#grabbed all the extra ideas for my fic i couldnt put it into the main fic and shoved it in here so enjoy her <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[adventurer515]

Lucifer doesn’t look human like this. He looks better suited memorialized on one of the stained glass windows in his mom’s Church rather than standing in the middle of their living room, waiting for Alastor’s approval. Alastor, as he thinks most anyone would do in this scenario, stares. He doesn’t normally stare, but the outfit is painstakingly beautiful and it suits Lucifer so well. He thinks—no, knows—that if Lucifer were to step out in that parade, people would stop to simply look at him the same way one stops to gaze upon the sun rising over the horizon.

(An excerpt from my new fic, a spinoff oneshot set during chapters 7 to 10 of my guardian angel fic, entitled ‘indulge me’.)

indulge me

Summary:

After finding out that the barista he almost kills is his guardian angel, Alastor does the logical thing and moves in with him.

If only Lucifer would stop asking him about redemption every year without fail.

(A companion fic to something in the static)

Haven’t drawn properly in literal years, but my goddd. This outfit lives rent-free in my own brain and I still didn’t manage to capture the complete Essence I imagined agskahaja goddd Guys I didn’t even have an eraser or anything 😭

anyway i am very deeply apologetic for the hurt i caused in something in the static, please humbly accept this fic that's more or less fluff. they even have a beach episode :D

[chaandknight]

Maybe | Roger Taylor | Smut/Angst

Summary: Breakup sex is never a good idea.  4k words. 

A/N: This got away from me. I’m sorry in advance. Thank you to my beta @haveanaverageday​  I love you. Relationships are hard I would know, but remember this is just a fic, and not the best model for a relationship.

Requests are open

Tags: Smut, angst, swearing, +18

Maybe you two just weren’t meant for each other. Maybe all the time you had spent building something together just wasn’t worth it. Maybe the universe just had more plans for you. Maybe the constant time apart had drawn a wedge between you. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Your relationship with Roger was always filled with maybes. Maybe he would come home early from a party. Maybe you’d have for date night. Maybe he would call while on tour. Maybe you would come and visit him on tour. Maybe you got lonely while he was away and made some dumb mistakes. Maybe he did too. Maybe you both were to blame. Maybe.

Despite all that you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your heart as you packed your things. You and Roger had been together for the longest of times, constantly on and then off again. You would always make up quickly, but this time was different. Both of you could feel it, it had been weeks since you had talked, seeing each other was an entirely different question. He had sent word through his personal assistant, and you in turn had replied. The messages were short, the calls only lasting for a second seconds. It all started with his message, relayed through his PA.

“He knows.” Is all he had said. You replied, saying that you knew about all the girls as well. There was no reply after that. After two weeks of contemplation, barely sleeping in your shared bed you decided. You left a message for him, asking him to organise your moving out. It was simple. Once you had found suitable accommodation you'd move. You'd take everything that was yours. He'd keep his flat. He even offered to help you move out, paying for removalists. Deciding to handle this like an adult, you accepted. You had surprised yourself by the way you had handled all this, how diplomatic you both were. Usually your ‘breakups’ were messy, arguing that would escalate into screaming matches. Sometimes turning extremely nasty when both of your prides were wounded, opting to yell out petty, personal things to one another. One of you would then storm out, the other following closely behind not willing to let whatever you had go. Sometimes you'd spend time apart, stewing in anger. Then would come the sex. A makeup fuck is what he called it after the first two times. Then it had just become habit, a vicious toxic cycle that would sometimes last days. You two had just fallen into your roles, accepting that this was how it would be. That was until now.

You would lying if you said there wasn't any good moments in-between. Those were the best, often taking off as a honeymoon stage all over again. You would whisper and giggle in each other's ears, unable to keep hands off each other. You'd fuck and you'd make slow love. He'd take you places, compliment you on everything and help with your various art projects. You would spend nights together, just in each other's presence doing your own work. That was until the next ‘break up’, where moments like this started becoming more sparse and arguments increasingly common. It was all too much. The both of you were relieved when the tour was announced, finally able to spend time apart without having to worry about discussing deeper things. Things that would be too painful, too complicated to talk about.

Maybe that’s why the sinking feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away. You couldn’t go into a room without being triggered by the memories you both had made. You swallowed the lump in forming in your throat, shoving the rest of your paints in the box and taping it closed, compartmentalising your feelings at the same time. This was for the best. You were both toxic to each other, this was definitely not a healthy relationship even if there was something between you two. You looked around the lounge once again. It seemed empty without your paintings covering the walls, your various pot plants on the window sill. You wondered if he would miss notice your things gone. What did you care though? You cast a glance around the room trying to pick out anything you may of left behind.

