#Taylor swift snark

[maligulasaquarium]

Hate having to explain that Kandi isn’t a Taylor swift thing but has been in fact gentrified by her

[shitswiftiessay]

it also helps that they get exposure which benefits their careers by being seen with her at a massively televised event in which that PR relationship of Taylor’s was already planned to be front and center but go off i guess

[popcornkwantum]

The DnDads Swiftli Coffee shop AU still isn't abandoned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

Short chapter as our final time back at the actual coffee shop where it all started to get some of that Scary and Link friendship bonding. In their own way

And this is the Shark hoodie Taylor is wearing!!

[policemanofprincesspark]

Harry looks normal and healthy actually. Why do yall hate Harry and Louis so much is the real question bc nothing seems to make any of you happy atp always fucking complaining maybe just fuck off instead and leave them be? 😅

He looks underweight, and other people notice it too. Not my fault you stans can't handle any criticism towards your favs. Sometimes you guys sound like the stans who deny that their favorite female popstar never got any plastic surgery, even though everyone else outside of the fandom sees it—like swifties with TS.

I mean, no matter how relaxed her brow is, her eyelids still show even though she used to have completely hooded eyes. Come on.

Now they're in denial again despite the obvious lip filler making her lips look puffy and bloated. She looks chubby and like a man now in the face. Don't know why she thought that was a good idea.

I mean, everybody is talking about it.

In my view, if way too many people are noticing the exact same thing, then most likely there is some truth to it.

[whitehotwild]

took a peek at amazon music’s The Boys character playlists (really just Butcher’s and Hughie’s… womp womp)… ohhhh old man Butcher my beloved.

all i can imagine is being at Butcher’s apartment for one reason or another.

☆ maybe the team went out to a bar together, and as everyone turned in for the night, saying their goodbyes, you and butcher were the last ones there. For whatever reason, he refuses to send you off by yourself to your own apartment this late at night and tells you to just come over and spend the night at his, that it’s closer anyway.

you try to ignore the zip up your spine when he leads you into his apartment with a hand on the small of your back. you try to ignore the soft flush of your cheeks when he teases you about snooping while you look through his one (barely filled) bookcase.

“what? you scared I’m gonna find your fuzzy pink handcuffs?” you tease right back, squatting down to flip through the vinyl records he has sitting in a milk crate next to the bookcase.

butcher rolls his eyes with a smirk, “mine ain’t fuzzy… d’you even know what those things are?”

you don’t react, but you do store that in the folder labeled ‘Useful Butcher Information’ that lives in your brain. ignoring his teasing, you let out a soft huff of laughter when you see a record you’ve only seen at your grandparent's house and in the back of a shitty thrift shop uptown.

“exactly how old are you?” you ask, pulling it out and showing him the record in question: Roy Orbison Sings Lonely and Blue (1961).

butcher walks over and takes the record from your hand, switching it for his beer. he had asked you if you wanted one when you two walked through his door, you had declined before, but have taken to stealing sips of his. it’s probably the closest you’ll get to kissing him tonight.

“old enough to know this is real music… not that Taylor Swift shite you force me to listen to in the car.” he snarks, slipping the record out of the sleeve, setting it on his cheap turntable.

you stand back up straight with a scoff, “you can make fun of my ‘brat summer’, but Miss Swift is where I draw the line.” the beginning of the record starts to ring softly through the room…

‘Only the lonely… (dum-dum-dum-dumby-doo-wah)’

“oh… you can’t be serious,” you smile softly and he holds a hand up as if telling you to ‘wait for it’. “…so corny,” you mutter shaking your head, still with that same smile.

butcher takes the beer bottle out of your hand, taking a sip before setting it on one of the shelves, “nope… classic.”

he lets himself be a bit softer around you, even if only for a moment. it’s only when you two are alone, usually late at night, usually after a few drinks that he lets the walls drop… only just a bit.

like now, when he pulls you into the empty space of his living room, placing your hand, the one that isn’t wrapped in his, on his shoulder, his free hand goes to the small of your back.

“so now you wanna dance?” you ask with a bit of snark.

butcher lets out a soft huff of amusement as you two start swaying, “what you lot was doin’ at the bar wasn’t dancin’… you was flailing about.”

“hm… whatever. least we were having fun, i mean… even M.M. got up!”

“‘cause he’s a sucker for ‘Earth, Wind & Fire’.”

“well yeah… who isn’t?”

“me.”

you roll your eyes with a soft sigh, “suuure… stick in the mud.”

you’re both quiet after that, only the sound of old music coming through shitty speakers and gentle steps against his floor fill the room. he dances you through the whole a-side of the album, the hand on your back has snaked around your waist, your head rests against his shoulder, and he holds your intertwined hands closer to his chest.

you take as much of this as you can get from him, knowing these moments are fleeting. there are so many unspoken words between the two of you, you’re too stubborn to make a move, and well… butcher’s too… butcher. he thinks he’s much too undeserving of something as precious as you.

and maybe he’s right. maybe he doesn’t deserve you, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you, it doesn’t stop you wanting him. so for now… the soft, fleeting, moments are enough.

it’s always strange when those moments end, though. the way you can see his demeanor shift in an instant.

like now, the music stops and he looks away from you when you look up at him. you can see the way his face changes, like he’s snapping out of a trance or he’s caught himself doing something he knows shouldn’t.

butcher pulls away from you, wiping his hands on his pants as if the feeling of you lingering on his skin has to go. he turns to put the record away and turn off the turntable.

the silence lingers for a minute before he speaks up, “think we should turn in. you take my bed.”

you try to protest, “the couch-“

“don’t fight me on it.” the command isn’t harsh, it’s not mean, it’s only a bit stern, but he just wants you to listen to him.

he just wants to do something nice for you.

you nod with a quiet sigh and thank him with a soft smile. you both retire for the night and you both know you’ll be gone in the morning before he wakes up. you both know you won’t make any mention of it when you're both in the office tomorrow.

but you both know that for now, the fact that it happened at all is enough.

