#we are struggling so much and those demons live a nice life in their cozy upper middle class suburb

[lobotomizedlady]

pulling an uno reverse on my father by trying to use his religion to manipulate him into putting a down payment on a car for us 🙏

#he hasnt provided us a cent in 10 years . so godly of him #he and his wife have 3 nice cars for 2 people. we had 1 old clunker for 5 of us and now have none #we are struggling so much and those demons live a nice life in their cozy upper middle class suburb #i should literally steal his truck he doesnt fucking use it

[solomonish]

You Burned So Brightly (Simeon x Reader)

Simeon has fallen, and he left his memories in the Realm that cast him down. They sent him straight back to you, but nothing is ever that easy.

ao3 link: here!

With a single, brilliant streak of light across the Devildom sky, the battles that were on the brink of becoming a second war came to a halt. Smoke curled up in the distance, light and airy like nothing you've ever seen before. The demons near the impact seemed to itch, the holy energy burning off into the air burning their skin. In the middle of a small crater, barely bigger in diameter than the fallen angel was in height, Simeon struggled to bring himself to his knees. As you stood before the impact site, Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Lucifer near your side, you did your best to avoid cringing at Simeon's groans of pain.

Diavolo called for his attention, his authoritative voice only engaged for the sake of the surrounding, curious citizens. After a moment, Simeon forced his head up, clear blue eyes scanning the crowd. His eyes fell to you last, and though he held his gaze for a long time, recognition never flashed within him.

Simeon had fallen, and he left his memories in the Celestial Realm.

---

Barbatos led you to the room where Simeon was staying, informing you of any progress he and Diavolo had made and updating you on their search for a suitable place for him to live. Vaguely, you heard Barbatos ask if you agreed that a nice, cozy area on the outskirts of town would be nice, preferably something with enough yard space for a small garden. You hummed in agreement, and even though the both of you knew you had no say in the matter, Barbatos still gave you a displeased glance. He knew you weren't listening.

He stopped outside the door, hand faltering before the doorknob when you called out to him. Green eyes as impassive as always, he turned towards you fully and let his hand fall to his side. Before speaking, you glanced at his eyebrows and nearly sighed in relief to see his eyebrows weren't furrowed in the slightest. Despite the side-eyes and rather tense atmosphere, he wasn't truly mad at you.

Keeping your voice low, you asked, "Does he remember any of the exchange program?"

Barbatis kept his expression flat, but he did jut his chin just a hint, the closest thing you would get to a frown. "Bits and pieces. Nothing new."

"Why does he still only remember things in fragments?"

There was a pause. This was information you were permitted to know; but just because Barbatos was allowed to tell you did not mean he should. Still, you were notorious for snooping around and getting what you wanted anyway. "We believe he had too much sensitive information about the Celestial Realm, but the job was done in haste to bring the battles to a close."

"Oh." You didn't have any expectations set for his response, but you still felt a heavy stone, similar to disappointment, settle in your stomach. Perhaps dread was more appropriate - though anymore, your gut was always tied in knots and your emotions were just as jumbled. "Does it hurt him?"

"Physically? No," Barbatos answered, reaching for the doorknob again. You opened your mouth to ask for more details, but Barbatos gave you a look that said, clearly, you'll see. Shutting your mouth, you squared your shoulders and allowed him to open the door.

The room, grand yet somehow seeming plain for a palace's guest room, looked the same as it had all the times before. None of the chairs moved from their expertly-placed positions in the room, having been unoccupied for the entirety of Simeon's stay. Each book was nestled into its place in its case, and not a single gap ruined the uniform, brick-like image of the surrounding bookshelves. Even the bedsheets, still perfectly tucked beneath the mattress, looked unused, the only crinkles in the sheets coming from directly beneath the occupant.

Simeon sat in the middle of the bed, knees drawn to his chest and arms resting atop them. You could see his blue eyes surveying the room, a change from the past days but not exactly an improvement. The aura surrounding him was menacing, and if you strained your ears you could almost hear a low growl. Despite sitting in one spot for days like a scared animal, Simeon never felt more like a predator.

"Hello, Simeon," You said. You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but Barbatos' hand on your shoulder stopped you. When you turned to look at him, he was already shaking his head. This was as close to Simeon as you would be allowed to get.

"You're back," Simeon noted, his voice devoid of any fondness. It was still the same pitch as before, but it no longer sounded like a delicate tune carried on the warm summer breeze. Instead, it felt more like a warning shot, sharp and threatening yet drawing no blood. He sounded dangerous.

"I am. I was hoping you might remember something new, but...it seems that's not the case."

Simeon looked you up and down before scoffing. "What makes you think you're so memorable?"

Not wanting to anger him, you chuckled in response, hoping it didn't sound as awkward as it felt. Simeon's eyes never left your form, and you missed the way his pupils widened, almost like a cat's.

You could hear him murmur under his breath, "Perhaps I could recognize you by the way you taste…" It was a poor attempt at intimidation, but it was intimidation nonetheless. When you looked up at Simeon, his pupils were blown wide, making his eyes almost entirely black. Instinctively you stepped back, watching as Simeon unfolded himself for the first time in days.

Barbatos' grip on your shoulder tightened right as Simeon pounced, pushing you behind him as he chanted some spell you'd never heard before. Though the attack seemed to move in slow motion, he ushered you out all too quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it physically before casting another spell. Right as he finished speaking, something solid slammed against the door, and you could hear Simeon snarling on the other side.

"He's reconciling," Barbatos explained vaguely. "He's not used to craving human souls, or to the shifting energies inside him. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come with me. We'll have to report what happened."

Though you didn't want to, you followed Barbatos again down the hall, this time taking care to trail a bit behind in your own petty act of defiance.

You knew, at least for a while, that you would not be seeing Simeon again.

---

When you were permitted to visit him again, you were relieved. Whatever rehabilitation efforts Diavolo and Barbatos were working on took longer than you thought, and days stretched into weeks until you were wondering if they were losing hope in his recovery as you were. Of course, the pair had more information than you did, but in a situation that seemed as dire as this, your worry was warranted.

The hallway you walked countless times before was the same as always, yet you found yourself surveying the walls. Barbatos was not relaying any information to you this time, which was strange; clearly, if you were allowed to see Simeon again, progress had been made and there was information to give. But you were eager to get in the room, so you didn’t waste time with questions that would be answered firsthand and allowed Barbatos to open the door for you anyway.

Stepping into the guest room, it finally looked more lived in than the last time. The desk on the opposite wall, surrounded by bookcases, had a few papers and pens scattered around it, something like an outline lying face-up in the middle. A few books had been removed from the shelves, their neighbors slumping over in the void they left. Simeon was in one of the plush armchairs in the room, a book in his hands with his eyebrows furrowed. His posture was slumped, nothing like the practiced perfection he had as an angel.

You took a few steps into the room, noticing how Simeon stiffened yet did not take his eyes away from the book in his hands. Barbatos stepped into the room, the door shutting with a click. He made no effort to be within arm’s reach of you, but you could still feel his protective presence over your shoulder.

Barbatos cleared his throat, and Simeon begrudgingly put his book down, eyes falling immediately to you. “Simeon, as I’m sure you can see, MC has arrived to see you again.”

Simeon looked blatantly unamused. “So you have,” He murmured, pushing on the arms of the chair to straighten his posture. You sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, eyeing the space between the two of you.

You could feel the lapse in his memories as if it was a palpable tension in the air. The way Simeon held you in his gaze, distrusting, wondering why a human was so interested in him and why you were not a welcome meal was enough to send shivers down your spine. Fighting the urge, you turned to take in the room, hoping for something interesting to comment on. “I see you’re outlining something. Could you have remembered something for the next installment of TSL?”

“Those books…” Simeon was eyeing the outline on the desk, but he trailed off and darted his eyes back to you distrustfully before he could continue. You felt something left unsaid, but had no idea what it could be.

“We’ve tried using them to jog his memory,” Barbatos explained. “It didn’t work.”

Though Simeon masterfully used clear inspirations from real life, such caricatures of the brothers and their lives must have been a difficult idea to unlearn. Briefly, you wondered if you had been made into a character in the series yet. Part of you hoped you weren’t. It would probably be better if you built your relationship with him from the ground up - no matter how long it may take or how painful it may be.

For once, Simeon appeared bashful, averting his gaze again. “I do remember some of the plot points, though,” he murmured. “I just don’t know what they mean.”

Before anybody could stop you, you reached out and placed a hand on Simeon’s knee. His body was cold like the brothers’, enough to seep through his clothes and draw your attention. You missed the comforting warmth he used to carry. You missed when he would look at you and you didn’t feel like he hated you, too.

“Maybe they don’t mean anything anymore,” You offered, ignoring Barbatos’ piercing stare. Whether he was warning you to keep your hand away or keep your thoughts to yourself, you didn’t know, but you didn’t pay attention to either warning. “Maybe now they’re just stories, and life gets to be something else.”

When you contacted Diavolo about seeing Simeon again, he warned you the meeting would not be long. Still, the way Barbatos ushered you out felt as though he were cutting your time short as punishment for potentially risking their endeavors to restore Simeon’s memories. Before he shut the door on you, you looked back to see Simeon staring at his knee, thinking over what you said. No lecture came from Baratos, but if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

From that day on, Simeon started venturing out of his room.

You heard from Lucifer one night, having pestered him after another night of returning home late from the castle, that Simeon had taken to wandering the halls by himself. He never took anything, never seemed to intend to cause problems, and instead took his time taking in every painting. Every time one of the staff members went to check on him and found his room empty, the entire castle went on lockdown, yet when Simeon was made aware of this he merely seemed amused. You asked why nobody was locking the door, and Lucifer gave you an exasperated expression. Like a pet rat, Simeon kept finding ways to unlock the door so he could roam. Perhaps that was why Barbatos seemed to be having such a hard time recently.

With his newfound desire to adapt - and the trust that, in the backwards fashion you came to expect from the Devildom, came from him being alone in the castle without ruining something, even if his escape was counterintuitive to building trust in him - Little Ds were used to tend to him when higher-ranking demons were busy. The only time somebody checked in on him was to evaluate his mental state and to safeguard your visits. Those, too, were slowly becoming less formal, and soon you were going to the castle and simply being pointed in the direction to his room, rather than being led.

You knocked on his door, unsurprised to hear silence on the other end. However, this was the first time it happened and you were alone. Though you were trusted and respected (among the nobility, anyway) in the Devildom, wandering aimlessly around the castle didn’t seem like the smartest idea. A small pattering of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and you turned to see a Little D standing behind you. His horns were curled like Satan’s, his eyes burning green as if a fire was lit behind them. You smiled at him, and he only tilted his head - as much as he could, anyway.

“Have you seen Simeon?” You asked him, hoping he’d be one of the easy-going ones. After studying you for a moment, the Little D only nodded. Talkative, no, but you were right on him being relaxed. Following his lead, you soon found yourself in one of the smaller sections of the castle garden. The Little D floated over the twisting roots and vines underfoot, sparing you no time to step over and around the obstacles. By the time you found him again, he was waiting impatiently at an opening between a line of small trees, leading to a courtyard with an overgrown fountain in the middle. He left in the middle of your breathless thanks, which you finished in a sigh.

Simeon heard and turned towards you, his attention pulled from one of the broken busts on a pedestal. “Hello. If I had known I’d have a visitor today, I would have waited for you.”

His greetings were slowly becoming more friendly, you noticed. Smiling at him, you made your way over to him, thankful for the worn stone beneath your feet instead of the purposeful overgrowth behind you. “What are you doing out here?”

Simeon shrugged. “I’ve grown tired of the same hallways and that room.”

“Not willing to explore different hallways? I hear they get pretty exciting in the east wing.”

He smirked at that. “Even I know not to venture there. I have no interest in pushing my luck.”

Turning back to the bust, you watched him grip his chin thoughtfully. You wondered if that was a trait of all wrath demons, considering their lord, or if it was merely an impulse based on him being well-read. In this moment, he looked startlingly like Satan, a fact that both calmed you and worried you. Satan was a good influence for him, sure - but the more he influenced Simeon, the less like himself Simeon would turn out to be.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly over there,” Simeon said, and for a moment, you thought you heard that gentleness that you were used to. “Would you like to share your thoughts?”

“I was just thinking about how Satan has been helping your transition,” You answered in an obvious half-truth. “Has he lent you any good books?”

“All of his recommendations seemed a bit on the nose for my situation,” Simeon answered bluntly. You laughed, short and unexpected. He smiled. “But I do appreciate the help.”

“Do you need the books in the same way he does?” You asked. Simeon stiffened slightly, the only indication that he was uncomfortable. But, for you, he didn’t deny you an answer.

“I don’t remember much about who I was before. I know how angels were supposed to be, but none of it feels like me. The only thing that feels like me is this wrath, but even then, it isn’t as strong as his, I’m sure.”

You had nothing to say to that, instead turning to examine the bust. The features were worn down, much like the rest of the details. Instead, it was a vague person-shape, the head misshapen from what used to be the hair and arms missing since the beginning. Beside, Simeon murmured under his breath, “Even though I’m reconstructing where he was constructing, I can’t help but feel we might end up more similar than either of us expect.”

Simmering just beneath his words, you thought you could hear just a tinge of...something. Regret? Sorrow? Whatever it was, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling into the same line of thinking you often found Satan grappling with, wondering if a personality crafted as a wall was hardly a personality at all. You would assure Simeon as often as you assured Satan if he needed it, but you also knew that this was different. Simeon had you around before he decided who to become, and you knew the person he used to be. If it was what he wanted, you could - you would - help him down a similar path.

But you knew better than to say so. Instead, you stared at the faceless bust before you and gave him the space to figure it out for himself.

---

The memories taken from Simeon were officially gone, Diavolo and Barbatos decided, at least gone enough that they could not reach them without risking Simeon’s wellbeing. Though there was now an extra layer of animosity between them, they still considered him a friend (if not a former one) and had no desire to hurt him. Besides, the battles were over. There was no need to send a message of power via an ex-angel the Celestial Realm no longer cared about. With no need to keep him close in the castle, and a hesitant trust in his adjustment to the Devildom, Diavolo offered him a modest home on the outskirts with a small yard, just like he was considering before. It was close to the castle, though not close enough that the wealthier inhabitants would cause a fuss about favoritism. Even though the exterior was dark, you were pleased to see it resembled a cottage more than its neighbors. Beside you, Satan commented about how charming and quaint it was - you agreed without really hearing him.

As Satan knocked on the door, you drummed your fingers nervously on the vase in your hands. Barbatos mentioned something about Simeon liking to garden, but did he even remember? You knew he wouldn’t remember the time he first encountered the plant in your hands. It was a type of Tiny Venus Flytrap, one that needed to feed constantly on a microorganism in the air. It was constantly opening and closing its leaves, and Simeon spent at least half an hour cooing over one when he first saw it. You remembered the melodious chuckle that kept ringing through the greenhouse, and a sudden twinge of pain struck through you when you realized he wouldn’t.

