#fun fact i wrote this as like some shitty little drabble under one of those like character playlist video things on yt

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

“Stop moving your fucking head,” you growl. Wriothesley sits on a bench, black compression shirt drenched in sweat after his spar in the fighting ring. There’s a cut on his head, just underneath his hairline, that you dab at with some antiseptic and a cotton pad. 

You still think that he should have called Sigewinne, just in case, but he was adamant that she didn’t need to bother over ‘something as small as this.’ Granted, he wasn’t hurt too bad— it was just the aftermath of a small accident between him and his opponent in the ring, after all. No broken bones or the like, just some bruises and scuffs. You were just worried over him.

“I’m fine, you know,” he tries to tell you again, trying to duck away from the cotton pad to look you in the eye. You scowl again, grabbing him with a hand on his collarbones, dangerously close to the base of his neck. Wriothesley immediately stills, and you resume. 

“I know.” You keep dabbing until the last of the blood is gone, and there’s just the cut left. It’s not even that deep. You doubt it’ll even scar. “Just… just let me worry for you for a little bit, would you?”

He swallows. You can almost feel the movement of it against your hand. You know of his history— of how he’s barely had anyone give a shit about him his entire life. You wonder if he’s ever had anyone patch him up or worry about him like this.

You think of a much younger, much more baby-faced Wriothesley having to bandage his own bloodied knuckles in some dark corner of the fortress of Meropide, and your heart aches. 

“Okay,” your Wriothesley finally says, voice quiet. He stares at you in a way that you cannot decipher. In a way that is softer than you’ve ever seen him look at anything before. 

Your hand transfers to his shoulder, and one of his own comes to hold it in place. You press a kiss to his nose, then either of his cheeks, then end it sweetly on his lips. 

The kiss doesn’t drag on very long— it’s quick and chaste, little more than a peck on the lips. But Wriothesley still smiles at you when you part.

“You sure you’re fine?” You ask, hand cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch the way a cat would lean into the sunlight. 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. Turns his head. Presses a kiss to your palm, locking eyes with you the entire time.

“Okay.” You’re breathless, never breaking eye contact with him. “Okay, that’s good.”

You feel his smile against your skin, then. Tender and sweet. His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you near. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“For patching you up?”

“For caring, baby.”

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[calumcest]

good morning :) loved the new drabbles and i was wondering if you'd write about 'actually.. i just miss you' and lashton again but like.. in the angel/devil au? i completely get it if not because you already wrote one with that prompt (and it was great) but i'm a sucker for this verse and the phrase just reminded me so much of them (oh and maybe alternatively for them if you don't want to use the prompt again: 'why do i love you?')

thank u so much!! omg i’m so glad you enjoyed the verse bc i am slyly living for it its very self-indulgent so any requests to write more in the angel/demon verse...how could i say no also forewarning this is not a drabble its 1.7k sdlkfjhsbdf 

Ashton, Michael prays, an edge of desperation to the word, and Ashton jerks up from the record of the soul he’s currently processing, focusing in on the prayer. Come down. I need you. 

What for? 

Luke. 

Ashton can’t help the butterflies in his stomach at that, and he swallows, pushing himself back from his desk. 

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t go. Michael’s more than capable of handling Lucifer - he’s proven that once before - and Ashton’s busy. He’s got at least three thousand more souls to process today. He doesn’t have the time to go down, doesn’t have the time to chase whatever stupid nonsense Lucifer’s up to now. He shouldn’t. 

Instead, he focuses in on Michael, lets his prayer swell in his heart, closes his eyes, and heads down. 

He turns up in the dark outside a restaurant, lit up by one feeble streetlight. He can feel that Lucifer’s in there, feel it in the burning, crawling sensation under his folded-in wings, so he takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. 

It’s nearly empty, save a table with Calum, dressed in all black, leather jacket catching the light as he gesticulates wildly, frowning. Michael’s opposite him, white shirt setting off his pale skin and blond hair, frowning right back at Calum, lips twisted in a way that Ashton knows firsthand means I know you’re right but I refuse to lose this argument. Lucifer’s sat next to Calum, looking incredibly bored with whatever’s happening, but, almost as though it were an instinct, his eyes are drawn to Ashton, north meeting south. 

