#the english similar would be 'heart and soul' )

[azrakaban]

Augophile - Theodore Nott

N: RIGHT BITCHES! IT'S AU O'CLOCK! This is my first soulmate au, sorry if it's cringe <3 p.s. English is my first language but sorry anyway if there's any miss spellings

Requests: Still open <3

Requested by: Piss_Witch

Summary: AU where once you turn sixteen, you lose the ability to see colours until you meet your soulmate. But what if they don't want to see your colours?

Warnings: Angsty (a bit?), injury detail, i villainise McLaggen again <3 (He's racist for like one line and is a grade A asshole), mentions of amnesia, fluffy ending <3

Ships mentioned: Panstoria, Bluna

Dynamics: Grumpy X sunshine, miscommunication, soulmates, friends to lovers, tall and calm, short and excitable

Soul-mate. Soul-mate. Soul-mate.

Your heart beat in time with the words you'd been hearing all week long, unable to shake the excitable feeling that comes with approaching your sixteenth birthday.

Sweet sixteen held a meaning within teenagers, but a different one for magical teens such as yourself.

Having seen colours all your life, you were only partially prepared to lose sight of them all. You remembered Pansy's sixteenth, when she'd come downstairs crying.

"MY BI FLAG LOOKS LIKE SOME WEIRD ASS STRAIGHT FLAG!" She had sobbed, and you had comforted her until Astoria came into the room, and suddenly colours were visible again.

Your other friends weren't quite as lucky. Mattheo was unable to see colours, he stated plainly, while Theodore vehemently denied being able to see any colours at all. Just fifty shades of grey.

Draco was the youngest of the boys, and hadn't yet had his sixteenth. Blaise however was lucky, having been passing Ravenclaw dorm at the same time as a certain Luna Lovegood the week after his birthday.

And now here you were, in the week leading up to your birthday, saying your final goodbyes to colours.

"I'm going to miss seeing brown." You said idly as you fiddled with a blanket, lying across a couch in the Slytherin common room.

Draco snorted. "You'll miss brown? Why? It's such a boring colour." You sat up, indignant. "It's not. Cinnamon, trees in autumn, gingerbread, old vinyls, paper, vintage cars, antique bookshelves..." You listed, and a smile quirked at the corner of Theodore's mouth as he read.

"I think I'm just going to miss all the colours." You confessed.

"Our little Augophile." Blaise chuckled. You gave him a confused look. "Someone who loves colours." You thought for a second. "Sounds about right." You grinned.

The corner of Theo's mouth quirked again, but he looked back down to his book.

"I don't know if I'm ready." You said, sighing. The atmosphere of the room shifted instantly. "What do you mean?" Pansy said, unsticking herself from Astoria for a second.

"I mean I'm nervous. What if we're too similar? What if I hate them?" You said, stressing. "What if they hate me? WHAT IF IT'S DRACO." You yelled the last part, horrified. The others laughed.

Draco grimaced. "Thanks, l/n." You smiled. "Any time ferret." He glared at you, but you were too busy spiralling. 

"What do you want in a soulmate anyway, y/n?" Lorenzo asked, looking mildly curious. 

"Umm... nice, able to cook, ideally he'd be able to read, but given people like Crabbe and Goyle go to this school, that's not a guarantee..." You said, recieving a laugh. "My friends need to like him, and he needs to be willing to defend me." You said, finishing. (DON'T. MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER.)

"So... the bare minimum?" Mattheo said sarcastically. "Omg, babe, the bare minimum? You shouldn't have..." He rolled his eyes, laughing.

"I'm just kind of praying to a spiritual thing or whatever that they're not an asshole. That would suck." You said, fiddling with your hair.

Theo gently pulled your hand away from your hair. "You'll make your hair greasy." He said, not looking up.

You smiled and turned back to the conversation. "Look, y/n, I find it unlikely that the universe would give someone like you a bad person as a soulmate. I mean, that would be like you and me being together. Or you and Theo. It just wouldn't work." Mattheo said, shaking his head with a smirk.

"Right?!" You said, laughing softly. Theo stiffened slightly, unnoticed by everyone but the elder Riddle, who sat back reading a muggle book you had leant him.

You noticed Tom's smirk and turned to look at him. "What's on your mind Tomothy?" You said, smiling.

"Just Tom is fine, n/n. And I am merely amused by two characters in this story. Neil and Todd I believe? The two of them seem... rather well matched." Tom said idly. You smiled as Mattheo craned his neck to look at the book.

"Dead Poet's society?" He said, wrinkling his nose. "How do they write if they're dead? Ghosts don't have a present form to write with..." He frowned.

You laughed. "They don't write the poetry. Well, they do, but later on. They're obsessed with a poet called John Keats." Mattheo interrupted you.

"Sounds boooring, I don't wanna know." He said, groaning. Tom rolled his eyes as your smile faltered slightly. Theo noted that.

"I want to know." He said, placing his book carefully to the side, 'The secret history'.

You smiled. He had no idea what he was getting into.

You then spent the next two hours explaining the plot of dead poets to Theodore, who was, surprisingly, an avid listener. He asked questions in the right place, and although his expression didn't say much, he didn't move away or interrupt you, so you assumed he was interested.

"So... to be clear, they were never actually together, but you wish Neil and Todd were?" Theodore concluded. You nodded, brushing tears away from your eyes. A sniffle was heard from behind you, and you turned to see Lorenzo wiping his eyes with a tissue.

"My poor little homosexuals..." He said, looking genuinely sad. You and Theo exchanged a look, trying to work out if he was serious or not, which apparently he was, as you found out later. Theo awkwardly patted his back, trying to console him to the best of his ability.

You giggled to yourself, picking up your book and heading upstairs.

Theodore called after you. "Y/N!"

You turned, looking back at him from the steps to your dorm. "Yeah?"

"You're coming to the match tomorrow right?" He said hesitantly. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Matt's been pushing us hard, should be a good game." He continued, trying to gauge your reaction.

You nodded, smiling. "Oh yeah. I'll be there." You said, waving before you headed up to bed.

Theodore smiled to himself, before picking up his book again. You'd be there.

"TEN POINTS TO SLYTHERIN!" Lee Jordan's voice rang out across the stadium, amplified by his magical megaphone. You looked on excitedly as Enzo scored another goal for Slytherin, taking the lead from Gryffindor.

Gryffindor were clearly starting to get slightly worried, and their new beaters, Kirke and Sloper were clearly losing their nerve. They needed a distraction from the game, to give Gryffindor a lead.

They needed to take out someone who the entire Slytherin team would care about enough to stop the game for a moment.

They needed to take out you.

Throughout the game, Theodore's eyes flickered to you, making sure you were still watching. And every time he looked, there you were, eyes trained on the game and a happy smile on your face.

Theodore batted a bludger at Ginny Weasley, which Sloper deflected perfectly... until it wasn't perfect anymore.

The bludger came speeding towards you, too fast for you to move.

There was a sickening crunch, and then everything went black.

one week later

"-Mr Nott you need to leave, she needs rest and she'll probably be rather disorentated when she wakes-"

"-I don't care, I'm not leaving her like this."

"Huh?" You mumbled, eyes fluttering slightly before they opened a fraction.

A face swam into vision, looking down at you with a concerned frown. You felt a flash of something in your chest, and then the face came into colour.

"Careful, Mr Nott, she will be emotionally fragile after such damage." The woman's voice tutted as she bustled away.

It took you a minute of squinting to bypass the amnesia before a name came to you.

"Teddy?" You mumbled, and the figure rolled their eyes with a small smile.

"You haven't called me that since we were eight, y/n." The figure said, sitting back in the chair beside the hospital bed you were apparently in.

Right, y/n... that must be you. 'Teddy' frowned.

"Yes it's you, why wouldn't you be y/n?" He said, looking concerned, and you realised you had spoken aloud.

"She probably has some level of amnesia, from her head injury. She's also on a lot of pain meds, and may be a little honest." The lady said, bustling away near you. Teddy's mouth set into a hard line.

"Quel maledotto idiota. Non guarda dove sta colpendo quella dannata cosa, no, la colpisce semplicemente ovunque gli piaccia dannatamente." He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lapsed into his mothertongue. (That fucking idiot.  He doesn't look where he's hitting the damn thing, no, he just hits it wherever he damn well pleases)

"Uh, sorry, I don't speak Ravioli." You said, peering up at him curiously. "What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter." He said, shaking his head. "What do you remember from Saturday?" He said, looking at you intently.

You wrestled with your brain for a moment, trying to bypass your amnesia. "I remember walking to the quidditch stadium... and watching you. You were very good." You said absent mindedly, not noticing how that surprised him.

"I didn't know you were watching me particularly tesoro." He smirked, and you frowned. That name had stirred something in you... THEO! That was his name.

"I always do, I don't want any of you guys to get hurt, you're my best friends." You said, seeming confused as Theo's smirk dropped.

Right. Of course you wouldn't be watching just him. That would have been ridiculous. So why did he feel disappointed?

"But that's all I remember. What else happened?" You said, looking interested.

Theo hesitated. Did he tell you? Aw what the hell, you were going to find out anyway.

"You were watching the game with Pansy when an unnamed beater on the Gryffindor team threw a hissy fit and hit a bludger at you. I say unnamed because although I know exactly who it was that hit it, I couldn't be bothered to learn his name. Perhaps you can identify him?" Theo nodded towards a figure lying in a bed a few beds down to your right.

You craned your neck to see. They seemed to have a broken nose, and several bruises covering their face, making them look like some strange purple smurf.

"The grumpy lady said I have amnesia right? So honestly, given he looks like a bruised potato, I have no idea who that is." You said, smiling slightly, before looking again, this time noticing the patients name written on a get well soon card. 

"Actually, now that you mention it, a name does come to mind... A Jack Sloper I think?" 

Theo frowned, looking at the boy again. "If he's that recognisable, Tom and I clearly didn't do a good enough job." 

You giggled. "It's on his card, Teddy. His get well soon card. He probably needs all the well wishes he can get, given his current state."

Theo's lip twitched, and you saw a hint of a smile. "Glad to be of service." You smiled, which then flipped into a frown. "But... the scottish lady... what's her name... Old MacDonald?" At that Theodore laughed, a deep laugh that was all all too rare noise. 

"McGonagall, y/n." You beamed. "Right, thanks!" He shook his head, smiling at you. "Anyway, McGonagall, there's no way she let you get away with this." At that, Theo winced. 

"That bad huh?" He grimaced, and you braced for impact. "Two months detention." He said, shaking his head. You sighed. "Not expelled then." Theo looked shocked. "God no tesoro, she was rather sympathetic to my cause actually." You straightened. "Which was?" 

Theo frowned. "He hurt you y/n, I couldn't just let him get away with no repercussions." You looked confused. "You didn't beat up that Hufflepuff guy when he broke our blonde friends name..." You searched for a name, racking your brain. 

"Astoria, and I won't tell her you forgot her name, lest she murder you in cold blood." Theo chuckled lowly. You smiled gratefully, then remembered your question. "So, why'd you beat up Sloper and not the Hufflepuff when he hurt Astoria?" You asked softly, fiddling with your pale cream bedsheets.

"Perché Astoria non sei tu." He rolled his eyes. (Because Astoria isn't you.) 

You frowned. "There you go again with the ravioli. What's special about me? I can't mean much more than her." Theo hesitated, as if he'd made a mistake. "You're not special. I've just known you longer, you're an obligation, not a choice, y/n." He replied, voice slightly cold. 

That hurt, and he saw it in your face, internally cursing himself. This is why it was stupid to be close to you, he'd just end up hurting you with stupid words and silly lies and ridiculous promises.    

"I know. Don't worry." You whispered, eyes roving over the vibrant colours of the flowers on Sloper's bedside. "But you don't need to fight for me, Theo." Unknowingly, that hurt Theo. 

You'd said you wanted a soulmate who would defend you, and now that he'd done it for you, you were saying you didn't need him to. Clearly you didn't want him to be like your ideal soulmate. You didn't want him. And not only that, he was Theo again. Not Teddy. Just Theo, what everyone else called him. Well, everyone else he cared even a little for. 

"I know, don't worry." He replied coldly, standing and leaving. You felt horrible. He'd fought for you, risked his safety, and you'd rebuked him. You hoped he wasn't too upset over it. Something in you felt wrong when he was upset. 

He came back in after a moment. "Y/N, I'm sorry." He sighed. "This has probably been a lot for you. And I know what you're saying, don't feel bad. I gotta go to detention though, okay Tesoro? I'll see you later solare." He kissed your forehead and then left. And everything felt better. (Darling, sunshine)

A month had passed since you were freed from the jail of the hospital wing and you were flying high, except for the fact that you had hardly seen Theo, given his two months detention. You missed your best friend, least of all because of the major crush you'd been harbouring for a year or so.

You had been reminded of the existence of soulmates, but were still not sure how people knew they were soulmates, and hadn't wanted to ask for fear of being thought stupid. Unfortunately, you were about to find out. Or, think so.

"Y/N!" A voice called after you as you walked out of class. You span, and noticed Cormac McLaggen watching you with an unreadable expression. 

"Yeah?" You replied uncertainly. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment? It's really important." He called. You nodded carefully, following him. 

"I know this must come as a shock, but we're soulmates." You started. "What?" You were confused.

"I know, it shocked me too, I had no idea, it doesn't feel real. I'm so happy, though. I knew we were meant to be together." He said excitedly, smirking. "How... How do you know?" You asked, trying to look indifferent. 

"Well, I know you forgot how soulmates work, but the man in the relationship can always tell. You feel this weird pull towards her, and then you just know. I know you can feel it too." He said, so convincingly. 

You looked at him. He looked so convinced, so excited. How could you tell him you couldn't feel it? "Yes, I feel it." You said, trying to sound convinced. He looked surprised for a second, before his face relaxed. "Good, good! So, can I take you out?" 

You thought for a second. He was your soulmate after all. "Okay, sure." You put on a bright smile. 

"Awesome, meet me in Hogsmeade this weekend then." He said, walking away. Was that it? Your soulmate? You thought it would be more. A magical flash of light, some weird pull... but nothing. But he was. He was. So you would push through. 

(A month later)

You were in your dorm bathroom with Pansy and Astoria, getting ready for a date with Cormac. He wasn't a perfect soulmate, but he was okay? Right? He forced you to spend an awful lot of time with him. As a result, you'd barely seen your friends since he spoke to you the first time. As for Theo... you hadn't seen him properly since the hospital wing, besides a few group hangouts, due to his detention, which had finally ended tonight. And you missed him. 

"-Y/N!" A voice called you and you snapped out of your thoughts. "Hmm? Yes sorry?" 

"I was asking how it felt for you when you first saw colours again. You know, when you first looked at McLaggen." Astoria said, smiling.

You frowned. "What?" Pansy looked confused. 

"You know, when you look at your soulmate, and the colour comes back into your life after the grey." Pansy said, trying to prompt your memory. "Maybe your memory still isn't all there." She said sympathetically. 

"When you turned sixteen, you would have lost the ability to see colours for a bit, until you saw McLaggen." Astoria explained, smiling. "I was asking how it felt for you to see colours again." 

You froze, tensing up. You had been able to see colours before you see Cormac. You had been able to see colours way before then. Oh god. Why had Cormac lied to you?

"Y/N? So, how'd it feel?" You jerked back into consciousness. "Umm, yeah, it felt good." You said, and realised they were watching you. You noticed your expression had dropped and upped the wattage of your smile. That put them off for a little, at least until you were gone. 

You decided to wait near the library, which was where Cormac had said he'd meet you. Let the waiting begin. As you waited, you began to wonder. Was Cormac even your soulmate like he said he was? He'd have no reason to lie about that. And even so, if you'd always been able to see colours, maybe your soulmate was dead? That made sense. Maybe your soulmate was dead, and Cormac knew, so he replaced him. 

You frowned. That was ridiculous, nearly Aaron Warner level delusional. And McLaggen still wasn't there for you to ask. 

And little did you know, he wouldn't be for quite a while. 

Theo's POV

Finally, a night without detention. It had been a seriously long time since he'd had a free night, and he revelled in it. Not that it hadn't been worth it, Sloper would be much careful with his bat now, and he'd managed to get an apology to you. Not without Theo threatening him though and Tom glaring at him ominously. 

Although having to babysit a load of excitable and enthusiastic first years was not the way anybody would want to spend every Tuesday. How were they so happy? And enthusiastic? And not absolutely drowning in homework? No, Theo couldn't understand it. But hey, they were at least invested in learning chess, which he taught them with great patience. Tom, not so much. 

He had been asked to tutor second years, and reduced a poor Ravenclaw girl to tears, earning him another additional day of detention. 

Theo slid down onto a couch in the common room with Blaise to his left. Dracp clapped him on the back, grinning. "Welcome back to having a social life, Nott." Theo grimaced slightly, but let a smile grace his face.

"Catch me up then, what did I miss?" He said, trying to seem nonchalant, when in reality, he was dying to know the castle gossip. Not that he'd ever tell Pansy and Astoria, they'd hound him for eternity. 

"Umm... let me think. Oh yeah, so, Anna Dbrovnik in 7th year had a pregnancy scare, but it was okay because it turned out she hadn't even had sex, Lavender Brown has a crush on Ron Weasley, and Y/N and Cormac McLaggen started dating." Astoria reeled off, noticing Theo's face harden and him sit up at her last words. 

"What?" He said lethally quietly. "Oh yeah, turns out he's her soulmate, which none of us really saw coming, and now they're going out. Weird right?" Pansy continued brightly, obviously aware of what she'd just done.

"I didn't know it was possible to have two soulmates." Theo said quietly. Seven heads turned his way. "Alright man, what the flip?" Said Lorenzo, earning a badly disguised giggle from Mattheo. 

"Y/N's my soulmate, and now I find out I have to share her with McLaggen?" Theo spat bitterly. Some cruel trick of nature. "That's not possible. Everyone only has one soulmate, it's written into the laws of the universe or something." Tom said, trying to appear indifferent. 

"So that means either you're lying, which I doubt, or McLaggen is. WHAT A LITTLE WHORE!" Astoria screeched, furious on your behalf. "Alright, calm down babe." Pansy grabbed her shoulders, pulling Astoria back and kissing her head. 

"I WILL NOT BE SILENT! SOME UGLY GRYFFINDOR HOE HAS DECIEVED MY BEST FRIEND!" Astoria said, voice raising in decibels with each syllable. 

Pansy thought for a second, and then realised something. "She already knows."

There was a sharp intake of breath from several people, before Blaise asked the all important question. "How do you know?" 

Pansy slid down onto the sofa. "She froze up when we asked her how it felt to find out McLaggen was her soulmate. We mentioned the whole colours thing and she looked so confused, she clearly didn't know that that's how it works. How did we not see that?" Pansy groaned. 

Theo coughed. "So... if she knew he wasn't her soulmate and knew he'd been lying to her, why did she still go to him?" He said, trying to douse the flame burning in his chest with water. 

"Knowing Y/N, that's not going to be a date for her, it's going to be a confrontation." Draco smirked. The water became gasoline, the fire burning it's way through his body before reaching his brain and shocking him into motion.

"I have to tell Y/N. I have to at least talk to her, even if she rejects me." Theo said, standing quickly. Pansy scoffed. "Yeah, as if she's about to reject you." Astoria giggled, and Theo froze. 

"What?"

Theo, you're almost as blind as Astoria without contacts." Astoria stopped giggling and glared at her girlfriend, who gave her an apologetic look. "Y/N's had an itty bitty massive crush on you since you were kids, Theo." Pansy said, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically. "So don't screw this up, or we'll all hit you to Pluto." She said brightly. Theo turned to the group. 

"That true? You'd all hit me to Pluto if I hurt her?" There was a collective silence, and Theo exhaled. "Wow, thanks guys." He said sarcastically. 

"I'd only hit you to mars, but that's because of cracky joints." Enzo offered. Theo rolled his eyes, standing and leaving the common room, speed walking down corridors to try and find you. 

"WRONG WAY! SHE'S AT THE LIBRARY!" Pansy called after him. He flushed, before turning and running the correct way. 

...

Your POV

You had been waiting just under half an hour for McLaggen, with him still no show. You sighed quietly, before beginning to walk away from the library, wandering aimlessly towards the Gryffindor common room to try check on him. 

You had barely got a corridor away when McLaggen appeared infront of you, chest heaving and out of breath. "GOT- HELD- UP- WITH- UH... HOMEWORK!" He wheezed, catching his breath. Your eyes quickly roved over him, taking in his appearance. You noticed his half done belt, and a lipstick print on his ruffled collar, his rumpled shirt.

You didn't have to be a Ravenclaw to work that one out. But instead of feeling upset, or angry, or mad.. you felt nothing. Maybe a little disappointed, given you thought he was better than that, but honestly? Recent events had dissipated the few shreds of respect you still had for him. 

"Yes, I'm sure homework can be incredible distracting." You said quietly. He didn't appear to notice. "Right so, shall we go?" He said presumptuously. You shook your head. 

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." You said nervously. He groaned. "Y/N, you talk too much, we'll be late." He said, rolling his eyes, gripping your wrist and attempting to pull you along. A few students looked on at this. You bit back a retort, wrenching your wrist from his grip. 

"Why'd you tell me we're soulmates?" You asked carefully. He turned, shock evident on his face as his hand became clammy. "Because we are, babe. Come along now." He said through gritted teeth. You shook your head vehemently, as Theodore and a few of your other friends came around the corner, out of breath, Theodore in front.

"I could see colours before I saw you. You took advantage of me, and you lied to me. I want to know why." You took a step closer, glaring at him. 

He took a step back, a smirk crossing his face, which you felt a burning urge to slap. "Calm it, Y/N, or I'll think you're confused. You sure you don't need to see madam Pomfrey?" He said in mock sympathy, obviously trying to get a laugh out of his audience. No-one laughed. 

Theo stepped forward, coming to stand beside you. "You can do this, Tesoro. Don't let him gaslight you." He whispered to you. You smiled. Cormac frowned.

"What are you saying to her?" He glared. 

"I'm telling her the best way to dismember you without getting caught." Theo deadpanned, smirking at you with that signature look of his. You grinned up at him, and Tom raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about method five right?" He said, frowning.

Theo rolled his eyes. "I was being sarcastic, but yes, if I was to tell her I'd use that one." Tom nodded and returned to his position against the wall. 

"You're being stupid, Y/N. You know I'm your soulmate, so stop being so ridiculous." He scoffed, pulling you towards him. Theo gently pulled you back, pulling McLaggen's hands off of you with such force that he winced. 

"You don't touch her, Signor Piccolo Cazzo." Theo taunted, glaring. He pushed you behind him. "You don't get to walze in here, gaslight her and act like she's the problem. È incredibile e tu non meriti di pulirle le scarpe." (Mr Small dick) (She's incredible, and you are not worth of wiping her shoes.)

McLaggen clenched his fists, clearly not knowing what Theo was saying, but getting the gist of it. "Look it's none of your goddamn business Nott, just fuck off back to your own country." You started at that, walking forward and slapping him across the face. Cormac reeled. 

"FUCK Y/N? WHY WOULD YOU HIT YOUR SOULMATE?" He yelled, clearly playing the victim. No-one came to help him. 

"She's not your fucking soulmate." Theo said, lethally quiet. You were surprised. How did he know that?

"YOU CAN'T PROVE THAT NOTT, CAN YOU? HOW DO YOU KNOW?" McLaggen taunted him. And that was Theo's breaking point. 

"BECAUSE SHE'S MY SOULMATE. SHE'S MEANT TO BE MINE, AND I'M FUCKING HERS, AND MERLIN DAMN ME IF I LET A STRONZO LIKE YOU STEAL HER HEART." Theo exploded, towering over McLaggen. 

You froze. Looking at Theo. Looking at McLaggen. Looking at Theo. Him looking at you.

 "It's you." 

It wasn't a question. It was barely a statement. It was a truth, unknown until now. 

"Whatever. You were a fucking bet anyway." Cormac said, rolling his eyes. At that, Theo turned, and you gripped his wrist, pulling him away from McLaggen. 

"I don't want you to get in trouble." You whispered to him. 

"Solare, right now I couldn't care less." He murmured to you. You smiled, shaking your head. "I don't think we need to do anything." You gestured to a furious Ravenclaw girl. 

"You said you'd broken up." She glared at Cormac. "Y/N, girl, I swear I wouldn't have gone near him if I'd known you were still together." She said, turning to you apologetically. You shook your head, smiling. 

"Don't worry." She smiled gratefully, before her friends dragged him off, no doubt to violently insult him.

You turned back to Theo, before you hugged him tightly. He started, before he wrapped you into a hug, putting his chin on your head. (Before someone says something about being a pick me short girl, I'm literally 5'2 irl lol I'm basing this off of my height and experiences (or lack of)

"So..." You whispered, looking up at him. He smiled down at you, that small smile reserved only for you. 

"I know." He exhaled. 

"Why didn't you tell me? It's not like you didn't have time, hell, you must have known like eight months?" You said, upset. 

"I wanted you to come to me because you like me, not because we habe some soul connection. And I was pretty sure I was the last guy around that you'd want as your soulmate. When you described your ideal soulmate, you said someone willing to defend you, and when I did, you told me I didn't need to. I was confused, Bella." He said desperately.

"I told you you didn't need to because I hate seeing you hurt! It physically pains me, Teddy." Theo tightened his hold on you at that. "I really really care about you Theo, and that's probably because I'm desperately in love with you." You said, cheeks warming as you looked down. "You feel right. And you were the first thing I saw when I woke up, which is why I was always able to see colours." You realised.

You felt a hand on your chin, tilting your face up before a pair of lips met your forehead. Then your nose. Then each of your cheeks. The corner of your mouth. And finally, your lips.

Your first kiss with Theo was everything you had imagined in your little daydreams before bed to help you fall asleep. Except, this time, your brain hadn't just skipped to the good part, you had actually gone through and experienced all the build up. And god was it worth it. 

He pulled back after a moment, and your lips chased his, eliciting a chuckle from him as he kissed you back. 

"I love you like you are my oxygen. My sunshine." He murmurs to you, holding you close and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You giggled.

"We've both been such idiots." You whispered, smiling. 

"Thank god Pansy told me you love me or this would have been mortifying." He smirked, laughing lowly. You gasped. 

"PANSY!" You struggled against the hands around your waist, attempting to get to her. "THEO- LET- ME- GO!" You glared at your soulmate as he chuckled.  

"Much as I'd love to see you try fight, love, I don't want you to hurt your friends." You glared. "WHY?!"

"You'd be sad in the morning." He said, smiling. 

"Seriously? That's your only objection?" Pansy looked unimpressed. 

Theo shrugged. "If it makes her happy." He smiled down at you, where you had given up in your attempts to escape and were relaxing back into his warmth. 

"Damn you and your stupid perfectness." You whispered to him, , and he leaned down and kissed you until you were smiling again.

A/N: My first soulmate AU! GAH! Hope you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment or reblog if you did, requests still open, have a good one <3

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Cruel Summer | Chapter I: August

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: You and Neteyam have been friends since you were children, and you taught each other everything, from English and Na'vi, to movie references and hunting, to everything about your own and the other's bodies. It was the perfect friendship-with-benefits, on paper. But how long can it last in the face of all that stands to tear it apart?

A/N: I'm so excited to say my new Neteyam series is officially here, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter!! This was for some reason one of the easiest and at the same time, one of the hardest piece i've ever written, like some parts came to me almost instantly and others I STRUGGLED WITH, besties. I hope it's not super disjointed and that you're as excited as me to embark on this journey. Thank you for your patience and can't wait to hear your thoughts. As always, I deeply appreciate your replies, reblogs, likes and follows, they mean so much x ly besties xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to August here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it

Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you

There was so much about you and Neteyam’s relationship, if you can even call it that, that was wrong and unsightly, that was forbidden and hidden. But, as you stood in the forest, propped on your elbows, taking in the sun shining brightly through the leaves and his toned, azure back, on which patterns of the forest branches rippling in the breeze formed, you couldn’t care less if you tried. In these moments, fleeting and irreplaceable, life was everything you’ve ever wanted, more than you could have ever dreamt, and enough to keep you going. In these moments, there were no humans and Na’vi, no impending doom, no animosity over your presence in the village, no hatred emanating from Neytiri’s entire being whenever her intense and prying eyes spotted you or Spider in the crowd or amongst her kids, no woman that would soon be bearing Neteyam’s children, there was nothing else, but him and you and the promise of hushed confessions and wandering hands, of lingering stares and breakable heaven. 

You couldn’t help be drawn by the silent invitation of his body, so tempting and beautiful, so big and different to yours, but just similar enough to allow for… certain enjoyable, mind-blowing pastime activities that were sure to occupy the time and every ounce of free space in your mind, and your soul, and your entire being. Your hand trailed on his back, from the nape of his neck to the band of his loincloth, moving over the scratches that you left on him just a couple hours ago, over the healed scars he got from battles and hunts that you could name and describe each of by heart, and you drew your name on his back with your fingers and the air beneath them as ink, hoping this way you’d mark him, this way you could keep him forever. Pushing the unpleasant thought aside, you playfully tugged at the purple fabric covering him. He turned around on his side to face you, his defined abs and chest fully on display, and the way he eyed you, desperate and needy, full of hunger and desire, made your stomach churn and core throb. 

“What do you think you’re doing, ma Vol?” 

Your mouth curved in a mischievous grin, which turned into a full-blown laugh as he grabbed your much smaller hands in one of his large blue ones and with very little visible effort, stretched your arms above your head and manoeuvred you on your back on the mossy, comfortable grass. He hovered over you, his smile mirroring your own from just a few moments ago, and he tapped the mask currently providing the oxygen needed to keep you alive with his index finger, the sound ringing in your ears like bells in a church. 

“I would give anything to not have this in the way right now.” 

“Me too. Death by make-out with a hot blue 9 something foot tall alien? There are worse ways to go.” 

He shook his head at you and scoffed, but you could tell he was amused. The desire you felt for him instantly diminished as the thought of the fact he would be heading home soon enough, home to his family and his new mate, crept unwelcome in the back of your mind and slowly moved forward, until it was everything, until it was the only thing. 

“Do you have to go back soon?”

He sighed and let you go, plopping himself back on the grass next to you, chest up and looking at the sky and the clouds moving above you, and all the shapes they made as they passed you by. 

“You know I do.” 

You knew. You’ve known for years, ever since the first time you and Neteyam started this game of hide and seek with the rest of the village, with each other, and with yourselves, that this was temporary, that one day, he would belong to someone else, and all you would be able to do is watch.

Salt air, and the rust on your door, I never needed anything more

Whispers of "Are you sure?", "Never have I ever before"

Your and Neteyam’s lives could not be more different. You were human, a tiny, inconsequential human, left behind after the war, unable to be hooked to cryo, so you stayed with the scientists who were fortunate enough to be allowed safe haven on this planet that was now as much their home as it was the Omatikaya’s. You knew nothing of Earth, other than stories told to you by your surrogate family and from whatever form of art they had with them, that brought them the comfort of a home long forsaken, but never forgotten. In time, it brought you comfort, too, knowing what Earth used to be like, knowing that humans were not just monsters, but had it in them to be smart, and kind, and funny, to create beautiful music, and poetry, to combine words, words that everybody had access to and everyone could speak, combine them in such a way that it brought tears in your eyes or happiness in your heart, that made you think and ponder about the meaning of growth, the meaning of love and laughter and life and death. It was beautiful, they were beautiful, and - you hoped - so were you.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You and Neteyam shared many firsts throughout your 19 years of friendship. Despite your differences, despite your incompatibility and despite so many challenges facing you, despite both knowing it was most likely wrong and shouldn’t have happened, you always found solace in each other. You found yourselves in each other. You were each other’s first kiss, first sleep over, first flirtatious touch and first wandering hands, first make-out, first second base and first third base, first secret affair. Everything you knew about each other’s bodies, about your own bodies, you learned together. What makes each other tick, what makes each other tickle, what makes each other cum. In time, you knew everything about the other and you made sure you took advantage of that knowledge as often as you could. 

The first time you and Neteyam ever kissed was when you were both 12, both innocent children, both curious. At that time, he was not a lot bigger than you, as it turns out humans stopped growing in height a lot sooner than Na’vi did. Now, your full body reached his lower ribs, but at the time, he was only about a head taller than you. It was short and sweet, and so so innocent, and yet, it never left you. That kiss, which at the time was just fulfilling a curiosity more than anything else, started a complicated and convoluted journey that was full of potholes, full of tight swerves and icy roads, full of dangers and darkness, but a journey worth taking nonetheless, because in the short periods of clear skies and sun-kissed warmth, it had the most heavenly sights and luminous vistas, and it was everything. 

The first time you shared a bed, you were 15. Actually, a bed is a very loose term. In reality, it was just a mess of sheets in one of the recreation rooms that no other human or avatar really frequented, outside of you and Spider. It was large and tall, and had a huge screen where you usually watched movies whenever the Sullys came by to visit. Neteyam taught you Na’vi and he, being the dutiful son and soldier that he was, would come by to learn English at least once a week when he was young, knowing it would one day come in helpful against the humans. He didn’t say it, but you knew he also did it to be more like his dad, yet another way he emulated the Toruk Makto.

His favourite way to learn is with you, as you were also learning as you went along, and both of your favourite way to learn is by watching Earth videos, and movies and tv shows, and trying to figure out what the references meant, what the idioms meant, how to use slang that made no sense to your ears without the scientists explaining it to you. When you were alone, sometimes, you liked to make your own meaning for phrases, and laughed at your own little private jokes that no one else would ever be privy to. One of those evenings, that started with studying, and a marathon of Friends, ended with tangled limbs and soft snores, covered in blankets and the warmth of each other’s bodies. It was so innocent, and so childlike, and so was the second kiss you’ve ever shared, that happened in between giggles and The One Where Ross Finds Out, where the tension that erupted between Ross and Rachel and the kiss that resulted off it, prompted a philosophical discussion around physical displays of affection and what the big deal about it was. After trying it out for yourselves, you concluded it was overrated.

That didn’t last long, as your first make-out came soon after, a little less innocent and definitely less childlike. You discovered maybe there was some truth in those shows, and you discovered that you both enjoyed the tingling on your skin and the butterflies in your stomach that each other’s touch provided. That lasted for a few years, and eventually progressed into this, whatever this was. Initially, it was just curiosity. Then it became about how good release felt, how necessary it was, how much the pleasure helped both of you unwind and go about your day, forget about frustrations about the labs, and training, and parents and surrogate families, it could all be solved by each other’s bodies. It was purely self-indulgent, it was friends with benefits at its finest.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

But I can see us lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

'Cause it was never mine

But life never stopped around you, and the world didn’t stop around you, as much as it felt like it had when it was just the two of you. You both grew up, and while you were still the same human, still doing the same things and having the same limitations that would always plague you, Neteyam’s world was a constant whirlwind of which you were just a small breeze. In time, he took his Iknimaya and Uniltaron, he became a man, and a revered warrior, despite being only 19. Early last week, he even got a mate, and will soon consummate that mateship, and he will be bonded with her for life, and you will be just a part of the past, just a small reminder of his childhood, just a dull ache in a mass of growing pains. 

“What are you thinking about, ma Vol?” 

You smiled softly as his nickname pulled you out of your musings. Vol. He first called you that when you were kids, and he found out that on Earth, the eight month of the year, when you were born, was called August. The Na’vi had a name for August, and it was vospxìvol, and after the first time the word ever left his lips, so did any other name for you disappear from his mind. To everyone else, you were Y/N. To him, you were his Vol. His never-ending summer, your warmth surrounding him for all time, your day eclipsing his darkest nights. 

You wanted to be honest. To tell him what you thought about, what occupied your every other thought, what weighed on your heart so heavily it felt like it would overtake you, every day, all day, was him. It was how much, despite your unspoken agreement that this was purely physical, it got to mean more to you in time. It was how much you loved him, desperately and unconditionally, impermeably and forever. You wanted to tell him that you knew the rules, you knew that whatever this was couldn’t last, wouldn’t last, but there’s nothing more you wanted in this life than a way to make it last, to make him yours. That you curse your life every day that you will never be able to understand this world the way you were meant to, that you would never understand the bond the Na'vi have with it and with the beings in it, with each other, and that the thought of his queue, the most intimate part of him, a direct influx into his thoughts and feelings, connecting to someone else’s, made you sick to your stomach, made bile and acid gather in your mouth until it burned everything in its wake as you had to swallow you back down where it belonged. 

You felt stubborn tears pricking at your eyes and forced yourself to push them back away. Neteyam was your best friend, was the man that knew you more intimately than anyone else ever would and still, there were somethings better left unsaid, some cans of worms that would spoil even the most unfastidious of appetites. 

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine

“Just thinking about how I’m going to be able to explain all of these marks on my body, you fiend. I think I’m running out of ideas, there are only so many rashes Norm won’t get worried about, and only so many clothes that will cover all traces of you on me. I don’t have the luxury of shopping for more clothes, you know?” 

Neteyam laughed and you knew you were out of the woods and that he wouldn’t pry anymore. It was time for you to go back, time for you to deal with the unfairness of the universe in your own room, under the cover of darkness and solitude, drowning your senses in music and mindless entertainment. 

“Take me home?” 

He turned his back to you and knelt, waiting. You smiled at his unspoken way of telling you to get on his back, and obliged, attaching to him like a backpack. In reality, this was easier for him than walking next to you, as you were slow and a far cry from his nimble and athletic capabilities. Plus, it meant he got to keep you close a while longer, got to feel his heart beating on his back and your chest moving as you inhaled, and your breath in the crook of his neck. It was much better than walking. It didn’t take long for Hell’s Gate to appear into view, the big, mostly decrepit ruin of a city left behind by the humans large enough that it could be spotted from miles away. It was Jake’s decision as Olo’eyktan to have the Omatikaya village close-by, an attempt at keeping close to the scientists and uniting the two worlds, both of which you had a foot in, but nothing more - enough to not be homeless, never enough to truly belong in either.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” 

The silence was very loud, and you sighed in a desperate attempt to fill it. 

“You know you can say you’re going to see her. I’m not under any illusion that you have no contact with the woman you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with when you’re not with me.” 

It was his turn to sigh, and you found yourself regretting ever asking. 

“I know, but still…” 

“Yes?” 

“You and me… it’s… I -…” 

You chuckled bitterly. Neteyam wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a man who always knew what those words would be when they did come out of his beautiful mouth. He never blabbered, or got flustered, he was the most poised and sure of himself person you’ve ever met. And yet here he was, mind blank and uncertain tone, and you felt relieved, at least to some extent, that he wasn’t completely unaffected by this whole situation, that you weren’t going through this completely by yourself. 

“I know.”

“I love you, you know?” 

That you did know. 

Remember when I pulled up and said, "Get in the car"

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

Back when I was living for the hope of it all

Neteyam’s mind tortured him today more than most other days, as so many memories of your life together enveloped him, and the warmth they provided was quickly dispersed by thoughts of a face, a new face, a known and yet strange face, the face of the woman he’s been promised to. They wrestled with images of your face, beautiful and alien, so different from everything he knew and yet so familiar, of your body that he knew so intimately, that he knew better than his own, images of it trembling under him, of your parted lips and the moans that escape it, of your eyes he dreamt about each night shut tightly as each orgasm washed over you, of your hands that always found their way to his back or his ass, pushing him deeper in you, or in his hair, pulling on it or tugging it behind his ear.

It’s been almost two years since the first time he’s known you like this. The first time, it was awkward and strange, there was so much fumbling and so much that neither of you knew, and despite how many movies you watched, there was very little information on Na’vi and human… relationships, so it took a lot of trial and error to get to where you were at now, a point of no return, a point of unspeakable pleasures and feelings that ran so deep, they’d put most oceans to shame. Feelings that he hid, because speaking them out loud would lead to only heartbreak. What you two had worked. It’s worked for so long, neither of you knew anything else. You were best friends, you knew everything about each other. So why would he ever risk it? Why would he ever ruin it, since there was no future anyway?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Neteyam knew that what you did was wrong. It was wrong, but it never felt wrong. It felt so right. Despite all of your differences, despite all of the ways you could never be together, despite the fact that he could never form tsaheylu with you, nothing compared to the feeling of you falling asleep with your limbs all over his torso, with your head in the crook of his neck. Nothing compared to the connection he felt when he sank in you and you looked in each other’s eyes, and it felt like he could hear all of your thoughts, feel everything you were feeling, and he knew you did, too. In those moments, he thinks you both knew that what you had was far away from what it was always intended to be, and far away from how simple he thought it was when you first started it.

Because now there was someone else. Another woman, a woman that he’d have to bond with, have babies with, start a family with, a woman he had to love. A woman that wasn’t you. And while the thought of it made his skin crawl, so did the thought of disappointing his parents and his clan, who he would lead one day, by refusing, by not following through, by admitting he’s been engaging in these sort of relationships with a human, an alien. A demon. His mother could barely stomach you and Spider as her kids’ friends, Neteyam knew she’d have a heart attack is she were to hear about the activities you and her son got up to on a daily basis. 

Your chuckles ceased his train of thought, and he was glad. 

“You can put me down now, Teyam.” 

The gate to the big metal complex was so close to Neteyam he could feel the smell of metal inundating his nose and coating his tongue. He hated this smell, and he hated this place. You were the only good thing about it. 

“Sorry. Got lost in thoughts.” 

He heard the unmistakable sound of an oxygen mask being removed and his heart booming in his ears as panic took over him instantly, but he had no time to react to it as you turned his face towards you and placed your lips on his in a needy, desperate kiss that made him weak in the knees, that redirected his galloping heart from panic to desire, to ache… to love. Once you broke the kiss, Neteyam watched as you gasped for air and helped you tightened the mask over your face again, and then jumped from his back and onto the ground. 

“What was that for?” 

“Just saying thank you for a good day.” 

Just saying please don’t forget me once you reach her tent tonight. 

There was still a lot of commotion in the labs as you made your way through the corridors to reach your bedroom, and despite your body telling you it’s exhausted and needs sleep, you instead put on a lab coat and joined them, since you knew that going to bed meant unnecessary suffering and putting your mind through scenarios it didn’t need to think about just yet, not when they would all become reality soon and there was no point in living through it twice. You were surprised to find Spider in one of the cell culture labs, chatting animatedly with Norm. He smiled widely as he spotted you, and you tried your best to reciprocate and push aside all the ugly feelings plaguing you. 

“Hey, everyone.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” 

You knew Spider had a crush on you, and that he has had a crush on you for a while now. You weren’t sure if the crush was on your per se, or just on the only person who shared a similar age and species with him, but you didn’t have it in you to ever question him or turn him away. He was a good friend, and a good guy, and who knows? Maybe it was fate that you two were the only human children on Pandora, maybe it was fate that you were here together at the same time. Maybe despite your mind convulsing in pain just at the thought of him, thought of anyone else but Neteyam, he was who you would end up with, your only chance at lasting love, at a family. Maybe life was less about what you want, less about what makes you happy and more about the greater good, the greater purpose, the ability to make something out of nothing. Maybe. 

“What have you been up to today, kid?” 

“Not much, just training with Neteyam. Can’t you tell by my bulging muscles?” 

Norm removed his eyes from the microscope they were glued to, in order to eye you intently up and down. 

“All I can tell is that rash is not getting any better. You need to use the hydrocortisone cream I put in your room.” 

You prayed that neither men couldn’t see the blush that made your cheeks so hot from the inside out, you were struggling to keep your hands by your side and not fanning your face aggressively. 

“Will do, Norm. Need any help?” 

He thought about it for a while, then pointed to one of the incubators. 

“You can split the cells? I was going to ask Harry to do it, but since you’re here and want to help…” 

You smile at the chance to keep your mind occupied at least for a little while, at chance to not think about whatever it was that Neteyam was doing with another girl, with someone else that wasn’t you. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur, and so much has changed in your life, it was hard to keep track. The humans have officially returned to Pandora, and in their return, obliterated endless amounts of precious forest, of natural resources, of life that will never come back, that will always be mourned and missed. You were all forced to move camp, deep in the Hallelujah mountains, where the Flux Vortex was too powerful to allow for detection. It was painful and scary, and you felt numb as you had to say goodbye to the only home you’ve known for 19 years, to the forest and to the village. You couldn’t imagine how to villagers felt, how the Sullys felt… how Neteyam felt. There was only one thing that made this time bearable, and that was the fact that Neteyam’s mateship was postponed until things settled down. It was only temporary, and it meant very little in the grand scheme of things, but you were just happy you didn’t have yet another earth-shattering event clawing at your insides, ripping you to shreds. 

The relief didn’t last long, though, as Neteyam might not be sleeping with another girl, but he was also not sleeping with you anymore, either. The move and the new quarters meant a lot less privacy and a lot less space. You were fortunate enough to have your own room in the new labs, but the room was tiny and sharing a wall with Norm and Max. Neteyam was forced to move back into his parents’ tent, which meant the two of you never got a chance to be together at night anymore. He hasn’t come to visit you since the last time he took you back to Hell’s gate, and that was almost 2 weeks ago.

 

Today, you were hoping to change that. Today, you would ask him to take you to a different floating rock, or on an Ikran ride, or anywhere else but here, in this place that felt stifling and suffocating, this place that couldn’t, wouldn’t feel like home, no matter what. You missed him. You needed him. He had been the calm in all the chaos of your mind your whole life, and especially now, the spiralling felt particularly dizzying, the current particularly hard to navigate. 

As you were mindlessly pipetting some treatments of some cells, your mind wandered to the Sullys, all of whom were away today. The kids were in the forest, exploring woods that were no longer particularly safe to navigate. You knew they didn’t care, but still couldn’t help roll your eyes at the sheer irresponsibility. They asked you to come, but getting into any more trouble with Neytiri, or risking running into any humans didn’t particularly appeal to you. On the other hand, Neteyam and his parents were on a family hunt, a sweet tradition that has begun soon after Neteyam completed his Iknimaya and continued since, running of 6 years. 

Spending time with the Sullys was for sure one of your favourite ways to pass the time. The kids have always loved and welcomed you and Spider into their lives and their family, no matter how much Neytiri might have tried to influence them otherwise. Though Kiri found Spider her closest friend, you and her still loved hanging out together, loved being in each other’s companies, loved speaking for hours on end about everything and nothing. Kiri was drawn to humans, as Lo’ak was, and they took to your culture, your different ways of being, and thinking and existing, more so than any other Na’vi you knew. You assumed a lot of it had to do with their own differences to the clan, differences that while to you were insignificant, to them and to the Omatikaya, it meant the difference between a true Na’vi and a half-breed, an alien. Their slightly atypical appearance, which they shared with Jake, could be overlooked in him, as he was the Olo’eyktan, the Toruk Makto, the man that helped Eywa save their planet and their clan from certain death, but unfortunately for both his kids, that courtesy rarely extended to them.

Neteyam and Tuk looked all Na’vi, and could both pass as twins of their mother’s appearance at different stages of her life. Neteyam was the prince of the Omatikayan rule. He was tall and handsome, he was lean and muscular, and while his face was his mother’s, his body was definitely his father’s. Neteyam was a warrior. Through and through, he was forged in fire, with metal bones and razor-sharp teeth. He was forged to be unbreakable, to be the hope of the clan, the heir to the throne, the perfect son, the greatest soldier. Neteyam was one of the youngest Na’vi to go through his second birth after completing his Iknimaya and Uniltaron. He is the last man to get a bow made from the original Home Tree, that was burned to the ground almost 20 years ago. He was the epitome of the Omatikaya, and he wore all of these hats proudly, and he fought permanently to be worthy of them. Neteyam didn’t know what it was like to disappoint his parents, or his people. Unlike Lo’ak, he couldn’t afford to. Because of Lo’ak, he couldn’t afford to. He was willing to give anything… everything up in order to live up to the unrealistic expectations placed on him, because to him, that’s the only way to live. You admired him, admired his resolve and admired his will. You didn’t understand it, but you were human. You were selfish in nature, and you didn’t think that was a bad thing. You didn’t think being a little selfish sometimes was bad. In your mind,  you shouldn’t have to live only for others. You only had one life, a short life, and that life should be lived, and that life should be enjoyed. That was a cause of a great deal too many arguments between you and your best friend, and it is something you will never see eye to eye on. 

Norm’s aggressive entrance made you yelp out in surprise, and so did his face, contorted in pain and fear, so unlike the kind, calm and chipper one you’ve gotten to know throughout the years. 

“Get ready. Jake radioed me, the kids were attacked by the humans. They’re coming back now, so let’s make sure we have supplies prepared, so we can patch them up.” 

You felt a shudder overtake your body, and your hands, holding a pipette in one hand and a centrifuge tube in the other, felt limp and weak, felt like the weight was too much for your body to reasonably take. 

You got up from your chair almost robotically, feeling our mind blank as the information stewed and settled in it, until it reached a point it was the only thing ringing through your otherwise deafened ears. 

“Come on, honey.” 

“A-are…” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, couldn’t even bring your mouth to speak the words that were haunting your soul, that were constricting your heart.You were out of your mind with worry, so much worry, it was permeating through every cell of your being and bringing out toxins you didn’t even know resided in you, poisoning your blood and and making you pant, making you want to scream in anguish at the possibility of your honorary siblings, of him, being in any way hurt, in any way touched by any of the humans. 

“I think they’re alright. A little banged up, and probably terrified, but I think they’re ok. Jake didn’t say much, so let’s be prepared for everything. Get suture kits, and gauze, get numbing cream, the works.” 

You were grateful for Norm, now and always, for how he’s been more of a father figure to you than you could have ever anticipated or even hoped for. He’s loved and cared for you and Spider like you were his own, and you will never be able to repay him for all the attention and affection, but you strived to make him proud, strived to be a good student, a good scientist, a good person, a good daughter. That’s one of the reasons why you spent a lot of your time in Hell’s gate in the adjacent forest, and less time in the village. One of the reasons. 

As you got out of the labs and were hit by the warm thin air of the Omatikaya stronghold, you gasped as your eyes landed on Neteyam, who had deep cuts that leaked blood, like your eyes were leaking tears, both dropping carelessly, his on the ground, yours gathering at the bottom of your mask. His face cleared up as it spotted you in the crowd, and a quick look of easement panned across his features, and for a second, just a second, it felt like there was no one else in this world but you two, like this planet was an empty void kept alive and spinning by the magnitude of your love, by the gravity of the feelings pulling you towards each other, electrifying the air around you.

Your feet carried you forward with a mind of their own, and before you knew it, you were running, dropping the bag of supplies on the floor and pushing people out of the way - or at least trying to, not very successful when you were as strong as a literal toddler. The relief you felt overtook all your other thoughts, all your discernment of your circumstances and you surroundings, all the self-awareness of the situation and the knowledge you had to keep your feelings under wraps. It all went out the window as you jumped in Neteyam’s arms and circled your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips and although he winced in pain, he immediately tightened his grip and you and pulled you in closer. 

You moved until you came face to face with him, and you eyed him attentively to make sure he was alright, that he was really here and safe. 

“Are you -?” 

“I’m fine, ma Vol.” he smiled at you, and you could tell he was trying to tell you something by the way his eyes moved from yours to behind you. You were scared to follow his gaze, terrified to look behind you and see Neytiri glowering at you, and the confused, maybe scandalised faces of the rest of the Na’vi. So you didn’t. You got down and moved in line to all the rest of your surrogate siblings, doing a similar ritual, so as to not stand out from Neteyam’s. Lo’ak was happy to kneel and open his arms wide for you, and you appreciated this boy you loved so much more in this moment than you could ever tell him. He always knew what to do, he understood you well, just like you understood him. 