As if on cue, Simeon opened the door, looking perturbed at the interruption but softening when he saw you and Satan in the doorway. “Oh, I forgot you were coming over today,” He said, stepping aside to let the two of you in. Though you didn’t think Simeon would lie about such a thing, the cleanliness of the house and the tea brewing in the kitchen planted a small seed of doubt in your mind.

“We thought we’d offer you a few housewarming gifts,” Satan responded. The smile he gave was easy, expertly hiding how just minutes before he had nearly knocked down a wall in the House of Lamentation and was more than willing to use the trip as an excuse to escape his brothers. Simeon chuckled, no doubt catching a hint of the hidden meanings behind his words. At least his perceptiveness wasn’t affected by his fall.

“Oh? Gifts?”

“Yeah. Your bookshelves look bare, so I thought you’d like a headstart on your collection.”

“Thank you,” Simeon answered, reaching for the box in Satan’s hands. You watched his entire body crumple for a moment, unsuspecting of the weight in his hands. He recovered quickly, but not before huffing out, “Oh, there’s quite a lot in here, huh?”

Satan didn’t seem bothered by his breathlessness - if anything, he looked amused. You almost reached out to help, but remembered your own human strength wouldn’t do much. Plus, you still had a fragile vase in your hands. Simeon placed the box on the ground, opening the flaps and peering inside. He wasn’t able to hide the beginning of a frown when he saw copies of his own books on top, and quickly moved those out of the way. He seemed much more pleased with the other options.

“Thank you. I suppose I won’t have to spend a long time finding my own additions to these shelves,” Adding a good-natured chuckle to the end of his sentence, Simeon turned towards you. “What do you have there?”

“Oh! It’s a Tiny Venus Flytrap. You-” Stopping short, you glanced at the copies of TSL on the floor and cleared your throat. “You don’t have to feed it much. Just put it in a window that gets a lot of moonlight and water once during each waxing gibbous.”

Curiously, Simeon reached for the plant and cradled it in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over the glazed vase, the blue so dark it nearly looked like black ink. Tentatively, he put his finger on one of the leaves and let out a boyish giggle as it closed around him. You laughed too, pleased to see history repeating itself.

“This is absolutely darling, MC. Thank you,” He didn’t meet your eyes, still entranced by the movement of the leaves. When you looked at Satan, he was giving you a mischievous look. On the way to the house, you told him about your plan to try and jog Simeon’s memories, and he had been hesitant to say that your plan would work. If it didn’t, you certainly succeeded in testing to see if part of the old Simeon was still around.

The tea kettle whistled in the kitchen, and Simeon finally snapped his head up from his new pet plant. “I’ll put this little guy in the kitchen window, seeing as it gets the most moonlight,” He explained, scurrying over with the same dainty walk he had before. You watched him carefully as he adjusted his plant, giving it an affectionate pat before tending to the tea. As he pulled out a budget tea set you’ve definitely seen in the bargain shop before, you tried to hide the guilt on your face. Back at the House of Lamentation, in a box beneath your bed, was Simeon’s old set, still in pristine condition in its white and gold glory. You were glad you decided against bringing that as a gift - looking around at your dark surroundings, it didn’t seem like it would fit in.

You could hold on to your little memories for a while longer, you thought. Simeon didn’t seem to be making use of anything regarding his past anyway.

---

When Simeon opened the door after summoning you to his house, you weren’t expecting his new outfit.

Diavolo had him fitted in some black, plain clothes - something to cover him without drawing too much attention to him. However, now that he had enough time to get used to his surroundings and accept his new life as a demon, he also had enough time to craft a new look for himself.

You weren’t expecting that to include a dark, cool-colored, patterned button down, tucked into black pants with most of the buttons undone.

Nearly choking on your own spit the moment he opened the door, you allowed him to usher you in and rub your back hesitantly. After he thought you had collected yourself - and yes, at that point you stopped choking, but you were still reeling at the image of his chest (did some part of him really need to be exposed at all times?) - he asked, “Do you not like my clothes?”

His voice sounded just as devastatingly sad as a demon. “N-no, they’re fine! I just…” You began gesturing towards his exposed chest and even his midriff before getting embarrassed and dropping your hand. “I wasn’t expecting all that.”

“Oh, here,” Simeone buttoned up three buttons, which did absolutely nothing, and opened the back door to his small yard. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, eyes still on his chest as you walked outside.

The Devildom was known for its warm temperatures, and as you helped him prepare the dirt you quickly found your school shirt uncomfortable as it stuck to your skin. Before long, you slipped it off, thankful for the tank top you decided to wear beneath it, and got back to work. The two of you engaged in an easy conversation, but every so often you’d realize Simeon’s eyes stayed on you for a moment too long. Normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself some irresistible temptation, but he was new to being a demon. Any time he’d reach towards you to help you or borrow a tool, you had to fight the urge to flinch. By the time he offered you a break, you had nearly jumped out of your skin too many times to count.

Spent from the labor, you stayed on the grass while he went to get a drink, coming back with a large glass of water that you graciously accepted. As you drank, he watched you intently - or, more specifically, he watched your left shoulder.

“Uh, are you okay?” You asked cautiously. “You’ve been staring a lot.”

He looked genuinely surprised to have been caught. “Have I? I apologize.” His eyes ran over your pact marks where they peeked out from beneath your shirt before falling on your shoulder again. “What’s that scar?”

“Hm?” Glancing down at your shoulder, you could barely make out the shape of an eye scarred on your skin. Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it before he brought it up. After all, the mark that had been there was purposely difficult to see when he made the vow of protection, so you hadn’t even noticed when it turned to scar tissue. Still, the thought saddened you, and you reach to cover it with your opposite hand. “Oh, that. You gave it to me.”

“I did?” His eyes widened, and he started to toy with one of the buttons attached to his shirt. “I’m- I’m so sorry, MC, I don’t remember-”

“No no no, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean-” He stood up abruptly, not allowing you to finish. His expression was dark, a cross between furious and devastated, and he turned to head back inside. You could imagine his footsteps searing the dry Devildom grass as he stalked away.

“Feel free to let yourself out. Thank you for your help.” He left you sitting in his yard, and you rubbed your scar aimlessly. Though it was just a phantom feeling, it seemed to throb in pain just from his reaction.

---

Simeon offered to walk you home after an RAD party after Diavolo asked all the brothers to stay back for student council business. After months of slowly building your relationship back up again, he was finally comfortable being around you, confident in his ability to reign in his wrath (or at least his speed so he could run far from you if he needed to.) He purposely shortened his strides, the walk taking a much longer time than it normally did. In his company, though, with his easy laughter and your banter, you didn’t mind one bit.

It wasn’t until you finally reached the gates to the house that he let his expression somber. “Hey, MC?” He asked tentatively, as if worried he was intruding. “I know you aren’t supposed to tell me much about my old life, but…” His eyes fell to your scar, which your outfit did nothing to hide.

“Simeon, it’s not like that. You didn’t carve it into me, or anything.”

“Then how did I scar you?”

You sighed. “It used to be an angelic pact. You would-” Did he know about his prophetic abilities as an angel? After clicking your tongue in thought, you corrected yourself. “You were just trying to protect me. We didn’t know this would happen.”

If Simeon cared about your hesitation and how obviously you were hiding information, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked, “Did it hurt, then? When it turned from a promise into a wound?”

Yes, you wanted to say. Just minutes before you heard that he fell, you felt the pain in your shoulder, but you were too busy tending the wounds of others to really pay attention to the pain. You had forgotten about it until Simeon noticed the scar all that time ago, and ever since you had convinced yourself that it throbbed, wanting to turn back into the vow it could never be.

Instead, you smiled at him. “No. I forgot about it until you said something, remember?”

But your smile was too thin, and it betrayed you.

---

You were not supposed to be doing this. However, you had turned your phone off, so the brothers couldn’t talk you out of something so stupid.

You and Simeon hunkered down in the Botanical Gardens long after close, figuring it was a random enough spot that nobody would find you for a while. Hunkered between your favorite type of flytraps, you let Simeon ask you the questions he’s been dying to find answers for since he fell. Each question you answered, telling him about the exchange program and his roommates and all of the memories you held in your heart, safekeeping for the day you could give them back to him.

After all, the way Luke’s face crumpled when he realized that Simeon truly didn’t remember him was something you wanted to avoid seeing again altogether.

There were parts you didn’t know the details of, bits of information that made Simeon’s expression darken, but he urged you to continue, desperate to learn about the voids inside of him he could never figure out how to fill. It wasn’t until you could hear people outside, too close to finding you for you to escape, that you stopped, and even by then your throat was dry and sore.

Before you left to give yourselves up, Simeon reached out and grabbed your hand. There was a serious look in his eyes, and you gulped. “Make a pact with me.”

“What?” You asked. “Simeon, you’re still-”

“I know. But we’re starting to cause trouble, and-” He looked to your arm, where one of the brothers’ marks slipped out from beneath your t-shirt sleeve. “I don’t want them to use their pacts over me. And I trust that you won’t use me just because I haven’t made a true pact before.”

Well, that last part was a given. Maybe it was the sound of Mammon’s voice getting closer, or maybe it was the intensity of his gaze - either way, you fell to your knees so you could be level with him again and nodded. There was an uncomfortable warmth on your shoulder, something that started off soothing but became too hot and prickled at your skin. Before you could look at the mark, Simeon reached for your face and pulled you in, kissing you with a heat he never had during the program and before his fall. Mammon and Leviathan chose this moment to burst in, their shouts falling at the image before them.

Leviathan was the first to speak, grumbling about gross normies in a tone that was clearly giving way to his sin. Mammon came to his senses a few moments later, yelling at Simeon about keeping his hands off. He reached for your arm, pulling you away roughly before shouting directly in your ear, “Hey! What’s the deal with this?”

He was pointing at your exposed left shoulder, where, over the scar, a dark pact mark sat. You were slightly unsettled at how foreboding it looked when you knew it was a twisted distortion of some angelic imagery, but one look at Simeon’s please cheshire grin eased your worries.

---

“So, about those battles…” Simeon trailed off. You were at his house, reading some books in his collection but really just using the trip as an excuse to lay with your head in Simeon’s lap. In one hand, he held a copy of his books, trying to regain some of his memories through their words again. The other was carding through your hair, distracting you from your own book - something random you had plucked off the shelves, eager to get to your spot on the couch.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you anything about that.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell me a lot of things, and yet…” He flicked your left shoulder. You sighed, resting your open book on your chest.

“What do you want to know?” He opened his mouth, but you interrupted him before he could get anything out. “Be specific. I can’t give you the full history of everything. I don’t even know if I know the full history of everything.”

Simeon smiled, tapping his fingers on you mindlessly. “Can you tell me about the battle I fell from?” He noticed how your smile faltered, and when you looked away, he reached to guide your eyes back to his. “Is something wrong?”

You unfurled his fingers and pressed his palm to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “It was over me.”

“Oh.” His voice got significantly smaller, and he asked, “What did you do…?”

“I wasn’t just me!” Playfully, you swatted at his arm, half hoping to dispel the awkwardness hovering in the air. Settling down, you clarified, “It was more...what we did.”

Simeon filled in some of the gaps himself. “I was in love with you.”

“I know, right? You have no taste.” He flicked your nose this time, and you stuck your tongue out at him. “Wait, was?!”

“Stay on topic, little lamb,” He urged gently. When you looked up at him, silently indicating for him to continue his questions, he asked, “So, what, did I lose? Was I condemned for fighting against the Celestial Realm?” That would be a noble fall, he decided. He could make peace with that.

But your face fell again, and your voice got serious. “Simeon...you were fighting against me. You were fighting for the Celestial Realm.”

“What?” Truly aghast, he placed his hand on your cheek again, applying no force but keeping your gaze on his as if you’d stop talking if you looked away. “Why?”

Part of you didn’t know, and that part would never know. Not if Simeon really never regained his memories, anyway. Dejectedly, you shrugged and answered, “I don’t know for sure. But I think you were trying to fight for the fate of my soul. You thought you were fighting for me.”

“How can you know?” You hated the way his voice shook, but didn’t draw any attention to it. “How can you know what I was thinking when I don’t even know?”

“Because I trust you, Simeon. I trusted you then and I trust you now.”

He nodded, but you could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t entirely convinced. Perhaps Diavolo and Baratos were on to something when they warned you not to indulge his questions. His hand went back to slowly messing with your hair, but there was a reluctance to it that told he was only trying to ease your own worries. You could guess what he was thinking - you were probably thinking the same thing, torn apart by a relationship that only seemed to exist to defy every rule that ever existed.

Wherever you went and whatever you did, if he was to follow you and love you, it felt like you would never know peace.

But if you already fought each other, fought for each other, what else was there that you couldn’t handle?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me simeon #swd simeon #simeon #simeon x reader #mine #obey me simeon x reader #swd simeon x reader

[doctorthedoctor]

Long thasmin (mostly Yaz) rambles under the cut. I have a lot of feelings about it, but that’s nothing new.

tl;dr Yaz is queer and I really hope this is where they actually plan on going with it.

I wish we knew if they’re planning on making Yaz canonically queer. If they are, I’m so interested in where she’s at in terms of her relationship with her identity. We’ve gotten a glimpse into her past, but there’s still so much we don’t know, like why she was bullied and what prompted her to run off. She’s clearly had to pull herself out of a very dark place, yet we hardly know any details about what bought her there (funny how that sounds exactly like the Doctor).

I know a lot of people are of the belief that Najia is the captain of the thasmin ship, but I’ve personally never felt that way. To me, she doesn’t look or sound thrilled by the concept of Yaz seeing the Doctor when she asks about it. And Yaz doesn’t seem very comfortable with the question. She initially responds with a disgruntled, “Not now!” and punctuates the exchange with, “Please, can we not have this conversation now? And not in front of [Robertson].” And between those lines, neither she nor the Doctor give Najia a clear answer.

This is just my take and it could very well be wrong, but the fact that Yaz expresses multiple times that she doesn’t want to talk about it tells me that a conversation of this nature has happened before. And judging by the tension between them, it probably didn’t go very smoothly.

I mean, nothing about this exchange looked or sounded comfortable to me:

It’s notably different from how Najia and Yaz interact later when the same question is asked about her and Ryan. The two respond with an immediate and definitive, “No.” Najia seems disappointed by their answer, yet she doesn’t press the topic and the story moves forward. This exchange ends up being significantly shorter than the first, solely because Najia accepted their answer the first time around.

Does anyone smell some heteronormativity in the air? Queer people are painfully familiar with having to spend time explaining their identity to others. It’s a conversation we’re forced to have over and over throughout our lives. That definitely sounds like an experience Yaz can relate to.

Ryan and Yaz look uncomfortable when she asks (which is understandable), but Najia looks much happier about the concept and disappointed when she finds out they aren’t dating:

And even the staging is interesting. Najia is positioned between Yaz and Ryan in the second scene, as opposed to being placed next to Yaz with a desk between them and the Doctor. When she’s talking to Yaz and Ryan, she’s on the same level as them and sounds friendlier. But when she’s talking to the Doctor, Yaz is sitting while she stands and assumes a more authoritative position/tone.