(divider by @/plutism)

[pinkorchidsinspring]

It’s official she’s making fun of the hetlors who believe this shit isn’t ✨coreographed✨

This is the choreography for so high school…

Taylor swifts snark>>>>

[meaganvondoom]

Sterek Drabble-All Too Well

"Derek-" Stiles said as he turned, looking at his boyfriend who was driving his jeep very seriously. "-Do you want to talk about it?"

"I cannot think of anything I would like less, if I'm being honest," Derek snarked back, and reached across the gearshift and random detritus, grabbing the younger mans hand. He gently brought it up to his lips and kissed it, and then rubbed his stubble across the worn skin of Stiles' slim fingers.

"Don't distract me with knuckle kisses! You just pulled an All Too Well!"

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" Derek briefly took over driving with his left knee, denim on old steering wheel, so that he he could run his free hand over his face in mock frustration.

" You almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me!" Stiles sung the words with the conviction of someone who would know them even when sleeping.

"What is even happening? Is this a Taylor Swift thing?" Derek glowered and pointedly kept his eyes on the road.

"DEREK! You know this song. I have sung it at the top of my lungs a million times. In the car. In the loft. In the shower, where I know you say you don't listen, but I know you do. SOMETIMES you're even in there with me!" Stiles is gesticulating wildly and Derek briefly wonders if he may lose an eye on this drive instead of just his dignity.

"I think you truly underestimate how much I tune you out." Derek turned and grinned, flashing his sky blue eyes at his lover.

"DEEREKKKKK" Stiles sighed dramatically, and slid down as much as he's able to in his seat, with his seatbelt on. Derek snickered softly, and if he started humming a different Taylor Swift song just to frustrate Stiles, then that was no one else's business.

[zombholic]

HE’S SO LUCKY — abby anderson

summary — reader has an undying love for her best friend abby, who only has eyes for owen.

description — poc fem!reader, angsty, three-way love, listen to your sad romantic playlist, actually just listen to enchanted by taylor swift.

authors note — yall sorry this was a little long but im listening to sad songs and i had to make this 😔 NOT PROOF READ !!

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

Your eyes scanned the aquarium seeing all your friends gathered up together for Manny’s birthday, he loved to go all out for his parties that not even an outbreak can stop him. You sat next to Leah on the floor with your back pressed up against the table as everyone was huddled up together in a circle on a cold winter night, all of you had snuck out of base to come here.

“I’m fucking twenty-five pendejos!” Manny drunkenly raised his beer in the air, slurring on his words having everyone cheer for him, beer bottles clanking together as splashes of beer fell. “Who’s gonna carry his ass back to base when he’s blacked out” you commented earning a couple of laughs from your friends.

Leah managed to find a record player with a couple of old school vinyls, the music playing in the back softly. Your eyes always seemed to wander back to Abby, you couldn’t lie, you were in love with the girl but there was nothing you could do, she was always going to have eyes for Owen even if Mel was carrying his child.

You saw the way she laughed a little too hard as his stupid jokes, her blue eyes glistening every time she looked at him, God, it disgusted you. Feeling your face heat up, jealousy consumed your insides as you burned holes into Owen’s stupid face “You’re making it obvious Y/n.” Leah nudged your side, blinking a few times before seeping back into reality, a heavy sigh fell from your lungs, leaning your head against the desk rolling it over to Leah who was fiddling around with her polaroid camera.

“What does she see in that thing.” your doe eyes rolled in annoyance hearing his stupid laugh over and over again “If you were straight you would understand, say cheese.” She lifted her camera to her eyes taking a quick off guard picture of you “Leah, I wasn’t ready!” you laughed pushing her shoulder softly “Hey, take a picture with us!” Mel waved her hand motioning to bring you guys over to them.

You two made your way over to the other side, you sat down beside Abby “Hey, take a picture of Me and Y/n.” Abby spoke up, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, you head leaned against her shoulder with a smile on your face as Leah snapped the picture. The frame slowly coming out before she handed it over to Abby.

“We look good together” She giggled looking over at you with her beautiful, enchanting blue eyes. You looked up at her through your lashes looking away quickly catching yourself stare at her for a bit too long. Scooting a little bit away from her you brought your knees up to your chest feeling cold from the air leaking through the cracks.

Everyone knew you were madly in love with the blonde, how could they not? they way you looked at her was not a look you gave anyone else, everyone you ever met has told you how intimidating you are, your demeanor scaring off people. You knew you were a little cold towards others but these people had your heart but nothing like how Abby did and yet she was the only one who was so clueless.

“Y/n, take any interest in anyone? it’s like you refuse to let loose.” Owen half drunkenly spoke up, he knew about your feelings towards Abby as well and he loved to take advantage of that. “No, too busy trying to fight for my life rather than getting girls pregnant.” Your snark remark has everyone hollering, “She got your ass Pendejo!” Manny laughing so hard you swore he was gonna pass out from lack of oxygen.

You saw Abby tense up from what you said, you knew she was upset over the fact Owen had gotten his girlfriend pregnant. After a couple of rounds of drinking you felt your body shoot up with confidence, you found yourself getting a little touchy with Abby, your hands would go from playing with her braid to rubbing her back. Abby couldn’t care less, she never felt uncomfortable around you quite honestly she loved the attention you were giving her since Owen was too busy making out with Mel.

