they told her all she needed to know. Then she did speak. "It's this invasion on Britain. My father and brother were both sent off and I worry. I've heard horrible things about the natives, truly barbaric things like removing of one's head. I don't want them to be hurt. Especially my brother, he's so sweet. He could get hurt by the army rather the natives."

"Hurt by his own army?"

"He doesn't stand up for himself. And that lot can be harsh. I s'pose I shouldn't blame them, I'd be harsh too if I had to kill people in battle. But I worry they will pick on him, push him 'round to try and get him to fight, and he won't."

"Ah, I see," Aziraphale said, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he thought it over. "Well, I can assure you one thing. The natives are not unnecessarily cruel. They do fight, but only when they need to. You couldn't expect anything less, dear."

She nodded, biting her lip. "No, you're correct. I'd defend my country against invaders as well."

"But they won't torture. Your brother will be quite alright, I'm sure of it."

After a minute of silence she looked up again at Aziraphale, "Thank you, Jason. Strangely enough, that makes me feel better. Knowing it wouldn't be torture."

"No, it wouldn't be."

"I really should be going, my daughter will be expecting me."

"Right, of course. Blessings on you, my dear." And though he'd already said the blessing, he felt compelled to say it again. To strengthen it for this poor soul. "Blessings on you forever."

Aziraphale helped her out of her seat. Just then, for an imperceivable second, Aziraphale thought he saw a golden shine cross her eyes. He didn't think much of it, figured it was the miracle. He'd never seen that happen, but he wasn't often looking in their eyes.

She took his hand, kissed the back of it, and thanked him again before walking out. Aziraphale smiled contentedly, though he felt a pull in his heart he hadn't felt before. Urging him to follow her, but he figured it was some sort of indigestion.

Crowley was sprawled on a bench not far from the restaurant, glancing up at a night time sky he couldn't see. He wanted to see it, but he gave up on that dream 2,000 years ago. The Fall took many things, and his eyesight was one of them. He could still see in general, he knew what people's faces looked like and where he was going. But specifics were lost on him, and the night looked like eternal darkness rather than the sparkling stars and planets he'd been told about.

"I helped create some of those," he mumbled to himself.

Then he closed his eyes, needing to not look at what he couldn't see. It still hurt, as though the wound wasn't thousands of years old. But it never properly healed in the first place.

He felt a weight against his foot and heard a thud within a matter of seconds, and he blinked in surprise. At his feet, a young woman was crumpled to the ground. His foot was sticking out in the pathway. Whoops.

He thought about rising to help her, then thought better of it. Beelzebub didn't need another reason to hate him. So he sat still and watched the woman get onto her hands and knees, glaring at him.

"Not going to help are you?"

"No, I think I'm keen to just watch," Crowley responded. She rolled her eyes, getting onto her feet and dusting off her toga. He examined her quickly, not knowing what to make of her. Then, she said something entirely unexpected.

"Keep your foot out of the way, asshole."

It wasn't a particularly inspired remark, nothing witty or threatening. But it was the fact that a random woman said that to him, a demon, without prompting. And with that remark, she walked away.

"Damnation on you eternally," Crowley murmured, waving his hand in a flourish towards the woman. He doesn't know why he said it, he's never really said it like that before and he certainly didn't why he even added the 'eternally' bit. But whatever the reason, he said it.

Though he knew she was too far away to hear him, she turned and looked back. And found a brief moment, maybe it was the trick of the light, he saw a golden shine pass over her eyes. She smirked shyly, then turned and walked away. And with each step, Crowley felt his heart pulse in a way he hadn't felt before.

1377—————

There was complete silence in the cathedral as a young boy, only aged 10 and dressed in trousers, walked through the crowd towards the priest. They seemed to hold their breaths as he lay on the floor before God, surrendering himself to Her mercy. Aziraphale watched the coronation. He had mixed feelings about the child, Richard. He wasn't a particular fan of the whole 'king' concept, but he thought the honoring to God bit was a nice touch. He wore simple enough clothes to note stand out, yet nice to enough to be recognized as a noble. His layers were in varying degrees of beige as he hid in the very middle of the crowd.

After the 10 minutes on the floor, Richard rose and made his way to the priest where he was being dressed in oil.

"Bit like a salad, eh?" A sultry, baritone voice said from beside Aziraphale, making him shudder. When he looked, it was Crowley. Dressed in similarly simple noble clothes, of course in tones of black and red, he watched the young king as different body parts were coated in oil for different purposes.

"Crowley? How did you get in here? It's a church?" Aziraphale said in a hushed whisper, earning glares from the people beside him. "Sorry Lord Wellington."

"Churches are built by humans."

"And what does that have to do with anything? You're still a demon in a place of worship for God," he said the word 'demon' especially softly for fear someone would turn in a panic at the word 'demon' being said in a cathedral.

"Yeah but it wasn't made by God. It was made for Her, by humans. Totally human structure."

"It is not."

Crowley shrugged his shoulders, "you got a better reason I can come and go in these?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, "I suppose not."

A loud smack echoed through the church and Crowley frowned, "you made me miss the slap, Angel."

"That is your concern?"

Crowley shook his head in frustration, "He's a bloody king now, last time he coulda gotten hit and it's by a priest. S'course I wanted to see it."

"He's a child."

"Not anymore. He's got too much to think about now to be a child."

"No," Aziraphale wondered. "I suppose he's not longer a child at all. You know, dearest, you really do have the grandest thoughts when you think about it."

"Shut up," Crowley replied, his cheeks turning rosy at the compliment.

Within seconds of him saying it, the priest placed the crown on top of boy's head and declared loudly, "Long Live King Richard II!"

The crowd burst into applause as the young king was carried through the cathedral. They whooped and hollered, crying "all hail" and "god save the king" as he passed them by. The boy looked cheerful, pink cheeks and bright curls waving underneath a crown that looked awful heavy for a boy his age. But no, Aziraphale thought, perhaps this was the end of his childhood after all.

"Are you attending the feast afterwards? I hear they will serve beef, and I haven't have beef in decades!"

"Ahh, well I don't know, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled, leaning in as though he was sharing a conspiratorial secret, "I hear there are miraculously two spots for a Lord Fell and Mr Fell, if you are so inclined."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up, eyes hidden beneath his favorite pair of sunglasses, "oh you devil!"

Aziraphale's smile dropped, "don't you say that."

There was a pause as Aziraphale processed the hurtful words, and Crowley processed that he actually cared to make it right to him. Then all at once, they both started speaking on the issue, words overlapping in a frightful mess.

Crowley sighed, "Right I'm sorry -"

"- that really hurts -"

"- I know, I know -"

"- I mean, I am most certainly not fallen -"

"-we had this conversation in 1066 -"

" - I did not appreciate that."

" -I know, Angel. I'm sorry."

After that final note, Aziraphale nodded. "Alright, well. Thank you."

They started to walk together towards the banquet hall not far from there, waiting to indulge in fine wines and beef. There was a large parade towards it, all the nobles and even those fortunate peasants engaged in laughing and singing. Jesters performed stupid dances in their funny hats, knights marched in perfect unison, and songs came pouring from every lute and voice in the area. It was a perfect celebration of a new king, all on their way to fall victim to gluttony, drunkenness, lust, greed and infinitely more temptations.

All things that should fill Crowley's heart with a miserable sort of glee. And yet... he felt off. Crowley couldn't explain the feeling in his chest, almost like a nagging telling him things weren't right. But all this temptation, he thought. This ought to be perfect! But it wasn't, and he had a feeling before he even glanced at his Angel that it was because of him.

Sure enough, he was right. Though Aziraphale hadn't said anything, being kind enough to accept Crowley's words at face value and dropping it, but Crowley knew him well enough to know something was wrong. He hadn't made it up to him.

"Angel, a word -" Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale's elbow and leading him away from the crowd. As he did so, he missed the way Aziraphale's mouth dropped open, blue eyes fixated on the contact. They'd rarely touched before.

"Yes, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked politely but his tone was full of too much passive aggression to really be polite. He stood stock still, arms poised in front of him and looked expectedly at Crowley.

"I- I, I need to..." Satan this was hard. The words felt like glue in Crowley's mouth but he did his best to force them out. "I need to, to s'make it up to you."

"Pardon?"

Oh damn Aziraphale, making Crowley actually communicate. "What I said, I was wrong. You were right. It wasn't right of me and I need to make it because my apology isn't enough."

"I never said that."

"Ah, yeah, you never said it. But you's do this thing with your face when you's upset. And my words aren't getting there. Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

They waited a moment, staring at one another. Suddenly, a large crash came from parade and the two looked over in surprise. The musicians were playing a long, one very eager man slamming the cymbals that caused such a loud sound. Behind them another jester bobbled along a delicate little dance, flourishing his arms on either side before turning and doing a bow.

Crowley saw Aziraphale's eyebrows raise, the corner of his cute little mouth twitch up and a finger pointed towards the little dance. He ran to stop it, saying, "no, no, no, I'm not doing that."

"Come now-"

"A dance? You want an 'I was wrong, You were right dance'? You can't be serious, Angel."

"I am serious, you wily serpent. Now do the little dance or I'll never forgive you," Aziraphale said in mock frustration, puffing out his chest.

Crowley saw before him a choice, between what his lot were bound to and Aziraphale. And without a second thought, he chose Aziraphale. He would choose Aziraphale every time, he just didn't know it yet. And so, despite all the humiliation he knew this would cause him if the bosses down under ever found out, Crowley did the little dance.

Aziraphale watched, eyebrows raised in shock. He hadn't thought Crowley would do it. Certainly not for him. But as Crowley bowed, enunciating his t's with a flourish, he couldn't help but smile.

"Very nice."

"Are we good, now?"

Aziraphale beamed, "quite right, dearest. We are quite right."

Crowley let out a breath, adjusting his glasses as though they would hide that dance from history's books. "Well then, let's get a move on."

The pair followed the parade into the banquet hall, and continued with the affair. Aziraphale literally wiggled in his seat when the food was placed before him, so excited he couldn't sit still. Crowley drank the wine, actually quite good for English wine.

Then the dancing started. King Richard - now Richard II - climbed on top of the table and proclaimed everyone to dance. And so, the nobles in their fancy gowns, drunk and laughing to no end, jumped from their seats to join in the dance. Aziraphale sat still for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Angels don't dance, not really. But this Angel longed to dance.

Crowley saw the way his fingers tapped along the table to the beat. He groaned, getting up from his seat.

"S'alright Angel, up up."

"Pardon -"

"You heard what I said. Come on Angel, let's dance."

Aziraphale giggled and got up, following Crowley into the chaos of swirling dresses and flirtatious looks between anyone and everyone. Almost immediately they were separated, swung by different partners.

Crowley danced with an older woman who squeezed his buttocks when she thought he wasn't looking. He wasn't fond of dancing, not the way Aziraphale was, but he enjoyed the freedom of it all. There were no rules, not really. Yes some people liked the structured ones where you pose and turn on every 3rd beat or what not. But in dancing there was an air of just living - being truly alive. That's what it was all about, it's all anyone yearned to feel.

In the next turn to switch partners, time seemed to slow for Crowley. He saw her, flitting between the people to slide her arm into Crowley's and continue the dance. She was pretty in an unconventional way. A way society might not call beautiful, but made Crowley stop and stare. He was pulled towards her, as though he couldn't control it. She was the center of his focus and he wanted nothing more than to meet her. Then, she turned that pretty gaze on him. Her lips quirked into a smile, hands warm and soft as they held his tightly. Her skin was flushed from the dance, and her dress swung around her in bright, dashing colors. The last dance had ended and all the people were gasping for air yet still ready to dive into the next.

"Hello," she said softly, though somehow he heard her voice over the crowd.

"Hello," Crowley answered back, not sure what to do. He'd never been in this position before.

"A dance?" She asked, taking a deep bow before holding her hand out. Palm up. She wore one, golden signet ring.

"I'd love to," Crowley answered honestly, taking her hand and pulling her into him.

She giggled happily, throwing an arm around his neck as he led the pair towards the center of the dance floor. He started to laugh along with her. Their dancing wasn't particularly good, both of them knew that, but they were having fun. She would twirl away only to twirl back into him awkwardly, laughing so hard she snorted which only caused a barking laughter from Crowley. They continued forward, holding each other close until the final pull drew them chest to chest. She was shorter than he, and she glanced up through dark lashes.

"Hi," she murmured, her breath hitting Crowley's face. She smelled of wine and temptation. He looked into her eyes and there it was - that one moment in history he thought was a fluke.

It had been 1,432 years, not like he was counting, but he didn't forget the way the golden band seemed to fleet over her eyes back in 55BC. And now, he saw that same golden shine slide over the same pair of eyes. It was just a second and yet it made Crowley's mouth drop. She saw it too, but for different reasons. He watched as she looked at his lips, he could tell what she was thinking.