Sure, the Doctor is a stranger and Ryan is a childhood friend, but the Doctor was so nice to Najia when she met her. As far as I can remember, she never gave her a solid reason to be suspicious. If anything, she was too nice, given the way Najia reacts to the hug and compliment about her daughter, then proceeds to distance herself. She’s not Yaz’s mum, she’s Najia. And at the end of the episode, she continues to press Yaz about the Doctor, but never mentions Ryan again.

We know that there’s been a strain on her home life at some point after hearing her conversation with that officer, because she mentions Yaz’s parents not understanding her (not getting “what’s up”). As they they talk, the officer mentions Yaz wanting to run away from everyone, including herself. In trying to convince her that these feelings will pass, she essentially tells her there’s something good waiting on the other side if she runs toward herself instead—which is something queer people really need to hear.

It’s obviously not the only factor, and like I said, I could be wrong but...this sure does look like something that would make a person run from who they are:

After all, Yaz did promise her mom she would tell her about the Doctor when she got back from picking up bread, then proceeded to run off with her. As far as we know, Najia is still in the dark about their relationship—whatever that happens to be.

Aside from that, Yaz is the only one in the fam who hasn’t had any romantic interactions outside of the Doctor and the Master. I guess we could also count Ryan (I’m not against it because I headcanon her as bi) but I genuinely get more of a sibling vibe from them. Regardless, we all know the Master cozied up to Yaz because she fits the mold of who the Doctor has traveled with in the past. I can’t speak to classic who, but from Nine and on, the Doctor’s got a type and we all know it, including the Master.

Then we have all of the parallels between thasmin and various couples in the show. I’m not even going to begin to list them, but the crumbs are abundant and delicious. That gay cop and astronaut? I mean, come on.

On top of all that, the one really Yaz centric episode we’ve had dealt with themes of prejudice and a love within her own family that broke away from societal norms. Like, shit. The Doctor married Prem and Umbreen in a small, private ceremony because she was the only one who was willing to look past their religions. And because this was a relationship that went unknown to Yaz (for a vastly different reason, but still), even she wasn’t happy with the Doctor for agreeing to it at first.

Though private, their marriage was an act of rebellion against outside forces. And who did Umbreen specifically have tension with about the concept of marrying someone who was Hindu? Her mother. But she and Prem even created a new wedding tradition that celebrated their own love by tying their hands with the rope that fell in the water. “Now it can be our thing, if we want it to be,” Umbreen said.

(This is a side note, but if Najia truly isn’t chill about Yaz being queer, I really want to see Umbreen tell her about Prem. I want to hear her recount her experiences with her own love being scrutinized and challenged. I think it would be a cool way for Najia to learn who the Doctor really is, and just how much of a positive impact she and Yaz have made on her life already.)

Yaz struggled in Demons of the Punjab because everything she believed to be true about Umbreen’s life (and her own by extension) turned out to be so different from what she expected. But what she witnessed in that episode helped her understand that people deserve to share their experiences on their own terms. If that doesn’t translate into a narrative about Yaz’s own identity, I don’t know what will.

In season 12, Yaz spent this entire time focusing on the Doctor, but it was executed in a way that furthered her own development. Yaz clearly has feelings for her, but now we have a better understanding of what traveling with the Doctor means to her as a whole. Yaz idolizes her, constantly thinks about what she would say or do. She wants to impress her, prove herself capable of solving problems and saving people. In the process of doing this, she’s grown more confident in her own abilities, independently breathing hope and action into situations that feel paralyzing and hopeless. This is exactly what Yaz has wanted all along, with or without the Doctor. Yaz wants to matter and she wants to do work that matters. The Doctor gives her this. She tells her they can’t have a universe without her. She gives her the chance to make an impact in a way she doesn’t feel like she can at home.

I think their relationship could serve as such a wonderful catalyst for Yaz to step into her own identity and eventually find her place without needing the Doctor. Like Graham said, she doesn’t have a time machine or a sonic, but she’s doing the whole human race proud. Yaz deserves a “You were fantastic. And know what? So was I” moment.

I love thasmin as much as the next person, but I’m honestly less interested in seeing her feelings reciprocated by the Doctor than I am in witnessing Yaz’s journey to confront her feelings in the first place. I want to see or hear her express them in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Everything feels so blatantly intentional at this point, but there’s still just enough ambiguity for me to worry that they’re not going to follow through. They’ve planted all these wonderful little seeds along the way, it would be such a disservice to all fans (not just queer fans) if we never get to see them bloom.

#yasmin khan #thasmin #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #s12

[chelsfic]

Pawn to a Queen - Dracula/Agatha Oneshot - Dracula 2020 fanfic

A/N: This is my love note to Dracula/Agatha. I adore this ship.

Rating: Mature/slightly explicit? It’s pretty tame by my standards, but it does end with the scene from the end of The Dark Compass.

Summary: Agatha’s spirit lives on in the place where Dracula keeps all of his victims. She keeps him company during the long years of sleep beneath the ocean’s surface. A deeper look at Agatha’s experience of what I lovingly refer to as “Dracula’s Blood Palace.” 

***

“When did I lose so many pieces? I was winning…”

“No, you’ve been losing from the start.”

Agatha. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, unflappable Agatha. She feels a fog of confusion dulling her senses and slowing her thoughts. Finding words to respond to her leering, arrogant opponent is like swimming through molasses. Her tongue is heavy, her reflexes slow, a shiver crawls up her spine. Her eyes dance over the chess board but the pieces blur together, indistinguishable. 

The Count sits back in his chair, cradling the goblet of hot, thick nectar in his hands and regarding Agatha with a look of mingled affection and amusement. How he loves to watch his pets work it all out. It’s adorable, seeing their little human minds fit the puzzle pieces together. Agatha, though, is his finest conquest. So much intelligence, passion, wit, humor. She really is a delicacy and he’s so pleased he hasn’t rushed her. But time is almost up. All good things must end.

He guides her gently towards the realization. Answering her stammered questions and watching as she paces, hands trembling and eyes alight in suspicion and fear. 

“Are you drinking my blood?”

She’s worked herself up to the question, knowing the answer but still fearing to hear it spoken aloud. Poor Agatha. She spent her entire life searching for her God, crying out in prayer for intellectual proof of His existence. And now just as she’s found Him she’s torn away by a demon. Trapped in the beast’s domain and given a cruel mockery of the eternal life she was promised by the Church. It’s enough to make one weep. Or laugh.

Dracula can’t help himself, he stands up and stalks forward invading her personal space, looming over her and mocking her. He draws a finger dripping with her blood to his lips and sucks the sweet essence before her horrified eyes.

***

He comes back gradually to himself, perched over the nun’s weak body and lovingly lapping the spilled blood from her neck. Oh, Agatha, he muses nuzzling her pale cheek. If things were different I’d make you my bride. And how magnificent you’d be.

He hears footsteps and voices coming from below deck. Time for a show.

***

Dracula doesn’t feel the cold. He watches the flickering light of the burning ship as his body is swallowed up by the frigid waters. He turns his head and catches sight of a dark shape sinking below him. The last box of Transylvanian earth. His salvation. He moves through the water and reaches the box just as it hits the ocean floor creating a cloud of sand. As he opens the lid he feels a shiver on the back of his neck and looks up instinctively. She’s gorgeous. Dark tresses floating around her head like a halo, her face serene in peaceful sleep. Agatha’s body takes longer to sink to the bottom and he knows that the tide and the natural process of decay will not leave her undisturbed for long. Still, he likes that she will rest here beneath the waters with him. He watches her body settle into the sand beside the box. He does regret that there hadn’t been time to work on her, to make her like him. But, after all, death is not a parting for Dracula and his victims. He’ll be seeing her again soon.

He takes one last look at Agatha’s face, peaceful in death as he lowers himself into the box and moves to close the lid. His lips quirk in a smile as he goes to his rest.

Check mate, sweet Agatha.

***

There’s a fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth. The room is cozy, lined with shelves full of books in more languages than Agatha has dreamed of. She doesn’t remember how she got here. This should trouble her but she finds it doesn’t. She walks along the walls of overflowing shelves, running her fingertips along the spines and finally choosing a volume to take with her to the plush chair before the fire. She settles into the seat with her feet propped up on a low ottoman and the book nestled in her lap. There are two chairs placed in front of the hearth. Agatha looks over at the empty seat with furrowed brows, her mind grasping for a name, something she’s forgotten. At the sound of his voice everything comes rushing back and her spine straightens in alarm.

“Hello, Agatha,” Dracula’s voice lilts in a singsong tone as he enters the room from some unseen door and takes the other seat by the fire. “This is rather nice, isn’t it? To finally rest?”

She remembers everything. How Dracula attempted to frame her for the murders he’d committed. The desperate attempts to protect the remaining crew and passengers from him. Feeling at the last that she’d finally beat him. But no. She tastes the sour tang of failure and a miserable frown fills her face.

“You’ve killed me,” she states, struggling to sound matter-of-fact but hearing the tremor in her own voice that betrays her emotion.

Dracula shrugs his shoulders and steeples his clawed hands before his face, regarding her with a gimlet stare.

“It would appear so,” he sighs and then smiles at the memory, “And what a pretty corpse you made, Agatha, let me tell you.”

“Spare me,” she hisses with iron beneath her brittle voice. She stares into the fire for a long moment, thoughts spinning incoherently in her head. Or...or is it Count Dracula’s head? Does Agatha still exist as her own being or does every part of her belong to him now? 

“Why?” she asks, panicked desperation in her voice. “Why am I still here?”

Dracula quirks his head and regards her with a pitying look.

“It’s not so bad here, is it, Agatha? I’ve tried to make it pleasant for you,” he gestures at the room around them. “You have every book I’ve ever read. And look, behind you you’ll find a workshop where you can continue your studies.”

Agatha swivels to look over her shoulder and, indeed, where before there had been a solid wall of books now there is a little alcove with a workbench, notebooks, beakers, Bunsen burners and racks of specimen jars. She turns back to him, her expression stony. She will not allow him to feel as though he is being somehow magnanimous by giving her a pleasant prison.

She whispers her next words with fury, “And this is where my soul is to reside? Not with my Lord but with my murderer?”

Dracula furrows his brows in a mockery of sympathy, “I did tell you, Agatha, that I would carry you in my veins into the new world. Did I not? You’ll live with me, be a part of me, forever. But it needn’t be a torture for you.”

Agatha takes a long, shaky breath. She's determined not to show him the depth of her despair at those words.

“Why? Why have you made this place for me? Why care for my comfort?”

“Surely, after all we’ve been through... You didn’t think I’d let you suffer, Agatha?”

***

How long has she been here? There’s no way of measuring time in this place. It seems to act differently here than it did in the mortal realm. Agatha might choose a book to read, sit down for a moment in the warmth of the fire, and then rise later having finished the book with no memory of the time passing. On other occasions it feels as though she spends days at a time pacing the room in tight circles. Dracula responds to these bouts of anxiety and restlessness from her. He always appears shortly after her despair takes hold. She came to terms long ago with the fact that his presence has become a comfort to her. 

“Agatha, darling,” he whispers, grasping her shoulders in his strong hands and arresting her momentum in mid-stride. She’s in the midst of a nervous episode. He frowns down at her and rubs his palms along her upper arms. He’s found that his touch, his voice, offers comfort to her in these times. For all he delights in possessing her soul, he doesn’t wish for her to be restless, disturbed in this manner. “What’s bothering my brilliant Agatha today?”

“How long? Count Dracula, how long have I been here?” she straightens her spine and meets his eyes with the fiery bravery that first drew him to her.

He guides her to the armchairs with a hand on the small of her back and they take their usual seats before the fire. 

“What does it matter, darling?” he argues. “Counting the hours of an eternal life will only lead you to despair.”

Agatha ignores his pleading tone and carries on, “I wish to know how long it has been since my death. Excuse me, since my murder.”

Dracula rolls his eyes at her, “A little dramatic, don’t you think? Aren’t we friends now, finally?”

Agatha knows he has a point. They’ve shared hours of contented silence seated before the fire, days of deep conversation discussing the books she’s read. Dracula has held her as she sobbed in despair and he’s made her laugh telling the story of his life in the dry, sardonic tone that perfectly matches her sense of humor. There are days at a time when she can forget who he is, what he is. Not today.

“I wish to know,” she replies simply.

Dracula sighs and rubs a hand over his brow, “I’m...not sure.”

“What do you mean you are not sure?”

Dracula holds her gaze for a long moment. His dark eyes gleam unnaturally in the firelight, orbs of silver like a wolf’s eyes shining in the dark forest. A predator’s eyes.

“I’ve been...asleep,” he finally answers.

“What?”

“When I leave this place and return to my body I can feel the water on my skin, the packed earth beneath my back. I am still underwater, Agatha. Resting in the place you felled me.”

She feels a flash of victory but it’s short-lived.

“But...you live, still,” she states.

Dracula smiles wickedly, “Oh yes, darling. And I will walk again. It’s only a matter of...time.”

***

She feels the difference right away although she doesn’t understand the significance at first. Before, even when his form wasn’t present in the room with her, she could still feel his spirit very close by. When Dracula comes awake once more into his physical body, his presence, his spirit, feels more remote to Agatha. There’s still a connection between them but it's stretched over a greater distance. 

It’s time to return to work. She enters the workshop and begins pouring over her old notebooks, cross referencing every fact, every legend, every story about Count Dracula and his powers. As she works she feels echoes of his thoughts and emotions sweep over her. The frenzied lust that signals his first feeding in a century, the sense of wonder he feels at the new age in which he’s found himself, the calculation of a master predator and manipulator. 

He returns to her when he sleeps. He lays his body down on the sensual silk sheets of his new bed, protected from the sun’s burning rays in the stark, modern apartment that Renfield assisted him in obtaining. He closes his eyes and seeks her out. Agatha.

He finds her tinkering in her laboratory, more animated and determined than he’s seen her in ages. 

“What are you up to, dear?” he murmurs as he saunters into the room with more of the predator in his step than she’s seen in a long time.

“What does it look like, Count Dracula? I’m working, once more, to foil your evil schemes.”

Dracula’s eyes light in amusement at her words and he leans over to peer down at the notebooks over her shoulder, “Charming. I’m glad to see you’re so lively. I wonder if the blood feeds you as well….?”

Agatha cringes at the thought and steps away from him, snapping the notebook shut and hugging it to her chest.

“Not for long I hope. I’ve been dead and trapped in this purgatory long enough. I’m ready to sleep. You’ve fed from one of my descendants. I can feel her, taste her just as you have. And I can help her stop you once and for all.”

Dracula takes a playful step backward as if her words have physically struck him, “Well, by all means, Agatha I wouldn’t have it any other way. My darling antagonist.”

She narrows her eyes at him and turns back to her work.

