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sunflowersunshinevol6 · 4 years

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Iago’s Demise

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Warnings: sexual content, vampire!Harry, blood, Priest!Harry, nun!Y/N

Summary: Escaping from his maker Harry finds himself in London, masquerading as a priest and pondering immortality. But when a young nun tempts him, will he be strong enough to resist.

London was almost another world entirely. But the young vampire stalked it’s streets all the same. He found home in St. Etheldreda’s Church, masquerading as a Priest. He had hoped to find salvation for himself, for his soul, outside of the walls of his maker’s grasp.

“Good morning Father,” he nodded, keeping his eyes down as he passed through the corridor. He lit a candle and knelt before the altar, clasping his hands together tightly and bowing his head.

“Father God, all these humans, it is remarkable. Thank you for the control, for the will to resist my thirst. What is my goal? What is my purpose in this new life? Am I damned?” he asked this everyday, never truly finding the answer.

He had not hunted in nearly six months. Not since he’d come to London, it was hard. More difficult by the day, and yet he persisted, refusing to live off the humans he blessed and prayed for. If he died, he died, and into his Lord’s arms he would go. He did not know what this life was, but he would use it for good.

“Father Harry?” He straightened up, turning to see a young nun standing behind him. His instincts jerked within him as he laid eyes on her. She was gorgeous and the smell, she smelled divine. The most beautiful meal he could have ever hoped for.

Harry grips the cross around his neck tightly and takes a step back. Father, save me from this demon, this lust that rises in me. The gluttony. Save your daughter. Spare me from Satan’s grasp. She looks at him confused, her eyes wide and innocent, her cheeks flushed with the blood that pushed through her tiny veins. He could hear it and his mouth watered.

“Yes? My child.” he cleared his throat, turning his eyes back to the altar. She knelt beside him, lighting a candle of her own. The perfume of her scent wafted towards him, he leaned towards it, hoping not to arouse suspicion.

“Father you’ve been quite absent these past days. Are you ill?” he wasn’t, the sun had been bright and with no clouds in the sky it was harder to hide. He had stayed in the tombs, praying solemnly and ignoring the gnawing need to feast on the humans above him.

“I have been sick,” he muttered quietly. He stood, dusting himself off and moving away from her. “Now I must go my child. I have to-” she touched him, her fingers brushed the back of his hand. He heard the audible gasp as her warm skin connected with his cool and hard surface. The instincts jerked again, and this time he felt he could not resist.

“Father-” he grabbed her, too quickly as her body slammed into his. He fisted his hand into her hair and yanked her head back. He could resist no longer. Satan was good, he knew how weak Harry’s will would be, so he sent the sweetest of temptations. She whimpered, her body quaking with fear as his lips brushed against her skin.

“Father forgive me,” he mumbled before sinking his teeth into her flesh.

He dragged her down to the catacombs. There, among the dead, they would not be disturbed. She had fainted as he had begun to feast. That would not do. He paced as she lay on the dirt floor, the flame from the torches that lit the hall, flickered and lit up the red wound at her neck. He gripped the cross again, praying over and over for forgiveness and guidance. What would he do now? What could he say to her? He did not want to kill her. That was a mortal sin. But he was immortal. So what did that mean for him?

She groaned, lifting her head slightly she opened her eyes. Fear struck her, she had no idea where she was. A man stood just feet away from her. It was then that the memory came back to her. The coldness of his hand, the feel of his lips at her neck, the sharp pain she had felt.

“F….Father Harry….” fear and apprehension dripped from her voice as the devil stepped closer to her. She whimpered, trying to move back.

“Stand my child.” he demanded. She did as she was told, slowly getting to her feet. Her body ached and there was a throbbing pain at the spot he had bitten her. She placed her hand over it, feeling the gaping wound beneath her fingers.

Her eyes watered with tears, her skin pale, her lips parted. The horror radiated off of her. He didn’t want her to look at him like that, like he was a monster. It was her fault. And the Devil’s. He had been tempted and fallen. He took a deep breath, the silver of the cross digging into his hand, it never cut him. She stayed rooted to the spot as he brushed his hand over her cheek.

“Do not fear me,” he tried to sooth. She bit her lip, the open wound on her neck was not helping to sate his hunger. It made him want her more. “Do not fear me.” he kisses her forehead, it’s hard and cold. She stiffens, hands clenched at her sides.

When he looked down their noses brushed. He was so close, too close for comfort. There was a darkness that surrounded him, she could sense it, it wrapped around her, Satan’s grasp, pulling her in. She tried to move away, but he grasped her wrist, pulling her closer, flush against him, his other arm wrapped around her waist.

“Look at me.” when their eyes met she wanted to scream, but froze. His eyes were bright, a blood red she had never seen in any human face before. He was not human. He was a demon, and he had her trapped. “How beautiful, you are,” his lips closed over hers. They were cold and hard, her stomach fluttered.

“F-Father-”

“I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I’m sorry but you….I can’t….” he looked back at her, fear evident in his eyes. It pulled at her heart strings. Her head was telling her to run, to get as far away from this monster as she could. But her heart was saying no. There’s something else going on here.

He gripped her wrist tightly. She tried to struggle but was no match. And she saw his eyes. For the first time, she had seen the red rimmed eyes of her priest. Fear coursed through her as hot and quickly as her own blood.

“Y..You are a demon sir.” Harry’s lips dragged over her neck. Everything within him tried to resist.

“Pray.” he growled, gripping her tighter, he tilted her back further, baring his teeth against her neck. Her skin was warm, the blood pulsed in his ears. It was too much. Heaven help him.

“Our Father….” his fangs sank into her neck. She gasped and grabbed him hard, fingers fisting in his hair. He pressed her against him, crushing her to his chest. The sweet tang of her blood being slurped into his mouth was euphoric, he moaned, relishing in the high of it.

She had never experienced anything like this. After the pain came something else entirely. A pleasurable feeling she had not anticipated. She whimpered, her body pressing against his as he gently laid her down on the ground, climbing over top of her. She pressed her hips up into his groin, he pushed down against her shoulders. Heat pooled between her legs, her center throbbed. She wanted more. She wanted his touch, his kiss, his body on hers. God help her, she couldn’t think straight. She could hear him drinking deeply from her. He could take it, he could take all of it, she didn’t want the pleasure to end.

He pulled away, forcing himself to stop. Blood dripped from his lips onto hers, her own lips pale, body weak from loss of blood. She was close to death. Her eyes were glazed and she took a shaky breath.

“Did you pray?” he asked her, brushing his finger over her lip, smearing the blood, she could taste it. Metallic, like pennies. She nods, wincing as the movement causes her pain.

“S...Save me….” she cried out weakly. He tilted his head.

“Do you truly wish to be damned? You cannot.”

“I...I don't want….please don’t let me die.” he snorts, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

“You would be a devil with me?” he asks her. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, the power is in his head. He could take her life or spare it. In this moment , he feels close to God.

“S...Save me….” He reaches up and slices open his own neck with a sharp fingernail. He leans down, pushing the wound against her lips. She inhales sharply. He holds himself up over her.

“Drink of me. Drink of me and have eternal life.” she sucks on the wound, drinking his blood from him. He moans, he can feel his cock stiffen between his legs, he reaches down and palms himself lightly, she can feel the back of his hand, and presses her hips up, he moves his hand out of the way, and pushes down against her.

She’s getting stronger, she sucks harder and grabs him tightly, pushing her hips against his hard, they grind against one another, she can feel the heat within her building as their pace quickens, he groans clawing at the ground as she drinks from him. The power she begins to feel is incredible. He starts to pant, she can feel him getting harder.

The dirt and rocks digging into her back stop bothering her, the pain fades away as the burn in her body coupled with the pleasure begins to overtake her. His hips stutter and he pulls away from her, only to capture her lips with his. He kisses her hard, their teeth clashing, he bites her lip, causing blood to trickle down her chin.