She went to lean in, breasts pressed against his chest and breath hot, but was ripped away by the next dance. She giggled wildly as she was pulled into a circle, but found herself glancing over her shoulder to stare at the handsome stranger she almost kissed.

As Crowley stood in the middle of the floor, mystified, Aziraphale went over to his table to get a drink. All this dancing was positively amazing, but it certainly drained one of their energy.

As he brought the cup to his lips, a body crashed into his, sending the crimson liquid all over his clothes.

"Oh, bugger," he said, setting the cup down to assess the damage.

"I am so sorry, sir!" A girl said, breathless as she ran over. "That was entirely my fault. Please, let me help you clean it. I'm sure there's a tub not far."

Aziraphale smiled politely and went to decline the kind offer, but when he looked into her eyes he found himself agreeing to go with her. She lit up with excitement, grabbing his hand and pulling him away. There was something about her, something he couldn't explain. But he was in awe of her movements and eager to learn more about her.

She turned into an empty hall near a bathroom. She had him wait here while she collected a basin of water and grease.

"I can't promise it will fully work," she said as she set it down, "but I'll do my best. I really am so sorry, sir. I would have never ruined your clothes intentionally."

"It's quite alright. They weren't my favorite anyway," he said as he removed the outer layer. His multiple layers undergarments were fine, and could suffer slight staining. It was the outer garment that changed the most.

She shook her head as she dunked it in the basin, "you can't mean that, sir."

"I find that I quite do," he said, watching her with a quite awe.

"What's your name, sir? I feel I've seen you before," she said, suddenly watching him with the same astute attention. She kept narrowing her eyes as though she'd remember.

Maybe it was the stain, the wine, the party, the demon nearby, or maybe it was just this woman that did it to him but without realizing, he answered honestly, "Aziraphale."

Her eyes lit up, "like the Angel?"

"Precisely, my dear."

"That's a beautiful name. Aziraphale, Aziraphale... can you believe it?" She mumbled the last bit to herself, rubbing liberal amounts of grease into the fabric.

"Do you have a connection to the name? Or the Angel, perhaps?" Aziraphale asked curiously, wanting to hear more about her.

"I do, strangely enough. It's a silly connection..." she said, absentmindedly turning the signet ring over and over on her hand.

"I rather find that when it comes to angels and demons, nothing is silly." Aziraphale chose to neglect some of the more strange decisions the staff had made.

"I, well, oh goodness it sounds all made up. Well, I was in the shops the other day. My friend makes jewelry and he's very good. I came by and he said a man dropped off this gold signet ring with the name Aziraphale burned into it. Said he didn't know what to do with it, not many people knows the Angel, and he gave it to me." She took the ring off her finger, staring at it with an admiration before holding it out to him. "It's your name. You should have it."

"Oh I couldn't possibly take from you, dear."

She shook her head, "no it's not taking. It's a gift. It's fate, that I should have a ring for an Aziraphale just before meeting one of my very own."

"Oh dear, I couldn't -"

She interrupted him by pressing a soft kiss to the ring, taking his hand and sliding it onto his pinky finger. When she looked up, still holding his hand, Aziraphale's jaw dropped. That golden shine. Where had he seen that before? It was brief, flashing over a pair of kind eyes, but it was there all the same.

"Please accept this, Aziraphale."

"I - I will. Thank you, my dear."

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale saw her after that night. They didn't know her name, her status, or even really remember her outfit. If Cinderella was around, she would have been the prime candidate for it. Neither told each other about their experience with a strange woman until 150 years later as they talked about Henry VIII's decision to have Anne Boleyn beheaded. Nasty business that was.

1601—————

"He's really quite good," Aziraphale said, watching fondly as the actor of Hamlet lamented about life and death. It really was moving the way he toyed between truly living a life, or if death was not truly what life was about.

Aziraphale found himself doing that 'excited sigh' that Crowley described. He found it an odd way of saying his behaviors, but Crowley insisted that when Aziraphale was excited it wasn't a 'satisfied sigh' but an 'excited sigh.' To be fair, he'd said this after 2 whole bottles of wine and a shot of pure vodka, so Aziraphale couldn't grant its true authenticity. A drunk demon would truly say anything just to illicit a reaction.

The speech made him wonder what it was like to be a human, with no certainty about what happens with their souls. They don't have a guarantee about life, or death, and yet are expected to do as they are told with no questions. Crowley knew what it was like to ask questions, and it lead to scars even Aziraphale didn't know about.

"Ngk, s'pose so." Crowley grumbled, watching as the man stamped his foot on the stage. "Bit dramatic, no?"

"It'd a tragedy!" Aziraphale countered, furrowing his brows in surprise.

"Eh, I still prefer the funny ones."

Aziraphale shook his head, turning to watch the man on the stage. A flash of purple fabric caught his eye, and his gaze traveled to see a young woman peaking out from behind the railing. She was trying to stay hidden, but Aziraphale could see that she just couldn't resist the temptation to watch the rehearsal. Her eyes were bright and wide, soaking in the sight. Her clothes were dirty and well worn, a few sizes too big and the hem covered in a layer of mud. But despite it all, she looked entirely unique.

She was pretty, and Aziraphale didn't often feel as though many humans were pretty. He appreciated the art of humanity, and believed each human was their own work of art. But he didn't feel a pull to any of them, but her... she had an attraction to her. He could see her lean too far over the edge, as though the stage were dragging her in. It wasn't just a love and an admiration, it was an addiction. Aziraphale could see what was going to happen moments before it did, but it was too late. The girl tumbled over the edge and fell onto the floor of the Globe, catching the attention of everybody in the rehearsal space.

Her cheeks immediately blotted pink, covering her face in a rosy hue as the stage manager came to her with a snarl, "oi, who're you?"

"I-I-"

"You's not supposed to be 'ere," he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm and dragging her to her feet. She stumbled along as he pulled her to the entrance. "Out with you."

"Mary? Whatcha doin here?" Crowley called out, sauntering over to the man and the girl. The man stopped, looking at Crowley with a skeptical gaze. The girl's eyes widened, bright and eager, as she realized what Crowley was doing and she nodded vigorously.

"Yes, sir, I came to fetch you! Mistress Paulson requested you." She said quickly, trying to stand on her own despite the stage manager's tight grasp.

The man cocked an eyebrow, "oh yeah? You know's him?"

"Know me? Know me?" Crowley sauntered over with a cackle, "me's and Mary goes way back."

She nodded, ripping her arm from the man's grasp then standing politely. "Oh yes, Mr..."

"Oh don't bother with all the Mr Crowley Miss whatever business, just call me Anthony like any other bloke."

"Anthony has helped my sister much. He's an excellent doctor," she said, standing firm. Aziraphale watched her in awe, he was impressed. She picked up that Crowley was saving her quickly, easing into the lie with an expert comfort. She seemed familiar, as though they'd met her before. And most importantly, she was intelligent.

"Doctor? You didn't mention that about your friend," the man said to Aziraphale, his enunciation so poor he practically spat the words at Aziraphale's feet.

Aziraphale flashed a charming smile, "I hadn't realized that those particular skills would, uh, come up in a theatre of this, err,... caliber."

"I haven't the pleasure of meeting you, sir." The girl piped up, her smile was warm and gentle. But he could see in her eyes a tension, wanting to convince this man to not throw her out or worse - press charges. "My's names Mary Edwins. Friend of Mr Crowley."

Mary Edwins, clearly a fake name. Just basic enough to be believable, but enough slight hesitation that Aziraphale knew she was lying. She gave a little curtesy, spreading the oversized purple skirt over the floor. It really was too large, but she still looked charming. Aziraphale felt as though he'd seen that curtesy before. There it was, fast you could have blamed the lighting, Aziraphale knew better. There that same golden shine came over her eyes, if just for a moment. His mouth fell open in a little 'o,' unable to speak for a while 10 seconds before stuttering out, "oh, h-hello Miss Edwins, I'm Mr Fell."

The stage manager thought on it for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't paid enough to care. It was hours away from opening night, after all, and the little boy playing Ophelia needed alterations in his costume.

"Alright then," he said, walking back towards the director, a Mr William Shakespeare.

The girl was still a few feet away as Crowley walked dramatically back towards Aziraphale. The Angel tried to ignore it. He hadn't mentioned that part of it with Crowley, and he didn't know how to continue. Crowley mistook Aziraphale's expression as one of angelic smugness and rose a finger, "shut it, Angel."

"That was a good thing you did," he said with a little smile. He pushed it to the back of his mind, something to worry about when it was late and the city was asleep.

"Twasn't good, no. I was, real, I - I - I was bad. I let a criminal get away."

Aziraphale patted Crowley's shoulder, "no, dearest. You let a woman enjoy her passion. Look at her, you've saved her."

The pair glanced over at her as she tried, and failed, to subtly watch the actors get ready for their next scene. Her hand was on her heart, as though if she didn't put it there her heart would pop right out.

"Ehhh, that's not saving. Not really."

"Oh, it's not? Then what would you say is a human's purpose?" Aziraphale asked with a soft voice.

"I thought that's your job, Angel. Praising God and what not."

Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking away from Crowley. "You know as well as I that love of God is not all humans were made for. I am of the firm opinion they are here for their passions. They survive by it. They might be able to live with food and water alone, but no soul could truly exist without their drive. And this woman, her passion is theatre."

"Rather blasphemous words from an Angel."

"Rather kind actions from a demon."

Aziraphale smiled, looking towards the stage. Crowley tried to hide the blush on his ears and cheeks. It was always his ears that turned bright red from, from, well he didn't quite know from what. But he felt the heat and looked away. He looked at the girl, who perked your once she realized he saw her. She went over shyly.

Despite her apprehension, she raised her voice enough to say, "thank you for your help, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

"Mmm," was Crowley reply, gazing around the globe with a distinguished air about him. As if he was the most important person in the room. He tried to ignore her presence. She had a pull to her and he couldn't explain it, didn't want to address it. He already had the issue of a certain Angel who wouldn't leave his mind.

"Who are we to stop the love of the arts?" Aziraphale said, rather eccentrically. "Though you could have waited a few hours to see the whole show."

"I can't afford it," she said quietly, staring at her feet. Aziraphale noted her sweet little boots, their pointed ends digging into the dirt out of anxiety. "My mistress only gave me the morning. I need to be back in an hour."

Crowley and Aziraphale shot a glance with one another, not quite knowing how to respond. They stood in silence, the girl's eyes wide as she drank in Ophelia's mad lullabies.

"What's your name?"

"Mary Edwins."

Crowley smiled, "nice try, love. Your real name."

She cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at first at Crowley, then at Aziraphale, before looking back at her reflection in his sunglasses. "Why do you want to know?"

"We did help you, dear. We'd just love to know you, but if you cannot tell us, we won't rush you."

"Are you two a couple?" She asked quickly, pointing at the two and waving her hands in some strange, gesture of coupling. Her choice of question was so drastic, they didn't bother to notice the intentional diversion in topics.

Aziraphale looked up, mouth dropping in a little 'o' and he looked at Crowley. Crowley lifted a brow. Aziraphale answered, "We've known each other for a long time."

"That doesn't answer my question, Mr Fell."

"Aren't you a sly one, Miss Edwins." Crowley sneered, his top lip recoiling.

She just smiled, shrugging her shoulders with a little giggle. "Suppose so, Mr Crowley."

The golden shine. Crowley sucked in a harsh breath as she turned to look back at the stage. He could practically hear all his thoughts as they raced through his head, and he was unable to settle on just one. Those eyes. He hadn't seen them in years and yet this was the third woman who just happened to flirt with him, and had a gold shine go across her eyes. He reckoned she didn't know it happened, she probably didn't know what those little eyes could do to an immortal creature. Crowley swallowed, praying she never had to.

Then, the show continued and 'Mary's' eyes seemed transfixed. Aziraphale loved the theatre, Crowley enjoyed it, but 'Mary' adored it.

Crowley watched her eagerly, partly out of curiosity and partly because he liked feeling her passion in his soul as though it was her own. He found himself attracted to it, a drag of one's purpose. The passion filled her up, and she seemed to want to lean into it. She gasped as Hamlet killed his mother, she listened with eager ears as he instructed the actors on how they were to act, she cried as it seemed that everyone fell to the floor in a miserable death. Then, it was over. Actors stumbled to their feet, laughing as though they weren't stabbed with poisoned rapiers. The story was over, but 'Mary' seemed to be in a daze. Crowley watched with shrewd, yet eager eyes as she came out of it.

Then she straightened her back, smiling tightly to both of them. "Mr Fell, Mr Crowley, thank you for letting me stay. It has been such a gift. I'm afraid I must go."