That lump in your throat reformed, threatening to choke you with all the feelings that were now rising to the surface. For the first time it finally hit you. It was over. You hadn’t talked or seen him in weeks and you most likely wouldn’t see him again either. His tour ended two weeks from now and he rarely ever came home, too busy with parties and recording. You noticed your acrylic paint still out. He wouldn’t notice an extra painting would he?

You wiped your forehead with your arm, pretty sure you had smudged some yellow paint onto it. You didn’t really care. The painting had made you lose track of time. The front door opened just as you realised you should of been out two bloody hours ago. You grabbed a large paint brush as your weapon heading to the door. Had someone broken in? Whoever it was seemed to have the keys to the front door. You tried to control your breathing and not let your mind run wild. You couldn’t help it though. Was it some crazy stalker fan? Would you be found dead in your boyfriends exboyfriends home? Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you flicked on the light, ready to use your paintbrush.

“Were you going to paint me to death?” His voice was thick with exhaustion, you lowered your paintbrush, not sure if you wanted a murderer in here more rather than face the man standing in front of you. The man you hadn’t seen in weeks. You had almost forgotten how bright his eyes were, how his hair was always dischevlied, the smallest hints of stubble on his jawline. All the emotions you had laid down in the canvas laying in the dining room behind came bubbling to the surface.

You tried not to let your voice shake as you spoke.

“You’re meant to be on tour” you said simply, not wanting to drag this out for long. He let his smile drop, his shoulders slumped you could see just how tired he was. He set his keys on the bench. Running a hand through his hair.

“You’re meant to be gone” he snapped. You tried not to let his words hurt you, but despite all the walls you had mentally put him the words cut through you like a knife through butter. You wanted to cry, he was letting you go so easily, without a care in the world. You took a breath, determined to not let him see how close you were to breaking down.

You turned around, ignoring his presence all together and heading to where your paints were laid out. You wiped your hands on the rag, screwing on the lids to the paint pots. You’d pack them all into their box later. His footsteps echoed off the tiles, you ignored his presence behind you and headed straight for the shower in the main bedroom - his room. The plan was to shower before leaving, your clothes were already lay out. You closed the door behind you, but it wouldn't close properly. You stepped back as he stepped into the bathroom.

He had a look in his eye that made your breath catch in your throat. He walked towards you, unknowingly you stepped back, almost tripped over the shower glass panel. It was as if he had you pinned with his gaze alone. You were like a deer caught in headlights, unable to anything but retreat further back. You stepped into the shower, he was still following you until you were cornered against the wall of the shower. You never were scared of him, even if he was yelling from across the room at you, however now, combined with all your emotions about moving out, the thought of being murdered and his words from earlier - you couldn't help the small hint of dear that plagued your mind. He was in your personal space, body almost touching yours. He looked down on you, and you couldn't decipher his facial expression.

Your heart was beating against your chest, almost threatening to break free. Your breath only quickened when he reached over, hand near your waist. You could almost feel him grabbing your waist, pulling you to him. But he only turned the knob to the turn on the water, soaking both yours and his clothes under the large shower head. His breathing was almost as heavy as yours, and you weren't sure if it was from anger or not. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with his lips.

The kiss was rough, filled with weeks of frustration. You kissed him back, trying to show your anger and hurt at all this. You were just now coming to terms with how you felt about all this, previously running on autopilot. He reached up cupping your cheeks, trying to pull you even closer as his took your lip between his teeth tugging harshly. You were the first to pull away, shock coming over you. You pushed his chest but he didn't budge.

“What the fuck was that?” You demanded, voice high. You resorting to pushing his chest over and over in an attempt to get him to move. You both knew you weren't actually trying, maybe it was just an act. Maybe. He grabbed your wrists, still looking down at you.

“Just” he started, getting distracted by your jaw. He pressed feather light kisses to your skin there. You were frozen on the spot, trying to piece together what the hell was going on. “Just shut the fuck up for once will you?” he said, nipping the skin at your neck making you gasp. Your hand found its way to his hair, running your finger through the wet strands as his kisses covered every inch of your neck, leaving the occasional mark here and there, every bite making the smallest of moans escape your lips. His hands were on your waist, pulling up your damp shirt the slightest bit. He pulled away from your neck, pulling your shirt over your head. He was rougher than he needed to be and it annoyed you. You retaliated, swinging a leg around his waist and dragging your nails down his chest.