Her orgasm shakes her to her core. Her body arcs and he rolls off of her onto his back. She writhes and shakes, licked by the flames of the venom that courses through her and the pleasure that rocks her. Once her orgasm subsides she cries out, turning her head to look at him, wide eyed and with fear. He grins, his teeth glistening with her blood.

“Your body is dying….you will be mine.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #hs #hs1 #hs2 #hs imagine #hs one shot

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sirensmojo · 4 years

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Redamancy, 2: Love Me

Summary: You’re a princess and have to stay in Kattegat cause your father is a new ally of King Ragnar, your beauty catches Ragnarson’s eyes but you solely show interest in Ivar The Boneless. No one understands what you see in him and your father shares he’d rather see you with a “healthy” son of Ragnar as much physically as mentally but you pit yourself against him and everyone else.

Warnings: fierce reader, strong language, mentions of sex

Word Count: 3,046

❰ Previous part II Masterlist

Your father was sermonising to you on how indelicate and rough the Vikings were. “You can’t be serious Y/N” “Yes I am, father” He looks at you with disdain “I swear to God you lost your mind Y/N!” he started to vigorously shake his head. “Don’t swear to God he never asked you” you started to get irritated. “We talked about that, numerous times...!”

“And I always told you I must feel things on my own to make a decision, that’s what I did” you retort. “That decision where you want to marry the crazier son of Ragnar? Oh Lord what did I do to receive such punishment ...” your father overdramatically says as he raises his hands towards the sky.

You tried your best not to roll your eyes at him and instead you took a deep breath in. “First of all, I did not mention I wanted to marry him” “So what is it? A fling? There is no such thing as a fling in Christianity Y/N” he lets out a sigh but slowly started to calm down.

“Can you think things out of the Church for once, please? And secondly, you don’t know anything about him, as a matter of fact, you never tried to talk with him. All you do is listen to what people say and I’m telling you, this will be the death of you, father”

Suddenly, as if you brightened the fire dormant inside of him, he lifts his eyes to intently look at you and frowns. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you listen to what you say Y/N?” and you shrug.

“I know nobody else will tell you, so I had to say it” He exhaled whereas one of his hands was running down his face. “You’re mother used to talk to me the way you do, but I’d never expected to find so much of her in you” he sadly says and you place your hand on his shoulder.

“Father, I would never tell something to hurt you. All I want is allowing you to see things differently. There is always another way to look at things and to take the best decision I believe we must take into consideration all the options. I know I maybe am wrong for believing Ivar is trustworthy but mother raised me to always follow my guts and I must follow her teaching to honor her”

“Do you mean you are deeply feel something for the Viking?” he asks and you nodded. A tiny smile appears upon his face “Trust me” you added as he was looking at Ivar form afar. “I am weak when it comes to you Y/N” he murmurs shaking his head. “Being vulnerable does not mean being weak father, and you have found your common feature with the man” you glanced at Ivar that was talking with his brothers.

Even if you talked with your father and he started to accept your feelings for Ivar you knew it wasn’t over. He will surely come again and complain about how you betray the christ for loving a pagan, nevertheless, you were glad he didn’t take the situation too badly. Usually, he dramatizes things at such a high level, but this went pretty well. When you finished talking both of you go back to the table with the King and his sons.

“Y/n,” Ivar said when you sat down, leaning into your ear so only you could hear. You turned your head to face him as he motioned the door and you go out. “Your father will leave soon, in maybe four days or five it will be two full moons since you and your father came in Kattegat” “He will leave alone Ivar, I must stay”

“Why is that?” he asked with round eyes as you lift your hand to his face to slowly stroke his cheek. He leaned into your touch closing his eyes and you smiled. “He does not approve me” he murmurs “He does not know you” “You always say that people don’t know me”

“I speak the truth” you firmly say and he lets out a long sigh. “I must admit I’m scared the gods see I’m not worthy of you and take you away” “I’m here because I want to, the gods have nothing to do with that” Ivar chuckles at your words and raised his brows.

“I hope they’re not listening to your ‘blasphemy’ as you Christians say” “The only blasphemy is to think they own our freedom” you respond and he glanced at you. “I love how fearless you can be, it reminds me a bit of my father” he looks at you with lust and sorrow. “Can we walk a little? I think people of Kattegat stopped talking about how you don’t deserve me” you teased and he motioned his hand towards the street “You go first”.

After an hour of your daily walk with Ivar, you go back to the great hall and you sat next to your father still exchanging greedy stares with the Viking “Are you sleeping with him?” you heard a familiar voice murmuring “Father!” you looked at him with wide eyes.

People around the table looked at you confused and you cleared your throat giving them a small smile. “I’m sorry it’s just... Vikings don’t have the same customs as we do” “Thank you I’ve learned something new I didn’t realize they are different” “They’re heathens and venerate false gods!” he hissed. “Say that louder and they’ll get you killed. They didn’t like you in the first place, they tolerated you” “King Ragnar likes me” you raised your brows at your father.

“King Ragnar also liked a Christian named Athelstan and still he’s dead, killed by the best friend of Ragnar himself: Flock, the boat builder” you shrug and you can see his face crumples. “You’re here to forge a bond of trust between Francia and Norway but you don’t even know what’s going on here” you shook your head.

“Don’t act like you belong here Y/N, we’re Christians they’re Pagans, you don’t like me to remind you but you always seem to forget it” and you glanced at the Vikings around the table. “Can you stop saying that? I will not be able to stop them from killing you! You’re the one looking for trouble!” you warn him and he exhales “Alright“ he rolls his eyes. “And yes I do belong here” you added. “Have you lost your mind?” he retorts.

“I am the only one involved in this peace treaty” you highlight intently looking him in his eyes and that made him silent. When you look away to ease the tumultuous thoughts running wild in your head your eyes meet Ivar’s and you can see he was looking at you for a long time now, he may be even understood what your father and you were talking about.

After the meal, you directly joined the chamber you now share with the younger Ragnarson and took a bath. About an hour later, you were putting on your nightdress when he entered the room. He didn’t say anything hobbling to the bed and getting comfortable.

He gets undressed when you sneaked under the sheets, once you were close enough you put your head on his chest and let out a long sigh. Nothing could compare to the warmth of his embrace and it was exactly what you needed after all the worries your father aroused in your mind.

“My father told me that yours liked him” “It’s good for your people, not mine” he harshly responded. “Why is that?” “We are Vikings, we fight for lands, we don’t negotiate” he curtly spit “I will remember” you calmly say as a relaxing silence sets in.

“Would you fight for me?” you suddenly asked “You’re a land now?” he chuckles and you straighten up to look at his eyes “I fight with you, isn’t that enough?” he responds and as you drown into his deep blue eyes that always had the same effect on you, you straddle him.

“Nothing is enough when it comes to you Ivar” you murmur as your face dangerously came nearer his, his eyes didn’t leave yours whereas his hands dawdled on your hips. You eagerly crashed your lips to his and began to grind down on him, your hips waved against his growing bump and he shyly slides his hand on your butt.“Do you want this as much as I do Ivar?” you murmur “Stop talking if it’s to say some stupid shit” he answered and you simply chuckle.

Whereas his touch became more and more greedy you slowly started to moan in his mouth as he kneads your skin in between his fingers. “I know your father talked to you about me” he finally lets out “So that’s what was your mind” you mutter in between two kisses.

His fingers unraveled the laces of your dress as his lips leave feverish kisses in the hollow of your neck. “It was just him telling me you’re a heathen and that Vikings are barbarian and not valuable... Even though I told him saying those types of things would be a great motive to murder him” you hardly succeed to let out as your heart was pounding in your chest whereas air was harder and harder to find.

As a response, Ivar simply groans too occupied with your breasts making your buds hard. “He even said you fuck here and there” you chuckled and his fingered reached your soak wet folds stopping you in your tracks as a whimper escaped your lips.

