#there is so much fluff so enjoy :)

[uzurakis]

hi kiara! can you please make a continuation of “their act of intimacy” but with gojo, toji, and sukuna? i melted the first time i read them with the other characters 😭 hope you have a good day ahead of you ❤️

THEIR ACT OF INTIMACY?

featuring: gojo satoru. ryomen sukuna. toji fushiguro.

n. aaa thanku for liking the previous one! this is for you nonnie <3 didn’t really proofread cause i’m running late on sleep lol. PART ONE HERE :0

GOJO SATORU. gojo finds it calming when you both take a shower together. however, his notion of "calming" may differ from the ordinary. instead of drowsing in warm water and doing all those private things such as soaping his back and shampooing his hair, you and him sometimes have other spontaneous ideas in mind.

as the warm water cascaded down, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness that's as comforting as it is exhilarating. satoru, with his irrepressible charm and mischievous grin, stood beside you, his presence filled the space with a playful energy.

"ah, feels like heaven," he sighed, whilst eyes gleaming with shenanigans. you chuckled, reaching for the shampoo. “don’t start a water fight again, satoru. let us enjoy a nice and relaxing—“

but before you could react, a splash of water hit you square in the face, causing you to sputter and laugh. “gotcha!" the man exclaimed, his laughter echoed through the tiled walls.

"it’s sooo on now!" you declared, retaliating with a splash of your own.

and just like that, the bathroom transformed into a battleground, with water flying in every direction as you both engaged in your playful antics. amidst the laughter and the splashing, there's an undeniable sense of joy that filled the room.

"careful, satoru," you warned, dodging his playful advances, "you're going to get soap in your eyes."

but he just grinned. "not before you get ‘em first, babe.”

and so, you guys continued your playful banter. soaked to the bone and grinning from ear to ear, gojo satoru defines his own calming moments with you.

RYOMEN SUKUNA. your boyfriend is a big guy, or so he believes before you swoop in and baby him. does he resist? yes. but will he eventually agree? absolutely.

the aroma of freshly cooked pasta filled the air as you stood in the kitchen. across the room, your boyfriend, sukuna, leaned against the counter, watching you with a bemused expression. you took a small portion with a spoon in hand, "say 'a' for me, sukuna.”

"hell nah.” his face was holding back the disgust. “you know, i can feed myself, right?"

"come on, baby, just one bite," you urged, eyes pleading. he hesitated for a moment, then sighed, giving in to you. “no—tsk, fine.”

“just this once.”

as he reluctantly opened his mouth, you couldn't help but suppress a giggle at the sight of him being spoon-fed like a child. your boyfriend’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he quickly swallowed the pasta, avoiding your gaze.

"see, that wasn't so bad, was it?" you teased, unable to contain your amusement.

he grumbled something unintelligible in response, but as you proceeded to feed him, he took every piece and never turned it down until the last bite.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. toji never declines your offer to groom him. he rarely takes attention to his appearance, whereas you insist on cleaning up him up and do it with your own hands. at first, he doesn't think of it as intimate thing because isn’t it just about cutting and shaving? but as time goes on, he understands how much you value him and treasures the time you spent solely on him.

the soft glow of evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the cozy living room. toji sat on the couch, his unkempt hair falling into his eyes. you watched him from afar with a fond smile tugging at your lips.

“toji,” you called out. “your hair has gotten longer than the last time i remember.” he chuckled softly, already accustomed to this routine. "is it that time again?"

with scissors and a comb in hand, you approached him with a smile. “c’mere, sit down, baby.”

letting a shrug plus a grin, the man complied, settling onto the stool you'd placed in the middle of the room. as you draped a towel around his shoulders, his eyes met yours in the mirror.

"you know, i understand why you enjoy doing this so much.” he admitted, leaning back as you began to comb through his hair.

"you know why?” you replied, your voice soft as you worked. "it's about taking care of each other, babe. showing love in the little things."

he fell silent at your words, mulling them over as you continued to trim away stray strands. gradually, the tension seemed to melt from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of ease and contentment.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

#cant tell how much i enjoyed writing this esp gojo’s part ITS JUST SO GOOFY OF HIM #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #.writing #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #satoru x you #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #toji fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fluff

[toruslvt]

Can't get enough of your writings from last place and also a HUGE Genshin/HonkaiStarRail stan. Quick request, if you don't mind and have time, Could you do a Dan Heng (Either form) or Zhongli with FemReader who is super shy about their body. SFW or NSFW would be great. Again, love your work. Hope to see more through the year :D

— dan heng, zhongli + fem!reader.

mdni. ( nonie pls read the tags ily ) both fluff and smut. dragon boys who don’t get human emotions that well yet wish nothing more than your happiness... cunilingus 😋.

dan heng doesn’t understand why you’re so shy about your body, he only wishes you could see yourself through his eyes. see the perfection in your whole being and why his hands seem unable to be away from you for too long; he’s aware of your lack of self-confidence, and absolutely hates himself for not making you feel loved enough.

there is not a moment when dan heng’s hands aren’t touching you somehow, like a soft, tender rub on your back, a fleeting brush of his hands on your waist as you walk past him, and of course, multiple kisses placed on the patches of skin where your shirt doesn’t cover. utterly obsessed with you is what dan heng is.

intimately is the same, your lover takes his time in kissing you silly until you’re hazy and unable to tell him no when his hands take off your clothes, although, if you wished to remain clothed somehow, he would never deny that to you.

dan heng’s favorite part is letting his lips trace the whole expanse of your body, his pants tightening around his growing erection, painfully hard but wishing to satisfy you first, make you feel more comfortable while muttering sweet nothings against your skin where his lips lay and you shake in return, there’s bites on your thighs, licks and kisses, marks for you to see the following day and perhaps, loving your body a little bit more with the print of his love in your skin.

on the other hand, Zhongli’s love language is through words more than actions, always finding himself cupping your cheeks and muttering how insanely gorgeous you are, how every single detail of your beautiful body drives him utterly insane, leaving you all flustered under his intense amber gaze.

there isn’t a day that passes where Zhongli isn’t eager to explore your body with his mouth and hands, slowly and steadily undoing your clothes under your lust filled eyes. “don’t do that, let me see you” he rasps when you cover yourself, slightly demanding and rough but not enough to scare you, staring at you from between your thighs with a piercing gaze that makes you whimper, letting your hands tangle on his hair while Zhongli’s tongue lick up your pretty pussy. although his favorite days are when you have those outbursts of confidence, still shyly taking off your clothes under his intense staring, it makes his cock pulse watching you so prettily crawl over his body, a smirk always plastered on his face that's half lust, and half adoration.

#HI LOVELY <3 this ask made me so happy ! I'm very glad you enjoy what I write hehe #I'll do my absolute best in trying to keep up the fics coming steadily ! thank you so so much for the request and lovely message 🥰 #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #dan heng smut #dan heng fluff #hsr smut #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #𐔌᭥ᩙ༉

[kismets-barista]

Lil Brozone, Floyd- centric oneshot for y'all's enjoyment!