***

When the answer comes it is divine in its simplicity. She hears it as a voice inside of her, the voice of God speaking the words, He fears only death.

He lives eternally in shame. A warrior whose father, brothers, and countrymen all gave their lives on the glorious battlefield. But he is too cowardly, too terrified by the hereafter to release his stranglehold on life. So he feeds on the lives of others, stealing their souls so that he may cling to life.

She watches through dear Zoe’s eyes as Count Dracula flinches from the sunlight blazing in through the ostentatious window of his apartment. She sees the moment he realizes that the light cannot hurt him. Watches the existential confusion settle on his face. Pain wracks her form, but she forces this body to stand upright. She has sent Zoe away, giving her this last gift of taking her pain and suffering away and enduring it for her. Dracula’s gaze shifts to her as her breath wavers in just the smallest indication of the overwhelming physical struggle.

“You’re in pain,” he states, his voice laced with concern and she recalls the years they spent together in the liminal space of his psyche. His arms around her, soothing her in her despair. They are adversaries, yes. But partners in the end, it seems.

She gathers her self-control and responds, “I am equal to it.”

Agatha nearly weeps when Count Dracula finally steps into the light, allowing himself to bathe in the warmth he’s been denied for more than five hundred years. His face goes slack in wonder and she sees a glimpse of the boy he might once have been. It’s a beautiful sight for her last, she thinks as she collapses into the leather chair.

If she dies in this body, will she finally be at peace? Will she finally return to the kingdom of her Lord?

Orange light glows on the backs of her eyelids. Agatha opens her eyes to a world of pulsing, molten light. Flames lick at her skin but do not burn. Dracula is with her and instead of feeling repulsed or betrayed she feels a soaring joy that they are together at the end. He holds her in his arms, laying fierce kisses to her naked skin and rocking against her in an ancient, primal dance that she’d forsaken in life. She arches against him, returning his kisses, his touches. She thinks if she’d known it could be like this she might not have followed the path of a nun.

“This isn’t real,” she murmurs against his lips. It’s a dream. He’s drinking my blood. But that would mean...

“After all this time... did you think I’d let it hurt?”

His hushed words ring between them, vibrating along the bond they share and touching a place deep inside Agatha. She feels his care, his love. Indeed, after all this time, the monster...the man is capable of love.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she whispers, their motions are slowing and she feels both of them beginning to fade into the flames.

“Yes,” he answers in a shaky breath. “Will you hold my hand?”

“Of course,” she responds. She takes his hand in hers and they walk away together.

The End

Dracula Tag list:

@charlesdances​

**Note to folks on the tag list for Inherited. I didn’t automatically assume you’d also want to be included on this one. If you want me to tag you in all future Drac fics I’ll try to be organized enough to maintain two lists.

#dracula x agatha #bbc dracula #dracula imagine #agatha van helsing #count dracula #claes bang #dolly wells #dracula fanfic #chelsfic #count dracula x agatha #dracula x agatha van helsing #dracula 2020 #dracula netflix

[webcricket]

Rapture, Rupture

Characters: CastielXReader

Bat Out of Hell Lyric Prompt: #20 - “Show me I meant something.”

Word Count: 2610 (well, a drabble it ain’t)

Requested by: @morganas-pendragons

Warning: SPOILERS for 15X03 ahead! Erotica/adult content - sweet simple sexy times with a seraph on a sofa.

Summary: After Castiel stands up to Dean’s anger and misplaced blame and ultimately leaves the bunker feeling used, useless, and that no one truly cares, he seeks out the reader in order to feel a little less alone.

<<<   >>>

“Jesus, Cas!” The sight of the angel standing on your front stoop when you swing the door open to confront the intruder who woke you with his midnight pacing on the porch, the loosely folded fingers held up in a fist protruding from his sleeve dithering between doubt of disturbing you and knocking on the door, has you jumping out of your skin and slamming a hand to your heart to keep it from bounding out into the night.

It’s been awhile since you headed out on your own, a while since you last stared into the startling (and currently startled) blue of his gaze. On first blush, you aren’t sure if he looks apologetic, or if that’s just his usual expression dewy from the light drizzle of rain dampening the darkness beyond the reach of the porch lamp.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, lets his eyes fall from your face to the softly flowing flannel robe, belt loosened so that the fabric plunges and parts between breasts covered by a thin cotton tank and your trembling fingers. His focus further follows the hem tracing downward from there to float the hidden curves of your hips.

It’s there, swinging in your free grip, he spots the sawed off shot gun and your well-worn go bag brimming with gear ripped open on the floor beyond - these, the hunting accoutrements you supposedly gave up when you left the life.

You don’t appear any less vibrant to him than when he dropped you off at this very door half a year ago and bid you ‘Goodbye’ because leaving is what you said you wanted - what you believed was right for you and who was he to protest what you thought was right by bringing his feelings into light when it was clear to him you would be safer here; safer, and happier.

“Cas-” You rein in the gravitational fall of his uncharacteristically open appreciation of your scantily clad form back to the general orbit of your searching eyes. You notice when he lifts his chin, the wet gathered on his lashes seems too freshly gravid with sorrow to have anything to do with the weather- “what happened? What’s wrong?” The concern catches in your throat, cauterizes the corners of eyes with tears.

“It’s-” his voice cracks with a weight of emotion that tells you what comes next is a lie- “nothing.”

It’s not like him to lie. Not to you. You might have left the boys, left the bunker and, figuring their angel was a Team Free Will package deal, didn’t try to persuade him to join you, but you and Cas, you have an understanding you can say anything to each other; even if you haven’t been able to unpack the extent of the fondness fostered in your hearts, it’s only because you each thought it best not to further complicate the complicated nature of this life by introducing love and upping the ante of fear and loss.

You’d all lost too much already to risk bringing love into the equation.

You click the safety on the shotgun and toss in on top of the yawning duffel inside the door. Stepping sideways, you usher him in to your humble abode with a sweep of the arm. “Come in, let’s get you dry and then you can tell to me some more about nothing.”

“You’re busy-” he shuffles a single boot forward; eyes flicking to your sleep-mussed hair, he wants to enter, but hesitates- “sleeping. I’ll come back in the morning.”

“I’m awake-” leaning over the threshold you haul him in by his coat lapels muttering- “now get your angelic ass in here.”

He allows you to lug him limply inside.

Slipping your fingertips under the coat’s collar, standing near enough to study his averted blues as you do so - the red rims, the hollowness sunk below, the uncharacteristic paleness of his flesh as if someone had drained the life out of him tells you all you need to know - it’s not what happened or what’s wrong, it’s who failed him, and what isn’t right. You’ve seen him like this before, and your heart aches in echo of his anguish.

Trying not to let the fact you’re pissed off at the douche with a capital D who hurt him roughen your touch, you push up and liberate the trench from his shoulders.

“Hey-” you gently cup a palm to his jaw, rub your thumb over the scratch of stubble there until he meets your eyes- “it’s just like old times, huh? You and me free to do whatever the hell we want with no Winchesters around to keep us in line.”

Not that you ever did anything beyond share a bed and bowl of popcorn while watching Netflix.

The smallest of smiles twitches his mouth at the memory. He relished those nights with you, watching you as you slept, the bunker silent save for the reassuring rhythm of your heart and breath.

“There’s my angel.” You flash your teeth in approval at the subtle sign of relief banishing some of the fretfulness from his features. You prod the pad of your thumb in the divot of his chin. “I’d make you some coffee, but I wasn’t expecting the company. I think there’s tea though-”

You twist to gambol off in the direction of the kitchen. The firm wrap of fingers encircling your wrist staves your momentum. You turn back to him, brow furrowed.

“It’s okay, I’m fine-” he slackens his grip- “I just came to talk.”

He follows the arched invitation of your glance toward a cozy living space and sits on the sofa.

You settle in beside him, drawing your feet beneath you and letting your bent legs spill into his lap.

His regard wanders the room to walls hung with cheery landscape paintings, to brightly colored throw pillows, to shelves lined with favored books and mementos, and to a scattering of photographs on the mantel, one of you two taken outside a motel in Indiana that also happened to be home to the World’s Largest Slinky displayed prominently front and center.

“It’s nice here. Peaceful,” he says; sighing long and low, he lets the atmosphere - and your proximity - cast a soothing shroud over the struggle of these last weeks. “It reminds me very much of your room. I mean, the room you used to … the room you used at the bunker. Only brighter.” Continuing to avoid the topic of why he’s here, he rambles on, “I would assume it’s brighter because of the windows … or it would be if it were daytime.”

After a self-conscious moment spent drowning the swell of further small talk he lays a warm hand on your knee, observes the way your skin blanches then reblooms redder beneath the weight of it.

The touch is intimate, but not unprecedented. He took his time becoming comfortable with when and how to show physical affection. With you it came easier than with others; and the connection he feels - the solid heat of flesh and bone and soul - blunts the sting of emptiness encroaching on his heart.

You cover his hand with your own. Leaning forward, you swipe a stray chestnut curl behind the shell of his ear. A wistful smile quirks your lips. “I don’t think you came here to comment on my choice of decor.”

He half-turns his head to peer at you, the gloss of his blues shine as a desolate sea in the dim lamplight. “I left.”

You tease your fingers through his and squeeze tight, encouraging him to go on.

The crux of the struggle - the piece of it that crushes him most - surges in deeply graveled syllables. “Dean is angry. I’ve never seen him like this. I tried so many times to reach him, and it’s clear no matter what it once meant, or what it still means to me, our friendship has become just another burden for him to bear.”

Your fingers tense; venting annoyance forces a sharp snort through your nose - this infuriatingly big-hearted idiot of an angel is still considering Dean’s feelings, and not his own, as the priority.

And Dean. You’re done making excuses for Dean! You get his anger. You get that it’s a defense mechanism, that he’s damaged and it’s a way for him to cope when he feels everything around him spiraling out of control. The anger is how he keeps moving; adrenaline lubricates his joints in the face of paralyzing fear.

Except anger isn’t an excuse to treat your family like shit. You’re all angry. You don’t all redirect that rage at the world and lash out at your loved ones and look for someone to blame when life hurts. It’s a huge part of why you left. You were sick and tired of watching Dean hurl his fists at the people who had his back, especially the angel.

You grasp at straws. Sam has always been able to temper his brother’s rage, to make amends. “What about Sam? Does he-”

“No. I made a choice. An impulse decision to kill a demon who betrayed us before something worse rose up to threaten the world. I forced Sam to make a sacrifice he shouldn’t have had to make. I can’t ask him to go up against Dean for my sake. He’s already lost so much. They have each other. That’s enough.” His chin swings like a the slowly stalling pendulum of a clock wanting winding.

“Cas, you’ve lost too. If you did what you thought was right, I trust you had no other choice.”

The seraph stills, Dean’s wrath having worked at him, raised clouds of doubt, and fueled the fire of regret set aflame in his consciousness into a smoldering sentiment of failure during the hours long drive to your door that made him second guess himself and actually begin to believe the blame belonged solely to him. “But I did. I could’ve walked away. We could have figured it out afterward. Together, like Dean said.”

“Like Dean said!” You lurch to your feet, shouting the statement through clenched teeth, first at the ceiling, then down at an angel awe struck by your outburst on his account, “And when did Dean become dictator? How many more lives would’ve been lost? How much more sacrifice? You did what had to be done. What any of us would’ve done with our backs against the wall.”

“Y/N-” wide-eyed and earnest, he reaches out to clasp your wrist; what little strength remains of his failing grace collects into fingertips endeavoring to calm you- “That’s kind of you to say, but-”

“No ‘buts,’ I’m not saying it to be kind. It’s true.” You recognize the electric pulse of angelic power tracing in tendrils along your veins from where he grips you. It has the pacifying affect he intended - your ire toward Dean incrementally dulls with every heartbeat.

His grasp goes lax as his grace weakens and ebbs. He returns the hand to his lap and looks at it resting uselessly beside the other. “I’m tired. Tired of fighting for the people I love only to fight with them when all is said and done.” His gaze lifts, earnestly piercing yours seeking the an answer. “What kind of life is that?”

Stooping, you frame his face with your fingers, splayed tips stretching to tickle his temples. “It’s just … life. It’s not fair. It never was and it never will be. We just have to keep going and hope for the best.”

Blues swirling in resignation snap shut.

“I know they’re just words, Cas,” you apologize for the disappointingly oracular answer.

“Regardless, I appreciate you saying them. I needed to hear it.” He flattens his hands over your smaller ones to peel them from his scruffy aspect. Lashes parting, he pauses, not for the first time, to squint at the lines and scars paving the palms and place the bare caress of a kiss upon each. He’s grateful to find the landscape of them isn’t altered; and after everything he’s been through, they are, perhaps, a pair he is less willing relinquish so easily this time without exploring to what ends those trails of fate lead.

The lingering of the look and tender devotion paid does not go unnoticed by you. “You could’ve called if that’s all the comfort you needed. What else do you need, angel?”

He continues to hold on; his focus shifts to your legs where your robe gapes to reveal a slope of thigh capped in a crescent of pink lace panty. There lies the promise of a passion he never felt worthy of acting on, and yet, he has heard your prayers - the walls against angelic perception erected by humans exist as barriers nearly as thin as that lace, and more permeable.

The oppressive pain of loneliness throttling his vessel’s racing heart  craves connection. He squashes the impure thoughts through sheer will and self-deprecation at entertaining the possibility. “It’s stupid. Selfish.”

“You’re the least selfish person I know.” You shift so your knees knock against his, near enough that the still raised hands holding yours skim the supple flesh of your lower belly. “Tell me.”

“I just needed someone to-” the temptation to take the comfort you offer and the very scent of you overwhelms his senses; he starts, stops, and starts again- “need someone to-”

You slink your fingers through the halo of his hair and cup his jaw to compel his gaze - a blue blown almost to black by longing and seeped in tears - upward, “Someone to what, Cas?”

“Show me I meant something,” he sobs; lunging for your hips, he yanks you into his lap.

You straddle him with a small bounce, knees hitting the cushions as your lips crash; he silences the surprised squeak rising the rungs of your ribs to escape with the scrape of his tongue along the moist seam of your mouth. He’s already hard beneath you and here you half-thought he was diving in for a hug.

Frantic fingers rip at the thin cotton of your tank, unburdening the supple shape of breasts to bury his nose between and lay a smattering of sloppy open-mouthed kisses and Enochian praise upon the expanse of skin and upward to your neck.

He tears, too, at the fragile lace of your undies to expose the apex of your arousal. Threading a finger into your heat, he tests and teases at the walls fluttering around it in hunt for friction and fullness - the pike of calloused pleasure cultivates that coil of ecstasy from his caresses already coalescing in your belly.

A growl rattles the room as you fumble to free his belt and fly to return the favor. He lifts his hips to help you push down his pants; his vessel shudders when your fingers collar his cock through the material. The growl evolves into a groan of your name as you delve, finally, into the unfettered trove of his trousers to uncage him.