“If only he knew about his own daughter,” said Ivar with a cheeky smile “He still fiercely believe I am a Christian so...” you managed to whisper even if your whole body was melting under Ivar’s touch.“Have you ever ever been?” “I doubt it, it was more of searching for comfort whenever I could and Christianity was here. I was not looking for salvation, just a little faith in anyone or anything... My belief was never genuine but my will to stop from hurting was”

And with your last words, Ivar entered two of his fingers into you owning a scream of pleasure from your lips “No heartbreak no more, that I can guarantee” he simply mutters and your grab his head, searching for his lips.

***

That night full of love made you wake up late but when you saw your Viking still laying by your side, you couldn’t resist lazing around some more. Your fingers running on his braided hair made him open his eyes as he lets out a groan. “If you’re up before me that means it must be truly late” he murmurs to himself and you chuckle.

“This is how you greet me?” you slowly asked whereas his eyes were fluttering. “I am sorry for being rude but I’m a Viking what did you expect of me?” he yawned and you put your head on his chest “Nothing love” you mutters closing your eyes

“Being barbarian is what I know how to do best” he added not fully awake. “Well you’re a good Viking and I’m a bad Christian I suppose” and his hand came nearer your face to cup your cheek. “Maybe that makes you a Viking?” he mutters inches away from your lips.

“Being bad at something doesn’t make me good by default at its opposite” and he flops backward groaning “Too much deep talk too early Y/N, don’t you have an off button?” he asks and you pinch his skin.

“What does that even mean! That I talk too much?” you shout and he grabs your wrist as he straightens up. “You’re so dauntless I want to shut down that admirable trait of yours” “What?” you ask being fazed.“You think you can pinch me and I’m going to sit here consenting to it?” he raised a brow as you tilt your head “Oh... What are you going to do anyway?” you shrug.

He suddenly grabbed your neck expecting you to be surprise and surrender. He slowly tightened a little more his grip. You intensify your gaze and slide one of your hand under your pillow to grab one of your knives then you abruptly raised your hand toward his head before pressing the cutting edge against his neck.

“Fuck you pet, what do you do with that?” he calmly lets out like a drop of his blood runs down your knife. He finally lets go of your neck and exhaled completely defeated. “Just in case you want to kill me... Or conversely” you lightly respond before letting go of his neck, you bring the knife to your lips and let out your tongue to lick the blood looking him in the eyes.

“It was obvious something must’ve been wrong with you to hang around with me” he smirks and leaned into a greedy kiss. “So that’s how I turn Ivar The Boneless on, isn’t it?” you asked straddling him simply letting out a groan.

You were a moaning mess, slowly reaching your climax when someone banged at the door “Don’t you hear we’re occupied!” you scream as loud as you could totally out of control. Ivar looked bewildered at you before shaking his head.

“What is it?” he shouts way more calmly than you. This time the door opens and a guard enters the room but that didn’t stop you from moving your hips back and force to the Viking’s body. Your high pitched tone moans quickly took up again and the Ragnarson tried his best to give some attention to the guard.

“My prince, your brothers, and your father are waiting for you...” he lets out. He was trying not to look at you but he was too mesmerized by your brown and long mane running down your feminine and naked features that you usually hide into a bun. You finally reached your climax as your walls clenched around Ivar that lets out a hoarse groan.

Once you got what you wanted you free him and lay on your back oh his side without even paying attention to the man standing by your bed. “Fuck...Tell them I’m coming” confusedly said Ivar.

The guard left while Ivar straightens up “You know he will tell everyone how beautiful the french Princess is ?” he began. “Meaning my father will soon know the Viking he values least fucked his Christian and only daughter” you finish his sentence. He started to get dress shaking his head.

“You made it more complicated than it needed to be” he said and that made you chuckle. “So you’re the wise one now?” you teased him and you leave kisses on his neck “They are going to kill me if you keep holding me back, you know that?” “I don’t care, I will find a way to bring you back” you murmur between two kisses. He chuckles and shook his head, he then grabs his crutch and stood up.

***

After dressing up you join the great hall and bump into the King and his sons accompanied by your father. You didn’t expect them to still be here as you took about an hour to get out of bed.“Y/N” King Ragnar greets you as you came closer “King Ragnar you nodded”

“Call me Ragnar, I heard you’re officially family now” he gave you a cheeky smile. “Everybody heard ” snickers Sigurd as his brothers tried to muffle their laughter. Your father was looking away as he didn’t really know what he should do.

“You heard?” you repeated and he glanced at Ivar, you suddenly remember being a moaning mess this morning and clear your voice. “What are you doing ?” you asked ignoring his comment. He didn’t say much else about his son and you. “You see, this is a map-” he started. “I know what a map is” you interrupted him with a snappy tone and he raised his brows looking at Ivar as if he waited for him to tell you something. He was acting like such a kid...

Actually, he often acted like that and that reminded you of your own father. “We planned on raiding in Wessex again, what is the best way to get more benefits from King Aethelwulf according to you?” he picks up as he turns suddenly serious.

“We should go there and manifest our intention not to fight and negotiate” interrupted your father and Ragnar glanced at you as if he waited for you to confirm the words of your father. “We are Vikings, we fight for lands we do not negotiate” you simply said, Ivar looked up to you with a proud look.

“Furthermore, if I remember correctly you had a colony there and Ecbert slaughtered your people, maybe we should just attack them and make them taste of their own medicine as soon as our feet touch Wessex’s land, but for that part, the cripple got more ideas than I” you shrug and Ragnar nodded in approval.

“You are a greater help than all my sons reunited,” said Ragnar before glancing at your father as to let him know we will follow this plan rather than his. Your father was still choked about how much you knew of the Vikings and looked at you in amazement.

As for the Ragnarsons, they glanced at each other before all looking at you “You said that Ivar knew better about a battle plan, what do you mean?” asked Hvitserk. “He knows more than you know” you shrug once more.

“He’s very observant and can anticipate a person’s choice” and they all looked over Ivar. At this moment he only had eyes for you and his lustful stare could only confirm the things he was felling for you.

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar's heathen army #ivar the boneless #vikings ivar #vikings #viking imagine #vikings imagine #vikings fandom #ragnarsons #hvitserk #sigurd #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar lodbrok #king ragnar #ivar lothbrok #ivar lodbrok #ivar imagine

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thesurielships · 5 years

Text

We are golden stars upon silver seas

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Feyre hates Rhys. She ruins his chances with the new girl.

Masterlist

Feyre Archeron wasn’t drunk. She was in her favorite bar, in her favorite seat, served by her favorite barista, in her best drinking gear, and she was not drunk. Nor drinking.

Why, then, wasn’t she drunk?

Raucous laughter reverberated through the bar. Feyre glared at the bane of her existence, whose sheer presence made everything - including the wine in her mouth - turn sour.

Rhysand was guffawing with his Inner Circle. He seemed to be telling a story so funny that they dissolved into laughter every two sentences. Of course, he would be the life of the party. Of course, he would choose this bar to have his party at. Of fucking course.

‘You’re staring,’ Alis chided.

‘He’s an eyesore,’ Feyre sighed.

‘Sure he is,’ her friend chuckled. ‘Oh, there is Viviane.’

Feyre looked up, and sure enough, the new girl had just entered the bar. She had porcelain skin and white blond hair, her eyes a striking icy blue. In short, she was beautiful. And, Feyre noted regretfully as she watched her eyes zero in on Rhysand, interested in that asshole.

Feyre let out an all suffering sigh. ‘Here is to another girl who’s about to get her heart broken,’ she toasted Alis, then took a ravenous sip of her drink.

Alis merely shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face. She was used to Feyre ranting about everything related to Rhysand, be it fact or speculation or merely something she conjured from her imagination.