“Abs, can I talk to you?” your hand ran up to the back of her neck softly rubbing it for her to look at you “Yeah, what’s wrong? want me to take you back to base?” Concern filled her face, brow’s farrowed together. “No, I— follow me.” Standing up you walked through the doors to the other side of the aquarium, Abby trailing right behind you.

“What did you wanna—“ She saw tears falling down your sweet face, rushing to cup your face in her calloused hands “Why are you crying hun?” You sniffled rolling your eyes at her “Stop doing that Abs.” You spoke barely above a whisper, avoiding eye contact with her. “Doing what Y/nn? hey, look at me.” Her eyes soften, so worried about the girl who she saw as a close friend, you looked up at her with your tear filled doe eyes.

Grabbing her face you pulled her into a kiss, your lips smashing against her soft ones. Pulling away you realized what you did, you just jeopardized the only thing that mattered to you so much, both of your eyes widened at your actions. “I— oh fuck, I’m so fucking sorry Abby.” Before she could even say anything you had ran out the doors, running back to base with tear streaming down your face endlessly, the ache in your heart had you sobbing out in pain.

Why him? why not me?

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

[sickness-stricken]

LMAO okay

Honey I am a LOT more lenient on Ms. Swift than a lot of her critics. I myself said that the name calling towards her that happens in snark circles is childish and unneeded. I’m not sure why you hate me specifically? I’ve never directly messaged you or interacted with you prior to this.

And, again, I never post directly in the TS tags. I always exclusively post under “anti Taylor Swift” and “Swifties DNI”, a request you have clearly ignored. If you block me I go away. It’s as simple as that. Though, I will say, I’m a little confused that I got the label of “obsessed with TS for no reason” when the person with the username “taylorcritic” is right above me??

If you claim to care about ableism you can’t then go and put a ward survivor who talks about the problematic elements of TTPD on your shit list. Either quietly block me and leave my name out of your mouth or engage with the discussion. You can’t have it both ways.

[nooodlesartstyle]

i adore taylor swift as a person, and i really like a lot of her music too. but if there’s one thing that turns me off from her aside from her jet usage, it’s her fanbase, and i saw something absolutely SICK on my tiktok this morning.

backstory: dave grohl made a snarky comment about taylor, saying the foo fighters should have an “errors tour” because they’ve had plenty of errors in their life, “that’s because we actually play live”. i didn’t really agree with this; taylor has an acoustic set in her eras tour shows, and she has a backing band at the side of the stage. but as i expected from swifties, the response was far, FAR worse.

this is the fanbase i was part of??? i’m absolutely sickened. they may have been a sketchy fanbase but whatever goodwill i had for the swiftie community is gone. i want absolutely nothing to do with them anymore. the fact they’re vandalising and destroying a dead man’s memorial over one FUCKING snark makes me ashamed to be a swiftie. thus, i’m rebuking my swiftie status.

i know for a fact taylor swift would hate you people with a burning passion.

[sophswritingthings]

ruin my life -- chapter 3

| warning(s): light swearing, |

| a/n: expect a lot of the song recs to be taylor swift btw |

| summary: one time when you enter the coffee shop you'd been visiting for months, now, someone new is working the counter. |

| song rec: enchanted (taylors version) -- taylor swift |

| word count: 488 words / 2,549 characters |

______________________________________________________________

mizu sighed, the sun was just going down. it was around five pm, now. usually she'd be off work by now, but she had just started. she had to get her hours switched because of her meetings with eiji.

she listened as the little bell rang above the door as it fell open, watching a young woman stroll in. probably around her age. pretty, too. with those stunning eyes and that shimmery sun-kissed hair.

you walk up to the counter with a pleasant smile, "hello," you greet softly, your voice was light and kind. "could I have carmel macchiato?"

"bit too much, don't you think?" she says with an amount of snark to her voice, turning to begin making the order.

".. uh, no. I don't," you shrug. "I need something to wake me up after being in class for the last few hours."

she nods, "fair. I much prefer just a regular black coffee, though."

you snicker at her words, "bit bitter, don't you think?"

she listens to you repeat her own words, chuckling as she hands you the coffee. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

you smile as you take the coffee, "you kinda did."

she can't help but notice how fucking beautiful that smile of yours is. the way it just seemed to light up the now darkening coffee shop was mystical to her.

you quickly hand her the money the coffee costs, "you have a good day, yeah?" you cock your head.

"uh, yeah. you too," she whispers as she watches you leave, pulling your large purse up and over your shoulder fully. her eyes stay glued to you for a moment, her brain lingering on the thought of you.

should she have talked to you more? asked for your number, even?

for the next few days, you appeared around the same time, right at the start of her shift. it always made her shift just a bit more bearable, considering how late and tired she was.

you would talk more, too, every time she would see you.

she learned that you were going to med school; looking to become a doctor one day. and that you were indeed not from around here, that you were all the way from the west coast. california.

mizu wants to ask you out to lunch so bad. dinner, even. but she knew you'd say no.

you had a boyfriend.

she would see you walk in with this guy, from time to time. he'd sit down in a booth, while you got both of your orders. you were always extra smiley around him, always laughing, always joking, it seemed.

you had a boyfriend, and you were straight.

she had no chance with you, even if she wanted to hope that she did.

so, she'd sit back, serve you coffee and observe from afar. if she ever had her chance, she would take it.

but she knew she wouldn't.