Spoilery for Band Together, so if you're still awaiting watching the movie I'd suggest waiting to read, my friends! Have a lovely night!

Five months, twenty eight days.

That’s how long it had taken him to be able to walk without having to stop for breath.

Floyd was fully recovering, slowly but surely. After moving back to Pop Village, there’d been nothing for him except plenty of rest, John Dory’s incessant mother henning (seriously, that guy was the textbook definition of Anxiety even if he continued to deny it,) and help from his brothers to recuperate. They’d laid off on any public performances, putting aside thoughts of the word tour for later on. Way later on. 

But today was the day. Finally the day they’d decided to put on a public performance, a day that had all of them on their toes with preparations for the five song ‘concert.’ The energy buzzing in the air was something Floyd had missed, but the troll could honestly barely concentrate on how excited he was as his chest filled with sticky, sludgy feelings of dread. The magenta-haired troll sat in front of his light-rimmed vanity mirror, staring back at the shock of white that ran from the roots of his hair and up to the middle. 

He thought he’d gotten over this. 

It wasn’t going to change. It was evident that his hair, along with himself, had permanently changed as a result of that capture. Of his death. 

And pretty much everyone in the village knew that it was a result of something. A bad something. 

Some of them, Cooper specifically, had outright asked. But he didn’t have the best buffer, so Floyd couldn’t find it in his heart to be mad. Others had given him looks, even staring as he began to get out of the house those first months. He could remember the eyes trained on him as John Dory slowly helped him along, talking about an adventure he’d gone on way ‘back in his day,’ as he liked to call it. Floyd had kept to himself, mostly, until John Dory noticed how quiet his brother was being and did something the younger couldn’t.

He stared back at the trolls. Sure, it probably planted the seeds of assumption that John Dory was every bit as standoffish as Branch used to be, but Floyd had to admire his brother’s determination to keep him comfortable. 

“Ten minutes til final soundchecks!” Mayday (Brozone’s stage director’s) voice cut through the silence, and Floyd jerked out of his reverie. He sighed, opening the drawer to his desk and fished through a thousand hair products and ties to pull out a fluffy, white scrunchy. Maybe pulling it up would help lessen the… amount of times people had to see his hair. Floyd let out another sigh as he pulled up his hair, staring himself down in the mirror as he twisted it every which way. “Come on… there’s gotta be some way I can make you look normal again,” he whispered fiercely, tugging on his hair harder as desperation bubbled in his chest. Every way he moved it, white, white, white. The young troll’s hands began to shake as he started to tie it up, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his breathing shortened. 

How could he go out there looking like this? It’s bad enough as it is, why did he think for a second that today would be any different with how he felt about this… this awful hair of his? 

He considered flaking on his brothers as his breaths began to come out in short gasps. A thousand different excuses flitted through his mind, and Floyd began to grasp at them, one by one. He wasn’t feeling well. He was exhausted again. He couldn’t catch his breath quite right - no, that one would send them into a panic, probably. The thoughts crescendoed, and Floyd yanked on the scrunchie a bit too hard. It snapped, and rebounded on his hand. Causing the duo-tone haired-troll to yelp in pain. He flicked his head in the air, waving off the sting before letting his head sink down to rest on the top of the vanity. He was getting himself way too worked up… this wasn’t going to help anything. He needed to do this show. Needed to prove that he was… fine. Well. As fine as he could be.

“This is for all the lonely people…” he whisper-sang to himself, voice breathy as he steadied his pounding heart. Pulling on his fingers gently. “Thinking that life has passed us by…”

“We won’t give up until we, drink from that silver cup, and ride…” Floyd’s voice tapered off as he frowned, momentum to sing even to himself puttering off. Today was supposed to be a happy day. But here he slumped, moping like someone had just kicked a box of kittens in front of him.

“Ride that highway in the sky.” The lyric lifted softly as a question, and the troll sat up and looked behind himself in confusion. His face lit up at the sight of Branch, his baby brother leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely crossed against each other.

“Oh, Branch. Hey.” Floyd offered him a grin, to which his younger brother readily responded with one of his own. 

“Hey. Was looking for you. JD wanted us to have a little meeting or whatever before our final soundchecks for the show so I came to get you. How’re you feeling?” He asked while walking over, sitting near his brother. Taking in everything about the older troll, inquisitive blue eyes flitting over the top of Floyd’s hair and down to his toes.

“I’m fine,” Floyd shrugged, stretching as he stood. Paused as he realized that saying ‘I’m fine’ was not an appropriate response, as Branch had told him so many times before. Practically drilled it into his head, at this point. He cut Branch off before his younger brother could say anything by shaking his head and letting out a loud “I meant- I meant that I’m feeling really good. I’m excited for the show, I slept plenty last night so I’m not tired, and I stretched this morning so I’m not achy like I usually am when I wake up.”

He could visibly see Branch’s tightly-wound demeanor relax, and the younger troll stood to join his brother as they headed out of the dressing room.

“Great. Now come on. They’re not too far away.”

And it was only when they made it into the break room, overstuffed couches laden with throw pillows and the ground practically made of mismatched rugs that Floyd realized all of his brothers had hair caps on. They’d happily yelled out his name when he walked in, and Branch had guided the troll over to a couch to sit down before nodding at JD, who’d been chuckling at the fact that Floyd was staring at them as if they all had grown second heads. 

“How ya feelin’, bro-bro? Ready for BroZone’s big debut into Pop Village?”

“Well, when you put it like that, admittedly nervous. But excited, all the same. I’ve missed singing with you all, truly.” He smiled up at his older brothers, who, upon hearing that, all exchanged a look. They nodded at each other, and Bruce took a deep breath while reaching up to the cap covering his hair.

“Well, buddy, we’ve got a bit of a pre-show gift for you,” he started.

“We know how much your hair means to you, and how hard the change has been on you,” Clay continued.

“So we wanted to do a little something just to remind you that you aren’t alone, with how you’re feeling. No matter how hard it may be at times,” Branch finished, and all four of them pulled off their hair caps after JD counted down from three.

And Floyd instantly burst into tears.

Streaking through each of their hair was bold white streaks, the color dyed at the roots of their hair and stretching up and up, just like Floyd’s. It looked natural- how did they do that? 

A million thoughts were running through his mind, but Floyd couldn’t grasp at a single one as the tears continued to pour down his face. He reached out to them, and his brothers were all surrounding him, hugging him tightly. 

“Surprise,” Branch sang softly, and Floyd grabbed onto his arm, squeezing it tightly as he hugged him. He was making his best attempt to hug everyone, which, seeing as it was four full-grown trolls was a bit hard- but the appreciative smile that was plastered onto his face like the sun piercing through a veil of thick clouds was hard to miss. He continued to cry into the hug, emotions overwhelming him as he went from sobs, to weeping that had the four of them pulling him down from the couch and to the ground and up into their arms. 