‘This happens every time,’ Feyre went on. ‘New girl falls for Rhysand. He takes her on a couple dates, has his fun, then dumps her ass. How many more times do I have to watch this scenario unfold? How many more times am I going to sit on my ass while a girl gets her heart broken by the devil?’

Something suddenly occurred to her. To get to Rhysand, Viviane would have to get past her table.

‘But maybe I can do something this time.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Maybe I can be this nice, sweet girl’s salvation.’

‘Feyre, stop.’

‘Viviane,’ Feyre called, standing on her seat, waving her arms enthusiastically.

Alis covered her face with her hands. ‘You’re embarrassing.’

Feyre paid her no heed. ‘Viviane!’

Viviane looked at her, confused. To be fair, it was their first time talking.

Oh whatever, Feyre thought, heroes never bother introducing themselves.

‘Hi, honey. You’re the transfer girl, right? I’m Feyre. I’m an art major, too. We’ll probably have many classes together. And this is Alis.’

‘Hello,’ Viviane said, nodding shyly to both of them.

‘What do you think of our town so far? I can show you around, if you’d like.’

‘Thank you so much, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother.’

‘Bother? Oh, not at all. Did you know that when I first came here, my family had just gone broke, my sister had run away to someplace, and my other sister had gone sick with shock?’ Feyre was a very chatty drunk-even when she was only slightly buzzed. ‘It was awful. Thank God I met Alis to show me around the town, or else I would’ve wallowed in misery in my dorm room forever.’

Viviane’s eyes had drifted away about halfway through Feyre’s monologue.

‘Viviane?’

She let out a dreamy sigh.

‘Viviane!’

‘Oh yes. Feyre, was it? I’m sorry, it’s just… he’s so hot.’

‘Who?’ Feyre turned around, then back. ‘Oh, you mean Rhysand?’

Viviane nodded, still staring at him with moony eyes.

‘Yeah. It’s amazing how all the hot ones turn out to be gay, right? You should see his boyfriend. He has these gorgeous lashes and - ’

Viviane’s eyes snapped to her. Well, that got her attention. ‘Wait. What did you say?’

Feyre barely managed to hold back her smirk. ‘His boyfriend has - ’

‘You mean he’s gay?’

‘Oh. You didn’t know. Sorry. But I guess better hear it from me than from him, right?’

Viviane had gone very red. Feyre was getting worried. ‘Viviane?’

Suddenly she grabbed Feyre’s glass and chugged it down. Then she grabbed Alis’s glass and chugged it down. Then she started crying.

Feyre looked at Alis.

Alis looked at Feyre. Told you so, her look seemed to say.

What do we do now, said Feyre’s.

Alis shrugged.

They both let out a sigh, then grabbed a shoulder each and welcomed Viviane into their little group.

***

Viviane, it turned out, was an even chattier drunk than Feyre. She was also much more morose. Once the dam had broken, she told them all about being unhappy in her former uni and major, and having trouble to transfer as she was a few years older than them. She had struggled to take the leap and switch to art as, though it had always been her dream, 25 seemed like a bit too old for a beginner artist. This, Alis and Feyre were quick to reassure her, was not at all true. Many people started college at 25 or more, and they knew a middle aged couple in their class who were having the time of their lives exploring their artistic abilities.

‘And Kallias,’ she sobbed, her tears starting anew. ‘I love him and now I will never get to tell him.’

‘Kallias?’

‘My best friend. I’ve been in love with him since I was sixteen, overweight and desperate to grow some self confidence. He went on a diet with me so I wouldn’t feel alone. He picked me up on his way to school for basically all four years of high school because I was too scared to get a license. He always left secret gifts in my locker when he knew I was on my period, or took me to my favorite bakery. And when he found out I wanted to do arts instead of political science, he became my number one supporter. He even mailed my application for me. How was I supposed not to fall for him?’

‘Wow. That’s really sweet.’

‘I know! He’s such a sweet guy. I’m sure his girlfriend agrees,’ she sighed dejectedly.

Alis and Feyre exchanged a panicked look. They simply could not sit through another bout of tears.

‘He has a girlfriend?’

‘Well, not exactly. There is this girl in his class, Adrienne, and they meet up a lot to study.’

At Alis and Feyre’s raised brows, she groaned, rubbing her face with both hands.

‘But you should see them! They might as well be dating. She texts him a lot and he always remembers her birthday, when it usually takes him like five weeks to remember people’s names.’

Feyre was dubious. If anything, Kallias seemed to have feelings for Viviane, not whoever this Adrienne girl was. ‘Okay…’

‘Oh, and she has this nickname for him that’s just ridiculous. Kally Bear. Who the fuck comes up with such a stupid nickname? Actually, no.’ Viviane straightened, composing herself. ‘I shouldn’t act like this. I really like Adrienne. She’s nice and she always asks me to come with them when they hang out.’

Alis shrugged. ‘I don’t see why you mind them being together, since you’re always there too.’

‘Oh, I never actually go with them.’

‘What? » Feyre asked incredulously. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not like she means it. I’m sure she just invites me to be polite. So I tell them to have a good time and send them on their way.’

‘Viviane,’ Alis started carefully. ‘Are you sure Kallias is even interested in Adrienne?’

Viviane pursed her lips. ‘Pretty sure. One time, we were playing truth or dare and I asked him if there was anyone he liked. He said yes, but he didn’t know how to ask her out. He was afraid she would say no and ruin their friendship.’

‘But that could be any friend of his,’ Alis pointed out, her voice blank and ever so careful, the tone she would use on a deranged animal she didn’t want to spook. Or, in this case, a lovesick drunkard she didn’t want to encourage with false hope.

‘She’s his only female friend. Aside from me, that is.’

Feyre had no such qualms. ‘Could be you, then.’

Viviane’s shoulders slumped. ‘No.’

From the way she finished the rest of her drink in one shot and called for seconds, studiously avoiding eye contact, Feyre guessed the conversation to be over.

‘Gotta go powder my nose,’ she said as she stumbled away to the loo.

Oh, how she loved British expressions.

She chuckled on her way, trying her best not to bump into people, and failing miserably as she collided into a deliciously muscled chest.

‘Archeron.’

She looked up at her nemesis. Oh, she had gotten him well.

She couldn’t stop the smirk that bloomed on her face as she replied, ‘Rhysand, darling.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Darling? What did you do?’

‘What, so you’re the only one allowed to call me that?’

‘You hate it when I call you that.’

She tapped a finger against her chin. ‘True. But I like it when I call you that. You are such a darling,’ she giggled - actually giggled. ‘Especially when you don’t know what’s coming to you.’

Rhysand’s voice was stern. ‘Feyre.’

‘Feyre? Oh my, what a special day it is when Rhysand Fahrenheit calls me by my given name. Did you run out of sarcastic endearments?’

‘I saw you with the new girl.’

Her smirk grew infinitely wider. ‘Did you, now?’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘Nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure.’

‘Feyre.’

‘You can keep gritting your teeth till you choke on their dust, and I won’t tell you.’

He breathed deeply, loudly. Once, twice.

‘I can’t deal with you while I’m still sober.’

‘Then go get yourself a drink. And while you’re at it, maybe get one for your boyfriend, too.’

He froze in the middle of turning around, his violet eyes flashing in the dim light of the bar. Oh, how she longed to paint this moment. The Devil Defeated, she would call it.

‘Wait. What did you say?’

‘Funny. Those are the exact words Viviane said when I told her you were gay. A match made in heaven, the two of you. Too bad it’s never going to happen.’

‘You… what?’

‘Are your ears going bad, Rhysand? Are you already that old?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I am two years older than you, Feyre. And what. the. fuck?’

‘I wasn’t going to let you break another girl’s heart, was I?’