______________________________________________________________

[milfzatannaz]

I’m getting downvoted in the anti Taylor swift sub bc I pointed out there’s SOOO much to trash her for but partying at 3 am is normal fucking behavior for a grown woman. these ppl r pearl clutching bc she went to the club after a concert and now she must be a cokehead…if you’re gonna snark do it for shit that actually matters!!!!!!!!

[karahalloway]

Morally Grey - Part III: Russian Roulette

Fandom: TRR x Mission: Impossible II

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series: Morally Grey

Synopsis: Things continue to heat up between Harper and Drake...

Word count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, multiple lemon-scented moments)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: I know I haven't posted anything in over a month (life has been way too busy!) but in the few moments of spare time that I have managed to eek out, my brain decided that this is the series that it wants to focus on, so here is Part 3.

A/N2: Unlike previous parts, are no YouTube clips for this part - the movie skips over whatever happens between the car chase scene and Ethan and Nyah waking up in bed together the following evening, so I took Harper and Drake's lead to fill the time gap.

"I haven't...forgiven you," I gasp against his lips, even as I find myself yielding to the direction of his hands.

"This ain't an apology," he replies, tipping my head to the side so he can coast his tongue down my jaw.

My eyes shudder shut as the scrape of his stubble across the sensitive skin of my throat leaves me breathless.

Damn, he's an arrogant ass...

But I can't deny that I want to fuck him.

Whether it's because of my oh-so-close brush death... or because I'm still pissed at him and I need an outlet for the messy cocktail of emotions burning inside of me... or some kind of twisted combination of the two, the end result is the same. My brain is a mess and my body is on fire.

Which means I need to break this off now, before things become dangerously complicated between us.

"Good," I tell him, pulling abruptly away. "We're on the same page, then."

His eyes widen as I grab onto his shoulders to swing myself off his lap. "The hell—?"

"Nice knowing you, Walker," I throw over my shoulder as I shunt myself across to the other side of the car.

He grabs my wrist. "You said you'd listen."

"No," I correct. "I didn't."

He cusses under his breath as I twist away. "Look, will you just hold on, for one second, and—?"

"And what?" I interject testily, hoisting myself up onto the doorframe. "Give you yet another chance to con me? No thanks."

"You wanna be mad at me?" he grits. "Fine. Be mad. But don't pretend that's a good reason to walk away."

"Funny," I snark, swinging my legs into the Porsche. "It's working surprisingly well for me so far."

"Until you find yourself backed into a corner..."

I freeze mid-motion.

"You're on Interpol's wanted list," he reminds me. "And that kind of heat is hard to shake. Even if you decide to lie low for a while, or full-on retire, you're not getting a free pass. Not without help, anyway."

"Why should I believe you?" I snap through gritted teeth, hating the indecision raging inside of me.

"Honestly? 'Cause you ain't got a choice," he huffs. "And I know you got no reason to trust me right now. Hell, I wouldn't trust me either. But I'm in a bind, and my offer's legit. So, as far as get-out-of-jail-free cards go, you'll be hard-pressed to find a better one."

I glare out into the night. Damn it, why does he have to be so right?

On one hand, logic — and experience — tells me that I should steer clear of gift horses that seem too good to be true, as they invariably have rotten teeth.

And yet, in spite of every rational inclination, I want to trust him... I want to give into him.

As behind the somewhat gruff exterior and annoyingly pushy attitude, there is a certain frankness to him. I mean, he could've bullshitted me over the alarm, or even fed me to the wolves for kicks... but he didn't. Which makes me want to think that he has some measure of integrity.

But I've been wrong about guys before...

"Fine," I declare abrasively, wiping the wetness from my face. "I'll help you. But I want that offer in writing."

"Done," he accedes, the sudden warmth of his breath lapping the shell of my ear.

Whipping around, I find myself nose to nose with him, his hands splayed on the Mercedes' doorframe on either side of me, as if our renewed proximity somehow serves to seal the deal.

But he's wrong if he thinks he's won this round.

"And you owe me a necklace," I add, lifting my chin.

A scoff escapes him, tickling my lips. "Fuck me, you're demanding..."

I shrug up at him. "You wouldn't have chased after me if I wasn't."

He regards me for a long moment, his jaw working.

I force myself to hold his gaze, even as I feel the latent embers left by that kiss start to smoulder again under the weight of the prolonged contact.

He breaks off first. "I'll see what I can do."

A relieved breath rushes out of me.

I have no idea whether he'll come through for me on either front. But a long career in larceny has taught me to aim high, and always have a back-up plan in my pocket.

And of things don't work out...? Well, I guess I'll just have to pawn that expensive watch of his.

"Great...!" I chirp, fully conscious of the bare modicum of space between us. "So, what's the job?"

"No clue," he admits, finally backing off to slip past me into the Porsche.

My jaw drops. "What do you mean you don't know! You came all this way to set me up and you don't even—?"

"Trust me," he grumbles, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'm well aware. But my brief was to locate you first, and then report in to get the rest of the details."

"And you follow your assignments to the letter..." I surmise with a sidelong look as I plop down into the passenger seat next to him.

He scoffs wryly as he flips the engine over. "Very rarely."

Yanking the wheel hard to the right, he rams the gas pedal down to detach his car from mine with an ear-splitting screech of metal, taking the Mercedes' wing mirror off in the process.

Swerving out into the middle of the bridge, he guns the Porsche into the night, leaving the carnage behind us to dust.

"You always drive like a maniac?" I shout over the whip of the wind.

He slants me a deadpan look. "I'm not the one who almost ended up in the river..."

I roll my eyes at him. "Where are we meeting this guy?"