You finished with Spider, who looked a little more hurt than all the rest of them, and you knew it’s because, unlike them, his bones weren’t made with naturally occurring carbon fibre, so his body suffered a lot more every time something didn’t go to plan. It pained you to see him like this, hurting and bruised, and it hurt you more to see the anguish and fear haunting his eyes. You touched his arm and smiled softly as heat spread out where your hands traced his injuries, and when he looked at you, he shook his head, signalling for you to not question him any further, at least not for now. You nodded silently.

As the only two humans who were born on this foreign planet, you and Spider had a special bond. You had to, you had to stick together, because no one else really understood what either of you were going through except the other. He would always be the only one who understands the pain of being stuck in this body that was weak and feeble, that only one who understood the loneliness, the deep-seeded and monstrous loneliness that plagued you, the only one who understood what it was like to want something you can never have, like a chance to be one of the people, the chance to have a family, the chance at being accepted, the chance at being loved fully and without restraint, without pushback, without secrets. Spider has loved Kiri his whole life. You knew that. You also knew how hard he was fighting against it, how hard he was trying to convince himself he liked you instead, the only person on this planet that was made for him, whose body was compatible with his. Forbidden love is one of the many similarities you two shared. 

A small scream woke you up from your musings and you all snapped your head towards the sound that you now saw came from a woman, about your age, one that you knew very well, one that, despite every rational thought telling you otherwise, you hated with every fibre of your being. The woman. The dreaded woman that would one day be the mother of Neteyam’s children, the woman he’d wake up next to every day of his life, the woman he’d touch, and hold, and fuck. The woman he’d love. The woman that wasn’t you. 

“Oh, Great Mother! Oh, Eywa!” Her steps were wide and rushed, and in no time at all she made her way through the crowd and stopped just in front of Neteyam’s body, and carefully traced her long, slender fingers on his body. She looked panicked and forlorn, desperate to make sure her mate-to-be was unharmed. She gasped as her gaze landed on his many bleeding scratch wounds, and took him by the hand as she pulled on his arm, willing him to go with her.

“Yawne, come on. I will prepare healing salves for you in my tent. Let’s go.” 

You tried to swallow the bitterness that gathered in your mouth to no avail, as the lump that seemed like it had settled in your throat, never to leave you again, prevented it. You felt the familiar sting of tears gathering in your eyes and demanding to be released down your face, and knew you had to pull it together. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the time to think of how you’ve always been the one to heal Neteyam, it was always your hands trailing over his wounds, it was your hands that sutured his bleeding gashes, the one that made sure he wouldn’t ever scar, because the thought of anything marring his beautiful skin hurt you. 

“Uhm, we’re here, too, you know?” Lo’ak send a small snarky look in the girl’s direction, and Neytiri hissed at her son, threatening him to keep quiet. The girl didn’t acknowledge his words, opting to continue pulling Neteyam away forcefully. Lo’ak didn’t like her. You didn’t know why. Unlike you, he didn’t have an obvious reason. Maybe it’s how she acted like the rest of his family didn’t really exist, like they were somehow below her. Well, not the entire family. She liked Neytiri and Mo’at, and she liked Tuk. It was just Lo’ak and Kiri that she seemed to ignore. 

Your eyes remained fixed on Neteyam’s body, that was slowly getting farther away from you and closer to another woman’s tent, and you couldn’t help think how this was a fitting metaphor for your relationship and your future. He peered behind him and immediately found your face, and the look he gave you will haunt you forever. A look that told you that he loved you, that he was sorry, but he had no choice. A look that said “I wish things could be different, but they’re not”. A look that crushed your spirit and told you everything you never wanted to hear and nothing that could heal the pain currently poisoning your heart. 

Spider placed a hand on the small of your back, and with one last look at your best friend, the man you loved, you turned your back to him, to her, and to the love you felt in every cell in your body and focused on the people who needed you. You motioned for Spider and Lo’ak to follow you to the labs.

“Come. I’ll patch you up.” 

It was late at night when you finished everything you had planned on doing, and you dragged your feet tiredly to your room, eager to be alone, eager to be able to drop the facade you have had to maintain for the entire day and just release the anguish in your soul with a good crying session and some comfort show you have seen one too many times. You got into the shower and put the temperature as close to boiling as you possibly could, feeling the incessant need to burn a couple layers of skin, to remove the traces of Neteyam that will always be tattooed on you, the feeling of his lips on your body, that you could feel like he was here right now, the pressure of his hands as they tugged at your hips, as they wrapped around your throat, as they caressed your cheeks and pushed the hair out of your face. The tears that fell down your cheeks were removed as soon as they dropped, leaving only the memory of them, the images of what triggered them, of the anguished thoughts and deep pain that sank its teeth into you like a wild animal, tugging at and tearing apart everything they touched. 

As you got out of the shower, you heard the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, and of something falling on the floor with a loud clank, and you knew exactly who it was. Your entire body was red and puffed from the shower, including your face, on which it was obvious that you have cried for the past 30 minutes. Fuck. 

With a loud sigh, that you hoped would lower your rapid heartbeat and shallow breaths, you opened the door and came face to face with Neteyam, who was knelt on the ground, trying to pick up what he dropped on the floor. 

“Sorry.” He says meekly. “I wish I could control my tail better, but it’s always an accident waiting to happen in these tight rooms.” 

You gave him a small smile that was not reflected in your eyes, and moved past him to sit on your bed. You fixed your eyes on the ground, noting how awkward and tense the atmosphere around you was. It’s never been like this. Ever. You and Neteyam have always been comfortable around each other. Always. No matter what ever happened in your lives or around you, no matter what depths your friendship reached, no matter how many boundaries you erased or walked past, it’s always felt natural. This didn’t. 

“Why are you here, Neteyam?” 

“What do you mean why I am here? I can’t be here?” 

You scoffed. 

“You can, you just never are anymore.” 

“Vol… come on. You know it’s different now than it was in the village, in Hell’s gate. We’re going to get caught.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want to get caught. God forbid anybody knows you fuck me in your free time.” 

“Vol…”

You knew you were being unfair. You knew it deep in your soul that he didn’t deserve any of this. You both agreed to this. You agreed to this a long time ago, and, if you were being honest with yourself, it was you that initiated it. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The first time you and Neteyam had sex, you were both drunk. It was your 18th birthday party, and Norm and Max organised a bash that would have apparently made even Earth bashes seem tame. There was food and music and dancing, and yelling and laughter and a lot… a lot of drinks. 

So many drinks, in fact, that in the early hours in the morning, you and Neteyam stumbled back to your room, barely being able to make out the shape of the bed before crashing unceremoniously on it, giggling like a school girl when you did and the world refused to settle around you like you did in it. 

“You’re so drunk.” Neteyam said, hiccuping slightly.

“No, you’re drunk. I’m fine.” 

It was a nice change of pace, seeing Neteyam so free, so uninhibited, so… happy. His life was always busy, always messy, always difficult, having to parent 3 kids he didn’t bring into this world, picking up their slack, making sure they were safe and free, while he lived shackled to his family and his clan’s expectations, to the promise of being chieftain one day and all the sacrifices that came along with it. 

“At least I can sit up.”

“Well, you’re about twice larger than me, so you know…” you were wiggling your fingers in the air, trying to make a point, although the point got lost in the abyss, much like the rest of your mind.

“Yes?” 

“Fuck knows, lost my train of thought.” 

“Goddamn, ma Vol, you are really drunk.” 

He came and lay in your bed next to you and you immediately fastened your limbs around his torso, like he was the flame and your soul was the moth that couldn't stay away. 

“So what? It’s my birthday. I’m an adult now! If I can’t get drunk on my birthday, when can I?” 

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Do you ever think about having sex?” 

Whatever thoughts Neteyam might have had evaporated quicker than water droplets in a fire, and he found himself speechless, not a totally uncommon occurrence in your presence.

“Cause I do. I think about it all the time. I mean, we watch so many movies, and series, and all humans seem to do is have sex. I heard Norm getting it on with one of the Omatikaya chicks in the village for a while now, and, all I can think of is when the hell is it going to be my turn? My turn to know what it feels like, to get to see what the big deal is, you know?”

“I know you think about it. I know you think about it with me. I can feel it, I can feel you, whenever we fall asleep together. I know you want me, Teyam. I mean, we’ve come this far, right? Might as well go all the way.” 

“I hope you want me. Because I want you. You’re my best friend, you know everything about me. I want it to be you.”

Neteyam was doing everything in his power to ignore his increasingly harder-to-ignore erection and the way he was twitching at every word that came out of your mouth. Of course he wanted you. You were hot, and you were his. His best friend, the person he’s shared so many intimate moments with, the person that taught him everything he knew about girls, about pleasure, about so many things. But this might be a step too far, a step you could never take back. Neteyam always hoped that one day, by some miracle of the universe, you would get an Avatar, and you would get a chance to be one of the people. There’s nothing he wanted more in this world then to get to keep you forever. But, as the years went past, the possibility of that seemed less and less probable, and Neteyam knew he would have to find a mate one day, and he would have to love her and keep her, forever. He would sleep with her, and mate with her, and she would have his kids, and doing these things with you… he didn’t know how he was supposed to move on with his life like your presence didn’t permeate through every fibre of his being. 

“I do want you, Vol. But I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.” 

“It’s a great idea, Teyam. Think about it.” You chuckled to yourself, eyes shut tightly and fingers rubbing your temples, as if trying to summon the words into your brain.

“What was I saying?”

He laughed at your disorientated predisposition, realising he wasn’t in a much better condition. 

“I forgot.” You kicked your feet up in the air as you remembered. 

“Oh, yeah!! It’s a g-great idea. Because we’ve made out before, right? Multiple times. Because we’ve s-slept in the same bed before, so we know that works. Because we know each other, and we won’t tell anyone else, right? It can just be our little secret, and we have p-plenty of those anyway. Because, because… Because this way, whenever you'll get yourself a mate, you know that you will know what to do and won’t fumble around. I’m doing you a favour, if you think about it. It’s the perfect plan honestly. Foolproof.”

It was hard for Neteyam to argue with your logic, but that may be because the part of his brain that processed logic was dead now. 

The first time you and Neteyam had sex, it was awkward and painful. Turns out there is a lot more fumbling and a lot more preparation and a lot more pain involved than what it is ever portrayed on the screen, and even more so since the man you were sleeping with was twice your size, and those proportions extended to… well, everything. It took a lot of lube and a lot of patience, but you knew you would have wanted no one else to have this experience with. There was no one else in the world that could have made this what it was, something that you would cherish for the rest of your life. He was kind and considerate, and he brushed the tears from your face with his thumbs when the initial pain got too much to bear, and he waited for you to adjust to his impressive length, that felt like it would tear you apart at the seams at times, and he kissed your forehead and whispered about how well you were doing, and how good you felt, and how there was no one else he would rather be doing this with, no one else in the world, not for the rest of time.

The first time promptly led to the second time, and although it took time for you to learn each other’s bodies, in a couple months, the pleasure you felt when he touched you was indescribable, the thrill you got whenever you saw him become putty under your touch boldened you, empowered you, made you want to do this every day, all day, for as long as you lived. In time, you learnt that you liked when he praised you and he loved the sounds he could coax out of you - the louder you were, the harder he got. You both enjoyed being in control once in a while, him most of the time, you - on special occasions. The dance you partook in was intricate and complicated, it was heaven and hell, it was pleasure and pain, it was everything you shouldn’t have and everything you couldn’t keep yourself from. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

As you looked at the man sitting on the ground across from you, eyes so cried out and tired they were seeing red, you knew you had no right to spit such words in his face, but the hurt and heartache, the anger at the unfairness of it all, it was clouding your judgement, making you want to hurt him like his present and upcoming absence from your life was hurting you.

“I know you’re upset about today. I’m sorry.” He looked pained, and he refused to look at you. He looked… spent. Exhausted and sad. Way sadder than you imagined he would be, if this was just about today. Something wasn’t right.

“Why would I be upset about today? You did what you had to do. I mean, she’s going to be your mate soon, right? It’s her hands that should be healing you anyway, not mine.” You eyed the wounds on his body that were now clean, but still red, and still mostly open. “Those are going to scar, by the way.” 

He stood up suddenly. A step is all it took to reach you and his hand on your chest shot bouts of electricity all throughout your body, that you struggled to ignore. It took very little effort for him to push you back onto the bed until the warmth and softness of your blanket touched the skin that wasn’t wrapped in a towel. He followed suit, his body hovering on top of yours, and you felt his braids tickling your face and neck as his eyes bore intensely into yours. 

“Stop. I know you are upset. I wish it could have been you. You know me, Vol. You know I wish it could have been you.” 

You shook your head slightly, dreading how the tears were falling down the sides of your face and nestling in your ears. You didn’t know. Not anymore. 

“You should go, Neteyam. This isn’t right. You’re engaged to someone else. I watched her today, watched how worried she was about you, how desperate to help you, to take you away so it’s just the two of you. You’re going to mate with this girl any day now. There’s no room for me in your life anymore. Not like this, anyway.”

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The first time you and Neteyam made love came after you were both spent from taking orgasm after orgasm out of each other. You were laying on his chest, tracing each twinkling freckle on it with your index finger, making patterns, making galaxies out of the stars proudly adorning his skin, the most beautiful stars to ever exist, to you. 

Almost as if thinking out loud, you spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

“You are so beautiful. It hurts me sometimes, the gaping differences between us. How dull and boring I am compared to you. How daft my skin, compared to your shiny, glowy one. How sullen my eyes look when I see them in the reflection of your bright ones, sparkling like the sun. I would give anything to look like you. Anything to be like you.” Sighing, dropping hot wet tears on his chest, you continued. “Everything would be so much easier if I looked like you.” 

Almost uncharacteristically, Neteyam’s hand cupped your cheek gently and tugged slightly until your eyes met.

“Stop. Please. You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on. You always have been. Your eyes are like the planets my satellites orbit around. I see them everywhere I go, every moment of my day, every dream I dream at night, there’s nothing else besides your eyes, besides your face, and your lips. Besides the words that come out of them, that somehow guide my every thought, focus my world and let me go on. You are more than beautiful, more than any word invented in any language that we speak. You are everything, ok? Everything.” 

That did nothing to stop your tears, that fell even harder down your cheeks, forming a puddle on his chest. 

“You can’t say these things, Neteyam.”

“Why not?” 

“You know why not.”

“You can’t make me fall in love with you. And you can’t fall in love with me. What we’re doing is already complicated. Already beyond what either of us could explain to anyone we love. And that’s ok, because what we have works. But it won’t work if the feelings run deeper than what depth we’re comfortable swimming in. You’re going to leave me one day, and if you leave me and I’m in love with you, it will break me. So you can’t say things like that to me.”

He had a playful smile on his face, but his eyes were forceful and full of intensity as he got on top of you and looked down into yours. 

“I’m not going to fall in love with you, and you’re not going to fall in love with me. We got this, Vol. But I will never leave you. I could never leave you. You’re my best friend. You’re everything to me.” 

You let out a soft sob that was silenced by his lips pressing on yours and the sound was replaced by pleasured moans and whimpered sounds, of silent confessions that marked the end of comfort and the beginning of the end. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Back when we were still changing for the better

Wanting was enough, for me, it was enough to live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call and say, "Meet me behind the mall"

He sighed as he got off from on top of you, his own tears falling on your face as he did so. He didn’t look at you as he spoke. 

“The engagement is broken.” 

The relief that flooded your mind didn’t have time to wash over you before he continued.

“Because I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Omatikaya, and so is my family.” 

You and Neteyam shared many firsts. Your first heartbreak, the one that would break your spirit and your soul and your bones and ground them into a fine dust to be blown away by the wind, would just be one of many others. 

So much for summer love and saying "us"

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr

[bobluvbot]

birthday blues

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: first time godfather sirius goes shopping to find the perfect first birthday gift (jily + baby harry ♥️) wc: 5k a/n: me tryna heal canon trauma ❤️ because in my world everyone lives happily ever after !!! my lil celebration piece for hitting 200 followers! thank u all <3 not proofread, english is not my first language so plz be nice heheh

“What’s the store called again, sweets?”

even as a young kid, one of your biggest pet peeves is repeating yourself for more than four times. three is pushing it. your parents told you its a bad habit to take to adulthood because you’re bound to meet people who just don’t get what you’re saying the first or second time around. But one Wednesday morning, when you asked from upstairs where your favorite periwinkle socks were and your parents downstairs said something that the loud dishwasher and vacuum covered up, you asked them to repeat it again (still can’t hear), and again when you moved closer to the staircase down (barely heard any), then you heard your father’s heavy footsteps up, personally shoving in your waiting hand the said pair of socks.. only damp. “Honey, I said three times already, that they were still in the dryer,” your dad had huffed before heading back downstairs. That’s when you knew it was genetic. 

But, you love Sirius Black. It’s gotten to the point where in the honest, sensitive hours past midnight, while there was nothing much to do as you let sleep creep up from your tired limbs to your fluttering eyelids, but to watch peace settle on the raven-haired boy’s sharp features, ethereal and glowing like an angel even in the dark of the night; that you realize he may be the love of your life. It’s a scary thought, with fears of being too eager, too soon, too much—- so you tuck it in a little pocket and give it a nudge when you need a reminder of how big and true its growing with each second spent together. 

You love him, so you breathe out the snarky irritation away in slow heavy puffs and inhale peace, choosing to exercise patience because you know Sirius is nervous. 

“It’s Spintwitches Sporting Needs, love. ‘s right across Ollivanders if I’m not mistaken,” you say, taking his free hand in yours and rubbing small circles on his knuckles to calm some of his nerves down, while he drives through busy muggle London streets to park by the Leaky Cauldron. He throws you a soft smile and gives your hand a quick squeeze as thanks, grateful to the heavens that you’re here to keep him from going insane.

You know him enough that, while the day in question is not about him, or you, or your relationship, it meant a great deal to Sirius. 

He had one chance (even if you’d argue otherwise) to make things right, do things the right way the first time around with Harry. James knew this fact by heart, which is why he and Lily agreed in a heartbeat that Sirius should be little Harry’s godfather, as it was meant to be. He would do anything, go beyond means, hell, even against Merlin himself just to ensure the safety and happiness of his godson. 

No one, however, was expecting it to backfire and it caught you and Sirius off guard. Once the tears dried and elation diffused, the anxiety kicked in for Sirius, and in turn you. He knew what the opposite was, parents who robbed their own sons of happy childhoods and disowned him when he got brave enough to find happiness and protect it, he had lived it. And now that he has a chance to save an innocent soul from a similar fate, he was determined, but this fact scared him shitless.

He wanted everything to be perfect (who wouldn’t?) and gave everything he physically could to make James and Lily’s Harry’s life easy and happy. Seeing Sirius buy ‘How to Dad?�� books and pour over them at night or on his free time at work was undoubtedly an attractive and loving sight. In a span of a week, he knew which is the best formula to supplement with breastfeeding, toys to pick that stimulate early brain development, even clothes made with hypoallergenic materials that won’t irritate the sensitive newborn skin. It came to a point where James would ask him for advice when Lily’s at work, and Sirius would put on his trusty reading glasses and point at a specific passage of ‘How to Dad?’ that answers James’ question perfectly. 

Eventually, you did have to put your foot down when you found Sirius writing a howler to a baby food company when rumors started going around that their baby snack puffs (which Harry was obsessed with) had harmful chemicals in it. In typical Sirius fashion, he wasn’t convinced that easily. You’d bet that what pushed him off the howler letter route (and in turn protect the statute of wizarding secrecy) was seeing you spend lots of time in the kitchen to perfect making banana and strawberry baby snack puffs from scratch until the recall was over and the food was deemed safe to be consumed again by experts and Sirius himself. 

Hearing many iterations of how the newborn days and months go by so fast was difficult to believe at times, especially when you and Sirius were babysitting to let the exhausted parents get some sort of reprieve multiple times a month. It was almost always the same. Harry would sleep for four hours straight during the night, and almost hourly right after; and while you and sirius had gotten pretty good at dividing up the tasks like bottle feeding and nappy changes equally, the shrill cry of a hungry baby is difficult to ignore and sleep through. 

So despite of Sirius’s best efforts to crawl out of bed and tip-toe to the bassinet quietly not to wake your sleeping form, he gets sad but unsurprised to see you pad towards him and the baby, yawning soundlessly as you squeeze yourself between the soft armrest and Sirius’s side, head resting on his shoulder. It was his idea to get a spacious, soft recliner in the bedroom and it came in handy for situations like these, where getting back to bed once Harry sleeps is too risky as the boy would just wake up with the slightest movement, so the next best option was to try getting rest wherever you ended up in. The cries that once overpowered Sirius’s hushed whispers and cooing finally quiets down. A sigh of relief leaves both your lips, basking in the comfortable silence and bodies finding solace in each other’s warmth. 

You want to say so many things to your lovely boyfriend, things he just has to hear: that he’s doing such a great job, that you see him and all the extra steps he has to take to become and do better than what he was raised for, that you love him for every single bit of it— but the right words don’t come easy when sleep-deprived and exhausted at 4:25am in the morning. So you lift your lips up to meet his temple, the side of his mouth, then his lips; hoping it’d convey what words couldn’t at the moment. 

But time is an experienced thief. It was a Saturday afternoon in the middle of May and it was warm enough for you to whip out the frilly spring dresses that had been pushed to the back of your closet by the thick woolen coats from colder months. The boys had gone on a day trip to help Peter move into his first solo apartment, assembling furniture and stocking up on necessities to ensure he could survive on his own. Without the booming voices and bumbling energy of his father and godfather, little Harry had no choice but to match the calm and peaceful ambiance that you and Lily curated inside the Potter house. While it’s certainly different from what his everyday looks like (living with the likes of James), he seems to enjoy it. Gentle breeze from the windows Lily left open while she baked carry the smell of lemons and vanilla throughout the entire house, making it smell heavenly. You’d been sat on the floor by the dining table, surrounded by toy trains and colorful blocks, watching the ten-month-old munch on a toy graphorn adoringly. Recently, he’s been on a phase where he has to run anything he could get his hands on with his mouth. Some secret test or screening must be up there or something because that’s how Harry decides which toys are deserving of his attention for the day.

You’d picked up a toy set of magical creatures after work yesterday, and it won the almost toddler’s attention for the whole day. James had to snatch the toy niffler away from Harry’s grasp so he could say goodbye to his son and ask for a kiss. Safe to say there were no kisses exchanged because the little boy was too busy wailing and screaming at his father’s face. Lily had to create physical distance between her two boys so the younger one can calm down while the older got mopey. Sirius had to whisk his best friend away from the scene of the crime so that they can get on with the day, but not without leaving you a kiss. 

The said niffler had soon been replaced with the hippogriff, then now the graphorn, and it’s been sitting on your lap since. Harry suddenly pulls the toy graphorn out of his mouth with a resounding pop. You both share a second or two of shocked eye contact and silence, his bright green eyes wide with surprise, before triggering a belly flipping laughing fit. This child could shock himself with a sudden burp or an unexpected sound of hitting random things with a fork, and you’d laugh every single time like its the funniest cutest thing you’ve seen in your life. It’s likewise for the rest of the marauders. Being the first baby of the group had all the adults wrapped in his pudgy fingers and he has no idea. 

Harry’s eyes drop from your smiling face to the Niffler on your lap, and makes grabby hands. You almost, almost give in, but you decide to encourage him to go get it himself. Maybe today’s the day he starts to walk. You move to him a bit closer, probably a good seven baby steps in between. 

“You want the Niffler, bud? You have to go get it from me!” You make a show out of grabbing the toy from your lap multiple times, hoping it’d make sense to the little boy. 

He whines something sounding like your name and does more impatient grabby hands. But you weren’t giving up without a fight. “C��mon, Haz! You can do it,” you say enthusiastically. 

Harry did know how to stand and good thing you were both sat near the dining table chairs, so to alleviate some of your aunt guilt you tuck the niffler away and out of Harry’s reach, before helping him up to his feet and urging him to grab one of the chair legs for support. 

He stays upright, eyes still on the toy that you place again on your lap as you return to your original spot, and you clap with glee. “Great job, buddy! Okay, only a few steps to me and you’ll get the toy!”

Lily, curious to see the commotion happening on her kitchen floor, leans against the counter for a better view. Harry sees this and does the same thing, he looks at her pleadingly while making grabby hands and pointing to the niffler on your lap. You can tell the redhead’s fighting the mom urge to make her child’s life easier, but thank the heavens when she gives your same answer. She even moves to kneel beside you, waving to get her son’s attention and pointing at the niffler on your lap.

“C’mon, my sweet boy,” Lily says. “Mama knows you can do it!”

Motivated by frustration as his aunt and own mother won’t just hand him his goddamn toy, Harry whines angrily but makes a sideways step closer, death grip still on one of the chair legs. You and Lily squeal and clap in delight, urging the boy to do it again.

He makes a move for another step, but realizes that there’s no more legs to grab onto. Reluctantly, his right hand lets go and in turn faces you and Lily. This results in another round of applause, which serves like a drug to these little babies. 

An anxious expression fleetingly appears on his face as he looks to you both, but the encouragement and cooing seemed to scare those big feelings away. Determined, Harry makes an unsure step forward without support, which then makes both yours and Lily’s heartbeat jump. It all happened so quick, the fear of losing balance triggered Harry’s other leg catch him on impulse, then the same on the other leg, then the other. Harry’d made four successful steps on his own before his mom catches him in her embrace before he topples over to the floor.

You and Lily were a sobbing, exultant mess. Harry, clearly confused about the commotion, whines for the niffler while Lily kisses him all over his face. You hand it to his waiting palms like a trophy before ruffling his unruly hair.  An attempt for words has been made, but all that came from your mouth are garbled phrases about the miracle that just happened. Lily nods in agreement and you hug them both back. 

This ten-month old just walked. This is the same baby that kept you and Sirius up at night for his feedings. The same baby responsible for the drool and spit up marks on your shirts. The same baby that  laughs and babbles with you like he understands when you tell him random stories. The same baby that squeals in delight when you blow raspberries on his belly. 

It felt like he had just been born a few days ago, memories of changing hundreds of nappies and preparing bottles of milk still vivid in your mind. But it’s earth shattering to consider that he’s closer to being a one year old than to the little bundle handed to you by James in the hospital room. 

Time is unrelenting, stealing mundane moments behind your back and when you realize the loss, poof! The newborn you held in your arms is now a walking toddler. Soon, he’ll be the one talking your ears off, going to Hogwarts, driving a car.. You shiver at the thought. He was growing up so fast that blinking felt like cheating, afraid that you’ll miss a precious moment that you’ll never get back. 

His first birthday came in the same manner— too fast for both yours and Sirius’s liking, but the wistful feelings came with excitement as Harry being a toddler opened up lots more opportunities to play and discover the world around him. James and Lily had spent the whole month planning a big birthday bash to celebrate the kiddo’s life, inviting all their loved ones to share the special day with them. And with that, the pressure was on for Sirius, as the self-proclaimed best godfather to get the perfect first birthday gift.

It’s like the heavens knew it was a special day for you both that it made sure to put out the best shopping weather one could ever ask for—- not too warm or too cold. It was a Tuesday afternoon, which meant the adults were kept in workplaces and children sent to Hogwarts or in homeschooling, leaving Diagon Alley nearly deserted, minus the occasional stray shoppers entering and leaving shops here and there. Clad in color coordinated couples outfits (that was your thing recently, Sirius more than happy to oblige) and hand in hand, you begin the mission to locate Spintwitches Sporting Needs. 

Nostalgia always finds a way to seep into your bones whenever you find yourself in Diagon Alley. One blink and suddenly you’re ten again, both hands tucked in each parent’s as your mom pours over the list of school supplies you’ll need again for your first year at Hogwarts. You and Sirius see Ollivanders at a short distance and hear the entrance bell chime, the very same sound you heard when entering the shop for the first time, the shopkeeper taking one good look at you before immediately rummaging around the store, grabbing a specific box located on a random shelf four stories up. The look of confidence when he says it’s made just for you, a magical glow enveloping your tiny frame while opening the magenta box. That same magic guided you to a world where you truly belonged in, a castle that felt so much like home, and friends that soon became found family and lifelong partners. The thought of Harry soon experiencing these moments leaves a giddy feeling in your chest. 

The smoky sweet scent of freshly roasted chestnuts catches your attention and you discreetly look for the source of your favorite warm snack. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sirius (hardly nothing ever does, even the things you wish he’d miss or forget), and he gives your hand a small tug. You try to be aloof as you return his waiting gaze, complete with a quirk of your eyebrow, to which he responds with an impish smirk towards your bad acting.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that look, sweets.” The amusement in his voice is palpable as he steers you away from the main walkway and towards the small chestnut stall tucked in an alleyway, almost hidden by the bigger shops surrounding it.

“But, the store’s right there, Siri,” you try to protest. He had been anxious and stressed out about this day in particular, you knew if you were in his shoes, you’d be beelining to the store as soon as you get off the car. But he just shakes his head like its the obvious choice and nods towards the cart. “Can’t have my girl hungry now.” 

After a failed attempt of trying to pay for the warm brown bag (you were no match for Sirius’s lithe, agile fingers in basically everything), you accept it with a sigh, giving yourself a few seconds to sulk before starting on the chestnuts. You weren’t the best at accepting things from other people just because, it always felt like you had to do something in return for them just to deserve it. Maybe that’s why the universe conspired to have you meet and fall for Sirius, who is a very enthusiastic giver, teaching you hard lessons on the daily.

As you begin the journey back to the shop, you carefully crack open one and hold it up to Sirius’s mouth, to which he happily obliged. “Mm, somehow chestnuts taste better when you handfeed me, dove. Do it again.”

You roll your eyes in response, but you find your fingers starting to peel another. “You’re lucky you’re good looking, Black,” you mutter to save some face, that you weren’t head over heels for this man and he to you. That’s a conversation to be had in another, less stressful day. 

The shop, painted electric blue and orange, wasn’t hard to miss. One step in and the welcoming aroma of broom polish, rubber, and smoky wood brings you right back to the Quidditch locker rooms; memories of frantically lacing up your boots a minute or two after James called you as backup for an injured beater, helping Marlene comb out the tail end to fix the broom alignment after practice, and getting pinned to the cool lockers during post-win celebratory makeout sessions with Sirius, replaying vividly in your head. 

It looked deceivingly small on the outside; aside from the expansive selection of different broomstick models, they had books and magazines about Quidditch strategies and featured famous matches, repair and maintenance kits for maintaining broomstick qualities, complete Quidditch gear for all shapes and sizes, and tiny practice snitches flying around the room. Squint and it’ll just be like how each Hogwarts common room would be decorated when there’s a big Quidditch match between houses or international ones in the world cup: streamers and accessories like horns and banners representing each team, posters of Chudley Cannons and Holyhead Harpies (in opposing corners to prevent unsolicited fights) accompanied by autographs of famous players and collectibles littering almost every surface of the walls. It was Quidditch dreamland. 

Still in awe admiring the displays as you both walk through aisles hand in hand, Sirius breaks the silence first. “What do you think Harry will play as in Quidditch?”

You hum in response and he continues, running his hands through the bat display they had for little kids.  “I bet he’d be a beater like me. You remember how that punk hit me straight on the face last week?” 

You nod in amusement. Sirius had played it cool as he gently laid Harry back in his playpen, still laughing and cooing, then as soon as little Harry turned his back on his uncle, Sirius ran to you for first aid and whined the whole time you were healing the already forming bruise. But not a few hours later, he’s bouncing the baby in his arms again as he gave him a tour of the backyard. 

“Yeah, those little fists definitely pack a punch.”

“How about you, love?”

Sifting through a year’s worth of memories, it was surprisingly easy to find your answer. “I think he’ll follow James’s footsteps and be a seeker.” 

Sirius’s pout becomes evident, making you giggle and tug on his arm in efforts to cheer him up. “Think about it. Ever since prongslet got those glasses, it’s harder to hide anything from him now because his eyes are so quick. Poor Crookshanks too, that cat can’t catch a break now when Haz wants to play because he tracks its movements.” 

Sirius lets out a soft chuckle and slings his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer. “Good point, good point,” he repeats, seemingly deep in thought as his fingers run up and down the small of your arm. “We shall see, whatever he decides to play as, or if he even plays at all, I’ll be proud of him.”

You look up to him as he absentmindedly stares at the Quidditch gear sets for little kids, a light, wistful smile on his handsome features. He might not say it out loud, but the love he has for his godson reverberates through his being, and its a warming sight to see. 

Before you confess your love for your boyfriend in the middle of a Quidditch store, you whisk him away and towards the toy broom display, the only thing you were both here for. Only the big bright signs directed you to the right place, which didn’t prepare you at all for the heart exploding sight.

You’re about to burst into tears seeing how cute and tiny the little toy brooms were, and how they came in complete with tiny versions of the headlights, seats, and bag compartments the usual adult broom comes with. Both you and Sirius stood with mouths agape for a solid minute as you took in the expansive display, before your lovely boyfriend proceeds to pick out the most expensive one with the most features on it from the batch.

Surprisingly, it was you who reminded him to grab a helmet before running off to purchase the toy broom, the giddiness and excitement spreading between the two of you. The cashier gives both of you a knowing look as you and Sirius both mellowed down from full giggles to bashful smiles, examines the broom to be purchased, and asks, “For your little one?”

Now, you were no stranger to conversations like these with former lovers in the past, and you could almost hear the typical response of denial that comes swiftly with the question. It used to hurt, even if you knew by heart that that person didn’t have the fifth date potential or that it just wouldn’t last. It’s that unexplainable feeling of shame and rejection when they’d realize that it won’t work with you before you would, or if they answer with a laugh, as if having a future with you is an appalling thought. You’ve gotten better with it throughout the years, but for some reason your skin crawls with the thought of Sirius saying the same things. Years of desensitization down the drain, you find yourself bearing your entire soul to the man beside you the entire relationship, and he can easily break you into two with his response. You cross your fingers that he won’t.

He was already looking when your gaze met his, a look of softness and tenderness from him so profound you wondered if you were deserving of it. The surge of butterflies in your belly was all consuming. 

Sirius shifts uneasily and shakes his head, you prepare for the worst. “For our nephew, not for our own child..,” he pauses, glancing back at you for a quick second. “Yet. But if all goes according to my sneaky plan, we might be back sooner than she thinks.”

The cashier chuckles at your stunned reaction as you shift your focus between him and your boyfriend who was both furiously blushing and actively avoiding your stare. Did you just get a marriage proposal? 

Taking advantage of your confusion, Sirius pays for everything including the gift wrapping, which you had previously argued about who was responsible paying (you won, not that that matters now). You let him tug your arm and guide you out of the store, saying a quick thank you to the amused cashier. The influx of butterflies were back, tickling your insides and spreading warmth in each crevice. Just seeing Sirius handle the rambunctious mini James with care and glee, makes it so easy for you to imagine a life with him, and eventually have a little bean that’s equal parts of you and him. You hope they’d get the best parts of both.

No one brings it up as you began your journey back to the car and you’re grateful. Gift bag swinging on your arm, you drag Sirius to go get ice cream to which he happily obliges. 

A gentle quiet settles on accomplished shoulders like a warm blanket as you settle in the car. Strawberry and vanilla fudge ice cream sticky sweet on each other’s lips as you exchange cones every once in a while. It would be enough to lull you to sleep, if not for Sirius’s deep breaths and sighs, the thundering of his heart that he tries to quell by discreetly scratching a small part of the steering wheel where his thumb usually lay. 

He breaks the silence first, an uneasy tone making his voice seem small. “Do you think he’ll like it, dove?”

“Yes, Siri. I know he’ll love it.” You try your best to enunciate the right words, but a conflicted expression marrs his handsome features, sending a twinge to your heart. 

It comes to you before he speaks. This was something that had been plaguing Sirius’s mind for a while, occupying his dreams and thoughts, embedding itself to his mind and causing unwarranted amounts of stress. You resist the urge to fill in the blanks for him because it has to come from him and him only. 

But after everything he’s been through, what seems easy for most sometimes is the hardest to muster. “Siri,” you pause, waiting until he looks up at you and you keep his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

His gray orbs still before the dam breaks. “I’m sorry, love.” He chokes. “If I’m being so difficult, irky, irritated, anxious, everything.”

Hot tears run down his cheeks and it’s a painful watch. wanting nothing but to wipe it off and tuck him in your embrace and promise him he won’t be hurt as long as you’re there, but you can’t. The best thing you could do for him is to let it all out and finally feel.

He stares ahead on the city road with fingers trembling on the wheel. “I’m just so scared. So scared. James and Lily have been amazing parents, I can’t say same thing for myself but I try my best. Sometimes I still feel like he deserves someone better to be his godfather,” he sobs. “I just love him so much. I want only the best for him. I just want him to be happy and healthy all the time.”

After a while, you say with a bittersweet tone. “You know we can’t promise that, Siri,” you sigh. “Storms will come and will do damage and hurt and things that we can’t undo,” you pause, sniffling as you take your right hand to guide him to face you again, vulnerable gray eyes meeting yours. “But you know what?”

You give him an assuring smile, speaking the truth. “He’s gonna be alright because little as he is right now, he is so loved and adored by so many people, so loved by his parents. And so loved by his godfather.”

It wasn’t said aloud, it doesn’t need to. Loud as it could be, Sirius knows what you’re about to say; that his ability to love despite of everything he’s been through, despite of his own family ruthlessly trying to rob him of the ability to do so. That’s the type of love that Sirius gives, a love that withstands rain and abandonment; a love that stays after a rough storm, offering a home always open to go to when times are rough and feelings are still hurt; a love that tells the truth even when its hardest to hear. 

You know all this as an easy fact because you’re at the receiving end. Even if you hadn’t heard it from his lips yet.

“Have I told you I love you?”

A watery smile spreads on your face as you shake your head. “No, but i feel it everyday.”

“I love you, Y/N.” It leaves his lips like breaths, naturally and easily. 

It’s the same thing for you, too. “I love you too, Siri.” 

And it ends with sticky kisses that taste of vanilla fudge and berries.

[m-oddinsdottir]

LAW OF SURVIVAL

the bison .ˊˎ 🦬

Charles Smith x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,384

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, references to past sex experiences, oddly soft! charles, no use of y/n, established relationship, cursing

Summary: Charles decides it’s time that you learn how to hunt but you have your reservations.

A/N: so… I’m definitely playing rdr2 again. english isn’t my first language so please feel free to correct me <3

Masterlist

•••

It couldn’t be so hard, right?

That’s what you had thought after being approached by a frustrated Charles, his mind hazed with concern as he had returned to camp after a few days away… And by the look in his eyes, you could tell whatever Dutch had sent him to do didn’t end well.

You knew you couldn’t say no to him at that moment, Charles was usually surrounded by a peace that he willingly shared with you calming your troubled mind immediately, so seeing him so… disturbed and concerned made you agree immediately.

‘Breathe’ His voice was like a caress against the skin of your ear, a balm against the nerves that seemed to emerge from you, resulting in a small tremble of your hands.

His hands moved up your arms, grazing against the fabric of the blouse that covered your skin as he straightened your shoulders and positioned his face close to yours to try and have a similar field of view as the one you owned. ‘Careful with your posture…’ One of his fingers moved to push the bow slightly to the side. ‘And your aim’

The small force he applied to the side of the bow made it aim directly at a deer’s head. Your breath hitched and a small frown appeared on your demeanor as you tried to steady the bow.

His fingers grazed the skin of your shoulders to soothe you as he leaned in closer to you. The warm heat of the man pressing against your side as he fixed your posture again. As you tried to keep your eyes on the prey and not on the fellow hunter close to you, your breath hitched.

‘Breathe in…’ Charles indicated as he pressed one hand against your back to help you control your breathing pattern ‘Breathe out…’

Attempting to do as he said, you copied every breath he took following with one of your own and trying to hold your breath inside the same amount of seconds he could.

But it just wasn’t in you. Even he knew that it wasn’t. Charles adored that of you, in a way, he fell for the gentleness of your soul. The way you treated everyone around you in such a kind manner warmed his heart. Sometimes, he even saw you with Jack, and his thoughts couldn’t help but wonder about how perfect you would be as a mother.

‘I… I can’t do it, Charles” You whispered when the deer moved his head upwards and it tilted to the side.

‘You need to’ His voice perhaps sounded harsher than needed as he stiffened beside you ‘An animal is always… Easier’

While holding your breath, Charles moved two fingers over the ones you had already tensing the thread of the bow. His hand hovered over yours and the contact of his skin against yours made goosebumps blossom where he landed a finger.

‘I can’t’ You repeated and when he pulled your hand backward so that you could reach the point where you couldn’t maintain the tension of the bow and would let the arrow shoot, your breath hitched and your eyes widened with surprise.

His name left your lips as a warning but when he didn’t move you quickly pushed the bow to a side. The arrow shot breaking through the wood of a pine tree. You quickly shoved him away from you, lips parting open in surprise.

‘What are you even doing, Charles?!’

His gaze followed the way the deer ran away after being startled by the loud sound of your voice and the arrow that was shot near its body. His lips pressed together in a line and he remained silent.

Not showing any visible evidence of his anger, the man took a step closer to you. His eyes were dark as Charles towered over you, he didn’t move his gaze for you for even a moment. You had seen that look in his eyes before.

Fuck.

Charles rarely got angry or at least he rarely showed any manifestation of the ire that could be burning his body from the inside out. However, there it was. That look in his eyes gave him away, a look you have seen before. But, in this case, it was directed to you.

‘Don’t look at me like that’ You managed to mutter as you tilted your head backward so that you could gaze into his eyes.

That was dumb. You realized that right after you had mumbled the words. He was never angry and now that he was… It was the moment you had decided to push his buttons?

Therefore, when he moved one hand up to cup your cheek tenderly, your lips parted open with surprise. ‘Did I startle you?’ His whispered question confused you even more.

And then it hit you. It wasn’t anger, it was fear… He was scared, terrified even.

You managed to shake your head gently as a response. ‘Good… I just want you to be able to protect yourself.’ Charles grumbled, his hand caressing your cheek gently. ‘In case…— You have to know how to survive’

Charles can’t afford to lose you. Loss has been a constant variable during his life. He can’t remember one important person for him that he hadn’t lost… Despite you. For now at least. With you, he had managed to live, not just survive… But living with you by his side and finally losing the only thing he wanted to lose: his solitude. Charles usually felt like his only purpose in life was suffering, life is usually complicated but for the man it has been even worse. He lacked life's understanding until now at least.

The lone wolf now had a pack. He had found the gang in Blackwater a few months again and with them, he had found you. Of course, you were the one who approached him first. A gentle smile over your lips to make him feel welcomed and a plate of warm stew on your hands, a small offering for him to eat something.

You had wrapped up his injured hand with some old bandages you managed to pack before running away from Blackwater. And you had constantly checked his burnt skin over that time without being invasive.

So it didn’t take him long before he found himself wrapped around your finger even though you were unaware of his feelings back then.

Until one night.

One night he had drunk more than he usually did. Another celebration of a successful mission in which they all had gathered along the fire, listening to Javier’s guitar and singing in the barely illuminated night. Voices loud and carefree. A rare moment of peace taking into consideration the times they were living.

Charles had approached you to your surprise and probably even his. He never talked to you first, it was always the other way around so when he offered you to go for a walk you couldn't deny the offer. Shy smile over your lips as you walked in silence next to him until you two were far enough.

Next thing you knew, his lips were over yours. Soon, you were whimpering his name while he was buried deep inside you, back against a tree and nails digging deep into his broad back.

‘Can't we practice with inanimate objects?’ You whispered gently leaning into the hand that was cupping your cheek, a small smile over your lips as you looked up into his eyes. ‘I know how much you hate hunting animals when there's no reason...’

The man visibly tensed in front of you. He despised any form of blood spilling, human or animal. That was the reason he had left the other gangs he had been implicated with, most of the members usually being dishonorable and just murdering for the morbid it supposed.

He did have a far more compassionate soft spot for animals, knowing they weren't able to defend themselves in most cases. Especially, for bisons. It wouldn't be the first time he had encountered problems confronting vicious killers who murdered them for sport... And it wouldn't be the last time either.

‘There is a reason... You- You need to practice with something that moves’ He mumbled as his other hand moved to your hip, seeking the warm comfort of your skin against his when he pulled you closer to his body.

‘Charles... You and I both know that an animal ain't the same as a person’ Your soft whispering seemed to soothe his tense muscles as his hand gripped the fabric of your blouse, calloused fingers digging into your skin and creating small indents.

‘It will do’

‘Teaching me how to hunt with a bow isn't teaching me to defend myself, darlin'... An arrow has nothing to do against a bullet’ Perhaps you were being harsh, but you needed him to understand. You knew him which meant you were also aware of how his worry was clouding his judgment.

‘I—’ His brows furrowed together before he leaned in closer to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as his hands moved from your hips to wrap around your body in a tight embrace, shaky breaths escaping his lips. The situation had your heart aching, Charles never lost his composure... Ever.

‘What's going on, darlin'?’ Your strained voice was perceived by his senses and so were the gentle caresses your hand delivered through his long dark locks of onyx hair, in an attempt to soothe him. At first, the only response that was received was his hold tightening around you.

His breath hitched in your ear, his nose nuzzling against the length of your neck, soon finding your pulse point. ‘I can't lose you’ He whispered shakily, his lips brushing against your skin while he spoke. ‘I can't... Not you too’ He mumbled and his body trembled slightly between your arms.

‘I ain't going anywhere, love’

‘How can you know?’ He asked back to you, lips still hovering over your pulse point. ‘The missions... Each one turns worse than the one before. We're always running away from camp to camp. You know the day in which we can't escape will eventually arrive’

You swallowed hard and he pressed a gentle kiss against your neck to soothe you when he felt the way your throat moved, Charles pulled away to be able to look into your eyes. One of his hands moved up to brush some of the hairs that framed your face behind your ear.

'’And in case I'm not there...’ He began and you immediately looked into his dark eyes. ‘If I'm not alive...’ At the thought, your eyes widened softly, head shaking as you tried to stop the stinging sensation that the tears beginning to form caused. ‘Don't go down that path, Charles’ Your words and the sight of your teary eyes made him sigh.

‘Angel...’ He whispered and you unconsciously held your breath in your lungs.

Charles usually never called you by any pet name... Unless you two were tangled in the darkness underneath the security of his tent, there the man was somehow unrecognizable.

‘I want you to keep living’ He mumbled out gently as he leaned in closer to press his forehead against yours noticing how one tear dropped down your cheek so he quickly wiped it away. You weren't dumb, you knew the dark times the gang was suffering so his words made your heart shutter... It sounded like a goodbye.

‘Don't you dare say goodbye to me, Charles’

‘Let me do it, my angel... Just in case’ He whispered gently and his lips moved to kiss the damp path another tear had left over your right cheekbone. ‘I want you to know how to survive... But not just that, I want you to live your life, get away from this life, have pretty little babies, and grow old on a small porch. I want you to die happy’

You were quick to shake your head. ‘I want that with you... I am going to die happy because you're going to be by my side. Old and wrinkly and by my side’ You repeated gently as you moved your face to gently caress your lips against his.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips making them spread over his face as you leaned in even closer. He used his thumb to wipe away another one of your tears. ‘I don't want anything else more than that' Charles assured you gently. ‘But to know that you'll still live that fantasy even if I'm not there’

‘No’

‘Please, angel...’

‘No, Charles.’ Your voice was firm as you gently held onto his arms trying to stand your ground ‘You're going to be there 'cause you ain't dying, goddamnit...’ With brows furrowed together and tears falling down your cheeks, you stepped on your tip toes to be closer to his lips. ‘I want to grow old with you, I want to have my babies with you... Maybe when this is over we can go somewhere else... I dunno, maybe to Canada’

‘Canada, huh? That sounds nice...’

‘So going to Canada sounds nice but not the idea of having a family and growing old together?’You asked teasingly trying to lighten up the mood.

That made a small and short chuckle escape his lips. Charles usually didn't laugh much so you rejoiced in the small choked sound. ‘That sounds more than nice, baby...’

He mumbled before his lips captured yours in a gentle and short kiss, tasting the saltiness of the tears that had managed to fall down to your lips before he had managed to wipe them away. The kiss wasn't passionate or hungry like the ones you two usually shared after he had spent the entire day out of camp. No, this one was tender and filled with unspoken feelings that didn't need to be put into words,

When Charles pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours still savoring the taste of your lips. ‘Now, angel... I was supposed to be teaching you a hunting lesson here’

Your laugh resonated alongside the small field in between the forest scaring away the few animals that could be left.

Definitely, hunting was that hard.

[nrdmssgs]

Tips to write for König (language)

Masterlist Let's go! But first important disclaimer

I know well, that Konig is from Austria and German language is a bit different from Austrian. The only reason, I'm doing this list for German language instead of Austrian: I know German well enough to personally check every phrase on my list. I live in southern Germany since 2019 and understand written Austrian, but would not venture to make a similar list for phrases in Austrian.

These phrases are not headcanons - just useful helpers for my fellow ficwriters!

I`ve tried to keep this list SFW, so there is no really kinky stuff or any swear words. But if you guys are interested - I can try to bring such a naughty list together as well.

Neither English nor German are my first languages, so there's a possibility of a mistake always.

Thank you to absolutely beautiful soul @konigsblog for encouraging me doing this.

So, you want König to speak German in your story, but don't know how to get him to? There is nothing easier.

(very) Ground rules

All nouns, names (and nicknames) are always capitalized.

Here are a few useful letters, so that you don't search for them on your keyboard: ä, ö, ü, Ä, Ö, Ü.

"my/your + masculine noun" = mein/dein + noun or name (e.g. Mein Horangi)

"my/your + feminine noun" = meine/deine + noun or name (e.g. Meine Josephine)

"chen" is a diminutive suffix (We'll need that with pet names).

A few German pet names

Keywords to google: Kosename (+ für Männer/für Frauen (for men and women))

Genderless (can be used, referring to both men and women, depending on relationship dynamic):

Schatz / Schatzi - the ultimate killer and number one pet name out there. "Treasure". Is very often used in public.

Liebling / Liebe - "Lover, love"

Herz / Herzchen - "Heart"

Süßi - "Sweet one"

Baby / Babe - yep, it's not in German, but it's very popular here among people younger than 50.

Engel / Engelchen - "Angel/angel + diminutive suffix"

Mein Ein und Alles - "My everything" a rather pompous expression, but it can be used when speaking directly to a lover.

Herzblatt - "Darling"

Goldstück - "Jewel. Piece of gold" a bit like treasure.

Sonne / Sonnenschein - "Sun / sunshine"

Himmel - "Heaven"

Stern / Sternchen - "Star"

Kätzchen - "Kitten"

Schneckchen - "Snail". I know, this one sounds strange, but I've heard it here a lot. And this is not even referring to someone slow

Tiger / Babytiger / Tigerchen - "Tiger / tiger cub"

Babylöwe - "Lion cub"

Zimtschnecke - "Cinnamon bun"

Also you all know and use Maus (which is great!!!!!), bit there are also options of Mausi, Babymaus and Mäuschen!

Feminine and masculine versions of pet names

Süße / Süßer - "Sweet one"

Schöne / Schöner - "Beautiful one"

Liebste / Liebster / Angebetete / Angebeteter / Geliebte / Geliebter - "Beloved"

Kleine - "Little one"

Großer - "Big one"

Heldin / Held - "Hero/ heroine"

Hübsche / Hübscher - "Beauty"

Ok, here is the part, where we get him to talk dirty to us.