Ashton swallows at the dark look in Lucifer’s eyes, and heads over to the table. 

“What?” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as hoarse to everyone else as it does to him. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Michael says, a look of relief spreading across his face. The curse rings loud and unholy in Ashton’s ears, and makes him wince slightly. Michael barely even notices. “Cal, let’s fucking go.” 

“Wait,” Ashton says, as both Calum and Michael scrape their chairs back, and Michael turns to look at him, faint annoyance etched in his features. 

“What?” he says. 

“What?” Ashton echoes, slightly incredulous. “You call me down here, and then you leave?” Michael shrugs. Ashton cannot believe him. “You said-” he cuts himself off, with a glance at Lucifer, who’s watching the exchange idly. Lucifer doesn’t miss the glance, and a lazy smile spreads across his face when he realises what the look means. 

“I just said I needed you,” Michael points out. 

“For Lucifer.” 

“Yeah, to keep him company,” Michael says, “while me and Cal go off and fuck.” Calum nods seriously at that. Ashton’s going to speak to Him about blanket banning consorting with demons. Michael’s getting worse by the day, and he was never good to begin with. 

“I think he can look after himself,” Ashton bites out, casting Lucifer another glance. Lucifer just looks back at him, amused smile playing on his lips. 

“No,” Michael says, placing a hand on Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton feels it, feels the full weight of God’s love and holiness thrumming through his veins, heavy in Michael’s touch, stronger than any other angel. He kind of gets why Raphael hates Michael whenever he feels that. “I think you should be there with him.” He says it with the kind of gravity only an archangel can muster, and Ashton has no choice but to nod, because it’s an order. Michael grins at him, quick and easy, all seriousness gone, and pats him on the shoulder, right above his wing. Ashton winces, and falls into the seat Michael had been occupying. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lucifer calls after Calum and Michael as they head for the door. 

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” Calum shoots back, and Lucifer grins wickedly. 

“Exactly,” he says, and both Michael and Calum roll their eyes fondly - and, okay, when did Michael become fond of Lucifer? Something rolls uncomfortably in Ashton’s stomach at that, but he pushes it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Keep Lucifer entertained. Keep him company. Ashton can do that. 

“So,” Lucifer says, blue eyes flicking to Ashton, lit up and amused. “Just me and you now.” Ashton nods tightly. 

“Looks like it,” he says. That just seems to amuse Lucifer even more, small smile stretching to a full grin. He leans back, tilting his head like he’s scrutinising Ashton, and suddenly there’s a cheeseburger in front of Ashton. 

Okay. Ashton’s not a fan of human food, he really isn’t, but Michael had gone on and on about cheeseburgers for at least fifty years, begging Ashton to come down and try one, and Ashton had eventually relented and said he’d try one if Michael brought one back up, which he’d duly done. It’s been at least forty years since that happened, and Ashton had only managed about ten before he’d caved and started taking the odd secret trip down to Earth for a cheeseburger. Nobody, though, nobody, not even Michael, knows about that. 

“I don’t eat human food,” Ashton says primly, because he doesn’t. Ashton may not be able to lie, but all that’s done is make him very good at bending the truth. 

“You eat cheeseburgers,” Lucifer says, like this is a well-known fact, and not something Ashton’s sworn Michael to secrecy on. 

“I-” Ashton’s cut off with a wince, holy power seizing his tongue, caught in an almost-lie. Lucifer grins, recognising the telltale signs of an angel trying to lie all too well. Ashton clears his throat in a dignified manner, hoping Lucifer can’t see the flush on his cheeks, and tries a different tack. “How do you know that?” Lucifer shrugs. 

“Kept tabs on you,” he says, and then proceeds to reel off Ashton’s cheeseburger order. “Double cheeseburger, extra pickles, no mayo, two tomatoes.” Ashton stares at him. 