"Stormholt," he replies, punching some coordinates into the Spyder's navigation system. "But it ain't a joint exercise."

"Why?" I counter with an arched brow. "You don't trust me?"

"Not one bit," he grins.

I can't help but laugh. "How do you know I won't skip out on you, then?"

"I don't," he admits, meeting my eye across the width of the car. "But I'm hoping I've given you enough reason to stay."

I glance quickly away before he notices the sudden colour spreading across my cheeks. "But...umm... Why me?"

"You came highly recommended."

"By whom?"

"By my agency."

My brows furrow. "I didn't think the CIA kept tabs on common thieves."

"I don't work for the CIA."

"Then...?"

"I'm an agent with IMF."

I nearly choke. "IMF?"

"Impossible Missions Force," he clarifies.

"You can't be serious..." I blurt.

Luckily, he mistakes my disbelief for confusion as he says, "Hey, I didn't come up with the name. But at least it's accurate."

"If you say so," I mutter, sinking deeper into the seat and wrapping my arms around myself.

This can't be a coincidence... Can it?

"Here," he says, shrugging out of his suit jacket while managing to keep the Porsche tracking steady with just his knees against the steering wheel at over 80 mph.

I shake my head. "I don't—"

He cuts off my protest with an impeccably aimed toss, landing the jacket square in my lap. "It's a long drive. And the adrenaline will be wearing off now."

As if on cue, a shiver runs over my skin. Heaving a begrudging sigh, I set about pulling the jacket on. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he murmurs, grabbing hold of the wheel again.

I can feel the heat of his mocha gaze on me, but I make a point of not meeting it as I busy myself with turning the lapels up and tugging the front closed around myself to keep the midnight chill at bay.

As regardless of the one too many ways we've found ourselves up close and personal over the past hour, this is now a transactional relationship — pure and simple. So, I'm not going to indulge him with anything beyond that. It's a bad idea to play Russian roulette, and I have no intention of becoming physically (...much less emotionally!) entangled with someone who holds the keys to my proverbial release.

Making myself comfortable — albeit at the expense of now being scent-marked by the lingering spice of his aftershave, which I force myself to ignore — I let my focus drift over the shadowy forms outside the car as they zip past us on our way back down to the capital, wondering if I've just backed myself into the very corner that he warned me about.

But, I must have dozed off at some point, for the next thing I know, I am being shaken gently awake.

"Harper..."

Opening my eyes groggily, I find Dallas — Drake — looking at me with that impenetrable gaze of his.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Where are we?"

"At a safe house," he replies, unclipping the seatbelt he had apparently pulled over me at some point while I was passed out. "Not far from the marina."

"What time is it?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

"Still early," he advises, exiting the Porsche, the slam of his door echoing across the exposed concrete of the underground garage he had parked us in.

Arriving at the other side of the car, he pulls the door open for me and holds out his hand.

Ignoring the offer of assistance, I swing my legs out to push myself up to standing on slightly wobbly feet, my body still in the process of shaking off the vestiges of sleep.

"You good?" he asks, peering down at me.

"Yeah," I affirm, slipping his jacket pointedly off and handing it back to him.

He doesn't look like he believes me, but he nods nevertheless. "This way," he prompts, tilting his head towards the back of the space.

Following behind, he leads me through a heavy-looking metal door and into an airy, white-washed hallway with terracotta flooring that opens up into a spacious, open-plan kitchen with vaulted ceilings and arched windows through which the dawn is just starting to peek through.

"Fridge should be fully stocked," he advises, striding past the large centre island. "And there's coffee, if you want it."

I nod silently, casting my eyes around the minimalist, but nevertheless welcoming interior... which definitely tends towards more executive Vrbo than run-of-the-mill safe house.

"Bedroom's this way," he advises, turning down a corridor. "Your clothes should be in there already."

I blink. "My clothes?"

"Figured you'd want to get changed," he shrugs. "So, I called ahead and got the bags from your rental moved up here."

"Of course you did..." I mutter, stepping after him.

This guy is nothing, if not thorough...

Entering the room, I am greeted by a four-poster bed, breezy white drapes that kiss the floor, and a cavernous en-suite... with no door.

Great...

"You hungry?"

His question catches me off guard. Twisting back 'round, I find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

I suddenly feel naked under the weight of his dark gaze. "I..."

"I can cook something up," he clarifies.

My discomposure evaporates in a blaze of disbelief. "You... cook?"

He cracks out a laugh — warm and rich, like a perfectly brewed macchiato. "Call it a hobby."

"Umm... Okay," I accede, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear while I try... and fail once again to figure this guy out. "Surprise me."

"Yes, ma'am," he agrees with a lopsided smirk as he turns away.

I let out an explosive breath as he rounds the corner and disappears back down the corridor.

Who is this guy?

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter..."

I'm not planning to stick around long enough to find out, and I'm not interested in the answer anyway. This is a temporary set-up, and once I help him steal whatever it is that needs stealing, we'll go our separate ways.

Decision reaffirmed, I turn back into the room, where I find my bags stacked neatly against the foot of the bed.

Grabbing the larger of the two suitcases, I quickly extract an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boyshort undies. Since I fully expect to just hang around the safe house today, there's no need for anything fancier, and I'm definitely not going to be giving Drake any mixed signals by dressing up for him.

Locating my bag of toiletries as well, I make my way into the bathroom.

Stepping through the curved archway, I am greeted by an oasis of calm. Cream-coloured tiles lead to a claw-foot tub nestled under a large window, beyond which sits a waterfall cave shower complete with steam and pressure jets.

Four Seasons, eat your heart out.