“I don't hear from you for weeks and you expect me to come back to you?” You demanded, undoing the buttons in his shirt and pulling it off, throwing it somewhere in the bathroom. He kissed you again, stealing your breath before replying,

“Didn’t you get my messages?” He asked, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands working on undoing your jeans. You huffed, slapping his hands away, replacing them with your own. You didn’t accept his reply. As if sending half assed messages through his PA was going to cut it. As if it had a chance of keeping your relationship going. Did he seriously expect the “he misses you” messages to combat the whispers you heard from friends and the press about his antics?

“You're a fucking prick.” You hissed, pausing momentarily to look at him. You elbowed him, trying to get him to give you some space. He stepped back, just the slightest bit. You pulled off your jeans kicking them away, he had done the same. “You know that's not what I meant” you said, annoyed at your own lack of self control. You could never resist him.

“What did you mean darling?” He whispered, voice laced with hurt and something else you couldn’t quite pin down. “Did you get lonely without me? Is that what it was? Did you need me to reassure you every night?” he said, a dangerous tone in his voice. This was taking a turn into dangerous territory. You dragged your nails down his chest, watching him flinch the slightest bit. Good. You were hurting him.

“At least I don’t hire people to keep my fucking bed warm” you shot back, pushing his chest once again. He grabbed your wrists, this time squeezing them the slightest bit, a warning. You both seemed to communicate through your eyes. You looked up at him, daring him to come up with some reply to your words. He stood firm however, looking at you as if to tell you that you both were the worst.

“Can we just fucking stop? For once” he said finally, surprising you. He ran his hands down your arms, resting them on your waist. “I’m tired” as if that was an excuse. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You wanted to fight back, push him away and make him work for it. But it was as if seeing his exhaustion had triggered your own. You were tired from packing, the sheer effort of shoving down your emotions had drained you. You let out the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, running your fingers down his chest in a vain attempt to soothe the red marks from earlier.

“Fine, but if you start again don’t blame me for responding to your bullshit” you said, looking up at him. Both your words had different meanings. It was as if you were promising not to bring up the past again, at least not tonight. It was a mutual understanding. He nodded, leaning forward and kissing down your neck.

“Stay here tonight” he whispered, voice cracking the slightest bit. Did he actually feel a hint of a sadness about you leaving? Perhaps you did. You didn't spend this long with someone and not develop some kinds of feelings for them. You ran your hands over his chest, lean muscle from constantly drumming almost every night.

“Why should I?” you challenged, deciding that he'd have to work for it. You weren't going to let him have you this easily. He gripped your waist, lifting you up, your back brushing up against the tiles. His intention was clear, and you scrambled to wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself from falling. You were now just the slightest bit higher than him. He looked up at you, leaning in to kiss you slowly.

“Because I'm asking you to” he said simply as he pulled away, peppering kisses over your jaw. You had no reply for him, running your hands through his hair just letting him enjoy your body. So maybe you'd never see him again. You knew this probably was a bad decision, it would complicate things further. Your mind however, could not focus too busy focusing on the brush of his lips against the skin of your neck. Yes, you'd probably regret this later on but why shouldn't you live in the moment now? He seemed to take your silence as a no and immediately started to untangle himself from you, trying mask his disappointment. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cupping his cheeks and pulling his face so you could look into his eyes. You gently traced his jaw with your finger,

“I will” your voice barely a whisper. He wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours, gripping your waist once more. You ran your hand through his hair, the both of you trying to pull the other closer despite being pressed together already. The kiss was desperate, weeks of pent of frustration, anger and hurt focused in on one kiss. He pulled away and you took the chance to take his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging the slightest bit. He let out a small groan, pulling you into yet another kiss. You didn't know just how long you both were there. Your back ached the slightest bit from being pressed against the tiles for so long and the water had ran cold for a while now. He would pull away every so often to trail kisses down your neck, his fingers straying between your legs, stroking against your core just so before pulling away. Your soft moans getting drowned out by the sound of the water. He'd whisper in your ear, meaningless remarks like missing you and wanting you so badly. You returned the favour, not even completely sure what you whispered to him. Your hips rocked against him, making him groan into your neck

You clung to him desperately, running your hands down his chest. Your lips hurting the slightest bit from him constantly nipping at them. You pulled away, breathing heavy. You wanted him to finger you properly, or at least for him to do something. The constant teasing was driving you mad. He could sense it too, pressing a kiss to the one of the many forming hickey's he'd left on your neck.