It took him a few minutes to pull himself together enough to wipe his eyes, but when he did, Floyd gave his brothers the most grateful look he could manage. He didn’t expect to see them crying, too, but it was clear that he’d affected them by crying so hard- and, the fact that they’d already been having a hard time keeping it together even before surprising him with the monumental change. Trolls didn’t just dye their hair- tinsel and extensions were normal in Pop Village but to physically change it like that? It was almost taboo.

“Man, I love you guys so much. I can’t believe you’d just… do that. For me. It means… it means so much.” His voice wavered as he broke down into tears again, but forced himself to reel it in as John Dory patted his back with a big grin.

“Believe it, bro. We’d go to the ends of the earth for you, this wasn’t nothin’ but a stone’s throw across the water if you ask me.”

“What’d I do to deserve such good brothers?” Floyd laughed tearfully, and Clay ruffled his hair gently. “Some would say you were born into this family. And that’s how you got such good brothers.”

The younger troll laughed, taking his brother’s hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Okay, that was a little cheesy,” Floyd chuckled. “But I gotta ask, who…”

“It was John Dory’s idea,” Bruce boasted proudly for the older troll, who’s ears turned bright red as he looked away.

“Dah, anything for my little brother,” he tried to play it off. But Floyd wasn’t having any of that. The younger troll dove into his older brother, pulling him into a hug. He was followed by his four other brothers, who practically dogpiled him and fell on top of each other. A stunned silence befell the brothers before they burst into laughter, and Floyd could feel a massive weight he didn’t even know that was sitting on his chest lift and dissipate. And he knew right then and there that no matter how down he was feeling about himself, how bad everything could get at times, he would always have his brothers to rely on. There were going to be much, much brighter days ahead.

“I love you guys. So much.” “We love you too, Floyd. Don’t you forget it.”

And he wouldn’t. He never would. 

#trolls band together #floyd trolls #bruce trolls #john dory trolls #clay trolls #branch trolls #viadrabbles #oneshot #trolls 2023 #writers of tumblr #fluff #writer on a03 too #1000 words #I had so much fun writing this! #enjoy! #brozone #minor minor oc mention

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

Heaven is Here

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

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

WORD COUNT : 12,253

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

55BC—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pity, they are quite delectable."

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

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

"She looks happy," Crowley said.

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

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

"What was sarcasm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angel..."

"Yes?" He was avoiding eye contact

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

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

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

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

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

"And that's ironic?"

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

"Why yes I do think-"

"Angel, that was irony."

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

"We?"

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

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

"Well, yes but-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I s'pose not."

"What can I do for you?"

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

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

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

"Hurt by his own army?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No, it wouldn't be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not going to help are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

1377—————

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

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

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

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

"Churches are built by humans."

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

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

"It is not."

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

Aziraphale pursed his lips, "I suppose not."

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

"That is your concern?"

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

"He's a child."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crowley sighed, "Right I'm sorry -"

"- that really hurts -"

"- I know, I know -"

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

"-we had this conversation in 1066 -"

" - I did not appreciate that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pardon?"

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

"I never said that."

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

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

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

"Come now-"

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

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

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

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

"Very nice."

"Are we good, now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"S'alright Angel, up up."

"Pardon -"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes lit up, "like the Angel?"

"Precisely, my dear."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh dear, I couldn't -"

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

"Please accept this, Aziraphale."

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

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

1601—————

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

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

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

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

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

"Eh, I still prefer the funny ones."

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

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

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

"I-I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rather blasphemous words from an Angel."

"Rather kind actions from a demon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's your name?"

"Mary Edwins."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You make her clothes?"

"Oh no, I tend to mend them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you alright?" She asked.

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

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

"Wot?" He said in shock.

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

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

"She was something," Crowley said.

"Yes, she was."

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

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

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

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

1865—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-77 and 1601."

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

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

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

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

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

Crowley swallows, "same 'ere."

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

Current Day—————

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

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

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

"What're you doing out

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh Crowley, wonderful you're here-"

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

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

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

"Yes, I do. Crowley-"

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

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

"Are you absolutely sure?"

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

"She's here."

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

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

"You saw a golden thread?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Head honcho Michael?" Crowley asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh dear."

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

"I blessed her for eternity."

"So? What's that mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Language," Aziraphale said with pursed lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," Aziraphale said quietly.

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

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

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

"What do we do?" Crowley asked.

"We have to tell her."

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

"Well that would be straightforward -"

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

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

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

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

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

"You seeing that, Angel?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, dear, we are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But white and black make grey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cerise-on-top]

Hugging, Kissing and Cuddling HCs for König

I'm trying to see him in another light again after everything I've seen about him, so I decided I'd write something fluffy and nice for him. And then came the realization I never wrote some HCs like these for him in my original posts, so I decided I'd change that! He's Austrian, so naturally I have to love him!

When it comes to hugging someone, König is a bit hesitant. Considering he’s not the most physically affectionate person out there, it’s almost an honor to be receiving an unprompted hug from him. Whether his hugs are long or short depends on the occasion: If he’s proud of you for accomplishing something, then the hug will be rather short lived. Though, he might pick you up and spin you around until you’re dizzy. If you’re sad and need some comfort then his hugs could last a while. He’s not the best with words, he prefers to listen to other people, but if he knows a hug is what usually helps you then he’s willing to do so. Despite being a big and strong lad his hugs are surprisingly gentle, he’s worried about crushing you. He could put his all into them, but then you’d likely end up with a few broken ribs and he doesn’t want that to happen. König is also surprisingly warm, so receiving a hug from him is a rare, but nice experience. Although he does go rigid at the beginning, not knowing what to do, but relaxes into the hug eventually.

Again, he’s not a very physically affectionate person, but isn’t opposed to the occasional peck on the cheek or on your lips either. There is some anxiety whether you’d actually want a kiss from him or not, so he doesn’t kiss you very often, even if you do reassure him that it’s quite alright. He’s a bit tense at first when he presses a kiss to your lips, but calms down eventually. It’s especially bad during the beginning of your relationship, but he’s since gotten better at being calm about it. Since there’s a good chance he’s taller than you he loves giving you a kiss on the forehead. It’s a small but sweet gesture. He doesn’t need to bend down entirely to reach you but he still gets to be affectionate with you. However, if you’re on the taller side, or just as tall as he is, then he’d love to receive kisses to his temple from you. It makes him smile every time you do it. If he’s in the mood for receiving a kiss then he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and nudge you a bit. Or try to get his head in your closer vicinity. Kind of like that one bunny video where the bunny stretches to receive some kisses.

Cuddles with him are a bit more common than hugs actually. However, he refuses to lay down on top of you. If you’re shorter and weaker than him then there’s no chance he’ll put his weight on you, he’s just that afraid of hurting you. If you’re taller or just more muscular, then he might, but he’s still a rather heavy lad. Most he’ll do is put his head on your shoulder while you’re cuddling in bed and are both lying down. Although it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t want to be held. König is alright with being the one to hold you, but sometimes he would prefer to be the little spoon as well. That urge gets especially bad if you’re roughly the same size as him. Sometimes just nuzzling into your chest does the trick for him as well, though. Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair as he does so. Another thing he adores is you sleeping on his chest as he holds you. He gets to hold you close, he gets to protect you and he gets to doze off a bit himself, it’s bliss to him. Sometimes he leans down to press a kiss to your head and accidentally wakes you up like that. He feels bad about it and apologizes profusely, but does chuckle a bit when he sees your disheveled hair and your tired expression that shows you just woke up.