"Let us escort you home," Aziraphale said, without realizing what he was offering.

She blinked wide eyes, "there's no need, sir. It's two blocks away."

Crowley lifted his chin, "love, we'd like to see you off safe."

"If you insist. Though I must tell you it's entirely through the city. Eyes will be on you at all times," she said it as a threat, a reminder to not do anything unsavory. Crowley almost frowned at that little bit of false hope. If they actually had bad intentions, a crowd wouldn't stop anything. She wasn't truly safe. But both Crowley and Aziraphale nodded, as though they truly headed her warning.

"Was that your first Shakespeare production?" Aziraphale asked, making polite conversation as he walked on one side of her, Crowley on the other.

"Oh, no. I do my best to attend all of them. I tend to prefer the funny ones, but the crowds can be a bit much for me."

"Eh? What'd you mean by that?" Crowley asked.

She blushed, "I don't like when crowds get very loud. They tend to jeer and toss things at the actors. It doesn't feel safe for anyone. I do enjoy his dramas though."

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before she asked the next question, "what do you two do? If I may, you're dressed rather odd."

"Odd?" Crowley asked with a frown, gazing down at his outfit. He was quite proud of this outfit. The ruff was amazing, really helped one feel confident.

'Mary' giggled. "I don't dislike your outfits, you just don't see these colors often."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance, shifting in their outfits. Perhaps they do cling to their colors a bit much. But Aziraphale never felt it was a problem, he was proud of his wardrobe.

"I make my own clothes," Aziraphale said with a smile.

'Mary' lightened up, her eyes taking on a bright, sparkling quality before she actually smiled, a little tell that Aziraphale noticed. He'd seen that before, but couldn't place it. "That is quite wonderful, Mr Fell. I'd love to make my own, however I mostly sew for my mistress."

"You make her clothes?"

"Oh no, I tend to mend them."

The conversation lulled again, and Crowley bit his lip as he thought before asking the question that has been on his tongue since the play ended, "why do you love theatre so much?"

Her chest flared, her eyes wide and sparkling, and she could barely contain the words before they poured from her in excited spurts, "what's not to love? It's stories about being human wrapped up in fancy costumes and dramatic voices. It's full of stories that seem so outrageous yet we still find our way to connect. Isn't it just fascinating that you could watch a show about a man, driven mad by jealousy caused by a deceiving friend, murdering his wife and leave full of emotions? You'd think you'd be mad at the murderer, condemning him for killing his love. And yet, there's more to it than that. You can't quite hate Othello, but you can't love him either. It's so hard to explain what it is to be human, there's no word or sentence to explain it. It can be so isolating. But these stories can give us insight. I, sorry, I'm rambling," she said, taking a wistful sigh.

"Stories can be found anywhere, dear. Books, especially," Aziraphale noted. He enjoyed hearing her speak with such fire. In the back of his mind, he felt as though he could recall someone else talking about their love of stories, but he couldn't place it.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, of course. And I adore books too. It's just... theatre is such a temporary art. Those moments on stage, or watching, could never be recreated, it could never be exactly as it was. And that's what made it so beautifully tragic. You are stuck with a slightly different story each night, with different takeaways."

"What a beautiful takeaway," Aziraphale said, watching her with a slight sort of awe.

She blushed, "I'm hardly unique in that way."

"Ngk," Crowley mumbled in disagreement, though he didn't actually say a word. Yet, she seemed to still understand what he was trying to say and blushed all the same.

As they walked, Crowley took off his sunglasses for a moment to wipe his eyes. He seemed to forget that his were unusual, yellow and with a snake like slit as a pupil.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"M'yeah," Crowley answered, opening his eyes to look at her. After the initial realization he was seeing her without glasses, thus revealing the snake like eyes, he went to shove the sunglasses back on. But she wasn't looking unkindly at him.

Instead, she smiled widely, "they're beautiful."

"Wot?" He said in shock.

"Your eyes are beautiful, Mr Crowley." Then, as Crowley sputtered in surprise, she stopped in front of an expensive flat. "This is me mistress's. Thank you, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

She looked both of them in the eyes as she said their names, and with equal kindness and appreciation. Then, she turned away and scampered around towards the servants entrance. Aziraphale waited until she was inside to blow out a breath.

"She was something," Crowley said.

"Yes, she was."

"I- angel, I could be wrong on this but didn't she feel-"

"Familiar?" Aziraphale finished for Crowley, looking down the alley as though she would magically reappear.

"Yes! It's so bloody weird," Crowley said, rubbing his hand along his jaw.

"Yes, weird," Aziraphale said, enunciating weird in an odd way that made Crowley furrow his brows. The two beings tried to shrug off this encounter, heading their separate ways for the time being.

1865—————

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as though he'd never seen him before, utterly gobsmacked. "I will not provide you that, that thing! It's suicide."

"Aw not for that Angel," Crowley groaned, waving his hand nonchalantly as though he hadn't asked for the one thing that would completely kill him. "Just for, err you know, protection."

"You are a demon, Crowley. The world would need protection from you."

Crowley tried to not let that sting. He'd never said as much to Aziraphale, but these last 200 years have really brought some perspective over what it is to be a demon. He found a weird sense of discomfort over the word demon. As though he were entirely bad because of what he was, and not what he does. But he'd never say it, or tell Aziraphale he accidentally rhymed.

"It's not like that, I just want to secure myself. That's all."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked away, not bearing the thought that his closest acquaintance would dare to think of something like that. It was simply not going to happen, Aziraphale refused to let that happen. Crowley was going to live forever, with Aziraphale, and he was going to do so happily. He'd never tell Crowley, of course, but Aziraphale didn't know if he could manage eternity without him.

"Oi! That can't have that!" Crowley said quickly, throwing himself off the bench and facing towards a woman standing by the river.

She turned to look at the, in her view, random man dressed in mourning garb barreling towards her and shouting in a thick accent. She clutched the loaf of bread close to her chest, eyeing him warily as he continued rambling.

"Bread's not good for 'em, it can - can - can cause diseases," he said once he got close to her.

She sucked in a breath. He was taller than he'd looked from afar, and she found herself staring at him. He was also quite handsome, with tanned skin and shocking bright red hair, curled away from his face. She noticed a pair of odd looking spectacles hiding his eyes, and a tattoo peaking out beneath his sideburns.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," she said breathlessly. She felt kind of stupid now, holding a loaf of bread as he stared at her with a passion for the ducks. A man dressed in all beige apparel came by quickly, standing by the other man's side. He looked kind, with bright blue eyes and plush pink lips she didn't even realize she'd taken note of.

"I'm terribly sorry for my friend's outburst," Aziraphale said to the woman, still looking shellshocked. "Though I'm afraid he is right, bread is not the best for them."

She looked down and stared at it. "Right, well I apologize. I hadn't been doing it long, if it's of any comfort."

Crowley grumbled but didn't say anything else, eyeing her with skepticism. After a pause where the three stood in silence, the woman tore the loaf into three sections. She then offered up a piece to each of the men, "better we eat it than them?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a glance, they hadn't expected this. Maybe it was the mood of St James's Park or the pull of this young girl, but they reached out to accept their proffered piece.

Just then a golden shine passed over her eyes. Both men's jaws dropped as they'd never shared of this particular detail of their stories, and had never experienced it together. And, for the first time, she seemed conscious of it too.

A hand went up to her cheeks just below her eyes, which had grown wide in surprise. "What was that?"

"Pardon?" Aziraphale asked in that slightly tense voice he had when he was covering up for something.

"The, my, my eyes. I was looking and then it went all - gold like."

"Oh I don't know about that," Aziraphale said.

She shook her head vehemently, pointing at the both of them. "Yours did too, and yours!"

"You saw our eyes shine gold?" Crowley asked shyly.

"Y-yes. I saw through your spectacles. The whole eye, it went gold -"

"It must have been a trick of the light, dearest. Eyes don't 'go gold.'"

She shook her head again, "no. I know what I saw. I, I think I'd better go. Thank you for the, the, the ducks."

"Wait-" "Don't go-" Aziraphale and Crowley started at the same time, but she'd already lifted her skirts so she could walk away as quickly as possible.

"She saw it this time," Crowley said, mouth open in surprise.

"This time? This time? You've had a girls eyes shine gold before?" Aziraphale asked, trying to ignore the way his heart ramped up at the news. Crowley felt it too, it wasn't all him.

"And by the sound of it, you have too."

"Yes, I have. But only thrice before, 55BC, 13-"

"-77 and 1601."

Aziraphale's blue eyes widened and he stared at Crowley in shock, "I- I, how did you know?"

"Same for me, Angel. Same for me."

"So she's connected then, to the both of us." Aziraphale said slowly, trying to work it all out in his head. Crowley nodded, pursing his lips and making a 'tsk' noise under his breath.

"She's looked different each time. I don't think she's an Angel or a demon," Crowley said, ripping off a small piece of the bread she gave him and tossing it into the water. No, it wasn't good for them but who cares at this point. They were eternally connected to something.

"No, I think you're quite right. She's something else entirely. I'll have to do some research, I'll let you know if I have anything of note."

Crowley swallows, "same 'ere."

"Okay. Well then, good afternoon to you," Aziraphale tipped his hat and wandered off back to his book shop, his head completely filled with ideas of shapeshifters and witches, all sorts of creatures.

Current Day—————

Crowley parked the Bentley outside Aziraphale's shop, the wheel a slight tap before getting out. It was cold today, and he saw dozens of people shuffling into Nina's shop for some warmth. He himself was freezing but he knew even slightly suggesting to Aziraphale would earn him some pampering, blanket tucked in, hot chocolate, and near undivided angelic attention. Normally he didn't like asking for it, but it's been a weird few years with the Armageddon't, and he could use some pampering.

He felt a pang in his chest, a strange sort of pull he didn't know what to do with. What did humans do when their hearts hurt? Then it struck him - he wasn't human. Why would his heart be hurting?

"Oi, you doing okay?" A voice said from the pavement outside Aziraphale's shop. Crowley looked up, surprised to see Nina with a bag full of ingredients.

"What're you doing out

She held up the bag with a raised brow, as though he was stupid to just suggest it, "you're alright then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. But you haven't got other staff and the place's full."

"Oh, yeah, forgot you didn't know about that." Nina said dryly. "I hired a new barista. Name's Y/N. New to town."

There it was, that pull dragging him towards her shop. He couldn't explain, tried to rack his brain as to what would want him in there. He glanced back through the windows, trying to see if anything was amiss.

Each instance with her seemed to last for a second, barely enough to know if it was the truth or a trick of the light. But Crowley had lived long enough on enough stupid planets to know that when he saw something that wasn't typically there, it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He swallowed, trying to betray anything to Nina.

"Right. Well then, better get back to it," he said, moving past her shoving his way into Aziraphale's bookshop.

"Oh Crowley, wonderful you're here-"

"Yes, yes, I'm wonderful, you're wonderful, the world's bloody wonderful. Angel, do you remember in 1865 when we saw her in St James's Park?"

There wasn't a need to clarify who the 'her' was. Aziraphale straightened, removing his spectacles from his nose. "Yes, I do."

"And you remember when you said you'd research it and report back, but never did?"

"Yes, I do. Crowley-"

"I need that research now, Angel." Crowley said quickly, not letting Aziraphale ask more pointless questions.

"Nothing came of it, dear, that's why I'd never told you. We would have sensed if she was a witch, angel, demon, or anything other supernatural. We have those senses."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Crowley, what happened? What did you see?"

"She's here."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up and he placed a surprise hand on his chest, not quite knowing what to do with that information. "Here?!"

"In London. In the coffee shop, in Nina's coffee shop. I - I saw her. There was a golden thread between us. I know it's her, Angel. She looks different but she has every time. It's her."

"You saw a golden thread?"

"Yes."

Aziraphale put his spectacles back on, heading for one of his bookshelves towards the back of the shop, "are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Angel, I'm bloody positive."

"A Golden thread has never shown up before. The previous times were all the, err, the eyes. This means something." Aziraphale said, gathering the dusty book from his shelf and depositing it on his desk with a thud. "In Greek mythology the golden thread was your life line. Your life thread so to speak. Fate, destiny, the whole nine yards."

"Yes, Angel, but the Greeks were wrong and that's how we exist so what does it mean for us?" Crowley grabbed a chair and fell into it, placing a frustrated hand on his temple.

Aziraphale thumbed through pages until he found what he was looking for. He read the words, but it only helped to scrunch his brow. "This doesn't make any sense. The threads only have two colors, two avenues."

"What do the threads mean, Angel?" His tone pained in frustration. This girl was scaring him, and he couldn't explain why. As far as he knew she presented no threat to him. And yet all the same, he feared her. He wasn't a fan of the unknown. Everything had been so planned out for so long, even though he didn't like the idea of the world ending it was a plan nonetheless.