He tensed, anger swirling in his eyes. A second later, he changed. His tense shoulders slowly loosened. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head roguishly. His eyes sparkled with devilish amusement, and his favorite smirk perched on his lips. It was not a noticeable change, not if you didn’t know what to look for. But Feyre was a pro in Rhys metamorphosis, as she liked to call it. She watched it all unfold in less than a heartbeat, trying in vain to catch all the details. Somehow, she could never capture it on canvas. Her paintings never had the same vibe-or enough flair.

‘What business is it of yours, Feyre darling, which hearts I choose to break?’

His sensual voice reminded her of silken sheets and sinful touches, and ironically startled her awake. ‘Unlike you, Rhysand, I do happen to care for the common good.’

His smirk was insufferable. ‘You don’t strike me as a selfless person.’

‘Maybe I should strike you, period.’

He leaned forward. ‘How about we strike a bargain instead, darling. You stay away from my business, and I try not to break your heart next.’

She crept forward as well, unwilling to lose the unspoken game, even as her heart beat a tattoo in her chest. He was so close she could touch him. If she dared.

‘Break my heart, Rhysand. I dare you.’

His breath caressed her own when he spoke next. ‘Is that a challenge?’

She snaked a hand between them and laid it flat on the center of his chest. His heartbeat ricocheted against her palm. She smirked. ‘Is it?’

His pupils flared. She gazed into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, transfixed.

Cauldron, she hated his eyes.

She flipped her hair defiantly as she sauntered off, hips swinging, reveling in the way his eyes trailed her the entire way to the bathroom.

Tag list: @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244

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sevenwonderwitch · 5 years

Text

This Mortal Sin

Pairing: Vampire!michael/Priest!Michael x fem!reader

Warnings: vampirism, blasphemy, dry humping, female orgasm, blood drinking, dub con

Summary: Father Michale has been looking very ill lately....

“Good morning Father,” he nodded, keeping his eyes down as he passed through the corridor. He lit a candle and knelt before the altar, clasping his hands together tightly and bowing his head.

He had not hunted in nearly six months. Not since he’d come to London, it was hard. More difficult by the day, and yet he persisted, refusing to live off the humans he blessed and prayed for. If he died, he died, and into his Lord’s arms her would go. He did not know what this life was, but he would use it for good.

“Father Michael ?” He straightened up, turning to see a young nun standing behind him. His instincts jerked within him as he laid eyes on her. She was gorgeous and the smell, she smelled divine. The most beautiful meal he could have ever hoped for.

Michael grips the cross around his neck tightly and takes a step back. Father, save me from this demon, this lust that rises in me. The gluttony. Save your daughter. Spare me from Satan’s grasp. She looks at him confused, her eyes wide and innocent, her cheeks flushed with the blood that pushed through her tiny veins. He could hear it and his mouth watered.

“Father-” he grabbed her, too quickly as her body slammed into his. He fisted his hand into her hair and yanked her head back. He could resist no longer. Satan was good, he knew how weak Michael’s will would be, so he sent the sweetest of temptations. She whimpered, her body quaking with fear as his lips brushed against her skin.

“Father forgive me,” he mumbled before sinking his teeth into her flesh.

“F….Father Michael….” fear and apprehension dripped from her voice as the devil stepped closer to her. She whimpered, trying to move back.

“F-Father-”

“Y..You are a demon sir.” Michael’s lips dragged over her neck. Everything within him tried to resist.

“Pray.” he growled, gripping her tighter, he tilted her back further, baring his teeth against her neck. Her skin was warm, the blood pulsed in his ears. It was too much. Heaven help him.

“Did you pray?” he asked her, brushing his finger over her lip, smearing the blood, she could taste it. Metallic, like pennies. She nods, wincing as the movement causes her pain.

“S...Save me….” she cried out weakly. He tilted his head.

“Do you truly wished to be damned? You cannot.”

“I...I don’t want….please don’t let me die.” he snorts, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

“You would be a devil with me?” he asks her. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, the power is in his head. He could take her life or spare it. In this moment , he feels close to God.

“S...Save me….” He reaches up and slices open his own neck with a sharp fingernail. He leans down, pushing the wound against her lips. She inhales sharply. He holds himself up over her.

The dirt and rocks digging into her back stop bothering her, the pain fades away as the burn in her body coupled with the pleasure begin to overtake her. His hips stutter and he pulls away from her, oly to capture her lips with his. He kisses her hard, their teeth clashing, he bites her lip, causing blood to trickle down her chin.

“Your body is dying….you will be mine.”

#michael langdon one shot #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x you #michael langdon #ahs #ahs fanfiction #ahs imagine #ahs one shot #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #cody fern #cody fern fanfic #cody fern imagine #cody fern x reader

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mostfacinorous · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 24th

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23]

I am so sorry, this is so long. It really ran away with me. Hope you enjoy!

Whumptober 24th: Secret Injury

Between he and Aziraphale, they were remarkably strong. They lacked human limits, and they could work literal wonders.

But there were too many of them.

It was overwhelming, and it felt like he was buried under a writhing mass of limbs.

Because he was.

This was a first, working together like this-- the first time they’d seen one another in ages, probably the first time agreeing on anything-- Crawly wondered how Aziraphale was justifying this in his mind. But it also didn’t matter, just at the moment.

Couldn’t.

They were bearing precious cargo.

Over the rain and the thunder, he could hear tiny voices crying out, not in unison, but in a mess of howls and sobs and shrieks-- crying for their parents, crying for salvation, crying of discomfort and hunger and a thousand other things. And he couldn’t blame them.

The world was unfair. God was unfair. And their lives, as they’d known them, for the short time they’d been on earth-- those were gone. Finished. Their families dead, the land swallowed up by a vast swath of ocean that Crawly didn’t think they’d ever see the end of-- and the rain kept coming.

“The ark!” Aziraphale cried, pointing as best as he could, and Crawly immediately headed for the bobbing spot of brown in the distance.

They’d lost it doing passes over the plains, gathering up all the smalls they saw. It had taken time, and more than once Crawly had had to pluck an adult off of Aziraphale, where they’d clung in a wild attempt at saving themselves.

Crawly knew better, though; however Aziraphale was making this right in his mind, he was convinced that She knew best, and that the people She’d chosen to kill deserved it, somehow. Except the children.

They’d been flying for the better part of the day when Crawly finally got the children off of him and piled onto the roof of the ark.

He summoned up a miracle-- to be sure no one would fall off-- and turned around, leaving them there to fly back and meet Aziraphale, who was lagging behind and dipping horrifyingly low over the water.

Crawly took the bawling bundle that swung beneath him, lightening his load and hoisting it up above the threat of the waves.

Aziraphale tossed him a grateful-- if tense-- smile, and together they landed on the ark.

Crawly, arms finally free, reached up to wipe the rain off of his face and found himself shaking.

“Miracle some warmth and dryness and keep the sound inside-- I’m going to go and raid the stores for food and milk, see if we can’t sneak aboard.”

“Wait-- you want me to stay with all of…” Aziraphale looked around at their little troupe, looking overwhelmed.

“Well, I’d swap with you, but I’m going to go steal from God’s chosen.” Crawly said slowly. “I won’t be long. You try and do an… an inventory. How many of them, the state they’re in. Who needs what. I’ll help as soon as I get back.”

Mollified, or at least chastened, Aziraphale nodded, and Crawly dropped down to the deck below, becoming a snake as he went, so that as soon as scale met planks, he was off and well disguised.

It was obvious where the animals were-- he could smell all the different flavors of fear, and were he a different sort of demon, he’d be pleased by it. Probably be drunk off of it, he thought. Instead he used it as a guide-- finding himself beside the cows much more easily than expected.

Before he could resume a form with limbs, though, he felt a sharp and heavy hoof fall on his serpentine body, and did his utmost to writhe free.

It hurt, a sharp sort of burning, grinding pain, and when he returned to a human shape, he could feel the pain still there.

Ribs, he realized, peeking into his robes. At least a few. Broken, or crushed or-- didn’t matter. It was painful.