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #he actually kind of scares me these days even if I don't want that to happen in the slightest so I'm trying to desensitize myself again #I know people always joke about fanon könig vs canon könig but I think I will write him a bit softer with his s/o again #just to combat all those awful things I've seen about him that I don't want to be true and that I also want to forget about #könig is a big lad so I knew from the beginning I wanted him to be good at hugging because this is self indulgent #I feel like if it weren't for his anxiety he'd be much much cuddlier #because that's the case with me even if I have other things going on as well #and what is a funny character you write about if not another piece of yourself? #I've put so much of myself into some of these characters and yet people keep requesting them so I must be doing something right #it's more fun that way as well when you put your characters through something you've gone through. more relatable too #but I think that's something pretty much every writer does. that's why some requests are so difficult to write #I got one about marrying Laswell and Nikolai and that was a difficult request for me because the last wedding I went to #was my parents' and that was almost 18 years ago. man time flies I was 4 years old back then #so naturally I don't remember much either. But I tried and that's what's important! #either way please enjoy this piece of fluff I wrote today!

[mysteriesmuse]

MusicStudent Katsuki Bakugou who’s the same grade and is a member of the ensemble you’re in this semester. As a percussionist he has a lot of spare time in his hands in orchestra and even more at a fantastic vantage point. There’s the barrier of percussion instruments that separates them onto their own little world — the set up spanning across the entire back of the rehearsal room as they all fly back and forth past each other to get to their multiple part assignments. — he’s got a lot of accessory assignments for this semester; and the fact of holding claves, triangles, swiping chimes, and slamming car engines means he’s relatively on the move. However, it also means he’s not assigned to anything during part of rehearsal — that means he can leave early at times. Which coincidentally happens to align with some of the pieces that you’re not assigned on. Not that you couldn’t perform them, but rather there’s no need for you to be there since they cut down on parts for this one piece in particular. But when you are both playing Katsuki tends to rely on his sense of time as his gaze wanders from the conductor to your chair. As he sits in the throne behind the timpani he gets the perfect view of you and your side profile. The perfect spot to overhear your light chatter - to read your micro expressions - to see the way you’ve dressed and the way you slightly mark your music. Katsuki snickers at the way you make haste to make an accusing face at the trombone players for wrong notes or overblasting tone. Katsuki twitches when he hears you frack a note waiting for the flashes of second hand embarrassment to touch your ears, but you pout and sheepishly shrug it away the only tinges of red as tingly thing in his chest. Katsuki who watches you pout your lips and talk as you slather in chapstick during the break and crack open an electrolyte powder into your water bottle and shake it up as the start of every rehearsal.

And you cradle that water bottle with you out into the hallway when you’re not needed and the two of you stand outside in the hallway together — that’s where he learned what you like to eat and drink and how you liked your boba order. And it’s on one day where the schedule declares that you’re on duty for the entire rehearsal and he isn’t that he decides to talk a walk; opening his notes app to make sure he gets your order right, your favorite flavor. And he stops at the boba truck that’s permanently parked on the right side of campus every afternoon and orders you both one. Walking back with the spring sunshine on his face and a black baseball cap sporting the university logo on it with two bobas in hand. The sweet cool breeze mingle with the chill sugary boba on his lips. The jelly tapioca pearls a familiar serotonin inviting sensation in his mouth. The calloused skin on his fingertips getting damp with the condensation - except it’s all more than worth it when he greats you after rehearsal in the room. Katsuki catches you as your packing up a red eye watching your form as the everything gets packed away into the gig bag. He waits until you’re ready and have turned for the door that he calls for you, “Oi’ I got you something,” shaking the second boba in the air. The slow and steady tortoise like walk you has speeds up as you dodge the playful fleeting fist bumps and voices of your cello and trombone friends. You flutter to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “No way, thank you ‘tsuki!”

He grins with a shrug, “You were talking about it before rehearsal and I had some off-time today. S’ no biggy.” The grin you have and the contact of your grabby hands against his has him laughing as you place your lips around the straw like a toddler. “I know you’re a purest about the instrument food thing.” After your enthuastic sip he adds, “Wanna pack up and walk around campus for a while to enjoy these?” He notes you’re dressed for it. In your cute tank top and breezy collared crochet button shirt — you worked on it all last semester and have been loathe to be found without it now that the real nice spring weather has arrived. “Yeah totally, let me put this away first and we can go!” And Katsuki watches you disappear for a few minute before you reappear and playfully knock shoulders with him as he holds the door open for you on the way out into the glorious March sunshine.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #I had so much fun just putting the words out there and creating my own little self serving fanfic moment!! #I hope some other get to enjoy this little daydream of mine!

[nsharks]

i just wanted to say i love your writing so much and i really enjoy following simon and y/n’s relationship! i honestly feel as if you have come up with the most accurate characterization of ghost (through both dialogue and his actions) i have ever read these days and its heart-wrenchingly beautiful to see how he opens up and softens gradually over the course of all these different moments of their relationship. im glad someone else requested the beginning of their relationship (i was curious myself!) but if i could request maybe what y/n’s birthday or an anniversary would look like? what Simon would do as a romantic gesture👀?

simon can be romantic in his own way

You’re almost certain Simon didn’t know it was your one-year anniversary.

Why would he? The date of when he asked (or rather, demanded) that you be his girlfriend wasn’t something the two of you brought up or wrote down in a calendar somewhere.

And he’d been so distracted lately. Didn’t give you the details, but there was some terrorist who had been evading their efforts for almost a year now and sometimes you found him sitting at his desk with a bunch of files, caught up in it all despite being at home.

“The whole point of a break is to not think about work,” you’d tell him, pouting and vying for his attention.

“Hard not to,” he’d grumble and sigh. “You wouldn’t understand, pet.”

So when you do wake up that morning of your anniversary, you’re not surprised that Simon doesn’t mention anything about it. You sort of tiptoe around him, going about your day as usual.

He goes to the gym.

You do some work from home.

There’s a few kisses here and there and he tells you that you look cute today, says he likes the way you’ve put your hair up. But there’s no flowers or breakfast in bed or planned dinner date. Even if he did remember, you couldn’t imagine Simon doing any of those things.

It’s later that evening, when you’ve busied yourself with cleaning up after dinner, that Simon comes up behind you.

You’ve almost forgotten about your anniversary at this point, not willing to get upset about it, when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind.

Dipping his head to the crook of your shoulder, he mutters, “Did ya know that you’ve been mine for a year now?”

Your chest tightens. You nearly drop the plate in the sink. “Oh. Is that so?”

He hums quietly. “A year ago. Do you… did you remember that?”

He sounds almost hesitant. Frowning, you turn around in his arms and place your hands to his chest. “Simon… Of course I remembered. It’s technically our anniversary, you know.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans and clears his throat. “So ya did know, then? I thought you forgot.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “No, I didn’t forget. I thought you forgot.”