Before

Ich brauche dich jetzt wirklich - "I really need you right now"

Es macht mich so an, auch nur an dich zu denken - "It turns me on just thinking about you"

Ich kann es nicht erwarten, dich in mir zu spüren/in dir zu sein - "I can't wait to feel you inside me/be inside you"

Ich will dir so einen blasen/dich so lecken, wie du es noch nie erlebt hast - "I want to give you a blowjob/lick you like you've never experienced before"

Ich möchte dich küssen, überall... - "I want to kiss you everywhere"

Du kannst heute Abend mit mir machen, was du willst - "Today you can do anything you want to me."

Ich kann es kaum erwarten, bis wir beide allein sind, damit ich dich ausziehen kann. - "I can't wait until we're both alone so I can undress you."

Ich stelle mir uns gerade nackt zusammen vor - "I'm thinking of us naked right now."

Ich hatte gerade einen eindrucksvollen Flashback von letzter Nacht - "I just had an amazing flashback from last night"

Wollen wir heute früh ins Bett gehen? - "Shall we go to bed early tonight?"

During

Das/du fühlst dich super an - "This/you feel great"

Ich liebe es, wie groß/feucht/weich du dich anfühlst - "I love how big/wet/soft you feel"

Bitte hör nie wieder damit auf - "Please don't stop doing this"

Das ist das beste Gefühl überhaupt - "That's the best feeling ever"

Du machst mich so an - "you turn me on (so hard on)"

Ich will, dass du mich nimmst - "I want you to take me"

Ich will dich schmecken - "I want to taste you"

Ich will, dass du kommst - "I want you to cum"

Ich habe deinen Körper so sehr vermisst - "I've missed your body so badly"

Ich will, dass du mich hier/da leckst/küsst - "I want you to lick/kiss me here/there"

Gutes/Böses Mädchen - "Good/bad girl"

If you want him to be more soft, here are some romantic phrases in German.

The (very) basics

Ich liebe dich - "I love you"

Willst du mein Freund/meine Freundin sein? - "Do you want to be my boyfriend/girlfriend?"

Ich bin bis über beide Ohren verliebt - "I’m head over heels in love"

Ich steh’ auf dich - "I’m into you"

Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens - "You’re the love of my life"

Du hast wunderschöne/schöne Augen - "You have beautiful eyes"

Küss mich - "Kiss me"

If you want something more advanced

Ich vermisse dich noch mehr, als ich jemals gedacht habe. - "I miss you even more than I ever thought it was possible"

Es gibt Freunde, es gibt Feinde und es gibt Menschen wie dich, die man vor lauter Liebe nie vergisst. Ich vermisse dich! - "There are friends, there are enemies and there are people like you who you never forget out of sheer love. I miss you!"

Ich zähle die Tage, Stunden und Minuten bis du wieder bei mir bist. - "I count the days, hours and minutes until you are with me again."

Unsere Sehnsucht wird immer größer, je weniger wir sie befriedigen können. - "Our longing grows ever greater, the less we can satisfy it."

Für mich ist jeder Morgen ein guter Morgen, weil ich weiß, dass ich dich an meiner Seite habe. - "For me every morning is a good morning because I know that I have you by my side."

Ich zähle die Stunden, bis du wieder bei mir bist. - "I'm counting the hours until you're with me again."

Ich weiß, das mit uns beiden ist mehr als nur Freundschaft. - "I know there's more to the two of us than just friendship."

Das nächste Mädchen, das ich lieben werde, wird unsere Tochter sein. - "The next girl I will love will be our daughter."

Ich wünschte, ich wäre der Wind, der sanft durch deine Haare streicht, die Sonne, die dich zärtlich berührt und der Mond, der deinen Schlaf bewacht. - "I wish I were the wind that gently caresses your hair, the sun that caresses you and the moon that watches over your sleep."

Jeden Tag wünsche ich mir, dass das zwischen uns niemals endet. - "Every day I wish that this never ends between us."

Mit dir an meiner Seite kann ich mich der ganzen Welt stellen. - "With you by my side I can face (fight) the whole world."

[robin-evry]

Would you be able to do headcanons on a nekomata!Yuu? Imagine them and Grim…

Sure, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐊𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐀 😽👻

Nekomata (original form: 猫また, later forms: 猫又, 猫股, 猫胯) are a kind of cat yōkai described in Japanese folklore, classical kaidan, essays, etc. There are two very different types: those that live in the mountains and domestic cats that have grown old and transformed into yōkai.

( English is not my first language )

Day 8 : nekomata!yuu

Unlike their counterpart or sibling who is a kaibyo who is straight forward and blunt, nekomata!yuu is a playful and mischievous person. Unlike kaibyo!yuu who is blunt, they played with people for fun.

They enjoy sleeping and often draw into the warmth of sunlight. You can find them taking naps somewhere warm in the day light.

Nekomata!Yuu is always looking for the perfect napping spot around NRC. They’ve been caught sleeping in the most unusual places: inside Heartslabyul's rose bushes, on top of a bookshelf in the library, and even on Grim's bed. Their cat-like laziness makes everyone think they’re just being laid-back, but in truth, they’re always recharging their magical powers.

They also have a habit of sneaking out at night, they have the ability to sneak around at night unnoticed. Often, they’ll explore the campus under the cover of darkness, checking in on their friends or causing some minor mischief. There are rumors among the students of a mysterious cat-like figure roaming the halls at night, but only the dorm leaders suspect it’s them.

They are masters at traditional arts. Like performing, playing music, dancing. Their skills are able to capture people's attention. They are similar towards a geisha

Nekomata!Yuu has a complicated relationship with Grim. On the one hand, they enjoy teasing him, making him think he’s the lesser feline. On the other hand, they have a protective instinct toward him, seeing Grim as a younger sibling in need of guidance.

Despite Nekomata Yuu’s sometimes carefree attitude, they have a strong protective instinct when it comes to Grim. Like a mother cat, they feel a deep sense of responsibility for Grim, even though he’s always getting into trouble. They will often act as Grim’s unofficial guardian, whether he wants it or not. If someone picks on him, they will be the first to step in with a sharp warning or a fiery display of power. They are also grim mentor, teaching him about magic and how to utilize their ability.

While they are protective of Grim and their friends, they deeply value their own solitude. They often disappear for hours, retreating to quiet, hidden spots like the rooftop of the dorm or beneath a tree, where they can relax and center themselves. Nekomata!yuu finds peace in quiet spaces, away from the chaos of NRC.

More proficient in the arts of magic than her sibling, nekomata!yuu can cast spells and protection charms without using any rituals.

Their blue flames are usually harmless only using it to cleanse anything from any impurities as well to dispel any magic, for example their blue flames have the ability to heal wounds as well to remove rust from a sword, removing vil unique magic easily and removing riddle heart collar.

Unlike normal fire, the blue flames burn on a spiritual level, meaning they can target a person’s or creature’s soul directly. This makes them highly effective against spiritual entities, curses, or beings that draw their power from negative energies. The flames don't physically harm unless they intends them to, making them versatile in non-lethal combat.

They are very deeply connected towards the spiritual world, able to sense some otherworldly being. They can also take intentions from people, they immediately notice Azul intentions

As a Nekomata, they possesses superhuman sensory abilities. Their sense of smell, hearing, and sight are far sharper than a regular human’s. They can detect subtle changes in the environment, like the faint scent of someone’s presence or the tiniest sound from afar. This makes them incredibly perceptive, often allowing them to notice things before others do.

Example: they can tell when someone is lying just by their heartbeat, which makes them excellent at sensing the true intentions of others. It also makes them a bit of a prankster, as they know when someone is trying to sneak around.

Nekomata!Yuu’s two tails are prehensile, meaning they’re strong and flexible enough to wrap around objects and hold their entire body weight. They can use them to dangle from tree branches, beams, or even the sides of buildings. This ability is useful for sneaking around or hiding when they don’t want to be noticed.

Nekomata!Yuu loves to dangle upside down from their tail in unexpected places, like from the ceiling of a classroom or a chandelier, and scare their friends with a sudden “boo!” This often leads to chaos, especially with someone like Ace or Deuce getting startled.

When they can’t find a proper place to nap, they will sometimes hang upside down by their tails, swaying lazily from a tree or a high perch. They find this position oddly comfortable and calming, despite how it looks to others.

Nekomata!yuu possessed great strength, senses, agility, and flexibility. They are able to jump roof to roof without any trouble. As well they are very fast to the point before people can react.

They have incredibly sharp reflexes, often dodging attacks or grabbing things in midair without even realizing they’re doing it. This sometimes freaks out the other students, who sees them move in ways that seem inhumanly fast and agile.

They have an air of pride and dignity, much like a cat. If they’re knocked down or embarrassed, they’ll try to recover with their head held high, pretending nothing happened. They don’t like admitting when they need help, but they appreciate it when people come to their rescue without making a big deal of it.

They are far more active at night than during the day. They like to wander the NRC campus under the moonlight, sometimes even visiting the Diasomnia dorm where Malleus is also known to enjoy quiet nights. This nocturnal habit leads them to discover hidden secrets or overhear important conversations.

Malleus is one of their closest friends, they usually stroll together in the night talking about their day, how's school and just enjoying the others presence

Vil has mixed feelings about them. On one hand, he respects their unique abilities and presence, seeing their spiritual power as something to be feared and respected. On the other hand, their carefree and somewhat lazy nature irritates him to no end. Vil is constantly trying to get them to sit properly or stop napping in public places, but they just shrugs it off.

Because of their nekomata nature, some students believe that Nekomata!Yuu brings good luck or bad luck depending on their mood. If they passes by and gives you a smile or flicks their tail, it’s said to bring good fortune for the day. However, if they hisses or gives you the cold shoulder, students fear they’re cursed with misfortune. This superstition, while silly to them, keeps some of the more gullible students on their toes.

They have an uncanny ability to avoid danger or slip out of sticky situations, often just by being in the right place at the right time (or out of sheer cat-like luck). They’ve walked out of battles unscathed or dodged traps in the dorms without even realizing they were there.

If their skills and talent are similar towards a kitsune, so after they were turned into a yōkai, a kitsune found them and took care of them as well teaching them everything they knowas well the art of blue flame.

Their sibling kaibyo!yuu and them originated from the same yōkai clan, they are not biologically related, but when they transform into yōkai , they are adopted into the same clan making them sisters but not biologically.

[isabelawritesthings]

My headcanons for EVERY (I think) Mortal Kombat 1 character

— Liu Kang is a big fan of Chinese food, because well, in the previous timelines he was Chinese, so he constantly goes to Madam Bo's restaurant to eat.

— Johnny Cage is a great dramatic actor, but unfortunately, Hollywood studios always cast him as comedic characters or male characters who are himbos, wasting his potential as a dramatic actor.

— Kenshi met Suchin after saving her from being attacked by thugs in Tokyo, and the two's connection was almost instantaneous, with Suchin agreeing to run away with him after Kenshi left the Yakuza.

— Raiden has a huge crush on Kitana, and constantly draws pictures of the two of them kissing (he's a cartoonist btw)

— Kung Lao loves Chinese and South Korean comedy dramas, his favorite South Korean comedy drama is "True Beauty".

— Kuai Liang is extremely protective of Harumi, like, if Harumi gets a scar, he won't rest until the person who did it pays dearly. When he was dating Cyrax, he was also quite protective of her as well (He's not a sexist who thinks women are too defenseless to protect themselves, he just wants to keep Harumi safe because he loves her so much).

— Bi-Han trusts women more than men, thanks to the complicated relationship he had with his father and the loving relationship he had with his mother (thanks to his daddy issues, he doesn't trust masculine nature very much, even though he is also a man).

— Shang Tsung is not a "victim of Liu Kang's intrigues", this guy is a sociopath to the core!

— Tanya is not Mileena's first lover, she had a girlfriend as a teenager, the daughter of an archduke, but was forced to end the relationship because the archduke's daughter had to marry a man, breaking Mileena's heart.

— Kitana is a voracious reader, she loves books, especially about the history of the Earthrealm and Seido, her favorite historical figure of Earthrealm is Queen Mary Stuart, a queen of Scotland, reflecting the thinking of some outworlders who think that she should be empress in place of Mileena, just as some 16th-century English Catholics wanted Mary to be Queen of England in place of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I.

— I don't usually do SMUT headcanons, but I like to think that Sindel and Jerrod had an active sex life, and she never married any man after Jerrod because she only liked to have sex with him, she herself was impressed that she only had the twins and not like, three more children!

— The souls within Ermac have been in the living forest for so long that over time they have become one big family.

— Quan Chi was a thief when he was young and was sentenced to work in the gold mines as a way of paying for his crimes, which is why he hates Sindel so much.

— Tanya was not given to the Umgadi when she was a child, she was actually stolen from her mother's arms like several other Umgadi (a bit cruel, but I wanted to make it similar to Marvel's black widows).

— Li Mei has always been in love with Sindel, but she never had the courage to express her feelings.

— Takeda is destined to meet and fall in love with Jacqui, even though in this timeline she is not Jax's daughter.

— Sektor is a lesbian and has a fraternal relationship with Bi-Han.

— Cyrax can speak several African languages, including Zulu and Arabic.

— I'm going to join @rasta-bot AU that Nitara is also a lesbian, there's a 19th century irish lesbian book called "Carmilla" that I really like, it's about a sapphic vampire, just like Nitara.

— Reiko was a mommy's boy, just like Bi-Han.

— Shao suffers from narcissistic personality disorder.

— Syzoth and Ashrah's love language is physical caresses, such as kisses on the forehead and cheek.

— Ashrah is pansexual (yes, another wlw woman, it's "Mortal sapphic Kombat" for me) she has always felt lonely, so she would like any romantic companionship, no matter the gender.

— Baraka prays to Delia every day that a cure for Tarkat will be discovered (this is actually canon btw).

— Slavery is (unfortunately) legal in Seido, and Havik was enslaved (also canon), so he is an anarchist.

— Tomas is a polyglot, he can speak Czech, Chinese, English and Japanese.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Ghost From The Barrow

Source for pic

Word Count: 6049

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you giving and creampie, alternate universe - Scotland, 13th century - cursing, angst, angst without happy ending, gore, blood, death, MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are the daughter of a clan chief in the Highlands, though you are more trouble than you are worth. Some thugs capture you and attempt to demand a ransom, but things don't exactly go their way when their leader, Kid, discovers what you are truly made of.

Notes: This was heavily inspired by the song “The Ghost From The Barrow” by Paddy and the Rats. It was going to go in a very different direction, much similar to the lyrics of the song, but the story took its own turn and I liked it like this! I hope you do too. Also, the research I did was very shallow, so if you're from Scotland and I got something wrong, I'm so sorry! Also, I had to go with Kilt wearing Kid. 🥴🤤 Have fun! 

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 (if you don't want to be tagged for other stories other than the meet-cute, please tell me!)

Sidenote: I used a real sigil for the reader’s clan: Clan MacKenzie. 

Terms: 

Barrow - An ancient burial mound;

Tartan - A woolen cloth with a specific design associated to a specific clan;

Laird - A lord, someone who owns a large estate;

The early morning mist left a familiar dampness upon your hair. Rolling hills of verdant expanse stretched lazily before you. Ancient stone markings of softly defined borders marked one pasture from another, the neighbours, practically family, not caring if the cattle meandered from one side to the other. Heavy tendrils of fog still permeated the mountains and mounds above and you had to cut your morning walk short. You knew those barrows like the back of your hand, but the legends of ancient restless souls still lurked freshly in your mind. 

Turning back around, you gathered the skirts of your woollen dress, which hung loosely over your chemise, so you wouldn’t wet the hem of the dress this early in the day. You wore the clan’s tartan over your shoulders to protect you from the earlier chill. The blues and greens of the plaid fabric contrasted heavily with the simple brown you chose to wear. Your mother would be sick to her stomach upon your sight, once more. You were the unruly daughter, the one that could not be tamed and you knew your parents cursed the day you were born. 

As wild as the Highlands, as stubborn as a mare. Your father used to jest that no man would ever want you for a wife because you were not docile enough to be domesticated. Respect came with a heavy price in your household and you held your tongue back from lashing at him. But the sting his words left upon you was enough to completely destroy the bundle of hay you used to practise your archery shots. 

Your father was a laird of the most prominent households of the Highlands, and the current head of the clan. You were the daughter of the chief. You were supposed to act with the status that your lineage carried. Except you very rarely did. And you had the nagging feeling your father wished to have killed you at birth, as they do with unwanted kittens. 

This was a day like any other. You fled your castle without the consent of your family, escaping through one of the many passages you knew by heart, so you could absorb the peace that the morning brought you. The eerie quietness of the barrows, the rustles of the leaves from the forest and, here and there, the lonesome call of the ravens. 

Your father had warned you a million times not to leave without guards.

Your mother had forbidden you a million and one times from walking out the door at all. 

Your older brother had always counselled you to take your bow anywhere you went.

You heeded none of them.

Yet, it was still with some surprise and with a heavy pounding of your heart, that you realised you were being surrounded. Four mighty horses as black as the night approached fast, their nostrils flaring and smoking. You didn’t even try to outrun them for it would have been an impossible task. The men mounting them surrounded you quickly, using the horses to keep pacing a tight circle around you. There were grins on their faces, each taller than the last, each scarier.

Scars and untreated wounds, long unkempt hair, one even had a rudimentary mask over his face. They were terrifying. You searched for a tartan but the plaids they wore belonged to no clan. You had never seen the yellow and black in any of your father’s gatherings and the sigil they wore was clearly one of outcasts and thieves: a burning skull with the same yellow and black plaid tied to the head.

“What do we have here?” The one in the mask asked, his voice thick with delight, a hint of a mischievous smile you were not privy to. 

“A little lass, eh?” The tallest one replied. He was the only one without a smile on his face, his voice thundering around you.

“She seems sweet.” The one with hollow eyes and scars on his mouth spoke softly.

Your hands shook and the shiver that coursed through you had nothing to do with the biting wind of the Highlands. The red-headed man pursed his lips as he looked you over. If they found out you were the chief’s daughter, you would surely be used as ransom bait.

Or worse. 

Inhaling deeply, you fought to find your voice. “I am a mere villager, good sirs. I was going to collect some herbs for healing, nothing more. Some lavender and calendula. Chamomile to soothe aches. Please let me return to my home. I have young children to care for.” You tried your best to lace your voice with humility and sweetness, fighting against all of your instincts to spit at their feet and demand their heads for this outrage. 

The one who spoke with a soft voice smiled at you. “Poor thing, she looks scared, Captain.” He was looking at the redhead. He was the leader then. So he was the one you had to reason with.

“Yes, Captain, I am so very frightened. Please, I just want to return home.” Trying your best to look terrified - which wasn’t that hard since you were frightened - you warmed your features and fell to your knees, adding dramatics to your reaction. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” The one with the mask replied, tilting his head to one side. “She does look like a commoner.”

The captain dismounted his horse and you gulped as he approached you. He was tall and bulky, with an impressive figure. His lips were tinted red and he wore a piece of cloth on his head to keep the hair out of his eyes with the same yellow and black plaid of their sigil. His kilt was of dark brown plaid, resembling dried blood, and his legs were as thick as logs. 

“Sir…” You whimpered and tried to appear small. His face kept drawing near and you held your breath as his cloak slipped and you realised he was missing an arm. “Please…” Another whimper.

His lips pursed further as he raised an eyebrow and he sniffed you.

A gasp left your lips at the outrage and your cheeks flushed crimson. How dared he? His hand darted forward and he pulled the tartan off your chest, revealing the brooch you had on your dress, the one with your father’s sigil: a mountain in flames with the words ‘I shine, not burn’ engraved.

His lips pulled back to reveal a frightening set of sharp canines and he finally spoke. It was akin to a roar and it managed to bristle all the hairs on your body. “Take her, ya fools. She smells clean. She’s highborn, for sure.”

You made sure the whole of the Highlands heard you screaming and you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight. You bit and sank your nails into flesh, you kicked and punched all while sputtering curses upon curses over the group. Vile words, not fit for a lady of your status, filled with hate, brimming with rage.

And they all laughed at you.

Your efforts were for naught. You were easily captured.

-*-

You were held like a sack of potatoes, hanging limply over the masked man’s shoulder. They had subdued you easily and tied your hands behind your back. You were still kicking, so with more rumbling laughs, they tied your feet for good measure. 

They rode with you on their horses for the entire day, placing a blindfold over your eyes to disorient you to where their hideout was. You were passed around from mount to mount - never to the leader’s horse, though - as if you were a plaything and a new toy for them to play with. 

You should be trembling with fear, yet all the trembling came from pure rage. You wanted to punch something, claw, bite, anything! This feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and intensified by the second.

The masked man set you down ungracefully by a fire and removed the blindfold, making you blink to adjust your vision. 

“Here we are, lass. Make yourself at home.” He chuckled low and you gritted your teeth. They hadn’t roughed you up, but you were still sore from the daylong horse ride. Your throat was dry and your lips were cracked. 

“Can…” You cleared your throat to find your voice again, but it was raw from screaming. “Can I get some water?”

He tsked and turned his back on you, leaving you slumped and looking defeated. Your wrists and ankles were sore from the tightness of the rope and you were pretty sure there was blood as well. 

They left you alone in that position for a while, until the man with the scars on his mouth approached you slowly. Using a knife, he cut the ropes from your ankles and then the ones on your wrists.

Whimpering you brought your hands close to your chest and rubbed your wrists softly. You were right, they were bloodied and bruised. 

“Here.” He extended a wooden bowl filled with water, which you immediately downed with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you.” You mumbled noticing your voice was less coarse now. 

He smiled softly and took out some mashed herbs from a leather pouch, applying the mixture to your wrists. You could smell lavender, calendula and yarrow in the mixture. Someone knew what they were doing, for they were healing herbs. 

“You did this?” You asked softly. Clearly this man was the one you could easily approach since all the others were too closed off. He nodded proudly and you patted his hand. “Thank you. What’s your name?” You gave him your name as well so he felt more confident in sharing his.

“I’m Heat.”

“That is a lovely name. Thanks for helping me, Heat.” Another smile. Maybe you could work him well enough to flee.

“Get away from her.” The leader’s orders made Heat stiffen up and he got up with a slight jump, leaving your side without looking back.

“I know what yer doing, lil’ lass.” His thick accent became more enunciated because he was angry, you noticed. So you decided to make him angrier and see where that would get you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you offered him your best annoyed look.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Thug.” You finished with a smirk.

Grunting, his lips curled upwards, drawing that dangerous smile that made your heart pound.

“Ya want to domesticate my men, lil’ lass, ya can’t! They obey my command.” His figure towered over yours and he was intimidating you. Wincing in pain and discomfort, you got up, still nowhere near his face, fists clenched into tiny little balls of fury as your eyes sparkled with rage.

“What do you want from me? A ransom? Well, send the letter! I’m sure my father will be more than happy to pay you scoundrels to get me back! Or do you not know how to write?” You stomped your foot right in the middle of his parted legs and stood almost flush to his frame, a snide crossing your lips, taunting him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Yet, you were. Pretty scared, actually. Even more so because you doubted your father would care enough about you to pay a ransom. 

You could feel rage seething from his body in short waves. His orange eyes flaming like burning fire, the same fire you felt coursing through your veins in defiance. He gave no warning as his hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to prevent almost all of the air from coursing freely, enough to leave a bruise, but not enough to truly hurt and cut your air supply.

He lifted you up to his eye level easily, as your nails scratched and clawed at his forearm, leaving red angry trails on his skin, yet he showed no signs of being hurt by your flailing.

“Ya should be. Ya should be pissin’ yer pants.” His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as his eyes raked over your body. He took out his long, wet tongue and licked a stripe from your neck to your ear, making your insides burn and your legs clench together with want. “Tasty.” He grumbled as your eyes bore into his.

“Taste this, then.” You grunted between gasps and, clenching your own jaw, you bent your knee and hit him right in his balls, making him grunt and bend forward, letting go of your neck at the same time as he curled, his hand holding his dick tight.

You coughed and wheezed for air, falling on your knees and taking deep gasps to try and steady your breathing. Your hands pressed and soothed the burn in your throat. 

“You lil’ whore!” He grumbled as he strode towards you again.

“I’ve been called worse!” You grinned with bravado you didn’t have, waiting for the blow to come, for his hand to strike, or his feet. Whatever he wanted to use, and you knew it would hurt. Your eyes shut in anticipation as your heart created its own insane rhythm in your chest.

Yet the blow didn’t come.

All you heard was the leader’s rumbling laugh echoing in the forest as he paced away from you.

-*-

Days passed and you remained a prisoner. They left you unbound because there was no way you could ever escape their watch. Heat brought you food and water and sometimes talked with you, when the leader wasn't around to scold him. 

You learned that the letter had been sent to your father, yet he still hadn't responded. So they sent another one. 

There was a feeling of dread coiling around your stomach. What if your father didn’t want to pay your ransom? You had more brothers and sisters. What good would a bratty child who obeyed no orders do in his household? Perhaps it was better for him to say that you lost your life to the whims of thieves.

It might even grant him more support. 

You spent a restless night worrying about this and you cried your heart out. Heat noticed your forlorn expression and defeated demeanour in the morning and returned to you with clean clothes. A plain dress and a worn out man’s shirt. You looked at him warily until he grabbed your hand and led you to the forest.

For a moment you thought he might be setting you free. A rush of happiness spread its tendrils across your heart and you grinned. Until you realised he was only taking you to a lake.

He seemed so happy, though, that you still smiled softly at him. “You can bathe.” He whispered your name softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

His offer was tempting. There was grime under your fingernails, caked blood on your wrists, knees and ankles and your hair… you didn’t even want to get started on your hair.

So you thanked him politely and he turned to give you some privacy, leaving a bundle of soapwort in your hands. A plant that, if wet, creates a lather that can cleanse grime and leave a nice herbal scent behind. You were sure he would turn around as soon as you took off your clothes, but he was still the sweetest of the thugs and you had warmed up to him. You doubted he would try something with you. 

Leaving your stained clothes in a pile so you could wash them later, you dipped your toes in the water. It was ice cold, despite the warm weather outside. Still, you really needed to bathe. So, closing your eyes, you dove gracefully, emerging only once the burn settled against your lungs from lack of air. 

Letting out an unbridled laugh, you splashed a bit of water before using the soapwort plant to cleanse yourself properly. You used it on your hair as well and, after a little bit, you started to make your way back so you could wash your clothes. You didn’t want to take too long in the lake because you didn’t want to cause any trouble for Heat. 

However, the sight that greeted you when you turned around made you freeze as your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. The leader, the captain. He was staring at you, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree and his lips pursed. Heat was nowhere to be found. He must have discovered both of you here and sent Heat away. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat but made no motion to cover yourself. Your breasts were out of the water, nipples erect from the cold and goosebumps all over your skin. He was close enough to see the way you were shivering and the way your chest rose with each gasping breath. 

He pulled away from the tree and with nimble fingers began to untie his kilt. First the knot over his shoulder, then he started untucking the sides until it finally fell down in a heap. The shivers that shook your body now had definitely nothing to do with the chilliness of the lake. He took a long stride forward and with one swift movement of his arm, the shirt came off. 

Biting your lower lip you took in his muscular form. He was bulky and heavy, built like a strong bull. His chest was made of ripped muscles and heavy scars. Lowering your eyes, you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, seeking some friction. His cock was big, girthy and already half hard. It would be monstrous at full length. 

He took off the cloth holding his hair back and finally entered the water with a hiss. His eyes never left you nor did yours leave him. 

You were no stranger to desire and intercourse. You were the chief's daughter, but you were no maiden. And what you felt for your captor now was true, unbridled desire. And you could see that he felt the same toward you. 

Would either of you act upon it? 

Shaking your head and gulping, you strode forward, aiming to leave the lake, perhaps? Yet he blocked your path easily. The water hit him around the knees and a quick look down told you he was now standing at full attention. 

Screw it. 

You were wound as tight as a rope and release would probably do you some good. Besides, he seemed like a good lay. 

You approached him, slowly climbing out to the shallow part of the lake, the water lowering until he could see your mound. His lips curled up and he licked them at a leisurely pace. 

“Kneel, lil’ lass.” He grunted and, for once, you obeyed him willingly. 

Falling forward on your knees, you wasted no time. Using your hands to pump his cock a few times, you gathered the precum at the top and then used your tongue to lather it around his girth. He hummed low when you brought your other hand to cup his balls and squeeze. 

“Fuck. That's good.” 

His praise made you mewl into him as you hollowed your cheeks and fought against the gag reflex to take all of him inside your mouth. It was a stretch, but you could do it. 

Hissing, he tangled his fingers in your wet hair, holding your head in place as he took over and fucked your mouth with relentless thrusts. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes when his tip bullied the back of your throat. Heat began pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading slowly and steadily, burning at your core, demanding attention. 

You used one hand to grab his thick, hairy thighs for purchase, and another to friction against your throbbing clit, moaning into him, the vibrato of your mewls making him fasten his pace with sloppier thrusts. “Fuck, fuck. Open wide lass.” And that was all the warning you got before his thick, salty cum dripped down your throat as you swallowed and he pulled out, a small string of saliva connecting him to you still. 

He stared at your face, swollen lips, teary eyes and jaw standing open as your hand continued to press and circle against your clit, small moans leaving your parted lips. 

“Fuck. C’mere.” Resting his large hand on your chin, he motioned for you to stand up, and you obeyed. He pried your fingers away from yourself and pressed your hand so you could spread them open. A string of your own slick connected your index and middle fingers and you blushed. The Captain chuckled and swirled his tongue around them, collecting any remaining drops of your juices as you gasped and stifled a moan. “Hmm, none of that lil’ lass. Yer going to scream my name. Don't ye dare hold back.”

“I don't know your name.” You said, your eyes sparkling with mischievousness. 

Curling his lips back, he grasped your wet hair again, pulling you for an open mouthed kiss, combining your juices with the lingering taste of his cum until your head was spinning and begging for air. “It's Kid.” He panted as he pulled apart from you. 

“Fuck me, Kid.” Your hand found his cock already hard again and you had no doubt that this man had the stamina of a horse. 

“Will do, lass.” His fingers dug into your mound and you moaned as they descended to your swollen clit. “Let's see how ready ye are for me.” His fingers were long and thick and as he inserted one inside you to collect some slick, you arched your back and rolled your hips against his touch. “Hmm, needy, are ye?”

He rolled his wet finger against the bundle of nerves and then inserted two digits, stretching them and then letting them go further, deeper. Your nails dug into his chest as your head fell back in abandonment. “Kid!” You panted, his fingers filling you up deliciously. A gasp left you breathless as he inserted a third finger, using his thumb to press against your clit as he stretched you further. “Gods! Kid!”

“I know, lass, I know.” He grunted near your ear and the deep rumbling that came from his voice made you snap as you came in his hand. Arching your back and clawing his chest you moaned loud, repeating his name in a crescendo as you reached your high. “That was a good one, lass.” He sucked at your neck and bit hard to bring you back but you mewled again as you leaned into him, too dazed out to do anything else. 

But he was not done. Using his arm, he lifted you up and with a swift motion, impaled his cock inside your slick hole, making you scream as you clenched your legs around his waist. 

“Hold on, lass, this will be a rough ride.” His digits dug into your flesh as his arm circled your hips holding you in place as he pounded relentlessly, his pace brutal, and you didn't know how he could stay standing up because you could barely open your eyes, let alone stand. 

The pleasure built in waves that kept crashing and chasing away your sanity. You had never been fucked like this before. Captain Kid was fucking you senseless. Your pants increased in fervour as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming again. His dick filled you perfectly and hit spots inside you that made you see white. 

“Kid, fuck, gods!”

“Scream louder!” He growled and thrust faster, making your toes curl as you crushed him in a hug, thighs clenching tight against him and nails drawing blood from his back. You did scream. Loud as a banshee and you were positive his entire camp heard you scream his name like a whore.

His release was not far behind, and you knew that because there were beads of sweat on his temples, his thrusts were sloppier and he was grunting heavily. But you were so close again. “Harder.” You begged against his ear, your fingers circling your burning and overstimulated clit, trying to chase that last high. 

“Lil’ whore.” He growled and gave you what you wanted. Three fast thrusts that made you shake and come with a flash of white as he followed suit. You felt his release inside you, filling you up and dripping down your legs into the lake in soundly, heavy plops. 

You were still clinging to him like he was your lifeline, both panting and sweating, chests heaving and legs trembling. 

“I'm putting ya down, now.” He said between pants and you whined when he pulled out of you, leaving you empty. You were not steady on your legs so he still held your waist. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, still catching your breath, a wave of dizziness overcoming your senses. 

“I thought maidens didn't curse.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah? Well, maidens don't suck cocks either. So why do you think I'm one?” His genuine laughter made your heart tingle and constrict against your chest and you were not quite sure what this foreign feeling was. What you did know was that you wanted to hear it again. 

-*-

Days passed, yet you didn't really think you were a prisoner anymore. You slept with Kid every night and he took you whenever he felt like it, making good on the claim that you were his good little whore. You couldn't care less. You felt free. 

One night, after screaming his name until your throat was raw - you've come to realise he loves it when you scream his name - you asked him bluntly. 

“My father refused to pay the ransom, did he not?” The scoff that left your throat was meant to be dismissive and aloof, yet there was also the bitter taste of tart tears in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“Aye.” He grunted as he pulled your naked body closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't want his compassion, it wasn't what you were looking for. Yet, it felt nice. As if you meant something more to him than just his prisoner whore. 

“I was never good for anything but to cause trouble for him, anyway. Like this he doesn't need to find me a husband.” You snorted. “You know what I did to the last one he tried to set me up with? The one who said I couldn't be ‘domesticated’?” Kid's gaze fell on yours, an amused expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I bit off his balls when he tried to fuck me into submission.” Shrugging, you threw out your tongue as Kid burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Aren't ya a feisty lil’ lass?” His chest heaved until his laughter died down. You felt droopy and your eyes started to close, drifting closer and closer to sleep. “Maybe ya can be my wife. We'll see if I can domesticate ya.”

You didn't quite know if he was kidding or not, but sleep claimed you with a smile on your lips at the thought of being Kid's wife. 

-*-

You were woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams and the clangs of swords and axes. Kid wasn't by your side when you rolled over and got up, hastily dressing in your chemise and dress. It sounded like a battle, so you grabbed the bow you kept by your side of the bed. Kid made you that bow once he realised you were very good with it. 

You had been by his side for over a year now. He made you his wife, as he said he would, and there were more nights when you actually made love instead of just fucking. 

You had come to love him. Deeply. And you were positive he loved you back, even though he wouldn't admit it to a soul. He would say love made you weaker or something like that. Times had been kind for your new clan and you had all found peace. 

Yet that thought was quickly swept away once you stepped outside of your hut and were greeted with the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered people and Kid and his men fighting. 

Gripping your bow harder and tighter, you found a secluded perch by climbing onto the roof of the hut and started to take out man after man. They didn't even realise what happened until they were left bleeding on the floor, meeting their final demise at the hands of one of Kid's men or Kid himself, who saw you immediately when an arrow whizzed past his ear. 

It wasn't until the tenth body hit the floor that you realised that these men belonged to your father's clan. Their tartan was clearly the pattern you were so familiar with. That realisation gave away your location and in a heartbeat you were being dragged by your hair, your body hitting the ground with a loud oof, as the air was sucked out of your lungs. As the assailant grabbed his sword, ready to pierce you with the blade, you kicked him hard in the shin and you heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking before he screamed. 

Getting up with a pained grunt, you realise that you must also have broken a few ribs as you were pulled down from the roof, because it hurt to breathe. Still clutching your bow to your chest, you made your way forward, shooting arrows as you went, aiding people in their escape. All the while your eyes were searching for Kid as your heart hammered against your chest. He was nowhere to be seen and that left you anxious. 

And distracted. 

A sharp pain travelled from your thigh to your groin and shot everywhere in short stabbing bursts of pain. There was a blade protruding from your leg and hot droplets of tears threatened to escape your eyes. “Fuck.” You grunted as you turned around, searching for whoever was responsible for this, bow stretched and arrow already in place. 

“It's true, then.” The familiar voice of your brother left you breathless for a moment, making you lose your focus. “You really have become that scoundrel’s whore. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.”

Your jaw clenched as you inhaled short breaths, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in your thigh. He was standing too close for a proper arrow shot and your vision was getting blurry. You would never make the shot even if you wanted to. 

“I'm not his whore. I'm his wife.” You spat at him, rage making your voice tremble. 

Your brother's cackles were like another knife piercing your heart. 

“That's precious. You're still dying. You're no longer family.”

And he lunged forward, sword raised in the air in a stance you'd known your whole life as you'd watched your brothers learn how to fight in the shadows. You knew when to duck, when to move away, and when to jump. He was predictable and his moves were still the same after all these years. You could win this. 

If you weren't bleeding and your movements weren't impaired. 

He struck forward and you knew you had to move left. It was all you had to do, really. But your leg gave out, and he stabbed his sword into your sternum. 

You had never felt pain like this before. It started slowly, in the middle of your chest, but then, as if in waves, it began to spread, leaving you numb and cold. As you fell to your knees, you could see the snicker spreading on your brother's lips. Until it turned into a grimace and blood started to sputter from his mouth as he grunted. 

There was a heavy blade sticking out of his chest, followed by a pained grunt as the sword climbed up his torso, ripping him in two right before your eyes. 

You saw the panting figure of Kid behind him, his breaths coming out in shaken gasps as his face contorted into a pained frown when he laid eyes on you. “No! No, no, no!”

He rushed forward, letting his blade fall to the ground, and his arm circled you desperately. 

You were dying. You knew that. 

A smile found its way to your blood-stained lips as your eyes locked with bright orange ones. Caressing his cheek left a red streak of blood on his skin, but it was quickly washed away by a stream of tears from his eyes. 

“Hey, no crying.” You whispered slowly. The pain was drifting away. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Ye can't leave lil’ lass! I didn't give ya permission!”

Your chuckle turned into a coughing fit, blood spurting everywhere as Kid cradled you in his big arm. Around you shouts were heard, soldiers sounding the retreat. The threat had been thwarted for now. 

“Kid.” Your voice could barely be heard, but you needed to get his attention. “Kid, please. Don't hold a grudge. Please.” You whined and closed your eyes as the numbness relented and gave way to the pain. 

He pulled you against him, trying to hold you carefully but, at the same time, holding you firmly as if it were the last time - it was the last time - his kilt was now completely soaked in your blood. 

“Promise me.” You said firmly, your hand trying to find his cheek again, but failing miserably as you could barely find the strength. “Grudges create lost souls. I can't have you away from me in the afterlife. Promise.” You admonished him. 

He nodded against your face, taking your lips with his, trying to stifle a sob as his shoulders heaved and rocked with the effort. 

“I love you…” Your whisper got lost somewhere in the limbo of eternity as the sparkle of life burned away in your eyes. There was a moment of stillness, Heat, Killer and Wire gathered behind Kid, still as logs. The forest ceased its rustling, and even the animals stopped their sounds. The world stopped spinning when you left it, and Kid lost a piece of himself. 

It was his piercing agonising scream that brought the world back, crashing into rotation, but never the same. 

-*-

Kid didn't really promise you not to hold a grudge. He just nodded. And even if he had made a promise, he was a thief and a scoundrel. Lying was a part of him. 

He did hold a grudge. 

A huge one. He hunted down every single member of your family and slaughtered them all. No one associated with your clan was left alive to tell the tale. Be they elderly or children, Kid was merciless. 

He would not rest until his vengeance was fulfilled. He had never felt love the way he did for you. He had never felt affection the way he did for you. 

And he had never grieved harder. 

If he was suffering, those that caused that suffering should be put to the same misery. 

And he fulfilled that vow. Until he was caught and sentenced to hang in the gallows. 

Yet, he would hang with a smile upon his tainted lips. He had avenged you. None of your clan was left alive to tell the tale, he had made sure of it. And he was hopeful that once his body turned cold and lifeless, he would meet you, in the afterlife. 

So you could spend eternity together, as it should have been. 

The clock struck the hour and Kid was hanged. Killer, Wire and Heat stood watching, heads low and hidden behind cloaks, as their captain paid the price of vengeance. 

Killer was proud of his fearless friend. 

Wire was saddened that it ended this way. 

Heat was worried, because he knew vengeful spirits could not find rest in eternity. 

Heat was right. 

The spirit of Eustass Captain Kid roamed the Highlands. A ghoulish spectre haunting the barrow, searching for his lost wife, forever aiming to find her in the eternity of the afterlife. 

Yet she had warned him. 

Grudges create lost souls. 

So if you find yourself roaming any barrow in the Highlands, whether at night or during the day, know that the wailing you hear is that of the captain, grieving his lost love and the life he was denied. 

Though he avenged her in the end. 

But at what cost? 

[gyummigon]

☆ moonlight | beomgyu

beomgyu x fem!reader

୨୧ word count: 2k ୨୧ genre: very very fluff, friends to ? ୨୧ n/a: writing this brought me back to life. maybe i rambled too much, but just letting the words flow made me feel warm and i hope it shows. on the other hand, english isn’t my first language, so i ask for your understanding for possible grammatical errors and such.

Thank you for the music by ABBA was playing on the radio in your father's old, beat-up truck. You were lying in the back of the car with Beomgyu beside you, enjoying the view of the night sky and the cold winter breeze that painted colorful puffs on his cheeks. A tattered blanket, that you had grabbed before leaving home in a hurry, lay under their bodies, which were close enough to give you goosebumps.

The engine of the car made your body vibrate. You sank into your thoughts for a few minutes, admiring Beomgyu's beauty as he stood with his gaze lost in the firmament. The moon cast a soft silvery light on his eyes, evoking a feeling of tenderness and serenity in them.

You were aware that the serenity that radiated from him on this particular night could only be found in similar circumstances, at specific times, in specific places, and with the necessary level of intimacy. Then his mouth would pause slightly, no longer showing his teeth in those flashy smiles that were typical of him, his lips would relax to the rhythm of his mind and a calm line would take its place, leaving his playful and joyful side until the moment he felt ready to awaken it again.

Beomgyu's boisterous personality used to be a constant presence and you were more than accustomed to it, but when it disappeared, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the surface. Who was he when he was alone, with no one to smile at or joke with? Who was he when he was lost in his thoughts, completely vulnerable to his thoughts and his surroundings?

As you stared at him, you felt as if you were sinking into a pool of endless calm and compassion, unable to be anyone without the answers to these questions. This made you feel exposed, as if you had little of yourself and the breeze kissed the innermost part of your mind, taking away everything coherent and leaving only that which involved the boy next to you; your longing to share with him the purest, the most intimate, wanting to belong to each other and to find through touch the most delicate parts of his soul.

You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel the thoughts that were beginning to overwhelm you. It didn't feel right to have this kind of longing for him that went beyond friendship, but your feelings had grown to a point where you couldn't do anything to stop them.

Beomgyu broke the silence with a soft, warm laugh, his voice echoing in your ears and making you shiver. "What are you thinking about?" he asked and his hand brushed over yours in a gentle gesture. Your heart pounded at his touch as you fought to keep your composure.

"I was thinking... about how profoundly calm you become at times," you replied, trying to sound casual. Beomgyu nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on you, as if he could see through your words. "You haven't said much," you muttered and looked up, unable to bear the closeness of his face.

A silence stretched between the two of you for a few seconds, causing you to look at him with furrowed brows. Beomgyu's lips curved into a relaxed smile when you met his eyes again. Now, from the side, you could see the wind ruffling his beautiful face, making the strands of his messy hair dance and expose more of his smooth skin, tempting you to reach out and stroke it.

He looks spectacular, you thought.

"Do you mind if I snuggle with you?" Beomgyu suddenly said, moving closer to you and wrapping his arms around you.

You felt overwhelmed by his presence, by his warmth burning in and out of you; but you said nothing, just gave him a forced smile. Beomgyu didn't seem to notice your discomfort, or maybe he did, but decided not to make a big deal out of it. Instead, he made himself comfortable and invited you to do the same.

"Look at the stars," he said, pointing to the sky. "They are so beautiful."

"They are," you replied, leaning back against his chest and feeling his heart beat against your cheek. You both lay in silence, enjoying each other's warmth and the soft sound of the background music mixed with the sound of the car's engine. From time to time, Beomgyu would move slightly, shifting his position or adjusting the blanket to better cover you. Every time he did that, your heart skipped a beat.

"I'm pretty as well, right? " you heard him ask with a smile.

For some unknown reason, his question made you blush and you looked away, trying to focus on the sky. Too drunk on your own emotions, too unaware of what you were showing to keep this situation casual.

"So annoying," you said lowly, referring to your own reaction and not wanting Beomgyu to hear it, which was illogical considering the short distance between your bodies.

"There, there, don't be mad. Smile," he said as he brought one of his fingers to your cheek and stretched it upwards. "Smile."

The touch of his hand on your skin was warm and soft. You froze for a moment, feeling fragile and disoriented under his touch. It had always been like this, a constant game in which you were the cold one and Beomgyu was the warm one. It was not difficult for him to destroy you bit by bit, he was clueless and naive and had no idea what he was doing with such simple actions. However, sometimes you had the feeling that he knew more than he was showing and did not hesitate to take advantage of it.

You fought not to flinch and smiled a forced smile, not avoiding the bitterness in the gesture. Beomgyu didn't ignore it, he jerked his hand away and gave it a shake.

"Agh, how horrible. Better not do it again," he joked.

"You know, you're cute, but too unbearable," you murmured the last sentence between your teeth, almost whispering. Although he understood you, Beomgyu moved his face closer to yours, as if he wanted to hear you better, and batted his eyelashes.

"Is that a compliment?" He raised his eyebrows as the smile on his face became more pronounced. Before you could answer, he added, "Oww, you're pretty too."

You almost laughed at his nerve to speak in a sly voice when his ears were flushed. You didn't want to get your hopes up. You knew that Beomgyu was a kind and caring boy for everyone, not just for you. Maybe it was just that you were reading too much into his gestures and his words. Maybe you were the one who was in love.

You remained silent for a few seconds, and when you finally found the courage, you stepped back a little and looked at him. "So, how did your date with that girl turn out?"

Beomgyu looked at you for a few seconds, a little surprised by the sudden topic. You didn't want to ruin the moment, and you certainly didn't want to involve your feelings in the confidentiality that his friendship granted you, but you couldn't ignore the question that hovered in your head any longer.

"Um... a bit boring," he answered thoughtfully, "I don't think we're very compatible or whatever".

"I see," you said, feeling a small relief at his words. "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone you can connect with or whatever."

Beomgyu smiled but said nothing more. Silence spread between the two of you again, but this time it felt different, less natural. You felt exposed to his gaze, but you couldn't look away. It was as if he was reading your thoughts, as if he knew everything in your mind: his name throbbing in every nook and cranny.

To say that you were fascinated by his existence would be an understatement. You found in Beomgyu what you sometimes found in art, in the sublime, in the possibility of a new world; what you could only find in one of your alternate mental realities, which, not free of anguish, were exquisite in their own way.

For you saw it, and you were then a foolish romantic, admiring with your intoxicated eyes the features of your beloved, revealing the magical and the beautiful as a piece of heaven made of flesh. And there was no better time than the night, when the moonlight revealed the true beauty of his soul and alluded to the most intimate secrets that lay hidden.

In your trance, then embarrassing but no less inspiring and dreamy, you heard Beomgyu call your name and it was as if every deep part of you was called from the outside and he took possession of it. You looked at him and lost yourself for a second in the small smile on his face.

"When I look at you... do I look like a fool too?"

"No, you always look like a fool," you replied, hiding your embarrassment behind a wry smile and feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

Beomgyu frowned at your words but didn't seem to be bothered. Instead, he moved a little closer, took your hand in his and looked into your eyes. "I feel the same way," he mused in his soft, warm voice.

You didn't have time to think about the meaning of those words because the mood was interrupted when the song on the radio changed to Champagne Supernova by Oasis. Beomgyu's deep, leisurely voice following the lyrics of the song reached your ears and crept up to a place in your chest. You were instantly hit by a feeling of immense bliss, so intense and superior to all others that you thought you would never experience such a sensation again. After a life of remorse and regret, you finally found a sense of belonging in that harmonious voice. And for that brief moment, for those minutes of glory that the song lasted, you belonged to the world, to Beomgyu, to heaven, and to everything that witnessed that great act of love and longing.

After a while, the van stopped and your father leaned out of the window to let you know that you had reached your destination. With a sigh, Beomgyu got up and helped you out of the car. As you walked together towards the lake, you couldn't help but look at him sideways and fill your head with the cheesiest thoughts you probably ever had for a guy.

"Maybe you should watch the road instead of me?" he asked in a mocking tone when he saw you almost tripping over your own feet.

"Shut up," you snorted a little embarrassed as you rolled your eyes. "Just... you have something suspicious on your face."

When he heard you, Beomgyu's eyes went wide. "What? Take it off."

"Let's see..." Beomgyu paused and looked at you with uneasy eyes as you approached him. You looked at his face for a moment before hitting his forehead with your index finger and walking away. "I can't, it's stupid..." you said with a tone of false resignation that made him laugh and kick you gently.

Before you could go any further, he grabbed your arm and gave you a teasing smile. "Want to see who gets to the lake first?" he proposed, pointing to the path that stretched out before you. "Last one there has to dip their feet in the cold water."

"You're still like children..." you heard your father say a few meters away, causing the two of you to separate for a moment. You looked at Beomgyu, whose cheeks were slightly flushed, and you did not hesitate to make fun of him.

"Sir, your daughter is bothering me," he said before starting to run.

"Hey, that's cheating!"

© gyummigon | all rights reserved. copying or adaptation prohibited

[cupids-dove]

That's Not My Neighbor Head cannons I won't stop thinking about.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Arabella (oc):

Hopeless romantic

That one friend who's always dressed nicely even when having a breakdown

Would bail you out of jail

Easily flustered

Swears in french but says it in a sweet way, so people think she's complimenting them.

Can't pronounce "declaration"

Very insecure but acts like she's the best

Likes to be the dumb blonde because arguing with men is dumb

Dramatic queen

Marina and the Diamonds coded

Francis:

Runs off of coffee 24/7

Forgets to eat all the damn time

At some point he stopped giving a fuck about doppels

MAN CANNOT FLIRT TO SAVE HIS LIFE (it's okay bc he's unintentionally hot)

Terrible at English (grammar, etc)

Some days just talks in mumbles, and no one ever knows wtf he says

Punched a doppel without realizing it (he thought it was his coworker who wouldn't leave him tf alone-)

Milkshakes are a guilty pleasure

Got chased by a dog during a delivery, and now hates them

Basically, the batman of the building

Nacha:

Bicurious fr fr

A girl's girl

Type of woman to have pads/tampons/liners, etc, in case anyone needs one

Drops off food for Francis because she knows he forgets to eat

Honestly the best mom ever-

She's actually not very good at baking

Her relationship with Francis was: the opposite eyes where one is like happy and the other is tired-

Or like: grew up with a big family x grew up an only child

The one who actually suggested the divorce

Left handed

Has an odd fascination with pears

Anastacha:

She walked in on her parents once, and now whenever Nacha needs her, she has to go to Ana instead of Ana going to her.