And demons hadn’t figured out how to heal themselves yet. They’d only barely recovered enough from the fall to figure out how to trade one skin out for another.

Still, he had something he needed to do.

He took up a nearby clay pot and skirted around the cow that had landed the blow, stopping instead by another who had udders that swung low and heavy with milk.

He didn’t, he realized, see any baby cows around.

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

Damn Her. Damn Her straight to Hell, if only She could suffer the way She made others do.

The cow, at least, let him milk her easily enough. This, she knew. The storm and the tossing of the boat, not so much, but this… the motions made him almost nauseous, his torso pain protesting fiercely, and he glared at the other cow, but it needed to get done.

It was warm in here, Crawly realized suddenly, the rhythmic hiss of milk into the pot not stopping. Whatever else one could say for the Noah clan, they knew their boat building. It was quiet, the storm outside muffled by the layers of wood and hay.

Once the pot had an inch or so of milk in the bottom, Crawly set it aside and worked a quick miracle-- multiplying it into a full pot. He felt a twinge in his internal being-- he’d been asking a lot lately. More occult miracles or whatever he was meant to call them, than he’d ever done all at once before.

He ignored the pain and the twinge and carried the milk deeper into the ark, surprised at how roomy it was. There were empty stalls, even-- no doubt some of the less dangerous animals had clustered together, leaving more than enough room for everyone up top to come down here.

Plan made, he sat the pot in the perfect stall-- far to the rear of the vessel, far from the stairs and all the animals that grouped together nearer to the fresh air that came from them.

He returned topside, aware that he needed to find other food, but also aware that the Angel’s miracles might be running as low as his were at this point. He needed to check in.

He regained the roof, glad that the rain and thunder would hide the quality of his voice.

“Room inside-- With the animals. Dry and warm.” He reached for the closest children, then glanced over to the edge. It was a long way from there to the deck.

“You go down, I’ll pass them to you. We have twenty-three, total. Six infants.” Aziraphale bundled up the blanket they’d had the smallest ones nestled in, and handed it to Crawly, who just nodded.

Getting the children down hurt, but he hid it as well as he could. Aziraphale didn’t stop handing them off, at any rate, so at least he had the constant distraction of having to keep up.

Thank goodness they were clingy; once he had them all on the deck, they did a quick headcount, and no one had wandered off. Better still, most of them could walk; the couple who couldn’t were swept into his and Aziraphale’s arms, and Crawly ignored the way their tiny legs wrapped around him, and dug the injured ribs deeper into the parts of him that hurt. He was also grateful for the mops of hair that he could hide his grimace in as he brushed past Aziraphale and led the way down, to warmth and safety and milk.

Children safely deposited, he reached automatically for his ribs, but saw Aziraphale staring, and turned the gesture into a nervous straightening of his robes instead.

“I uh-- now we’re here, I’ll go find something heartier than that.” He gestured at the pot, and smiled at one of the older girls, who was dipping the edge of her shirt in the milk and letting a babe suckle on it, only to repeat the process shortly thereafter.

“You have enough left in you to make more if I only get a bit?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“I’ll see to getting this lot sorted and settled. Thank you, Crawly.”

Crawly could feel the blood rushing to his face and quickly looked down and turned away, though the speed of his movement was a bad idea for his injury. He hissed softly, but walked fast so that no one could notice.

He would have liked to become a snake again for this, and slip into the occupied bits of the boat, but thankfully there were store rooms without people in them. He found grains, and almost laughed-- did they think they would be able to cook it? The whole place was wooden and wet, so good luck to them there.

He and the angel, on the other hand…

He purloined a bowl of oats and a couple of eggs, grabbed a small bread roll and tucked it in his robes, and, grinning, picked a ripe red apple from a pile.

If the angel made several of each of these, it’d do for a first meal after the storm. They could tuck away some leftovers and make them stay good, and keep having more of the same, if things got tricky with sneaking around, too.

And with any luck, maybe tomorrow, he could add some fish to the offering.

All said and done, this wasn’t half so hard as he’d expected. And they hadn’t been struck down yet, so, maybe God didn’t even mind.

Or, She couldn’t figure out a way of doing it without hurting Noah and crew in the process. Either way, Crawly was glad of it.

He gave his bounty to the angel and took over the crying babe he held in his lap.

“Your turn,” he murmured, rocking the poor little guy and holding him gingerly to his chest.

The kid calmed down right off, but there was another ruckus brewing.

The older kids, seeing there wasn’t much food, had all crowded in to get first dibs.

“Now, children, if you wait a moment there will be more than enough for everyone.” Aziraphale sounded frazzled, and Crawly realized quite suddenly that the angel had no idea how to handle kids. This was… delightful.

“Stand back-- Aziraphale’s going to perform a miracle!” He told them, piling on the false excitement and watching as it spread, nearly as infectious as their earlier fear had been.

With all those eyes on him-- including Crawly’s-- Aziraphale’s frazzledness turned into almost a sort of surprised preening.

“Ah-- yes, well-- oooh~!” He waved his hands over the food, reached up, and pulled down power, heating what needed it and multiplying all of it in a blink. This time, when the children fell upon the pile of food, Aziraphale let them, merely stepping aside.

“I think it was the ‘ooh’ that sold it.” Crawly murmured, sidling closer with his now-snoozing- armful. He did not comment on the surge of warmth that had formed in his chest, watching the children gasping in awe and delight at Aziraphale’s antics, and the way his face lit up when he smiled and meant it.

He wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t internal bleeding, after all.

“Well, and thank you for the ah-- announcement. And the food. And the shelter.”

The angel’s face went a little pinched, obviously concerned about the morality of taking advantage of what Crawly had offered.

“Suits us both-- I’m thwarting the Almighty’s plans of infanticide, and you’re protecting the innocent. All in the job description, eh?”

Crawly found his lips tugged upwards as Aziraphale’s face relaxed, seemingly soothed by that line of thought.

“How long d’you suppose we’ll be stuck in here, then? Awful lot of water, that. Won’t dry up particularly quickly.” He changed the subject before Aziraphale had a chance to poke too many holes in his logic.

“Oh, I don’t know-- I told you about the rainbow thing, but it wasn’t very clear how long between now and then. She’s been really into 40 days and nights lately; I shouldn’t wonder if it was right around there.”

Crawly groaned.

“That’s a long time to keep kids amused and quiet.” He looked over at the children, huddled together, starting to dry, but still looking incredibly bedraggled.

The oldest girl was building a series of nests for the smallest babes, unspooling some of the grasses that had clearly been harvested with the intent of feeding the beasts they were sharing this area with.

She draped the blanket over the whole mess, and the other kids, those old enough to hold the infants, placed their tiny burdens in each depression.

Crawly drifted over towards them.

“That was some good thinking. What’s your name?”

The girl looked up at him, then stood and held her arms out to receive the toddler he held.

“I’m Jael. This is my brother, Tobias.” She looked around at the rest of them. “Is there anyone else left?”

“Noah and his family, who built this boat-- they’re all alright. And… perhaps other boats, others who… reached higher ground?” Aziraphale was a terrible liar, and Crawly thought he should probably tell him so. But not right now.

“We won’t know for certain until the storm lets up.” Crawly said softly. “In the meantime, we’ll need to work together to keep comfortable and quiet. Noah doesn’t know we’re here, and I don’t know what he’d do if he found out.”

“My father says he’s a madman.” A slightly younger boy piped up.

“Perhaps your father’s right. And who might you be?” Crawly asked, butting in before Aziraphale could defend God’s chosen madman.

Crawly put his hands on his knees and bent down to be closer to this boy’s eye level-- upsetting his ribs in the process.

“I’m Amos.” He said proudly, and Crawly smiled through the wave of discomfort.

“Good to meet you, Amos. Your job is to let us know when everyone starts getting hungry, so we can make or get more food, alright? Can you do that?”