“You haven’t said anything ‘bout it.”

“Neither have you!” You almost want to laugh. Instead, you rub your temples and sigh. “We’ve got to get better at communicating.”

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to… do anything for it,” he says slowly. And you realize that you’ve been a bit unfair; of course Simon wouldn’t know. He had never done this sort of thing before and romance isn’t something that comes naturally to him.

You’re about to tell him it’s okay, that it’s your fault, but then he ends up telling you, “But I’ve got something for you.”

The admission is surprising. He got you something? You could count on one hand all the gifts Simon has gotten you during your relationship. You feel your cheeks warm up at the thought, but you don’t have the chance to question him.

“Close your eyes,” he requests, and you feebly comply.

Not able to see, you feel his rough hand grab yours and tug you in the direction of what you’re pretty sure is the bedroom. Once you’re there, he gently guides you to sit on the bed and you hear rummaging around through the closet.

“You can open ‘em, pet.”

And when you do, you see that Simon is standing before you with a small, plain box in his hands.

“It’s not much,” he warns, but already just the sight of him offering this gift to you, his broad shoulders slung in uncertainty, makes you impossibly grateful.

When you open the box, he sits down beside you to explain each item.

First, a rock.

“This is just…” He is huffing under his breath and pointing to it as you hold it in your palm. “Just a fuckin’ rock. But it reminded me of you. I found it when we were stationed in Austria. I know you like the color purple and I just thought… thought ya might like it.”

On this rare occasion, it’s you who is at a loss for words. You close your palm around the rock.

Not sure what you’re thinking, Simon then reaches in the box to pull out a book. The Sun Also Rises. It’s tattered and clearly been thoroughly enjoyed.

“Read this one back when we were in Prague.”

You take the book from his hands and start flipping through the pages, revealing his barely-legible handwriting throughout it.

“Wrote notes in it,” he explains in a murmur. “Marked the things that reminded me of ya. Hemingway is better with words than I am.”

There’s a few other things in the box. Small trinkets that he’d found over months of deployment. Things that he thought you might find interesting. Things that showed you how much you were on his mind during those times apart.

The last thing you find is a framed photo. Moisture growing in your eyes and biting back a smile, you realize that it’s the only picture you two have ever taken together. Simon wasn’t fond of seeing himself in the mirror, let alone in a photo. It was one you managed to sneak in months ago when you both were laying on the couch. He’s got an arm loosely around your neck and you’re wearing the brightest of glows on your cheeks.

“I thought you threw away this picture,” you whisper, flipping the frame around in your hands as if you can’t believe it’s real.

“I kept it in the closet,” he admits. “But I think… well, maybe we should put it up somewhere now.”

You swallow and meet his eyes. “You’re okay with that?”

Simon nods. “I’m okay with that.”

It seems small. A single picture of you together after almost three years, but it’s so much more than that. A statement of his willingness to push past his discomfort, his fears. Displaying his vulnerability in a frame on the wall.

Roses and expensive dinners couldn’t amount to the love you feel from him in this moment. You place the frame back in the box and lift up his mask to kiss him. His mouth is tense for a moment before it slackens against yours and you end up kissing on the bed like teenagers, touching all over each other and discarding clothing as you try to press all inches of your body against his.

Hands ghosting along the curves of your thighs, Simon pulls away to smirk, “Time for you to give me something, yeah?”

You blush. “I didn’t… I’m sorry, I don’t have any gifts.”

“Shh.”

And Simon is soon shoving off his mask, as he did a lot more these days around you, and settling his stubbled jaw between your parted legs, letting his lips and his tongue show appreciation for the anniversary gift waiting for him there.

You fall asleep at some odd hour after he keeps you up all night, marking his love in the form of soft bruises on your skin and a pleasurable ache between your thighs. The next morning (now that Simon knows that you do, in fact, care about the date he first made you his girlfriend), you wake up to find that he’s already made you breakfast and hung up the framed picture in the living room.

#thank you so much! #I’m glad you enjoy the fics #they are fun to write #this is how I imagine simon being romantic #i do imagine him getting you flowers at some point #maybe next anniversary #simon ghost riley x you #cod #simon riley x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #fluff #fem!reader

[emmyrosee]

hii! if your requests are open, can i ask for a fluffy time skip kenma x hard of hearing fem reader? maybe they can bake an apple pie together on a stream or something 😫 but if not it's totally okay! i understand that not everyone is willing to write about things like that, so you don't have to include the hard of hearing detail but it'd be greatly appreciated if you did!

btw i love your writing! keep doing what you're doing :)) 🖤🖤

You’re nervous. He sees that.

While you’re no stranger to Kenma’s streams or videos, it’s the first time you’d be doing a… collaborative effort, rather than just conversing with him, and it has your head spinning slightly to try and work on the ways you'll be able to communicate with him.

He tells you his holiday stream can wait, and he's more than happy to make this an easy video for you both; you tell him to shut up.

"I'll be fine," you groan. "It's not like I can't hear you, it just takes a second to hit.”

“That’s not the point,” he says simply, watching as you continue to set up pots and pans to bake with, pausing briefly to keep you from getting lost in the clattering of metal. “The stream doesn’t have to be us baking or anything like that. We can just play overcooked or something.”

“They voted for this.”

“I don’t care what they voted for.”

“Yeah, see, that’s where we differ,” you tease, and you walk over to him and tug him to a hug. “Besides, look at the queue to get into the stream; do you really want to be the big, bad Kodzuken who ruined Christmas for his fans as the donate to the shelter-“

“They should be donating regardless of what we do.”

“I know, but we still need the incentive.” He quirks a brow at you and you roll your eyes. “You’re being dramatic, babe. I’ll be fine!”

He holds his hands up in mercy, then leans forwards to start the stream, slender fingers peeking out from his hoodie sleeve to start it.

“OH!”

Instantly, you turn on your heel to look at him, his fingers just a few inches away from starting the show.

“No signs Kenma,” you say firmly, which makes his brow cock in confusion. “I mean it; I don’t need your viewers to… see.”

“See what?” He asks genuinely. “That you have a hearing disorder?”

“Yes!”

“Baby, they know-“

“Yeah, but…” you sigh softly. “They don’t need to see it in action. I’m sure I can hear you fine. We'll just have to work a little bit slower is all."

He opens his mouth to speak, but you quickly make your way to grab some more ingredients, sure to tune him out from whatever he could say. You hear him sigh, and he quickly shuffles over to you to let you know he’s going to start the stream.

Immediately, there’s so much happening it’s almost overwhelming.

Right off the bat, there’s donations flying, alerts ringing in the air of your spacious kitchen and echoing back through to rattle your skull. Kenma tries to talk just a hair louder than everything else, just to keep the flow of any potential conversation going.

You know he’s trying to help… but it’s not exactly helping as much as he thinks it is.

You feel your palms shaking and growing clammy, trying to ignore his questions and comments and focus on the recipe that you can see from the counter.