Thinks it's cheesy her name is so similar to her mom's

Pretty close to both her parents

I think she'd really like The Addams Family

Good at math

Picked up saying "whatever" from upper classmen

Kinda hates the idea of romance

The type of person to just stare into your soul but in reality was zoning out (got that from her dad fr fr)

Likes picking flowers to bring to her mom after school

Steven:

Bad boy with a heart of gold

Looks like a fboy but this guy got no bitches

Kinda dumb most of the time, but gets serious when it comes to piloting

The cool uncle

Wear sunglasses even if he can't see shit

Insecure about his eyes

Definitely the type to try and fight a goose

He's an only child and wishes he had some younger siblings

Doesn't like to drink all that much

Definitely knows how to play guitar or some sort of instrument

Mclooy:

Most loyal man ever

His wife died before the doppelgangers, but once you get him talking about her he won't shut up

Taught Steven how to play guitar

Everytime he smokes he thinks of how his wife would nag him about it </3

A lot of the guys go to him for advice

I imagine he's got one of those warm hearty laughs

Was in the military for a bit

Worries about Steven everytime he goes out

Doesn't understand mental health, but does his best

Lois:

Sweetest old woman, you'll ever meet.

Carries candy on her all the time

Loves roses so much

Her and her husband are definitely grumpy x soft

Can be kind of an air head sometimes

Had a dog named Puffles when she was young

Has at least 3 kids who write her letters with pressed flowers, which she keeps

Never really liked pearls until Roman bought her a pearl necklace

She's a bit tone deaf

Roman:

Grumpiest man ever

Questions how he ever got with Lois

Knows how to play piano

Is very good with numbers

Hates he's balding but Lois reassures him all the time he's still handsome

Very uncoordinated man

Dislikes pomegranates for some reason

Loves his children very much and gives financial advice

Selenne:

More on the slim and regal side

Has begged Arabella for clothing advice

Loves matching with Elenois

Hates being separated from her sister

The friend who goes partying every night

Definitely the type to gossip with her sister

Cannot keep a secret to SAVE HER LIFE

Has the tendency to talk about topics she doesn't fully understand

Elenois:

Does Selenne's makeup because Selenne always begs her to

Definitely has accidentally called herself by her sister's name

Technically the older twin

Worries that she's not as pretty as her sister even though they look alike

A secret lesbian

Wears cherry chapstick

Hated yellow/orange at first and grew to really like it.

The type to scold you about doing something wrong, but in the process is giving you comfort items

If it wasn't for her sister encouraging her to join her in modeling. She probably would've been a sectary.

Mia:

Loves the color red WITH. A. PASSION.

Loves receiving apples too <3

Probably smells like apple blossoms too-

Very good at English

Teaches third graders

Wants to be a mother with lots and lots of kids

Her relationship with Dr. W. Afton is literally gorgeous wife x dork

Loves her silly fiance

Dyes he hair blonde

Dr. W. Afton:

Man is clueless

Also has no idea how he bagged such a beautiful woman

Loves how smart Mia is

Does questionable shit all the time

Has a thing for bunnies that doesn't feel entirely normal

Has been mistaken for a doppel by neighbors because sometimes he creeps them out

He gives me quiet kid

Definitely grew up with no siblings and extremely awkward around other women

Looks like he would freak out over a bug

Angus:

This man MOST DEFINITELY knows how to dance

He reminds me of Waluigi

He looks like he enjoys pineapple on pizza

A lady's man fr fr

Would treat you so well

A romantic

Smokes a lot, though, because work is hard

Drinks red wine

Has a fancy ass bathrobe that lowkey Slenne is jealous of

Izaack:

Chad

Peaked in highschool

Nosiest mf ever

He's somewhat sweet

Misogynist

Very good at his job

Likes Selenne and gives her all the gossip

Has flirted with all the women in the building at LEAST once (shoot ur shot ig)

He's most proud of his jaw line

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Author's note: Someone should lmk if I should do more :P also I might do something with Arabella more dive deeper into her- I'm just doing this for fun, for myself really because I was just gonna wrote most of these in my notes app. I doubt many people will read this so-

[alevicke]

Killers x GN!Reader with acne & low self esteem

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Reader has acne problems despite being an adult. Has some self esteem issues due to this. But your fave couldn't even care. What they love you for goes beyond that

Anna (The Huntress), Adiris (The Plague), Susie (The Legion) Pyramid Head (The executioner)

-----

TW: Obviously acne mention, depression. Please understand this is pretty self indulgent. I know what it is to go through this, it hurts but you aren't alone

Also, I have no beta reader nor anything, sorry if it’s not good!

-----

ANNA (THE HUNTRESS)

She is genuinely confused by your worries.

She actually doesn't really understand what's acne. In fact, she doesn't even believe it's something bad.

I mean, she faced puberty which is when she had more acne but... She wasn't around other humans or people to point it out or make her feel embarrassed of that. She was more concerned about hunting and surviving in the forest

Thing is... She actually has a lot of acne nowadays. She doesn't take care of her skin at all, only of wounds, and doesn't clean her face unless you really tell her to do it and... All that dust and dirt in her skin makes her have some acne issues

It's not like she really cares, she even has scars because she scratches them

She doesn't know she supposes to let them be

And, you know what? SCARS ARE COOL

In her eyes, she believes those are cool and are similar to freckles

To her eyes, you're the most beautiful person she has ever met. She loves every single thing of you, every single part and every single inch

Then, why would she dislike something you and she have in common?

You could try to explain it to her but... It just doesn't click on her. It's natural, it's human, it's lovable

She loves you the way you are

Still, her way of showing you love is basically keeping you in her arms for as long as possible. You know she’s clingy

She will kiss you the whole time, even more than normally. Expect to have slight bruises in your face from how many times she presses her face against yours (joking)

Oh, and she will huge you like a teddy bear. You’ll basically be carried like like a baby 24/7 until you smile and trust her words

She loves you <3

ADIRIS (THE PLAGUE)

Well, sadly, when it comes to insecurities, Adiris can be the queen

She 100% understands you and will be by your side. She's the sweetest person in the world when it come to these topics

She's soft with every single word. Gentle. She doesn't want to say anything that could upset you

But she wants you to know that she's there for you and she loves you

She understand your securities though

And you know she does

It doesn't matter how many times you tell her you love her. It doesn't matter how many times you tell how much you find her beautiful. And it doesn't matter how many times you kiss her

She's still scared

But bit by bit, she's learning and realizing that it's true and you see more than her scars, than her sickness and her wounds. You see more than her weaknesses. You see past what everyone finds disgusting

You see a soul, a loving woman who cherishes you with her whole heart and it aches her to see you suffer and struggle

But she's there for every second you feel insecure. And for every mean comment you say she will kiss you two times to prove you wrong

There is nothing you can say that can change her mind

But, truth being said, sometimes, you just want to let your feelings out... And for those times, she's there as well

English is not her native language but she's been in the realm for long enough for both of you to understand and communicate and when you need to talk, you know she's there

You can let every insecurity you have out and she's going to be there for you

She will stay quiet and hug you for all you want and reassure you that she's there for you

SUSIE (THE LEGION)

Although she had her skin issues when she was adolescent, she has perfect skin now

Well, one or two pimples when her period comes because hormones are a bitch and she hates it

But not because of the acne, it's just that she gets annoyed by all the blood she didn't ask for and dealing with it

Other than that she's always pretty happy around

That's until you decide to talk to her and tell her your insecurities...

Much like Adiris, it pains her to see you struggling for your self esteem and your appearance and wants to cheer you up by being by your side

She loves you the way you are and she hates you cannot see what she sees. She really wishes she could make you see through her eyes the beauty she sees in you

She's extremely worried especially when you talk about using a mask

At first, she thought it would be cute both of you use masks and didn't think too much into it

Until she realized that your reason behind it was to cover your face due to how embarrassed you felt

She could feel her heart break into pieces discovering that and she didn't want you to use a mask. Fck being tweenies with masks, she wants to see your beautiful face

(Although she hates seeing your face when you're suffering in trials when you both have to fight. Stupid Entity)

She won’t stop you if you really really want to use a mask, but she will strongly discourage it and would like you to take it off as soon as you both are together

After all, she wants to be able to caress your cheek without any problem, to kiss you and smush her face against you without anything interrupting or getting in the middle

She’s not really good when it comes to conversations so she’s most likely going to try to cheer you up with different things when you are feeling bad

Videogames, snacks, snuggling, even annoying Frank and pranking him if that could make you smile

You have been with Susie for long enough to be accepted into Legion so… Yeah, Julie and Joey are most likely going to help you

After everything, all she cares about is making you happy and smile

PYRAMID HEAD (THE EXECUTIONER)

Pyramid Head already has problems understanding human feelings and issues. He cannot even talk and communicate properly which has been a problem in your relationship several times. But you both can work it out

When you’re feeling sad, he doesn’t really understand what’s going on at first

He goes through all points that make sense in his mind first

Did someone hurt you? A bad trial? Did Danny bother you again taking photos without your permission? Did another survivor use you as a sandbag or tea bagged you while hooked?

Whatever it was, he was ready to get his hands dirty (and full of blood)

What he didn’t expect was to hear you say you felt bad about your appearance, about yourself

What do you even mean? He likes you the way you are. How come you don’t see it as well? He didn’t fall in love with others, he isn’t attracted to others, he’s surprised he cannot see your beauty as he does

And just for a few red marks and little wounds? He gets HUGE scars and wounds in trials. And he never thought they could be bothering besides the danger aspect which doesn’t really matter under Entity’s protection

But in all honesty, if it’s something that’s bothering you or making you feel bad, he is worried and wants to help you

He still doesn’t know and needs some guidance about how to help you though

He’ll try his own way of cheering you up. Most of them can include a bit of brutality though, like; Beating up whatever killer even dares to touch you in any trial, making a survivor chug their flashlight if they even dare to abandon you and similar stuff

He will also bring more gifts. Not the best, like dead flowers, but come on, he’s trying to cheer you up. And in his realm there aren’t many good things to pick from. Unless you want a broken student’s chair

He’ll make sure to pick you up and hug you way more often and while he cannot kiss you he’ll be gently cupping your cheek and softly caressing your lips with his thumb, as a sign that if he could he would really love to kiss you

[cinnamon-galaxies]