Amos nodded, and suddenly, much like they’d fallen in on the food, everyone was clamouring for jobs.

Crawly traded a quick glance with the angel, and set about getting to know their new little family.

Once the children had all settled in, piling together like puppies under blankets summoned by the angel, Crawly lay himself out, wincing but doing his best to hide it.

“Do you sleep?” Aziraphale asked, voice earnest and curious.

“Yeah.” Crawly responded, the word more of a grunt as he rolled to look his erstwhile enemy, now conspirator, in the eyes. “Feels good when you’re tired, when it’s been a long day. Good way to keep your strength up. You don’t?” He followed up, belatedly realizing that he must not-- not if he was that curious about it.

“I don’t. One must always be alert, in case of… evil.”

Crawly could hear the doubt in Aziraphale’s voice, and to him, it sounded like victory. Or a tiny taste of it, anyway. He wasn’t sure he wanted real victory; he had no doubt that would end in Aziraphale’s fall, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Well, seeing as how I’m the only evil around, and I’m about to sleep, you can relax if you’d like. Wake me if you need help with any of that lot.”

Crawly nodded, pointing at them with his chin.

“You are… surprisingly good with them. Where did you learn that?” Aziraphale asked, clearly not understanding the necessary processes for falling asleep.

“I hung out with those first few kids a bit. Cain and Abel.” And that tore him up, still, more than a little, but he thought he hid that well, too.

“Ah.” Aziraphale sounded judgmental, and Crawly scowled.

“Don’t go getting ideas, none of that had anything to do with me. I just told them stories-- none of which involved killing anything.”

Aziraphale looked doubtful, but Crawly huffed and shrugged.

“Believe me-- or don’t-- I’m not gonna hurt these kids. You can see to that. But now-- sleep. ‘Night.”

He rolled back over, signaling the end of the conversation, and carefully didn’t wince when Aziraphale sighed.

Served him right, the adorable featherbrained git.

He didn’t get to sleep long, jolting awake with a pained cry to find Aziraphale nudging him with his foot-- right in Crawly’s broken ribs.

He pressed his hand to the ache and sat up, groggy, to see that there was a baby in the angel’s arms, one who was obviously screaming-- it had gone all but red in the face-- but was completely soundless.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Aziraphale said, holding it out to him.

Crawly got up and took the child, pressing it to his shoulder on the slightly less painful side.

“Shh, shh shh shhh,” He murmured in its ear, bouncing slightly as he checked to see if the child had soiled itself-- and she had. He miracled that away, not keen to touch it, and felt another twinge-- he was still low on power after everything else that day. Or maybe being punished for using it the way he had; he wasn’t fully sure how that worked yet.

It wasn’t that he was squeamish-- he was a demon, after all-- but being a demon had certain benefits. Like not having to deal with this sort of thing personally. And being able to make the angel deal with the rest of the soiled nappies.

“Check and see that the others are all dry and clean in the pants?” He asked Aziraphale, who nodded and headed off to his task, clearly as glad to have something to do as the children had been, a few hours before. Even if it was less than glamorous.

The baby on Crawly’s shoulder was still going off, so he pulled on the edge of his robe, dunked it in the milk, and set to feeding her the way the other kids had shown them to earlier.

She took to it immediately, and quieted down while she suckled.

He let out a sigh of relief, and sat, cradling her in his arms until she’d had her fill, and then he held her vertically again and patted her back, certain that she’d sucked down at least as much air as she had sustenance.

Aziraphale removed the silencing around her, just in time for them to hear an astoundingly large belch, for such a little lady. A couple of the other children who had awakened with all the movement tittered in response.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Crawly asked, pulling her away to look her in the eye. She smiled, waved her little fist, and promptly vomited all over him.

He made a face and handed her off to Aziraphale.

“Why don’t you just miracle it away?” The angel asked, watching as Crawly grabbed at a handful of hay and began dabbing the mess off of himself with it. He grimaced as he upset his injury again, and rolled his eyes.

“I’m out. Exhausted. No more miracles left in me. Or cut off. Either way--” He told the angel a little warily. He didn’t think he’d try and discorporate him right now-- not when he obviously needed help with the children, but there was still something terrifying about being vulnerable around your enemy.

Aziraphale was swaying in place, holding the child who was already beginning to drift off.

“Then remove it, and I’ll clean it for you.”

“Remove it?” Crawly squeaked, somewhat undignified.

“Well, I don’t want to risk accidentally miracling you and-- you know, doing damage.”

Crawly couldn’t think of a good argument against it, but he turned around, hoping to preserve some modesty in the process-- and hide the other reason he was quietly at Aziraphale’s mercy.

Still as the robe came off, Aziraphale gasped.

“Crawly?” He asked, voice shaky, and Crawly turned a little to look over his shoulder, though it pained him to do so.

“What, you never seen scales before?” He joked, but Aziraphale’s eyes slid round to see the front of him, which was probably much worse.

“What happened, why didn’t you-- oh.” Aziraphale moved the child over to its empty little nest, and returned to steer Crawly to face him, his eyes skating over his ribs.

“You’re hurt, and you’ve been using your miracles on the children, instead of healing yourself.” He said softly, almost reverently.

Crawly, uncomfortable beneath the angel’s unwavering attention, felt his face growing red and, to his horror, his flush traveled down his neck and chest, slipping past where he kept the robes held loosely around his waist.

“In fairness, not sure I know how to heal myself. Not really something they teach uss demonsss.” He leaned on the word, reminding Aziraphale that he’d been accusing him of planning to hurt these kids not long before.

Aziraphale gave him a reproachful look, as if he hadn’t earned that reminder.

“Well. Let’s get your robe clean for now-- just hold it out, there.” He pulled his hand downwards, as if tugging on a string tied to a rafter, and the milkspit vanished.

“And tomorrow, or as soon as you feel up to it, I’ll see if I can’t teach you. It can’t be all that different, after all-- you were an angel once.”

“Hm.” Crawly said in lieu of thanks, and looked away, embarrassed and pleased and not certain why.

“Might be helpful. Never know when you might need to mend a scraped knee for one of our new friends. Here,” Aziraphale said, guiding him back towards the space he’d claimed as his own earlier. “You rest. I imagine I should be able to manage for a while, now.”

Crawly nodded, not sure how he was meant to respond to such… fondness, such kindness. So he did what he did best, and closed his eyes to hide from his problems, if only for a few more hours.

They opened again, shortly, when one of the more daring youngsters crept closer and lifted his arm, snuggling up against Crawly’s chest ever so gently.

More followed, until he found himself surrounded by children, half of whom were using him as a fairly pointy pillow.

Helplessly, he looked up and met Aziraphale’s entirely too fond eyes, and promptly slammed his own eyes closed again.

Sleep, he decided.

Things would be less confusing in the morning.

#whumptober #whumptober2019 #good omens fic #ark fic #kid fic #that writing thing I do #the arklings

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azulaahai · 6 years

Text

I Close My Eyes, But She’s Still There

When her older brother fails to return from a voyage to a nearby village, it is up to Sansa Stark to find him again.

A messy Jon x Sansa Beauty and the Beast AU based on the Disney movie(s) for @miazeklos for this round of the @jonsaexchange - I really hope you enjoy it! ♥ Title, of course, from the song ”Evermore” on the movie soundtrack.

You can also read this on ao3.

* * *

T H E B E A U T Y

It will have to be her, Sansa thinks, as she mounts the horse, the old leather of the saddle creaking in protest as she straddles it.

There’s no one else left.

They’ve been scraping by, her family, doing what they could to keep above water. Losing father was unbearable, the loss and grief threatening to undo them. But losing mother, not a year thereafter … that was almost impossible.