Kneading handfuls of your ass through the robe, he rocks against your soaked sex until you rise up on your knees, grip him by the base, and sink slowly onto him.

You roll with one another in rapture. As the desperation to unite gives way to a slow sensual swaying of bodies, small sighs moisten skin between kisses, and a sense of belonging - of being needed, and being exactly where you need to be - builds in so comforting a cadence, not of carnality, but of love, that neither of you hastens toward the rupturing of that bliss.

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#castiel x reader #castiel imagine #castiel x you #castiel smut #spn x reader #castiel #castielxreader #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #reader x castiel #you x castiel #castiel fanfic #castiel fanfiction #fic request #cricket writes cas

[paige-and-opal-inc]

Mr. Jolly

Warnings: Self mutilation, self harm, cannibalism, demons, panic attack 

Summary: The path up the hill was where people disappeared. It was where lost tourist and people who had a death wish went. Only people  who had no sense went up there. But no one knows what happens, no one knows the fate of those who travel the path. But when Gales only choice is to travel the path, it's only a matter of time before they find out what happens to those who travel the path.

Link: Wattpad

The old hill was where people disappeared. It usually happened to new people, people who didn’t know better. Having lived in this town my entire life, I’ve seen many people come and go, many more mourn the loss of loved ones. It was almost a tradition. Years would go by without an accident, then someone would follow the path up the hill and never be seen again. 

  After that, the entire town would be disconsolate, then Mr. Jolly would host a bittersweet feast. It would mostly have the favorite foods of those who disappeared, along with some of his bestselling recipes. 

I had gone up the path because it began to rain, which meant flooding was to follow. The only options were to swim home or follow the path up the hill. Taking a deep breath I had started walking, trying not to run and fall.

There was a single tree on top of the hill, it was probably as old as the town. By the time I reached it my clothes were soaked through, and I couldn’t stop shivering. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t scream a bit when a flashlight blinded me.

“It’s okay it’s just me!” Mr. Jolly’s familiar voice said, “It was storming and I just wanted to check if anyone was up here. It’s dangerous y’know.” My heart rate starts returning to normal, of course it was only him. “My house is close by, how about you stay there for the night, and I’ll tell your Mom, then drop you off in the morning.” 

“Yeah, yeah okay.” I say, grateful to finally get out of the rain. 

We drove back to his house. It’s nice, if not plain. A few pictures color the yellow-beige walls, while worn down furniture is neatly placed. I honestly can’t think of a better example for a “dreary house”. I don’t need to be told twice to go take a nap, and the guest room is surprisingly cozy compared to the rest of the house. 

An annoyingly loud bird is the thing that finally wakes me up. It takes me a few moments before I realize how bright the room is and how late it must be. Throwing off the covers I get up, rushing out the door into a hallway. The inviting smell of cookies comes from the left, and as I enter the kitchen in search for the source of the smell a note on the table catches my attention. 

Went to store. Stay put until I get back

“Sorry,” I say to the note, “Mom’s gonna kill me, even if you did tell her I was here.” Turning to the counter, a plate of cookies and a glass of milk are waiting to be eaten. I down the milk quickly, eat a cookie, and grab another for the road. The doorway that leads me to the living room is decorated with polaroid pictures, Mr. Jolly with people that are long dead. I start to wonder how old Mr. Jolly really is. Or maybe that’s a relative? I really don’t know that much about him. 

Well revelations aside, I need to get home. I continue to the door, and turn the knob only to find it locked. There are no back or side doors that I can find, and the windows seem to be locked too. Alright that’s fine. Everything... is... fine… Time seems to slow, and the room starts to get blurry. As I stumble onto the couch, I can’t help but slide down into a more sleep tempting position. The sound of an open door catches my attention, and I muster up enough energy to lift my head in the direction of the noise. 

Someone’s talking, but all I can hear is, “See you… found cookies… no… leave…” 

I need… to… go home is my last thought before everything goes black.

Everything's cold, and there’s a light behind my eyelid. My throat is sore, and my lips feel glued together. It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings, to even remember anything. I should be at home, but instead I’m at Mr. Jolly’s, I have to be. I can’t remember how I got here, only that I was with him. My bare skin is exposed to the air, but there’s no wind, no breeze. Only a chilling stillness. I try to move, but there are restraints on my ankles, wrist, hips, and even around my neck. 

Finally I open my eyes, and from what I can see I must be in some sort of hospital or a butchery. There’s a smell of sterilized equipment, but beneath it is something more foreboding. I’m at least able to turn my head, and see some papers proudly framed on the wall. The curly handwriting is familiar, it’s from Mr. Jolly’s shop, and they get rid of any doubt I have that I’m with him. They’re too far away to read, but I can tell they’re old. 

When I look to my left chills are sent down my spine. Tools line the wall, mostly knives. The first real thought runs through my head, GET OUT. I try to struggle but it’s no use, I can tell this has happened before. There are stains on the knives, and this is just too thought through for someone to have just begun. My fingertips are just at the sides of the table, but it’s all smooth, not a thing can be used to help me escape. That’s when I hear it.

Footsteps. I close my eyes, and pretend to be asleep, a skill I mastered for when it was 2 a.m. and my mom checked on me. Oh god. My mom. I didn’t even say goodbye, I just stormed out. I’m gonna be just another missing kid. Wait...  

The missing kids, the fact that on the hill where everyone goes missing Mr. Jolly just happened to be there, that after eating a cookie he made at his house I passed out and woke up bound to a table. But what was he gonna do?! Rape me and cut me up?! Torture me for fun?! Then what, get the town's pity and admiration by holding a grand feast? It only took about two minutes before the second realization hit me like a train.

After he killed us the town then got a feast. With special dishes made only for the feast. He didn’t just kill them, he cooked them. He cooked them and gave the entire town what he made. I swallow puke. I had eaten people. Multiple people. That cute guy that had stopped at town for a few nights. Bailee Maddison, who I had a crush on for years. Neighbor, friends, people I never got to know. I had eaten them, without noticing. 

The footsteps get closer and stop that train of thought. I hear a door open and shut, then after waiting for a moment I open my eyes again. I can just make out the door, on the wall near my feet. I take a second, slower look, trying to keep my panic at bay. I can make out another door, and an open doorway that has what looks like some sort of machine inside. I try but I can’t find anything to help. 

Tears start to well up in my eyes, I’m gonna die. I’m actually gonna die. Despite the bands I try to curl up into a fetal position, and here a sort of scratching sound when I move my left foot at a certain angle. I try a few more times before I feel it. It’s very subtle, but that part of the band is moving. Of course it is! There had to be some way to unfasten them, and a giant lock would get in the way when he… gruesome pictures flash through my mind, finishing that thought for me. 

At first, nothing happens as I constantly move my foot, panic and tears make me attempt a kick. I swallow a yell, and feel some blood where I had scraped my skin against the bands. But this time I feel it moved a bit more. I take a deep breath and try kicking again, this time harder. I’m not able to contain my yell when the band digs in deeper, but even though it’s moving more I still can’t get my foot out. It takes probably close to an hour before I can get it loose enough. This room has to be soundproof, or else he would have heard me.

Finally I can get my leg off the table a bit, the band around my hips has also been loosened. I can feel the pole going down from the corner, and run my feet along it as far as it can go, but there’s nothing there. When I lift my leg it screams, I had to have broken something. Then, I notice the cart has moved forward a bit. The tools aren’t too far away, and if I lift my leg I could knock a few of them down. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but I’d rather leave with a broken foot than not leave at all. After more pain I manage to get close enough to the wall to where I can reach it. 

Taking a deep breath,  I prepare for what I think will be unimaginable pain. It is even worse. Most of the knives just cut my foot, but the one thing I’m able to get makes me (more) nauseous. A bone saw hangs around my foot, it’s one of those old timey ones that you’d see in a Saw movie. Tears blur my vision, but after more work and a few more cuts it’s in my hand. 

Now what? Am I gonna cut off my hand then die of blood loss right after? Am I gonna try cutting through the metal? I can’t. Either I kill myself or I lie here waiting to die. The hopelessness and despair I’d been trying to hold back... crushes me. I let the tears flow, I call out for people I know I’ll never see again. I don’t know how much time passed, how long I was there, just waiting for him to come back and kill me. But I was gonna die anyway, so why couldn’t I die doing something. I could be his last victim, I could catch him by surprise. But first I need to at least be able to move.

And so I start cutting. I don't have the strength to cut my wrist, so I settle for trying to make my hand smaller. There’s so much blood, and from my screaming I’m pretty sure I lost the element of surprise, but I continue on. Back and forth and back and forth, until finally I can slip my hand out. 

As I move it across the table I close my eyes, thankful that I don’t have to look at it. It’s kind of funny how easy it is to undo the band around my other hand, even with my mangled fingers. It was so easy, and yet I had to break a foot and cut off part of my hand. I use my good hand to unlock my neck, then hips, then foot. My entire body is sore. 

Swinging my good foot over the table with my other foot, an attempt to lower myself down ends up with the table rolling out of the way and me on the ground in pain. There are a few knives near me, I reach out and grab one. I curl up and bring the knife close to my chest. When the initial pain passes I drag myself to the wall and sit up. 

I made a mistake, I can’t do this. I can’t even get down from a table without crying, how could I kill someone?! 

“Is this what you want?!” I scream, if he’s going to kill me might as well be sooner than later, “Come down here already! I already did half the work for you!” My throat is raw, and just yelling makes the room spin. 

Finally I hear the door open, and footsteps make their way to me. After a few moments of me crying hands wrap themselves around my neck. I’m lifted up roughly without any regard for my foot or hand, and after a yelp of pain I look into his cold, emotionless eyes. 

“You ruined yourself! What am I supposed to do-” He stops talking as his face goes pale, he slowly looks down at his chest. The knife I lodged in it is covered with my blood, and as I wait for his to start gushing he drops me, earning another scream. I roll onto my side, but I can’t cry. All I can do is watch as Mr. Jolly stumbles around, knocking down the frames and slamming into the wall. 

He finally falls, but there’s still no blood. Instead a small black liquid starts to bubble from where I stabbed him. It bubbles slowly, and runs off his sides, forming little puddles. I watch and watch, and as more blood comes out Mr. Jolly starts changing. When the last of it pops from his chest, he isn't a he anymore. Instead a girl a few years older than me is sitting there. I can recognize her from a newspaper article I read. She was one of the first to disappear, but soon my attention is drawn to the puddles of black. I watch as the puddles seem to grow, until I’m surrounded. I grab a nearby knife and throw it at one, but it just smiles and reaches out to me. I flinch, but something about its milky white eyes keeps me a bit still. 

My hand goes numb when it touches me, and suddenly there’s no reason to fight. Everywhere they touch me goes blissfully numb, my foot, my arms, everywhere. My throat goes numb, and my breathing slows as they take over my lungs. My heartbeat becomes slower and slower until I can’t feel it. I sigh as they reach farther and farther, as all the pain goes away, pain that I didn’t even know was there. I can’t tell if the darkness came from me closing my eyes or them. I don’t care. My thoughts are stifled when they numb my brain, and through the darkness I smile. 

#horror #tw self mutilation #tw cannibalism #tw panic attack #ocs #orignal story #tw demons #horror story #original writing #kidnapping #gore

[shooter-nobunagun]

Tea for Two (R-18)

//Random summer one-shot inspired by my trip to London. Takes place shortly after the manga ends.

R-18 because...I just do that.

---

“Ugh, it’s muggy here as well...maybe I shouldn’t have worn long socks,” Sio fanned herself as they de-planed, getting hit in the face with a gust of moist, not-hot but not-cool air. “Adam, I thought you said London was cooler than Tokyo during the summer...”

“Uh, this...is?” The British man raised a white eyebrow as he hauled their bags over his shoulder. “I mean, Great Britain is an island love, I can’t do much about the humidity...but 23 degrees celsius is cooler than 29, no?”

“Yeah, I suppose...I guess I got spoiled spending all that time in San Francisco...ahh, the ocean breeze was soo nice! Geronimo and Babe Ruth said it’s because California has a dry heat, which is why it feels nice even when the temperature’s higher.” Stretching her arms out, Sio seemed to be hugging the breeze as it blew again, despite the dampness in the air. “Well, better than melting in the sun during Comiket. Is London always this, uh...grey?”

“More or less. You’re lucky there’s no rain today,” Adam shrugged, running a finger through white locks that were starting to stick to his face. “But yeh, wouldn’t expect too many sunny days if I were you; I wasn’t joking when I said London’s pretty overcast year-round. There’s a reason weather is the de-facto conversation starter.”

Sio giggled as they exited the terminal, Adam expertly navigating them straight to the rail station. “Iya, I really do think it’s nice. I mean, it’s not all clouds—I can see some sun.”

“Like I said squirt, yeh got lucky today. Now come on, let’s catch the express before it leaves—I’m not waiting around for the next one.”  ------- The rail system—or ‘The Tube’ as Adam called it—was quite similar to what she was used to in Japan, yet Sio couldn’t help but gawk at each station they passed through, wishing she had more than one pair of eyes because there was just too much to look at. Gothic architecture with modern skyscrapers, the iconic white, blue and red signs as the train screeched into each station...it wasn’t quite as clean or orderly as Japan, but there was something about the messy, almost frenetic atmosphere that made her feel more alive than back in Tokyo. 

“Ah, Adam wait—” Sio fumbled with her newfound Oyster card, while Adam simply tapped his phone. “Wha—did you just pay with your...phone?”

“Yeh, everyone’s movin’ t’ contactless methods these days; the Oyster’s not bad if you’re visiting, but honestly it’s way easier to just use one thing instead of grabbing out a card over and over again.” Sio struggled to keep up through the crowd on her shorter legs as Adam plowed resolutely ahead. “Surprised Japan doesn’t, considering you can do just about everything else with your phone over there.”

“Huh...maybe it will.” After transferring to another line (with Adam grumbling all the way about how the DLR was still crap and why couldn’t they upgrade the line), they finally exited at Greenwich, where his mother lived.

“Right-o, here we are...” Turning the key, the wooden gate slowly creaked open, Adam going through the entrance while Sio was still entranced by her surroundings. Outside of London was much quieter, with more trees and greenery, but she could still see the metropolitan areas across the river. 

“Oy Sio, you comin’ love?”

“Ah! H-Hai!” The brunette dashed through the gate, only to nearly run into an older woman with greying hair, and before she even said anything Sio knew this must be Adam’s mother. “O-Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t...I, uh...it’s...n-nice to meet you, Mrs. Muirhead.” She bowed low, face burning with embarrassment.

“That’s quite all right, dear. It is very nice to meet you at last, Miss Sio Ogura. Adam has told me much about you; quite fondly, I might add,” the woman gave a small smile as Adam broke into a faint blush. “Please, do come in and make yourself at home—and I do mean that quite literally; you’re going to be my daughter-in-law, after all.”