“You want me darling?” He asked, as breathless as you were. His lips were red, yours were probably the same. You nodded, trying to grind on him to get your point across. He run a hand over your jaw, tucking your hair behind your ear. You expected him to say something about the past, dig back into the scars that were seared deep into your messed up relationship. You weren’t sure if you could handle it, you wouldn’t be able to go through with this if he brought up the past now. He reached out, turning off the shower. Well that was definitely not what you were expecting. You ran a hand over his cheek, leaning forward and kissing his jawline, down to his neck. He carried you out of the shower, stepping over your discarded clothes. Perhaps if you weren’t so wrapped up in him you’d worry about falling, or him slipping and the both of you falling. However, you weren’t in your senses, too busy nipping at that one place that never failed to make him pause and shiver. You grinned into his neck, licking over the skin. You felt the bed beneath your back, he must of made it then. Before you could say anything his mouth was covering yours again, kissing you with the same desperation as before.

“The bed” you started between kisses, “It’ll get” you needed to take a breath, “wet” you finished. He snorted, trailing kisses down your neck

“Sweetheart, there’s only one thing getting wet that concerns me and it’s not the bed” he said with a grin, rolling his hips against yours eliciting yet another moan from you. You held onto him arms wrapped hooked around his shoulders. He kissed you again, almost pushing you down into the pillow. His hands were tracing along the sides of your body making your shiver. His hips slowly rolled against yours and you could feel his hardening length against you. He reached down, between your bodies and lined himself up. He pulled away from the kiss, watching your face as he pushed into you. You didn’t need much prep, thanks to all the teasing he had done in shower earlier, but god. It had been a while and you were already on edge from before. He knew how to angle everything, thanks to your history together. He had only rolled his hips against yours once and you were writhing underneath him, a mess already.  You pushed against his chest,

“Wait, wait” you panted, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. You tried to control yourself, to try and maintain some semblance of control. He took his opportunity to lean down and kiss underneath your jaw. Your chest rose and fell as you tried to get your breathing under control. You rolled his hips after a beat, making you arch up, breathing out his name. He let out a breathless laugh, kissing you once again.

His pace was languid, as if the both you had all the time in the world. He kept it slow, pressing kisses over your jaw and neck, adding to the marks he had already made previously. Almost as if he was trying to commit to memory the way your body felt underneath his. You ran your hands down his back, doing the same. It was unspoken, this agreement that it would be the last time. The two of you wanted to make it last. You tried not to let your mind drift, instead focusing on guiding him back to your lips, grinding your hips against his just so, making him moan. It was a slow bump and grind sort of pace, making you cry out as he would just brush against the spot that made your toes curl. You clawed at his shoulders, getting impatient. You wanted him properly now.

He seemed to get the message clear enough, gripping your hips and doing a particularly hard thrust. You groaned, dragging your nails down his shoulders. He panted in your ear, holding onto you tight as he pushed into you over and over again. You matched his pace, pushing up your hips to meet his. The two of you too caught up in chasing your own high to care about the other. You dragged your nails down his back, making him hiss and in turn, dig his own nails into your hips. Your climax was quickly approaching, and by the way he faltered in his pace you could tell his was as well. He reached down between your bodies, drawing quick circles on your clit. You clung to him as you came, muffling your cries into his neck. Your entire body arching up into his, drawing him in closer in a desperate bid to ground yourself. He had you quite literally seeing stars. You didn’t care about much else as you came, holding onto him tightly just riding out your high as he used your body to come to his own climax.  He came a quick two thrusts later, crying out your name and slamming into you one final time. You both laid there for a while, just trying to level out your breathing and holding each other.

He was the first to move, rolling off you and laying by your side. You both cleaned yourselves up in silence, not wanting to say something that would ruin the mood. This was for the best. He laid in bed, a cigarette in hand. You crawled onto the bed with him, fitting yourself into side. He put out the cigarette turning to you again. Both of you had extremely little self control, going for another two rounds before falling asleep, tangled in the sheets.

You woke just as the sun was rising, an orange glow setting over the bedroom. You turned around to find Roger asleep, a hand splayed out on your stomach. You let yourself have a moment just to gaze at him, take his face. He looked like a child when he was asleep, free from the emotions he wore when he was awake. It took everything in you to not reach out and trace his features. Instead, you untangled yourself from the sheets. Your body ached from last night, it was bittersweet. You dressed quietly, casting one last glance at his sleeping form on the bed and walking out.

Maybe you should of left a note, but it would be too much for you. Right now you had to go or else you never would. The emotions from last night coming back to you, causing a dull ache to bloom in your chest. You grabbed the paints from last night, packing them away carefully and picking up the last remaining box of your possessions. He had enough to remember you by.

The painting you did was resting against the table leg. It was him, as he was when he was asleep, how you saw him through your eyes.

How you had loved him.

Maybe he’d throw it away or maybe he’d hide it.

Maybe he’d burn it.

Maybe he’d hang it up, cover it when he was home alone because the memories were too much.

Maybe Freddie found it once, and asked him where he got from.

Maybe his voice cracked when he answered.

Maybe.