A Padawan's Confession

Pairings: Obi-Wan x padawan!reader Warnings/Tags: drama, hurt/comfort, age difference, no (further) romantic interaction Summary: G/N reader! You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, rest by a campfire overnight during a mission. As your thoughts get heavier each second he senses your trouble and you take the opportunity to announce your decision to leave the order. Because feelings far beyond the boundaries of the Jedi slowly turn you insane as your heart craves for the man who's both the furthest and closest to you.... Words: 1.7k A/n: This short story is inspired by a one shot I've written many years ago. I hope you like it! Also English isn't my first language so there might be spelling and grammar mistakes in this story!

~~~~~~

The quiet camp fire marked tonight's resting place from your stressful mission. You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat on broken trunks, your cloaks pulled around you tightly to keep the warmth of the fire around your bodies. But as quiet as the night seemed to be, your mind was the exact opposite. Hundreds of thoughts raced around and kept your pulse high and your tension at a maximum. It was at the time you eventually should be honest with your master and talk to him about your decision to leave the order. Your thoughts have been resolving around this topic for months now and with each day passing you felt more certain to pervade your decision, as the pressure and pain got worse and became almost unbearable.

While you tried to think about the best way to tell him, your master sensed your inner tension. "You seem troubled, Y/N," he observed. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

You hesitated for a brief moment before you nodded. "Yes. Kinda..."

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, his neutral facial expression slowly turning into concern. He didn't want you to feel bad. He in fact despised it when you were sad or troubled and that is why he always wanted to be there for you, support you and help you through bad times. Of course it was also his responsibility to care for you but through all the year's you've been his Padawan you grew to be so much more for him, something similar to the daughter he never had. And that is a fact he never actually said out loud but it was a silent truth between the both of you.

You let out a deep sigh but it didn't release any of the heavy pressure pushing down on you. To leave the order was a life-changing decision that couldn't be undone. It could be a big mistake—or the best decision you'll ever make. But after all it hurt a lot to even think about saying goodbye.

"I-" you started but a heavy lump in your throat interrupted you. "I can no longer do this." You automatically lowered your voice and turned your face towards the darkness behind the trees to avoid his glance. You felt tears form in your eyes, so you closed your lids and held your breath. There was almost nothing else as awkward as crying in front of your master, a Jedi in accordance with the code. 'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force,' you quoted in your mind realizing you've broken at least half of the five key principles. What a shame it would be if you'd shown your master how much you were guided by your emotions. "I'm sorry master," you said.

Obi-Wan frowned in both confusion and concern. "You're sorry? For what? What is it you can no longer do?" he asked with a calm voice. He was trying hard to hide how much he worried about you right now.

"All of this," you replied. "I made the decision to leave the Jedi order." Out of a sudden, relief flooded your veins as the heavy weight of those words left your soul with every syllable spoken.

Obi-Wan paused. He didn't even realize he forgot to beathe while the shock of your announcement washed over him. "Y/N," he finally managed to press through his lips. "Leaving the Jedi order is a significant decision."

"I know," you replied.

"May I ask why you've come to this conclusion?"

You hesitated. It made you uncomfortable to talk about the reasons. Then again, informing him was the least you could do. You still didn't manage to make eye contact. "I've broken the Jedi principles. Or, to put it better, it gets harder for me to follow them everyday. I can't no longer distract myself from my emotions and act as if I don't feel any affection. My mind starts to think in ways the doctrines of the Jedi dismiss and I'm afraid I'll and up in demise." The tears lingering in your eyes got more but you still managed to hold them back. It was obvious that your master could feel the bunch of emotions cracking through all of these walls you've built up since the beginning of your training. But there was one you could still hide. One particular emotion you hid so well from the outside and the force sensing abilities of the Jedi that you were sure, no matter how many your master could sense, that one particular emotion wasn't one of them.

"Affection, you say?" Your master responded and you nodded. "May I ask what kind of affection troubles you?"

You wish you could say that it was only a deep friendship that guided you to paths different from the force. But it was more. Something way deeper. "It's love," you said.

"Love," Obi-Wan repeated. As he turned his gaze towards the camp fire, you dared to look at him. He was obviously lost in thought. Maybe he was searching for the best response or he was thinking about you, wondering who the person might be that made you struggle this hard you considered to leave the order. "The Force guides us all on unique journeys," he then said. "And there are many that aren't consistent with the Jedi ways. You're correct, affection—especially love—is a bond that leads you on a path in-between dark and light. What could be a strength might at the same time become a weakness. Where love blooms, passion lingers. And where passion lingers, darkness awaits."

You listened to his words. It was the same doctrine you had internalized for years but the way your master chose his words made it sound different this time. You suspected that he hasn't finished his monologue yet so you stood quite, examining his side profile while his attention seemed to be caught be the dancing flames. He in fact hasn't finished yet. "As you should know I won't judge you. It's not your decision if you fall for someone. It's your decision how you deal with it. And if your feelings affect you in a way they could harm you and the Jedi order this might no longer be your journey. So don't be ashamed."

You took a deep breath and turned your gaze to the fire as well. "Thank you," you said and a tear finally released itself from your strong hold and rolled down your cheek.

"For what?"

"For your understanding."

Your master chuckled. "Let me tell you a secret. When I was your age I've been in love as well. Twice. So I know your struggle. But it was my decision to lock those feelings up and stay in the order."

You blinked in shock. Your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, has once been in love? Well, that was something you would've never expected. But at least he's managed to keep his mind straight. And with that thought you replied: "I don't think I'll ever be able to do the same. It's so hard and the person I'm into is almost always around me." You hesitated, afraid you've said too much. But in the end, it wouldn't matter what you've said the day you announced your decision.

Obi-Wan turned his head to look at you. His blue eyes shimmered in the light of the dancing fire that made his gaze seem even warmer than it already was. "Is it your friend Anakin?" he asked in curiosity and you took a deep breath before you shook your head.

"No. It's not Anakin." And with the words spoken out loud you've finally let the last of all the walls you've built to hide your emotions break into pieces. A warm wave of the force rushed over both of you and the campfire, making it dance uncontrollably fast for a brief moment. You noticed Obi-Wan shift but couldn't certainly say what exactly changed as you allowed him to find out about your feelings for him. Your cheeks immediately turned red and you felt shame rush over you. The emotion behind that wall was the exact reason you wanted to leave. Love for your master, the one who would—and should—never return your feelings. The one who was supposed to care for you, to train you, and who played great value on the Jedi principles. He wasn't even just your master, he was a Jedi master and a member of the high council as well.

Obi-Wan didn't turn his gaze away, his blue eyes now filled with a harsh realization.

Another tear ran down your cheek but you tried your hardest to not look away and keep the eye contact. In the perfect world of your fantasy Obi-Wan would've leaned towards you and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. But this wasn't your fantasy, it was reality. And in reality all he did was sit right in front of you, obviously shocked and speechless—but at the same time comprehending many details of your (probably strange) behaviour in the past. Your stares, the way you laughed particularly often in his presence, you distancing yourself from him after you made a mistake... The ways you've tried to impress him when fighting in battles....

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Obi-Wan finally said with a low voice. He was obviously still speechless.

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... You tried m to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'd never see it again....

You shook your head. "No. Please don't say that as if it was your fault. It's mine. And I'm gonna leave as soon as our mission's over."

"It is your decision how you want to spend your life. But I can't offer you what you want."

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... Everything inside of you screamed for his affection, his love, his heart. You wanted him to touch you, pull you to his chest and kiss you gently. Obi-Wan was everything you've ever wanted and the one thing you'll never get. So you tried to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'll never see it again....

[evandarya]

Inspired by a prompt from @davestridernb in the Discord server.

I Now Pronounce You... Brothers?

Read on Ao3

***

Tim was a self-taught magician. His parents had brought home a book they had gotten on one of their travels. They bought it because it looked old and fit with the other artifacts in the library. Tim found it. It was written in an old language, but it was similar enough to Latin for him to use the Latin-to-English dictionary to read it. When he tried some of the spells in it they worked! So, from the age of six, Tim had been teaching himself magic.

His spells helped keep him hidden and safe as he followed Batman and Robin around Gotham. He was trying to figure out how to slip a charm onto one of the heroes to keep them safe, but never quite managed it before Robin died.

But Tim knew exactly what to do. There was a spell in the book at the very back. The ink was smudged, but he could work it out. Something about a soul transfer to save someone dead or dying. There was more written, but Tim didn't have time to translate it, Robin was already buried!

So that night, Tim snuck out with the book and tools and materials he'd need to perform the ritual and went down to the graveyard.

He drew the circle around the grave, set up the candles and herbs and said the words, and waited... And waited... And waited...

"Aren't you a little young to be performing a soul bond?"

Tim spun around toward the voice and came face to face with a young man sitting crisscross applesauce and hovering four feet off the ground, making himself eye level to Tim. He was young, maybe early twenties, but his hair was already snow white. His clothes were a strange amalgamation of a modern-looking black rubberized suit with white gloves and boots and random pieces of gunmetal grey armor on his left shoulder and forearms. Around his shoulder was a dark blue cape with stars that looked like they were glowing.

"Who are you?" Tim demanded. The man smiled.

"You should know, you summoned me here." Tim scrunched his eyebrows. He was trying to revive Jason, not summon a walking anachronism.

"I didn't summon you, I was trying to do a soul transfer."

The being sighed and shook his head. "You magicians never learn to read the warnings and fine print."

"I read as much as I could! The book said I could give half of my soul to bring someone and it would bring them back from the dead" Tim said, flipping the book around for the man to read. The being leaned in, floating on his stomach now with his legs bent at the knees and swinging back and forth.

"You're using a Latin dictionary, aren't you?"

"So?"

"So" the being drawled in an imitation of Tim's Diamond District accent, "this verb that you translated as 'give' or 'exchange' translates closer to 'merge' or 'trade' and this noun isn't 'soul'. A soul is an immutable object, you can't break it in half or give half away. That word means 'everything.' your heart your mind, your life force. Everything that you are. That's what that word means."

"No, I know this says 'half', like three times."

"That's me, I'm the Half."

Tim could almost feel his brain breaking as none of this made sense. He took a deep breath and when he opened his mouth his mother came out. "What does this say, exactly, then?"

"Uh...direct translation is kind of impossible, but the closest I could get is 'I offer my everything to merge with your everything so I may stand by your side and protect you forever even into death...' and then some summoning for the officiant, that me."

"That sounds like...like..."

"Marriage vows. Wow. You really don't know what you're doing, do you?" The being flipped right side up and gave Tim a look that was equal parts impressed and horrified.

"Am I married right now?"

"No, of course not. A soul bond works both ways."

"Both...ways?"

"You didn't expect to bind your soul to someone else without permission, did you? Ever heard of informed consent? Speaking of, usually, these binds are...well...binding to the binder– that's you –but since it's clear you didn't know what this was when you started, I'm willing to let you out it."

"But then Jason won't– will stay– no. I need to bring Jason back. I don't care what I have to do."

The man frowned. It was the first unhappy expression Tim has seen on his face. "You're willing to bind yourself to someone you don't even know to bring them back? Why him? Why Jason Todd and not --" the being looked to the grave marker to the right of Jason's "Margaret Thompson? Or any of the thousands of people who die every day in this city? You don't know him, you've never even talked to him. "

"Jason--" Tim paused trying to figure out how to explain without giving up Jason's identity to this man. "Jason is very important to a lot of people. People rely on him and with him gone--" Tim thought of how violent Batman had gotten in the last few weeks. "I just need to bring him back."

"You'll be bound to him for as long as you both shall exist. You don't even get out of it when you die. There is no divorce. There is no undoing this later."

"I'm okay with that."

"If he dies again, so do you. You realize that, right? That tying your life forces together means where one of you goes, the other follows."

"I'm okay with that."

"What if you end up not liking him? What if he's a jerk?"

"HE ISN'T!" Tim glared at the man "Jason is kind and good and smart and funny! He helps people and gives them hope. He's a light shining through the darkness, guiding people to safety. And now he's gone and there's no more light and I don't know what to do except I know I have to do something, like an itch under my skin. I have to do this. I have to bring Jason back." Tim didn't know when he had started crying, but he roughly wiped the tears away. "I'm the only one who can."

The man was quiet for a long time, the air itself seemed to be still.

"I didn't know anyone felt that way about me."

Tim gasped. That-that was...

The being sighed and shifted his cape, opening a dark void that Jason-no-Robin stepped out of. He was still in his Robin armor, mask attached.

"You promised you'd stay quiet if I brought you." The man said. Robin turned and grinned at him.

"Come on, Phantom, I had to meet this kid at least once." Robin turned that grin to Tim "You really are something, you know that?" Robin sounded approving, and he was smiling at Tim!

"R-robin?" He stumbled forward a few steps "You're here. You're --" Tim looked Jason up and down. He looked the same as he did, but it was like looking at an image projected onto smoke. His form shimmered and shifted like he wasn't quite there.

"Dead?" Jason said it with a sardonic grin, but Tim flinched. "Yeah. It's an adjustment, but I can do this." Jason's form shifted from the Robin uniform and into blue jeans and a red hoodie that Tim was sure he'd seen Jason wearing in a paparazzi picture. "Much better. So, what were you saying, something about a light in the darkness?"

Tim's fingers twitched. "Jason, you need to come back. Batman is-- he's not the same without you."

Jason's expression cooled at the mention of Batman. "He'll be fine. It's what he does."

"He won't. He's violent, not holding back. He put a man in a coma last week for robbing an ATM. Jason, please. He needs you."

"No, he doesn't!" Jason yelled. "He needs therapy. Like, years and years of therapy. He doesn't need a kid in a cape."

"But he does. He-"

"He fired me!" Jason's form shifted. He looked taller, more angular and it was as if the smoke swirled around him. The man- Jason had called him Phantom- put a hand on Jason's shoulder and his form visibly softened. "He fired me," he continued calmer "and said I was too angry to be Robin. He doesn't need a kid like that."

The air seemed to settle around them. The graveyard was still, the silence pressing in on all sides.

"But I do." Tim broke the silence with a whisper. "I need you because you fight for what's right and you're not afraid to do what needs to be done. I need you because you inspire me to be better. You're such a good person, Jason, you care so much, and it shines through so brightly. And that's what Batman needs, someone to be the light to his shadows."

Jason sighed and his whole form rippled, twisting and curling. "If it means that much to you, then why don't you do it?"

"Me?" Tim physically recoiled at the idea "I can't be Robin. I'm just– Tim– just a kid with a magic book."

"Well, 'Just Tim with a magic book' you managed to pull the Guardian of New Ghosts out of his tower" Jason jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Phantom who had floated a few feet away while they were talking. "If you can do that, I'm sure being Robin would be a piece of cake."

"But I-"

"Nope, no buts. I get to pick who takes up the Robin mantle and I choose you."

"But Batman-"

"Doesn't choose who gets to be Robin. Robin is something you do because it's right. Because no one else can or will. Because the injustice in the world sits under your skin like an itch you can't scratch." Tim recognized his own words coming back to him. "You're Robin, Timmy, whether you realize it or not."

Tim had a thought, a chance to still bring Jason back. "If I'm Robin, then I get to choose who teaches me, right?"

"Dick can teach you," Jason said, eyeing Tim with suspicion.

"But I don't want Dick to teach me. I want you to."

"And I'd be glad to teach you. I'm really interested in seeing what you do but I'm still dead."

"You don't have to be. We can finish the binding and you can come back."

Jason looked torn. "Come back to what, though?" Jason asked "My body is in the ground, it's been what...two, three months? My face has probably been eaten by worms by now."

"No, the spell brings you back to just as you were right before you died."

"Is...is that true?" Jason looked at Phantom for an answer.

Phantom nodded "As long as the binder has enough lifeforce to handle the strain. The spell takes the time you've been dead and subtracts it from the binder's life."

"No. Absolutely not." Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest in a giant X. "You aren't giving up months of your life to bring me back on top of binding your life to mine."

"But I'm okay with it. I want to bring you back, I don't care the cost."

"And what if you're supposed to die in two months? What if that's all the lifeforce you have and croak right when I get brought back?"

"Death doesn't work like that." Tim said "It isn't predetermined. Everything we do either subtracts from or adds to our life force. I'll die when I die, either when my life force runs out or if it is snuffed out."

Jason looked to Phantom.

"He's right."

Jason’s form swirled. "Why do you want this so badly?"

"Because you are so loved, Jason. By me and so many people, and you don't see it. I want you to see it."

Jason closed his eyes then looked to Phantom who regarded him kindly and said "It's your choice."

"Okay," Jason said, then turned back to Tim. "Okay, if we're going to do this, we are going to do it right. I come back and teach you how to be Robin, and we find you a teacher for this magic stuff. You're going to get in trouble, running around raising the dead."

"Okay," Tim said easily.

"I mean it. No more magic until someone, Constantine or Zatara or someone teaches you."

"Okay, okay, I'll get a teacher."

"Okay," Jason said. "You said it was like a marriage." He said, turning to Phantom. "We don't have to kiss or anything, do we?"

"No, a soul bond strengthens the bond between two people, it isn't inherently romantic. Just say the words with honest intent."

"Okay," Tim held out the book and Jason spoke, his voice crackling like a fire, pronouncing the words in a way a human voice never could imitate. Then Tim felt the bond SNAP into place at the same moment a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Between one second and the next Tim collapsed on the ground and his emotions swirled and his thoughts raced and only half of them were his. And Jason Todd was beside him, funeral suit covered in dirt and grime. Tim reached out a hand and found Jason's wrist, pulse beating, weak but steady. And then the world went black.

***

"--strangest thing--"

"--dug him up?--"

"--found them like this.--"

***

Awareness came slowly. He felt heavy and slow. His mouth tasted like iron and grit and something was tickling his nose. He went to brush it away but his hand hit something hard on the way. Tim peeled open one eye and saw the too-bright florescent lights and shut his eyes again. There was a deep chuckle from his left and the light dimmed. He risked opening his eyes again and looked. Someone was sitting on a little chair next to his hospital bed reading a paperback novel that was folded in half back on itself. They were tall and lithe with black hair that seemed to float.

"Good morning, sleepy head." He said quietly. "I probably should have warned you about the side effects before you went through with it."

"Phantom?" Tim muttered through the oxygen mask. His throat felt like sandpaper. "Where's--"

"He's in surgery. The doctors say he should make a full recovery." Phantom dog-eared the book and set it on the table beside him. "You were found severely dehydrated and covered in dirt. The best guess is you dug him out of his grave. How you knew he was alive in there is beyond me." Phantom gave him a grin. He'd have to come up with a story. Something believable. Later, though.

"What are you doing here? Why do you look like that?"

Before Phantom could answer there was a knock on the door and a nurse walked in carrying a tray.

"How is he--oh, good you're awake." The nurse set the tray down on Tim's rolling table. "I just need to change your fluids. How are you feeling?" She made quick work of the IV bag.

"Tired. Head hurts, throat sore." Tim rasped.

"I'm sure. I'll see about getting you some ibuprofen okay? In the meantime, your uncle can get you as many popsicles as you want. Right, Mr. Nightingale?" The nurse pinned Phantom with a look and he looked sheepish.

"Right. Popsicles are for the kids, not their guardians."

"Alright, I'm all done here. Call if you need anything."

Once she was gone Tim turned back to Phantom. "Uncle Nightingale?"

"They wouldn't let me stay if we weren't related."

"But...but why?"

"It's my job. I'm the Guardian of New Souls and Halfas."

"What's a Halfa?"

"It's what I am, and what Jason will become."

"But..but I. The spell." Tim could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Shh, shh. Rest now." Phantom smoothed his hair and ran his fingers over Tims's scalp. It felt nice. "I'll explain everything when you're better."

Tims's eyes closed of their own accord and he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

[secretmellowblog]

When I say "Victor Hugo's depiction of Jean Valjean's grief over losing Cosette is a reflection of Hugo's own grief at the death of his daughter" I'm not just theorizing-- some lines from Les Mis are basically just ripped word-for-word from Hugo's poems about the death of his daughter. Here are a few of them. Leopoldine drowned horribly with her husband only a few months after they were married; she was only nineteen. Jean Valjean's paralyzing fear of Cosette's marriage, his misguided useless rage at her husband, and his violent grief over losing her and never being able to see her again, is heavily influenced by Hugo's own grief. I have trouble finding good English translations of some of Hugo’s Leopoldine poems online, and would appreciate better links to English translations if anyone has them. But In A Villequier, one of Hugo's poems addressing God with furious grief over the death of Leopoldine, he writes:

Consider again how I have, since dawn, Worked, fought, thought, walked, struggled, Explaining Nature to Man who knew nothing of it, Lighting everything with your clarity; That, facing hate and anger, I have done my task here below, That I could not expect this wage, That I could not Foresee that you too, on my yielding head, Would let fall heavily your triumphant arm, And that you who saw how little joy I have, Would take my child away so quickly!

Which is almost word for word just Jean Valjean's:

I have left my blood on every stone, on every bramble, on every mile-post, along every wall, I have been gentle, though others have been hard to me, and kind, although others have been malicious, I have become an honest man once more, in spite of everything, I have repented of the evil that I have done and have forgiven the evil that has been done to me, and at the moment when I receive my recompense, at the moment when it is all over, at the moment when I am just touching the goal, at the moment when I have what I desire, it is well, it is good, I have paid, I have earned it, all this is to take flight, all this will vanish, and I shall lose Cosette, and I shall lose my life, my joy, my soul....

And this from the same poem:

I keep seeing that moment in my life when I saw her open her wings and fly off! I will see that instant until I die, the instant, no tears needed! where I cried: the child I had a minute ago— What? I don’t have her any more?

Is a similar sentiment to this angelic description of Cosette “taking flight” away from Jean Valjean:

Cosette, as she took her flight, winged and transfigured, left behind her on the earth her hideous and empty chrysalis, Jean Valjean.

And the moment when Jean Valjean realizes she’s in love with Marius, and has been “lost” to him without him realizing it:

The unprecedented and heart-rending thing about it was that he had fallen without perceiving it. All the light of his life had departed, while he still fancied that he beheld the sun.

This from the poem Demain dès l'aube, where Victor Hugo describes visiting Leopoldine's grave:

I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, Without seeing anything outside, without hearing any noise, Alone, unknown, back bent, hands crossed, Sad, and the day for me will be like night.

And Jean Valjean walking to Cosette's house, but never able to enter or speak to her:

There [Jean Valjean] walked at a slow pace, with his head strained forward, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, his eye immovably fixed on a point which seemed to be a star to him

This bit where Hugo talks about his faith weakening/cursing God in vain after Leopoldine’s death:

Consider how one doubts, O God! when one suffers, how the eye that weeps too much is blinded, how a being plunged by grief into the blackest pit, seeing you no more, cannot contemplate you.

Is similar to Jean Valjean’s spirtual self weakening and his consience “taking flight” at the idea of losing Cosette:

Any one who had beheld his spiritual self would have been obliged to concede that it weakened at that moment. (...) Grief, when it attains this shape, is a headlong flight of all the forces of the conscience. These are fatal crises. Few among us emerge from them still like ourselves and firm in duty.

Victor Hugo agonizing over his dreams of growing old with his daughter in A Villequier:

You make loneliness return always around all his footsteps.(...) As soon as he owns something, fate takes it away. Nothing is given to him, in his speedy days, for him to make a home and say: Here is my house, my field and my loved ones!

Jean Valjean:

“As one family! No. I belong to no family. I do not belong to yours. I do not belong to any family of men. In houses where people are among themselves, I am superfluous. There are families, but there is nothing of the sort for me. I am an unlucky wretch; I am left outside.

Victor Hugo's poetry in A Villequier again:

in the midst of cares, hardships, miseries, and of the shadow our fate casts over us, how a child appears, a dear sacred head, a small joyful creature, so beautiful one thinks a door to heaven has opened when it arrives; when for sixteen years one has watched this other self grow in loveable grace and sweet reason, when one has realized that this child one loves makes daylight in our soul and in our home,

Jean Valjean:

this man, who had passed through all manner of distresses, who was still all bleeding from the bruises of fate, (...) merely asked of Providence, of man, of the law, of society, of nature, of the world, one thing, that Cosette might love him! That Cosette might continue to love him! That God would not prevent the heart of the child from coming to him, and from remaining with him! Beloved by Cosette, he felt that he was healed, rested, appeased, loaded with benefits, recompensed, crowned. Beloved by Cosette, it was well with him! He asked nothing more! Had any one said to him: “Do you want anything better?” he would have answered: “No.” God might have said to him: “Do you desire heaven?” and he would have replied: “I should lose by it.”

Victor Hugo begging God to talk to his daughter again:

Let me lean over this cold stone and say to my child: Do you feel that I am here? Let me speak to her, bent over her remains, in the evening when all is still, as if, reopening her celestial eyes in her night, this angel could hear me!

Jean Valjean thanking God for letting him speak to Cosette one more time:

The good God says: “‘You fancy that you are about to be abandoned, stupid! No. No, things will not go so. Come, there is a good man yonder who is in need of an angel.’

I think the ending of Les Mis never made complete sense to me until I realized that Jean Valjean isn't grieving like a parent who has watched their child grow up; he is grieving like a parent who has just watched their child die.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Remnants (A GO One Shot)

Dividers borrowed from wonderful @thecutestgrotto and their classic art collection and lovely @youre-ackermine.

Description: A soul. What even is 'a soul'? Many couldn't answer the question, except for two men roaming the Earth - an Angel and a Demon. Falling for a particular soul wasn't in the 'Good Angel's Guide to Earth' and yet there the Angel was - desperately and endlessly in love with one of them, following said soul through every lifetime. After their breakup and Aziraphale's leave, Crowley vows to watch over all of Aziraphale's remnants against his better will - including the human his ex-partner loved oh so much. And as it turns out...

Pairing: Crowley x afab!reader & Aziraphale x afab!reader (separately); (suggested) Innefable husbands x reader

Inspiration: The infamous 'She fell first but he fell harder' trope; in this case: Aziraphale fell first, but Crowley fell harder.

Warnings: | reader is afab | mentions of alcohol and drugs; usage of alcohol and tobacco products | themes of break-ups, grief and pain (angst) | mentions of explicit themes | mentions of sex (no smut included, only alluded to) | Aziraphale being a soft little bean I would die for | Crowley doing his best | Crowley being his best gender-fluid self and thriving | repeated mentions of Franz Ferdinand (cause I fucking love that band) | it's generally very long | Nina and Maggie making a guest appearance | Bentley being a little brat | Crowley is a mix of English (according to the cannon lore) and Scottish and I don't give a flying fuck (David's accent lives rent-free in my head) |

A/N: After three months, here we finally are - finished with the Good Omens mega-one-shot. Working with the characters of Aziraphale and Crowley was so fun and fulfilling, they are both so different in the ways they present themselves but deep down, they are very similar. While Aziraphale strikes me as a very gentle lover, Crowley just brings this flame and energy into the room, yet, their love feels equally warm. This might be my most grand project yet and I loved each second. It required a lot of research. Notably, a shitload of my questions was answered by the lovely Reddit community and various Tumblr theories and analyses. I've listened to the audiobook narrated by the one and only Michael Sheen and David Tennant and watched the show religiously (most of the main traits come from it). I'm sorry if anyone finds my versions of the characters unenjoyable. But honestly? I'm so proud of this. I poured my heart and soul into this little silly story. Hope you'll enjoy reading the OS as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🤍

Word count: 45.3K The one-shot is divided into parts for a better reading experience and clarity. The parts go as follows: Part I: Lost & Found (Long, Long Time) (11.8K) Part II: The Remnants (I'll Be Your Mirror) (16.3K) Part III: The Discovery (... A Strange Addiction) (14.6K) Part IV: The Aftermath (2.4K)

Specific music inspo (divided into Aziraphale's section & Crowley's section): The entire playlist: H E R E

Can't Take My Eyes Off You (by Frankie Valli) ☁️

Everyday (by Buddy Holly & The Crickets) ☁️

Escape (The Piña Colada Song) (by Ruppert Holmes) ☁️

It's Been a Long, Long Time (by Harry James & Kitty Allen) ☁️

Turning Page (by Sleeping At Least) ☁️/🔥

Pale Blue Eyes (by Velvet Underground) ☁️/🔥

Rumors (by Fleetwood Mac) - mainly I Don't Want to Know, Dreams & Go Your Own Way🔥

Boogie Wonderland (by Earth, Wind & Fire) 🔥

Right Down the Line (by Gerry Rafferty) 🔥

I Think We're Alone Now (by Tiffany/Tommy James & The Sondrels, both versions fit) 🔥

Literally anything by ABBA (Lay All Your Love On Me) and Queen (I Want To Break Free - Single) 🔥

Shut Up And Dance (Live In The Lounge) by Walk the Moon 🔥

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy (by Queen) 🔥

Part I: Lost & Found (Long, Long Time) March of 2024, Baked Bliss, Oxford, England:

Until this very day, Crowley hadn't successfully deciphered the Angel's fascination with humans, not even after thousands of years. And even though the Angel left the surface of Earth, Crowley struggled to understand. A deep love for human ways and pleasures of the flesh was something they shared - more importantly, they both fought to preserve it. They, as a team, stood against Heaven and Hell amidst Armageddon. Aziraphale's intrigue with humans themselves, however, Crowley never grasped.

The Demon himself found the humans intriguing and fun to play around with, yes, but he wasn't the one willingly bending his own comfort to serve them. Crowley cared for humanity in itself, but they got dull after hundreds of years. These creatures even outperformed Hell at its job, which was impressive.

Aziraphale's point of view was far from Crowley's. The Angel often retracted Crowley into various adventures connected to humanhood and lessons that could've been learned. Aziraphale had also been the only one (throughout the universe's entire existence) who repeatedly (and successfully) invoked and altered Crowley's conscience and moral compass. Yes, Crowley was a sap when it came down to hard decisions, but the Angel remained a constant working every damn time.

To be fair, Crowley wasn't your typical demon - and Aziraphale wasn't your typical angel. Even though they'd mostly proclaimed to stick with all the archetypes, they operated somewhere in all the shades of grey of good and evil. The duo went to great lengths for each other, bending their compasses at their will... Or so, Crowley always thought. He'd swear it without a second thought. That's what Crowley thought until he left. Before he offered Crowley to become his 'second in fucking command'. Before he vanished to do some mumbo-jumbo archangel bullocks... Before he'd turned all Crowley's feelings down and abandoned him.

Even though Aziraphale was long gone (sucked somewhere inside Metatron's arse), he left behind various material mementoes - objects and places reminding Crowley of his existence. Each time Crowley found himself in their vicinity, his entire body flooded with sudden pain and anger. At first, Crowley thought about destroying all of them, one by one, burning them into ashes. It wouldn't be Crowley's first arsonic rodeo, after all. He'd even prepared all the necessities - a gasoline canister and a box of matches, setting out for the mission on a quiet, hot summer night.

When he parked the Bentley in Soho and strutted towards the burgundy red door with the canister in his palm, the anger dissipated - memories taking its place, taking Crowley down memory lane. The end might've been bitter-sweet, but the centuries leading up to it weren't. Crowley hated Aziraphale, he was sure of it, but the mementoes of their shared past still brought relief, they brought memories filled with rainbows and sunshine. Despite his best active efforts, Crowley hadn't the heart to erase Aziraphale's remnants from the surface of Earth. Instead, he ought to protect and watch over them... In case the Angel would come back.

Firstly, there was A. Z. Fell & Co., Aziraphale's beloved bookshop. It was under Muriel's careful watch, meaning no need for Crowley to diddle around. Inspector Constable, as Crowley referred to her, was trying her damnest - but she wasn't fucking carved out for it. Certainly not until Crowley left behind a set of rules for her to follow. Not to ever sell any books, tell everyone to fuck off and irregularly collect moderate rent from the other shop owners, mainly Maggie. Those were just the ground rules. The actual guidebook counted 207 bullet points, even going through Aziraphale's strange sorting system. Even though he'd felt nothing but spite towards his former best friend and lover, Crowley couldn't just sit about and watch the bookshop fall in symbolic flames. His conscience and heart wouldn't stand for it.

All this could be attributed to Aziraphale's careful influence over the years. The one part of what Crowley hated - all the qualities the Angel had either discovered or awakened inside him and vice versa. Qualities like love for life, realistic optimism and worstly, unconditional fucking hope. Not even obscene amounts of alcohol helped turn it off. Hope still persisted. Even though Crowley understood Aziraphale fucked off to be an Archangel, Crowley remained hopeful that one day... One day he'd walk into the bookshop and see Aziraphale sitting inside, in one of over-the-top plushy chairs, smiling at Crowley from all the reading he'd indulge in.

To anyone's surprise, that hadn't ever happened. And each day it hadn't happened, Crowley felt betrayed. Forgotten. Left behind. But all the hope, the fucking hope, remained unbroken. The hope turned Crowley's need to ensure the bookstore wouldn't close down into an obsession. Just in case the angel would come back... In case they could get their infinity.

Secondly, there were all of Aziraphale's materialistic possessions. Boxes upon boxes of perfectly preserved clothes; Aziraphale's magician necessities; preserved works of art; vinyl records... And boxes of other shit Crowley hadn't got the balls to sort through. Making the adult decision, he'd moved all the belongings into a well-guarded warehouse he'd rented. The Demon realized his Angel would be broken if he lost all of his belongings; the belongings he'd collected over thousands of years and grown to love.

And, well, thirdly... There was the human, currently in a feminine form. Just like he'd left Crowley behind, he'd left her behind too. Circling back to Aziraphale's fascination with humans and their inventions (mainly arts, music and food), he found them intriguing in many more ways. Pleasures of the Flesh, right? Crowley had no idea how deep these pleasures ran and was positive he didn't need to know. The Angel and the Demon rarely talked about his human. Aziraphale would open up about her only if they both got drunk enough and Crowley learned not to ask about her. All the Demon knew about this particular soul was Aziraphale fell for it in all senses of the word. Aziraphale was in love with his human in both the ethereal, pure, unearthly and entirely human and flawed ways. As said, Crowley was aware of her existence (he'd even seen her in person), but never asked about her for his sanity. The last time he had the balls, the Angel hadn't spoken to him for ten years.

The ethereal duo even struggled to grasp they loved each other (until recently, that was), let alone open an option that there'd be a third person intervening in their small bubble. Let alone she'd be gone again soon-ish. Most importantly, there wasn't any need to talk about her. Crowley doubted Aziraphale'd mentioned his very existence to his human lover and the Angel certainly didn't bother telling Crowley about her.

The human never made the relationship feel crowded, she hadn't even intervened in whatever they had going on. It was like two different lives; two separate lovers Aziraphale neatly segregated with a fine line. And Crowley accepted this as a fact. Crowley also understood Aziraphale loved this human soul unreasonably and ineffably. It wouldn't feel right to tear the Angel apart from her.

Among billions, Aziraphale recognized her soul anywhere. After thousands of years and tens of lifetimes, the Angel became so accustomed to the aura and energy that he'd feel the shift when she reincarnated. Crowley felt it by proxy - Aziraphale was suddenly relaxed, happy, enjoying life a bit more. Like most souls claimed by Heaven, she'd been rinsed into "the cauldron" and reborn every couple of centuries (or so), again & again, until the end of times. It was an inhumane practice in Crowley's eyes, but Heaven was a cult of ball-licking assholes - was he shocked? No. Unlike demons, angels usually hadn't rolled new recruits from the souls they claimed, they didn't expand their ranks... On the bright side, she wasn't damned to Hell, serving as an accountant for all eternity. A win-win scenario, Crowley assumed.

And, well, there she was. Standing behind the counter, sending the Demon a proper furrow with palms on her hips, waiting for his order. One'd assume she was ready to pack Crowley a proper right hook. Yet another remnant of Aziraphale Crowley swore to keep safe and intact in case Aziraphale returned to Earth... To him... To them.

Autumn of 2017, Baked Bliss, Oxford, England:

It was raining heavily, as expected in early Autumn. Oxford's streets, as usual, were crowded with tourists who remained persistent with exploration despite the weather. Umbrellas and various rain jackets plastered the streets and Aziraphale loved all the colours and patterns. Preoccupied with a girl in a bright red, polka-dotted raincoat jumping into a puddle with a happy squeal, he'd caught a glimpse of you in the background. Just as the first time Aziraphale met you, your presence knocked the breath out of his lungs - your tenderness, softness and warmth soothed him, your aura bewitching the Angel.

The memory of first meeting your soul never left Aziraphael. The Angel liked to think it was one of his most prized memories, most of such spots taken with his memories of either you or Crowley. Big fireworks, m'friend, he recalled Crowley named it, figured we ought to see it. The year? 79 AD. What was to happen? Pompeii was to be destroyed the following day.

As the duo walked through the city side by side, conversing about the weather, surroundings and architecture, Aziraphale's eyes fell on you for a moment. Just by pure chance, tickle destiny coming through in unexpected ways. Like most of Pompeii's inhabitants, even you were intrigued by Crowley's wardrobe choices. All in all, the Demon stood out like a sore thumb (while still looking absurdly dashing). The choices weren't common, to say the least - very eye-catching. You've leaned towards your companion, grinning, pointing out all the strange accessories, let alone his eccentric outfit choices, jewellery, hairstyle... Everything was most unusual about this guy. Then, your eyes slid towards his trusty companion. The Demon might've caught your attention first if you'd have to be frank, but the Angel captured it harder.

Nothing about him screamed he hadn't belonged, but... You simply knew he didn't. Something inside you screamed neither of the men originated here; not Pompeii, but time and space in general. As you watched Aziraphale with undisguised interest, the conversation with your companion was long forgotten - your lips parted ever so slightly and eyes widened, your body posturing closer to his. Even though being Angel, Aziraphale wouldn't have to be blind to overlook how smitten you were. It was fair to say his reaction startled him - without thinking, he'd stepped in your direction. Crowley would've caught his elbow, thinking the Angel only stumbled.

You couldn't pinpoint it and Aziraphael couldn't either. It wasn't the appearances enchanting you. Despite never talking to the stranger, something repaired inside you. Like a black hole filled inside your chest, one you didn't know existed. A crooked puzzle piece completing yours. It was mental, but you were sure you already knew him - the personality and unsaid words allured you. Before this man, you hadn't met anyone you'd become enamoured by - let alone this fast... Like being struck by lightning that altered your entire existence.

After the Demon and Angel parted ways for the night, agreeing to meet in the morning to witness the spectacle, he'd searched for your house. It would take a ton of asking and awkward conversations, but he'd eventually learn your name, occupation (winemaker) and place of stay. It took until deep night to find your balcony. Aziraphael insisted on speaking to you, catching your attention by reciting Virgil and Horace with fiery passion, almost losing his breath by the end.

Even though it was deemed inappropriate, you didn't find the courage to send him away; instead, you found yourself leaning into the railing with a bright, soft smile. Your heart raced as you snuck into the gardens to walk with the stranger, talking and debating until the sun came out. Every second of it felt right. It was a long night, yet it couldn't get long enough for Aziraphale's liking. Talk about one night - how about forever? That'd be better. He realized it the second you took his palm and ran deep into the vineyard, giggling. The longer you've remained in Aziraphale's vicinity, the more he was enraptured by everything about you and vice versa.

Your soul felt timeless, as if you've seen it all and understood the intricacies of the world despite being thousands of years younger; as if you were ready to experience everything to come. Your aura was so innocent and fragile. It begged to be cared for by an entity such as him. Each look of your eyes warmed something inside him, igniting a flame he hadn't known existed. But now that he tasted it, Aziraphale wasn't keen on letting it go.

And then, there was everything else about you; the elegance you carried yourself with, your choice of words, your intelligence and your vast knowledge of everything (you've been very well-read and clearly educated), let alone your witty remarks and comments. And by God Devine, weren't you the most beautiful piece of art he'd ever laid his on? The eyes, your eyes. Those were something to behold. Every star in the universe was reflecting inside your pupils, the colours of every galaxy swirling around your irises.

Your spell and the soon-to-be-erupting volcano were the reason for Aziraphale to spill everything; about Hell and Heaven, his role as an Angel, the history of the Earth... Everything. And to his surprise, you believed him.

As Aziraphale felt the end of your shared night creeping about, he found the courage to warn you about the destruction to come. It was forbidden for angels to meddle in human affairs, such as this, let alone warn mortals. It could bear great consequences Gabriel learned about the gingerly attempt to save your life. Yet, upon hearing his warnings, you've just smiled and nodded. Without communicating aloud, Aziraphale understood your entire thought process. Without fear, you accepted the incoming doom as your fate. With a relaxed sigh, you leaned into the stone bench, eyes narrowed as you watched the sunrise, your nose wrinkled slightly.

"It's not all bad. If this 'catastrophe' wasn't to happen..." - You whispered, turning to him. Upon seeing your expression, Aziraphale gasped for air. Never had he seen a more attractive smile on a human. - "We wouldn't have met. And yet, here we are, awaiting my impending doom. I'm glad our paths crossed, Aziraphale... Whether for eternity or one night, it means all the same to me. I'll pray to the Gods after we're done and spend one last day with my close ones." "Well... I shouldn't be saying this and it's utmost secret, but there is a way we could meet again." - The Angel answered, a bit too eagerly. Nodding, you listened. - "Someone like you will surely be sent to Heaven, on my honour. I can feel it. That means your soul will be sent back to Earth." "Back to Earth?" "Think about it as a reincarnation of sorts." "What is a reincarnation?" "... Oh, yes. Romans aren't yet... Well, practically, you'd be reborn again. You'll become a new version of yourself some time in the future." "Will I still be me?" "More or less, yes. You'll just live a different life as a different person. But the core component, your soul, wouldn't change." "Ah, I've heard of such a concept. That's how it works..." - You nodded, sighing. - "Do my Gods even exist?" - At that question, Aziraphale smirked and nodded.

"Funny bunch, that one. You'd find them amusing, I'm sure of it." "What do you propose, then?" - You wondered, sending him a hopeful gaze. - "You said we could meet again. But I wouldn't be me and still remain the same at the same time. It's confusing." "You're holding up exceptionally well, my dear. And - I will find you." - The Angel whispered, catching your palm in his. The grip was warm, soothing and firm enough for you to believe he was real.

"But isn't there a... A lot of humans roaming the Earth, as you've admitted?" - The Angel might've revealed Native Americans and the extent of Asia's population to you. "Nobody said it'd be an easy task." "It could take you ages, Angel. I assume you have more important tasks..." "You're worth it." - Aziraphale ended topically, turning his upper body at you while still caressing your palm. He was breathless, opening and closing his mouth, finding the words. - "Believe me, I'm just as confused as you are, but something within you... It calls to me. In what way? I don't know yet, but I'd like to explore it. If you wish so, of course."

"You'd find me in another life? Would you truly do that?" - You murmured, the weight of Aziraphael's words slowly sinking in. Not just what he offered - all that was said slowly dawned on you. All the endless possibilities and crazy context the Angel introduced... There was too much information. Not to add most of it didn't sit right with everything you've learned about the world so far. "Without hesitation, dear." - The confession was quiet, shy; if he wasn't sitting right there, you'd shrug it off as a strange daydream. And yet, there he was - blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes reflecting the sunlight, his palm drenched in cold sweat, his body trembling. A stranger that fits right into your life like a puzzle piece you never searched for. "Will I know who you are?" "Hardly." "Do you promise to remind me?" "Every time, again and again, until the end of times." - The Angel smiled, closing his eyes as you leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. It wasn't romantic by any means, it felt like a promise of things to come, a promise of the future.

Finding you after the fall of Pompeii wasn't easy. The longer he searched, the more horrified Azeriphael became - not like you'd remember his mere existence, but it pained to lose you. Especially when Aziraphale didn't have a proper chance to get to know you. Thankfully, after years of yearning and unreasonable regrets, it happened. It was the 6th century; officially marking 462 years since he'd met you.

And just as before, you appeared out of thin air - coming uninvited, but very much wanted and welcomed. Something was different that morning - the sunshine was warmer, the air was sweeter and birds chirped cheerful tunes as Aziraphale and his hunt returned to Camelot. He arrived for one of the Round Table meetings. And... There you were - one of the maids doing the laundry on a hot, sunny day, laughing about with your friends. Taking in your current form, Aziraphale nearly fell off his horse - caught by his squire at the last moment. You'd have a good laugh about his fumble about it, but soon, your expression softened as you watched the mysterious knight. Before you knew it, you fell under his spell once more. Your hair was neatly styled and even though your clothes were worn out, Aziraphael's breath hitched. A mischievous smile unarmed him and an endearing wink nearly gave him a cardiac arrest. In his eyes, your beauty overshadowed that of Guinevere's.

In this lifetime, you've had years (decades even) to get to know each other. Your relationship remained strictly platonic for its entirety as if your lifetime was just for courting you, learning to know you, all your intricacies and mysteries there were to discover about you. Accompanying you on your last days was a gruelling experience; watching your body slowly shut down day by day and get frail knowing he can't make it easier was horrifying. Yes, the Angel knew he'd see you again, but the fact couldn't stop either the tears or soft whimpers. When your heart stopped beating, Aziraphale wailed for the first time in his entire existence. The Angel grew to love this iteration of you, all the small details about you and losing you was agonizing. Just as before, he'd held your hand on your deathbed and promised to find you again; wherever you were, he would be. On the other hand, Aziraphael was positive he'd be able to recognize your aura and soul anywhere... It wouldn't be as much of a struggle to search for you.

He'd found you many times throughout history. Each lifetime bore a new experience and new exciting opportunities. Aziraphale didn't care about your background, lifestyle or gender - you being yourself was enough for the Angel. The longer he'd spent around you, the surer he became- he would follow you to the depths of Hell if asked. Each lifetime also brought excitement, usually in the form of a careful step forward and a sense of progression in your relationship.

It was natural you started to hold hands (that happened in the 9th century), started cuddling (13th century) and slept beside each other (15th century). His favourite memory took place in the 18th century. It was when Aziraphael asked if he could kiss you for the first time. After centuries of watching humans simply kissing, the Angel wondered - how did it feel? To feel your plush lips pressed to his, the warmth of your body spreading as you hold him in your arms. And oh boy, did Aziraphale remember every second of it?

You lived in Prague back then. The Spring was just ending, and soothing Summer was around the corner - everything was green, lively and drowned in golden sunshine. Aziraphale also remembered it happened on Charles' Bridge after a delightful evening in the National Theatre. And dear God Almighty, when you two kissed... Fireworks erupted inside him. His body was set ablaze with unknown, strange, exciting fire Aziraphael couldn't wait to explore. Your lips were so soft, your breath hot and sweet, you tasted so blissfully and the new strange sounds graced his ears that sounded like heavenly melodies... As Crowley would've put it - fucking Hell. The Angel was lost to you.

And now, he'd found you again; he'd been standing under a marquise, gazing at you absentmindedly. His expression was filled with unconditional love - anyone putting two and two together would think you'd been an item for years. Aziraphale was ready to run towards you, hug you tight and kiss you on your shoulder without a second thought. Truthfully, he'd grown fond of each little begging to your relationship. Each time, it was distinct; your life was different, your family was different, your history changed... He couldn't wait to learn it all again, to memorize everything about the current you.

Seemingly, you owned a bakery named Baked Bliss. You were listed as the owner, at least. And dear... Didn't you look tempting in your little outfit? Even though Aziraphale was a sucker for a crinoline and hot pair of stockings, the current fashion suited you. Despite your attire consisting of a comfortable pair of jeans, a perfectly fitted t-shirt and an apron with the bakery's logo, Aziraphale would've sworn he hadn't seen anyone dressed more tantalizing... Other than one certain Demon, that was.

Aziraphale's smile widened as he watched you take an order, joking around with a customer; your hair was messy, a spot of flour on your cheek possibly from when you tried to keep the hair off, circles under your eyes referring to an irregular sleep schedule. You looked happy. And Aziraphale couldn't wait to share the happiness.

That day's been a doozie. Your arms and feet hurt, you were running around like a rabbit with rabies but you couldn't yammer. Despite the awful weather, tourists came and went. England clearly became the Autumn vacation destination for students. The business was steady and good, you had to admit - even though you and your staff were tired to death, it was worth it.

You've even had to take over the register, for the time being, bloody hell. that's how packed the bakery was Baker Bliss. Holy fuck. You still remember the outing where you and Katie drank your asses off and came up with the name... Leaving college just a few days later, setting on a mission. And there you were. Right now, you were fucking grateful Katie talked you down into selling coffee too - it was a bit expensive to pay for all the barista courses and machinery, but now, your bakery had it all - amazing coffee, a great view of the University and Christ Church (Katie dubbed it a view 'to die for') and bloody brilliant baked goods.

"What can I do you for, Mrs Smith?" - This Mrs was one of your regulars, ordering a bunch of muffins each time her children were to visit. She was a sweetheart, always leaving a generous tip. Her strange scent, consistent with mint and spirits, always put you off though. - "Ah! Your order should be ready for pickup, I have personally overseen it. Phillip, our lovely assistant here, will hand it over and check it. If there's anything we could do to improve your experience, just let me know, alright?" "You're such a darling." - Mrs Smith grinned at you sweetly. Despite the impressive number of customers waiting to be served, you took time with each of them, chit-chatting around. Sure, some impatient customers left, but they mostly appreciated you and your staff's attitude. - "Since I'm here, lemme tell you about those bloody buggers..."

As usual, Mrs Smith gave you an extensive walkthrough of her current health issues and other unrelated struggles, having you nod and hum absentmindedly. The woman also ended your chat by pinching and slapping your cheek. Sighing, you smoothed the spot she'd touched, giggling when you realized you were covered in flour from head to toe. "Just a second." - Murmuring, you walked over to the sink to clean up. - "Excuse me, sir. I got too passionate with muffins this morn' and got the flour all over, I'm afraid! What can I... Do you... For?"

As your eyes took in Aziraphale's features, your expression changed. It got gentler, just as tantalized as the first time you've laid your eyes on him. Lips slightly parted, smiling subconsciously, eyes wide open. After knowing you so well for so long, Aziraphale also knew how flushed his presence made you; your brain blanked as you batted your eyes, subconsciously playing with the hem of your t-shirt. Blood rushed into every inch of your body as your heart thumped (you've always described the blood as 'boiling hot').

"That's quite alright, love." - The man grinned, dimples forming in his round cheeks. Something about his blue eyes felt so known, homey and safe. Fucking hell, his smile sent shivers down your spine as you've known it all your life. Pull your head out of your ass, fucking Christ, you cringed internally, it's just a man. - "I've got time. Plenty of it, actually." "Well then, okay, fine, brilliant... Umm... What is it you'd like to order?" "I'd like to..." - He murmured, gulping forcefully. Whatever he actually wished for had little to do with coffee or baked goods; you were positive about it. And yet... - "One of your employees kindly informed me your gingerbread latté is to die for." "Must've been Katie. Anything else?" "Make it two, actually. And two pieces of your best cake. If they are to die for, my friend will love them." "On it, sir. Walk with me?"

You'd pulled June behind the counter, asking her to take over for a minute - then, you started packing two pieces of your homemade iteration of Angel's Delight... And two Creme Brulees, on the house. You realized the man hadn't looked away as you waltzed over to the coffee machine. Not a care in the world about the cakes or the coffee. He only cared for you.

"Might I have a personal question? Might be a bit wacky." "I'm fond of nonsensical questions. Go on." "Do I know you? Never had this feeling before, but it's mental. Everything's fuzzy and I can't recall the details, I just know you're not a stranger. As if..." "This meeting was meant to be?" - The man finished, leaning his palms into the counter. Goosebumps ran down and up your spine, breath hitching in your throat. Nodding, you started working on his coffee. - "Would you wanna go out with me?"

You've never accepted offers like these before... And phew, you've had a lot of opportunities to do so. Hordes of customers asked you out and you never even entertained accepting. This man, however, had you smitten. Before you could stop yourself... - "I'd love nothing else." "Perfect!" - The man quite literally erupted with happiness, raising his fists happily, an enormous smile spreading lighting up his entire face. This made you smile too as you nervously styled your hair, your heart ready to burst. - "Ah, goodness, sorry. Makes me happy every time." "Excuse me?" - You burst with laughter, his overjoy making you joyous too. God, everything about him was infectious. - "... Every time? Whatcha mean?" "I'll explain everything when time's due." - Settling in front of the counter, the stranger carefully accepted the first latté. As your fingertips brushed his knuckles, your stomach performed a fucking flip, a spark of electricity running on your skin. - "All you need to know is that my name's Aziraphale." "What a lovely name." - Clearing your right hand, you reached out while masterfully whisking the milk. - "Name's Y/N. A pleasure to meet you." "Pleasure's on my side."

You wished you could spend more time with the acquainted stranger - before he left for London, you scribed your phone number onto the back of your business card, making sure you wouldn't mess up any part of it. Well, not that he wouldn't know where to find you, but communicating this was way more efficient. Until Aziraphale, his beige coat and white umbrella left your sight, your eyes remained glued to him. You must've been in a trance because Katie had to nudge your shoulder to remind you of a whole fucking bakery you ran.

"Earth to Y/N. You good, girl?" "Yeah, I just..." "Well, whoever this prince charming is, he sure as hell must be a magician because he got you like this." - To emphasize her words, she snapped next to your ear as you worked on orders side by side. - "Even poor ol' Evan was asking you out for weeks... And let me remind you, that boy had your dirty little imagination running when you first saw him."

"I can't describe it, I think." - You mumbled, shaking your head. Aziraphale felt ethereal, as he wasn't supposed to be real - and yet, his mind was set on you, his lips smiled at you and his eyes gazed at you, making you feel like a masterpiece... Well, at least you hoped you weren't delusional enough to dream him up. How he talked, smiled and... Everything about the man in front of you screamed tantalizing. - "It's like I already know him. That he's been here for me for centuries. My entire chest feels so warm as if he filled some black hole inside my chest... A hole I didn't know existed. Like I searched for him unwittingly." "Oh, so... You just went nuts, noted." - Katie mumbled, earning a rough nudge and a smirk. - "Sounds like some Jane Austen mumbo-jumbo." "Might be. Wouldn't it be nice, though? True cottage core, romantic walks, balls, huge gowns, silverware, drama..." "Sure." - Katie scoffed. - "Isn't he a wee old, though?" - The girl asked, handing all the cups to Phillip, the waiter for the day. - "A girl in her mid-twenties with someone like him? What's the bloke like - forty? Pushing fifty?" "What does it matter? Age's just a number these days. All I know is everything clenched inside me the moment he smiled." "And a prison cell's just a room. Also, you fucking vixen. Stop right there! That man surely has some fun coming." "Not like that! You're a bloody moron, Katie, you know that?" "Eh, you love me, so what does it matter?" "Exactly."

It took much longer than you'd appreciate to settle down on a true, serious date.

Aziraphale appeared to be a landline user - surely the last in England. He didn't possess a cellphone. Even though you were dying to text him, you physically couldn't. And you wanted to text him a lot. You stayed in touch via calls and postcards for the first two months. You struggled trying to keep Aziraphale out of your head. Each postcard found its way onto the fridge for you to look at, Katie sussing you're absolutely enamoured. 'A child painting exhibition,' she called it - secretly, her heart overjoyed watching you falling in love. His letters, though. The bloody letters. Never before had you turned into a girly who'd kick their feet in the air reading someone's correspondence... And there you fucking were, giggling like a kid, beaming after each over.

It all got critical after he'd send you a whole bouquet of white roses into Bakes Bliss, having you giggle and dance around in front of your customers. That was when you realised you yearned to finally see him. The sooner, the better. It had its perks, though. It felt very cutesy, like a romantic novel. You've found a corresponding rhythm of sending letters and postcards; you'd send yours every Tuesday and Thursday while he'd respond on Wednesdays and Fridays.

When the day finally fucking came, you were ready to throw a national holiday. You'd gather in front of the telly and watch some series while talking over the phone, mostly discussing the ridiculous plot lines and silly costumes. The sentence slipped past your lips as you absentmindedly stared at the screen. - "Are you free on Friday?" - Followed by a silent, soft. - "Yes."

You agreed to meet in London for a walk along the Thames, followed by a dinner. His establishment of choice was lesser-known, intimate and homey, hidden off the main street. It was one of the restaurants anyone but local residents would know about, an establishment with reasonable pricing and good-quality food. It was bougie, but still down to Earth; nothing like the Ritz, thankfully. Your cheap-ish dress from the mall didn't seem out of place. Aziraphale assured you, on multiple occasions, that you looked gorgeous. The man looked mindblowing too, wearing a forget-me-not shirt and beige tuxedo that complimented his light hair and baby-blue eyes. With batted breath, you fought an urge to kiss him out of the blue as he chatted about utter, cute nonsense.

Finally, after two fucking months of yearning, Aziraphale sat across you in the flesh, sending you excited smirks as he jolted around. Aziraphale was punctual and used strange, silly little words that made you giggle - just like over the correspondence. His small quirks warmed your heart, sending flashes of enjoyable heat throughout your body and jitters right into your stomach. Was it love? So quick? It must've been. Men like him weren't usually your type, but God - Aziraphale swept you off your feet.

Now that you've had proper time to study him, you noticed Aziraphale was something else in all the best ways possible. He was it. There were moments when his features softened, showing a vulnerable, innocent, almost childish side to him. Then, especially when he got passionate about certain topics, Aziraphale's features and posture changed, stealing your breath; he'd appear ethereal, almost translucent... As if he was something more than just a man - like he wasn't supposed to roam the Earth next to you. Despite that, one thing was certain - no matter what he did or talked about, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"So, a bakery?" - He'd smile over a glass of wine, sending you a joyous wink. - "How'd that happen?" "Destiny, I'd like to think. Always dreamt of being a baker. While others chased imaginary monsters and dragons as knights and princesses, I baked biscuits. The idea was brewing for a long time until me and Katie drank our asses off at a college party and... Rest's history. We started as a stand with muffins next to the uni. Nowadays it's a merge of a coffee shop and a bakery. " - A simple enough explanation, you thought so. Then, you realized you also wanted Aziraphale to know the other reason; the one you hadn't shared as often.

"It also keeps me connected to my Nan. She meant the world to me and always looked after me for the weekend. Her bloody flapjacks were to die for. Everyone called her Ma Baker since I was little. Passed away two years ago." - Waiting for Aziraphale to laugh at your nostalgic joke, you watched him furrow a bit. The joke entirely flew over his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, dear. Watching your closest passing away is the utmost gruelling experience." "Found my peace with it a long time ago. She'd been sick for a long time and there's a certain point when you come to terms with it. You realize instead of lamenting about it, you should enjoy every last moment you've got... 's what me and Nan did."

"I like that stance." - Aziraphale muttered, leaning his head to his shoulder as he studied you. - "Never thought of death this way. It sounds nice, peaceful." "Still stings when you realize you won't see them again... Even to this day. But oh well, one has to keep it together. What is it that you do?" "There's this... Bookshop in Soho." - The man admitted, his cheeks tainted with a rosy blush. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about, in your eyes. "Working in a bookshop is cool! Katie's a huge nerd, she'd love to take a look at your stock, I'm sure." - She'd also love to discuss our wedding and the names of our children, you thought with a scoff. "I own it, actually. And I also rent out a few shops around the block. You'd like it, I think."

This sat you flat on your ass. Christ. Just a year ago, you struggled to keep up with the rent in Oxford. Meanwhile, Aziraphale hadn't only owned a shop but also rented out multiple other properties. The perspective made you furrow. How lucky, successful and deep-pocketed must've he been? You wouldn't suspect books could make a living. "That must've been tough to come by..." "A few smart investments did the trick." - Aziraphale disclosed, nodding, twitching under your charmed stare uncomfortably. - "Property was much cheaper back in the day, frankly. What you've achieved is more impressive. I'm amazed by your sufficiency, truly. You had a dream, followed it and made it your reality. It's your merit - you're leading a life to be proud of." "You reckon?" "Oh... I know so."

Taking a long breath, you raised your eyes to look into Aziraphale's, sending him a soft smile. At moments, even throughout reading the correspondence, you've had a suspicion the man was pretending to meet you for the first time - taking his wording into consideration, it came across as if Aziraphale had truly known you for centuries. Even though Katie called you a nutter for believing and reading into the mythical romance tropes, you've felt the 'through all of universe, time and space' trope materializing in front of you.