Dropping my clothes on the floor, I quickly pull my heels off and shimmy out of my dress. Grabbing a fluffy Turkish cotton towel, I make a beeline towards the shower, eager to get under the spray and wash the night away.

Slapping the faucet onto its hottest setting, I step under the flow, and let out a sigh as the steam envelopes me, melting the tension that has built up inside of me over the past 24-hours out of me.

Once I'm sufficiently sous vide'd, I set about washing the hairspray out of my hair, and the make-up off of my face before turning the water off somewhat reluctantly.

The long soak had been a welcome reprieve, but as much as I may want to, I can't hide in here forever. Especially since I am now genuinely hungry.

Peeking out of the shower, I check to see that the coast is clear, before slipping out to quickly envelope myself in the towel.

I'm not shy about my body per se, but given the already delicate tightrope I'm having to navigate with the guy, I don't want to get caught in a — potentially even more! — compromising situation with Drake. Because as hot as he is, and as great as he is with his tongue, I can't afford to tip across that line with him... And him seeing me naked after that heated kiss on the bridge would only be adding fuel to the already dangerous fire simmering between us.

Which is why I make a special point to not doing anything with my hair apart from squeezing any excess water out of it, or even bothering to put on any make-up. As the fewer ideas I can put in his mind, the better — for both of us.

Dropping the towel, I quickly pull the fresh clothes on, before walking back out into the bedroom...

...and straight into a tell-tale smell wafting in from the kitchen.

I scoff. "He didn't..."

But the ambrosia emanating from the other end of the corridor leaves little room for doubt, and I feel my mouth start to water as I'm pulled almost unwittingly towards the source.

Poking my head around the corner, I can't help but gasp as my suspicions are confirmed. "Are you making... pancakes?"

"You told me to surprise you," he throws over his shoulder as he catches the crêpe he's just flipped into the air.

"When I said that, I wasn't expecting... this," I admit, taking in the rest of the spread jostling for space on the centre island with a slack-jawed expression.

While I'd been soaking myself in the shower, Drake had whipped up a pair of ham and cheese omelettes, a steaming pot of coffee, as well as a carafe of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice. Not to mention the small tower of pancakes that he has just put the finishing touches on.

"Good," he grins, flipping the gas off on the cooktop, and stowing the pan. "Wouldn't want to disappoint on the first day, now, would I?"

"Technically, we're into day t—"

I very narrowly catch my jaw from smacking into the countertop as he turns to face me.

At some point during the prep process, he had thrown the buttons of his shirt open — whether to stop it from getting splattered, or whether to keep himself cool — with the result that the perfect ridges of his abs and the toned mounds of his pecs were now on full, unadulterated display... making my body crave a very different kind of meal.

I jerk my gaze away before he can realise that I'm staring.

Keep it together, Harper! Neither of you needs any encouragement, remember?

"So, umm..." I cough to clear my suddenly patched throat as I reach for the coffee. "Where did you learn to do all this?"

"My dad," he admits, placing the plate of pancakes down on the island. "He was an amazing cook."

"Was?" I ask, my gaze jumping upwards on its own accord to meet his in surprise.

"Was," he confirms, lowering himself onto a bar stool across from me, and tugging his shirt mercifully closed.

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely, passing him the caffeine. Having grown up without a family myself, I know the feeling of that particular pain all too well.

"Don't be," he replies, refilling his mug. "He died doing what he signed up for, which was protecting his country."

I reach for the pancakes. "Is that why you became a spy?"

"No," he scoffs, as if at some private joke, shunting some jam, lemons and sugar my way. "You don't apply to IMF. You get picked. Whether you want to be, or not."

I nearly spread jam all up my arm, instead of over my pancake. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say that I ended up in a corner. And just like you, I wasn't really in a position to bargain my way out of it."

"Not a great feeling, is it?" I point out dryly, rolling my crêpe up.

"Nope," he affirms, taking a swig of his coffee. "But I got a second lease on life, so I ain't too sour."

I quirk a brow at him. "That's the third time you've done that."

"Done what?"

"Said 'ain't'," I tell him 'round a mouthful of pancake — which, I have to admit, tastes just as good as it smelt, and literally melts in my mouth.

"So?"

"So, which state are you from?" I press. "Kentucky? Georgia? Tennessee?"

"Texas," he replies tersely. "Not that it matters anymore."

"Why not?"

He heaves a low exhale. "I'm a ghost. I don't officially exist. I'm not in any government system and every passport I have is a fake."

I look upon him with new eyes. "You can never go back to your old life, can you?"

"No."

"Neither can I," I admit, stuffing the last of the crêpe into my mouth and reaching for an omelette.

He watches me silently for a long moment. "D'you want to?"

I shake my head. "You?"

"I'm not sure anymore."

My gaze lifts to meet his, and within those deep mocha depths, I am surprised to find specks of sadness, floating like lost leaves down a river.

An unexpected lump forms in my throat. "I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to keep apologising."

"I know, but—"

He lays a hand on my arm. "The choices I made were my own. No one else's."

The heat of his palm burns into my skin, and I suddenly realise I've made a huge mistake by engaging him. As in the course of our seemingly innocent conversation, we ended up straying out of the safety of the professional, and into the minefield of the personal.

Gulping down the final bite, I shoot out of my seat. "Thanks for cooking! This was—"

I barely make it half a step before his hand shoots out to intercept me.

Jerking my head across the counter, I find him staring at me with all the latent intensity of a wolf on the hunt.

"Wh-what?" I challenge, hoping he doesn't notice the slight tremble in my voice.

"You missed a spot."

"Wha—?"