"It says here that white thread is for eternal blessings. Saints and what not. Black thread for eternal damnation. But it only exists on a human while they are alive."

"Wot? I don't see black threads on people, d'you see white threads?"

Aziraphale adjusted his spectacles, "it says here they only appear if an Angel, or in your case, dearest, a demon, specifically bless them. Or, err, curse them."

"Still, you'd think 6,000 years and I woulda seen something."

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, "I've not seen any either."

"Wait, how'd you know about all this then?" Crowley waved a hand vaguely in between Aziraphale and the book.

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, "all this? Oh, ah, you mean how I've come to know about the threads? Well it is to my understanding that this was brought up by Michael -"

"Head honcho Michael?" Crowley asked.

"Yes, though I wouldn't use such human terms myself. Michael had thought it up around 100BC. Thought it would be a fun way of identifying humans. But the upstairs didn't fancy the idea, She dispelled it not too long after."

"Hmm... never woulda pictured that out of Michael."

"Well, they say you never really know someone." Aziraphale replied, looking back over the pages as Crowley began to ramble.

"Always thought that applied to killers. No one ever says that 'bout the good deeds, they only say it after you've hurt someone. If someone's killed a kid, everyone's all up in arms like 'you never really knew 'em.' But if someone's a paramedic no one's like 'you never really know-'"

Aziraphale felt his jaw drop open as the words at the bottom of the page finally clicked. Part of the reason Michael's plan never worked, at least according to Gabriel, was that the wording was too specific. "No one uses 'eternally' in their everyday vocabulary," he had argued. Back then Aziraphale had quite agreed with Gabriel, but everyone agreed with Gabriel if it meant shutting Michael up. But he remembered a time not long before the thread idea was vanished when he had used the word 'eternally' in conversation. He reread to be sure, then piped up over Crowley's random complaining, "C-Crowley... do you remember what you said to her in 55BC?"

Crowley's face scrunched as he tried to think all the way back. "I, uh, tripped her. On accident, then she called me an asshole and I-I damned her for eternity I think."

"Oh dear."

"What does this 'oh dear' me? Angel?" When Aziraphale didn't say anything Crowley got up, stalking over to him quickly. "What did you see?"

"I blessed her for eternity."

"So? What's that mean?"

"I-I think, and I could be very very wrong, however I think that means we've, err, we've trapped her soul in an endless strain between Heaven and Hell."

"No, no, no, no," Crowley started to say, unconsciously pacing as he tried to unravel it all in his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Her thread is gold, white and black don't make gold. It makes grey, she should be grey!"

"I think the color of her thread is far from our biggest issue, Crowley."

"So, so what? She's trapped to us?"

Aziraphale ran a hand down his face, trying to process. "I- she might be."

"But her body's changed each time. It's not the same woman."

"Ah, but her eyes. They've stayed the same. You know as well as I do they're the same."

Crowley stopped, knowing he didn't have grounds to argue. Aziraphale was right, after all. Then he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fucking hell-"

"Language," Aziraphale said with pursed lips.

"Wot? For the fucking or the hell part?" Crowley snapped, then upon seeing Aziraphale's dropped expression he immediately retracted. "I'm sorry. That was rude. You're not getting the stupid dance though. Angel, she's not immortal. Her soul is. She must just keep being, being reborn. But the soul from 55BC is still the same."

"That would make sense," Aziraphale said. "They do say the eyes are the window into the soul. Perhaps that explains why they remain while the rest of her can change."

"Yeah, yeah. It makes sense, don't it?"

"So we've accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth to live and die for eternity?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley sniffed. "Think we did, Angel."

There was a quiet pause as the two reflected on what they just realized. They, unwittingly, had created an immortal creature. She doesn't even know she's immortal, and by the past experience it sounds as if her mind is wiped with each death. But her soul lives on.

"Fuck," Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley looked up sharply, "wot'd you say?"

"I said fuck." He repeated, with more confidence this time around.

On any normal circumstance, Crowley would laugh and cherish the moment he saw Aziraphale curse - and with fuck of all of them - but he couldn't help but think Aziraphale was right. Fuck, indeed.

"What do we do?" Crowley asked.

"We have to tell her."

"We do? Why's that? What d'ya think we're gonna say? Hi random stranger I'm a demon he's an Angel and your soul is stuck, here have a cuppa."

"Well that would be straightforward -"

"Sarcasm, Angel. You've been here for thousands of years and you still don't process sarcasm."

Aziraphale stood up and went over to Crowley, touching his shoulders so he'd look up to him. "I understand that this is difficult. This is, it's entirely unprecedented territory. But she deserves the truth." He leaned in, his voice but a whisper. "It does help that we both feel a pull to her. Once we see her, it hurts to no interact. Perhaps we can find a way to end this, to help her."

Crowley swallowed, looking away from Aziraphale's bright blue eyes. He smelled of vanilla and old books, a scent Crowley would bottle up and spray all over his stupid, cold flat if he could. Maybe this girl could help, maybe she was good. But they first needed to meet her.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go, now," Crowley said, sliding his sunglasses back on. Aziraphale nodded and retrieved his coat.

The pair walked out of the bookshop, locking up, and swiftly walked cross the street. They hesitated outside the door, neither knowing what to do. A flash of a blue apron in the window caught their attention, and then a golden thread, shining in the light, emerged and wrapped round the owners waist.

"You seeing that, Angel?"

"Y-yes, I am. It's not faded."

It didn't. It sparkled and swayed in the air, moving with the owners body as she walked around in the shop.

"On three," Aziraphale said. Crowley grumbled in agreement. "One, two ... three."

They opened the doors and were almost immediately greeted by a sweet smile and kind eyes. The same eyes they'd seen for hundreds of years. She smiled, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Hi guys, welcome in! Feel free to take a seat wherever you like, I'll be with you in a moment."

"O-okay," Aziraphale said, his voice wispy in the confusion and whirlwind that was her. But she was entirely unaware, blissfully living in her own world that she didn't know was about to be ruined.

They sat in a far corner, away from any windows. Crowley sprawled in the seat, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. Aziraphale sat stiff as a bored, left leg bouncing so furiously the table itself started to shake.

"Right, what can I get you lads?" She seemed to appear out of nowhere, shining golden thread wrapped round her sweet waist right where the apron was tied.

Aziraphale spoke first, not looking her in the eye but instead staring out the window. An uncharacteristically rude action on his part. "Oh, um, just a latte please. With 3 shots of vanilla."

"Ooo, yum. And for you, the one with the glasses?" She asked, her voice light.

Crowley thought for a moment. Better bite the bullet, eh? He turned, took his sunglasses off, and looked her in the eyes. "Espresso, darling."

Her eyes had a golden flash and she seemed to jump, her pad falling to the table in her shock. She looked between Aziraphale and Crowley with wide eyes, hands going to her stomach as she took deep breaths. "Aziraphale. Your name is Aziraphale," she said to him. Eyes wide. She turned to the demon. "You're Crowley."

"Yes, dear, we are."

"Why do I know that?" Her voice was shaky and yet she stayed, not angry or scared that she knew unknowable information.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance. Crowley sighed, flicking his hand. Time around them stopped. Customers held their mugs up in the air, Nina mid pouring a cup, and a man getting ready to ask for the most ridiculous drink he could think of. All were trapped in this moment except for her, Aziraphale and Crowley.

She jumped, looking around with wide eyes, "h-how'd you do that? Why did you do that?"

"Please, take a seat dear," Aziraphale said, snapping as a plush chair appeared behind her. She tripped into it, her body language stuff and frightened.

"This is all feeling like a very strange dream, and I don't like it," she said, taking deep breaths to try and clear her mind. "Did you just stop time and if so, how the hell did you? And you just miraculously created a chair? And why do I know who the hell you are?"

"Dearest, it's not a dream, I'm afraid. You have met us before. You've met us multiple times before," Aziraphale took a breath. "I-I'm afraid we have some complicated news."

"Tell me who the hell you are!" She was getting scared, her heart fighting against her rib cage. She wanted to get up, she wanted to run away, put her hands over her ears and scream 'la la la' over and over until they left her alone. But she didn't. It wasn't a physical thing, even though these familiar strangers had put her in a terrifying position she knew they'd let her go. It was her soul that kept her trapped. "Who are you? I need to know. Who are you really?"

Aziraphale placed a warm hand on her own. His was large, soft and yet strong. She liked the feeling of his hands as he held one of hers, looking into her eyes. "My name is Aziraphale. I am an Angel of God. I was the Guardian of the East Gate at the Garden of Eden, but now I am on Earth. I perform miracles and I run a bookshop, with my dearest friend."

His eyes glanced over to the other man. He was handsome, tanned skin with fiery red hair slicked up and back over his head. Aziraphale might have called him a friend, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe that. It was more than that, maybe they didn't know it but she definitely did.

Another hand grasped hers, this one lean and long. He grasped her hand with a soft intensity she didn't know possible. "My name's Crowley. I'm a demon, you'd know me cause I was a, uh, let's call me a reptile."

She blinked rapidly, "you were the snake that tempted Eve?"

"Wow, she's a quick one," Crowley smiled widely.

"Wasn't he cursed to only use his belly?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, "it's complicated."

"You, both, are not human. You're an Angel and you're a demon. So Christianity is right."

"Yes, love. But God is actually a She, that bit got muddled," Aziraphale smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

"That doesn't explain, why- why do I know you? I recognize both of you, but I don't know why. Then you made that comment about having met me multiple times, for years, what does that mean?" She was getting a little riled but she tried to stay calm. This wasn't going to make any more sense by screaming at a literal demon. And Angel, but the demon was more infuriating at the moment. He stared at her with a mix of awe and shock, and she didn't want to think about any of it.

Aziraphale sighed, "before the current era, you know Roman times and what not, the Archangel Michael played with the idea of threads. It was similar in concept to the Greek idea of fate -"

"You happened to be alive when this was a thing. It means when a demon curses you and says the word 'eternally' a black thread'll appear to let everyone know you're damned forever. White thread with angels."

"I'm damned forever? Wait, you said Roman times - I was alive during the ancient roman era?"

"Well, darling, he blessed you and I cursed you at the same day. Meaning your soul is trapped with both Heaven and Hell," Crowley said softly. "We think your soul has been reincarnated since about 55BC. And it's because of us. This Golden shit you see is our connection."

"But white and black make grey?"

Crowley clapped and said "aha! She gets it!"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, though his eyes were light with amusement. "We can't explain the color of the thread. But we believe it means you're connected to us. Both of us, we get this pull to you when you're around. As though we have to see you."

There was a moment of silence as they let her collect her thoughts. Unconsciously, she'd curled up into a ball on the comfy chair Aziraphale had miracled. She thought and thought, rolling over the idea that she's trapped here on earth. An accidental immortal being tied to these two.

She glanced at Aziraphale. She knew him, she has known him. She bit her lip, wishing to understand everything as it was.

"M-May I?" She asked, tentatively lifting a hand near his face. She needed to touch him, to feel him, to try and remember.

The Angel nodded. He was soft, his hair light and white, in short curls on top of his head. She liked the curls, they looked rather fetching on him. Her fingertips brushed lightly down his face, feeling his kind face. She liked his lips, they were pink and couldn't fight a smile. Then she glanced down and saw his hand in his lap. Running an hand down his shoulder to his hand, she lifted it and eyed the golden ring.

"Aziraphale..." she murmured. It all started to fall into place. The dancing, the food, the wine. He'd looked so out of place in pale clothing, so obviously finer than anyone else's. He'd tried to blend in with an outdated style, to balance the richness, but she could spot him through the crowd with ease. His cheeks had gotten pink, and he'd gone for a drink. She hadn't meant to spill on him, she just wanted a chat. "I gave you this ring. You didn't want it at first, but I gave it to you. It says Aziraphale on it."

He took a shaky breath, his eyes becoming glassy with tears. His lips trembled as he said, "you did."

Aziraphale slid the ring off his finger, turning it so she could see the inside. There enough his name was scrawled in haphazard writing. It had faded from the years, some of the details lost to time. But she remembered this ring when it was new. When William had gotten it in his shop and didn't know what to make of it. And she'd taken it, knew it would be special.

She pressed a soft kiss to the ring, then slid it back on Aziraphale's finger. She looked him in the eyes as she kissed the back of his hand, "I remember you."

The tears had actually fallen now, hitting his cheeks softly. He didn't try to hide it, and she wouldn't want him to. Perhaps it was this whole eternal blessing thing, but she was drawn to him.