Sio squeaked incoherently as she and Adam both turned bright red, even though it was pretty much public news at this point. Adam hadn’t been keen on turning their engagement into a public spectacle, but he relented after Sio agreed with DOGOO’s committee that the world could use some good news after officially ending the war upon her return. Though, if she’d known what a frenzy the media would make out of this piece of news...headlines such as ‘ENGLAND’S DARK ANGEL PROPOSES TO JAPAN’S SECOND RISING SUN’ and ‘TWO TWISTED FATES: DEMONIC WARLORD ENGAGED TO BLOODY KILLER’ flashed in her memory, each headline getting more and more outrageous until she decided to never read another piece on their upcoming marriage again. 

Luckily, this visit to his hometown was low-key and under wraps; a couple of folks here and there gave them sideways glances when they thought they weren’t looking, but for the most part the couple was mercifully left alone. Which was a relief, considering Sio wasn’t sure how much more ‘celebrity fame’ she could handle, even if they were international heroes. Some holders such as Gandhi and Babe Ruth took it all in good stride, but Sio just wanted to go back to being her introverted, otaku self. 

Just, with a fiancé now.

“Wow...this is, your room? It’s so...neat.” Sio took a glance around, standing by the door as if waiting for permission to cross into such a personal space. A single bed covered in dark sheets sat in the corner, with a computer opposite to it. A couple of faded gaming posters tacked on the wall (she smiled inwardly as she saw an ad for Metal Gear Rising) and his guitar, which had been shipped back with his personal belongings weeks earlier, sat neatly propped against the corner. “You got a nice view of the river.”

“Eh, it’s alright; mum kept it tidy when I was away.” Adam sighed and flopped onto the bed. “Uh, you can come in, you know...”

“Ah! Sorry, I was just...nevermind,” she shuffled over to the bed, hesitating for all of two seconds before flopping down next to him, Adam’s arm automatically coming across to scoop her close to him. “It’s just...I realized, I’ve never known what your life before DOGOO was really like...until now.”

“Hn; ‘s not that interesting, trust me. Growin’ up in a small place, single-parent home, gettin’ into rows with wankers who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut...” He turned and sighed into hair, Sio flushing with coziness as he spooned her. “An’ then hearin’ voices in your head that you can’t make heads or tails of, until one day I finally realised, who I really was...what I was.”

“Adam...” Sio wanted to say something, but judging from his wistful tone and the way he was holding her, she sensed he wasn’t in the mood. ‘Maybe later on, when we’re less tired from the trip.’

She was just about to drift off into a nap when there was a light knock, followed by a “Adam? Sio?” and she shot up like a rocket, even though they hadn’t been doing anything.

“Hai—I-I mean, yes?”

“Did either of you want some nosh? I have tea ready if you’d like.”

Nosh? Sio was sure it meant something nicer than what it sounded like, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Her English was much better after joining a supranational organization, but it wasn’t perfect.

Next to her, Adam stirred and stretched, blinking those sleepy emeralds as he pulled his shirt down. “Sounds good, we’ll be right down mum.”

“Adam...what’s ‘nosh’? Is it something for tea?” Sio whispered as the two descended the narrow steps. “I’ve never heard of it...”

Adam could’t help but snort in response at the sniper’s confusion. “Hah, you could say that—it just means food, is all. Ah, I forgot; you’re probably not familiar with British slang...”

“Well, I mean I know some...like ‘bloody hell’, ‘bollocks’, ‘wanker’...”

“Er, Sio, those are swear words...best not to be repeatin’ them ‘round my mum, yeh?” 

“Oh yeah? Well considering who I picked it up from...it’s your fault for swearing so much around me,” she stuck her tongue out playfully, only for it to turn into a squeal as Adam tickled her around the ribs. “A-Adam...! S-Stop it...you jerk!”

“Adam Muirhead, I thought I raised you better than to manhandle a lady like that. Especially your fiancée,” his mother appeared at the bottom, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in a manner that made her strongly resemble her son (or was it the other way around). “Tea is ready and waiting, you two. And please, don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s something else you’d like.”

“Oh, wow! It’s so cute!” Even though they often had teatimes aboard the A. Logan, Adam’s mother had clearly gone out of her way to make it special for her visit: a three-tiered dessert rack filled to the brim with tiny sandwiches, scones, and even some items she didn’t recognize—some type of pancake with holes?—both savory and sweet, and a large pot of aromatic black tea awaiting to accompany them. Small pots of clotted cream, jam and lemon curd surrounded her plate, and Sio had to stop herself from just shoveling every single item into her mouth at once.

“Do help yourself dear, and don’t be shy. There’s plenty more where that came from.” Her eyes twinkled in that way just like Adam’s whenever he was pleased about something, as Sio first took pictures of every single pastry with her phone, before popping them in her mouth.

“Uwaa! Oishii!! This is so delicious! Thank you so much, Mrs. Muirhead...these are really good! I’ve never seen them on the A. Logan, or even in Japan...” She especially like those pancakes—crumpets, they were called—slathered with a good deal of cream, whereas Adam preferred his with jam. “Wow Adam, you must’ve been so lucky growing up, getting to eat this all the time...”

“Hah, don’t get too excited, squirt. This spread is usually for special occasions; regular tea is closer to what we had on the A. Logan—but yeh, if you’re really looking for authentic, British comfort food, can’t beat mum’s cooking.”

Afterwards, Sio was so full she felt like dinner couldn’t possibly be an option, but as soon as she caught a whiff of savory meat and potatoes wafting into Adam’s room as they were playing video games...

“Whoa! Is this a...pie? I thought they were usually for desserts...”

Adam’s mother smiled as she put a whole pasty into the girl’s plate, with plenty of thick gravy and a spoonful of spring peas. “Yes, but here in England, they can be savory too. This was Adam’s favorite dish growing up. Beef and stout pie, with a side of peas and carrots. Actually, I daresay his favorite part isn’t so much the meat pasty as the glazed carrots.”

Sio’s eyes widened in their sockets. “Wait, Adam...your favorite food is...carrots?!” Even now there were still new things to learn about him, it seemed. Of course she knew favorite foods were highly subjective and could range from anything, but carrots? A vegetable? ‘That’s the last thing I’d associate with a serial killer...but then again, I, Oda Nobunaga’s reincarnation, like chicken, so look who’s talking...’

“Um, yes Sio...what, don’t tell me you find that hard to believe?” Adam pouted in mock disbelief. “I feel like you have this mental image of me being this, this...complex, secretive badass when I’m probably one of the most laid-back guys among all the holders...”

“A-Ah...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that...” Sio shrank back in embarrassment, but Adam and his mother only laughed in good humour.

“Ah, so I see my son wasn’t exactly open with you in the beginning, was he? Adam, you should know better than to toy with a lady’s feelings like that...”

“Mum! I did no such thing of the sort...I just wanted to make sure she was serious about it, first,” Adam complained, though his ears were turning red and he spent the rest of the meal in a hushed mood, though Sio noticed he ate all the carrots and even took the ones she couldn’t finish.

As she finally felt her eyelids droop during their tenth round of after-dinner Tekken, the sniper suddenly realized she didn’t know what their sleeping arrangements would be. ‘Uh oh! I-I mean, I don’t know how much Adam has told his mom, but...she isn’t expecting us to, to...share a bed, is she?’ Even though engagement was pretty much a silent indicator of ‘yeah we’re sleeping together’, there was no way Sio ever wanted to broach that subject.

“Um, Adam...?” The silver-haired man tilted his head in her direction as he shut off the console. “D-Does...does your mom...er, did you...have you, told her about...us? L-Like, y-you know...um, that...” She coughed awkwardly and a few seconds later his face started glowing as well.

“...Oh. Uh. Um. No, I...haven’t. I-I mean, what, did you expect me to tell everyone we’re shaggin’...? ‘Cause I don’t know about you, but uh, my...love life...is pretty private, even if it is my mum.”

Sio shook her head frantically. “N-No! I-I mean, I don’t want you to—no no, I don’t mean it like that, I mean you should feel free to tell your mom whatever you want it’s just—I mean, uh, how are we...sleeping tonight?”

As if on cue, there was a light knock again, this time his mom entering with an armful of blankets and a sleeping bag. “I suspect you two are probably all knackered out by now, what with the time difference and all. Adam, I’ve pulled out your sleeping bag from the closet, that and the quilt should be quite comfortable for you on the rug. And Sio, here’s an extra blanket in case you feel a chill at night—I’m afraid summers here aren’t as warm as Tokyo, it can get surprisingly cold.”

“Oh, th-thank you, Mrs, Muirhead...I really appreciate it,” Sio suddenly felt shy; it was strange to be taken care of like a child again, when she’d spent the last few years learning to be independent while strategizing and fighting in a war and even managing a relationship. It was like being young and home again, with her parents to dote on her and not having a care in the world.

“Not at all, dear,” said Mrs. Muirhead as she laid out the bedding for Adam on the floor. “You’re our guest, and family, now. I want you to feel as such.”

The sniper only mumbled a ‘thank you’ while looking at the floor, too self-conscious about her soon-to-be new role. ‘That’s right...and Mrs. Muirhead will be my mother-in-law, after we’re married...and my parents will be Adam’s in-laws...’ Strange how thinking on it so intently could make her feel so detached, all of a sudden. Shuddering, she hugged herself tightly trying to get rid of this odd feeling, before burrowing herself in Adam’s arms as she always did when she felt unsettled.

“Oy, somethin’ wrong, love?” Adam gazed at her with concern as he patted her head. “Don’t want my mum to catch on? I can move downstairs if you’d like.”

“No! No, don’t go...that’s the last thing I want,” her voice was muffled against his chest. “It’s just...sometimes I get this, weird feeling, I can’t explain it. It’s like all of a sudden I can’t feel anything...I don’t know why it happens, but it’s...weird. And I don’t like it.”

“...I see.” Adam didn’t say anything more, instead holding her tighter and rocking her slightly, patting her on the back until the girl’s grip eased up. “Better now?”

Sio nodded. “Yeah...thanks, Adam. I...I always feel safe when you hold me...”

A rush of warm affection filled his chest, not the first time but Adam was a bit surprised at the intensity of it. You’d think after being together all this time and hearing Sio comment so often on how much she loved being held the effect would diminish, but it seemed this was not the case. “...Of course. Sio, I...I love you.” He gave her a small kiss on the cheek, before pulling her into an embrace. “You know, it makes me happy to hold you, too.”

“Unn...” Sighing, Sio nuzzled his chest slightly, before finally settling underneath the covers on Adam’s bed. Well, at least his mother made it clear without words that she was all right with them sleeping in the same room, if not the same bed.

“I’m going to get some water, but you should sleep first if you’re tired squirt.”

“Hnn...oyasumi...”

Smiling to himself, Adam quietly went downstairs. There were times where he felt he had to do more for her, and still it frustrated him that he couldn’t protect her from these spontaneous bouts of melancholy—but then again, he still struggled against fits of depression himself, so perhaps he wasn’t one to judge. 

“Adam? Still up?” His mother stared over the top of her spectacles as she finished the evening paper. “Is Sio settling in all right?”

“Yeh, don’t worry she’s pretty much out; poor thing must be right knackered after traveling so far.” He filled a glass from the kitchen and was just about to go back upstairs...

“...By the way, it should go without saying, but I am placing my trust in you, Adam Muirhead, as a grown man with the same level of responsibility.” Adam froze on the steps, not sure if he should turn around or even say anything, or if what he was thinking was what his mother was referring to at all—

“—No funny business. Is that clear?”

Adam swallowed nervously.

“...Yes mum.” ------- “Ah...I guess it did rain after all.”

Sio stared out the window next morning with bleary eyes, taking in a grey landscape as raindrops pattered against the glass. “Man, it’s really coming down too...”

“Well, better get used to it, squirt; welcome to summer in London.” Adam yawned and stretched lazily, still lying on the floor. “Though, it’s pretty unusual for it to come down this hard...normally there’s just enough rain t’ be a bother but not enough for an umbrella. Everyone just deals with it, honestly.”

Sio took a deep breath in, enjoying the fresh scent of rain. “Still, it’s kinda neat, I guess...also makes it a lot cooler.” 

After washing up the duo trekked down the steps, only to find a neat platter of eggs, bacon, sausage and more, along with a handwritten note. As Sio marveled at the full English ‘fry-up’ additions of tomatoes and baked beans, Adam scanned through the note while shoveling a piece of blood pudding into his mouth.

“Huhn, mum’s out shopping. Says she wanted t’ get somethin’ special for dinner,” he commented while lazily spooning the beans onto his toast, before topping that with another rasher of bacon. “Seriously mum, there’s no need t’ go all out...”

“Oh man, I’m so full,” a sigh from the sniper as she sipped her cup of strong, hot, milky tea. “I can’t believe you guys eat this everyday...” She’d done a decent amount of damage, but trying to finish the tomatoes and mushrooms and beans was a bit much, and that wasn’t even counting this ‘blood pudding’—or as she later learned from Adam, sausage made with pork blood.

“Heh, not everyday, squirt. A full fry-up’s pretty time consuming to make. But yeh, it’s nice t’ indulge once in a while.” 

They stared at the rain in a content silence, both sipping their black tea softened with plenty of milk and sugar. Although the rain certainly dampened their plans to explore the Royal Observatory and see the meridian line, Sio didn’t mind just staying indoors, cozied up with a warm cup of tea and her fiancé. There was something quaint about simply watching the rain in a quiet, English cottage.

Soon enough though, the two found themselves sitting in Adam’s bedroom again, this time with Sio perched on his chair in eager attention as Adam played a few pieces on his guitar. Even though it wasn’t anything beyond some acoustic parts, Sio still enjoyed hearing his smooth voice and the warm melodies from the guitar.

“You know, you really are a good singer, Adam,” Sio smiled as he put the guitar away. “I know you said you’re not interested in doing it professionally, so I’m glad I can hear it whenever I want.”

Adam couldn’t help but blush from her praise. “Anytime, love. It is a good hobby to have, even after all this time.”

Sio was now casually flipping through old picture albums and yearbooks, Adam finally having relented after she wheedled and begged him to show her what he looked like as a teenager. “Aww, you were shooo cute,” she gushed as the page fell upon his class photo during primary school graduation, “I just wanna pinch those widdle cheeks...” Still, she could tell from the photos that Adam had been quiet and rather serious, even as a child. While not outright scowling (as he so often did when they first met), it was rare to see him genuinely smile, although a later photo did show a boy with shaggy white hair sporting a small grin, though the occasion, Sio couldn’t tell.

Somehow though, as they were going through dusty picture albums with light banter about his old school life (’I can’t believe you didn’t have a girlfriend’), Sio found herself snuggling closer to Adam, enjoying his warmth and the feel of his well-muscled arm against her. And then somehow the photos were forgotten as she leaned against his neck, strands of his hair tickling her cheek and as she giggled he turned and breathed against her hair.

“...Can I kiss you?”

Sio felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks; Adam wasn’t the most romantic or best with sweet-talking, but when he turned up the charm it always made her flush from head-to-toe in the most vibrant of ways.