He tugs me forward. "Just here."

I stumble to a stop before him, palm subconsciously flying out to seek purchase against his chest in a bid to steady myself.

He raises his free hand to wipe the lone smear of jam from my cheek.

I stand, rooted to the spot as our gazes meet against my better judgment... and I suddenly find myself falling into his cinnamon-flecked irises.

His thumb brushes against the corner of my lips. "Damn, you're beautiful..."

My mouth parts on its own volition...

...and the next thing I know, my lips are crushed against his.

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Picture credits:

Drake - Kiss - Harper - Cooking

[thisbisexualbrainrot]

I Know Places We Can Hide

Rating: E

Summary: Aziraphale sneaks out of Heaven to visit Crowley. This fic is my version of a third season!

Tags: Post Season 2 Finale. Canon Compliant. Aziraphale POV. M/M. Sexual but plot driven.

Author Notes: NOW ON AO3! I just want more fic from Azi's perspective so I did it myself. Partly based on this post by @sensitivesiren cause I thought it was a great theory. Full first chapter is under the cut! :)

“Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I know places we can hide.”

-Taylor Swift

—

He wasn't supposed to be here. 

Earth, that is. He wasn't supposed to be on Earth. And certainly was not supposed to be visiting a certain demon who, for all he knew, did not ever want to see him again. 

The Supreme Archangel took a breath to steady himself, absentmindedly pulling on the stiff collar of his pressed, white suit that he knew he could not show his face in. A hint of a buzzing sensation in his fingers and he was back in his familiar earthly attire. 

It's a small miracle, they won't notice…I hope Aziraphale bit his lip and wondered if he was pushing his luck too far this time. He had slipped out after his weekly management meeting, when the weight of the discussion had been overwhelming to no one else but him. He didn’t understand how they could talk about such things, their eyes dull with apathy, like they were discussing budgeting and not the destruction of the human race. 

These last few months had been a torment. He knew Crowley was right, he was not like the other angels. He didn't care about war or great plans. Well, he did care in the sense that he didn't understand why the earth needed to be destroyed at all. If I'm the one in charge, I can make a difference. Some difference he’d made, indeed. In the months he’d been in heaven, the only difference he’d made was restructuring the scrivener recording schedules due to Muriels absence. In all other regards, he had found the job to be lacking in the “making decisions for heaven” department. It was more of a mouthpiece role, mimicking whatever The Metatron told him to command of the lower angels. He realized rather quickly that he had been manipulated. That heaven had offered him the job to get him away from Earth. Away from Crowley. Away from actually making a difference. 

So, his wary eyes scanning the room near the elevator, he hastened his steps toward it and made his escape.

–

“Nope, not doing this.” 

Crowley shot up from the bench like it was made of holy water. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Angel.” He turned to leave Saint James park, but not before throwing a spiteful “You can go ahead and change your clothes back. I know that's not what you're wearing up there.” 

Aziraphale breathed out sharply through his nose. Of course, Crowley was going to be difficult. He’d hurt him, he knew that but he had hoped the demon would at least be a little pleased to see him.

 “I changed for my own comfort, if you must know.” Not a complete lie. “Crowley, we need to talk. I-I’m terribly regretful of how we left things and-”  “You need my help.” He interrupted,  “That's why you’re here, right?” Aziraphale said nothing. He understood he had hurt him but the demon had hurt him as well. And it wasn’t fair that he was being so cruel. Crowley clearly noted the silence and snarked, “Well, unfortunately for you, I'm out of the business of helping angels.” 

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale said softly, “I- if you would just hear me out.” The angel felt a pang of fear, pursing his lips and hoping that he would at least be allowed to explain himself. He couldn’t read Crowley's expression since he wasn’t facing him but his shoulders looked… tense.  He finally heard Crowley mutter through gritted teeth, “Fine.” 

“Oh, thank you.” He could feel a slight warmth of relief sing through his bones. “You see, I made a terrible mistake and The Meta-” He stopped himself, this should be discussed more privately. He stumbled over his words, “That is, Could I-...would you be willing to come back to the bookshop with me?” It was the first place he could think of but not the most ideal place either, he realized. 

Crowley paused and Azirphale hoped he hadn’t ruined his chance. “We can meet at my place.” 

“Oh you're um- you have a new one now?”  Crowley seemingly ignored the question. He took out a slip of paper that looked like a receipt, scrawled an address on it and handed it to him, still not turning fully to meet the Angel's eyes. “Meet you there.” And with that, Crowley quickly shoved his slender hands into his tight pockets and walked away.

Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, the slip of paper still clutched between his fingers. Hearing the anger in his voice made the angel wince. Oh how I've made a mess of things.

-

He still stopped by the bookshop briefly to check on it. Muriel was delighted to tell him all about their interactions with the humans and how they had read almost every book in the shop already. He smiled kindly to them, his mind distracted by the events in the park. He did not mention any of it to the young scrivener. He gave them a quick farewell, thanked them for watching over things and exited the shop. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach. Right, the address. He pulled it out of his pocket.

 How would he ever explain all of this? Where would he start? Had heaven realized he was gone? What if they found him? He glanced around anxiously and waited for a feeling of Michael or Uriel appearing but saw no none. He wanted to stop and see Maggie and Nina but couldn't risk any more time. He would have to catch up with them later. 

He glanced back down at the sheet of paper and could make out the address even with Crowley's terrible handwriting. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. It turns out, the flat was just a few blocks away. Maybe Crowley didn’t truly hate him after all.

The doorbell rang, a hollow chime echoing through the flat. Aziraphale waited not so patiently for the black door to swing open, yellow eyes finally meeting his gaze.