Then she turned to the demon. Crowley. He sat high and mighty in his chair, looking away as though he were intruding on Aziraphale's private moment. He was handsome in a different way than Aziraphale. Where Aziraphale was soft and strong, Crowley was sharp and sweet. She smiled when she looked at him, knowing he was sweet without saying it.

She went to him to, lifting her hand then asking softly, "may I touch you?"

He swallowed, and nodded. She first touched his hair, it was softer then it looked. Her fingertips brushed it so it feel on his forehead, liking the contrast of his skin against the red. Then she traced along his tattoo, the way his cheekbone felt under her touch.

With gentle hands, she cupped his cheeks and turned his face so he had to look her in the eyes. She smiled. "I'd wondered if they were still yellow."

He closed his eyes, cringing. He'd always hated his eyes. "Sorry they're-"

"Beautiful." He opened his eyes quickly. "I remember your eyes. They've been in my dreams and I never knew why. The man with the yellow snake eyes. They are so, so beautiful. Like a sunflower."

"You're comparing s'demon eyes to a sunflower?"

She smiled and nodded, "you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

Crowley sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. It as though the attention itself would make him implode.

"Keep them closed," she said. Then he felt a pair of soft lips kiss one eyelid, then the other. "Absolutely beautiful. Don't you think so, Aziraphale?"

Crowley was shocked to hear Aziraphale agree. "I adore your eyes, dear. They've been my favorite for a long time."

The three didn't know what to do with themselves, time frozen around them. But however strange the situation, she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She wanted to get to know this Angel and demon, understand their pasts and more about their connection.

“Thank you, my dear, for your patience,” Aziraphale said kindly.

“I suppose I should be thanking you, you’ve waited hundreds of years.” She said with a dry laugh that made Crowley smile.

There weren’t any words that seemed to describe the moment the three of them shared, in a moment frozen in time knowing they had all the time in the world. But for now it was enough, and that was all it needed to be.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #fluff #soulmate au #good omens fanfiction #good omens x reader #kind of on accident #didn’t think I cared about it until now and I still don’t but I’m proud of this fic #god it’s long please read #historical shit #Aziraphale x Crowley x reader #Aziraphale x Crowley #12k words #my sanity is gone #don’t even care that much about a reader insert with them but I’m here #so enjoy

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digitaldiarystuff · 1 year ago

Text

Old Habits Die Hard

summary: you and jude have been best friends all throughout middle and high school and often had this running joke of pretending to be a couple to get out of uncomfortable situations or just to laugh about it. But ever since he went to germany and you started university in Madrid, things have slowed down. What happens when he signs for Real Madrid and your paths cross again?

pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N

genre: slight angst(maybe not)/ mostly fluff

————

You started your day as any other, getting up and ready and heading to your first class of the day. It’s been like this for two years now, you left Birmingham to study communications in Madrid and started living there. It wasn’t bad, you had friends and your family visited regularly but if you had the chance to bring something back from your old life it would be Jude Bellingham.

You guys were best friends all your younger years, your families were close and so were you. Even though your lives were different, this didn’t let it affect you and lived your lives as besties. You knew the line between friendship and more was blurred on several occasions where you had to pretend to be together at a party or on the streets and felt uncomfortable. At first it started out as just that, a protective shield Jude had for you but after a few times it became more often and you did it as a joke. Holding hands and holding each other close, fooling the world but the only people fooled were you two. You had feelings for each other but didn’t see it until it’s too late and you had to move across europe being far away. He moved to Dortmund and you got in a school in Madrid.

That was it until he signed for Real Madrid this summer and you heard it over the news, you tried keeping in touch but it was hard and your schedules didn’t allow you, daily facetimes soon turned into montly texts but now that he’s here, you wondered if he’d reach out. You could also do it but you decided to wait to see if he’d do it. He didn’t.

“Earth to Y/N.” Val said as she waved her hand in front of your face.

“What?” you asked not realizing you were thinking about Jude again.

“Do you want to go to the game with us?” she asked motioning between her and her boyfriend, Marco.

“What game?”

“Madrid against getafe of course.” she laughed but when you didn’t join her face became serious.

“What’s going on baby?” she asked.

“Nothing, of course I’ll go” you said even though your face looked white. You had gone to games with your friends before but this was different, you were going to see Jude for the first time in years.

At home you fixed your jersey you got last year with Vini’s name on it and looked at yourself. Your hands were slightly shaky and you thought about texting Jude but decided against it. It was a match day and you didn’t know how he’d react. Also, you didn’t want to see him, you repeatedly said to yourself, he didn’t call you.

The stadium was halfway full when you entered. Found your seats with Val and Marco anxiously waiting but this didn’t stop you from taking a photo and posting it on your story. After 10 more minutes your phone lit up and you didn’t expect to see the name Jobe Bellingham on it.

“Are you at the game🤩” he asked on insta.

“Yes, are you?” You missed Jobe, spending this much time with Jude meaning you were around him always, practically growing up together.

You quickly sent a few texts back and forth and he insisted on getting you into the family section to sit with their mom. You declined politely, nervous about the whole thing, saying you were with friends but Jobe didn’t listen and got you your seats before the game even started. You hugged them while explaining your friends how you know the family and Val whispered “You’ve got some explaining to do once we get out of here.” You just shot her a look and sat down. You started catching up with Jobe and Denise.

“Did Jude not book you seats in this section?” Denise asked shocked about your seating decision before meeting them.

“Actually, he doesn’t know I’m here.” you politely smiled not knowing how much Jude has told them about your falling out.

Jobe gave his mom a look which means he knew.

“Oh honey, you should’ve just told him. You know he has a thick head.” she laughed and you just felt comfortable around them.

The match started and it was a great one, with a goal from Jude on the 95th minute winning Real the game and the whole stadium stood up cheering, you included.

After everyone started clearing out the stadium Val looked at you.

“We need to go, are you coming or”

“Oh she’s with us don’t worry” Jobe said over you and you couldn’t even protest. You hugged them goodbye and started getting up thinking you were all leaving.

“You should wait at the tunnel.” Jobe said into your ear

“Jobe, look I don’t even know”

“Of course you do, you’re just too stubborn to admit it. Now go.” he said with a stern look and it wasn’t very effective but you still stood up and made your way to the tunnel shaking from excitement. What if he didn’t want to see you?

“Are you lost?” someone said behind you and you realized from the shirt he was a Getafe player. He was smiling genuinely.

“No I’m actually” you started but was cut off immediately.

“Oh hey baby, are you ready to go?” you looked up at the voice and saw Jude standing between you and the other player looking at you smiling. He looked like he just got out of the shower with a towel in his hand. His arm slipped around your waist and squeezed it lightly to get you to react.

“Oh yes love, I’m all set. Great game by the way.” you said to Jude and smiled noticing the Getafe player was already gone.

You looked up at Jude and he was giving you a mischievous smile.

“I guess old habits do really die hard.” you laughed and said as his hand went to grab yours and interlocked his fingers with yours smiling widely.

#football #football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football oneshot #football x you #real madrid #football angst #football blurb #football one shot #jude bellingham x yn #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine

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a-bottle-of-tyelenol · 2 months ago

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people are, of course, allowed to have their opinions and dislike whatever they please but a lot of criticism I see about epic not being a good adaptation boils down to people not realizing that 1) it’s a retelling BASED on the odyssey and was never actually meant to be an adaption, let alone a faithful one

and 2) even if it was, that’s just the nature of how adaptions and retellings work. there will NEVER be a totally good and faithful adaption or retelling of the odyssey (movie, musical, ect) because there will ALWAYS be constraints of some kind.

so much shit happens in the odyssey and there isn’t a valid musical length that could go over it all. Jay cut out a lot and he STILL has issues with time (that’s why you see so many people criticizing the fact that we don’t spend enough time with the crew before they die or calypso before odysseus leaves). Jay has spoken at length about all the things he TRIED to include but couldn’t because there wasn’t time to do them or because it didn’t narratively feel satisfying (the laestrygonians, for example, originally had a much bigger part, as did the lotus eaters).

which leads to my next point— Jay prioritizes a satisfying and clear cut narrative over one that is authentic to the original story (which again is how MOST retellings go about it especially when their goal is to share the story with a wider audience!). Like I’m sorry I love the odyssey and the Iliad but they aren’t a satisfying story/conclusion to me. and that doesn’t make them bad or worse; it makes sense that they feel this way considering they’re PARTS of an overarching story that we’re missing crucial pieces of and, more importantly, ITS NOT A MODERN STORY AND THEREFORE IS NOT HELD UNDER THE WAY MODERN PEOPLE VIEW SATISFYING ARCS AND NARRATIVES!!! The odyssey is fantastic but it would literally never work as a modern musical and epic wouldn’t be enjoyable at all if Jay tried to be as accurate as possible.

Jay was inspired to tell a story about grief and what it means to be human interacting with that grief. obviously he’d have odysseus reveal his name to the cyclops because he’s angry and grieving instead of being prideful. obviously he’d have it so odysseus had to choose who died to zeus immediately after the cow was slain. obviously he’d make it so odysseus’ primary motivations surround his survivor’s guilt and missing his home over the more complicated and harder to express themes and motivations of odyssey!odysseus.

like I do understand the frustration of never getting an “authentic adaptation” but if you want something authentic then… read the odyssey? you will never get something that is 100% authentic or scene to scene otherwise. you might get close, I’ll definitely give you that, but SOMETHING has to give. a perfect adaptation to you will be missing something crucial to someone else and that will always be how it is.

life is so much more fun when you’re willing to enjoy art that has “based on” disclaimers literally everywhere as something separate (or you are just willing to enjoy adaptations/retellings separately to the source material in general). epic was NEVER intended on being seen as an accurate portrayal of odysseus and Jay never claimed it was. It really does feel like y’all are setting it up for failure by seeing it as something it was never meant to be and then getting upset that it isn’t accurate when no one ever said it would be.

maybe it’s just a me thing because I’ve never had any issue separating media from their adaptions/retellings, even my favorite ones, but idk it just sucks seeing people say they have a ton of issues with epic and their issues are all just,,, it’s not accurate enough.

Idk if this makes sense or not but I’m just rambling. like what you like, dislike what you dislike. I’m not saying anyone is wrong or anything in how they feel or their preferences. I just think we should all be more open minded about these things idk

#that isn’t to say u aren’t allowed to WISH certain things were done differently #I just think that saying/acting like it’s bad bc it’s not accurate is wack #epic is not immune to criticism and I have things i criticize about it too #but this is just something I’ve noticed with ppl who liked the odyssey first and I find it weird #enjoy epic as a separate story!!!! it’s not the odyssey!!!!! if u want to read the odyssey then go read it!!!!!!#I mean c’mon ody literally kills astyanax when most ppl say it was neo #and that’s song TWO #epic #epic the musical #my post #epic odysseus #jorge rivera herrans

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rollercoasterwords · 26 days ago

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heyy, you said some time ago on an ask you hc Lily would give harry tons of mommy issues if alive, and I'm obsessed with this idea, please tell us more?

hi!!!! i did indeed say that….getting back to this a few days late but love this question 🌝🌝

to answer the first thing i have to explain is that in my mind lily is a bit of a cunt. she’s intelligent & ambitious—we know she was in slug club & made top marks despite not growing up in the wizarding world, which in my mind means she was likely competitive & had this sort of “i’m going to prove i’m better than these assholes” mentality & was also a perfectionist. she was used to being the favorite child/special one, bc we know her parents were excited abt her being a witch which is part of why petunia resented her; but then she had her sister & purebloods in the wizarding world putting her down, so i imagine that like…she’d have a strong sense of self worth and a need to prove herself, but also a bit of a martyr complex. at the same time, she had blinders on when it came to her own friend; we know she didn’t actually cut things off w severus despite him getting involved in nasty shit until he publicly called her a slur. this is actually one thing that i think is very similar about lily & james; though they both ostensibly had a very strong sense of justice, their blind spot was their close friends, which i imagine could make them both a bit hypocritical in that they’d say people who do x are bad but then forgive their friends who do x, etc.