“...Yes.”

The photos were soon tossed to the side as the two rolled around on his bed, making out with the sort of fever passion that teenagers had when they were engaging in illicit behaviors while the parents were away. Sio wanted to take off her clothes, but it was hard to think about doing anything else while Adam’s lips were hungrily consuming hers, and especially when a hard lump pressed against her groin, making her insides throb with anticipation.

“M-Mm....A-Adam, w-wait,” Sio panted breathlessly as he lifted up her shirt, planting kisses all between the valley of her pert breasts now. “I-I thought, y-you said your, mom...d-didn’t, want us...ah!” She arched her back as he pinched her stiff nipple.

“Yeh, but only if she finds out,” a husky whisper as he slipped a hand underneath her shorts, only to find her knickers soaking wet as he began teasing her nub through the cloth, Sio whining from the stimulation. “C’mon, she won’t be back for another few hours, I guarantee it—when she goes marketing like this, she goes all out.”

“A-Ah, b-but...I, your...sheets,” the sniper moaned helplessly as Adam started to finger her just the way she liked—rubbing her clit with short, hard strokes while one finger dipped through the side of her panties into her hot slit, stirring her juices up until Sio felt like she was going to go crazy. “I-I...y, you know I tend to...make a mess...”

“Eh, who cares. ‘Sides, I’ll just toss ‘em in the wash after. Relax love, it’ll be fine,” he murmured, fingers now pumping in and out of her soaked pussy at a steady pace while Sio moaned and writhed. “Gods, you’re so hot...I want you so bad, Sio, right now...” He rubbed himself against her thigh and she gasped. “I want to just...shove myself into your tight, wet, hole...and never stop moving...”

“Nng...th-then, do it, already...what are you waiting for...if you’re so, desperate...” They hadn’t even removed all their clothes but Sio didn’t care anymore; she wanted him inside her right now, and especially with the time limit the sooner the better. “Please...put in inside me Adam, right now...I want, to feel you...inside.”

Growling, Adam hastily undid his trousers with some difficulty, before shucking off just enough to thrust in with a satisfying moan. “Oh! Fuck, you feel amazing, love...” Gasping, he immediately set a strong pace, Sio squeaking with each thrust as she held onto his shoulders.

“Oh! Oh! Ah...Adam...!” Breathing hard, she tried to thrust her hips to meet his, but it was difficult to match his pace when he was also desperately kissing her all over. “Nngg...it’s so hot, my body feels...so hot!” That boiling heat, building up deep in her belly and between her legs...arching her back, Sio could feel that tell-tale tension as her orgasm started building to the peak. 

“A-Adam! I-I’m...I...!”

“Shh, hang on love, just...hang on for a minute, yeh?” Grunting, Adam forced himself to slow it down a little, even though he wanted nothing more than to thrust with reckless abandon and gorge himself on pleasure, until both of them were completely spent. The hot, slick tightness of her inner walls as they pulled and squeezed with each thrust...truly there was nothing better than making love like this, spontaneous and desperate without a care in the word. Sweat clung to his forehead as he breathed harshly, determined to come at the same time as her. She was going to come soon though, he could tell—and he was getting there too, sooner or later...

“Hnn...nnngg! A-Adam, I, c-can’t...hold back much longer...” Another tremor laced her body but Sio managed herself to hold back, letting out a sigh as the tension lessened—but just barely. That teetering, sparking pinpoint of pleasure that would tip at any moment...there was simply nothing else quite like it. It made her quiver and writhe, hold her breath and pant, clinging to that desperate edge...she squealed when Adam nipped her delicate pink breasts while running a thumb over her slick little pearl, her most sensitive spot. “Aaahh! A-Adam...it feels, s-so good...when you, finger my clit like that...! I-If you, keep doing that...I-I’m gonna, c, cum...!”

“Just do it; ‘m gonna come soon, myself...” he grunted, as Sio cried and fisted the sheets. Seeing his beloved sniper caged beneath his arms, both of them staining the bed where he spent his childhood...the juxtaposition of childish innocence and adult passion made for a strange atmosphere, but Adam didn’t have time to dwell on it as his orgasm hit, a strong wave of pleasure arching up through his belly and then up his spine; his release flooding deeply inside Sio as she gasped for breath, back perfectly arched. Heaving for air, he made sure to at least move off to the side so he wouldn’t crush her as he collapsed into the pillows.

“Hah, hah...I came too soon...” Sio mumbled in exhaustion, wishing to have at least held out for a little longer. “I always wish it would last longer...” Though she knew it was nearly impossible, still she would like to try holding onto that blinding pleasure, when she tipped just over the edge for as long as she could.

“Heh, I think we’d be in trouble if that was the case,” Adam responded drily, propping himself up on one elbow as he stroked her face. “But hey, that means there’s always round two...or three or...however many you want...”

“Adam! You perv,” she smacked his arm playfully as he returned it in kind. “Hmm, I want to, but your mom’s bound to be back pretty soon, right? And also, you need time to wash the sheets...”

“...I hate it when you’re right.” With a sigh, Adam heaved himself up and began to strip the sheets, now damp with sweat, saliva and...other fluids. As Sio put on fresh linens, Adam dumped the soiled sheets into the washer and set it for the fastest cycle.  

Coming back, he expected Sio to be fully dressed, but instead the girl only had on one of his old t-shirts, not even knickers as she appeared to have fallen asleep, curled on his bed. For some reason, Adam found himself smiling, shaking his head very slightly as he too, decided that a kip wasn’t a bad idea to while away the time. ------ Something was clattering in the kitchen as he woke with a start, for a moment confused by how dark everything was until he noticed the time—

Shit.

They’d definitely overslept by a long-shot, the short nap somehow lasting all the way until his mum came home and, from the sounds of it, was already prepping dinner. 

Well, whatever, he could just say they were tired from jet lag and not because of any little misbehavior—

—the sheets.

“Fuck!” Adam swore under his breath as he hurriedly tried to make himself look somewhat presentable, as the sniper next to him finally stirred from all the commotion.

“Mmmnn...Adam...? What time is it...”

“Oh shit, I totally forgot about the sheets in the washer—bloody hell—!”

“—Huh?”

And amongst the sniper’s confusion he darted down the steps, only slowing down at the very last second to make it at least appear like he’d just woken up, all the while praying his mother didn’t check the laundry when she returned.

“Ah, Adam. You’re awake, I see. Still getting over your jet lag?” His mother called out in a cheerful voice from the kitchen.

“Ah, yeh...sorry ‘bout that, we...didn’t see much of you today.” Making like he was getting some water, he casually circumvented the fridge as he surreptitiously tried to peek inside the washer—

“—I already hung out your sheets for you. Next time, don’t just leave them in there, otherwise they’ll get musty and wrinkled.”

Adam’s heart caught in his throat and for once, he genuinely didn’t know how to respond or what to even make of his mum’s answer.

“Is Sio awake? When I came back I saw the two of you were still asleep, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Shit, shitshitshit this was bad. There was no way his mother could mistake their relations now, not when she’d already subtly hinted at them last night. In a panic he tried to remember if he’d covered up Sio’s bare bottom or not, but at this point did it even matter? She’d come home, found both of them asleep, together, on his bed, with his sheets in the washer. Even if they were both semi-clothed, if that wasn’t a blatant ‘we shagged while you were gone’ Adam didn’t know what was.

“Ah, she, uh, she...just woke up I think.” His throat was dry and his heart was pounding, but there was nothing more he could do except pretend everything was normal. Well, as normal as it could get...

“Oh good, do you mind letting her know dinner’s about to be ready in a bit? That way if she wants to freshen up she has some time.”

Now was his chance! Mumbling a ‘yeh’, Adam beat a hasty retreat back up—

“—Oh and Adam? After dinner, let’s have a chat, just you and I.” His mother was smiling merrily at him, which was never a good sign. 

Fuck, fuuck, fuuuuuuuuuck—

Mustering every bit of training and wit as Jack the Ripper, Adam swallowed nervously, nodded a ‘sure’, and resigned himself to the inevitable ‘sex talk’ that would no doubt follow dinner. ‘Fuck me...’ 

“Eh? What’s wrong, Adam?” Sio blinked those sleepy maroons at him, already changing into her usual outfit.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Adam sank into his chair. “Haaaah...I fucked up; the cat’s pretty much out of the bag, now...” The sniper blinked in confusion as Adam buried his head in his hands. “I fucking forgot to take the sheets out, so of course my mum noticed them when she came back and she saw us asleep, together—”

As Adam groaned about what a pain the arse this would make things, Sio could only muttered a very small ‘oh’, while turning a faint red. ‘Whoops...I guess I should’ve been more careful as well...’

“W-Well, I-I mean, I guess it’s probably...obvious at this point, right? I-I mean, you weren’t expecting her to think we were, virgins until our wedding night or something...” Sio blushed nervously, the thought of actually getting married and their wedding night making her more self-conscious than admitting to her mother-in-law that yes, they were sexually active. “Sorry...if you want, I can go with you...”

“Nah, it’s all right, squirt. It’ll just make things more awkward. ‘S fine, I kinda anticipated this sooner or later anyway so...might as well get it over with.” Sighing, he got up from the chair as Sio finished making herself decent. “Anyway, we can worry about that after dinner. Speaking of which, I hope you’re hungry, because I’m fairly certain I saw mum taking out beef Wellington from the oven...”

That certainly got the sniper’s attention. “Beef Wellington? I’m there!”

And despite the awkwardness the two went down the steps hand-in-hand, together.

Always.

#documentation #my sweetest one #//HAH #//i had this idea forever #//about sio visiting adam's home and meeting his mom for the first time #//and now i finally have some irl experience of life in london i got enough inspiration to write it

[nh0323]

outcasts: the meeting

naruhina | supernatural au | read on ao3

Naruto cursed, running away from the village like his life depended on it, which it did, he realized solemnly. He ignored the way his sharp nails dug into his palms, probably drawing blood, but he couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. He had more pressing matters at hand such as a group of very angry villagers at his heel—or so he thought; the villagers were actually quite a ways behind the demon fox spirit, but he couldn’t get the sound of their angry and betrayed voices out of his ears.

They had turned on him almost instantly. Sasuke, a villager he considered his closest friend of this time period, almost a brother to him, was the first to push him away in disbelief. His eyes widened, and his once teasing, yet friendly, voice turned cold. “You’re a monster,” he had stated accusingly. Naruto shook his head and tried to reason with the other, but Sasuke had run away, screaming for the others. Soon enough, Naruto was surrounded by all of the people he had once called friends, some even family. Along with Sasuke, there was Sakura, Ino, Kiba, and even Shino had readied themselves to attack the man. It was at this moment that Naruto dropped his disguise and ran for his life; tears threatened to fall from his eyes, but he held them back, he had refused to be hurt by their betrayal.

At some point, Naruto did slow down. His chest burned fiercely, and sweat was dripping down his face profusely. While he was resting, anger stirred within him. His normally blue eyes faded to red and the whiskers on his face became more frayed. Naruto dug his claws into his thighs, definitely drawing blood as he tried to resist the anger. “No, this is not who I am. I am not a monster!” Naruto growled to himself, digging his claws deeper. He let out a sound that could be described as something between a choked shout and a growl. “There!” Naruto hears a shout.

‘Kiba and his goddamn dogs’ Naruto thought while he painfully removed his claws from his thighs and tried to continue running. He didn’t make it far, though, as he is only able to take a few steps before he falls to the ground with a grunt. “Shit!” Naruto cursed once more, struggling to get up and keep going. Once again, he is unable to make it far, feeling pain in his shoulder and then the rest of his back before he falls again. He chuckled weakly; his breathing slowed considerably and his vision started doubling and then tripling until Naruto couldn’t tell if he was even still seeing this world anymore. ‘Shino really made those poison arrows.....from those bugs he was going on.....and on about....’ Naruto thought vaguely before slipping out of consciousness.

Naruto awoke to the sound of a soft, gentle voice mumbling something that seemed like nonsense. He attempted to get up, but a hand stopped him. He stared at the hand for a bit, mostly trying to focus his eyes, before he trailed his eyes up the arm. When he saw the woman’s face, he couldn’t help but to stare, and this time it wasn’t to focus his eyes. The woman in front of his had long, dark hair that framed her small, pale face perfectly. Her eyes were also pale, tinted a nice, soft lilac color, and Naruto couldn’t stop himself from staring. The woman in front of him began to blush, bringing a deep red color to her face. She gently pushed him back down, wincing along with him as the pain from his injuries registered finally. The woman went back to mumbling nonsense, and all Naruto could do was turn his head to look around, inspecting what seemed like a cozy little home.

“U-um, a-about your thigh injuries, can you tell me if it hurts after I press on them?” The woman asked, her hands hovering over both injuries, waiting for Naruto’s approval. The man grunted in agreement before bracing himself for pain, but when the woman pressed onto his thighs, no pain came. “How did it feel?’

“It didn’t hurt at all!” Naruto beamed, chuckling shortly before he winced, once again forgetting about his back injuries. “Are you a doctor or something?” Naruto asked, turning his head towards the woman, who had moved closer to his field of vision to tell him to flip over—which was a painful process, to say the least.

“Ah, no, I am actually a witch. I wasn’t sure if this mixture would work well, since I had to substitute a key ingredient for another,” The woman began, lightly rubbing something onto Naruto’s back in the process while mumbling more to herself. Naruto found the woman’s voice soothing; it reminded him of when old lady Kurenai would sing a lullaby to her newborn daughter Mirai whenever she was upset. Naruto frowned at the memory, as it was soon followed by looks of betrayal and disgust from the villagers. Once again, Naruto felt anger brewing inside him, and he began to dig his claw into his arms. The woman gasped as he finished taking care of Naruto’s back, stopping his claws from digging any deeper into his arms. She held his hands until he calmed down, helping him sit up afterwards.

Naruto kept his eyes low, preferring to watch his hands nervously fidget this way and that, than to look up at the women who he felt staring at him with concern in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said while raising his head to look at the woman. Her eyes held so much sadness that Naruto believes that it extends beyond just him. “and thanks, for healing me. I’m, uh, I’m Naruto, by the way. The demon fox monster that blends into villages in order to destroy them all...” Naruto trailed off awkwardly. Usually he’d make a joke or laugh everything off, but this incident was different. Before, Naruto had been run out of villages after being caught accidentally, but this time—this time, Naruto had willingly showed his closest friend who he truly was in hopes of finally being accepted, and got rejected even harsher than he previously had. The tears from before threatened to fall again, and Naruto couldn’t stop them this time. Naruto hung his head low and sobbed, his hands slowly slipping from the woman’s grip.

“Let it all out,” she had simply said, wrapping her arms around the male, careful of his injuries despite taking the pain away not too long ago. Naruto cried into her arms for a good while, rambling on—albeit, mostly incoherently—about different friends he had over the centuries he’s been alive. It takes Naruto an entire jar of cookies  and half a cake later to finally cheer up a bit.