Bless his heart, he’s working at the end of the day, but he ends up focusing more on the scrolling chat than trying to help you to make a semi-actually edible pie.

Of course you could read the cookbook. That’s not the point. You want to interact with him, you want to pay attention to him, but you’re completely discombobulated, trying to work efficiently and cooly without being both, efficient and cool.

The sounds of his donations and notifications throw off the flow of what you are able to make out, his lips moving but the words not quite hitting your mind.

And you freeze.

Your hands on the bag of sugar freeze, nails digging slightly into the manila in an attempt to keep yourself grounded. The grains shift under your grip, and you try to focus on the texture rather than the heating up of your cheeks.

You’re not sure how much time has passed before Kenma finally, gently, touches your shoulder, snapping you out of a daze and bringing you back down to him. He smiles, “hey angel.”

“Ken…”

“I had to turn down the dono’s; they just got a little too loud for me,” he says, letting a hand gently rub down your back to soothe you. “I hope that’s okay.”

He’s lying, for your sake. You’ve never been more in love with him.

You nod shakily, “yeah no, that’s… that’s fine. Just let me know if there’s a big donation to celebrate.”

“Will do.”

He wraps an arm around you, dramatically for camera purposes but still enough to keep you grounded and comfortable in his grip.

“Just relax,” he encourages, kissing your temple before pulling back and offering you a sign with his hands low by his hips. Cinnamon. “I think we need cinnamon.”

You blink in confusing before he smiles softly. You beam back at him and nod softly, “right! For the filling! Be right back.”

You hear a small call from Kenma, but he’ll have to talk about it later. Once you’re at the cabinet, you rest your head against the cool wood, letting in a sharp breath before slipping it back out. He talks some more, a little bit easier to process now that you’re still, and all you can do is smile to yourself while he acknowledges chat.

You told him you’d be just fine.

#THIS IS OLD BUT ITS DONE MY BELOVED #I did so much research and I’m still not sure if I got things right #but I hope you’re able to enjoy regardless 🥺🩷 #kenma kozume #kenma kozume fluff #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume x gn!reader #kenma kozume imagine #kenma kozume haikyuu #kenma #kenma fluff #kenma x reader #kenma x gn!reader #kenma x reader fluff #kenma imagine #kenma haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x yn

[lqfiles]

✰ dating huang renjun.

soft loving gazes.

one look at you and renjun’s day could be made 100x better than it was before the moment. the sight of you always puts a subconscious smile on his face, (one that he never means to show and when he gets caught he gets very defensive and denies it) which gives you butterflies. it’s this specific stare where you see his eyes slowly soften up as they lock with your before they slightly close, his soft smile growing on his face. you’re 90% sure that he is never aware of it, and you’re not planning on telling him as the sight makes you feel so many emotions it almost makes you dizzy.

you can rely on him.

renjun would want you to 100% trust him when you two are together. he would never say or do anything to intentionally hurt you and makes it very clear that you can rely on him for any burdens. and he means it. late night calls are filled with you rambling about your worries until you fall asleep as he listens attentively in his own bed, not daring to close an eye until he hears the soft sounds of your breathing and ends the call. renjun would want you to feel comfortable enough to even share your deepest secrets, he may be judging of some people, but he would never judge you, no matter how embarrassing whatever is bother you is. “your reaction was valid.” renjun reassures you all the time.

renjun gets jealous too.

just like most people renjun gets jealous too and when he is jealous, he gets annoyed. annoyed because he doesn’t want to feel like his relationship is being threatened right in front of him. annoyed huffs, eye rolls and teeth kisses is enough for you to notice his sudden mood change. he’ll deny he’s jealous at first until he’d somewhat admit it, his pride being too big for him to admit defeat. “trust me (—), i’m a guy, i know exactly how a guy who has a crush acts, he had that specific stare!” he’d defend himself as he begs you to not talk to him again for his own health… whatever that means.

how he asked you out.

at first, renjun won’t be sure if what he is feeling is truly a crush or if he just likes you a lot as a friend, but when his thoughts get confirmed by his friends, he starts to plan how he’d successfully ask you out. this means that he will prepare a small dinner date for the two of you, he doubts you know that it’s a date. then he’d buy you a present, anything you want, as long as it fits his budget obviously. then, he’d walk you home and before you could go inside, he’d grab both your hands before letting his confession flow out. not expecting much, he lets you know he’d be just as fine if you want to stay as friends, only to be taken by slight surprise as you wrap your arms around him and confess your own suppressed feelings. very cute!

kisses.

kisses with renjun is like a cool breeze on a hot summer night. it’s just you two in your own world as his hands take ahold of both your shoulder and cheek, before he leans in and gives you a small peck that quickly turns into a full on kiss. his kisses always taste like fresh fruits, sometimes a nice mint taste or maybe even strawberries on rare occasions. kisses aren’t a daily routine, most of the time it’s during very serious and intimate moments where it’s the two of you in your own bubble again, isolated from the rest of the world as you admire one another before your faces inch closer to one another and a kiss is being exchanged. it leaves the both of you blushing as your foreheads separate the two of you, shy giggles erupting from the both of you. it truly is a moment.

#i love writing these so much #i’m going to do a hyuck one next #i hope someone enjoyed this lol #renjun imagines #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #renjun scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios #renjun fluff #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #renjun x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #renjun x you #nct x you #nct dream x you #huang renjun x reader #renjun headcanons #nct headcannons #nct dream headcanons #renjun reactions #nct reactions #nct dream reactions #huang renjun reactions #lqfiles writing.

[peak-dumbass]

I love Raphmona and I love Rasey, but as much as I love turning ships into polycules as an indecisive multishipper, these are 2 ships that I can NOT see working out as a polycule

Casey would try to flirt with Mona like Raph and they’d just respond with:

#I love them separately don’t get me wrong #Raphmona is peak strong malewife x stronger girlboss energy + good fluff and angst potential #Rasey has SO MUCH potential fluff angst AND hurt/comfort not to mention their already great dynamic #they’re just 2 of the few ships that I enjoy separately more than together #Mona would see Casey’s cringefail personality and bite his arm off I’m sorry #I saw this tumblr post and I IMMEDIATELY made this image cuz it just describes my thought process perfectly #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt2012 #2012 tmnt #tmnt12 #tmnt raphael #tmnt mona lisa #tmnt casey jones #raphmona #rasey

[briseise]

The Last Goodbye

+process below

hi thanks for joining me under this readmore. isn't it so funny that the last time rendubs canonically spoke was during the vault? haha, I just thought that was funny. thanks for stopping by :3c

#little easter egg under the readmore so enjoy that #briseiseart #rendubs #hermitshipping #i spent so much time on this and for what? to hurt my own feelings? #if anyone has rendubs fluff please god send it my way I'm in the trenches

[primalmagic]

when horror movies become therapy

it's been a year after the webtoon's final events, and the gang still can't watch real horror movies.

OR a sbg future au consisting purely of fluff, sleepovers, and, well, horror movies.