ANYWAY. in a canon compliant setting if i am imagining lily & james relationship. well i’ll be honest i don’t think it was the perfect true love story etc that we’re sold in the books like. they were kids. i think that once they did get together it was v passionate & intense, made moreso by the fact that they were both fighting in a war & had the pressure of knowing they could die any day, etc.; if they hadn’t been fighting in a war, i think they would have broken up shortly after leaving school as they both followed different life paths & matured more as people & realized their first serious teenage relationship likely wasn’t going to be forever. BUT in a canon-adjacent/compliant universe war is on, their relationship is tumultuous but the dire circumstances make them cling to each other even tighter, & in my beautiful mind palace what happens is lily gets pregnant accidentally & they have a shotgun wedding. i’ve written an accidental pregnancy storyline w them in a few of my fics now so i can imagine it playing out in a couple ways, but no matter what in my mind lily was NOT planning to have a baby and has very mixed feelings about it—maybe she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant until it’s too late to do anything about it, maybe she considers aborting but decides against it, maybe she tries to abort but for some reason it doesn’t work or falls through…whatever happens, she ends up having the baby. now she’s a mother yayyyy except she’s a mum in like the most stressful circumstances ever & probably not having a joyous experience w her newborn. maybe some post-partum depression etc.

anyway. imagining canon breaking here and her becoming a mum…feel like this could go a few ways, and the exact mommy issues she’d give her kid would depend on which way it went. let’s say james dies on halloween but lily & harry both make it out; i definitely think part of her would sort of resent harry bc suddenly she’s 20 and she has to spend the rest of her life being a mum and she doesn’t get to enjoy her youth and have a normal life, and also she’s expected to raise the chosen one and also he’s kinda the reason her husband got killed. i think there’d be this sort of distance between them & i imagine her at times making an effort to be the loving mum she’s meant to be but ultimately it’s unsustainable, and harry grows up trying everything he can to make his mum really love him and develops a complex over feeling like there’s something fundamentally wrong with him bc that love & parental warmth just doesn’t come naturally to lily. & if this is a universe where voldemort’s still out to get harry then i imagine them moving around a lot, maybe living in hiding, her raising harry to one day take down voldemort…sorry but i do think she would turn him into the priest’s favorite sacrificial lamb. i think she would raise him to be a soldier/human sacrifice who is constantly feeling like he has to earn love, and neither of them would ever fully be able to give the other what they need or want, even though i do think lily would love harry…i just don’t think she’d always do a very good or consistent job of it!

#ask #now that i’ve written this out i’m like damn that would make such a good fic….hm.

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mrseasycompany · 2 months ago

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Hidden Feelings - Joe Liebgott one shot

Warnings: bad writing bc this is my first real attempt, I thought it would be easy but writing is goddamn difficult?! I have all these ideas in my head but acting putting them to words turns out to be incredibly difficult 🫠 So feedback is very much wanted and welcome! - also people getting hurt, bad attempt at angsty writing

Summary: Joe doesn’t want to admit his feelings for you and watches you be with one of his friends, but when you get hurt he confesses his feelings

It was early June, and the easy company men were all waiting for orders to finally come down. The days had started to blur together, a strange limbo of drills, checking gear, trying to keep the fear and anticipation from getting the best of them. They’d been told they’d be jumping into Normandy any day now, and each night, they went to sleep wondering if tomorrow would be it. Liebgott had taken to sleeping with his boots half-laced, the nervous energy spilling into everything he did. He tried to put up a brave face, as did everyone else, but at night time the reality would hit him again and it would mean a lot of sleepless hours for him.

The others in his little friendgroup all had ways of coping too. Luz and Muck made their wisecracks, Malarkey and Penkala tried to keep spirits high, Bill kept himself busy and Buck was always somewhere with a cigarette between his fingers, watching the sky with that half-calm, half-worried look. But y/n… Joe didn’t know how she kept so calm. She had a way of settling into the silence, of watching everyone else with a steady gaze, the kind that never wavered, as if she’d long ago decided that whatever happened would happen, and there was no point in letting it scare her.

She didn’t talk much about what she felt. Not even to Joe. Not that she didn’t want to, because she did, but she felt like she shouldn‘t. She was the only woman in their battalion; she’d had to work twice as hard just to prove she could belong. She’d fought tooth and nail to get them to see her as a soldier first, not some girl tagging along, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing that respect. It was hard enough as it was, fighting in a man’s world, where every action, every look, every stray touch was a potential rumor waiting to catch fire.

Instead, she’d go off with Talbert, her laugh echoing down the line, that warm, quiet laugh that Joe had only ever heard her give to Tab. It was enough to make his stomach twist, to feel like his blood was boiling inside him every time he saw them together. He’d see her sitting next to Talbert, that easy, open smile on her face, and Talbert would be looking at her like she was some kind of miracle. Joe hated it more than he’d ever admit, hated how she could lean into Tab, laughing as if they weren’t days from getting thrown into god-knows-what in France, as if this whole damned war didn’t matter as long as they had each other. He’d told himself, more times than he could count, that he didn’t care, that it wasn’t his business, that it didn’t matter. But he knew better. He’d always known better.

He wasn’t sure why she’d gone for Tab in the first place. They were close, sure, but it was different. Joe and y/n had something different, something deeper, something that lived in all the silent looks, the half-smiles, the way she’d reach out and catch his shoulder whenever he tried to brush off some wound he was hiding. They never talked about it, and it made no sense, this thing between them, but it was there, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had ruined that himself. She had tried to get close to him at Toccoa, and they were good friends, but when she tried to kiss him one time during a party in a pub he’d refused her. Not that he didn’t want her, he did, he just didn’t want to admit that to himself. Feelings would make his life more complicated than it already was, and he didn’t want to care too much for someone who could die any day now.

However, every time he saw her with Talbert, his heart pounded with this twisted, fierce jealousy that felt almost wrong, like it wasn’t something he had the right to feel.

But how could he tell her that?

It would be stupid, reckless, and worse, selfish. They were soldiers. Tab and him were friends. They were here for the same reason as everyone else, and he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way, couldn’t give them voice when it might break the whole thing apart. So, he buried it, again and again, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that she was free to do what she wanted, be with who she wanted.

And yet, here he was, pacing around camp in the early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten, when he saw her - y/n, standing alone near the edge of the tents, her hands shoved deep in her pockets. She looked cold, lost in thought, and for once, Talbert was nowhere around. He almost turned back, almost left her to her own quiet solitude. But he didn’t. His feet kept moving, like they were carrying him forward on instinct.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as he came up beside her, shoving his hands into his own pockets to mirror her.

She looked up, eyes flicking over his face, her expression softening just a little. “Guess not.” Her voice was quiet, and she looked away, toward the fields beyond. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? This waiting.”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “It does.”

A long silence fell between them, comfortable but heavy, thick with everything they couldn’t say. He thought about asking her, right then, if Talbert meant something to her, if maybe she’d ever looked at Joe the way she looked at Talb. But he knew that if he asked, it’d all come spilling out—the jealousy, the stupid ache he’d tried to ignore, the twisted feelings he knew had no place here, not now. He catched her looking at him a little too long, and she diverted her gaze to the sky until he spoke again.

“I saw you with Floyd last night. He seemed happy.”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she’d caught something in his voice he hadn’t meant to let slip. “Yeah… he’s been good to me. It’s nice, having someone to talk to. Someone who gets it.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. He tried to force a smile, tried to hide the burn that clawed at his chest. “I get it too, you know,” he said, his voice a little harder than he intended. He saw her face soften, the barest hint of a frown creasing her brow.

“Do you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes were searching his face, her gaze intense, as if she was waiting for him to say something real, something he’d buried too deep to reach.

He wanted to tell her that he did, that he understood her better than anyone else ever could, that he’d felt more for her than he’d ever dared admit. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat, thick and painful, tangled with the fear that if he said them, everything would shatter. The mission, the friendship they’d built, the delicate thread they’d stretched between them.

So he just nodded, glancing away. “I do, y/n, I used to get you more than anyone ever did”, he said, his voice low and rough. And then, softer, “More than you know.”

She took a step closer, placing her hand on his cheeck, and he froze, feeling the warmth of her touch. “You distanced yourself from me, remember? Not the other way around” she murmured, a sad, knowing smile on her lips.

He swallowed, his chest tightening as he looked down at her. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he’d kept hidden, but he knew he couldn’t. Not here. Not with Normandy looming over them like a shadow, ready to claim them all. They were living on borrowed time, and some things were better left unsaid.

The silence stretched between them again, heavy and fragile. Finally, she sighed, stepping back. “You should get some sleep, Joe.”

He nodded, the words dying on his tongue, and turned back to the camp, walking away from her, hating himself a little more with each step.

They were in the thick woods somewhere outside Eindhoven, trudging through underbrush, their boots sinking into wet mud with every step. Y/n walked a few steps ahead of Joe, while Luz and Malarkey covered the rear, trading quiet jokes that barely carried over the crackle of leaves. Joe kept his eyes forward, watching her as she navigated the uneven terrain. He was still nursing the awkwardness from that night before Normandy—the things left unsaid, the way he’d walked away, the way he’d regretted it every day since.

But none of that mattered now, not when they were out here, deep in hostile territory. He wasn’t supposed to worry about anything except keeping everyone safe. They all knew that. And yet, when y/n looked back to check on him, her gaze lingering just a little too long, he couldn’t ignore that same ache tightening his chest.

They continued through the woods until a sudden crack split the air—a gunshot, distant but unmistakable. “Did you guys hear that?” Malarkey asked quietly.

Everyone froze, tense, scanning the trees for any movement. Y/n’s hand went instinctively to her rifle, her eyes sharp, searching. Joe moved closer to her without thinking, his hand coming up to gesture for her to keep low. For a moment, their eyes met, and he saw the fear there, buried under her determination.

Then, a shout—a patrol up ahead. German voices, coming closer.

They all ducked down, scrambling for cover behind a fallen tree. Joe’s heart hammered as he crouched next to y/n, his fingers tight on his rifle. Luz and Malarkey were barely a few feet away, tense and waiting.

Joe glanced at her. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes were steady. He could see her calculating the next move, the way her mind worked through each possibility, each risk. It was a side of her he respected, admired even, and he felt a pang of guilt, remembering the jealousy he’d harbored over Talbert, the way he’d let it come between them.

The Germans moved on, their voices fading, and Joe let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Slowly, they stood, exchanging relieved looks. Luz muttered a few choice words under his breath, making y/n snicker despite herself, and the tension eased just a little.

But the near-miss lingered with Joe. He found himself walking closer to her, his shoulders brushing hers now and then, and for once, she didn’t pull away. He didn’t know why, but it was enough to let him hope things could get better between them again.

Over the next few weeks, Joe and y/n found themselves thrown together again. They’d stand watch side by side, swap stories during rare quiet nights, linger over half-finished cigarettes in silence. It felt easy, the way it had before everything got complicated, and for a little while, Joe let himself believe things could go back to how they’d been.

One night, they were sitting on a stone wall outside a deserted farmhouse, keeping watch while the others caught a few hours of sleep. The moon was bright, casting a soft glow over the fields, and for a moment, it felt almost peaceful.

“How are Tab and you? Haven’t heard from him in a while” Liebgott asked while he put a cigarette between his lips to light it.

“Floyd and I… we broke things off,” she said, her voice breaking the quiet. Joe looked at her, surprised, and saw the faintest hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Oh,” he said, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

She gave him a small, rueful smile, shaking her head. “No need to be. It’s better this way. We’re still friends.”

He wanted to ask why—he’d seen her and Talbert together enough to know they’d shared something real, even if he hated admitting it. But before he could, she looked away, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, and he knew she didn’t want him to press.

It had been weeks before, back in the tents, when she’d finally confronted Talbert. They’d been talking, laughing even, when she felt the weight of it settle in her chest—the knowledge that something between them had shifted, that whatever they’d had was fading, unraveling.

“I think… maybe we’re trying to make this into something it’s not,” she’d said, her voice soft but steady.

Talbert looked at her, his expression pensive. “Maybe,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. There was no bitterness there, no anger, just an odd kind of resignation. “We’re both looking for something to hold onto, and maybe we thought we could find it in each other.”

She nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. “It’s hard to be anything, to be anyone, in a place like this. Things don’t… stick. You know?”

He gave a low chuckle, nodding. “Believe me, I know. But…” He hesitated, his gaze flicking over her face, searching for something. “I think there’s more to it than that. You and me… we’re better as friends, y/n.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him that she’d tried, that she wanted it to work. But his next words cut her off.

“Besides, you’ve always had eyes for Liebgott. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

The shock of his words settled over her, and she could only stare at him, speechless. Talbert’s face softened, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

“It’s okay,” he added, his tone gentle. “Sometimes you just know. I’ll keep your secret.”

---

The night after that conversation, she had kept her distance from Joe, unsure of what to do with the realization that Talbert’s words had stirred in her. But it didn’t seem to matter, not when Joe was always there, his quiet steadiness a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

It was a few days later, the whole group huddled around a small fire, trying to keep warm in the evening chill. Luz was telling some outrageous story, Malarkey and Buck throwing in commentary, everyone laughing louder than they had in weeks. Y/n was laughing too, caught up in the warmth of it, the camaraderie that had become so rare out here.

"So there I was," Luz said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "crouched under a table in the back of this bar in London, and I’m thinking, Luz, my man, you’re as good as dead."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go again."