“I’m really sorry about that. I just unloaded all of my feelings onto you without even letting you introduce yourself,” Naruto rubbed at the back of his head, embarrassed at the realization. The woman simply chuckles and waves it off before getting up and messing around in some of her drawers.

“It’s completely alright, you must have been holding those emotions in for a long time. I’m glad you could finally let go.” She smiled as she brought over a bunch of cloth and what seemed like a measuring tape. My name is Hinata, it is nice to meet you, Naruto.” Hinata seemed a bit more comfortable now as she easily guided the other to stand up so that she could measure him. It seems that only now has it registered to Naruto that he wasn’t wearing his shirt or his pants. The male blushed as deeply as Hinata had earlier, curling into himself when she finished taking his measurements. Hinata took out a polished stick from her sleeve and mumbled what Naruto assumed was a spell. Before his eyes, the cloth glowed a light purple before stitching itself together in the form of a shirt and some pants.

Naruto’s eyes seemed to shine at this display of magic, never having seen this type before. He’s no stranger to the concept, as he can manipulate fire and air himself, but non-elemental magic seemed so different and on another level. “Wow, like, wow! You know, I’ve never seen a witch before, now that I think about it.” Hinata smiled sadly as she handed the clothes to Naruto. He blushed once more, and hurriedly put them on. “I’ve lived a long life, too, so it’s a bit weird that I’ve never seen or met one...”

“It’s been a long time since witches have existed. Because of people’s reactions to the unknown, we stayed undercover, or we tried to. There was a point in time, where mass witch hysteria took over village after village, and many people were killed in the process—witches or not.” Hinata’s sad smile faded, leaving only grief on her face. The expression made something in Naruto’s stomach twist, and for once, he wished it was anger. “My family were no exception. First it was my mother, then my uncle, and then cousin. One hundred years or so ago, my father tried to leave with my younger sister and I in the middle of the night, but we were caught. He tried to fight off the villagers, told us to run and never look back. My sister refused to go, but I took her arm and ran. I managed to find this hut, and we hid for weeks until the villagers gave up.”

“What, what happened to your younger sister?” Naruto asked, a hand clenching at his chest and another at his stomach.

“We got into an argument one night. She stormed out and ran towards the village, seeking revenge. I tried to stop her, but she was much better at magic than me, so she kept getting away. I had stopped practicing it, but she continued no matter what. Even if I didn’t stop practicing, I don’t think I could have ever used magic against my sister.” Hinata’s voice quivered, and Naruto could see her eyes shine with tears. “I really should have, I should have done anything I could have to stop her, but I was too scared.  I let my fear of death prevent me from saving my own sister. I just—I let her get killed. It’s like I killed her myse—” Naruto rushed over to Hinata and took her into his arms, holding onto her tightly. He now knows why the twisting in his stomach was so bad, and why his heart ached more than he thought it should.

“I remember that night,” he said simply. Hinata gasped and looked up at him, strands of hair clinging onto her face where tears were streaming down.

“W-what?” Hinata sniffled, wiping her face and clutching onto Naruto’s shirt tightly. As Naruto told the story of how he helped Hanabi escape from the villagers, he watched as Hinata’s eyes began to shine; however, this time, they were shining with hope.

“So I guess you could say that you’ve returned the favor by saving my life?” Naruto chuckled, placing a warm hand on Hinata’s head. Hinata’s face was a bit mussed from crying, but the smile she returned was radiant, catching Naruto off-guard. The demon fox spirit blushed slightly, ruffling Hinata’s hair to distract himself, but the sight of Hinata laughing happily while struggling to  reach up to ruffle his hair made his face flush deeper.

“Oh, um, Naruto, may I ask you a favor? Well, I suppose it’s more like asking you a question,” Hinata stepped away from Naruto after successfully ruffling his hair. She was peeking up through her bangs and playing with her fingers, suddenly shy once more. One of Naruto’s ears perked up and he gave a quick ‘sure’ before Hinata spoke again. “Would you like to join me in locating my sister? I know you’re pretty much an uninvolved party, but I think it’d be nice to have you along. It might also be better if we didn’t stay near the village for too long, but of course, if you don’t want to go, then that’s fine as well!”

Naruto smiled as Hinata rushed out the last of her sentence, trying not to force Naruto into going. But he knows he’d go anyways, whether it was with Hinata or not, he couldn’t stay here any longer. “Sure, besides, I think the best place to start looking is at old man Jiraiya’s place. It’d be nice to see him again, too.”

“Eh, he’s alive?” Hinata’s eyes widened in shock and Naruto grinned.

“Yep! That old man is just like us! Actually, I know plenty of pretty cool youkai,”

Hinata’s face softened, but just like before, Naruto noticed, there was an underlying look of determination in her eyes. “You know, you’re amazing, Naruto. You’re able to live and experience life no matter how many times you get hurt. I experienced pain once, and chose to run  away forever. I-If possible, on this journey to find my sister again, can we meet your friends as well? I want to live and experience life once more, just like you.”

Naruto’s breath hitched, and his eyes were the ones to widen at this point. There have been people in Naruto’s life who’ve complimented him, been there for him, been there with him through thick and thin, even admired him, but never in his life has Naruto been admired this way. Naruto has been seen as strong because he’s fought many battles, has acquired many scars, and he’s never been the one to dispute those praises.

But to be admired and praised for something other than his physical strength is new to him. It’s sparks something in Naruto, something he can’t quite figure out, but it’s presence is there and it’s warm and nearly stifling.

“Naruto?” Naruto released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m sure they’d love to meet you!”

Hinata giggled into her hand, her face glowing with delight. “This is really exciting, even more so since I haven’t left the surroundings of this hut in so long. But I must restrain myself, there’s so much to do before we even think about leaving. You don’t mind staying here for a bit longer, do you?” Hinata turned to Naruto in the middle of her pacing while mumbling to herself.

“Not at all! I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. More importantly, I should ask you that question. I mean, this is your home, and we don’t really know each other all that well...”

“Ah, well,” Hinata deflated for a short moment before picking herself back up. “I think we’ve gotten to know each other well enough. At the very least, our first meeting said everything, right? As someone who can understand your pain, I trust you, Naruto. Do you trust me?” Hinata held out her hand, waiting for Naruto to take it. Naruto stared at Hinata; pale skin, pale eyes, long dark hair, a heart of gold. The warm, stifling feeling from before arose again inside of Naruto, and a soft smile spread across his face.

Naruto took Hinata’s hand in his, her’s gentle and sure. “I trust you, Hinata!” They both gave a final smile to each other before finally making their way to bed.

(Hinata had apologized to Naruto for him having to sleep on the couch for the night, but he didn’t mind, it was a lot comfier than the bed that he slept in while he was in the village anyways.)

#naruhina #uzumaki naruto #hyuuga hinata #naruto #hinata #outcasts

[fleadom-of-asukai]

AWODL: Ch 1

[Warning for those who are against certain things like mild language, use of alcohol and drugs, and sexual themes. (Maybe not in this particular chapter.) Continue with this in mind.]

“Shu! Get off me before I decide to make you sleep in the basement!” It was nine in the morning, Miguel struggled to get free of the hold I had around him. I normally sleep on the couch but last night was different, his couch wasn’t there since I had just so happened to break it in half on accident. “Which basement? The one full of assassins or the one with all the drug smugglers?” I still sounded half asleep, 9am is not a good time for me at all. Get me up at like noon or something and I’ll be fine but never 9am. “Just get up already, I have to go to meet someone!” He was obviously rather angry, so I took the liberty to roll over… but rolling over landed me face first on the floor. I took a few moments to actually lift myself up and get back on the bed to wrap myself up like a burrito. Only this burrito was all natural Shuyuzin and by the time I wanted to make this joke Miguel had already went to shower.

 I sat there, staring out the window at the northern mountain peaks since, being on the 44th floor, that’s pretty much all I could have seen without looking down. Miguel is a rich man who swindled his way through life and owns a 45-story skyscraper in the northern city of Paliga. It took a long time to memorize what’s on each floor because it’s rather big, but eventually I got it down. This place is practically just one huge mall with a built-in hotel, which by the way is very expensive. Only the richest of the rich really stay here at all and Miguel makes butt loads off them for it. That’s not what gets him money though, in the basement of the place he has assassins trained for taking out powerful figures or those who don’t repay him. Also, down there he acquires drugs from smugglers so he can sell it to people who want it for more than he paid for it.

He gets away with it too, nobody ever finds out unless they work for him. Nobody who works for him complains though, they get paid for not saying a word and continuing to work in the offices in this building. I don’t get paid for it in the same way, you see I get paid in the souls of those who either his workers kill or I have. You see, I’m a demon, but not really in your typical sense of the word. I say demon, you think “Oh man he’s a savage beast who is evil and kills” but when I think it… I think “There’s an eternity ahead of me where I can either be a complete asshole to people or live a normal-ish life with humans even though I’m different AND still be an asshole.” Enough of this boring introductory stuff though, back to what everyone came for.

Miguel came out of the shower room with a nice-looking suit on, I’m no expert but it looked like it was worth more than my entire existence. “Shu, what’s the schedule for me today and what times can I summon you to my side?” he started to adjust his tie and try to make himself looked like a million bucks, even though he already is. I slipped my arm out of the cozy burrito soft shell I had created around myself and got the notepad on the side table. “Your meeting is on the 23rd floor with the furniture store owner on the 6th floor and the owner of the art store huddled in on the 5th floor with all the anime stores and that expensive clothing store I never go to. The meeting is at 11am sharp and lasts 2 hours, upon exiting you must then go see the hotel owner about the recent problems they’ve been having. You can summon me any time after the meeting for just about anything as long as we don’t eat anything over-priced.” I place he notepad back on the table and wiggle around a bit to be able to face him, not that I can see him but you know. “What’s over-priced here that you won’t eat?” he looked down to me while still messing with his hair. “Nothing to you, everything and more for me. Not that it matters at all or anything…”

“We’ll go out of the building to eat then, I know you get bored up here during the day and it’s been a while since you have been out of this place. When was the next time for anything after the hotel business?” I sat up to grab the notepad again, “The next thing is a meeting with someone named Ferris about putting their club on the 3rd floor at 3pm.” Miguel came over, yoinked the notepad from me, and crossed out the meeting time. “Don’t know them, don’t care; tell them that something very important came up at that time so we’ll have to reschedule.” He gave me back the notepad and proceeded into the living room, after unrolling myself and getting dressed I joined him. “Shouldn’t you get a secretary to do this for you? You don’t want to pay me more than you already do…” He looked to me with the common poker face “I don’t pay you at all, you pay yourself.” I opened the mini fridge next to where the couch would be at “Exactly my point!”

“You’re not wrong, I do need one… but all the ones who are good at it want so much money. I don’t have enough to give them.” He took out some stuff to make himself, something fancy but quick... he got out a cup of the most expensive ramen you would ever see. “Correction, you do but you would rather pay someone you trust, which is a mistake in this case, nothing than pay someone you don’t.” He looked over to me “Hey, just because you’re a demon doesn’t make you a monster who rips people apart. Your Shuyuzin, the guy who doesn’t ask for pay and makes grocery shopping so much easier because you don’t eat anything but souls.” I look over to him, trying to think of a joke to pull on him but came up with nothing. “Is that all I’m known for, not known for being the shadow to a 26-year-old billionaire who also happens to be featured in the Hottest Male’s in Comada section of most magazines?” “It’s not good for my image to plaster you everywhere since you’re a demon, but you could probably become famous if you wanted. Which knowing how you are, you wouldn’t want to live anything BUT what you’re living now.”

I grabbed one of the soda’s in the fridge and closed it before making my way over to where he was and leaned over the counter. The mood pretty much hit an odd point so instead of continuing this mildly okay conversation I decided to make a joke about something instead. What better than to make one about how you can’t see at all! “I should make you a new couch sometime soon since I accidentally broke the other.” He gave me one of his stupid looks “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Shu but you’re blind and wouldn’t even be able to do that.” “I can do it… with hard work and determination!” Giving off a very determined, excited pose just made Miguel shake his head as he grabbed his ramen and began to chow down. After a while of this he eventually left for his meeting and I was left up there for now.

It was a quarter till 2 when it happened, seven explosions around the city all at once. I was busy doing what someone of my standards would typically do at this time, watching my favorite show about a homosexual cinnamon roll. Upon the event, I had immediately gotten up to rush to where Miguel was supposed to be at since I do worry about him severely sometimes. I wasn’t in the best of outfits compared to the people in the building, but hey it’s comfortable so whatever. Before heading out I put the only hoodie I had on and put my hood up. Not a good thing to show off that I’m a demon in this day and age especially with the seven explosions happening, but it’s also not the greatest that I am wearing my hood up. I rushed to the closest, really fancy elevator and began the decent down to the ground level. All I cared for was making sure someone didn’t try to kill him in an explosion. Sure enough, I was wrong in thinking he wouldn’t be okay, because a total of ten guards tried to stop my advancement to him. Of course, being a 6’2in giant in common wealth clothes makes it much easier to be spotted in a crowd of rich folks.

“Hey, let the guy through! He’s one of my important assets and I really need his butt in view!” Miguel had pretty much gotten them out of my way as I rushed over “Don’t you mean one of your important Assets!” Miguel facepalmed “We don’t have time for this Shu, something shitty is going down and we’re going to do something about it to strengthen my image. How many explosions were there and what are we up against?” I look around, my ability to see souls spans a large area and walls don’t mean a thing to it unless they’re thick enough to interrupt cell phone reception. “Seven explosions all at once around the city is what I’ve been hearing around me, each at key entry points so nobody can enter or leave without dealing with the mountainous terrain. There are seven odd souls about the city that keep devouring the human souls of the same color scheme and wavelength. Along with several weaker versions just collecting souls for the seven large ones.” Miguel slapped my ass, which startled me a tad bit, and got in front of me “When you say odd souls, what do you mean by odd? You can usually determine whether or not a soul is human or animal.”

“Well, they look more complex than your typical animal… but on the same level as a human soul. So maybe… a demon’s soul? Not that I know what they look like, I can’t see my own.” He sighed and grabbed my hand to lead me to some place, I didn’t really know where since I can’t see. “If it’s demons then we will actually need to plan out fully what we’ll do.” We continued for a bit, went down to the basement I believe, and ended up in a room where I couldn’t see any souls outside. “If this is going to be the end of human life in this city, then I’ll make sure I live through it. You’re the only demon your race has no mark on and most likely they don’t know of your existence, so you’ll be my ticket to the outside of the city walls.” I fumbled around to find a wall to lean against and proceed to lean against said wall “So you plan to escape by having me find a way out?”  “Exactly! Once I’m out you can close off the path and we can return to our life when we get to the closest city. You’re the only one in this city I care for and leaving you here to die would ruin me.” I stretched my arms and proceeded to pop my neck before getting off the wall “Sounds like a plan to me!”

#oc story #OC Story: A World with One Demonlord #AWODL #shuyuzin the demon #shu-shu the demon #asukai oc #oc's #oc