Your mind drifted off as Aziraphale's gushed over the desert - while the man erupted about something as simple as a lava cake, you were leaning into the chair, playing with your glass of wine, letting your mind wander about. There was something about him; something timeless, infinite and definite.

"May I have a question?" - You murmured, leaning closer to him; he'd just swooned over the combination of vanilla ice cream, hot raspberry jam and runny chocolate dough. "Why of course." "Even if it sounds nutty?" "Yes." - The man chuckled, narrowing his eyes slightly. - "You already know I enjoy fruity questions." "Alright. Here goes... Who are you?" "I'm Aziraphale." - He'd chuckle, pretending the answer was clear as day - not quite comprehending the meaning and weight of your question. "No, I know that." - You chuckled in response, giggling over his innocence. - "What I mean is... Who are you? Truly?" - At this, Aziraphale smoothed the cloth napkin covering his knees, taking in a long, laboured breath. He'd been clearly stressed out.

"Are you worried I'm playing you?" - He'd whisper after a bit of thought. "What? No!" - His confusion made you laugh uncomfortably. Fuck, had you just opened up a topic that'd ruin this date? You sure hoped you hadn't. "Did I do something wrong, then? Something that'd scare you?" "Aziraphale, hey... Hey, please, look at me?" - Seeing him distraught upset you too. To pacify the fear in his eyes, you'd lean over the table and catch his palm in yours. As before, you could feel electricity sparking down your spine, the urge to kiss him swinging back in full force. As if you've done it hundreds of times sometime before.

"It was just a stupid question, a silly little idea... Nothing more." "Would you explain the silly idea?" - Moving in, Aziraphale covered your palm with his other, stroking it gently. "Well, it's stupid. I must be so awed that you seem... To go good to be true? Gentlemen like you are bloody hard to come by. I've noted you're using phrases that aren't very common these days, mainly when you get excited and ramble... And there's also this timeless elegance about you. Must've read too much fiction, nothing more." "What I'm about to ask isn't meant indecently..." - The man breathed, the gentle grip around your palm tightening. While your skin started to sweat, his remained warm and dry. - "Would you consider visiting my bookshop tonight? There's a separate bedroom you'd be more than welcome to use and a separate bathroom too. Wouldn't let you take the train back to Oxford alone this late at night on your own, anyway. Might be easier this way."

The invitation took you by surprise. Firstly, you weren't the one to do the do on the first date - but neither was, clearly, Aziraphale. Secondly, you'd suspect (based on the principles of his you'd noticed so far) it would take you longer than this for Aziraphale to invite you over or vice versa. Thirdly... Did this angel of a man just suggest he'd take the train back to Oxford with you just to see you safely off? Your heart was ready to fucking burst. "Are you certain it wouldn't annoy you?" "It's intricate to explain, but remember you wouldn't ever annoy me. Quite the opposite. I'd love nothing else. It's been a long time." - It's been a long time, you replayed in your mind. Strange way to word it. Did he mean the 'I wasn't with anyone' type of a long time or the 'you aren't a delusional scatty and I did wait for you through space and time' type of a long time?

"If it isn't too indecent, then... I'd love to stay over tonight. It's Sunday tomorrow and the bakery's closed anyway." The way Aziraphale's face burst with joy left you speechless for a bit. Your 'iffy alarm' was going off; you couldn't be insane. Based on his reactions, there was more to it all. And frankly, you couldn't wait to discover what it had been.

The bookshop was everything you'd expected and more - even though it'd been placed in one of the busy streets of Soho, it had a certain old-time charm. Massive bookshelves were filled to the brim with books, as one'd assume. As Aziraphale left you to explore the new space (presumably preparing the spare bedroom and whatever he was about to show you), you pulled out a book here and there... Just to find out most of these were insanely rare, first editions dedicated to 'Mr Fell'.

Digging deeper, you uncovered stacks of pigskin paper folded in casings, neatly hidden away. As you pulled some of these bad boys out, you noted names like 'Hamlet' and 'Romeo and Juliett'. The paper was very gentle, close to crumbling apart under your touch. And don't start on all the paintings, statuettes and decorations around the shop. You'd taken them in, staring with your mouth agape. Not only did they look fucking old, they also looked like originals dated to God fucking knows when. As you reached an impressive painting of some sort of an angel (uncannily similar to the man upstairs), Aziraphale sneaked behind you, giving you a proper fright.

"Oh, Dear." - He'd snicker gently, his fingers ghosting over the cutout on your shoulder blades. - "Everything alright?" Even though you had a hundred and one questions inside your brain, it all blanked for a bit. By simply stipping off the tuxedo and unhooking one bloody button on his neck Aziraphale awoken something inside you. Desire? Most likely. Would you do the do if asked? Definitely. How was it possible for someone so innocent to look so tempting out of nowhere?

You'd let him lead you to one of the sofas, taking a look at a massive wooden box embroidered with pure gold. It looked pretty and very personal. It was a handiwork that surely cost a small fortune. Based on its pristine polish, Aziraphale hadn't only looked after it but he'd taken active of it.

"Um..." - Clearing your throat, you downed an entire glass of water without hesitation. Was it you or did the air get hotter? - "It's just... I looked at your impressive collection of... Well... Everything." "Mhmh?" - The man nodded, smiling so widely that dimples formed in his cheeks." - "Found anything you fancy?" "Aziraphale, your collection blew my socks off. Anything I fancy - how about everything? Have you ever seen what you have lying around here? How much did it cost to assemble a collection of this bloody rarity and quality? And... How much time did it take?"

"Ah. That's funny." - He'd chuckle, bringing your attention back to the wooden box. - "... Didn't cost a pound." "I think... I'm sure I misheard." "I've collected it all myself." "So that copy Hamlet scribed on pigskin you're hiding back there..." "Original, not a copy. Gifted to me by Shakespeare himself, with a dedication. 'To my dear friend and loyal follower, Mr Fell. May luck and fortune follow thee on thyne journeys.'" - Aziraphel recited from his memory. He was fucking with you. Must've been. He must've caught a whiff of your delusion and played into it.

"The painting back there? That must be you, then?" "Well sussed." "Who painted it?" "Michelangelo." - The man answered, shrugging his shoulders like it wasn't a big deal. Michelangelo? The guy who... "Like the Sistine Chapel bloke?" - You wondered, the corners of your mouth twitching as you attempted to keep a serious expression. "Saying 'The Sistine Chapel bloke' doesn't nearly do him justice, but... Yes." - He'd agree, oblivious to the absurdity of it all. This straw broke the camel's fucking back as you burst laughing so hard that tears streamed down your cheeks.

"What's so hilarious about it?" - Aziraphale wondered, confused by your reaction. Keeping composure for even a second felt torturous, but you decided to humour him for a bit longer. "Are you listening to yourself?" "For your information, you've had one commissioned too." "As in commissioned from Michelangelo himself? I'm not even thirty and that bloke lived in..." "I keep it hung in my bedroom." - The man answered topically, looking away from you. Your reaction clearly hurt him. - "I recall the day the paintings were delivered. You were ecstatic and couldn't get enough of gazing at them. Always said he'd made you way prettier than you were." - Now it was your turn to stare in awe, a shadow of hurt lingering over your expression. Playing along, you whispered... "And what'd you answer?" "... He didn't even capture half of it." - His expression, filled with unsaid love and gentle passion, gave you goosebumps. - "Frankly, you've given him a run for his money - you'd always jolt about, humour him or talk to anyone willing to natter. My oh my, you were certainly popular back then. Poor Simoni couldn't keep you seated no matter how hard he tried." - And inexplicably, his words felt real. The confession felt oddly familiar, similar to a distant memory you've long forgotten, even though it must've been just a deranged lie and delusion.

"It all sounds wonderful, but..." "Let me take a guess before you decide on further action." - His blue eyes gave you a tender look, a sombre smile on his face. - "After I invited you on a date and left your bakery, you've disclosed to charming little Katie that 'I've just filled some black hole inside your chest, one you didn't know existed'?" - This took you back. All humour was gone like that as you stared at Aziraphale with confusion. That's what you've said, word-for-word. "Why..." - Chuckling with disbelief, you shook your head. A shock was slowly setting in as you tried deciphering how in the fucking world Aziraphale got to know. - "How do you know that? Did Katie tell you? Is this some sort'f prank?" "Well, that's what you always say... How you describe our first meetings, anyway." "First meetings?" "Let me show you something." - The man smiled softly. He finally opened the wooden box, pulled out a sketch, and handed it to you. Your eyebrows shot up high as you clocked the supposed 'date of creation': 1651.

Your heart dropped as you realized what you were looking at. While dressed in an over-the-top dress (the skirt was fucking devouring the depicted figure), with an equally horrible wig bumped onto the top of their head, it was clearly you sitting next to Aziraphale. Or at least someone uncannily similar to you. Based on the depiction, he'd been holding your hand in his, dollied up in a fancy ensemble accompanied by an equally atrocious wig. His eyes were glued to the profile of your face, staring at you like you've been a piece of art. The artist must've taken some liberties because, in the sketch, you displayed a rather tempting smile.

"Well..." - Clearing your throat, you'd hand the sketch back to Aziraphale. - "Strange coincidence, I agree. The lady is gorgeous, though. Good for you." - Without uttering a word, he'd exchange the sketch for a photograph. How were you to wiggle out of this one? No fucking clue. It was clearly you (some sort of a predecessor or a fucking twin), in Victorian clothing. It wasn't entirely feminine, though; despite what must've been the customs back regarding fashion, you clearly didn't worry... And Aziraphale didn't care by proxy, given he must've been the one to snap this picture. But God fucking damn, your twin was a stunner - hair let down, dressed in comfy pump trousers, white shirt, vest and black coat... Holding a top hat in your left palm, smiling very seductively - at least very indecently for that time.

"Ehm... Well..." "You were so proud of taking this picture." - Aziraphale chimed in, sighing dreamily. - "Photography was fairly new and it was the time of all sorts of fantastical fashion booms - this was when women started wearing trousers in England. You nagged about visiting for years and years... Until I broke and gave in. You loved England at this point in history. 'Feels so progressive compared to rest of Europe', that's what you said. We've been living in Prague at the time, and oh dear, what a wonderful city it was. Our little penthouse was charming."

"You're sticking to the story? This woman here who lived centuries ago... You're trying to convince me that this was me?" - With pure confusion, you'd hand him the photo - just to receive a small oil painting in return. It was hardly the size of a phone. You didn't even try to estimate how old it was. The answer was: older than half of London and three times the fucking price of your livelihood. And to his credit - again, yes. That was your fucking face. - "Aziraphale... I'm not sure how to react... It might've been a rushed decision to stay over, I'm sorry." "You asked me who I truly was. The answer is: not human." - He'd finally disclose, making you freeze. You didn't bother to cover the shock. Not human? The man seemed perfectly human to you... At least from this angle. Frankly, your brain short-circuited as you stared at him.

"Are you like some sort of a reptile, then?" "Huh?" - His mind immediately snapped to Crowley, to who he was. Could you possibly know the Demon? "Well, there's a conspiracy about lizard people ruling the world. Is that true?" - Aziraphale sighed, chuckling. You had no idea Crowley even existed. Good... Jolly. "No!" "Well, are you a vampire, then?" "Ah, no, but it struck me as an intriguing idea after I read the stroke of Briam's genius." "Are you some sort of a... God? Like in Percy Jackson?" - He'd visibly paled upon hearing 'god', looking over his shoulder... To see if someone's been listening, waiting for something - a reaction, perhaps?

"Do me a favour and don't mention her name again." "Whose?" "Hers." - He'd gritter through his teeth. "Like as in Go-" "Yes!" - Before you finished the thought, Aziraphale covered your mouth with his palm, shaking his head. So this man in front of you had something in common with the One Up There himse... Herself? "Is she a woman?" "It's not that simple. Human constructs such as gender and sexuality don't exactly apply to either Heaven or Hell. Neither to me, by proxy." "Well, you seem perfectly human to me..." "That's thousands of years of practice. While humans are born with the basis of their biological attributes, for the most part, we aren't created as such. It just helps us blend in better." "And which side are you on, for the record? The good or the evil?" - Even though it was meant as a jab, Aziraphale understood your question with utmost severity.

"I'm a heavenly principality, an Angel of the third sphere. Created and named Aziraphale by her among the rest of Angels." "Oh." - Was all you said for a while, leaning your head towards your shoulder while letting your eyes glide across his face. Even though you hadn't been entirely sold on whatever he was saying (yet)... You were halfway there. - "Does that mean you're a higher-up of some sort? Principality, third order, all that shebang?" - Trying to understand, you jugged your hands around. "That'd be tricky to explain. Just know I've been sent on important missions throughout human history." - The Angel proclaimed with importance.

"Oh?" - Chuckling, you nodded. - "Such as?" "Watching over the Western gate of Eden, for starters." "... And according to the book, that didn't fly so good, did it?" "It was complicated." - At first, Aziraphale started to furrow. You reminded him of Crowley; the Demon loved when the conversation stirred towards the Sword and the Garden. Poking fun at Eden was an old jab. Not funny. Well, he was annoyed until he noticed the jitters in your eyes. You were trying to make him smile. It was a joke. - "After, I also oversaught Noe and met with Job, who was a poppet by the way. Also oversaught Christ's crucifixion. And I've personally visited Pompeii before its destruction. What a wonderful, charming little city... Before the eruption, that is." - He'd proclaim proudly, sitting up. "But the volcano eruption of Pompeii wasn't any sort of Biblical event, no? Don't take it the wrong way, my memory isn't what it used to be. Must've missed Sunday school... Or ten." "No, but it holds great importance to me." "Why?" "We've met the night before your 'impending doom', as you dubbed it."

The conviction in his voice prompted you to keep eye contact. All the depictions of you, the absolute certainty Aziraphale spewed all the information and his serenity regarding the topic... It was too fucking much. Your stomach was shrinking, your palms sweated and your entire body quivered. Judging by your furrow and tears in your eyes, you were very uncomfortable. "Gotta admit, it's been a good jab on your part and you've committed greatly, but there's no need to keep it up..." "Promising I'd find you anywhere at any time has been one of the most important vows I've given to anyone in my existence." - The Angel muttered, shutting you down.

"Like... That 'through time and space' prompt?" - Peeping, your arms grabbed one of the pillows so you could hold onto something. Your knuckles burned as your fingers dug into the plushy fabric. Aziraphale would be better off dialling 112 - you were on the verge of a heart attack/anxiety attack. "If you'd like to name it as such. The culture and slang change fast these days..." - The man muttered mostly to himself, sighing. "Oh, my fucking Go... Nevermind. Can't say that either." - Sighing, you'd give Aziraphale an eloquent smile. - "I'm sorry if I'm worse-mannered than my other copies..." "There's no such thing as being a 'copy' of someone. You're you and that's plenty enough." "... But you admitted we met before the fall of Pompeii... And you have all these insane sketches, photos and paintings of me. I'm a copy of someone who existed centuries, fucking millennia ago. I'm not her."

"Nor would I ever expect you to be!" - The Angel blurted, his expression growing soft, a smile spreading. - "See, this is where it gets intricate." "Only now?" - Attempting to joke, you'd force a grin on your face. Aziraphale returned the gesture. "I've studied it relentlessly, so don't be worried - we're well informed regarding this matter." - We. The Angel just used the word we. We are informed. - "See, a soul is a matter that cannot be destroyed. It doesn't age, doesn't decay and never changes." "What should I imagine as?" "Whatever you prefer... You usually assume it's a ball of violet energy." "Why?" "Beat me to it." "Makes sense, though."

"Back to the topic. Since it doesn't change and can't be destroyed without the intervention of a higher power, most souls are trapped in a cycle. Everyone around you has lived tens, maybe hundreds of lives - one of my friends calls the cycle an 'environment-friendly recycling'." "So, reincarnation?" "Precisely." "And what happens to the others?" "Others?" - Aziraphale retorted, furrowing a bit. "Well, you definitely said 'most'. That doesn't mean 'all' as far as my grammar is concerned." - Now there you were; the soul Aziraphale knew and loved. The soul that wasn't willing to give up easily, fought until the bitter end, that hardly bent facing immediate danger. It was there, just hidden deep under your widely opened eyes and flustered cheeks.

"Souls deemed hopeless exist and these are usually condemned to the pits of Hell." - Aziraphale admitted silently, watching you squirm with a furrow. "What if I were... Deemed hopeless?" "Did you start a world war?" "Not that I can recall." "Have you intentionally mortally harmed thy neighbour?" "... No." "Are you a politician?" "Do I look like one?" "Then it's safe to assume you're not going to the pits, dear." - Aziraphale chuckled, watching a smile form on your face too. - "The point is, your soul is in a cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth, just like most souls roaming Earth. We've met casually and in an instant, I could feel a pull toward you. There's something about you, something that I resonate with. Now, after hundreds of years of knowing you, I'd find your soul anywhere... I even vowed to do so."

"That sounds romantic... And wacky." "Oh, it is utmost wacky." - The man chuckled, having you scoff and nod in response. "Why do I look like all the previous versions of me?" "Again, beat me to it. We never found out... But you're not the only one resembling your past existences." - Furrowing, Aziraphale sighed pensively. - "I've been a fan of certain Paul Mounet. He'd been an actor back in his prime and very talented. I wonder if Keanu Reeves..." "I have a question." "Hope it's wacky and whimsical." - The Angel smiled, having an enormous grin forming on your face. "Am I always feminine? You've said it's the soul that counts and makes me what I am. The energy's how you find me. It makes me. Does it come with, yannow, an assigned gender?"

"As I've said, it's more complicated than that... But generally no." "So, you've also known me as a man?" "All sorts of things, actually." - Beat you to it, you didn't know how to interpret this statement. Something about his tone, however, made you so flattered you chose to overlook it. "And was I still beautiful to you?" "Can't imagine a world where you wouldn't be... Or a version of you that wouldn't steal my breath away." - Aziraphale muttered, clearly blushing. If your curiosity and presence made him this happy, you wondered... "... Did you love me? No matter who I've been?"

Dropping the L word might've been wee but too much, you realized right after the words left your damn fucking mouth. Your whisper froze the man sitting opposite you and you could watch his eyes narrow and lips straighten. Well, you thought, there's this mumbo-jumbo about souls entwined - he must've loved you, no? "There's anything in Heaven nor Hell that'd keep me from loving you. Time or space doesn't matter to me, neither do other circumstances. On the contrary, 'all the circumstances' make you human." - The confession made you tear up. Whether it was an inexplicable feeling of being loved unconditionally or the lunacy of it all, that you didn't know. All you knew was that all your organs suddenly felt warm and fuzzy. Trying to dry your tears, you nodded.

"And is there only me?" - Now, this was a fucking ice-breaker, Aziraphale had to admit. - "If you're the... The principality or whatever, it'd make sense if I wasn't the only one. I'm not around the whole time, right? Wouldn't hold it against you. Just curious, really" He grew accustomed to all your curious little questions - who was I? Did you love me? What's your favourite memory of us? Were we married at some point in our common history? Did we... You know, fool around? Never (Aziraphale had to stress the 'never') had you asked if there was someone else. It slipped past your lips so casually, so easily; as if you truly didn't hold a grudge if there was someone other than you. And of course, there was someone else out there.

The Angel realized the depth of his emotions for Crowley in 1941, he could recall the moment in great detail. The books. Crowley had saved the damned books. Such an act of kindness could only subside from knowing Aziraphale so bloody well. It, also, was actually a selfish act. Crowley wanted his Angel to be happy, to save the god-forsaken books, as he'd put it. Their history and relationship had always struck Aziraphale as endlessly more complicated than the life he'd built with you. Aziraphale was an Angel. Crowley was a Demon. Could they ever work out? Could he be more than the Angel's friend? What if Aziraphale just had a tidbit of courage? However, the talk never came. The topic hung in the air for millennia, but neither took a bite, not even after Armageddon't. Yes, Aziraphale knew how to name the feeling. Crowley must've too. And yet... It was easier to just be with you and play pretend with Crowley. You weren't a threat in Heaven's eyes and the other Angels wouldn't set you ablaze if they'd get to know you were an item. In fact, the Angels would just take the piss out of Aziraphale. That couldn't be said about Crowley. Straight to the stake, the Angel assumed.

"It's..." - Aziraphale breathed out after a hot minute. He'd been blushed before, but he was rosy red now. You've hit a nerve, surely. "Let me guess - complicated?" "Indeed it is." - The Angel sighed, shaking his head. Crowley was aware of your existence - the Demon even asked about your well-being if he was drunk enough. What difference would it make if you knew of Crowley's existence? Would this be the lifetime Aziraphale finally erases the line between you and the Demon? No, he'd realise immediately. The spike of jealousy was a clear answer. For which one Aziraphale felt jealous toward, that he didn't know. "What are they like?" "Hmph..." - The Angel sighed, leaning his head to his shoulder. - "They aren't human either. That's why it's complicated." "Are they a reptilian?" "The reptile people don't exist, trust me." "How does the principality present itself?" "A human male. Currently Scottish, if I'm not mistaken." "Oh, now that sounds fun! Are you in love with him, then?" - Based on Aziraphale's scared gaze, you safely assumed the answer. So in love with hurt - without having the talk. Nodding, you changed the topic again.

"And do I know this Scot? Have we met?" "The two of you met twice. Once in Pompeii and the other time..." - Memories clouded Aziraphale's eyes as he went back in time. Crowley raided your home because he needed Angel's help and knew he was inside your shared home. Aziraphale did his best to forget as much detail he could - the smile on Crowley's lips, the adoring gaze in your eyes, the way the bastard kissed your knuckles and you giggled... No. You two were separate parts of Aziraphale's existence and he'd do his damnest for it to remain as such. It was a big fight they had after, Crowley and him. The duo didn't talk for ten years after. - "... Didn't fly so good, as you've worded it." "Oh, I get it. It's to accept other people's feelings when you've known someone for millennia. I bet he was jealous. Just a measly little human luring his Angel boyfriend away... Outrageous." - It was a joke, but Aziraphale hadn't relaxed, not even a bit. "Precisely." - The Angel answered thoughtfully.

"Listen, Aziraphale." - You whispered, holding your arm in his direction until he caught it with his. - "Knowing you are brave enough to confront me with the story... Our story, factually, is very honourable of you. But...Even though it all sounds awfully nice, almost too good to be true, it'll take time for me to believe and adjust to the situation." "I wouldn't ever force you to... Dear." - The Angel scoffed, slowly smoothing over the knuckles to ease you in. You were as tense as a well-tied rope. - "If you feel uncomfortable or don't want any part of this, you're welcome to leave me behind and live your best life. I'm sure you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself." - '... Even though I'd follow every step you'd take and assure your life would be smooth and happy. I wouldn't be opposed to forcing it with a few Miracles', Aziraphale thought but hadn't added out loud.

"I am uncomfortable." - You admitted with quavers. - "And I'm freaking out, just as I should be. This entire confession is wacky at best. This happens in fiction - books, movies and yes, it's nice to daydream about these tropes becoming true. But now? We're a heavenly principality and a human sitting across each other, holding hands. This confirmation shakes up my entire world, you see? Heaven and Hell are real. Angels and Demons walk among us and co-exist with us. There's a lot of adjusting ahead for me." - Shaking your head, you squeezed his palm tighter, biting your lip. - "But something within me screams that if I leave now, I'll regret it. The hole you've filled by waltzing into my bakery threatens to re-open if I don't give this a proper go... And I'd be an idiot if I let you slip through my fingers without a fight." "Sounds like an awful conflict. Perhaps I shouldn't have..." "Hey. Loosen up." - Your careful smile reappeared as you patted Aziraphale's palm. It ran jitters of happiness down his spine. - "Having an internal conflict is as human as it gets. Better get used to it, Angel. It'll turn out somehow."

Sometime later, you sat in the window in the second store of the bookshop, watching the lively Soho street under your dangling feet, hidden away in a tidied-up bedroom. The Angel prepared a two-piece sateen pyjama set and a warm cup of hot cocoa on the bedside table. Even though nothing made sense before him, everything in your life started making sense with his confession, all at the same time. As you've disclosed to Katie many fucking times, you felt there's something greater about the entire situation and the relationship between you. Sure, you hadn't hit it off properly so far (as Katie reminded you each time, without fail), but you've had a feeling it wouldn't take too long for you to give in. You've been hesitant your whole life and you've never loved with your entire heart - Aziraphale's aura, however, broke these walls easily. Too easily, you wanted to add.

As the Angel confirmed just an hour earlier, there were centuries of trust engraved into each word and gaze, into every gesture. Each tingle of feeling you've felt awakening inside your chest was justified and right. While Aziraphale also confirmed he doesn't know you, the current you, on a technical basis, he'd learned everything about your essence, swearing you were the best human he'd met (in his eyes, to quote him - what a silly little Angel with a biased point of view)... And you could live with that.

Part II: The Remnants March of 2024, Baked Bliss, Oxford, England:

Out of habit and boredom, you did the usual - looked at your phone (specifically at the empty lock screen) and then pushed it back into your pocket. A defeated sigh filled the silence of Baked Bliss as you stood behind the counter, leaning into a high stool. The business had been atrocious in the last few months - Oxford students were preparing for their exams, so they crawled out of their dorms for a coffee once or twice per day and tourism was still heavily marked with all the post-pandemic stress. The bakery hung on a thread, remaining afloat thanks to your impressive savings - but how long could that last? Perhaps you should've agreed with Aziraphale, take his word and let him grant you access to his banking account. Would save you a lot of bullshit, ey? Well, you were half a year late to that.

Az. Angel. Aziraphale. Love. Gulping down the dumpling forming in your throat, you sighed again, nodding with your jaw clenched, fighting tears. What was the emotion coursing through your veins? Was it anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? You couldn't distinguish it anymore - certainly fucking not after feeling it non-stop for 6 months. Each time you looked at the screen, you got your hopes unreasonably up - just to get them crushed each time. Until that day, you've eagerly checked your mailbox every fucking morning just to find it empty - just so you could stand in the quiet street without having an idea what to do with yourself or your life.

The monotone emotions and pain overtook you a long time ago. The black hole opened agape after he'd disappeared. The few years you've spent together, as partners, were the happiest of your life. Over time, you became his girlfriend - just as he became your boyfriend. The first time he'd introduced you as such at a merchants association meeting, you couldn't stop giggling. Aziraphale became your beacon of hope, your safe ground. The Angel would be there through bad and good times, cheering you up and consoling you anytime things got too tricky. You'd be coming home to a home-cooked meal, a glass of great wine and most importantly a loving embrace and a warm bed.

Even though you dated for 5 years, it'd felt like a small infinity. A small bubble you constructed piece by piece, your lives slowly intertwining until they merged, becoming one. The Angel never got old - the more you knew about him, the more infatuated you were. The man was so gentle and delicate with you, assuring you twenty times before he'd do anything - like taking you by the hand on a walk, sleeping in one bed, smoothing and playing with your hair... This Angel was all about comfort and consent. And bloody hell, you loved him for that. You could recall the day you first kissed - 2019 was one of the worst years you lived through. Nobody around you remembered the world going bloody mad for one quiet Spring morning. Nobody but a selected few... Well, you were a part of said 'few'.

On said Spring day, you saw and heard shit yourself and the rest of the shit you didn't see Az recounted in great detail. For half a year after the supposed End of the World, you still saw Satan's detailed bloody image when you closed your eyes at night - as if you stood beside Az and faced that slimy motherfucker (not to mention Satan was also a deadbeat father). Over your shared time, Az enlightened you about everything he knew. He started with the existence of Heaven and Hell, then told you stories about Angels, Demons and other principalities and existences roaming the world, about their history - at least his recount of events. The Angel also told you about how everything came to be, how it turned out and where it was headed. Therefore, this little bean didn't forget to mention Warlock and impending doom. It was hard to wrap your head around Armageddon, but you accepted it as a fact - opting to live a happy, good life until that day.

On said Spring morning, after Atlantis was rediscovered and Kraken started cruising the seas, you realized it started and the world was soon to end. You rang Az up without hesitation but nobody answered - leaving you scared to death for the entire Sunday. Opting for relaxation, you cooked a delicious lunch, had a glass of wine and then, gardened, waiting for everything to end in flames. It'd be quick, Aziraphale always assured, you won't even notice. Fast as falling asleep.

When he'd appear on your doorstep late afternoon (dashing as ever), you'd let go of the ceramic flowerpot in your palm, walking toward him with mouth agape - Az's heart skipped a beat upon seeing you in your gardening outfit, dirty from the clay, enormous gardening gloves covering your arms. Watching you gardening always did things to him. By the time you'd hug him, you were already crying, sobbing into the crook of his neck. If the Angel was here, home, it must've all ended. At least Aziraphale didn't lie about the Armageddon shebang. You didn't suffer. As fast as sleeping, just like Az promised. Without thinking it through, you palmed his jaw and kissed him like nothing else mattered.

Something as trivial took a literal Armageddon... Probably because Az admitted he finds kissing enjoyable, but doesn't know what stance to take. Was it considered temptatious, to kiss an Angel? Was it a sin to feel the rush coursing through his veins each time? How inherently wrong was it to let his mind ponder about other indecent topics? Yes, there were moments when you figured 'fuck, I'm gonna kiss this man so hard', but you never did. Not until you both perished, reunited in your personal iteration of heaven - your small house on the outskirts of Oxford. His lips, plush and warm, tasted like blooming flowers; like your favourite dish; a fizzy drink you liked; sweet and savoury at the same time. A simple kiss got out of hand fairly quickly as you palmed his beige tux, pulling him closer while his palms gently nested on your hips to keep you both grounded.

After you'd let go of him, you'd giggle like kids, both flustered and out of breath. - "Heaven must be a place on Earth. Who knew we'd spent the eternity together?" "What?" - The Angel stuttered, his cheeks rosy and eyes glittering with excitement and post-make-out adrenaline. "You said the soul determines its place of final rest autonomously. I'm glad we're here - you always loved Oxfordshire during spring." "Y/N, darling..." - What that, Az pinched your arm very carefully - having you squeal in pain. "What's that for?!" "We're at your house in Oxford. Nothing... Nothing happened." "But the Kraken... And Atlantis... And the horrible traffic jam at M25..." "Do you consider a traffic jam on M25 an event annunciating the end of the world?" "Meh. I mean, who knows? M25 usually gets horrid but that traffic jam? Demonic, I swear. Well... What happened? Since the... Armageddin't?" "I'll tell you all about it. Come, love, let's have a glass." - Az cooed and kissed your shoulder, leading you to the living room, the adrenaline rush caused Az to ignore the smudges of dirt on his favourite tux.

After listening to the entire story of Adam, the Four, some Londoners and the Scottish Demon, everything suddenly felt sweeter and easier. Knowing you've just survived Armageddon (and that your boyfriend personally oversaw it wouldn't happen) gave everything a brand new feeling as if everything was wrapped in a pink, glittery filter. Life was brilliant. Everything felt amazing, even the things that made you mad before. You were deeply in love, had amazing friends, a blooming business and a nice little house in Oxford. This was most of what you dreamed of having, of achieving. And the sense of fulfilment tasted sweet. It was all too good - until last summer.

You remembered the last day you saw Aziraphale - your last encounter haunted your dreams, leaving you restless. It was just another usual weekend Az spent with you in Oxford, you liked to think - nothing out of the ordinary. You watched movies, took Katie and her girlfriend for dinner, and listened to records. Stuff you did every weekend. You loved staying the weekend over in Soho, in the bookshop, but you couldn't entirely relax when you weren't around Baked Bliss in case your employees needed assistance. So you mostly opted to stay in Oxford for your sanity.

As usual, you escorted the Angel onto the train station and waved at him until the train left the platform. Sheesh, you couldn't wait - you've just made plans for your first vacation fucking ever. To say you were joyous was an understatement. After years of resisting Az's puppy eyes and wishful tangents, you finally agreed on a small weekend getaway in Paris. Just earlier that day actually. Convincing you wasn't easy, but you've finally cracked - you finally agreed to leave your beloved bakery for the weekend, leaving Katie in charge. It was meant to be a romantic weekend filled with everything Paris had to offer - visiting the monuments, listening to all the street performers you'd find, and tasting all the intriguing food and wines. You gave into the temptation with a sheepish smile, admitting you could get inspired to incorporate a new baked good into Baked Bliss' menu.

Frankly, a getaway in Paris sounded heavenly. You needed rest and relaxation, to forget the daily fuzz of being a businesswoman. You buzzed with joy and so did Aziraphale. Well... At least seemingly.

You hadn't seen him since the day he took the train back to London. When he hadn't called from the bookshop (to notify you he arrived safe and sound) it raised partial red flags. He'd called each time without a fail. Yet, you assumed he was busy. He was an Angel and, in the end, a heavenly principality. The boys (as you referred to the Demon and him) got wrapped up in some outward shebang, you assumed. You tried calling in the evening when Az didn't. And in the night. And the morning. And the other day... And the day after... And most days after that. You remained positive Aziraphale just got wrapped in another whimsical adventure with his Demon buddy, there was nothing more to it. It'd happened once before. Az went AWOL, coming 'home' after three weeks of no contact.

Hitting the mark of one month without Az was rough, but you remained hopeful. Well, at least until December. Around Christmas, you started to crumble. His absence marked something awfully wrong. Aziraphale, frankly, adored Christmas. Everything about the holidays pumped him. The Angel grew to love baking sweets along with a skilled baker such as yourself. He'd talked you down, year after year, to binge all the horrid Christmas movies and listen to carols. He loved cuddling in horrific sweaters and cherished taking pictures for cards, sending them to all your friends - you'd usually hug in these shots, showing off the sweaters, laughing happily. And, in the last few years, Az also loved kissing you under the mistletoe, gently booping your nose when leaning away.

And that year's Christmas felt bloody miserable. Az was nowhere to be seen. The Christmas spirit never arrived at your doorstep, despite all the decorations, typical food and horrid sweaters. Katie attempted to invite you to hers, but you remained adamant about staying put until Aziraphale came home. It was then that you turned into a bloody depressed mess. By then, you attempted everything in the books - texting, calling, sending a letter, even visiting the bookshop... Just to find a stranger (a pleasant young woman) sitting behind the counter. That Christmas, you remained seated at the dining table dressed in a horrid sweater with a dinner prepared for two - you attempted drinking the pain away with eggnog (out of all the alcohol you could've picked), crying your eyes out. New Year's, however, was even worse.

The void devoured you whole. No joy or love to be felt, lack of enthusiasm and desire to achieve anything new. Fuck, you never thought you'd be a co-dependent girly, but hey... There you fucking were. At the moment, you didn't even feel alive, you didn't feel entirely human - you'd be best described as an animated puppet getting through life, you liked to think. The coffee and baked goods, you felt, were also marked by Az's disappearance - everything got mediocre and repetitive. You lacked the fucking passion to change anything.

The door opened and the bell rang, drawing your attention. As some sappy old song poured out of the radio, you attempted to smile and watched the newcomer. This radio station was horrid, Katie informed you many times. Even now, she had a sour expression and slowly, inch by inch, shifted her lovely bottoms towards the radio. Frankly, you liked the song that'd been playing. But to each their own, you thought. The truth was, Katie couldn't stand your attitude in the last few months. A dramatic heartbreak, she thought, was not the end of the world. You've survived such breakups before, but any left you acting as lifeless. The girl was tempted to stalk Az's ass down just to stomp it into a square. Whatever he'd done to you was a job well done. He'd ruined you. Bickering about the radio station was the most fun Katie had with you in weeks.

Then, your gaze finally landed on the customer. Oh, dear, he wasn't local, couldn't have been - not in your wildest dreams. Something about him (in general) fixed your eyes in place, your entire being gravitating toward his pull. Who the fuck was this? Even though the sky's been cloudy, the man wore sunglasses covering his entire sockets - this meant you could only read his emotion based on the angle of his eyebrows (already curled in a strange, worrying angle) and the line of his lips (straight as a rule). Based on the tidbit of his face you could see (mainly his stunning cheekbones) and flaming red, meticulously styled, hair, you assumed he was young - more or less around your age. This lad was also probably the first person with a face tattoo you'd met face-to-face. The snake looked great, though. And dear God, his wardrobe was popping - this guy was a stunner. The black tux was clearly tailored, combined with a suiting black turtleneck, loosely tied silver tie and a pair of the tightest fucking jeans you've seen.

It appeared the interest was reciprocated as the man stared right back at you, his chin rising slowly as if he measured you. The staredown must've been hilarious - the man stood across you, hands in his pockets, seemingly deciding whether you were appalling or lovely - whether to ask you out or damn you to the pits of Hell. Not that you'd appear more approachable. Palms on your sides, one eyebrow twitching as you took the guy in, your entire posture asking 'wanna get punched or sum?'. During your staredown, he finally clocked in the song on the radio - something about nightingales if you heard correctly. Grunting, he surely rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers silently. The radio changed stations, making you turn to Katie.

"... asked you not to do that." "What?" "That." - You hissed, turning from the disinterested customer, a wrinkle forming between your eyebrows. "What are you on about, you wacko?" "Changing the stations. You know well it worsens my mood, Katie." "Hadn't touched it." "Huh?" "I didn't touch the bloody radio, you moron." - Just when your brain connected the dots, the man spoke - knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Excuse me, ladies?" - Now, the Demon leaned into the counter, sending you a childish, somewhat unpleasant smile. - "I'd love a coffee if you care for it?" - The accent was a dead giveaway, his demeanour cementing the discovery. This wasn't just someone - this principality standing before you was none other than the Demon you'd heard so much about. You lover's lover. The Crowley you dreaded. "Mhm!" - You squeaked, nodding with a very exaggerated smile. - "Welcome to Baked Bliss, a bakery with a view to die for!" "Thought's a coffee shop?" - The Demon muttered, taking a long look around. It was vacant and smelled of vanilla and coffee beans mixed with sanitiser. A sign of a good spot. But nothing he'd imagined based on the photos and stellar reviews online. "Does 'somewhere between' cut it?" "Suppose."

Your palms sweated and your breath was laboured. Why was Crowley, the Demon, in your fucking bakery? Something happened to Az, must've, and Crowley chose to bear the bad news. Why so bloody late, then? Seven months. For seven months you pretended Az would come home any second to hold you in his arms and sway you around while humming some tune he'd heard on the radio. For seven months, delusions protected you from gruelling reality. And Crowley was here to tear said delusions apart, to explain how dirty the Angel did you, that you didn't deserve mourning of suffering someone like Aziraphale... Crowley arrived to break you free - according to his words, not yours.

"So... What can I do you for?" - You chirped, the pretended tranquillity disheveling with each second the Demon stared at you. "Coffee." "What kind?" "Six shots of expresso to one cup." - The man answered without hesitation, only stopping upon watching your horrified expression. Six shots in one cup? That would kill an ox, let alone someone resembling a human. - "... With a smidge of almond milk? And a blueberry muffin, of course." "Of course." - You nodded. - "Anything else I could help you with?" "Twenty minutes of your time. Doable?" "Since you're asking so nicely..." - Muttering, you nodded in Katie's direction. - "Can you take over? Half an hour tops."

The girl looked around the bakery, utterly unphased. Sliding her glasses up her nose, she nodded with a sigh. - "Don't know if I can, boss, the shop's filled to the brim. Can't even hear you over the ruckus." "Oh, wow, you're funny." - Matching the tone of her voice, you answered with equal irony. "I've been told, yes. I'm hilarious." "Delusional if anything." "We're best friends thanks to my charming personality." "But I definitely didn't hire you because of it." "Love ya." "Love you too, dumbass." You've prepared Crowley's coffee just how he asked you - six espressos in one cup (you even picked the best blend your bakery offered) with a dash of almond milk and made a cup yourself too. Packing a few muffins (you've baked earlier in the morning), you took off your apron and nodded in Crowley's direction.

"Hadn't paid." - The Demon objected like a head-strong child, firmly standing before the counter. Katie was already operating the register, shooting a cautious look at you. Her eyes said it all - let him pay. You needed money, that much was true. But what impression would making Crowley pay? "'s my treat. Don't worry about it." "You do this often?" "Huh?" "Letting people go without paying a dime. How's the bakery still afloat?" "I'm not letting my friend's friends pay. Doesn't feel right." - Even though you refused Crowley's money, the Demon still pulled out his wallet and started taking out all sorts of banknotes. Even though Crowley hadn't answered your 'friends' remark aloud, you could clearly see him muttering.

"What are you doing? I just told you..." "Can't refuse a generous tip, can ya?" - The Demon smiled widely, shoving an entire bundle of banknotes into the tip jar. He was a Demon - of course, he had infinite money cheat code sewn in his wallet. "That we certainly can't, sir." - Katie cooed, not letting you answer as she took the banknotes out without hesitation. - "Have a lovely, most wonderful day." "Hadn't had one in years, sweetheart - just a steamroll of dread and agony." - Crowley smiled in answer, strutting toward you and the door. - "That radio station is atrocious, 'tween you and me." "Yeah, it's bloody sickening. Come again!" - Katie cried out, giving you the look - the 'I was right and you were dead wrong' one. Flipping her off, you followed Crowley into the gloomy day.

The two of you sat in a nearby park, five minutes away from Baked Bliss, watching the nearby pond in stunned silence. Neither touched their coffee or the blueberry muffins as if it were just a backdrop and nothing else. Pigeons and ducks quacked, serving as the only interruption. "Friends?" - Crowley asked simply, leaning his elbow into the back of your chosen bench. You've just turned your head at him, still watching the ducks. - "You called me a 'friend's friend'." "That's who you are." "You never met me." "Heard all about you, though." - You admitted, a bittersweet smile spread on your lips. - "When a chance presented itself, he wouldn't shut up about you." "How did you recognize me if we've never met?" - So he didn't doubt it - great, you assumed, the man next to you truly was Crowley.

"Anybody's trousers should be this tight. Ought to be a demonic power to walk in that thing. The rest was just me not being a moron, putting two and two together." "He ever shown you a picture of me?" "No. My imagination's just very vivid." "What gave me away, then?" "The accent." - With that, you finally spared Crowley a look - you also picked out one of the muffins and started picking it apart. Not to eat it, just to feel it crumble under your fingers. - "He always put emphasis on your accent. And, for your information, he wasn't wrong."

Even though you attempted to look fierce and brave, the forceful gulp gave you away. When on the topic of Aziraphale's depictions, yours was also uncannily accurate - even according to Az's 18th-century depiction. 'Oh, she's simply brilliant!' - The Angel stuttered, certainly drunk beyond acceptable. His face was flushed smile so wide it threatened to tear his cheeks. Crowley, while curious, was also a tidbit jealous. How amazing did you have to be to have Aziraphale looking like the luckiest man alive? - 'The dichotomy of humans never ceases to awe me. She's so delicate, like a flower, and yet one of the most intimidating fighters I bumped into. What you'd like, I'm sure, is how fiercely she defends her freedoms, thoughts and stances and yet, she managed to find enough of a balance to listen to your thoughts and take them into account. She's terrific with compromises... A gentle soul filled with love but... How beautiful she is... Her lips... Hair... Ankles...' Frankly, Crowley heard one and a million depictions of you (from Az's perspective) that night. He'd ignored all the biased descriptions of your physicality, but your personality and attributes were dead-on. Fierce, but delicate - and broken into million pieces. Just like the muffin you kept on crumbling.

You weren't a dunce either, Crowley realized with a slight furrow, you were aware of why he was in Oxford. It must've been connected to Aziraphale. "Cut the chase, will you?" - Closing your eyes, you'd clean your jeans from the crumbles. Your martyred expression said it all. You realized there was a reason Crowley travelled to Oxford and not Aziraphale. - "Is he... Dead?" "Principalities can't die, come on, the Angel surely explained. However, your description's dead on." "So... Unvencionally discorporated, then?" "That's not it either." "Speak your damn mind, then. Be quick. A clear-cut's the best for a break-up." - You wanted to be done - hear out whatever Crowley had on his mind so you could move on and smash a few plates to relieve the anger.

"You think the Angel sent me to break up with you in his name?" - The Demon hissed, bitter amusement palpable. "Well, he is a gentle soul. I doubt he'd let a word that could hurt me slip past his lips." "Oh, wow." - Leaning into the bench even firmer, Crowley shook his head. - "Seems we'd known a different man." - With this revelation, you stared at the profile of Crowley's face, realizing you weren't the only broken-hearted person on said bench. The giveaway wasn't easy to catch, but it was the voice crack of someone as headstrong and confident as the Demon seemingly was.

"What was it like?" - Asking about their relationship would be uncomfortable at best, you realized. Painful at worst, for both you and Crowley. "What do you mean?" - Sounding more like 'what-chu-mean?'. "What you had. I might be human, but I'm not fucking stupid. It must've been grand since you've hated me so much." "That's a strong word, lady. Hated you?" - Crowley reiterated, clearly confused. - "Who said anything about 'hate'?" "Always came across as such." "Huh?" "We're in love with the same entity, right? Why didn't we ever spend time together, then? It's always either 'you and him' or 'me and him', not a single story involving 'us'. Makes one wonder."

This straw broke the camel's back - Crowley stared you down as if you said the worst joke in existence and you reciprocated, furrowing with true disappointment and seeming fury. The Demon did his best, his fucking best, to approach the situation with composure and easiness - Crowley planned on protecting you from the worst of it (to ensure you'd stay safe and afloat as he vowed), he didn't shy away from protecting you from yourself if the situation would require as such. But hearing you admit you were positive Crowley hated you set his fuse ablaze again. He wasn't ecstatic or keen regarding you, true, but he was interested in meeting you. Always had been. Aziraphale certainly knew this and yet, he wouldn't allow it. Two separated lives - two split lovers.

The last time you met (sometime in the 18th century) Crowley wouldn't shy away from using the term 'captivated' (by you) and the Angel knew that - they'd even argued over you, hadn't spoken for ten years after that. Even now, as Crowley's eyes stared at your face, he felt the same faint, unnameable tension - you were one of few humans that had ever captivated his attention repeatedly and for longer than a few moments. The Demon couldn't pinpoint what pulled him in, ignoring your physicality altogether. He was trying to decipher what about your soul bewitched Aziraphale.

"Alright, human, listen here. He left. Both of us. For what, you ask? For being a fucking Archangel... I doubt we'll ever see his damn face again and it's probably for the better." - The Demon hissed (the 'bettah' took you by surprise), his reptile tongue showing for a bit - given your wide eyes, you took notice. He was about to ramble, not watching the words spitting out his mouth. If he'd pay attention, he'd realize each word cut like a dagger. - "Beat me to it, he never introduced us, even though I asked him to. He probably grasped it wouldn't make a difference. But there are millennia of history 'tween us and I suppose the Angel took us seriously. See, there was a team, something beyond you'd comprehend. The team was me and him, the two of us against the entirety of Hell and Heaven. A Demon and an Angel. We had our own side. Just Crowley and Aziraphale against the world. Hate to break it to you, sweetheart - looks like you've always been the third wheel." "Mr Crowley I..." "You're just a human. You can do all the lovey-dovey tosh with literally anyone else on this planet, don't let ol' bastard and his leave bring you down." - One shattered, broken lover's enough; Crowley wanted to add, but he grunted instead.

It wouldn't be too far-fetched if you'd just leave. His words cut like a dagger twisting inside your shoulder, sending flashes of uncomfortable heat throughout your body. You were so close to walking off and leaving Crowley in the park, along with Aziraphale and all of their shebangs in the past. The man's emotionality, however, opened a window to his soul - a little fraction of his true self hidden under all the sarcasm and cool-guy-factor. What you saw was eerily familiar - a void of solitude and inhuman torment. Crowley, whether you liked it, was your mirror.

For Crowley, this was all a mercy kill. For whom? Hoped for both. He planned on putting your hopes down, opening all the pain you've tried to avoid and letting you suffer for a bit. When he'd check up on you in a few years, you'd have a partner, be happy and have a proper life or whatnot, just as Aziraphale clearly wished for you. The Demon squirmed under your stare. It was filled with agony, yes, but there was a hint of softness creeping behind all the other emotions. Dear fucking Satan almighty, Crowley could name the emotion - hope. Unconditional fucking hope... And love. How resilient could humans get? What didn't you fucking understand about Aziraphale leaving you both behind? He clearly didn't care enough to stay (for either of you)... Let alone the fact that Aziraphale left you in complete darkness. He hadn't even said goodbye - he just left you.

"Mr Crowley, could you..." "No! No, I couldn't! Don't you understand, human? I'm setting you free." - He hissed, making you sit up. A new emotion crossed your expression - caution, as if Crowley had just physically threatened you. Attempting to bite on his feelings, Crowley took a long, shaky breath. His fingers were clawing into his trousers so forcefully it hurt. - "That bastard vanished and he isn't coming back. And you... You..." - Tears and sobs were constricting his throat. He couldn't believe what he was about to say. - "You deserve leagues better than what he'd put you through." "... And so do you." - You retorted finally, voice firm and gnarly; it made Crowley aware you wouldn't have any of his blood interruptions... A delicate flower and an untamed champ.

"I was trying to say, Mr Crowley, that I understand and appreciate your concern. The thing is, you're not here to just 'set me free', you're also seeking closure... Just like I am. It's not my intention to be rude, but we're an equal mess. I can see your pain, hurt and confusion because it parallels my feelings. What you're displaying matches everything I'm going through to near perfection; like I'm staring into a bloody mirror. And I greatly appreciate you're trying to put me out of the misery but to be clear... I don't think anything's changing my feelings for Aziraphale. Even though... He'd left... To serve as an Archangel. Whatever we had felt transcending of my humanhood and his ethereality, my existence on this Earth, my human body, even time and space... Nothing mattered. Anything mattered between us, really, we were just two souls entwined, bound for eternity... Just like you were too. Nothing more to it. Just like you'd find him anywhere, in every lifetime, Aziraphale'd find me. He did so without fault 'till now. There's no rebound from this 'tosh'. There isn't anyone I'd love more than him."

The Demon grew silent, giving you a firm look from under the glasses - his mouth hung open as he processed your words, furrowing upon any conclusion he'd started coming through. "Thank you for taking action and informing me about... Where he disappeared to, though. It's honourable." "It's not - common decency, I'd like to think. But... What do you mean by 'no rebound'? You mean you'll be stuck in place?" - Crowley wondered with horror. He was meant to set you free - so you could move on with your life. "Hey, 'stuck' isn't the right term here. But I won't move forward either. It's more of a free-existence type of situation. There won't be anyone else I'd want like I want him. No human on this Earth can make me feel the emotions Aziraphale ignited." - The sombre smile haunted Crowley, as he watched your eyes turning back to the pond. - "And you won't find anything like this either."

"None of this was about me. It was about you, human - your closure. My existence's far longer than yours and you shouldn't worry about the likes of me. You have eighty years ahead of you, woman, give-or-take." "Well then... Mr Crowley, you've been successful. You've given me closure - I finally learned what happened." "What will you do now?" - The Demon leaned closer, whispering. Crowley couldn't talk normally, his voice would give up on him. Your scent hit his nose. He could distinguish a few main components - vanilla, flour, coffee and you. You smelled sweet, like a blooming flower. The scent tickled his nose, making it shrink a bit. It was a nice one, however. "Cry my eyes out, probably." - As you laughed uncomfortably, first sobs already started pushing through your throat. Until then, you fought the urge to cry the best you could. The realization, however, that Aziraphale left to enact something he surely deemed a 'higher purpose' and that you won't see him again knocked you to the ground. - "Drink my ass off while listening to Velvet Underground is on the agenda, absolutely. But don't worry, it'll get easier. I won't be the same old me I was before Aziraphale, but I'll find a way to cope. Broken heart still beats the same." "Coping sure sounds nice." "Us humans are terrific at it - as you put it, we're fucking resilient." "Passion got the better of me."

"And what about you?" - You asked, drying your tears and finally sipping your coffee. "What about me?" "What are you going to do now?" "Ah, you know it." - Crowley sighed, snickering bitterly. - "Some mischief, probably, 's in my nature. Thought about bringing the entire optical network in central London down around lunchtime, just for kicks. I already have a decent costume and a good story to go with it. How does that sound?" - Whether you liked it or not, your teary eyes jumped to him. Crowley sounded fun to hang around. "Wow, now that's just evil." - Bringing the internet down for a few hours? That's what the Demon had planned? You'd imagine serious crimes and offences when a Demon announces he'd be up for 'mischief'. Not this. - "Fun way to cope. I wish I could do that."

"Velvet Underground sounds nice though, no shame in that. I like 'em." - The Demon muttered, bumping your shoulder carefully, cheering you up. "Yeah, my mom listened to them a lot. They're comforting, especially when you're sad - makes tears roll on their own." "You still get sad, even through all that love? Even though you've said you were the happiest girl on the planet?" - Crowley wondered, his expression soft. He empathized. "Oh, you get sad, especially when you're in love." - Bumping him back with your shoulder, you nodded to yourself. - "You're sad all the bloody time, actually, that's how love works. Sadness is a part of human nature. I'm sure the greatest art originates from people being sad. All you gotta do is listen to The Show Must Go On. Bloody masterpiece." - Your statement left Crowley in awe.

Let alone the Queen reference, this philosophy of yours was beautiful. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale hid that they weren't always aligned or understanding of human emotion... The full range of it, anyway. Finding beauty in sadness and pain, however, spoke to Crowley. Saying most art originated from sadness was an outlook Crowley never clocked until you simply announced it. But bloody hell, it made sense. What else could form from melancholy, the Demon wondered. Crowley switched the topic because he didn't know how to follow up on your profound statement.

"Just a quick question." "Shoot." "Is the Velvet Underground a bebop?" "Bloody hell, definitely not a bebop." "... If you took everyone in the world and asked them to describe The Velvet Underground, not one person would say bebop." - The Demon muttered, smiling bittersweetly at the memory of Aziraphale and the 'The Best Of' CD. "I second that."

Crowley left Oxford half an hour later - the two of you spent the rest of your time together sitting in silence and watching ducks, sipping on coffee and munching on blueberry muffins. His black Bentley had you shaken - you studied the car with your mouth open, amazed by how well-preserved it was. The car must've been loved by Crowley - its black paint polished so pristinely you could see your reflection, with no bumps or scratches in sight. It was rare to see cars such as this, let alone used as the main means of transportation. If the Demon clocked your amazement, he didn't comment on it.

Just before you'd walked over the street into your bakery, the Demon called after you. It wasn't your name (you doubted Crowley knew it) nor a nickname - simple 'Oy!' did the trick. "Want a coffee to go?" - You wondered, sending him a shy grin, hugging yourself tight. "There are other means of getting a heart attack." "Then what is it?" - You wondered, watching Crowley pulling out his wallet. If he was to give you money, again... To your surprise, it was a business card. His business card. Anthony J Crowley, that was his full name. A nice name too, you figured. "My number's right here. In case you'd... Yannow... Need help with anything. Or wanted to talk about..." - Shrugging his shoulders, Crowley started vaguely gesturing instead of speaking his mind. The gesture was, however, very touching. Everything about it felt sincere.

"Can I ring you up?" "Surely. That's why I gave you the card." "No. I mean now. So you'd have my number too." - With a smile, you were already tugging your phone out and putting the number on the dial. "Why would I need your number?" - Not like Crowley would have trouble finding it if he truly wanted to. "This goes both ways, no?" - The gaze and smile you spared him almost sent Crowley to his knees. Soft like velvet, warm like a summer rainstorm. The Demon thought about slapping his cheek to keep it in check. What was the emotion and where did it come from? - "That's how friendships, or alliances, usually work. You're here for me and I'm here for you." "'kay." - The Demon nodded, pulling out his phone, too, eagerly awaiting the call. When your number flashed on his screen, you ended the call, saving his deets.

As Crowley departed, you stood on the street, waving until he made a turn. Nothing about this meetup went as the Demon planned or expected. Something about you left Crowley wishing for more, to explore and discover who you've been. Never in his former life would Crowley ask a human to tell him a story about their lives. Never. As he sorted his thoughts, the Demon clocked in another unsettling fact - for the first time in the last seven months, he didn't hear Nightingale on Berkeley Square playing on the radio. The song was everywhere Crowley stepped - every pub, shop, establishment, even his own bloody car.

With a worried furrow, Crowley took off his glasses and threw them on the passenger's seat, speeding at 90 per hour. Queen shouted from his rolled windows, switching between three songs: I Want To Break Free, Somebody To Love and Fat-Bottomed Girls. "Don't you dare to insinuate something that hadn't happened because I won't fucking stand for it." - Crowley hissed at his car, the Bentley speeding up to 110 in response. What a stubborn fucking car. This was anything but good. Oh, bloody hell, it was really fucking bad.

Summer of 2024, Oxford, England:

The phone number. Your number. Eleven digits itched into his memory from staring at them so frequently. Were you staring at his number too, he wondered, did you memorize it? Why didn't you reach out, if you did? Not a text, not a call... Nothing. As if the session in the park hadn't occurred.

The Demon was on the verge of contacting you more times than he'd care to admit aloud. He balanced the line of drunkenly calling almost every other week and threaded the line of texting every day. The small things... It was always the small fucking details reminding him of his Angel. Usually, he would just take a nap to deal with any problem or emotional turmoil. A few decades-lasting, good ol' nap. But your factor kept him away from doing so. What if you need help - like right at that fucking instant and Crowley would sleep through it? The need to share his thoughts and emotions with you felt natural. You were one of Crowley's remnants of Aziraphale - specifically the only living, breathing one. You'd understand Crowley's struggles and internal turmoil - if not you, who?

His phone buzzed as Crowley sprawled over the hotel bed - a bowl of popcorn on his belly and a fourth bottle of the finest Chateauneuf de Pas that evening alone in his right palm. Bridget Jones (one of his favourite romcoms) was playing on the telly. Each time he'd get the inexplicable craving to watch this series, he rented a room - it wasn't as comfy to watch it in the Bentley. And for the love of anyone, Crowley wasn't to be fucking bothered. The entire world felt weird ever since the morning, it was gloomy and sad. Something bothered Crowley, but he couldn't name what exactly. People stared him down the entire day as if they never met a man with a good sense of fashion. Even the cashier in his favourite wine cellar gave him the eyes - and he bought wine there once a week for the last few months. Growling, he stretched for the phone, cursorily noting what was up. Noticing the contact name, Crowley choked on the popcorn. Drunkenly sitting up and putting his bowl aside, Crowley opened the app.

The text chain went as follows:

Y/N: u up, crowley Me: Yup. Y/N: thank god Y/N: oopsie Y/N: didn't mean to say her name, soz, hihi

Now that you've finally reached out, Crowley deemed this the most awkward texting ever. What was he meant to say? 'Still feeling like a piece of shite?' or rather 'Should I come? D'you need my help?'. Because, frankly, Crowley would come if you asked. Oh, he would drive like he had the entire Heaven on his bloody heels, drive like the wind.

Y/N: whatcha doing Me: Bridget Jones... Watching Bridget Jones, to clarify. You?

He ground his teeth after reading the last bit. What will you think of him? That he's a sappy sad little man, watching romcoms alone? Crowley had noticed the trend of toxic masculinity and what was worse - said masculinity was attractive to certain women. Yuck. On the contrary, you fell for Aziraphale - out of all the souls roaming the Earth. Aziraphale'd have a great run for the office of 'sappiness'. You must've been fond of soft men to some extent, no?

Y/N: need help. can you reschedule Me: Rrechedule what? Y/N: that bridget marathon. sounds like a bop, tbh, a nice way to cope Y/N: don't want to bother. shit's kinda urgent doe Me: Where are you? Y/N: in soxford Y/N: Xoxord Y/N: OXFORD HGOLY SHIR Y/N: ducking autocorrect Me: No shit. Where exactly? Your bakery? Your house? The park?

At that point, Crowley started sobering up real quick. It was happening, everything all at once. The bottles of Chateauneuf de Pas refilled again as if Crowley hadn't had a sip. Before leaving, he'd slip them into a small white hotel room refrigerator. Before you managed to respond, Crowley was halfway down the stairs, hastily putting on his black blazer and sunglasses.

Y/N: i meant it Y/N: i tbink I'm somewhere in Oxford

Oh, so you were also having that kind of a night - the 'piss yourself into oblivion' kind. Perhaps you knew what was wrong with Crowley? Maybe you knew why the world felt like everything was about to crumble?

Me: Is there a way to share from your phone? Y/N: YOU GENIUS Y/N: yes! Me: Aren't you supposed to be the tech-savvy human keeping up with trends? Y/N: ob a fifth rathole i think. Y/N: my liver hates me Me: No wonder. That drink was one of my worst inventions. Y/N: You bastard.

Crowley didn't spend more time texting - as soon as the location share popped up, he sped through central London with the wind in his back. Most deemed it impossible to drive through M40 at 110 miles per hour, but that was surely caused by their lack of driving experience with enough adrenaline in their veins. Crowley could speed through Central London at 90 miles without bringing harm or batting his eyes. M40 was a piece of cake compared to his usual stunts. Soon enough, he was getting off in central Oxford, walking into a club named DV8.

The club was jumping under a remixed beat of Heads Will Roll while the smell of alcohol, sex and sweat overtook all of Crowley's senses. As he descended the stairs, he realized he couldn't recall the last time he'd properly party; getting trashed and all the other activities coming with it. Very likely, the Demon hadn't been in such an establishment since his lash-out with the Prince of Wales twenty years ago. A night to remember, Crowley liked to think. Judging purely by your choice, Crowley liked your style - a well-enough-known club with various precautions making clubbing safe for everyone. The club went as far as giving away free cup covers... Progressive and thoughtful. The prices were decent as well and the music was fine. Not great, but fine enough.

Crowley didn't search for you too hard - he'd find you after checking out the bar. There you were - sprawled over it, your forehead leant into the sticky wood. Mascara ran down your cheeks, your eyes were puffy and your lips trembling - there was a pint of beer before you and a cocktail glass to your right. Rathole, must've been. Based on your foul stench, you must've been around six beers, five ratholes and seven shots of rum deep.

Pushing a barstool close to yours, he leaned impossibly close so you'd hear him. This close, Crowley's nose picked on your scent too. Sensing it after almost half a year felt heavenly. It was the same sweet scent he'd clocked in last time, the one still haunting him in his thoughts. Each time a similar scent tickled his nose, it drew his immediate attention, having Crowley thinking about you.