—

You would think, that one year later, things would have settled down. That everyone would be trying to get their lives back together, figure things out, and leave the past far, far, behind them.

The truth could not be farther from that.

The six of them have huddled together on Ashlyn's slightly bouncy couch, watching a crappy horror movie that was way too loud and way too flashy.

Watching horror movies had become a tradition between them, like a "take that" to everything they'd been through. It was a slow climb, sure, but it was something to do, and it made them all feel a little bit accomplished. Not being scared of another movie felt like giving a middle finger to the horror movie they lived through- almost like a step towards being... normal again.

Plus, they got to do it together.

"Someday," Taylor mutters, "We'll have the guts to go and watch a real horror film without freaking out."

Aiden snorts, shifting on the couch to avoid being squished between Tyler and Ashlyn. "Please, you wouldn't last ten seconds in an actual movie theatre."

She flicks him in the shoulder and sighs in pretend exasperation, "Please, you didn't last ten seconds in an actual movie theatre." She retorts, raising her eyebrows.

Aiden looks away, slightly red and embarrassed, "That was like, three months ago! And it was scary, okay? The ghoul thing looked like a phantom. There's no way you weren't scared too."

She can't deny that she'd also been freaking out, but Aiden's vocal reaction had made the entire group laugh for hours. He'd gotten up on his chair and screamed curses at the theatre screen, then spider-jumped two rows down and bounced outside. No, literally, he was practically hopping, flailing his arms and running out the door like an Olympic sprinter. He denies it, for some reason, justifying it with a flick of his hand and an insistence of it being only for the dramatics.

"Never said we weren't scared," Ashlyn blurts, grabbing a handful of sweet-and-salty popcorn out of an oddly geometrically decorated bowl, "Just sayin' that you didn't need to run out like Logan did when we first met him."

Logan squawks indignantly, "I did not run when I first met you!" He gets up to snatch some popcorn from Ashlyn's bowl, and makes an unpleasant face when he pops one into his mouth. "God, this is like if table salt and caramel had a baby, and then left it alone in a cornfield for a century."

"It's delicious," Ashlyn frowns, "You're taste buds are just deformed."

"I-"

"Guys," Tyler groans, "Can we just watch the fucking movie?"

Aiden leans over to ruffle his hair, causing Tyler to squeak and try to move away. "Aw, poor Tyler," He snickers, "I think he's enjoying the movie. We should all be quiet and let him watch it, then."

"I'm not!" He protests, because the film is terrible and it would be incredibly embarrassing to enjoy it, "I just want you guys to shut up."

Taylor frowns, "No you don't," She declares, definitively.

He groans, "Either you guys watch the movie and shut up, or you turn off the movie and complain about disfigured salt babies for hours. There is no in-between."

Ben types something on his iPad and raises it for the rest to see, Both, please, and thank you. He smirks slightly, clearly proud of pissing Tyler off.

He groans, "You guys are exhausting, I'm leaving. I have to get to practice early tomorrow anyway."

"No!" Aiden screams, launching himself at the tired boy, "You are not allowed to leave, buddy. You are being held hostage by the Phantom Busters, please do not rebel in any form or way."

"I... plead the fifth?" He blinks, knowing that there isn't any way out of this.

"We're having a sleepover," Logan declares, "No negotiations necessary. Or allowed."

Tyler rolls his eyes, but his irritated persona is broken when he smiles, "Yeah, sure, fine, whatever."

Ashlyn grabs another handful of popcorn, "You know, you do have to ask the person whose house it is if you want to have a sleepover, right?"

"Nope," Aiden shrugs, "But I asked your mom already."

She snorts, throwing a piece of popcorn at him, "When the hell did you do that?"

It lands in Taylor's hair, and she swats it off quickly.

"Like, right before we started the movie? You just didn't see me 'cause I'm a fucking ninja," He finger-guns her and swirls around, "Now, if you will excuse me, I must notify my parents that they are free of another morning with me."

The movie has stopped playing, and when Ashlyn finally notices, she furrows her eyebrows, "When the hell did the movie turn off?"

Ben waves the remote and throws it to Aiden, who just put his phone down.

"It's been confisticated," Aiden declares, punching his hand in the air like he's holding a gold medal instead of a TV remote.

Logan sighs, "Confiscated," he corrects.

"That's what I fucking said!"

"Whatever," Taylor waves him off, "We can finish the movie tomorrow. You guys want to play charades?"

"Can I be a clown?"

She sighs, "It doesn't work like tha-"

"Don't worry, Aiden, you don't need to pretend," Tyler grins, then ducks away from the popcorn kernel Aiden chucks at him.

"I hate you," He snaps back, with no heat behind his words.

"Ditto," He replies, still basking in the warmth of Aiden's rage.

The blonde calms down rather quickly, or at least he hides his anger as fast as possible. "You know what, thank you. I am a wonderful clown and as I stand here today, I demand justice for all the clowns in the world! You have wronged them, Sir Tyler of the Hernandez." He bows dramatically.

Taylor wheezes, "I need to get that printed on a T-shirt, oh my god."

Aiden nods rapidly, "Oh my god, absolutely, we need matching T-shirts and like, earrings."

You don't even have your ears pierced. Ben types, sharing an amused glance with Logan.

"What about the clip-on things? We could totally get that!!"

Tyler flops back onto the couch, nearly knocking into Logan, who pushes him away lightly. "Aiden, you have too much energy right now, and it's almost midnight. Can we sleep now?"

Aiden looks at him like he's insane, "Who goes to sleep during a sleepover?"

"Me. Good night, Aiden," Tyler smiles, amused.

"Fine," He grumbles, "Let's get the sleeping bags out."

The fact that they all had sleeping bags at Ashlyn's house only proved that they had slept over way too many times to count. Not that she minded though, it was nice having people around, and now that she was comfortable with them, it was almost relaxing.

Sure, it got tiring sometimes, but it was a small price to pay.

Besides, without them, who else would she watch horror movies with?

#sbg fluff #they are so traumatized pls let them be happy for a little longer #please #im like begging you #the sbg gang #aiden is chaos #aiden sbg #ashlyn banner #ashlyn sbg #aiden clark #sbg #sbg (webtoon) #sbg tyler #logan fields #tyler hernandez #taylor hernandez #school bus graveyard webtoon #school bus graveyard #what other tags can i put tbh this is all i can think of #enjoy the sbg fluff thank you love you bye #sbg ashlyn #sbg taylor #schoolbus graveyard #ben clark #ashlyn likes sweet and salty popcorn headcannon (has to be real i love it so much and its so stupid) #do we want a second part orrr (i want to do a “when they wake up / nightmare” fluff one too idk tho lmk if you like this) #sbg fics #school bus graveyard fanfiction #sbg fanfic #sbg fanfiction

[queen-vessaraia-ashlynne]

"I have a type" but in a fanfic way

#fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #fanfiction #fanfiction.net #neobook #writers #readers #otp #fluff #but having a fanfic type is so annoying #it can be a perfectly good fanfic #BUT #I just don't enjoy it as much #because I HAVE A TYPE #unfortunately #but anyway

[djosephqueery]