"No, no, seriously!" Luz insisted, his eyes wide with mock horror. "The bartender's waving a broom at me like I’m some kind of wild animal. I’m dodging left, dodging right, trying to keep my head down—"

"And let me guess," Malarkey interjected, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you were hiding from some poor girl you promised the world to?"

Luz grinned, shrugging. "You say ‘promised,’ I say ‘gave a slight suggestion of affection.’ There’s a difference, Malarkey."

Y/n snorted, shaking her head. “So let me get this straight,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You're saying this bartenderjust randomly decided to chase you out of his bar, for no good reason? I’m not buying it.”

Luz put a hand to his chest, looking hurt. "Y/n, when have I ever lied to you?"

Buck laughed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Better question: when hasn’t he?" He asked.

The conversation continued after that, but y/n zoned out a little. And in an attempt to get her back to the conversation, George made a comment. “How’s it going with you, y/n? Moved on from Floyd yet?” It was a lighthearted jab, but it hit harder than she expected, and suddenly, the laughter felt too sharp, too close. She stood, muttering something about needing air, and walked off into the night, hugging her arms around herself.

Joe saw her leave, his brow furrowing as he watched her silhouette disappear. Without thinking, he got up, following her into the darkness. “I didn’t mean to-“ George said sadly, but Buck comforted him, saying that she’d been a bit off all day.

Liebgott found her a few yards from the fire, her back turned to him, shoulders hunched. She didn’t look up as he approached, but she didn’t pull away, either.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She tensed, but didn’t move. “Hey, what’s going on?”

She shook her head, her voice choked. “I’m fine. It’s just… everything. I guess it got to me.”

He nodded, stepping closer, his hand sliding down to hold hers. She let him, and for a moment, they stood there in silence, the night settling around them like a blanket.

“Floyd?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know what to feel about him anymore. We… we’re done, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with something raw and unspoken.

“But it’s not about Talbert, is it?” he asked, the words falling out before he could stop them. He felt her hand tighten in his, felt her pulse beneath his fingers, fast and uncertain.

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, her expression conflicted, a thousand emotions passing over her face. And in that moment, Joe knew—knew the truth he’d been running from, the truth he’d tried to bury. “No, it’s not” y/n sighed, shifting her head to look up at him. The way she looked at him made clear what she wanted to say. That it was him. But he kept quiet. she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen someone put up as many walls as he did. There was something haunted in him, something broken that he never let anyone touch, least of all her. But she felt it, whenever they were alone, that subtle push and pull, that tension between them that no words seemed to reach. It felt like a thread, stretching between them, invisible yet stronger than steel, and every day it grew tighter, coiled with words unsaid, touches unmade, confessions swallowed and buried deep. “Why can’t you just admit how you feel. I know I’m not imagining what’s going on between us” she frowned.

They’d been questioned about their dynamic before, especially by Muck and Luz, who were always looking for a good laugh. Joe’d rolled his eyes, snorted, even. Just friends, he’d say, putting enough irony into it to make the others laugh. Y/n would brush it off too, put on that easy smile and give as good as she got, but inside she felt a knot tighten in her chest every time they asked. Just friends. That was the only answer that made any sense. They couldn't afford anything more—not here, not now, not with war pressing in on them from every side. And maybe not ever.

Liebgott swallowed and looked at her, he was at a complete loss of words. “I- y/n… I can’t… we can’t…”

Y/n let go of his hand and sighed softly. “You know what? Forget that I said anything. I’m gonna try to get some sleep” she mumbled before walking off.

The night was dark, the kind of blackness that swallowed every trace of light. In some cruel twist of faith, Liebgott and y/n were made to share a foxhole. They sat huddled together, the wet earth pressing in around them. They were knee-deep in mud, cold to the bone, and every few minutes, a distant rumble shook the ground beneath them. They’d been here for hours, rain dripping down their helmets, every sound making them tense, hands instinctively reaching for their rifles.

They hadn’t spoken much—neither of them dared to. Just quick glances, the unspoken worry about the others out there somewhere in the same miserable conditions, trying to survive the endless barrage. Joe kept glancing at her, watching how she set her jaw, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon. He felt that familiar ache, the one that twisted painfully every time he looked at her and remembered everything they hadn’t said, everything he’d kept buried. There was something about this night, this horrible, cold silence that made him want to reach out, to finally tell her what he’d been carrying for so long. But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

A flare shot up nearby, casting the field in a harsh, ghostly light. Suddenly, a shout rang out, somewhere to their left. It was Muck’s voice, raw and desperate.

Y/n moved instantly, scrambling out of the foxhole before Joe could even reach for her arm.

“Y/n, wait!” he hissed, but she was already gone, crawling over the muddy ground toward the sound.

Joe cursed under his breath, clambering out to follow her, his heart pounding. He could see her up ahead, her silhouette low to the ground, moving fast. Another shout tore through the darkness, and then came a crack—a gunshot—and a sudden, choked cry. Joe’s heart stopped.

“Y/n!” he yelled, panic clawing up his throat as he sprinted forward. He was slipping on the mud, his boots catching, his hands trembling as he dropped to his knees beside her. She was lying on her side, her hand clutching her shoulder, her face twisted in pain, even before she could get to Muck.

“Y/n, no, no—" His voice broke, and he felt his hands go cold. He pressed down on her shoulder, trying to stanch the bleeding, his heart thundering as he tried to keep calm. “Why the hell did you go out there? You—”

She winced, gripping his arm, her eyes squeezed shut. “Had to… had to help. Muck—” Liebgott shifted his head to look at where the noice had been coming from. Eugene Roe was sitting next to Muck, patching up his shoulder, but furthermore he seemed to be fine.

“Muck’s fine, sweetheart, he’s okay.” Joe’s voice shook, but he forced himself to focus. The bleeding wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. It was a flesh wound, but the sight of her lying there, her face pale, had hit him harder than anything he’d ever faced. “God, y/n, ya scared me half to death…”

She looked up at him with half glazy eyes.

His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, the words started spilling out. “I can’t—can’t keep watching you run headfirst into danger like that. You keep on doing that and you can’t do that damnit. Not when…” He stopped, his breath ragged, and looked down at her, his chest aching. “Not when what, Joe?” She asked, putting her hand on his cheeck. He looked so stressed, and even though she was the one who got hit, she felt like he was the one who was hurt. He didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to continue and then say something he couldn’t take back. “Not when I’ve been in love with you since—hell, since I don’t even know when.”

Her eyes snapped open, and despite the pain, she gave him a small, incredulous smile. “Joe Liebgott, are you seriously confessing to me now, while I’m bleeding out in the mud?”

The shock of her voice—of her teasing tone—hit him like a punch to the chest. He let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him as he realized she was really going to be okay.

“Apparently, yeah,” he managed, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. Then he called Doc Roe over who was done patching up Muck. Roe came rushing over and made her sit up straight so that he could look at her shoulder. Liebgott looked down at y/n again and felt his face go red, but he held her gaze, the weight of everything he’d kept inside finally lifting. “I… I can’t do this anymore, y/n. Pretending, acting like I don’t care.” Liebgott muttered frustrated, and Roe raised his eyebrows a little out of surprise, but kept his gaze fixed on his task. “Every time you go runnin’ off, I—hell, I can barely breathe, thinkin’ I might lose you.”

She looked at him, her face softening despite the pain, and a flicker of something he’d never seen before passed over her features. “Well, maybe it’s good you said something, because I’ve felt the same way for a long time.” Her hand found his, her fingers cold but steady. “But if you keep yelling at me like that, I might have to reconsider.”

A grin spread across his face, and he gave her hand a squeeze. “Fine, fine. Just… try not to get shot again, would ya?”

“I second that” Roe said before giving her instructions on what to do with her shoulder. It wasn’t a bad wound, but he did tell her to be more careful next time because she should know better. Y/n nodded and when Roe walked away she focused on Liebgott again. She smiled, rolling her eyes at him, and despite everything—the mud, the darkness, the war raging around them—it felt like, for one perfect moment, they were the only two people in the world.

#band of brothers #easy company #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x reader #liebgott x reader #joseph liebgott x reader #band of brothers x reader

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whereserpentswalk · 1 year ago

Text

Ghouls are some of the most destructive cryptids in 21st century America. Every city has a few buildings or streets that have become nests for them, where you're from its the subway stations that are effected the worst. And everyone is kind of sad for them, like they know the people who the ghouls used to be met with a terrible fate, but they tend to be fine with people killing them. For the most part they've become a hoard of enemies to die in one hit, as heros with blond hair and black pistols mow them down.

Your girlfriend was bitten. You've been dating for awhile. She's always been freindly to cryptids, she must have gotten close to one. Your family tells you it's best to kill her quickly once she transforms, that it's better to lay someone to rest then to let her be undead.

But you can't bring yourself to. Even after her family has held a funeral for her you still love her too much to hurt her, or to let her be hurt. You keep her in your apartment, and even after she's fully undead, you let her rest in her old bedroom, and keep her safe and comfortable.

She's not mindless like they said she would be. She still can talk to you, still remembers who she is. She's afraid, she says she feels cold. And she has new urges, violent urges, emotions she didn't have before. She keeps having these thoughts that scare her, but still they scare her. She might have been overwhelmed and hurt someone if she was on the street, but she's here with you, and you bring her comfort, and make her feel safe.

She starts looking diffrent. First she just looks pale and veiny, and then it becomes clear she isn't alive anymore. It's not like she's rotting or anything, it's just clear that her body is dead, like a perfectly embalmed corpse. Eventually her teeth become fangs, like that of an animal, and her eyes glow yellow. The ways she moves is what makes it so horrible to look at, for awhile it makes you want to cry just to see her, so twitchy and inhuman, you tell yourself she doesn't move like a human because she isn't one, but that doesn't mean it's too late for her.

Everyone tells you it isn't fair to her to not kill her. But you can talk to her, and she wants to be alive, she's afraid of being killed by humans. Her face and voice don't show emotions anymore, but she stills feels them. You talk to her like you always did, about things you always talked to her about. She likes the same movies, the same music, you find yourself talking about mythology a lot. You remember she was studying to be a classics major before all of this happened.

She's strong in some ways now, good at attacking things, you've seen her pounce on a sparrow to eat it in a momment of weakness, she could kill someone that way. But defensively she's weak, her skin breaks so easily. You tried to cuddle with her and she ended up bloodied from the way your hands broke her skin with pressure, and she had to eat raw meat and blood to heal herself. She wants to make love to you again, she looks at your body, and your breasts, at your face, but the motion might rip her apart. When you touch her you stroke her gently, sometimes with just two fingers, like a snake being brought out to entertain children in a meusum, you have to be so gentle, because she's so delicate.

And there are bad days. Days when you've seen her stalking tye streets naked, her mouth covered in blood, hunting like an animal. The days when so many people would have shot her.

There are good days too, days when it's like old times, when its easy to remember that you're still her girlfriend. Where you can sit on the couch together and watch something. Or when you can go out together. There are days when you get to put her in dresses and makeup to make her look more alive, so she can feel better. And there are days when all she can manage to wear is a bloodstained sweatshirt.

There are people who have asked you if your afraid of her, and even give you weapons "just in case". But you won't hurt her, you don't think you can hurt someone you love, just for the crime of making you afraid. And there are times when she's scared too, and you're there for you, and you let her lay near you, and you sing to her, and tell her she's pretty, and read her myths from the same book she was read myths from as a child, and you have to be the one to read them, because the person who used to read them still thinks she's dead, and hopefully you can be enough.

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steviewashere · 6 months ago

Text

Out of Touch

Rating: General CW: None for this one! Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Getting Together, Touch Starved Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Consensual Touching, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confessions

For @steddie-week | July 2nd Prompt: Touch Starved/Hands | WC: 2,703

🫂—————🫂 Steve Harrington is used to touch in the means of getting something. Very rarely is he touched just because; and even then, it’s always so fleeting. He could have sex with the same girl, a new girl, a different girl—a guy, even; he’s not picky—but it always felt so mechanical, so necessary, like it had to happen and then it was over. The skin-to-skin contact was almost like taking an exam; he had to figure this person out, had to find out what made them loud and writhe, and then they’d say he was a good lay, but never return.

He’s sick of it. He just wants the touch to mean something. Or, more accurately, mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Something simple. Something mundane. Something that said, despite it all, that the person was sticking around.

Because his parents weren’t touchy people—the last time he got a good parental hug had to have been when he was twelve years old. From some championship game won. The trophy in his hand. A slap to his shoulder from his dad and a hug from his mom to say that they were proud. And then…well, the years went by and they weren’t proud of him anymore. He was an embarrassment to their family name, the only kid in the tree incapable of getting into college, the one who had to be taught a lesson. And it’s not like his friends were touchy, either. Tommy liked the touch that pained Steve—fist fights, slap buggy contests, shoving each other around. And Carol would elbow him, rib him for gossip, but nothing else. He didn’t really know what to do when it came to anybody else because nobody else would touch him.