Pushing a barstool close to yours, he leaned impossibly close so you'd hear him. This close, Crowley's nose picked on your scent too. Sensing it after almost half a year felt heavenly. It was the same sweet scent he'd clocked in last time, the one still haunting him in his thoughts. Each time a similar scent tickled his nose, it drew his immediate attention, having Crowley thinking about you. You didn't know he arrived until his nose tickled the tip of your ear. Feeling someone's nose on your ear startled you - the Demon got to admit your speed of pulling out a pepper spray was impressive. Especially given how drunk you were. He finally spoke right after the club finished an enthusiastic roar - the DJ just pulled out a single called Take Me Out.

"Seem you're havin' a jolly good time. Don't even need a second brokenhearted mess." If you hid the pain away during your first meeting, it'd been plastered all over your damn face now. Crowley was used to spiteful stares and annoyed expressions, but yours gave him a run for his bloody money. The circles under your eyes were also impressive. One of your eyes was half-closed, your hair and make-up a mess, and despite your nice little get-up, you were slouched over like a gremlin. Like Crowley, you were going through it, whatever the 'it' was. As he enacted your mirror before, you reflected him now - and it wasn't a nice look.

"... You alright, luv?" - That was the first time he called you anything other than 'human'; it slipped past you (because you were zonked out of your mind) and it also slipped past Crowley (seeing you this distraught upset the Demon by proxy). "I texted you because it hurts, Mr Crowley." - Whining, you shook your head, another wave of tears running down your cheeks. - "... And because anyone else knows how that pain feels." - With that statement, you finished the pint in one go. Truly inspirational.

As he watched the dancing crowd, the Demon realized he felt lighter; the pull toward you was back, making everything else fade. And you felt it too. Now that Crowley sat next to you... Not that the pain would disappear entirely, but it subdued as if with a swish of a wand. Did the Demon just 'miracle' you or something? What was it? The black hole inside your chest stopped pulling your organs apart as you looked at the familiar sunglasses, admiring the flaming red of his hair.

"Good to go?" - Helping you off the stool, he'd ensured you had all the belongings women typically had when going out clubbing, such as a purse, a phone, her keys and the trusty pepper spray. "Hey, mate!" - The bartender called when the Demon paid your spending on the bar, including an impressive tip. You wanted to pay yourself, even pulled out your wallet with great trouble, but the Demon clicked his tongue dismissively. Crowley spared the bartender a quick nod, furrowing. - "Are you this lass' fellow?" "What's it to you?" "She'd been here four times this week alone. Don't know what you two have going on but I'd let her go before she drags you down too. Trust me, lad, some ladies ain't worth the hustle." - The bartender cried out.

As if you sobered in a fraction of a second, you pushed Crowley away, put your purse in his arms and started to roll up your sleeves. But before you could jump to your defence, the Demon was already on it. "Stick your bloody nose where it belongs, chap. You should be honoured a lady like her even considered this shite-hole as their final destination for the night. Other than that, you have no bloody idea what she's going through." - The sunglasses slipped down on Crowley's nose and his yellow eyes stared right at the chap, his teeth grinding - that sound felt so intense despite all the blasting music and general ruckus around you. The bartender paled upon seeing Crowley's reptilian eyes, but you'd gazed at them lovingly. Drunk as a fucking ox. - "Guess what? You can bet your entire bloody packet she won't be coming back."

The alcohol clouding your mind didn't let you figure out what was off about the man next to you, but there was something - as his tongue flicked, you'd swear it was similar to a reptile's. Instead of his usual 185cms, Crowley appeared taller and broader, a menacing aura spreading around him. A true servant of Hell, you assumed. You'd never seen Aziraphale looking exactly heavenly, but Crowley's demonic presence ran shivers down your spine. Therefore, you just stared at him with drunkard awe "What he said!" - You exclaimed, pointing up to the Demon. - "Moron!" "Okay, you joy, let's go." "Mhm." - Grinning happily, you accepted the elbow Crowley offered you, following him outside.

"Woah!" - You murmured as you approached Crowley's car. Frankly, your state was way worse than he first assumed; it was a miracle you stood straight. While taken aback by the Bentley the last time (yes, Crowley noted your fascination), you couldn't be bothered to hold your excitement back this time. - "'s that really yours? Hadn't seen a car like this since... Well, never, bloody hell. Look at that thing!"

"You hearing that, buddy?" - Crowley muttered as he let you shout impressed praises into the dark Oxford night - he was just putting your purse between the plants, preparing you a comfortable seat in the front. The car seemingly purred in answer. The Bentley liked you, Crowley assumed. - "Lass' smitten with you. We oughta not let her lose her lunch tonight, hm? Alright, joy, come here." - Now, Crowley was turned to you, putting his palms on your shoulders. - "Where to?" - A rhetorical question. Crowley was 59% positive he knew where you lived. "Could you take me home, Mr Crowley?" - You peeped, eyes ogling at him - the Demon would've sworn he could see all the galaxies he'd created reflected in your eyes. Your eye colour was stunning. - "... And stay the night?"

It was merely a whisper but it caused the Demon to properly look at you for the first time, that 'Take Me Out' song's base riff engraving everything about this moment into his brain. Sure, Crowley vaguely recalled what you looked like, but he hadn't taken interest in your features before. In fact, he ignored you physically as a whole. Your soul intrigued him - but that soul came out with a physical casing, the Demon just realized. Still holding your shoulders in his palms, Crowley finally took the first proper look at your form.

For starters, his eyes delicately traced the shape of your face, slowly circling around your chin and lips. Those were some very nice lips, Crowley had to admit against his better will. It hit him that he hadn't seen you properly smile or laugh. All the grins and scoffs were ironic, bittersweet. Seeing you smile must've been a near-heavenly occasion... And Crowley wished to be the cause behind it, crossed his mind. Your nose begged to be booped if Crowley could've been frank. This was also one of the most unusual and silliest thoughts he'd had. It took a lot of willpower not to drag his finger down your nose and squeeze the tip playfully. And your eyes, those two bloody marbles reflecting every corner of the galaxy for Crowley to look at. Staring into your eyes gave Crowley jitters, even made him shake imperceptibly. The rest of you was also a true delight. Your scent was pleasant. The burning heat of your body created a fresh sensation tingling on Crowley's skin. He'd found a slight fascination with your softness, all the small curves and imperfect details he could only see up close.

Something clicked inside him. A piece fell into a pre-carved place, spreading a delightful sensation through Crowley's chest, making his heart skip a beat. The Demon couldn't decipher 'the click' at the time, the grip on your shoulders tightening. Your offer didn't make him uncomfortable, far from it, but he was anywhere near accepting. On the other hand, he wasn't fiercely shutting it down. The Demon was in the figurative middle, entertaining the idea. The 'click' (whatever chain of events it was about to cause) had Crowley upbeat about entertaining the notion of you... Giving him the time of the day, to put it eloquently.

"Luv, not that I wouldn't be flattered by such an offer, believe me, but I don't think it's appropriate..." "I just don't want to be alone." - Your voice crack had Crowley pull his head out of his ass. You weren't talking about sex, of course, you weren't. - "Anyone but you can understand tonight, Mr Crowley. I beg you to stay the night. It's been a year on the dot since he... Since Aziraphale... Since the Angel... And I'm not sure I can survive the night alone..."

The anniversary, Crowley realized, growling. That's what's been different today. The reason behind everything feeling wrong since the moment Crowley stumbled out of the hotel bed. It was a year (on the dot) since Aziraphale agreed to be the Archangel in the Cult of Heaven. A year since the Angel pained Crowley beyond any dispersal. A year during which Crowley struggled to cope with all the heartbreak and suffering, the time when he barely kept himself in check. Although something bugged Crowley, he wasn't sure he'd connect the dots if you and your bulged, teary eyes hadn't reminded him vividly.

Acting solely on impulse, the Demon squeezed you in a tight hug - as if you were the sole lifeboat in an ocean of nothingness. Every muscle in his body was strained to bursting, incredible stress overwhelming every reason Crowley possessed. It was easier to crush you between his arms and let your sweet scent linger in his nose; definitely easier than admitting he hadn't made any progress over the past year. Pretending to be fine was much easier than admitting he hadn't moved on... That it was impossible to move on. Your palms drunkenly reached for his waist as you pulled him closer, boring your face in his chest; if he noted how sweaty and swept with tears you were, Crowley didn't comment on it. His arms grew tighter around you as if he attempted to swallow you whole. This was certainly the tightest hug you've received - one palm crushed your shoulder, the other pressing the back of your head, letting you sob freely. You could feel him nodding frantically, his breath laboured.

"Ya, I'll stay, lass. Either of us should be alone tonight." - He'd mutter, slowly letting go of you, his fingers smoothing your upper arms. Frankly, Crowley wouldn't mind holding you for just a bit longer. The physical contact felt nice. There was a sense of belonging - you were just two existences hurt equally by the same person, feeling equal sorrow, both fighting the same unfair fight. A fight that couldn't be won. "You're a sweetheart, Mr Crowley." "Just tune't down to Crowley. No need for pleasantries, I think." - Certainly not tonight, Crowley thought. "I'm Y/N, then." - Upon hearing your name Crowley hissed, clearly amused. "I know your name... Always did." "Oh, did you really?" "Naturally. I know all sorts of stuff. I'm a Demon." - Fair. "Never called me it, though." - Calling Crowley out was seemingly one of your hidden talents - each time, you'd hit the nail on the head, leaving him speechless for a second. You were right.

He hadn't used your name; naming or using said name always led Crowley to the deepest pits of Hell (in case you need a reminder, all it takes is to mention the entire 'history of Adam and Dog'). He was cautious with all the bloody names. It was always the naming. Using someone's name also created unwanted attachments, and gave the object power over one's mind... And Crowley wasn't the one to get attached.

"Only called me 'you' or 'she' and 'her' depending on context - sometimes 'human' or 'woman'.." - Before answering, he'd look up in search of the setting behind your statement - just to be taken by a storm. You weren't angry, let alone hurt by Crowley's ignorance of earthly goods and customs... You were teasing him. One of your eyebrows was arched, your eyes piercing into his, a very subtle smirk on your face (flushed with all the alcohol coursing through your veins).

Was Crowley misinterpreting the subtext or were you truly pretending to blame him? How would other humans call it? Could it be flirting that you weren't aware of? You were drunk as a fucking ox and in incredible pain (if it was similar to his as you've said), so there wasn't any chance the Demon would take a single syllable seriously, but entertaining the idea, again... Flattered Crowley greatly. Scoffing with disbelief, he'd turn away to hide the fact he gushed over the entirety of you for a bit - your tone, expression, the twinkle of pain and love in your eyes, your posture, hair all messed up, cute little get-up... Humans. You humans were intriguing beyond any logical reason. You guys were fun to hang around - one had to be on their toes without letting up.

Even though Crowley felt like fucking dying (he was dying inside), he'd conjured a smile that had brought other humans to their knees. Crowley was a walking paradox... Walking mixed signal. His posture (mainly the palms in his pockets) screamed 'no' but the smile said 'when the time's right'. "What would you prefer, then?" "Call me by my name maybe? That's what humans generally do." "Alright then, luv. Your name it is." - Crowley ended topically, grinning as you gasped. "You got it wrong again." "'s that, hun?" - Opening Bentley's passenger side, he offered a palm to help you sit down. - "These nicknames also bother you? Pity. Secretly hoped you'd favour these." "No, they're fine." - ... More than fine, the look in your eyes added. With this statement, you'd close the door in Crowley's face. The Demon took a moment to get composed, to sleek all the contradictory emotion inside him. It was all a bloody mess - you turned him into a bloody mess. What on Earth was happening? How, where and why was Aziraphale hiding you away like a damn secret? Crowley liked you and you seemingly enjoyed being around him too.

All the agony was blending into feelings of hope, depression got repressed by intrigue, and broodiness switched with... Enjoyment. Crowley was enjoying himself, which hadn't happened since... A year ago. Could he accidentally stumble onto a saving grace inside the purgatory he'd found himself in? Could you, hypothetically, become the spark of light Crowley'd been desperately searching for? The answer couldn't possibly be this straightaway... Or could it?

A minute later, after he let the cold Oxford night cool him a bit, he'd sit behind the steering wheel - finding you furrowing at him. "Sensing something iffy?" "Other than sitting next to a literal demon?" "Not a literal one. Just a fallen angel, nothing more to it." "Well, that clears up the air." - Again, you must've been coqueting, whether you realized it or not. And in case you truly weren't, this night marked Crowley losing his marbles. - "The plants." - You explained in a simultaneous statement and question.

"What about them?" "Why do you have plants in your Bentley?" "Why wouldn't I have plants in my Bentley?" "Nobody in their right mind has plants in their car... Let alone a Bentley." "I just like it that way... Feels lively." "Oh, yes, so that's why you keep them in paper boxes?" "First, you ask about the plants and now question my paper boxes. There isn't anything wrong with driving around a Bentley filled with plants." "There's nothing right about it either." - You opposed, crawling deeper and deeper under his skin. All his hissing and silent grunts, with all his incoherent mumbling, weren't a sign of irritation. Quite the opposite. It felt like ages since Crowley had a proper banter with anyone other than his Bentley, his plants or himself. Muriel, bless her heart, was too pure to be mean... And you seemed to recognise the thrill in his face.

"Weren't you supposed to be drunk, joy?" "Oh, mister, believe me - I certainly fucking am." - As if out of habit, your eyes flash to Crowley for a second - searching for signs of disapproval. That was Aziraphale's influence, Crowley figured. He wasn't a fan of swearing, that one. "Then why on Earth are you pestering me 'bout my plants?" "Because it's strange." "Angels and demons ARE a bit strange if you haven't clocked it yet." "Never met a Demon who'd appear homeless." - Hissing back, you seriously furrowed at Crowley. You've hit a nerve. Clearly, you hit some fucking nerve, because he widened his eyes at you, opening and closing his lips. Oh. Something's happened, something that caused Crowley to live in his car.

"'m not technically homeless... Demons can't be homeless, silly. It doesn't work like that. We don't work like that." "Uh-uh." - Nodding, you'd listen to his ongoing tangent about his history with Hell, with being a diplomat and owning a Mayfair residence for centuries until they'd switched their diplomatic connections. You didn't remember a single word. Concentrating was hard when you were in fucking ruins.- "... So, all in all, you're homeless." "Have you listened to a word I've just said?" "Yes. That's why I'd like to mention the spare room in my house... Would've mentioned it right after the plants, but someone had to speak their mind about how settled they are."

All logical reasons melted inside Crowley's mind once more as he spared you a look, one filled with awe and astonishment. Everything about the moment felt magical. A spare room in your house. Your flushed face filled with expectation. The tone of your voice. The endearing look in your eyes. Your scent. And that clear fucking invitation - a helping hand directed to Crowley.

"You're drunk." - Crowley muttered, starting the car. The motor purred gently, the tachometer stopping at 20 miles per hour. The Bentley surely, took a liking to you... It usually refused to drive under 90 miles, acting like a stubborn bloody child. "What would change if I was sober?" "You'd be serious." "Who says I'm not?" - You deadpanned, rolling your window down to stick your hand out, pretending it to be a plane. - "I wanted to invite you to be my roommate. I gave it a lot of thought but never had a proper reason to... Well, you know. Felt like I'd be bothering you. Until now. Figured it could kill your homelessness and our shared loneliness. Solitude isn't good for anyone."

All these fucking pearls of wisdom slipped past your lips so nonchalantly and easily, each one leaving Crowley awestruck. How could Heaven or Hell ever believe they were superior to humans if people like you roamed about? Had any of the representatives (of either side) ever spoken with someone like you? The whole lot could just take a break and put their careers on hold because a) humans could be purer and more noble than Heaven could ever make them and b) figured events so horrid, that Hell wouldn't come up with them in a thousand years. Sighing and leaving the topic be, Crowley stepped on the gas and headed to your house. Crowley hadn't asked for your address, mostly because he already knew. Somehow. Bloody Angels and Demons and their entire miracle mumbo-jumbo, you thought, staring out the window.

Your house was lovely, Crowley had to admit. A small, two-story structure consisting of red bricks, large windows in white frames, a lovely dooryard and a decent driveway which just about housed your Beetle and Crowley's Bentley. The house was detached, so you wouldn't have to worry about your neighbours that much. The suburbs were quiet and calm - no speeding cars or drunkards, so there wasn't much that could harm you around these parts... Other than a lack of a functional internet connection and boredom. Crowley followed you through the silent driveway, shadowing your movements, ready to catch you in case you'd decided to drop dead into the bush of roses you kept in tip-top shape. Your windowsills were decorated with countless white pansies annealed by indigo blue. Aziraphale's favourites. For Satan's sake, you didn't move on. Not by an inch, just like Crowley.

Watching drunk women in their natural habitat was an activity Crowley found utterly endearing. After conquering the front door, you'd kick your heels off in the hall and let go of your purse with a loud bang, drunkenly leaning into the wall. Since you invited him in before, stepping through the door wasn't a fuzz. The aura of your house was nice and uplifting - as Aziraphale put it once, this place was loved. It was mostly tidy with only signs of actual life (such as a few used dishes and unfolded clothes and blankets) ruining the picture-perfect setting. Even though Crowley was into modern and darker colours, he had to admit that creamy pastel colours and cottage-core-like furniture and decorations had their charm.

A large comfy sofa dominated the living room. Bookshelves filled with cookbooks, fiction and plastic categorizers (supposedly for all your tax files and papers connected to the bakery/coffee shop) framed most of the walls. As far as Crowley was concerned, you must've had an obsession with scented candles. Those bloody things were plastered all over. As the Demon studied your home, you'd collapsed on the sofa, furrowing at the screen of your TV - typing with your controller while having over-the-roof alcohol content in your blood was fucking difficult. Soon enough, you'd put the remote down victoriously, music filling the silence.

"Coffee?" - You'd ask over your shoulder, taking off the uncomfortable pencil skirt - revealing a pair of biking shorts underneath. "Would be lovely, yeah." - The Demon nodded absentmindedly. He'd take off his sunglasses and blazer to mirror your actions, the act feeling domestic - like coming home after a lifelong party. It reminded Crowley of Aziraphale's Soho bookshop and all the emotion coming with it. Now, however, Crowley didn't feel like a bloody piece of shite.

Even though you'd been blasted, your work with your little homey coffee maker set on the kitchen unit wasn't short of graceful. The process was obviously itched into your brain - you didn't need to watch your fingers, your eyes narrowed, humming some song. Frankly, Crowley liked watching you grinding the beans, measuring, sticking your tongue out, taking a long breath with your palm on your waist... Fucking Hell, weren't you a dolly bird? And wasn't Crowley a silly little man bewitched by you?

"Six shots of espresso?" - So you've remembered his order, even though you couldn't even look straight. How sweet. "Don't complicate it. I'll have whatever you're having." "A cappuccino! Wouldn't that be weak for a di-distinguished co-cono-... Bloody hell, can't even speak." - You giggled so hard you couldn't finish the sentence. Crowley suspected you were trying to say 'connoisseur'. "Cappuccino will do. With a splash of chocolate syrup, if you have some? Thanks." - Crowley retorted, having your head pop from behind the machine. If you wanted to poke fun at his sudden change of preferences, his eyes let you forget it.

This was the first time you saw him without sunglasses, Crowley figured while returning the stare with a subtle grin. Keeping intense eye contact with you for the first time was uplifting. Now, you could see Crowley's soul, just like he spectated yours earlier. Eye for an eye. Soul for a soul. Your head leaned toward your shoulder, your interest peaking. Watching your sweet smile widen had Crowley's heart skip a beat. You were dangerous without knowing so... So bloody dangerous.

Frankly, you liked his eyes - you hadn't personally seen anything so out of the ordinary before. Katie, a huge sci-fi fan, spent a lot of time on various cons, showing you photos of people with elaborate costumes, outstanding makeup and special lenses that changed their colour and shape, in some cases. It was cool. Of course, you'd also seen such makeup on the internet, but there was something about Crowley's eyes, something the cosmetics couldn't substitute.

Reptilian eyes, you smiled, somewhat fitting for a Demon. The slithers widened and contracted, adapting to the contrast of the dim lighting in your living room and the sharp white light in the kitchen. The eyes of a snake never made you feel fuzzy... Until that night. You could understand why Crowley wore the glasses (even though, let's be honest, he wasn't obligated to in the modern day), but it was much easier to determine and understand his thoughts when he didn't. His eyes were so affectionate, deep and... Luminous. The principality in front of you was a former angel, you remembered, of course, that his eyes reflected millennia of memories, emotion and experience. Suddenly a part of his unapprocheability was gone, undermined by a sense of vulnerability.

The shade of yellow felt oddly familiar. It was comforting - your mind automatically associated it with safety, even though you didn't own a thing in this specific shade... Or remotely close to it. The revelation hit you like a fucking train. Your stomach contracted with pain, palm clumsily shooting up - letting out a batch of steaming hot water from the coffee machine's frother. Drunk women in their natural habitat - your moods were bound to switch, Crowley remained himself.- "Fuck, sorry." "You scald your palm and apologize? You humans... It's the eyes, innit?" "No." - A resolute no. It was definitely the eyes. "Should I put the shaders back on?" "That's not it! Your eyes are fine! And I want you to feel comfortable... It's, yannow, a safe space here and all that jazz." "What threw you off, then?" "Can you let it go?" "No?" "It's nothing - I'm just fucking smashed." "You sure?" "The walls." - You muttered as Crowley joined you in the kitchen, watching as you reached for cups, wobbling on your toes. Without a word, the Demon pushed you back to the ground and started pointing at various mugs - his eyebrows curling up and down as a means of non-verbal communication.

"Walls of what?" "Isn't it obvious?" "Do I look like 'it's obvious'?" "The rooms. It was everywhere. Even on the fucking duster..." "Could you not speak in riddles, luv?" "The Bookshop!" - You'd mutter angrily, pulling the mugs out his palms and strutting back to the coffee machine. "What about it?" - Crowley retaliated, shaking his head in confusion. "The colour of your bloody eyes - the paint in the bookshop. In my former bedroom, on the bloody duster, the lights..." - Shaking your head, you'd start frothing the milk skillfully, movements memorized to a dot. - "He'd always said his favourite colour's yellow. Now I know why." "Oh."

Crowley deemed it best to leave you in the kitchen, so he'd sat in the living room, sprawling on the sofa. Soon enough, you carefully brought the mugs, set them on coasters and next to them, you set strawberry Angel cake you'd presumably also crafted by hand. Aziraphale's favourite - of course, you learned the recipe by heart. Of fucking course, you'd bake it on the anniversary of his leave. Realizing how precious you were made Crowley wish he could take some portion of your pain on himself.

"How are you holding up, lass?" "Shite." - You'd scoff in response, rubbing your eyes. - "Would you mind if I take a shower?" "Absolutely not." "Do I smell that horrid?" - Ah, there you were - the flirty, giggly drunkard. Mood swinging, Crowley chuckled. His response was automatic, he didn't even register the words leaving his mouth. "You smell like you always do." "I don't usually smell like vape and cheap liquor." - Sending him a smile, you were already standing on the heels of stairs. The Demon realized his response could disclose facts he wasn't ready to face himself, but he said it anyway. "... But you always smell like vanilla and blooming flowers." "Someone's perceptive. It must be the bakery rubbing on me... And my shampoo, I assume. Anyway, I'm off... Peak freely to wherever. No secrets around this house." "I'm good."

Even to his surprise, Crowley sat on the sofa like the good boy he ought to be, sipping on his cappuccino while listening to the album you left playing. The Demon always assumed he was a man of good musical taste. He'd enjoyed listening to soul, lately R&B in general, and sometimes jazz and rock classics, such as the Beatless. Crowley would even put on modern music from time to time, enjoying the 2000s' Scottish and British scene post-punk era - when nobody knew the sounds the crowds wanted. One of his latest additions to the collection was 'AM' by some Sheffield blokes.

The album you put on was, however, smoothing his soul. It was rock, that much was for sure, but it wasn't as loud and fierce as, for example, Queen's sound. Half of the album's tracks went by before you came back, Crowley idly listening to each one, stomping his foot in the hypnotic rhythms. Dressed in a comfy pyjama set, the undone makeup swept off your face, hair tied up in a towel. The shower seemingly helped with sobering.

"You let Fleetwood Mac on?" - You wondered, collapsing on the sofa next to Crowley with a heavy, relaxed sigh. Fuck, you felt heavenly. - "I always play Rumors when I'm too stressed." "I can see why." - Crowley nodded thoughtfully. - "It's rather cheerful. Anything wrong with leaving it on?" "Nothing, I'm simply surprised. I'd assume you'd put on The Kooks or Sex Pistols?" - Sending him a smile, your ankles swung atop the coffee table as you grabbed a slice of cake along with "I strike you as this kind'f bloke, hm?" "Have you seen your outfit?" - Crowley scoffed, nodding. Fair point. "First impressions are always deceiving." "Mhm. Agreed."

The conversation unravelled itself. Just as both times before, the factor of enjoyment he'd felt while talking to you caught Crowley off-guard. When there were moments of silence, they weren't awkward but relaxed. Neither of you searched for words for too long, anything forced or uncomfortable. And your laughs? Pure, genuine gold. Crowley liked making you laugh - he liked the spark in your eyes, colour returning to your face as you covered your lips, your shoulders shaking. You were funny, too smart for your own good and your views of the world were grounded, but wise and agreeable. It was easy to see how Aziraphale spent centuries with your soul without growing bored. As the night progressed, you'd gloss over many topics - such as music, fashion, food, art and most importantly, romcoms. While you were fierce about 'Notting Hill' being the best you've seen, Crowley was more of a 'Pretty Woman girly', as you named him.

Naturally, the more you sobered up, the more you came to. Your expression grew more serious and tired every five minutes... Until you sobered enough to talk about memories and the past. You'd been on a third mug of coffee, the clock announcing 5 in the morning. To Crowley's surprise, you hadn't talked about Aziraphale at all - there was a melancholic smile on your lips as you described your former house, your family and mainly, your grandma - the sole inspiration behind Baked Bliss.

"She'd always baked for my school events, best strudels I've fucking tasted. And don't get me started on her Christmas sweets, man. Fuck, she was the greatest baker ever. Everyone called her Ma Baker for that." - You muttered, not expecting Crowley to appreciate the joke - if he was as old as Aziraphale, he surely wouldn't get it either. And yet, the man smirked, shaking his head. "Ah, that's a sneaky reference. After the Boney M song, I assume? Must've been a hell of a baker. Meanest cat of ol' Chicago town." - Crowley recited, reproducing an awful American accent. You'd snort in amusement, making Crowley's grin widen. "Her biscuits were to die for... That's where our catchphrase comes from by the way." "Stroke of a genius, that one. 'tween you and me? Yours ain't half bad either." "Was that a backhanded compliment? I'm honoured." "No." - The Demon muttered, sending you an amused look. - "That's a regular compliment, lass. Take it or leave it." "Might as well, no?"

As you continued nodding at Crowley's compliment, a playful smile painting your face, both of you felt the atmosphere shift. You furrowed, letting your eyes glide across his form for the first time. Sure, you remembered how Crowley looked like, but... Never paid much attention to it. Just like with the Angel, Crowley felt celestial and eternal. He'd had the aura of a millennia-old soul, but it hadn't matched the seeming purity of Aziraphale's. There was something wickedly fun about Crowley. He was the cool guy you always thirsted after but never talked to - the person you wanted to befriend but never got the balls to address. And yet, even through his apparent wisdom, there was something boyish about his smile - something rascalous, adventurous and curious. Crowley's eyes, reminding you of liquid gold in the dim lighting, also reflected his inner child and its naughtiness. Your heart skipped a beat.

His face was fucking pleasant to look at. Sharp features created a perfect picture, the rascalous smirk tying everything nicely. You liked it when Crowley smiled, you realized. You'd seen him ironic, snarky, annoyed, angry and melancholic - but the genuine relaxation suited him. And... His body was also very nice. Aziraphale mentioned all Angels were 'issued' a physical body, proving Crowley always had a sense for drama and fashion. Anything he'd wear would pop... Especially when taking it off. The last thought had you choking on your coffee.

Based on your flustered expression, parted lips and darkening eyes alone, Crowley would consider paying any price to hear your thoughts. The time flew at its own pace as your eyes hypnotized him - he'd remained seated (one arm thrown over the back of the sofa, face turned to you and a daring smile on his face) and maintained eye contact with equal absorption. You were utterly dear, sitting on the sofa's edge with your mug between your fingers, wet hair farming your face and legs comfortably stretched. As you gathered enough courage to articulate the words in your mind, Crowley's attention faltered, his head turning to the TV at the speed of light. A new song was playing - the one he'd heard earlier that night.

"That's it!" - Crowley exclaimed with amazement, looking over to you, pointing at the telly. "Huh?" "That's the song... From the club." "Yeah, that's Franz Ferdinand." - You agreed, looking at him. - "What about them?" "Their sound and energy are rather catchy." - The Demon explained, sounding convincing enough for you to nod in agreement. There was no way he'd openly admit to being sappy. So sappy, in fact, that he decided to put this song on his personal playlist just because he'd first noticed how beautiful when it played. - "What's its name?" "Yeah. They always make the crowd erupt, especially if the crowd consists of drunk women." - As you chuckled, a long yawn announced the end of the night. - "Take Me Out." It was Crowley's turn to 'Huh?' you. "Name of the song... It's Take Me Out." "'f course." - He would, Crowley realized, or at least heavily considered doing so. Where were these thoughts and urges even coming from? Dearest Hell, Crowley must have lost his marbles from all the grief and pain.

"Well..." - Yawning again, you put the empty cup on the coffee table, picking yourself up from the sofa. - "That's my signal to head into bed. Be good to yourself and head to the guest room. This sofa's no good for the back." "Might as well." - The Demon guessed, following you to the second store. The stairs were framed with dozens of pictures - of you, your family, friends, important life moments and him. Of course, you had a picture of you and him. And bloody hell, Crowley even stopped to ogle at it. The two of you standing side by side created perhaps the most attractive pair Crowley'd seen.

The Demon assumed it must have been one of those shop owners' association meetings - you were standing in front of Nina's coffee shop (back when it wasn't Nina's shop), dressed rather informally and yet, surely stealing all the thunder. Both of you sent a bright smile to the camera, Aziraphale's palm gently snaked around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. Your forget-me-not blouse matched Aziraphale's bowtie and his beige shirt matched the ribbon woven into your hair. Sappy couple bollocks, Crowley grinned. Let alone that happy wide smile and a quirky pose... You looked like a fucking goddess. And Az... Well... He looked as dashing as ever.

"Oh." - You sighed, noticing what had stolen Crowley's attention. The Demon was worried you'd burst into tears. Instead, you smiled stepping down to him. You'd straighten the frame with your fingers, sighing. - "It was a nice day, that one." "Yea?" "Mhm. There was this meeting in Soho and he invited me to as the bookshop's co-owner... He introduced me as his girlfriend for the first time. It was a play pretend, but I had fun." "Play-pretended you were his girlfriend?" - You looked like the best thing ever happened to that poor bastard, Crowley thought. "No, silly. Being the bookshop's co-owner. But, most swore Aziraphale's gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Nearly brought them a heart attack by pulling me off." "Ah see. Glad to hear that." - Crowley muttered with a serious expression. The Demon was sincere. - "Lead the way."

Shortly, you'd open the bedroom door for him, showing him the fully equipped room - even though you couldn't know Crowley's taste, this room suited him. Again, it felt loved. The wallpapers, fabric, and furniture were meticulously picked with attention to detail—from the mirror to the curtains and decorations. A few Poes and Kings, accompanied by the Discworld series sat on the shelves. Even the bloody lampshades suited Crowley.

As he smacked his lips in disbelief and glanced at you, he realized you were already ogling at him with a wide, warm grin. - "Told you so, Anthony." - You'd never called him by his chosen name, but it felt so cocky when you did. "You hadn't said a thing." "About the roomie thing." "... You were serious." - Crowley furrowed, his eyes boring to yours. You nodded mindlessly, sending him a smile. "Problem with me is... I can't come up with proper bollocks, even when zonked. I mean everything I say, even remember it the day after. Oh, the shite I've spat during my college years fucking haunts me. You can trust me, you know?" - It was a rhetorical question, sure, but the Demon wasn't far away from answering. 'I don't, actually,' he wished to say, 'but I'm starting to believe I could'. - "It's a part of human nature to consider loneliness and feeling unwanted the most horrible poverty. This bedroom's yours and the door to my home will always be opened for you... I bloody mean it."

The man straightened, took a long breath and simply looked at you. Everything of importance was alluded to in his eyes - all the love, gratefulness, pain, grief, suffering, but most importantly... Sense of belonging. "Thank you." - He'd mutter simply. "Good night, Crowley."

The morning was quiet, slow and calm... As was usual in this corner of Oxford. The Demon slept for three bloody hours - after that shite of a nap, he remained seated on the bed, knitting his fingers nervously. What was he to do now? There was no way in the world he'd just skip down the stairs, singing at the top of his lungs, giving you a full-blown Broadway performance... Despite Crowley being fairly sure you'd enjoy such theatrics.

To count the facts, he was nested in your bed. It wouldn't be off-topic to mention the bed was in a guest bedroom personalized for him... By his lover's ex-girlfriend. If that alone wasn't a shit-storm, Crowley would better mention he'd also realized how wonderful you, Aziraphale's ex, were. Not only wonderful but also bloody beautiful. Crowley was losing his mind and roots because you were blowing him away. The panic fully settled as he heard you walking down the stairs, yawning, preparing coffee - given the clacking of porcelain, you brewed two cups. The Demon had to leave. Now, before he'd see you and your drowsy, vulnerable and definitely adorable form. In the other case, if Crowley would accept the mug of coffee and everything it presented, there was a chance he wouldn't leave... Ever.

Crowley'd given you a proper fright as he stormed into the living room, hastily putting on his glasses and throwing the blazer over his shoulders. Keys to the Bentley were hanging on his index finger, clacking as they swayed around. Something was off. Even though your relationship wasn't anything special (it was just beginning to develop), the absence of eye contact and lack of acknowledgement felt weird. The Demon was keen on any form of contact, you learned so far - Crowley's head darting in all directions as you set the coffee in front of him with a sweet smile rang all the bells. "Thanks for letting me stay the night." - No nickname either? Strange. "Uh-uh. The least I could do after dragging you all the way from..." "Nae bother, don't mention it." "Did you sleep well?" "So-so, 't was fine." - That bloody tone didn't match Crowley and the state of your friendship either. "Well, nothing a cuppa wouldn't make better?" "I'd better not. I have... Places... To be." - Oh, that hissing just gave him away. This was an excuse. With that, he nodded over to the entrance. - "I'll see myself out, no need to make a fuzz out..." "Listen, are you mad at me?" "Huh?" - The Demon finally paid attention - he was with you, still doing his bloody best to look everywhere but at you.

"Did I do something?" - Well, except you were positive you couldn't have. You both slept for the past four hours. - "Or said something you didn't like?" "Why would you think that?" - His tone heavily hinted at the inner turmoil - should he leave before giving you a chance or sit down, accept the coffee and see where it all goes? What was appropriate for you? Which would ensure your safety and comfort? "The attitude you're giving. The vibe's off." - Despite your best tries at easing the tension, Crowley's expression hadn't budged. "Told you I have places to be." - Crowley explained, tapping his fingers on the table. The longer he stood in the living room/dining room, the less he wanted to leave. Your scent lingered all over, details he hadn't noticed last night coming through - Crowley soberly realized he loved your home and its energy. It felt safe. Aziraphale nor the past could get to Crowley while under your protection.- "... Didn't say it would be pleasant."

"Oh." - Sadness crossed your face as you fought to keep the smile on. With a jolt of new-found energy, you picked yourself up and walked to the kitchen, fetching something. - "There's this little something I'd love to give you if you're in a hurry. It'll surely make your travel a bit less insufferable." "Don't bother, sweetheart." - Before you returned Crowley was already out the door, strutting down the driveway. The Demon prayed you wouldn't try calling out for him, but in the next second, all he could hear and concentrate on was that sweet, high-pitched...

“Crowley!” - You cried, standing in the doorframe. The Demon stopped, keys jingling between his fingers. Before falling asleep, Crowley vowed he wouldn’t turn around and look at you in the morning. No matter what would happen that morning he wouldn’t face you. The Hell could break loose for all Crowley cared but he wasn't allowed to look you in the eyes. So far, he was strong - but the tone of your voice was weakening his determination. It was plenty enough that he was tempted more than once in the last five minutes alone, this moment was crucial in defining the next course of your relationship.

Meeting you sober but broken was one thing. Escorting you home while you were zonked beyond reason was something else. Talking to you while you sobered and cried was, again, an utterly different occasion. ... But seeing your drowsy vulnerable form Crowley dreaded. If there was a quality about you the Demon learned so far, it was your resilience and forcefulness. You were nothing short of a fighter who did her bloodiest not to succumb to loneliness and abandonment. And the Demon liked to think of you as such. Seeing your morning face would shake everything up.

One particular fact Crowley was positive about? Everyone looked softer in the morning. No matter whether Angel or Demon; feminine, masculine or androgynous; everyone’s features changed into something blissful - to what God planned for her creations to truly look like. Whether it was the messy hair or patterns of crumbed sheets printed onto one’s face, flushed skin drenched in soft sweat, mismatched socks or missing pieces of clothing, Crowley didn’t know. The aura was simply different. Softer. Warmer. Inviting. Worth falling for. In this case, your eyes would be the trigger, that much was Crowley sure of. It would be those bloody eyes - those two beautiful marbles reflecting the entire bloody universe accompanied by lazy batting of lashes and a sleepy stare. It would pave Crowley's road right back to Hell.

He heavily debated on whether to turn around. All the colliding emotions clashed inside him, putting him in the middle of a figurative storm. The Demon and his company couldn't be the best you could do and yet, he gravitated back toward the house - mainly to you standing in the doorway. He'd pay a mighty price for spending another night talking to you, learning about you and just doing stuff with you. But wouldn't that condemn you to a path Crowley tried to avoid? Could you remain friends, which would let him oversee your happiness? How long until you'd see too much of Aziraphale in him? How long until you'd throw him away? And yet, you’ve resolved his conflict so simply - all it took was to call his name again for the Demon to finally give in to the temptation. Fuck it, Crowley thought, the Hell could swallow him whole for all he cared. With one motion, he'd turn on his heels, take off his sunglasses and strut right back. Since you remained on the porch, the Demon had to look up... And he found the sensation amusing. Just as he feared, you were darling - face sleepily flushed, hair put into a messy style, plushy robe sliding off your shoulder. Just as he worried, the sight of you was godly.

“There’s this something I’d like to give you. Prepared it before I hit the sack.” - With a proud smile, you handed the gift over, watching Crowley's reaction. He'd spin it between his fingers, furrowing. “A… CD? What’s that about?” “You said you’d never heard of them - until yesterday. That base riff you went off about? Well, I wanted to thank you for all the care. It's just a memento.” “Hits To The Head by Franz Ferdinand?” “My very own copy - bought it on a filling station two years ago during a late-night trip to Warwick. Track 2, if you're wondering, that's the one... And maybe you'd also like track 12?” - You winked, pulling the plushy robe back on your shoulder. Oh, for the love of Satan, you were dangerous. Very dangerous. Fucking temptatious.

It took a lot of Crowley's will not to ask you to hop into the Bentley and invite you for breakfast somewhere in London where you'd be isolated in public, so you could share stories and simply talk and get to know each other better... And not even for Aziraphale's sake, but for Crowley's. Not asking you out so he could freely stare at you was almost at the brink of Crowley's inner strength. Instead, he'd nod and lick his lip, bouncing the CD on his fingers.

"Could I see you again?" - The Demon muttered, his eyes boring into yours. "Manageable." - Sending him a flattered smile, you hugged yourself as you bounced on your heels expectedly. What were you expecting, that Crowley didn't know. "Soon-ish?" - Crowley continued guessingly, clearly pushing some invisible boundary. "How about you just say soon?" "See you soon - sounds better to you?" "It sounds perfect, Crowley." - Nodding you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. - "I'll text you, okay?" "Looking forward to it." "Drive safe, please." "Always, joy." - With a last demonic grin, Crowley bowed his head and walked toward the Bentley.

With a sigh, Crowley looked at the CD and then the stubborn Bentley. There was a matter to be solved. “Listen here, punk.” - The Demon hissed as soon as his arse touched the leather seat cover. Bentley’s motor fired up despite the keys hanging off Crowley's finger. The resilient car surely gave him a good old mean look, likely thinking 'Spill it, old man'. “We’ve got this CD from her.” - Pointing toward your house, Crowley was sure the Bentley knew well who he had in mind. His other palm waved around the Franz Ferdinand CD you’ve gifted him. As if the car realized, it suddenly felt timid, the motor purring silently. - “Don’t you dare turn it into The Best of Queen. In case you’d act funny, I’ll make sure to get your seats dusted.”

Part III: The Discovery (A Strange Addiction) February of 2025, Oxford, England:

Bumping into Anthony J Crowley in your vicinity became a regular occurrence almost strangely fast. Nothing about your friendship felt unnatural or rushed, the two of you just jumped over milestones others took months and years to accomplish. It was as easy as breathing having Crowley around. For you, at least. Katie commented on the matter at first, but she soon learned how to appreciate Crowley for who he was - especially after his tips started to make a considerable portion of her tips for the day. The two of you regularly argued about his paying ethics, but the Demon refused to admit he was in the wrong. Other than that, she'd also learned to like his personality and cutting sense of humour.

Soon, Katie wasn't even surprised when she ran over to yours during the latest run of Love Island just to find Crowley spread on the sofa with a facemask, hair in a towel, dressed in a plushy robe as you painted his nails. Usually, he'd also hold a glass of Merlot in his other palm, lamenting about the contestants. It was a routine, a habit, nothing out of the ordinary. Katie didn't comment on the oddity and speed at which you grew closer - the old you was shining through around Crowley. You beamed, seemed well-rested, happy, eager to humour and be humoured, and became interested in topics you seemingly lost interest in... With Crowley, you simply let time and life flow at its pace, enjoying the little things.

The Demon quickly became a third wheel in your friendship - an utmost welcomed one. He'd hang about most of the time and honestly? Anything was as fun when he wasn't around. You'd opt for various activities - singing while he played the guitar, filling out taxes, movie nights, cooking sessions, watching pouring rain sitting on your porch while drinking hot cocoa, take-out nights and many more. Crowley even took the two of you fishing, for Hell's sake - the photo of you freaking out (dressed in waterproof, sunshine yellow bib & brace) with Katie screaming in the background was currently on his lock screen. You'd just caught your first carp in that one. Your most prized moments were your late-night joyrides around the countryside - you'd mostly drive your Beetle around, listening to your playlists while chatting about anything and everything. While Aziraphale was a creature of habit, mostly well-predictable and calm, Crowley was a sucker for sudden change of plans and last-minute calls. His spontaneousity rubbed on you, letting you enjoy the freedom and adventure.

There were lots of last-minute outings Crowley talked you down to, such as your midnight trips to London - you'd walk around, talk, enjoying the metropole slowing down for a bit. The city had a different atmosphere during nighttime and you were a sucker for it. You'd taken many pictures during said trips - selfies, Crowley taking photos when you wouldn't pay attention or having tourists take them... You've had it all. Your camera roll was filled with him, Katie, aesthetic photos and baked goods for promotional materials... And you loved it.

The man spent an ungodly amount of time over at yours - whether you had horrendous-sounding karaoke sessions, watched the latest romcoms or simply talked, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that you two were together, exchanged thoughts and opinions and got to know each other. He couldn't count the number of nights he'd stay over, carrying you to bed on most of them - always spending a good minute getting strands of hair out of your eyes and tugging you in. When Crowley wasn't over at your house or became busy (doing mischievous deeds, you assumed), he'd at least drop by the bakery for coffee. It was just a poor excuse but neither of you disputed it. Disputing such a weak argument was like walking on thin ice - it would destroy the illusion of you being 'just friends' and hanging out because 'you simply enjoyed each other's presence, nothing more to it'.

Crowley noticed how you looked at him and giggled at his jokes. He'd have to be blind to overlook your eyes fondly copying the curves of his face whenever you'd assume he wasn't paying attention. He'd have to be an absolute moron to ignore how you lit up whenever he'd give you a compliment. And an absolute bloody wanker to overlook how cosy and relaxed you were around him. The Demon didn't go as far as naming the reason behind your mutual behaviour, even though it was painfully obvious. Katie saw it. Your employees saw it whenever they'd have to endure yet another of Crowley's 'coffee visits'. Your customers saw it whenever Crowley leaned over the counter and sent you a mischievous smile with a cheeky compliment. Explicitly naming this banter and tension was out of the equation. Naming the feelings and suggestive hints would also mean Crowley would admit his feelings... And as mentioned, Crowley wasn't a fan of naming and all the additional attachments.

Both of you knew something was unravelling, an unnamed emotion hanging in the air and chose to live with this knowledge. We're in a bloody rom-com, Katie muttered once - hitting the nail on its head. Watching romcoms, in general, was your go-to activity. Crowley, despite his goth attire and 'Hell can lick my arse' attitude was a sap under the wraps. You couldn't count the times you'd watch him cry over Notting Hill or argue with Reneé Zellweger when you opted for Bridget Jones. He'd also recite some of the quotes he liked daily. When the nights grew dark, you'd idly sit on the sofa and sip wine, candles shining through the darkness. A few glasses deep, Crowley'd bump his head into your shoulder (usually criticizing the main character's behaviour), silently asking you to play with his hair... And you happily obliged each time.

The atmosphere would get heavy whenever you got to the mornings, though. The sight of drowsy Crowley wondering about your place and trying to find something to eat got you feral at times. Loving Aziraphale was easy, soft and warm - but Crowley, dear God, was great at starting guttural reactions that threatened to burn you alive. Whether he was innocent in all this (you doubted) or did it on purpose, you didn't know.

More importantly - did he even know what sex was? Was it a viable option for principalities or did they evade it altogether? Did they feel such needs? You and the Angel did all the cutesy couple things, of course - you were aware holding hands, cuddling, kissing and making out wasn't off the table. The flame was there (palpable) and the line was almost crossed before he left - meaning you didn't actually learn how it worked Could such behaviour be explored and discovered? You've been informed it was mostly you who taught Aziraphale about humanity, specifically the pleasure of physical touch such as embracing and kissing. Was Crowley, to put it simply, a virgin? Since you never asked and didn't want to bother Crowley, you never chose to act on your instincts. Those usually consisted of stripping Crowley out of his damn fucking pyjama bottoms and preferably taking him right there and then, anyway he'd like. Since you couldn't speak up, you usually just bit your lip, shake your head and run off to work. There was no way Crowley didn't see you were ready to head right into the ER each time he'd send you a coquette smirk, drowsily standing in front of the coffee machine.

It became a habit to pick you up after your shift in Baked Bliss - it wasn't hard to hear Crowley coming either. First, there was the squealing of Bentley's tyres and just a second later, you'd recognise Franz Ferdinand playing on full blast, windows rolled all the way down. It wasn't unusual to spend evenings in London either, just walking about and talking or going for dinner. The first time Crowley suggested Ritz (fucking Ritz) as your dinner destination... Let's just say, that after seeing (and hearing) your reaction, he hadn't the balls to suggest it again. Ever. You'd find spots of your own, though, a few nice pubs and fast food stalls framing the collonade around the Thames.

The Bentley also became your good friend, no matter how mental that sounded. When Crowley muttered 'f course you're going to behave when she's around, ungrateful bastard' for the first few times you drove in his Bentley... You'd swear you're crazy. But over time, you learned the Car behaved a certain way, depending on whenever you were around. There were afternoons when Crowley went on and on about how insane the Car was, what dog pieces it had trotted and how misbehaving it was. And yet, whenever you hopped onto the co-driver seat and smoothed its leather seats and dashboard, the Car behaved like a well-raised kid.

The first time you realized Bentley was its own entity happened when you were waiting for Crowley to finish some business, scrolling through your Instagram as you waited about. The motor suddenly came to life, purring like a little kitten - playing you a couple of romantic ballads. Ever since knowing God, Angels and Demons exist, a Bentley with its own mind and consciousness wasn't nearly enough to throw you off the rails. You, in fact, started befriending it - figuring out what car scents it likes, what treatment it welcomes for its leather seats or what programmes it prefers at the car wash. If the Car liked you before, it was surely obsessed with you by that point.

"It's a ladies' night." - Smirking at Crowley, you picked your pieces and started putting them down on the board. The Demon knew what word you were spelling - the childish grin and tongue poking out your mouth always gave you away. With a certain level of disappointment, he started writing down points for the word 'arsehead'. "And... Where's the issue?" - He'd mutter in response, not even looking at you as he started planting another word on the board. While your words mostly consisted of profanities, Crowley's were mostly non-existent. But since he was an eternal principality, he'd always managed to justify his spelling.

"The point of ladies' night is... That it is for the ladies only." "I'm technically not a male." - Crowley objected. "But you're technically not a female either." "I could be." "Oh, come on. You truly don't have to go to such lengths." "Clearly, I do." "Or, you could stay home and watch the Holiday as I recommended?" "Where would be the fun in that?" - Crowley argued, clicking his tongue as he finally finished 'camelopard'. You didn't even bother objecting, just shook your head and let him count his points.

"What would you even do in a club?" "I'm a Demon, joy." - Crowley muttered half-assedly and watched as you tried figuring out what curse word hadn't been put on the board yet. Watching your eyebrows crook was delightful, the task genuinely absorbing you. - "Believe me, I'll figure out a thing or two." "Yeah, but..." "Drink and dance, preferably,'s that what you want to hear? What on Earth are you planning to do there?" - This question caught you off-guard. Good question, actually. What was your fucking plan? Preferably chatting up someone (anyone) who'd distract me from my obsession with you, you wanted to say. Someone I can act out my fantasies with because I don't know if you'd be into it and having you in my life is more important than ruining 'us' with low, human desires. And yet, you just smiled. "Having the entire club perform a choreo to Murder On The Dancefloor. Been a dream since I was a babe." "Ah, surely." - Crowley nodded, scoffing with disbelief. - "Am I invited, then?" "Crowley..." "We never clubbed. Could be fun!" "Crowleeeeyyyy...." "Please, pretty please, please, please, please, I'll do the dishes until the end of the month." "Two." "Month and a half?" "Two. Last offer." "Fine!" "You're in, love." "Wahoo!'" "Don't get ahead of yourself." - You hissed, rolling your eyes. The Demon sent you a victorious smirk, leaving your head vacant for a few beats. This damn man could be so annoying at times, especially at getting what he wanted. And blood Hell - didn't he memorize everything that softened you up rather quickly? This man had you in his palm. - "You can come along! But it's a ladies' night. Fuck, you can be annoying, you know that?" - You emphasized with a serious expression. Crowley nodded like a happy-go-lucky idiot. - "And... What the fuck is a camelopard?"

"Where's your beloved roommate?" - Katie wondered as you both sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Crowley to arrive - not the iteration of him you were familiar with, but Crowley nonetheless. As usual before going out, you started warming up with a few shots of vodka. Seeing your house empty was eerie at best. In Katie's eyes, you've already become a double-pack, not to be seen separately. This girl was your biggest shipper, constantly going off about whether he'd already confessed - for you to shut her down immediately each time. If she'd have to be honest, she'd been expecting wedding invitations anytime soon. Katie wrote down an entire list in case you'd be looking for babe names. Therefore, not seeing Crowley around made Katie physically uncomfortable.

"Oh, he has some business in London. Needs to wrap it up. Nothing to worry about." - Giggling uncomfortably, you'd pour down a shot of vodka. - "His twin sister is coming along, though." "Crowley has a twin sister? That's the twist of the century." - The girl hissed in disbelief, pouring a large shot down her throat right after. - "Never mentioned her... What a bastard." "Yup." - You nodded, playing along. - "He'd run his mouth so much she's apparently dying to meet us." "That sounds believable." "What do you mean?" "Who wouldn't want to meet us? Looking like a piece of cake, both funny as shit, businesswomen atop that... We're the catch, sister." "And I'll drink to that." - Before you could toast to Katie, however, the doorbell rang - excusing yourself, you ran off to open the door.

All the words in the world felt meaningless just after you opened the door, meeting face-to-face with the Demon. All sense evaporated as your eyes took in Crowley's feminine form. If Crowley usually brought you to the brink of going feral, this upped it a great notch. All you could muster was an awkward gawk and your mouth opened agape, not a word or articulable thought. He was delightful. Tempting. And very sensual.

Crowley's height remained the same - all 185 centimetres in their full glory. His figure and silhouette, however, shifted - the Demon possessed a pronounced waist and subtle, round hips. The stance and mannerisms felt familiar, but that's where the similarities ended. Crowley went as far as putting on killer heels, prolonging his already endless legs and instead of demonically tight jeans, he was showing off a very tight and very short cowl skirt. That tiny piece of clothing left nothing to the imagination and copied his newly obtained waist and hips in a way that made you salivate. As you moved up to his satin top, you were ready to be rushed to the ER. It was masterfully tucked inside the skirt to highlight his newly obtained feminine virtues. And the lace framing his cleavage? M A Y G O D F U C K I N G H E L P Y O U.

Even if the body changed, his facial features remained familiar - killer cheekbones, sharp lips and the kindest, prettiest reptile eyes filled with jitters, just how you liked it. You had no idea how he fucking managed, but his make-up was flawless - the contouring, highlights, blush, masterful choice of intense red lipstick... Bloody fucking hell, Crowley turned into the most tantalizing woman you've met. Let alone the make-up, he had long hair now. Waves of flaming red cascaded down his shoulders, bouncing up and down in curls as he leaned his head towards his shoulder, studying you as well.

"You good, joy? Seems your eyes are about to pop out." "Hmhm, yes, very good." - The longer you watched him, the more hot and bothered you became - sweat formed on your back and travelled down. Each drop tickled you, pushing you further to the edge. "See anything you fancy?" - The Demon murmured, lips pursing in a cocky grin. "Don't cheer yourself up, love." "So you don't?" "Hadn't said so either." "Oh, I know - you look like it." "Excuse me?" "Point is - is this feminine enough, your Highness?" - Crowley whispered, sending you a playful smile. His voice remained the same, but you'd swear it was sweeter, fuller now. As if he covered each word in honey. As he leaned closer, his perfume soaked into your nose. Fuck, he smelled so good. "Uh... Ye-yeah! You're definitely granted entrance into the ladies' club." - With that, you let him in, hypnotized by the perfect curve his arse swung in. Not only were you gawking at male Crowley, but you were even more mesmerized by his feminine form? You were so fucking done for, a hopeless mess' what you were. When 'Crowley's sister' appeared in the doorframe, Katie lost her speech (just like you) - the girl simply stared at the newcomer, taking them in. The woman scoffed playfully, leaning her shoulder into the wall.

"Hey there." "Oh." - Katie sighed, taken aback. - "S-sorry, it's just... The two of you look and sound so alike and it's..." "Ah, don't you worry, darling." - Crowley laughed, waving his hand playfully. - "People usually react like this when they meet me. I wonder what stories my baby brother says 'bout me since they're blown away each time." "He... Doesn't really talk about you much." - Katie stuttered, watching you down another shot of vodka. As the duo chatted, you had a small existential crisis - how you planned on surviving the night was beyond you. Concentrating on Crowley when he was so beautiful was plentiful enough, let alone when you'd have two perfect distractions under his collarbones. Damn you, damn him and damn everyone.

"I see. What bratty punk he is - always been. Rest assured I'm the better twin..." "Katie, nice to meet you." - They shared a handshake, Katie clearly unable to turn away from his eyes hidden under elegant sunglasses framed with gold detailing. "Lorelei." "Uncommon name." - Katie commented, her eyes darting to you. 'Are you seeing her?' her gaze asked 'Is she even real?'. - "Has a ring to it, though." "Our... Mother was fond of mythical and biblical names, that much's true. Anyway, let's not dissect that. Crowley asked me to be your driver for the night." "You staying sober?" - You wondered, catching Crowley's attention. "Don't be silly." - Lorelei squealed, laughing. - "I just know how to tip-toe the line, 's all. Are you girls ready?"

"But that's like... Super irresponsible." - Katie muttered, having Crowley stop in his tracks as he gave her a furrow. "You're safe. I know what I'm doing. Done it a dozen times before, this won't be any different." - Little did Katie know that the Demon could drink four endless buckets of Margarita and sober up in a minute on the dot. Neither informed Katie about this skill of Crowley's, not even now. All three of you soaked into your Beetle, Crowley automatically taking the driver's seat with you following suit, sitting right next to him. Despite looking entirely different, he'd performed the rituals and mannerisms Crowley'd always kept when driving your car - gently setting the rearview mirror, croaking the window open, straightening the seat... It was comforting.

"Crowley wouldn't have this." - Katie continued to protest. "Allow... What exactly?" "What had he told you about this girl right here?" "Her name's Y/N and she's wonderful - simply a delight to be around to quote. All I need to know." - Lorelei explained swiftly, sending you a sweet smile. So, you naturally smiled right back.

"And he clearly left out the juiciest bit." "The juiciest bit?" - Lorelei repeated, amusent clear in his voice. "He fancies Y/N quite a lot. That leads me to a conclusion - Crowley wouldn't stand for anyone hurting a hair of her head. Not even his sister." - Katie explained topically, stopping Crowley in his tracks. The Beetle halted with tyres screeching, everyone bouncing on their seatbelts. He hadn't answered right away - just pursed his lips into a straight line and stared out the window absentmindedly.

He fancied you. That much was factual. He'd also deemed it mutual. Based on your actions and behaviour confirmed as much. Being called out, however, wasn't pleasant. Katie's statement brought a whole new dynamic into a situation Crowley deemed deeply personal and intimate. Until Katie busted his bubble, he factually accepted his infatuation with you without stopping to think about it - it was as natural as sunlight. Hearing someone else poking around your personal business put everything into perspective.

If Katie knew, you must've known by proxy. Sure, he realized as much but never stopped to think of it. Hearing a confirmation so loud and crystal clear... The Demon didn't know what stance to take. He wasn't the best at talking about emotions. Crowley was, factually, quite terrible at it. And the last time he'd done it? Oh, boy, didn't it backfire? There were instances when it would be perfect to drop the bomb - like last week, when you strutted around the house, performing Queen's Break Free solely for his amusement. Or when you baked - both of you dressed in preppy aprons, beating about in a dough that turned into absolute shite. The sun shone through the windows highlighting the dust particles hovering about, the smell of blooming flowers and butter soaking through the kitchen. He'd look up at you to see you covered in flour and jam, furrowing while re-reading the recipe, trying to figure out what went wrong. It almost slipped past his lips. You looked like an angel. You'd also had perfect moments to open up the topic. Crowley saw the look in your eyes, that moment when your brain blanked and went 'oh'. Why did he recognize it? He'd had the exact same moments. But the push and the shove never came.

Why was it so difficult to make the first step? What could go wrong? The Demon was positive he wouldn't lose you even if he'd misinterpreted the situation and context. You'd navigate through it and communicate about everything, like every time. His eyes slipped in your direction, his chest growing tight. What a joy you were. Half a year ago, Crowley wouldn't suspect he'd make you this happy by sticking around. He'd stick to sipping while you'd go about your life. You were thriving, far removed from the ruin of your former self. What if he'd fuck it up? Everything that mattered to Crowley in the past always ended the same - in flames with his heart crushed to pieces. It was his bloody destiny as Demon - to be unforgivable, always take the last punch and end up alone. For the fucking love of God, Crowley couldn't do it again.

Aziraphale's presence was palpable; as if he was sitting in the car with you. That's why he never introduced you, surely. The Angel must've predicted the outcome. Aziraphale'd unknowingly built soft, invisible and impenetrable barriers between the two of you, ones Crowley didn't dare to cross. Said barriers weren't in place to protect Crowley - the Angel was protecting you from all the destruction Crowley brought. And Crowley would rather become an angel than fuck this up. Your expression and gaze made Crowley's heart skip a beat, pressing the wedge even deeper. That fucking light in your eyes intensified, the beauty of the universe coming through. The look was heavy, filled with adoration and hope. Expectation. Once again, Crowley didn't know what exactly were you expecting. He was positive, however, he wouldn't deliver.

"Those are some strong words." - Crowley hissed as the Beetle took off, his tone emotionally flat. His reaction surprised you, so you stared at the beautifully cut profile of his face. These slightly softer features suited him greatly. "Why do you think so?" - You asked, whispering. "I'm not sure my brother's got the guts to fancy anyone after what went down last time." - He muttered, putting the radio on, trying to escape the conversation.

You've never dissected what went down between him and Aziraphale. It was clear you've been on opposite sides of the spectrum. While you forgave Aziraphale and understood his decision, the Demon hadn't in him to simply let go. While you shared your history with the Angel openly, Crowley would rather rip his heart out than talk about that bastard. That meant you didn't know what went down in the Soho bookshop. You weren't aware Crowley laid down his cards and offered Aziraphale all of him. He'd give the Angel his heart if he wished so... Just to be rejected for 'the greater fucking good'. You didn't even know about the last-ditch effort Crowley sunken to. The Demon didn't disclose he'd kissed Aziraphale. You didn't even know that evening nightingales stopped singing for Crowley... Until recently, that was.

"Oh?" - As usual, you were ogling your eyes at him, face flustered as you innocently waited for an explanation. One you weren't to get. Hope and expectation in your face subdued. It dimmed, all of the wishes turning into an iteration of disappointment. "Anywho, let's not ruin our night by thinking about this, hm?" - His tempting smile returned as he winked at you. Crowley put both hands on the wheel, leaned his back into the seat and started to push the gas pedal to the floor. 60mph wasn't fast enough for his taste, but it was decent. - "Let's have a fun night out. And Katie, love, I promise I will only drink mocktails." "Deal."

Promises in general weren't Crowley's thing. He was horrendous at keeping them, as any reasonable Demon would be. This explained why he managed to down four Long Islands and six shots of rum barely an hour and a half after you entered the club. Frankly, you hadn't been sober either. Most of your drinks were paid for by handsome strangers who did their damnest to chat Crowley up. And... Who wouldn't? The Demon was a bombshell, a catch of the night if you'd have to admit. Knowing how the men behaved and looked at Crowley gave you a run for your money. Jealousy, jealousy... Katie parted ways with the two of you a few minutes after you entered - she'd bumped into some of her college friends and asked you if 'it was fine to have a drink with them'? Crowley's presence suddenly made your evening much more enjoyable.