#steddie sketch! #this is after a corroded coffin show #Eddie's not famous yet #but they draw a nice crowd and he gets to have so much fun on stage #post-show high on adrenaline and music and the moment he sees Steve it's all over #he absolutely jumped into Steve's arms with no warning #just trusted Steve to catch him #and Steve did because he's a sweetheart <3 #I know this isn't puppets #just wanted to draw some steddie fluff #so glad Eddie's guitar is so angular #never drawing an instrument again I swear #really enjoyed drawing this #did it all very sketchily and it was very freeing #I'd also like to say this in no way reflects my beliefs about Eddie's own strength #I am a Strong Eddie truther #he just also likes to be held #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanart #Len doodles

[neverknoah]

Okay you know that picture where noah has fake nails on? Could you elaborate about him letting y/n do them while you guys are dating or friends to lovers type thing 🫠 It would be so cute. Just little stolen glances and the intimacy of holding his hand while doing it 😔✊🏻

oooooh yes!! I'm gonna set this in like the honeymoon phase of a new relationship where the two of you are still head over heels giggly at being in a relationship.

When Noah comes into the living room with the little box of black and white press-on nails and glue in hand, asking if you'll put them on for him, you agree immediately. You tell him to sit next to you on the couch, and the both of you sit crisis cross applesauce facing each other. You grab one of the decorative pillows and plop it in his lap, telling him to set his hands on the pillow.

Becuase I highly believe Noah's love language is physical touch, he's eating up every moment of this. Each time, you pick up his hand so gently and apply the glue to his nail, then press the nail on, holding it for a couple moments until you deem it dry enough, makes his heart flutter at the personal attention. While you're focused on applying each nail, he's watching you concentrate on the task at hand (literally) and he's just in pure awe and adoration watching you work.

When you've applied all the nails, you lift both of his hands and place a kiss on the tops of his hands telling him how much you love them and how pretty he looks with them on. He's blushing at your sweet words and he gives you a big thankful kiss.

As payment for your handy (another pun) work he's searching your scalp and back while the two of you watch some tv and snuggle. He's so in love with you and so happy he's found someone who supports the life he lives and how he expresses himself.

#I loved writing this so damn much #I hope you enjoy anon #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens thought #noah sebastian thought #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens fluff #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic

[yeosangs-horizon]

Slow Mornings (Rei x Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1k Content Warning(s): Mentions of Anxiety & PTSD

You stirred in your sleep as you heard the tapping of the rain against the washroom window. You felt your lover behind you shift as he held you closer to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The tub was large enough to fit the two of you, it wasn’t comfortable but not uncomfortable by all means. You much rather have preferred a bed but in Rei’s state from last night, he wouldn’t have been comfortable and you would rather sacrifice comfort to keep him feeling safe.

Last night was pretty rough, you were sitting next to Rei in the tub as he held his head down, trying to suppress the anxious thoughts that were coming to mind, triggered by his past. You sat there stroking his back and rubbing his shoulder, telling him it was going to be okay. He was never vocal when it came to dealing with his PTSD, he only recently allowed you to stay by his side when he was feeling this way and you two had been together for over a year. He trusted you to take care of him and be there as someone he could lean on. “Baby it’s going to be okay, he’s unable to hurt you anymore. I’m here…” you whispered, trying your best to soothe his aching mind. It was the first time that you saw a tear slip from his eye and it glistened against the moonlight. He let you lace your fingers with his and leaned against your figure. “Deep breaths Rei, deep breaths.” He did as he was told to stabilize his breathing. “You can rest now, I promise everything will be okay.” He let himself go, the haze that clouded his mind slowly slip away as he fell against your shoulder with exhaustion. You softly placed a kiss on his forehead whilst wiping the tear away from his soft pale cheek. “You deserve so much love Rei… I love you.” You covered him with a blanket and settled beside him, trying to get comfortable in the multitude of pillows that were in the tub that he placed down for you. 

You focused on the pitter patter of the rain against the washroom window as you knew this was going to be a slow morning. You knew that Kazuki and Rei had the day off, meaning Rei could slumber for as long as he wanted to to recover from last night’s events. You shifted a bit to turn yourself around to face your lover. You stared at his peaceful sleeping figure, wondering if his nightmares and anxiety subsided. You hoped that you had given him enough comfort to get a good nights rest at the very least. You placed a hand on his cheek and admired his beauty. His stone cold stare that he gave most people softened once he saw you and during his slumber. ‘Cute…’ you thought. 

You smelled the scent of fresh eggs and potatoes wafting through the bottom of the door as your stomach grumbled. Kazuki must be cooking breakfast for Miri, your thoughts were confirmed by muffled high pitched laughter and mumbling beyond the washroom door. You looked back at Rei, feeling guilty that you were a bit hungry and wanted to go snag a bite of food but also didn’t want to leave his side. You pressed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose and whispered, “Be right back.” Just as you were able to untangle yourself from his arms, you rose from the tub, trying to maintain your balance. Just as you were about to step out of the tub, you felt a hand grasp at your wrist. “(Y/N), stay…,” he mumbled. Who were you to go against his cute groggy voice. With his eyes still closed, he gently held you close to him and planted a soft kiss on your lips. “Thank you… for last night.” 

You hummed in approval. “Of course Rei, I’m here. I’m not leaving your side. You feeling better though?” You saw a small smile form in his face before his eyes opened just a bit to gaze upon your face. “Yeah…” Even after a year of being together, he still got flustered at the sight of you and your beauty, but he loved to stare at you and admire you. You pulled him in for another heartwarming kiss as he relaxed into your touch. “Hope the tub wasn’t too hard for you to sleep in…” he mumbled after you pulled away. “It was fine, I know it’s hard for you to sleep elsewhere during tough times like last night.” “I’m so lucky to have you…” he confessed. 

You leaned it and peppered kisses down his cheek and neck. It took him awhile to get used to your touch but he learned to love it and even to this day, he still got butterflies in his stomach when you kiss him like that. The two of you didn’t share your first kiss till 6 months into the relationship. He never even thought that he was capable of loving, much less being loved, but your demeanor and personality kept him captivated. The first time you held his hand it felt foreign to him, but he felt safe and slowly he learned that it felt right. He loved your touch, it made him feel at home. He loved slow mornings like these when mostly everything was peaceful and quiet and he could have you all to himself. He wrapped his arms around you and closed his eyes again with a smile that only you could see. 

Everything being peaceful would have entailed the door not being knocked on and door handle being jiggled with high pitched giggles outside. “Rei Papa! Come eat with me and Kazuki Papa! (Y/N) too! I’m gonna eat all the pudding if you don’t hurry!”

“We’re sleeping!” Rei yelled out in annoyance as he rested his head on top of yours again with his eyes closed. 

#rei suwa x reader #rei suwa imagine #rei suwa fluff #rei suwa #buddy daddies x reader #buddy daddies imagine #buddy daddies #buddy daddy #rei suwa x you #buddy daddies x you #kal writes #ghoulpixels #i love him so much #this was purely self indulgent please enjoy