That winter brought them close to starvation - Sansa and Robb went without food for days so that Arya, Bran and Rickon could eat. They had few friends in the village, the Stark always having been viewed as peculiar, worshipping other gods and keeping other customs than the rest of the villagers. In the coldest weeks of winter, they all fell ill with fever. Rickon, baby Rickon, was in the worst shape, and for a few days there Sansa was sure they would lose him too.

But Rickon had made it through the peak of the fever, shiny Stark-grey eyes blinking awake in the morning, and Sansa had thanked whatever gods that must still have been hearing her prayers.

And spring had come again, as surely and suddenly as winter had snuck up on them - the drives of snow had begun thawing, the cold winds softened their touch, the early flowers sprung up where there had been ice weeks before. Arya went out without her furs. Hope, that treacherous beast, began spurring in Sansa again. With spring here, the roads would once more be safe for travels - they could trade with neighbouring villages, as their parents had - sell furs and handiworks of Sansa’s making, grow vegetables in the garden again.

It had all looked so heartbreakingly bright, there, for a while. Robb had set out on his first trading journey with a broad, victorious grin on his lips, and they’d all been there to wave him off as he went in the carriage, Grey Wind, their beautiful silvergrey gelding, pulling Robb and their goods off on an adventure.

And then came the waiting.

First, he was a day or two late. It was easy to brush off, to explain to Rickon, who threw a fit when Robb wasn’t home on time - their brother could simply have decided to stay longer in the other village for whatever reason, or have been delayed on the road. He’d be home anytime now, for sure.

But he wasn’t.

On the third day a terrified Grey Wind, without the carriage and sweating profusely, galloped into the garden, large dark eyes stirring white.

And Sansa’s world came crashing down once more.

A cloud of steam rises as she exhales in the early morning - a chilly bite remains in the air, though spring has come for true now.

She is following her brother’s trail, Grey Wind uneasy beneath her as they set off into the woods. The landscape lays quiet around them, the silence broken only by the occassional bird or snapping tree branch.

No one is there to see them go - only Arya knows she’s leaving, and she’s still sleeping inside with their little brothers. Her sister begged and demanded that Sansa let her go find Robb in her stead. Arya is the fiercest of the two, no doubt about it, and by far the superior rider - but with Robb and their parents gone, Sansa’s the eldest, responsible for the others. She could never send Arya off to an unknown danger.

And if she’s to never return, their brothers would likely fare better with Arya, she-wolf with teeth and claws, to protect them, than Sansa with her songs and stories.

* *

The ride is hard, at least on her untrained body; Sansa’s legs are sore after a mere half hour. Grey Wind is not his usual calm, reliable self - he’s taut as a bow string beneath the saddle, freezing or jumping to the side at every small noise. They keep a humble pace, trotting along the forest trail. Not a single man or creature is in sight, save a bunny that flees when it spots them and a bird flying up from the bushes, giving Grey Wind a fright.

There’s something strange in the air, Sansa reflects with a shiver; the air seems to have grown colder. Snow remains in the ditches on the side of the trail, and Sansa must be imagining it, but it almost seems as though the amount of it increases the further into the forest they travel.

The silence, too, seems to grow louder in here among the trees, more piercing. Sansa hasn’t been this deep into the woods for years, but the forest she remembers from her childhood, when she used to ride in the back of her father’s carriage, was not at all this quiet. It’s as if nature itself is holding it’s breath.

* *

When Grey Wind wants to trail off track into the woods the first time, she stops him with a pull on the reins. The horse, behaving highly out of character, ignores her command, continuing on the small path he’s found. Sansa, equally annoyed and scared as she gazes into the dimness of the forest ahead, half-dark even during the day, urges him to turn back.

Instead, he increases their pace as he sets off into the woods, breaking into a trot, then a canter, dark silhouettes of trees whirling by on both sides as Sansa desperately pulls on the reins to hold the horse back.

Grey Winds does not heed her commands, nor her shouts as their speed turns reckless. Snow lies thick on the ground here, though Sansa has no time to dwell on that. The horse has lost his mind, it appears - fear flutters through her. She does not notice the trees beginning to thin out around her, knows nothing but the sound of hooves hitting snow at a mad pace and her own primal fear telling her she’s a second or so from death. Sansa presses her eyes shut, not wanting to see the end as it hits her -

And then - suddenly - salvation.

Grey Wind suddenly slows down, steam rising from him in the cold, Sansa sees as she hesitantly opens her eyes again.

The cold, yes - so unforgiving now, cutting through Sansa’s thick woolen cloak as were it cotton.

The horse’s pace gradually decreasing, until he’s walking calmly again, he bows his head and snorts, as if in apology for his temporary outbreak of madness.

And that’s when Sansa realizes there are no trees surrounding them anymore.

That’s when she sees the castle.

* *

T H E B E A S T

It has been a long, long time since he’s seen people.

And now there’s two of them in a matter of days.

He hears voices, as he moves up the stairs, echoing in the tower like a beautifully twisted melody.

”Robb!?” a bright, melodious one exclaims. Is that the name of his prisoner? Jon has not bothered learning it.

His steps feel heavy.

”Sansa?” is heard next, in the deep voice he’s come to recognize as the prisoner.

They know each other, then.

”You have to leave, Sansa”, says the prisoner, and Jon grinds to a halt in the stairs.

They’re afraid of him.

Of course.

Why wouldn’t they be?

He begins moving up the steps again, quicker. No more of this, no more strange people in his castle. He prefers to mope in solitude.

There comes more talking from up in the tower, lower now; Jon can’t make out the words. He steps up the last few steps in a rage, angry to be disturbed, angry to be feared.

He steps into the tower room and there she is.

Red hair, glistening blue eyes. She does not cry out when she sees him - that is to her credit. But she flinches away as he steps into the light, and the revulsion written across her features stings.

The prisoner stands on the other side of the bars of the cell, looking ready to break out just to stand between Jon and this woman.

”What is the meaning of this?” Jon roars, in that voice that still isn’t quite his.

”Who are you?” the girl breathes, still taken aback.

”Given that it is my castle, it is I who should be asking you that.”

”I’m here for my brother.” She straightens her shoulders, a quiet defiance in her eyes as they meet his. To his surprise, hers don’t have fear as much as vigilance in them.

In the cell, her brother begins speaking to him, both pleading and demanding at the same time. ”Let her leave. She has done you no wrong. Let her go. Sansa”, he says to the girl. She looks at him despairingly, and for a second, Jon feels …

Strange.

”Sansa, leave now”, the prisoner says. ”Go home …”

”Not without you.” There’s tears in those eyes now. Jon takes a step back without thinking.

The girl turns to him then, accusation written across her features.

”By what right do you hold him here?”

”He trespassed on my land”, Jon grunts. ”Slept in a room in my castle.”

”Sansa”, the prisoner says again. ”Go. Now.”

”And what would it take for you to release him?” Desperation in those sky-blue eyes.

Jon snorts, and the sound startles her. He hates it, hates the way he is a monster -

but he is.

A beast.

”Your brother is imprisoned for a crime. I will not release him. If you leave here now and swear never to return, I shall grant you leave this once.”

”Sansa”, comes from the prisoner again. ”Leave. Please.”

* *

T H E B E A U T Y

Robb is pleading with her from his cell, the beast before her turning to leave, thinking the matter settled. But in Sansa’s mind, an idea has hatched - a plan vaguely beginning to form.

It’s rather mad. Not at all like her.

But she thinks of her younger brothers back in the cottage. They’ll almost be ready for bed, now - twilight’s just around the corner. She thinks of Arya - angry and frightened and strong. She’ll probably be up all night, waiting for someone to come home.

They don’t need me, Sansa thinks. The thought both hurts and relieves her. Not as they need Robb.

And so she calls out to the beast.

”And if I wish to take his place as prisoner?”

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #jonsaexchange #I'm so sorry about this it's a fucking mess #the deadline snuck up on me #akjfkhdkjhfkjshdf

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