Nancy would when they dated and he remembers that being exceptional. Although, and he never talked about it with her, even her small hands on his skin made him burn alive. Made him hurt. Made him want to die. He thought he could stomach it. And, oddly enough, he sort of could. Because even after she’d step away, turn her back to him as she went to class or left his house, he always wanted her to touch him again. He craved it.

He supposes that he’s always craved it.

But he over-indulged frequently. Or under-indulged. Starved himself from the pleasure of life’s sweet, gentle touches. And when he got his fill, he’d let it fill every last empty crevice within him, and then he came close to throwing up.

Now, after the world doesn’t end for the fourth time, he’s not sure what to do.

He knows how his friends are: Robin’s touch repulsed and will only go out of her way to hold Steve’s hand when it’s detrimental, Dustin overcrowds but doesn’t actually touch except for the Starcourt elevator, Nancy’s still Nancy with her casual sweet touches that Steve gets cavities from, and the others didn’t really do it or didn’t really care to do it or just thought it wasn’t necessary or they were Eddie Munson and he didn’t know what to do with him yet. But Steve was a hungry, hungry, hungry fool. And he needed it. Wanted it. Wanted it so fucking bad, he’d do anything.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself at a lonely house party, somewhere he wasn’t invited. Why he finds himself slinging back cups people hand off, uncaring of the burning thick sugar down his throat. How he gets hands all over his skin, in his unruly hair, down the back of his neck. Lips on his neck and noses in the hollow of his throat. People hugging him as if they know him. Elbows in his side. Fingers dancing up his forearms, making him breakout in goosebumps. He can’t understand it, though, none of this is right. None of it itches that incessant, growling craving he carries. None of it makes him feel good in his skin.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself outside in the front yard of this stranger’s house. Sitting on the freshly cut grass. Autumn dew wetting the seat of his jeans. His eyes far away and unblinking, hands white knuckled and tight around his knees, legs drawn up to his chest, chin digging into his hands, and a wobble to his lips.

“Stevie?” He hears from behind him. And he knows that voice. The rasp. The depth. Can smell the cigarette smoke, even when this person sounds far away. There’s a few, short striding steps. And then there’s a body sitting next to him. “Steve?” Eddie asks softly, “what’re you doing here?”

He grunts. “What are you doing here?” He shoots back.

“Selling,” Eddie answers, “trying to get a little bit of cash for Wayne. You know how it is.” There’s a silence that follows that statement, neither an indulgent one nor a neglectful one. But a pregnant pause nonetheless. “So, Steve, what are you doing here? Thought you didn’t do parties like this anymore.”

Steve sniffs, then. Because Eddie’s unfortunately right. Like he always is because he just is. Maybe that’s why Steve finds it easy to let his heart swell around him; get to that perfect red, shiny balloon within his chest, ready to pop at any moment that Eddie on the off chance rejects him. He swallows, though and finds his voice. “Trying to feel good. Need to feel something.”

Eddie scoffs. “By drinking? Getting in a room full of sweaty, dazed people? Steve, I know you, dude. This isn’t something you enjoy. You don’t ‘feel good’ from this bullshit.” He flinches at that, but seems to have gone unnoticed. “Wouldn’t you like to just be at home right now? You could be watching a movie or something.”

“No,” Steve refuses, shaking his head. “What I want isn’t at my house.”

“Ah,” Eddie sighs. “You’re looking for a person to fill your bed.”

Steve shakes his head again. “Don’t want that,” he mumbles, “want it to mean something.” His face is hot with shame, a curl of sick stretches alive in his stomach, and he thinks he might be trembling. He ducks his red-hot face into his knees.

There’s another silent lull between them. Though, he can feel the weight of this one. The rigid tension between its shoulders and the snap to its spine.

“Baby?” Eddie asks quietly, “you okay?”

Steve meekly shrugs, but doesn’t verbally answer.

Eddie’s palm lands down between Steve’s shoulders. His hand isn’t small, but isn’t big, either. Average in size, warm from the tip of his middle finger to where his palm meets his wrist. It doesn’t move, but it makes Steve tense for a moment. He can’t relax, not yet. Can’t show that he’s been yearning for this.

It sort of—“Hurts,” Steve whimpers.

“Hurts?”

“Your hand,” Steve tries to explain, “it hurts.”

“Oh! Oh…Shit,” Eddie exclaims, drawing his hand away fast as if the touch was repulsive. Maybe it was, Steve realizes. That only makes Steve whine again, louder this time. “Sorry, Steve, I won’t do it—“

Quickly, Steve unfurls himself and reaches out clumsily for Eddie’s left hand again. Fingers tight around his wrist. Drawing him back in. Placing Eddie’s palm over the right side of his neck. His thumb just long enough to skim the underside of Steve’s Adam’s apple. He breathes out a shuttering sigh as the touch finally settles in him.

“You’re burning up under me,” Eddie comments quietly. “You sure you’re okay?”

Steve nods. Bites down on his lip, releases it slowly. “It hurts,” he states again. “Hurts like you’re trying to burn me alive.”

“Shit,” Eddie softly curses, trying to draw away again.

“No, please,” Steve begins to plead, shooting out his hand to lay atop the back of Eddie’s. “Please don’t. I need it—Need—Don’t—“ His breath catches at the base of his throat. Like he’s drowning for this. And, with how careful Eddie’s hand is, with the gentleness of his voice—Steve’s ready to lay down and die for it. If that’s the only way he can be satisfied. He closes his eyes as if that’ll keep Eddie from seeing him. “Please don’t,” he says again, a hesitant moment later, Eddie’s palm still unsettled.

Next to him, Eddie swallows harshly. Sighs sharply through his nose. Scoots a little closer, but doesn’t pull away again. “Okay,” he mutters. “Just—I’m done selling tonight if you wanna hangout at mine. I think you’ll be more comfortable if you have just one set of eyes on you. You wanna?” Steve, without words, agrees.

And roughly thirty minutes later, he’s sitting across from Eddie on his mattress. They’re still in their outfits they wore to the party. Steve in jeans and a maroon polo. Eddie in his usual get-up, minus the vest and leather jacket. He tied his hair up, though, and Steve can’t stop himself from gazing at the few loose strands that fall down to his shoulders.

“How should we do this, Steve? Where shouldn’t I touch you? What shouldn’t I do?”

He tentatively reaches for Eddie’s right hand, clasping it between his own. There aren’t any rings on his fingers. “Don’t be rough,” he states, “and don’t be condescending. Don’t tease me. And…nowhere below the torso, please.”

“M’kay,” Eddie murmurs. “How about I start here?” And he places his palm back where it was at the party, over the right side of Steve’s neck. Steve merely nods. “And if I add both hands? Does that…does that hurt?”

“A little,” Steve admits, “but it’s a good hurt, Eds. Just need this, please.”

His hands shift to Steve’s shoulders. Squeezes. And Steve’s next sigh stutters, gearing up to cry, probably. Then down his arms, to his biceps and the crook of his elbows and his forearms, but not his hands—not yet, at least.

“Can I touch your torso or do you need a break?”

Steve takes a shaking deep breath. Nods. “Give me just a second,” he whispers.

“We have all the time, Stevie. I just want you to…feel good.” They lock stares briefly, both wide-eyed and a little amused. “That sounded weird,” Eddie adds. “I meant like…I mean. Just wanna take care of you, I guess. You deserve to feel good. Have nice things.”

He gives Eddie a knowing little smirk. “You like me,” Steve gently teases, testing the waters.

“So?”

Steve blinks. Surprised. Taken aback. “What like—“

“More than friends? Yeah, thought you’d notice eventually, Stevie. I’m not exactly subtle.” Eddie regards him warily, though. A little bit more guarded than before. “Hopefully that isn’t a problem, though, right?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Steve answers immediately. “Just didn’t think feelings were reciprocated here. Makes me sort of…kinda nervous, if I’m being honest.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Well, they are. And—Just so you know, this isn’t me trying to like get in your pants or whatever. I genuinely like you, Steve. And I do, y’know, want you to be taken care of. For you to enjoy stuff like this without it hurting. Without it burning, I guess.”

“Can we do it again, then? How about—“ And Steve picks up both of Eddie’s hands within his own, but doesn’t hold to them, barely lets the touch linger. Places them both flat against his chest, Eddie’s fingers splayed towards his collarbone and the bottom of his palms in the middle of Steve’s chest. “Just touch me gently there.” He places his own hands on the back of Eddie’s. Shuts his eyes. Breathes as calmly as he can through his nose. Receding tears just as fast as they make themselves known.

Eddie doesn’t move his palms like Steve thought he would. Instead, he sweeps his thumbs up and down over the polo. Fingers curling in slightly before coming back up, almost like he’s carefully scratching at Steve. And it kind of is, Steve supposes, and it feels surprisingly nice. Enough to make something shiver through him, cold and sharp and tingling. It melts away at the ebbing of anxiety that had knotted at the party, where everything felt wrong and incomparable and unsurprisingly mechanical.

The way Eddie touched him was reverent and understanding. It was new. Heartfelt. Woven with a love far deeper than what he just confessed. And Steve leans into it. Pitches forward slightly as Eddie’s hands remain where they’re being held against Steve’s chest.

“Can feel your heart beating,” Eddie comments quietly, “it’s steady, slow, deep.”

Steve hums. “You make me feel calm,” he confesses, “like I don’t have to show you that I’m worthy.”

“Worthy of what?”

“Being touched,” he answers. Hesitates. "Being loved," he adds, hushed.

Eddie’s next breath is tight, through his nose, big.

“You never have to prove yourself to me, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes. “You’re enough.”

Steve’s hands twitch over Eddie’s, clenching over them. He can’t stop his reaction. The tears that fall fast and searing down his cheeks to the underside of his jaw. Or the way his cheeks flush. Or the weight of his stuttering breaths. And especially can’t stifle the just barely wet sobs cracking open from his chest. With heightened clarity, he wonders if Eddie can feel the break in his chest, too.

He carefully withdraws Eddie’s hands from his chest and just rests with them in his grip. Loosely holding on, but not willing to let go. Letting himself soak in what he’s being offered. Not out of fear that it’ll be taken, not this time at least, but knowing he can have it. Knowing that Eddie wouldn’t be so heartless as to take it away right when it’s literally within Steve’s grasp.

Eddie’s thumbs rub firmly in small circles over the backs of Steve’s hands. He’s quiet. Just breathing; a bit nasally, but otherwise smooth. He’s there, though, to keep holding on as Steve breaks down nearly silent.

“God, you overwhelm me sometimes,” Steve admits, though not unkindly, “but in a good way and I don’t understand it.” He squeezes tightly at Eddie’s fingers. “Everybody else makes me feel like I’m going insane. Makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong or that I’m wrong or that they just fucking hate my guts or something. But you touch me and you speak to me and you wait up on me in a way that…I’m burning alive, but it’s not dangerous. It’s not—I’m not explaining this right.”

Gently, Eddie shushes him. Keeps his voce low and measured as he says, “I understand, Steve. I’m hearing you, alright? I take this with whatever pace you set. And I’ll respect that, okay? I ask for nothing; I want nothing back from you; You owe me nothing.”

“But I…I wanna give you the world, Eds. I wanna—You make something different, I don’t—“

“This, Steve,” Eddie says, tugging their hands back and forth between them, “is my world.” He leans in, not close enough to touch noses, but just enough that Steve can smell mint on his breath. “You’re my world, Steve. I take you as-is. I take what you offer. I give back when I can.”

Eddie’s hands hold more firmly to Steve’s. And that touch alone seals that fracture in Steve’s chest. It melds, it sets, it soothes. Steve can breathe under it. He can sigh and he can relax, so he does.

“You ever been the little spoon, Steve?”

Taken a bit off guard, but welcoming it, Steve chuckles. “No, Eds, I haven’t.”

“Mm, you wanna try it out? Lay down and relax for a little while?”

Steve thinks for a second. Would it overwhelm him beyond what’s felt good? Would it be a make-or-break? Can he just have it? And since Eddie’s offering, he supposes he can. “Yeah, Eds. Sure. Just be careful with me.”

“Never have to ask for that, sweetheart. Comes with the love.”

“You love me?”

“Steve.” Eddie levels him with a look. “I would do illegal shit—“

“You already do illegal shit.”

“I’d do more illegal shit just to make sure you’ve got everything you could ever need.”

Smiling a soft thing, Steve lets himself believe that. Because Eddie, in the time Steve’s known him, is surprisingly honest. “I love you, too.”

🫂—————🫂

#steddieweek2024 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort

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