“You stalked me?” he says, and it comes out a little strangled. He’s not sure whether that’s the holiness or the fact that his stomach has done, like, a full Olympics gymnastics set at the idea that Lucifer’s been keeping up with him, been watching him from afar. 

“Well, now, stalking is a strong word,” Lucifer says, grinning, because he doesn’t care, he’s the Devil. That thought sends a strong wave of revulsion coursing through Ashton, top to toe, followed immediately with a wave of guilt. He really hopes Raphael’s not tuned in to him right now. The last thing Ashton needs is someone spreading the word that Ashton’s hanging out with Satan. 

“You-” Ashton cuts himself off, because he’s not really sure what he wants to say. Lucifer watches him, half-amused, half-interested. Ashton feels the full weight of something under his gaze, but he’s not sure what it is - holy, sacrilegious, Heaven, Hell - and drops his gaze to the cheeseburger. 

“You should eat it,” Lucifer says casually. Ashton eyes it warily. 

“Do I look like an idiot?” he says. Lucifer rolls his eyes. 

“What, you think I’ve carved a banishing sigil into the lettuce?” he says, like it’s the most ludicrous idea in the world, and then stops. “Hmm. That might be one to try on Michael, actually.” Ashton, because he’s a good friend and an even better angel, dutifully sends a prayer in Michael’s direction informing him as such. Michael doesn’t respond, and Ashton withdraws before he gets too close to the dark spikes of whatever it is that Michael’s currently giving off. 

“I don’t want your food,” Ashton says, because it’s true, he doesn’t want Lucifer’s food, and pushes the cheeseburger away from him childishly. Lucifer rolls his eyes, but pulls the cheeseburger towards himself, and takes a huge bite out of it, holding Ashton’s gaze as he does. Ashton prays for the strength not to watch the line of his throat as he swallows, but He doesn’t seem to be listening. 

“Have you always been this fucking boring?” Lucifer comments idly, licking his finger obscenely, and oh, oh, the repentance for the thoughts that just went through Ashton’s head hits him like a train. He visibly flinches, and Lucifer grins. “Man, you know shit’s a lot more fun when you don’t feel shitty about every thought you have.” 

“I don’t feel bad,” Ashton grits out, because he doesn’t. Repentance is a necessary consequence of sin, and he always feels good that he’s repented. Lucifer shrugs, and takes another bite of the burger. Ashton swallows, not entirely because he kind of wishes the burger were going down his throat instead of Lucifer’s. Like he knows what Ashton’s thinking, Lucifer quirks a brow at him. 

“You can still have some,” he offers. 

“I-” Ashton winces again, unable to say I don’t want any, because he does, he really does. Lucifer laughs, and pushes the burger back towards Ashton, but there’s something fond in his eyes, and it makes Ashton feel a little sick with something that he tries not to identify as guilt. 

“Eat,” he says, and it’s soft, it’s gentle, and it breaks Ashton’s heart into a million pieces. The Devil shouldn’t have it in him to care about anyone, least of all Ashton. 

Ashton can’t rid himself of that sneaking suspicion, though, staring at the burger in trepidation, and Lucifer sighs. 

“You really don’t trust me, huh?” he says, and there’s a note of bitterness in his voice. Ashton hates it, hates himself more for causing it, hates the guilt and confusion that washes over him as an immediate consequence of both of those thoughts. 

“You are the Devil,” Ashton points out, and Lucifer huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d never fuck with my second-favourite angel,” he says solemnly. 

“I’m glad Michael’s safe, then,” Ashton shoots back before he can stop himself, and Lucifer grins, shaking his head. 

“Why do I love you?” he says, and there’s something so raw and wistful in his tone that Ashton wants to cry, wants to reach out, wants to tell him I’m sorry, I’m wish I could make it better, I wish I could fix this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wish I’d never loved you, I wish I’d found a way to stop loving you. 

Instead of saying anything, because nothing would be enough, and anything would be too much, he reaches forwards, picks up the burger, and brings it to his lips.

The radiant smile Lucifer gives him is all angel, no Devil.