"I like this place." - You admitted as you sprawled on the bar, Crowley holding another drink. A Mojito this time. "'f course. Knew you would, that's why I picked it." "A big party animal, are you?" "Occasionally, yes." - The Demon admitted, running his tongue on his lower lip as he looked around. - "Partied with all sorts of people." "Oh?" - Intrigued, you'd move closer and waited. Even though you'd talked all the time, Crowley never mentioned he'd gone through a 'party girl era'.

"Royalty, corporate animals, celebrities... You name it, really. 't was fun." "Comes as a part of the job when you're a Demon? Parties must be a great place for temptation and mischief." "You're tight 'bout the second part, but no. Not really, was just bored." - Sending you a warm smile, Crowley giggled. Just bored, so he decided to party with the royals? Who in the right state of mind could say that? - "This is already so much better." - The soft 'bettah' complimented with a warm gaze gave you butterflies, stomach erupting with waves of soft warmth. "How come?" "Company's much better around these parts." "You flirt..." - Laughing awkwardly, you took a long sip of your drink. - "That's the alcohol talking, trust me." "No, it's not, I promise."

"Humour me this, then..." - The warm glimpse in your eyes was back as you raised your gaze to him, moving closer. The perfume hit your nose. It differed from his usual smell - this scent was sweet and truly intense, sensual. Fitting with his new look. - "Why are you one foot out of the door?" "Huh?" "Why are you half in and half out?" "... Out of what?" - Crowley muttered, realising well what you were getting around. "You and me. It feels like you can't make up your mind. There are moments when I'd swear we're much more than friends then snap and it's like you wish you'd never met me. I'll respect if you tell me you don't wanna cross the threshold, but..."

Crowley's eyes opened wide as he looked down on you. If he'd put his arm a bit higher, you'd be cuddled up in his arms - that's how close you were. The expression on your face showed all the enjoyment you found in Crowley's proximity. The expression in your damn eyes shook the floor under Crowley's high heels - all the infatuation and desire palpable in your gaze. If Crowley wasn't scared and reluctant to break the walls and move into the next stage, he could smooth your cheek, simply lower his head and steal a kiss from you. It would express more than the Demon could ever say, especially about how much he loved you. Love. Love... Could it be? Was it truly love? Were you two ready for the truth? Would the truth hurt that something unravelling between you? What if Crowley was just a selfish bastard terrified of loneliness and rejection? Was that why Crowley couldn't let you go? What then? Was it love if he wanted you to be his, be with him, smile at him, love him... Or would this love just damn you to all eternity? Just like the Angel's did?

The expression (love) resonated in his head, your face moving a bit closer, time moving ever so slowly. Your eyes travelled between his and lips, a soft smile spreading on your face. Since he wasn't flinching, you assumed Crowley wanted the kiss too. The tips of your fingers even brushed his neck, caressing it. Suddenly, you heard a snap, the atmosphere in the club shifting drastically. DJ started frantically searching about as people put their drinks down and walked towards the dancefloor. You, despite not wanting to, stepped away. His body shot straight up as he woke from the trance, putting his Mojito down. It wasn't hard to guess what happened - the sound gave it away. It was engraved into the back of your head. It differed from the sound Aziraphale used to make, but you weren't stupid. The silent, soft 'pink'. Aziraphale rarely Miracled around you, but he helped you when there was too much on your plate. Most of Aziraphale's miracles were small - 'barely half-a-miracle!', the Angel used to argue.

Confusion filled your expression as you turned around, hearing a synchronized thud - Murder On The Dancefloor taking over the speakers. "What have you done?" "Whatcha mean? "Stop. Let me... Let go of my hand, Crowley." "I can't." - The Demon muttered, turning you around until you landed in his arms. "Crowley?" - His palm took yours as you felt your body inexplicably waltzing into the middle of the dancefloor, some higher power leading all your steps. - "Tell me you didn't miracle everyone in the club to dance out a choreo to Murder On The Dancefloor. Tell me I'm just drugged out of my fucking mind." - With that, everyone stomped the ground and clapped loudly, the music picking up.

"Joy, I..." - Crowley's palms reached for yours as he cuddled you into his chest, soft boobs bounding on your back as you danced out the choreo. Just like in the video, you thought sourly. "Are you seriously that afraid of rejecting me?" - You hissed as you looked into his face, Crowley's complexion turning a few shades lighter. The Demon turned you around animatedly, dragging you across the floor. "What in the world do you mean?" "You could've said no, you see?" - Putting your palm on his shoulder, the entirety of the club started spinning in pairs. - "Instead of this." "You said you'd like that." "I was joking, you twat." "I panicked, alright? That's it!" - Putting your palm on his lower back, you dipped him - just like the rest of the club. "Why would you panic? It's a yes or no question! And given how long we've been talking..." "Because I'm afraid this isn't the best for you..." - Crowley muttered, the chorus blasting so loudly you couldn't hear anything. Without a sweat, the Demon lifted you off the ground, spinning you around with your buttocks propped on his forearms. - "And the possibility of me not being the best for you mortifies me... Who am I kidding, I'm not nearly enough. Never been. And he knew. Never introduced us for a reason." - He whispered as you leaned into his chest again, clapping in the rhythm.

"And was Aziraphale the best for me? Was I truly the best he could do? Were you the best he could do?" "Seemed you were a match made in heaven. That's how you always went about it anyway." "Knowing we're compatible and work great together doesn't mean everything's perfect! There's no such thing as 'being the best'. Relationship requires constant fucking work, improvement and mutual growth. Everything's about the imperfections, actually. Those make it or break it." - Waltzing around, your nostrils were getting ridiculously huge. You were pissed. - "And for your fucking information, we work incredibly well, Crowley, if you hadn't noticed. We can grow, you see? We can work it out. You know - love's never perfect. It hurts. It's sad. It's filled with passion, drama and small infuriating details. It'll bring you to your grave... But it's fun. It both takes and gives; makes you rush and slow down; learns and teaches. It makes you fly in the skies. It sets you ablaze... That's also love. And that's what you deserve." "Y/N, luv, I... I..." - Crowley was choking on his words, panic almost sending him into fainting. The air was hot and heavy, the sounds too loud, your chest pressed to his, your arms clumsily hugging his waist as you led him across the dancefloor... Too much. It all was too much. - "I can't." "I see."

Two words, four letters and two syllables. Just this little to nearly bring Crowley to his knees - tears rolled down your cheeks as you continued with the choreo, the song progressing at its own, cheerful pace. Your expression almost tore Crowley's heart apart, your moves becoming animated as you let the Miracle do its thing. How quickly and simply you accepted his refusal was graceful, yet devastating. "It's not that I wouldn't want to..." "Crowley, I understand and beg you... Don't explain. It'd cut even deeper." "I doubt you can imagine how horrifying this is for someone... Something like me. I'm scared that..." "You've said enough." - Clapping into the rhythm, you also refused to look at him as you continued to dance, tears completely deforming your vision. - "As you've said before - let's not ruin our night. Forget it. I'll just need a moment to breathe." "You know I..." "Not so sure anymore."

As the song ended and the Miracle faded, your body instinctively pushed away from Crowley's. You'd speed away, drying your tears. You'd zigzagged across the club, bump into people, just rushing your way forward. You pondered about you and Crowley in this sense lots of times in the past. As said, the tension was mutual. And you could understand he'd be scared to let himself go - especially after what Aziraphale'd done to him. Over the past few months, you've learned to know Crowley - step by step, you figured out how to live next to him, to understand him and love him. He was... Specific, to say the least. A millennia-thousand-old Demon, who would've thought, huh? It wasn't always sunshine and rainbows and there were concepts Crowley's brain simply couldn't comprehend. But you found all these small pieces endearing. And there were certain moments when you'd swear Crowley felt the same about you. It was in his eyes, his actions, smirks and overall behaviour.

It took a long time to figure out how to approach him and even longer to bring it up. Right there, back at the bar? You just offered Crowley everything, all of you - your heart wrapped in velvet for safekeeping. You put your entire friendship on the line for a few heartbeats, to see how it'd turn out. Getting a reality check and hearing one of the answers you've dreaded hurt. Being rejected was painful. Heartbreak was one hell of a bitch. You've only stopped once you walked into the dark, freezing night. The snow drifted quietly as people smoked and chatted, standing around the entrance. One of the girls (a very pretty blonde) noticed your running mascara and approached you. She and her friends carefully wrapped you into her blazer over your shoulders and put her pack of cigs before you. You accepted without a word, simply hummed. "Fuck 'em silly little boys, huh?" "Yeah... Fuck 'em." - You agreed, taking a long drag. Drunk and smoking... Jesus. This was possibly the lowest of lows you found yourself at. "Attagirl."

The group was kind enough to treat you to a drink, staying with you until you deemed you were ready to face Crowley. You'd find him dissociated in one of the boxes, straw from another drink hanging on his lips. The Demon was sipping like his life depended on it. Sending him a tired, sad smile, you'd join him - stealing one of the drinks before him, sitting next to him, bumping your shoulder into his. He wouldn't speak at first, just leaned into the leather upholstery with a sour expression, waves of red hair cascading on his shoulders.

"How are you holding up?" - Sending him a careful glance, you smiled. It was a tight, miserable smile; but it was a clear peace offering, "Not holding up at all, haven't in the last few years... I think." "Couldn't have been all that miserable, was it?" "Oh, the last few months were brilliant." - Crowley admitted, pursing his lips - like a child fighting tears. - "... Just had to ruin it, silly ol' me." "Ruining is a strong word, truly." "You reckon?" "Can't force yourself to be with someone you don't really wanna be with. That's okay. We're still friends and that room's yours, if you want it." "I'd love nothing more." - There it was - the careful shoulder bump back. - "And for the record, you're wrong. Plain wrong with the first one." "Huh?" "I'm not sure I can explain - I would love to, trust me... But can't." "We have time. It's okay, Crowley." - The hope in your eyes was back, breaking Crowley's heart in halves. How much would he have to stomp it and snuff it out for you to understand? He was everything but the right choice.

"How long we have, you reckon? Eighty years?" - Scoffing, Crowley shook his head as he looked away. "That's a lifetime." "For you, maybe. For me, it's just a regular Friday at the gig. Will pass before I blink." "We can figure it out... And we will." "Joy, stop it." - The Demon hissed, having you straighten up, your eyes opened wide. There it was - caution as if Crowley just tried striking you. - "You better concentrate on yourself and your life. I'm not him and I won't ever be." "Nobody wants..." "I'll go take a piss." - Crowley hissed, drunkardly stomping off on his high heels. You'd sit about for a bit, trying to hold off the tears and panic overtaking you. When you felt like you won't fall flat on your arse, you'd go to the bar... And met a handsome brunette man who addressed you a few seconds later, making you smirk. Perfect.

Let go, just let go, you bloody moron, he'd mutter to himself while drying his hands - the jewellery clinking on his wrist. Stop thinking and jump in. Julia Roberts does it and Reneé too. She's good for you and you're good for her. All thanks to her, you can look yourself in the eyes for the first time in months. That girl stuck it out with you through thick and thin... And hadn't left. You've got through the worst together. "Shut up!" - He'd hissed at the mirror, taking a long breath to calm down - the entire bathroom was staring at him breathlessly. All the girls furrowed, one of them quietly approaching. A pretty, petite blonde with a tailored blazer. - "I won't fucking stand for this." "Oy." - The girl behind muttered, patting his shoulder. - "You fine?" "Dandy." "Let me guess... Boy trouble?" "Something like that, yeah." "We won't fucking stand for this, you're right. Wanna talk about it? Might cheer you up." "Well..." - Crowley took a second to think it through. He might as well. - "I've been told someone loves me. The trouble is, I'm not good for them. It's someone I cherish and hope to keep safe..." - Crowley admitted, breathing panicly. Drunk girls in a club's bathroom. What a cliché. - "I ken I'd ruin them."

The blonde watched him with empathy and compassion only drunk women shared, going as far as to lean her temple into his shoulder. If he'd be sober, he'd just push her away. Now, a humane touch didn't feel so bad. "That's just the alcohol talking, girly." "My point... My point is - I'm a Demon, a literal one. I lie, trick, manipulate and cause havoc.'s what I do for a living." "You're a girl boss, then. You go, girl." "... And she's a gentle ray of sunshine, so fragile and precious. Knows how to make me laugh, to take my mind off things and for the love of... That hot cocoa." "She's into it, then. Been a long-time occasion, you two hanging about?" - Another woman stepped in, caressing Crowley's hair and adjusting his skirt.

"Last few months, yeah." - Crowley admitted, nodding at the women. - "Almost every day." "See, honey, if she wasn't into..." - The girl muttered, gesturing to contain Crowley's entirety. - "... Into this very sexy package, she'd ditch you a long time ago." "But... I'm a lot. Annoying, moody, broody, my humour's cutting edge... No idea how she could tolerate me that long, but I feel like I'd dissipate if she left. The worst part is she only has about eighty years to live. And I'm selfish because I can't leave. That's what you people call toxic, innit?" - Crowley argued.

"Babygirl, people call it co-dependency these days. And let me tell you - she isn't as perfect as you think. None of us are." - Most women in the bathroom hummed in agreement. - "Most people are toxic in a way, we just love to think we aren't. Most of us find ways to curb the toxicity... And so will you." "You reckon?" "Yeah! I imagine you'll work it out together." "Look at me, darling." - The blonde smiled, turning Crowley to her, adjusting his clothes and jewellery, setting his glasses straight. - "You go find that girl and reconcile. With a kiss, preferably." "That's not appropriate." "Little kissy-wissie's always good. Gets the dopamine going." "... And then, you'll talk it over in the morning, sober. Trust her. She hadn't left yet - why would she now? You're obviously worth it." "I'm worth it." - Crowley repeated, enchanted with the magic of drunk women hyping and lifting one another in the bathroom. Witchcraft -must've been. "Hell yeah, girly." "That's the spirit. Go get her, tigress."

With a newly found confidence, the Demon strutted through the club in search of you. He planned to come up to you and kiss you like the Hell would swallow him whole if he didn't. Then, Crowley'd make the grand confession. By the end, the two of you would become an item. How hard could it be? Crowley was worth it. He had what it took to make you happy. Most importantly, you weren't Aziraphale - you already confirmed and proved time and time again you'd picked Crowley's side over anything. You wouldn't leave him, not like the Angel did. With you, he needn't be as worried.

His heart jumped when he spotted the bar, lovely as ever. Until the reality check hit. A man (a fairly handsome and well-built one in all fairness) looming over you with one of the filthiest smiles Crowley had seen on a mortal. Nearly drooling too. No wonder there - you looked like a goddess in the deep purple and green lights, especially with that sweet yet tempting smile.

His eyes widened upon a sudden realization, the high heels suddenly feeling unsteady. The 'click' from months ago made its presence known. This is where it was fucking headed. The longer he'd watched you two, the more upset Crowley was. Demon's palms sweated, itching to punch your new male friend square in his jaw. Everything about that situation, from your comfortable and captivated smile to the guy confidently complimenting you, infuriated Crowley beyond reason. Until this very evening and all of its revelations, Crowley liked you in the overall sense of the word. The former principality viewed you as a close friend - a safe harbour he could dock in. Your home became his. You were a good friend towards whom he sometimes felt an inexplicable sense of attraction... Which friendship hadn't awkward moments such as these?

Looking back, it couldn't been entirely ordinary. The signs were there all along, now that Crowley thought of it. Heavy looks while watching romcoms, inconspicuous forms of physical touch - you'd pat his knee or Crowley'd lean his head into your shoulder so he could inhale your scent while you'd play with his hair, your heart rate picking up anything he'd do so. All the fuss you'd make when you'd bump into his sleepy, drowsy form in the morning - the twinkles in your eyes, flustered expression, silent sigh, a bit lipe. You'd always excuse yourself and run off to work. And, mostly, your expression anytime someone asked Crowley if he's taken/if he fancies anyone or is free to go on a date. The emotion Crowley couldn't pinpoint was jealousy. You'd wait for his answer breathlessly, hanging on his lips until he conjured that demonically handsome smile and refused the offer.

The Demon sucked his cheeks in and pursed his lips, his nicely-filled eyebrows shooting up as his palms slid over his snatched feminine waist. Fucking jealousy, he thought sourly, shutting off some drunk bloke who came up to chat him up - even before the stranger said a single syllable. Living among humans finally started taking its toll. If Crowley wished to live among your kind, he had to learn how to run like it. Over millennia, Crowley discovered step by step what makes a human... And yet, he'd still bump into topics that left him confused. Certain emotions specifically.

He'd felt jealousy only a few times in the past and it was directed towards Aziraphale each time, mostly rendering it pointless. The Demon always patted his back - he thought he was good at controlling it. Now, he wasn't so sure. His patience was wearing thinner with every passing second. This jealousy felt justified. Someone stepped on 'his' territory and chatted up the object of 'his' interest. That bloke's been all over you, miracle he hadn't shoved his tongue down your throat.

Opening up to human ways of life also opened doors Crowley would've rather kept shut. Next to deep, platonic love, there was also its verso. Physical attraction, desire, lust... Whatever you'd like to name it, this was possibly the first time Crowley personally clashed with this aspect of humanity head-on. The thing about sex or physical attraction was that Crowley rarely felt such urges. Very rarely rather than sometimes.

As a Demon, he wasn't a stranger to any of it. Even though there wasn't an instance where he'd physically take part, Crowley was familiar with temptation and lust. The Demon was decent at awakening such feelings and desires in others when an effort needed to be made. It saved a lot of bloody time, especially when he'd have to report to Hell. Flirting sped up Crowley's 'grand projects', like the construction of M25. Being desireful and sin-worthy made manipulation much simpler. Crowley kept an objective outlook on this spectrum of activities, never taking an active part or wrapping himself up in it. He typically stood back, in the shadows, only taking the flirting and pleasures of the flesh to a certain point before stepping on the brakes and ejecting out of the situation.

But as he watched the bloke's hand caress your shoulder, Crowley discovered he'd do anything to be your suitor. Did it really take a third wheel for Crowley to realize how much a bugger he's being? Did it also need a whole bathroom of tipsy women to realise he's enough? Your infamous lip bite was on as the stranger whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his palm carefully resting on your silky skin. As you giggled, your palm reached for the bloke's elbow - your nails digging in. The sight and observation created a tight knot in Crowley's body; one he was itching to relieve... With your help, if you'd be with it. Was it always like that? Were you the fuse to Crowley's powder? Well, what would happen if you added some friction? Rest assured, a part of Crowley lived for arsonism and fireworks. And the two of you, well... You'd work it.

"Hey!" - Crowley'd strut next to you with the fakest half-assed grin, giving your suitor a death glare. - "I spent nearly twenty minutes running around, looking all over for you." "But you... Knew... I was here?" - You mumbled back, letting go of the guy. - "You left me here when you went to..." "Think I've had enough." - Crowley emphasized, leaning his head toward his shoulder while staring at you. The waves of red flaming hair cascaded over his shoulder, leaving you breathless (again). The Demon was fucking beautiful. - "Could we move on?" "Where to? Sorry, Dennis, I..." "'s fine." - The bloke laughed, offering Crowley a handshake. - "Nice to meet you, you must be Lorelei. Y/N told me she's here with friends."

"Ah..." - Crowley hissed, shaking Dennis' palm without care. As Crowley palmed his waist and protruded his gentle shoulders, his feminine truly appeared formidable - especially while he ran his tongue on his teeth, watching Dennis like prey. - "'s the bloke bothering you?" "What?" - You squealed, mouth agape. - "Crowl... I mean, Lorelei, what's gotten into you? Something happened? She's not usually like this, I swear." "Am I not, though?" - Crowley mouthed, sending Dennis an intimidating smile. "Don't apologize, that's a sign of a great friend!" - Dennis laughed, oblivious to Crowley's attempts at scaring him off. - "Girls need to look after each other, especially when they're so gorgeous." - The heart eyes Dennis gave you almost sent Crowley into the ER with a cardiac arrest. Was this even legal? Your giggle, on the other hand, dug Crowley a nice comfortable grave.

"Well, I'll let you two enjoy the rest of your night." - Dennis chuckled, leaving the bar. In all fairness, he seemed like a good catch; someone Crowley could see you with. The vibe was right. - "You got my number written down, yeah?" "Mhm." - You nodded. "I'll text you tomorrow to set it up?" "Sounds good!" - Kissing his cheek, you'd wave Dennis off and then send a death glare to Crowley.

"What in the fuck is your problem tonight?" "Let me drive you home. Let's chat." "Katie's still somewhere..." "I'll make sure she gets home safe." - Crowley muttered, eyes boring into yours. "You Angels and Demons and your supernatural mumbo jumbo." - Stomping out of the establishment angrily, Crowley sheepishly followed your lead, sobering up. This sort of conversation was to be had sober. Instead of the red Beetle, the Bentley was waiting for you two streets away from the club - almost eerily quiet and obedient. Pissed it got replaced, you thought.

The drive was uneventful, (silent) with a gas pedal on the floor, 90mph on the tachometer, Crowley furrowing, covering his mouth with his palm. You were pissed off, staring out of the window, clicking your tongue ever so often to remind him you sat next to him. The moment he entered your house and the door closed, you were bringing the entirety of Hell on his ass - didn't spare a breath before doing so. Everything felt hazy. All the emotions and confidence seemingly left Crowley as he started turning into aroused, drunk fucking mess. His cheeks were dark red as he stared at you, mouth opening and closing. Only 'uhm's and 'erm's coming out of his mouth.

"Can you tell me what's all this about? I'm drunk, confused and fucking pissed beyond belief." "Listen, I know it's complicated..." "Complicated? COMPLICATED my fucking ass, Crowley. Are we playing hot and cold? Or do you just fucking enjoy changing your mind every three seconds?" "I'm not great at communicating emotions." - Crowley admitted, nodding to both, taking the heels off. He'd sit his ass on the sofa, massaging his face as he looked at you standing in the hall. - "And I'm sorry, okay?"

"Oh, that was a half-assed apology at best." - You hissed back, shaking your head. "You're right. Is that what you wanted to hear? You're right." "I wanted to hear 'you're right' approximately three hours ago. I regret to inform you it's a tidbit too late now." "We're here." - The Demon argues with confusion, looking around - clearly taking the piss. - "We're sitting in your living room, communicating. Like Nina taught me." "Who is... Nevermind. I have a date planned with Dennis." "Huh?" "I said you're late."

Except... Crowley wasn't late and you knew it. The Demon would never be late. He could never be late in your eyes. No matter how toxic it was, you'd forgive and take him back any time. That's how much in love you fucking were. Absolutely fucking enchanted with this principality before you. This argument, however, was about your pride. The pride Crowley ripped apart repeatedly throughout the night. Hearing 'you're right' from Crowley felt heavenly, and realizing he was ready to negotiate and communicate felt good. It didn't, however, change the fact you were upset. This entire night was a fucking rollercoaster... You just wanted some fucking peace.

Sure, this was an interesting start to a relationship, but it was a start at least. A fresh one for both of you, far away from the Angel. A garden constructed according to your liking. A safe, loving place for both. This night needed to smooth and sizzle out first, however. You weren't giving into the warmth in his reptile eyes just because he looked at you pretty. Fuck that.

"Late?" - Crowley muttered. You barely heard it. "Are we acting surprised now? Did you hear yourself throughout the night? Pfff, I don't like you. Oh wait actually, the company's 'bettah' here. Oh no, I wanna be all cool and mysterious and not answer, let me just force people to dance to Murder On The Dancefloor! Actually, let me drink my heart out. Óh wait, you found someone who'd help you forget for a bit? Let me ruin that too." - Spitting word after word in a horrible Scottish accent, you threw your shoes off, stomping into the kitchen to make coffee. Crowley listened to the clinking of the porcelain. A rock fell off his chest when he heard two clinks. "Can you just... Give me a bit of time?" - Oh, his voice soft and expression gentle... Crowley was ready to beg. "For what? Crowley, you've had five hours to step up already. And you dodged left and right, back and forth. Saying something one moment and something opposite the next one." "Listen, look at me, please." - Stepping into your space, the Demon reached out for your palms, scratching your soft skin with his painted nails. Crowley was warm like a summer storm and his skin was as soft as satin. The touch and the sight of it almost sent you through the roof. Fuck. You two were holding hands in your kitchen.

One moment, Crowley was ready to scream into the void and world, to inform everyone he was irrevocably, inexplicably and ineffably in love with you. He could feel the words forming on his tongue, verbalizing and materializing - everything he wished to say, everything he should've said a long fucking time ago... It was there. In the last second, Crowley's lips sealed shut as he glanced at you, the courage evaporating. You reminded him of Aziraphale. So fucking much it hurt. The scar Crowley carried over his heart opened again, making his nose crinkle. The entirety of the universe shone in your eyes, lips slightly parted, the gentlest fucking expression on your face. Fuck, you were so beautiful.

He'd been here before - figuratively holding someone's hands, ready to confess and pour his feelings out. He'd also gone through with it last time - and where did it get him? To alcohol and misery, that's where. How long before you'd deem him too annoying and grow tired? How long until you'd realize nothing lasted forever? How long until there would be no nightingales to sing? The scar was burning Crowley alive. Even though he wanted to confess so badly, these words didn't slip through his lips. His consciousness wouldn't allow it.

"I'm sorry for playing dodge with your feelings. I'm sorry for fucking up your big night. I'm sorry for being a burden and, let's be honest, hard work..." "Not for me you aren't, silly." "You should be certain before jumping into this, joy." - Vaguely gesturing, Crowley pointed at himself. - "I'm a bloody fucking mess inside out. One that possibly can't be fixed." "I'm fucking certain. We're both hard work, okay? Everyone is. And atop that, we're not rushing anywhere - this is anything we couldn't solve. We're a unit, you and I, remember? Best friends. It'd be a change, yes, but... Not a big one. Everything we need, we already have here." - Squeezing his hands, you took a step closer. Your face lit up with a big smile, eyes tearing up - make Crowley tear up too as he carefully smoothed your cheek with his thumb. Fuck, you were a heart-throb.

"Joy... A few months ago, you said you wouldn't find anything like him again and you were right. I said you deserved leagues better than what the Angel'd put you through - and what I'd put you through." "We didn't give it a try. You can't know that..." - Tears spilt out of your eyes without a warning as you hoped Crowley'd take it back. Each word suggested he's already decided, but his actions were contrasting. "Oh, but I can, luv." - The Demon scoffed, stepping aside. - "Hot and cold, said it yourself. I've broken your heart three separate times this night alone. Now that I think of it, I must've driven Aziraphale insane, repeatedly, but he had millennia to put with my arse. Frankly, he was stuck with it. You aren't. And I won't stand for you dealing with shite you're not bound to." "Crowley..."

"Y/N, joy, trust me... I want to kiss you so hard right now. And then, a part of me fears it'll ruin everything we've worked for. A year ago, I'd be brooding in a hotel room and stick to sippin'. Look at me now. Look at us. And look at you, you're thriving. Your bakery's booming. Don't let me ruin it for you." "Okay..." - You whispered, nodding, forcefully gulping. There wasn't anything more to say, nothing you wanted to add. Crowley didn't feel like it. End of story. In a last-ditch effort, you opted to stick out your pinky. - "Can we remain best friends, then?" "I'd love it if you have me?" "Always, Crowley... I'd have you in any lifetime and any form."

You'd regroup at the sofa after you texted Katie, Crowley sending her money for an Uber back. As it turned out, she'd stay at her classmate's anyway - leaving you to watch some late-night telly.

As noted, Crowley was atrocious with promises. Over the next three weeks, Crowley would stay in moderate touch, trying to find a solution - he wouldn't expose you to more proximity than he deemed appropriate (not even staying the night) but still guarded over you restlessly. He wouldn't accept your invitations for dinner or the newest Wife Swap episodes and always ran out of your house when he felt he was overstaying his welcome. Baked Bliss felt empty without him - there were new cakes you wanted to show Crowley, but he hadn't barged through the door. It felt like the Demon was nought but a distant memory, a daydream from another lifetime. Crowley wasn't mentally with you, even when you sat opposite or beside him. Sometimes, you'd swear you heard laughter carrying through the empty, silent house - reminding you of the memories and the friendship you developed. Crowley was your best friend, you meant it - and it hurt to have your best friend just slowly fade away. He'd feel empty sitting in his Bentley, watching your house turn dark as you went to sleep. This, however, was what Crowley wanted for you... Wasn't it? Some prince charming who'd sweep you off your feet, who'd make you happy and love you. You'd get over Aziraphale and peacefully live the rest of your days.

What about Crowley, though? He was in a shit fucking position - this grave was a great one, Crowley had to admit. Also, one he'd dug himself, as usual. Demons didn't deserve forgiveness or love - certainly not from someone like you. Keeping distance was for the greater good. Aziraphale would wish as much, Crowley guessed.

"Well don't you look jolly?" - A harsh voice muttered above as he sipped his six-shot espresso. He sat in Nina's coffee shop (still named Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death), staring at A. Z Fell & Co. Convincing himself he's doing the right thing was tough work, especially for a deem. "Everything's wonderful, just great." "You seem like it." - Nina muttered back, scoffing. It was raining, making the cafeteria vacant. Other than Crowley, Maggie was sitting at the bar too, one guest in the far corner. The Demon asked Muriel if she'd care to join, but she refused saying 'Not feeling like staring at coffee, Mr Crowley'.

"Haven't seen your face around for some time." "Yeah, I was busy. I'm not anymore." "What kind of busy? Hell-related-busy or..." "Met someone, actually." "Oh?" Nina paused, looking up at him. - "How's he like?" "... Aziraphale's ex-girlfriend, Y/N, to be precise." - Crowley clarified, both women staring at him wordlessly.

Nina let go of the dish she was holding, the porcelain cracking as it collided with the wood. Maggie also closed her laptop and started paying attention. - "An ex-girlfriend?" - "A woman?" - Both women whispered simultaneously, confused. "Yeah." - Crowley nodded nonchalantly. There was nothing to explain about the situation according to him. "And did you two... Get along well, Mr Crowley?" - Maggie asked, sending a quick look to Nina - the café owner was staring at Crowley, mouth open agape. That piece of information fried Nina's fucking wiring. Also, it didn't seem to register for the Demon, but it wasn't common for two exes of the same person to just... Hang about. "You could say that." "Met her as in..." - Maggie muttered, trying carefully to research the meaning of Crowley's 'meeting someone'. Given he was a Demon, it could've literally meant anything. The second woman just looked at Crowley to guess the predicament. Oh, may Nina be damned... "How long?" - Nina whispered suddenly, having Crowley look up innocently. Both knew precisely what she was asking - how long do you fancy her? How long do you know you're in love?

"Had a suspicion ever since we started hanging out. Realized it recently but can't quite..." - Gesturing, the Demon made an undefinable hissing sound. - "We tried talking it through, but that didn't fly well." "That's why you're here - for dating advice?" "I'm here because I can't overcome myself. It's hard to just dive in... Like you guys did. Look at you, you're thriving. The bloody bookshop makes my blood boil... Hoped it would give me the drive, you see? Also, there's a feral goblin inside me, feeding off my fear. That bugger won't let me say what I'd like to. It's mental, really." "So you did... Confess? That's wonderful!" - Maggie cheered, but Nina shook her head, pointing her index finger at Mags. It clearly wasn't all. "Half-assedly, three times in one evening, mostly drunk." "Oh, wow." "Yeah. And refused her offers simultaneously. 's a bloody mess, let me tell you" - As he muttered, his cell started buzzing, jumping about on the wooden counter. It was you - presumably wondering if he'd stop by for dinner. You've already called five times this week to get turned down each time.

Nina with Maggie following suit, leaned over and turned Crowley's phone. The duo scanned your contact photo and... Gods, you were pretty. No wonder you pulled both the Angel and the Demon, really. A stealthy killer wrapped up in lace and satin, a flower that'd make one lose their mind without trying. There was something about your eyes, so true and regal it warmed Nina's heart.

"Are you going to pick up the phone?" - Maggie wondered, her voice and expression soft. Empathetic. Humane. "I should... But I won't." - Crowley smiled, waiting until the machine stopped. - "She's going on a date today. Dennis. Big ol' fella, seems decent." - That son of a snake, Crowley wanted to admit. He'd rather swallow it, though. "How do you feel about that?" "How should I?" - Crowley grinned with a flabbergasted sigh. - "Well, shite, 'f course."

"It's a mess you've created." - Nina muttered, having Maggie click her tongue in disapproval. - "What? Is it not? Am I wrong?" "We're trying to help here, angel..." - Maggie sang out, trying to ease the tension. "Listened to a word he said, love? Girl'd confessed, multiple times might I add, and our lover boy over here did too. What's she calling for?" "Inviting me over for dinner, I'd assume." "Then why on Earth are you here?" "Because I'm late." - Every syllable in the sentence was well-pronounced, hissed with consideration. - "I'm always late, it seems." "To that dinner, you certainly are." - Nina barked back, shaking her head. - "You and Mr Fell don't seize to surprise me. Principalities my ass. You two behave like bloody teenagers. For someone so old, you seem to understand so little about love." "Really supportive, you. Start some sort'f counselling, for Satan's sake." - The Demon clapped back, rolling his eyes. The other much gentler woman sat next to Crowley, patting his shoulder.

"What seems to be the issue?" - Maggie cooed, sending Nina a death glare. Assuming she wouldn't be needed, Nina turned on her heels and continued polishing the porcelain. "In case you hadn't noticed, the last time I confessed it was pointless. There's a lot I'd like to tell her, but I feel the result will be the same." "Hm... Let's look at it from my perspective, yeah?" - Maggie smiled, sitting up. - "Right now, you're not late, just in the nick of time. I understand where your fear comes from - and it's not stupid or unreasonable. It's very valid. You've been hurt by Mr Fell. Everyone feels vulnerable after feeling such pain. But love comes with all sorts of aches, trust me, this won't be the last one. What you fail to see, I'm afraid is Mr Fell brought you together, but he doesn't have to be the reason to fall apart. He didn't hurt only you, but her as well. And for her, you became the reason for moving on it seems. What I think's happening... You're associating him with Miss Y/N, a wee too much and fail to see what you've truly found with her. I can tell she's special to you... Your reason to move on." - The blonde giggled, dimples forming in her plump cheeks. She looked like a mischievous kid, making Crowley grin back. "How can you know anything?"

"For starters, she might be the first contact on your phone to have an actual photo." - She'd point out cheekily. - "... It's the look in your eyes. And that little smirk when you talk about her. Hadn't seen it on you in months. Suits you." "Am I that obvious?" - What a fool in love... Wouldn't you look at that? "Not at all, actually. Tough nut to crack, but always willing to listen." "What's your advice, then?" "... Well, we've noticed you're prone to big romantic gestures such as the ball. The rain also, as you admitted last Christmas after five bottles of Cherry..." - Nine jumped back in, looking at Maggie carefully. - "Don't do that, Crowley."

"Confession ought to be a big, dramatic gesture. That's what I always thought." - The Demon argued, his eyebrows raised, taking a sip and looking at his companion. The trio began hatching a plan and Crowley became enthralled with it. "Movies make it seem like it must be." - Maggie admitted, having Crowley nod. Ah, for the fucking love of misconception and miscommunication... Why were humans and Earthy affairs so complicated? - "But that's not always right. That's how you went about it last time, isn't it - like go out with a bang type of situation? This, I believe, is the reason for your hesitancy and fear. A lot of people actually don't like it that way. Let it be small, easy to understand and intimate. Is there an interest you share?" "I'd say so." - In response, Maggie gestured for Crowley to continue, name some. - "We both really dig romcoms and reality shows. Then there's food - we talk about her bakery a lot, about other food too, and sometimes cook together. She likes skincare routines - makes me wear bloody facemasks, exfoliates my skin, and paints my nails. We like to set out on late evening walks... We always stop by the pond and feed the ducks." - Then, something clicked for Crowley, his eyes widening. - "We like music." "Oh, that could be fun!" - Maggie smiled. - "Any particular band Y/N likes?" "She listens to all sorts'f things, but there are bands she'd introduced me to. Oh, that could work." - Crowley gasped, his former energy seeping through the facade. - "Ooooh, that might as well work." "I got it!" - Maggie squealed, both Nina and Crowley looking at her with interest. - "How about you..."

An hour later, Crowley parked the Bentley on your driveway, smoothing his hair as he rehearsed the entire speel Maggie and he came up with. Nina more or less simply provided directional commentary, but was satisfied nonetheless. He'd stopped by a flower shop, the visit resulting in a bouquet of dark red roses in his palm. No grand gestures tonight, just the two of you, Crowley reminded himself, but a flower couldn't hurt, could it? He'd accepted your dinner invitation - therefore the mayonnaise in his other palm. And, just like the fool he was, Crowley also agreed to drive you to London for your date... A date you didn't know wouldn't happen if things go according to plan.

First, you wouldn't answer the knocking. Crowley knew how to open doors, didn't he? The least the Demon could do after two fucking weeks of dodging you for sport was let himself inside a house he practically lived at. After five minutes of extremely persistent knocking, you took a deep breath and nodded. So Crowley wanted to be petty like that, huh? Throwing your dishtowel onto the kitchen unit, you strutted over to the door, huffing angrily. When Crowley called you an hour ago (to accept the dinner invitation) it wasn't a win either. He sounded distracted and distant - mentally checked out. Therefore, you'd prepared for the worst-case scenario - a break-up. While not an item, this would be considered a good ol' regular separation.

It looked like you were ready to argue with Crowley when you opened the door and despite that, you looked delightful. Your apron covered the dress Crowley loved dearly, especially how it hugged the area of your waist. It also prolonged your neck and created a pretty yet decent cleavage. Based on your hairdo and halfway done make-up, you were getting ready while cooking, hinting at your inability to take a clear stance. Initially, you'd notice the mayo in Crowley's palm. The brand you loved most - Crowley had it memorized, naturally. Your eyes then slipped to his face, sharp lips and killer cheeks. His hairdo was neatly gelled, possibly also freshly cut and styled. Fuck, he looks good, you whinced internally. Also, was it a leather jacket you hadn't seen on him yet? Because bloody hell, you wished to rip it right off. Taking a breath, the first words formed on your tongue along with a furrow on your face - that was when Crowley's other palm carefully shook the bouquet, sidetracking.

"Oh, that's so pretty." - It was a soft, touched whisper. The anger disappeared, your expression subduing with flattery. Then, a jolt of jealousy flashed in your eyes. You were such a doll, Crowley thought. - "Who's it for?" "Ah, you see... It's for your Nana." "Fuck, I forgot you're hilarious." - Pure irony in that statement as you leaned into the door. - "Might be because I saw you for a grand total of ten minutes since the club?" "... It's for this pretty girl I know." - The Demon whispered, offering it to you. He'd struck the right cord, based on the sweet smile on your lips. You'd accept it - hesitantly, but you did. That was a good sign.

"Do I know her?" "I hope you do. She's it." - The sharp hiss of 'it' made you giggle, even. Oh, this was going amazing. Maggie would be enthralled with how good Crowley was doing. "Really?" "I'm positive." "And is there anything you'd like to tell the girl? Heard she's going on a date with a pretty chill bloke? She should be getting ready instead of chattering away with a certain Demon." "I asked her for some time. So I could clear my mind, you see?" "Naturally. Makes sense." "But she'd told me I was already late." "That's because she hoped you'd know you could never be late... Or too much... Or hard work." - Reminding him of your last exchange, you both smiled somberly.

"I'd love to tell her... The Angel might've brought us on the same path, but we've created this ourselves." - Crowley started with a heavy sigh, having you nod supportingly. Based on how restless he was (constantly stepping over and clearing his throat, throwing jazz hands about), you understood how stressful it must've been. You'd feel like a dunce in his position. The underlying importance of such a simple moment was palpable, having you stay silent. You liked this simplicity. "Then, she needs to know I was a bloody moron for thinking he has power over us." - The 'us' was so quiet and fragile, having you in tears. - "Truth is: the last time I've done this, it backfired. It sent me to ruins and made me hate the entire bloody world and everyone in it. Given our shared history with the same Angel, it took a bit to see things clearly, you see? Distinguish between where he ends and we begin." "That's beautiful, Crowley." - Your heart throbbed, tears silently running down your cheeks, your tummy and chest filling with heavy, hot feeling - love. The love threatened to overflow any second.

"See, the point is... Demons are unforgivable. We aren't supposed to have a happy ending, we always take the last punch, joy. And, just imagining that, umm..." - Crowley growled, jerking his head with a frown. He'd yank the sunglasses off, looking you in the eyes. - "... Realizing I might get that happy bloody evening, especially with someone like you - that's frightening. I'm a spooky fan, me, but for Hell's bells... Joy, you have no idea how brilliant you are." By that point, you turned into a crying, softly sobbing mess. We. Us. Happy ending. All those meticulously picked human terms made you weak in your knees. "And your brilliancy gives me the bloody chills. It oughta not to be real. Guys like me don't end up with girls like you." - Oh, that made you scoff - what a rom-com line. - "And, frankly, I always mess things up. Especially the good ones. I'm just..." - Crowley nodded, having you nod too.

"First, let me agree - Aziraphale's not here and didn't have any influence over us. This..." - You gestured between you. - "Is our creation. We dictate the rules. I just wish you felt like you could admit so and not just... Blame yourself or say you're 'difficult'. We could talk about it." - Gently tapping his forearm, you started smoothing it gently. "I know, I know, I know. But it's..." "Mortyifiyng? Feeling like tearing you apart? Making your head dizzy?" "Yeah." - Crowley admitted, a few quiet tears rolling down his cheeks. - "Is all this what being human means?" "More or less, yeah. You'll get used to it. Don't worry." "There's something else I want to add." "Go on, Crowley, I'm listening."

"Fine... Uhm... I don't wanna stand 'tween you and love, hun." - You couldn't control the disbelieving giggle leaving your mouth. Ah, this was getting sweet. Despite his statement, there he was - at the door of your house, a mayo and a bouquet in his palm. Could this get more domestic? - "... I just want you to feel fine." You understood what Crowley alluded to - if you wish, you could go on a horrible date with some bloke you didn't like and date him for a few years while not being truly happy. Crowley laid down his feelings and what he attempted now was handing over his heart, carefully wrapped in velvet.

You weren't forced to accept Crowley's advances. It was your call. You could pick whether to take mercy on Crowley or turn him down. If the latter, the Demon would understand - especially after all the pain he'd put you through last week. He'd also stay close in case you'd need him... As your best friend. Looking at it objectively... Dennis was the rebound in this equation, that you both realised. If you go on the date, you will most likely see Dennis regularly. That would lead to a relationship, Crowley liked to imagine, but an unfulfilling one - one that wouldn't be healthy for either you, Dennis or Crowley. Instead of committing to Dennis, you'd spend your life away yearning for your lover's lover.

You'd ache after the irritating, bratty Demon you'd love to kick in his arse most of the time. Nothing happened yet and you already suspected the outcome. You'd spend years replaying all the memories of Crowley, all the romcoms you've seen, all your board game nights, outings to London, as well as all your excursions around England when Crowley managed to drag you out of the bakery - all three of you singing along to the radio. One day, you'd inevitably end up on Crowley's doorstep. If you'd send him to the deepest Hell with his offer, would he albeit your wish, secretly yearning for your company just like you would yearn for him? Could the two of you actually break free from the grief and pain albeit the reason behind your connection? Could you two be... Fine? This was your turning page. You had questions, many of them, but instead, you answered...

"Was that line from a Fleetwood Mac song?" "Might've been, joy." - The Demon chuckled, leaning into the wall by you. As Crowley wished many times before, he finally gathered the courage to caress your hair with his fingers, playing with it absentmindedly. Dear Satan, you were gorgeous. Then, he'd dry up your tears. "That's so awfully cheesy, darling." "You know me, luv, I'm just a good ol' fashioned lover boy." - The Demon whispered, having you flushed. Mainly because you knew the song by heart - Crowley loved it. Despite he wasn't a fan of Bentley's constant loop of the best of Queen, you two loved Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. "For the love of..." "Don't cringe, I've got worse. Spent entire afternoon coming up with these lines." - Crowley muttered. Preparing for another wave of cringe, he watched your face squirm with second-hand embarrassment, a painful smile on your lips. "God, I already regret asking. Well, here goes... Spill it, lover boy." "... And if I stand between you and love, don't go wasting your emotion... Just lay all your love on me." - The moment these words left his mouth, he could see how you physically tense up, closing your eyes in cringe; you did your best not to laugh.

ABBA. Of course - out of all the bands around the world he could've quoted, Crowley picked out fucking ABBA. Thanks to this pick, you realized you couldn't possibly fall deeper in love with him. You've already been done for. Yes, you two might've been pretending you were just joking around. You portrayed there weren't any raw emotions on the verge of being spilt, threatening to burst out any second.

Factually, you'd have to be a piece of stone not to sense the weight Crowley's words truly had. It wasn't just song lyrics giving you second-hand embarrassment - it was a genuine offer. The bloke's wack anyway, Crowley's words meant secretly, why don't we cut to the chase and get to the ending now? I've been an arse, yes, but I'm in the nick of time and I want to fight for you, me... This. If you wanna wait 'round for fifty years, I'm down with that - it'd be nice to make you happy while you're still young and we have an entire world to explore. So... What's it gonna be?

"You're about to be bested, mister. I have an equally shite response. You're gonna love it." "Mhm? Spill it, joy." "If I choose to lay all my love on you..." - Your thumb lightly caressed Crowley's chin, ensuring he was looking you in the eyes. - "You have to promise you won't go breaking my heart."

The quotation meant everything Crowley hoped he'd hear. It was everything he was ready to beg for, to get on his knees for. That little silly yes. You've just said yes. Crowley batted his lashes, pupils dilating with excitement and realization. His smile and relaxed expression reflected the serenity washing over him, ensuring all the emotion exploding inside your chest was reciprocated. Sure, it still stung Crowley that he couldn't be with Aziraphale (and by proxy accepting you into their small bubble), but your admission (yes) made him the happiest Demon on Earth, even if for just a bit.

"For the record... Was that a wahoo?" - Crowley muttered, a disbelieving smile spreading on his face, all the emotion finally flooding out. You weren't Aziraphale and you weren't leaving any time soon. "Don't know, was it?" "Definitely felt like a wahoo." "Oh, trust me, it was the wahooest of wahoos." "... Just for the record, I dig Elton John." - Crowley muttered, finally stepping into your personal space. After all those fucking months, you could touch him without being weird about it. Sure, you touched him before - but those moments were feeding, scarce. Now, you could touch him all you wanted. And it felt... So fucking good. It felt right.

"Yeah, totally, mhm. Seem like the type." "Keep up the banter and you'll be forced to sit through an entire reenactment of Red Aid..." - The man leaned closer, biting on his lower hip as he attempted to contain all the childish excitement. Judging by the jitters inside your eyes, you've been both on cloud nine. - "I've got the costumes and everything, joy." "That a threat or a promise, Demon? Cause it sounds tempting to me." "Whatever you want it to be, luv." - Carefully setting the roses and mayo aside, his arms snaked around your neck, bringing you in for a hug. This one was gentle as he cradled you, inhaling your scent, a content smile on his lips.

Crowley'd done it. He'd face his demons and overcome them with help from his friends and your understanding. Truly an inspiring story right out of a romcom. Crowley's heart was beating so fast, you realized as you listened in, tightly hugging his waist. As usual, he smelled so fucking good and his body felt delicate to touch. His body was surprisingly cold, not boiling hot as you'd expect.

"Welcome home... Finally." - Stepping aside, you let him in, picking the bouquet up and taking a whiff. Your smile was worth a million bucks. "Oh, shite. Forgot something, silly ol' me." - Crowley muttered, clinking his tongue. "Your plants?" - You guessed, turning to look at him. It happened fast... Very fast. Before you could react he had already pulled away, a playful smirk on his face.

Your brain didn't register Crowley's kiss at first. You could see his eyes closed right in front of yours, his lean body hovering over you as he palmed your jaw, you could taste his lips on yours and feel them... But it was over before you truly understood what was happening. "Oh." - You whispered, looking at him, face starting to flush as you realized. Watching the fireworks go off inside your body filled Crowley with pride and undefinable heat spreading out of his chest, your eyes growing wider. "Was that okay? I probably should've..." "Could you remind me again?" - Whispering, you set the flower aside - carefully approaching him. It tickled when your palms smoothed the back of his next, your body pressing itself into his touch. - "About what you forgot, I mean?" "Oh, there's a lot that I forgot." "Kiss me like you missed me then, handsome." "Bet I will, luv."

Part IV: The Aftermath Present day, Oxford, England:

"Come here. No-no! No buts of ifs! Immediately, you arse!" - You cried out somewhere into the darkness of your house, leaning your bottom into the boot rack. Was the Demon fucking with you? Surely, he must've been. You had the conversation just a week ago. It was dead important to change Bentley's tyres, especially given winter was fast approaching. What you didn't understand, however, were all of Crowley's charades accompanying the task. One would think it's impossible, given all the fuss.

Over the past few years, Crowley found many unintentional small things that drove you temporarily insane. And oh boy, wasn't he brilliant at it? Like now - leaving his bloody toolbox in the hall, knowing well you'd stumble your fucking toe into the metal casing because you never turned the light on in the morning. You left for the bakery early and didn't want to wake Mr Princess up. Well, not this time around. The lights were blasting as you glared at the toolbox, almost as if you could break it into atoms with your stare. There were moments when Crowley was 50% sure you could do it.

This winter felt different. Crowley felt something shifting and his uneasiness gave you anxiety too. Specifically, because the Demon seemed hesitant to confide in you. You didn't push him yet, but your patience was wearing thin. This year, you've been at it more often than any other previous years - it wasn't any significant fights, but they were fucking frequent. "'s the ruckus for?" - And there he was - Crowley in his full drowsy glory, massaging his eyes, grinning at you sleepily. Fuck, Crowley still looked so good in nothing but his dark grey pyjama pants and with his hair all messed. It reminded you of everything you've done last night. May God grant you the strength to remain furious with the Demon before you... Amen.

"Awh, no, did I wake you up, princess?" - Meowling ironically, you put palms on your hips to emphasize how much in trouble Crowley was. - "I remember asking you three, THREE separate bloody times not to forget your damn toolbox in the hall. Sounds familiar?" "'f course, the bloody toolbox. Let me guess, luv, you didn't bother turning on the lights, did you?" - Crowley protested, clearly unbothered, leaning his shoulder into the wall as he yawned loudly. "... I never turn the lights on in the morn'. One'd think you'd remember after living with me for six years." "'m not perfect, luv. Also, told you it won't wake me up when you turn the bloody lights on." "Are you implying it's my fault then?" "Well..." - The man shrugged, letting out one of his indeterminate sounds.

"Anthony J Crowley... You bloody cunt." - With that, you were determined to leave the house, fuming angrily. God damn his looks and all the emotion the sight awakened inside you - this guy knew how to crawl under your fucking skin. - "I let you move in and that's the thanks I get? Getting my toe broken every December? Fuck this, I'm done." "Whoa, whoa, whoa - hold your horses, luv. You don't mean that, not really." - Crowley protested. When he realized you weren't stopping, his fingers caught your palm, making you close the door with a slam. - "Are you seriously that upset over a stupid toolbox? We have arguments like this every bloody winter, but I haven't seen you this upset."

"'Cause it feels like you're ignoring me." - Whispering, you let out a long breath. You didn't need to specify for Crowley to understand the subtext. It wasn't just the toolbox - you caught onto the fact something was off and didn't know how to deal with it. - "Felt like it for some time. It's like you want to spite me sometimes - like you're doing it all just for me to lose my marbles." "Doll, you believe I'd do that?" "It's just... You're used to him and his endless patience... You're used to him knowing what you're feeling based simply on your posture and the position of your mouth; the angle it's opened in, the position of your lips and such. God forbid, I wouldn't ever hold it against you, you've known him for thousands of years. But I'm not him. My patience isn't endless. The opposite, in fact. I'm just a bloody human."

After your admission, there was a long pause as Crowley thought of your words. Truth be told - you argued about silly little things often, but you've always agreed unanimously on important decisions. Crowley understood your disagreements as a way to communicate so the relationship wouldn't get stale; he didn't have any ill intent, let alone want to cause any harm. He'd hoped you realized how much you meant to him, how full you've made his heart. Crowley hoped you realized he didn't know how to live without you. Not by this point, after a measly six years. Not once got a taste of what Eden could've meant. The Demon had grown fond of you, infatuated by you - he dreaded the day you'd grow old and...

"Hey, look't me." - His voice was soft, apologetic. He didn't use this tone too often, ensuring you knew how much he'd screwed up. When you shook your head lightly, Crowley's fingers travelled up your arm, ghosting over your sweater. A second later, you could feel his chest bump into your shoulder blades, his hands rubbing your shoulders. - "I don't plan on breaking your heart, joy. Hearing you're hurt makes me feel..." "I'm just... Irritated, Crowley, not hurt... Not yet. You promise one thing and do the other... A lot. And don't bother pulling out your 'but I'm a Demon, lassie' excuse. Shove it up your arse right with the other ones." - To your credit, your impersonation of his accent was impressive and true to the source.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, hun?" "Anything I ask for?" - You murmured, hearing a silent knock on the front door. It must've been either your neighbour (with yet another issue surely connected to Bentley's tyre change) or Katie, who always took the drive to work with you. "Anything in the whole world. Just mention it and it's yours." "We're listening to Elvis tonight, then." - Crowley had to suppress an eye-roll - you finally turned toward him with a shy smile, putting your palms around his waist.

Over time, you learned how Crowley dealt with issues and problems. As an ethereal entity, quite literally a fallen Angel, Crowley had a differing outlook on sins, problems and conflicts. While he did his best to deal with issues as a human to match your outlooks and emotions and understand your reactions, it wasn't easy. Once you've done something upsetting the Demon, all you had to do - sincerely apologize. There wasn't any issue Crowley wasn't willing to dissect and discuss. He lived through it all, he'd seen and heard it all. Even though he might've been hurt, he was selfless enough to look past your flaws, accepting you for who you are. Sure, you wouldn't hear the end of it whenever you'd call him a 'good man', but that's who Crowley was. The best of them, in fact. All it took to earn forgiveness was to perform a task to brighten up his mood, one that you might've not found enjoyable but one that wouldn't make you feel disrespected or disgraced. It was usually pretty funny, innocent little amusing tasks to brighten the mood and prepare the ground for the incoming discussion. Over the years, you've learned to do the same for Crowley - just like he tried his damnest to match your humanity, you attempted to match his etheriality. You've had a hard time understanding all his flaws and quirks, mainly because he wasn't entirely human and his outlook on problems could've differed - you'd usually talk it through with him to make him understand what exactly gave you the 'ick'.

For example, Crowley wasn't a fan of Presley... But he knew of your extensive vinyl collection with Elvis' face on it. And sometimes, when he deemed he fucked up badly enough, Crowley'd agree to listen to them - not only that, he'd also give you a full-blown performance with a costume and everything. Just to make you sure he truly meant his apology. Just to hear you laugh.

"Alright, luv. We're listening to Elvis tonight." "... And a teeny tiny wee thing you can do right now." "Oh, yeah?" - The Demon grinned, his smile growing wider and bolder... Tempting. God knew what's been going on inside that head of his. Well, not that you didn't know - not that Crowley hadn't shown you last night in great detail. "Oh, yeah, handsome." - You nodded, showing him the puppy eyes - the look you usually gave Crowley when you wanted a kiss or cuddles. In response, Crowley licked his lips, nodding. A second knock resonated through the hall. - "Coming!" - You shouted. - "Whatcha gonna do for me, lover boy, is that you'll tidy up that bloody toolbox before I lose my marbles and shove it up your arse." "Aw, no kissie-wissies then?" "Fine, but only because I love you so much." "Lucky me. Wahoo." - Whispering, Crowley scoffed when you planted quick pecks around his chin. The Demon beamed despite his best attempt not to. He'd end the act by pressing a long, loving kiss on your lips. - "Go on now... The toolbox." "On it, ma'am. Pick you up at four?" "Can't wait."

That's when a third knock resounded through the quiet hall. As you fixed your boots and scarf, you bit your lip while watching Crowley's lovely bottom giving you a run for your bloody money. That bastard knew well what effect he had on you. It was nearly enough for you to slap that ass. "I'm out!" "Right! Luv ya!" "Right back at ya!" That was when you opened the door, ready to joke around with Katie. Instead, you almost got a heart attack - the handbag fell to the ground and all of your belongings rolled out all over the fucking floor. A fucking feather could've knocked for all you cared - you couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. You just stood frozen still in the doorframe, staring at your Angel.

Without thinking, you'd reach your palm out to determine whether he's real - the tips of your fingers slipping on solid tartar, his heart beating under the clothes, his warm blood spreading through he veins, hot and alive. You wouldn't pull the hand back, taking comfort in his heartbeat. That's when the waterworks broke - having you stare at him while bawling your eyes out. Aziraphale was standing in front of your fucking door in Oxford, smiling at you - an equal part of discomfort and confusion written on his face. A shitstorm unravelled inside you.

First, you felt the warmth... All the love you felt for him came back like a boomerang. It was still there, the entire time - neatly hidden away. Ready to be re-ignited. You loved both him and Crowley, you realized. Second, there was an agonizing pain overtaking your entire thorax, spreading through your veins like boiling hot blood. The gutwrenching punch in your stomach was back. Aziraphale left you and he'd also left Crowley. The pain and dread cursing through your body wasn't directed towards protecting you, you'd deal with it. You dreaded the moment Crowley'd realize. Helping the Demon regain confidence and curing him took years. Thirdly, you couldn't decipher whether you wanted to hug and kiss Aziraphale or give him a good ol' proper punch. Both, probably.

"I'm too late, aren't I?" - The Angel whispered, heartbreak palpable in his voice as his palm wrapped around yours. It wasn't easy to understand what exactly Aziraphale meant by 'being late'. Was he worried because you seemingly moved on with your life, found yourself a partner and did your best to forget him? Too late to be re-introduced to your life? Too late to be forgiven? "Oh dear." - You mumbled in response, face contracted with pain.

Was there a world in which anyone would be too late to be forgiven? You couldn't squeeze any form of an answer out of your bloody mouth - not before you'd hear Crowley's footsteps coming back from the garage. He was approaching the hall at a lazy, morning pace. Based on his soft grunt, he'd just pulled a sweater over his head so as not to shock Katie or the poor bastard living on the other side of the street. Without peeping a letter, your eyes widened in horror as you turned your head towards the living room, counting the seconds until Crowley reached you. "Who's that, luv? Anyone botherin' us?" - He'd cry out, making you realize Aziraphale understood everything in the same instant. - "That mess outside's my fault, I'll tidy it up once my partner leaves for work, alright?" - The Demon groaned, surely rolling his eyes.

That's when Crowley reached the hall and finally saw the stranger on your doorstep. The reaction was immediate - Crowley's eyes widened, pupils dilated with anger matching his nostrils. His face grew pale, and his teeth started to grind as he quite literally growled at Aziraphale. "Oh blimey..." - Was all the Demon said, distraught. Blimey indeed, you agreed internally.

Well... An inevitable talk that needed to happen - either ending in tragedy or with hope. You three had a ton of shit to figure out. Aziraphale had presumably returned to Earth... But everything he'd left behind, all the small miracles contrasting his world, all the tiny things he knew and loved, had fallen apart in flames. Everything had evolved and transcended beyond his wildest imagination during his absence. The two lives he'd spent thousands of years separating had merged and worked in harmony, in perfect unison. Old connections shifted - they got severed and rekindled. You accepted Crowley's advances (something Aziraphale didn't even deem a possibility) and agreed to be his partner. It was impossible to tear you apart, to have you both separately, which would be incredibly selfish yet so known and comforting. Nothing was going to be the same. Oh blimey fucking indeed.

Fun fact: Franz Ferdinand (named after the Archduke of Austria) is an indie-rock Scottish band hailing from Glasgow. David Tennant appeared in their 'No You Girls' performance, a part of 'Top Of The Pops (TOTP)' collab with Comic Relief (2009).

Fun Fact No 2: David Tennant presented Sophie Ellis-Bextor and her performance of 'Murder On The Dancefloor' during the BAFTA Film Awards 2024 along with (perhaps involuntary) cooperation of Rosamund Pike. The song regained popularity thanks to the release of the movie Saltburn (2023).

Fun Fact No 3: Romans held strong beliefs regarding reincarnation. It was vital to think of the past and keep the souls of the dead in mind because they also believed if they didn't mourn on designed days (Parentalia & Lemuria), the spirits might haunt them or enact revenge. Ancient Greeks used the term 'Metempsychosis' but I'm unsure whether Romans adapted it. It's played for laughs here, but I believe Romans did not know the word 'reincarnate' (in this context). Meanwhile, Aziraphale was knowledgeable about the rest of the world, such as India, and therefore educated on this topic and other worldwide religious concepts.

Explanation: When Aziraphale and the reader dated and he outed her to his 'fellow merchants', Nina or Maggie had their shops yet.

[henrythespinosaurus]

Hello again!

Here I decided to show my Heart and Mind designs! Soul will be a little later. I made them about a month and a half ago and fixed a bit :]

I've been thinking about their designs for a long time. I had the idea of ​​doing something with the circulatory and nervous systems. When I saw atticustimestwo's designs (his art is amazing), they inspired me even more. In my case, the map of their blood vessels/nerves is something like tattoos (all over the body, I just forgot to draw them on the Heart's back), I am far from a specialist in the circulatory or nervous systems, I took the references from the Internet, so please excuse any inaccuracies.

I don't know why, but the idea to make Heart's chest in this way seemed interesting to me. Don't ask how it should work from an anatomical point of view, it's just an interesting concept :) Mind also has a visible spine on his back.

I came up with the idea for their eyes in English class when I was doing sketches. Heart's eyes refer to the moon 🌘 in black colors. Mind's eyes as the white sun ☀️ (with a pupil in the middle). I took sun's design from Princess Celestia's cutie mark from mlp.

In my interpretation, Heart has scars around his eyes from Mind after one of their fights. Mind didn't damage his eyes much, but Heart did not see anything before that either. Of course he wears a blindfold, but sometimes I really like to draw his eyes (he can't see anything without the blindfold anyway).

Heart has wings, but they disappear and grow after each loop.

I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add claws or sharp teeth to them :3 (although now I think that Mind would be better with fangs, and Heart with claws).

Their hair. Heart's is very dark, almost black (and fluffy :3). I usually draw Mind with white hair and dark roots. I came up with it when I was just drawing with a pencil. It must look like a cloud of static or something similar.

Well, here it is. Hope you enjoyed my rant :D love ya all <3<3