 “I knew they would be purple.” Crowley mumbled with what sounded like annoyance to his voice.

His eyes. He had forgotten. “Oh- I would love to do away with them, however, I can't seem to change them.” He fiddled with his ring and gave Crowley a half hearted, nervous smile.  Crowley smirked, “I know the feeling.” 

He stepped aside, a gesture that pulled Aziraphale in and he was hit with the familiar comforting scent of amber and brimstone. I know what you smell like he remembered the demon telling him once, and well…likewise. The door shut behind him and Crowley headed over to a bar counter, pulling two wine glasses from a rack and pouring each of them a glass. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was cozy despite being mostly decorated in sleek black furnishings. Crowley handed him the glass and Aziraphale managed to say thank you with a steady voice. He was incredibly nervous. “So?” Crowley cleared his throat, knocking Aziraphale’s racing mind back into the room. “Are you going to explain what the purpose of this holy appearance is?” He settled in a large armchair, swinging one leg over the other. He leveled his gaze on Aziraphale, taking a sip of his wine. 

Aziraphale felt the panic that had been swelling inside of him threaten to bubble over. He had no idea where to begin, just as he had feared. He ran his finger nervously over the rim of his glass. Staring down at it, he centered himself and pulled together what he needed to say, or at least it was a start. 

He admitted quietly, “I've made a terrible mess of things. I should have never taken the job.” 

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale continued after a pause, his eyes still downward. “It appears The Metatron’s intentions were to separate us. I have been all but useless as a leader, I'm afraid. They don't actually let me decide anything. Not anything of real importance. And, worst of all, they plan to initiate the Second Coming in a matter of months? Years? I'm not entirely sure but it will be soon.” 

Crowley let out a frustrated sounding sigh, shaking his head, “So that is why you’re here, to get my help then? Cause if that’s all you want you can shove o-” 

“No.” Aziraphale looked up then, and he hoped Crowley could see the pain in his eyes as he confessed, “I am here to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.” Silence. A long awkward pause. Aziraphale didn't know what to say next, so he waited. 

“Well then Angel, go on.” Crowley gestured his glass toward him. “Beg.” 

Aziraphale huffed, “If you are going to make a mockery of it, I’ll just as soon leave.” 

Crowley looked amused, “Oh come on, you really can't expect that I wouldn't give you a hard time. With you rejecting me and all, it's only fair.” 

“I would appreciate you taking this seriously.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. If Crowley was going to make his feelings a joke, then he wasn't going to even bother trying to mend this- this…

“Oh I am,” Crowley’s tone shifted, “and you better start talking, Angel.” 

“Fine.” Aziraphale straightened, setting his untouched glass on a nearby table. He looked at Crowley, “You were right.” “I want the dance.”

“No.” Bastard.

“Then apology not accepted” Crowley took another swig of his wine. It was almost like he was having fun with this. Looking Aziraphale up and down he remarked flatly, “You’ve lost weight. No crepes in heaven, I suppose.” 

Aziraphale felt his frustration growing, “Crowley, will you please focus on what I am trying to say?” 

“So far, I haven't really heard you say anything.” Crowley shot back, his eyes were dark and angry. 

Aziraphale had enough. He moved toward Crowley’s seat, kneeling in front of him firmly but gently. He locked their eyes together, hoping that Crowley wouldn't see how scared he was and mistake it for something else.

“Then I will say it now.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered but he pushed on, “I have never regretted something more, in six thousand years. For choosing to leave you. The truth is…” He swallowed nervously, “I love you Crowley, no matter what you are. I will always love you the same.” He took a breath, “A-And you owe me nothing in return, except I would prefer for you to still consider me a friend. You don't have to kiss me, if it's not genuine.” If Crowley would agree to still be his friend, that would be enough. He didn't want Crowley to feel forced to love him the way he wanted. That would not do. And he couldn’t bear to hear Crowley speak to him with such disdain and anger any longer, even if some of it was deserved. He had placed his hands on the demon’s knees sometime during this admission, the warmth of Crowley's legs sending a jolt of adrenaline down to his gut. Now, it seems, he was unable to remove them. He was frozen in place, his eyes following Crowley’s expression. The demon said nothing, at first. Aziraphale watched as he slowly set his wine glass down, 

“You think it wasn't genuine then.” Not a question. 

Aziraphale looked back at him with slight confusion. “You- you surely know how I feel about you, Crowley. Certainly your kiss was a cruel temptation, was it not? A last effort to try to change my mind? I-I forgave you for it but it did hurt, you see, so I was angry and I-...I am..” 

“ARGH!” Crowley stood up, pushing past Aziraphale and spinning around to face him. “Did you really not hear a word I said?!”

Aziraphale, startled by the sudden movement and aggression, stood and turned to face Crowley with confusion now etched into his features. “I-I was listening. You didn't want to come with me, you didn't want to be an angel with me, you- you said you didn't need heav- “ 

“Argh, not that part Aziraphale!” Crowley rarely said his full name anymore. He loved how it sounded rolling off the demon's tongue. Very distracting. 

“What part then?” Aziraphale asked quietly. He had clearly been wrong about the kiss, but that meant- he felt his heart beat faster in his chest. 

“I refuse to believe you dont know.” Crowley’s expression hardened, but tears welled in his eyes. He didn't have his sunglasses to hide them and Aziraphale could see then that the anger and disdain for him was actually just…heartbreak. 

Crowley was heartbroken. Oh. OH.

He had been wrong in Crowley's intentions for the kiss.

Crowley had been trying to tell him his feelings the last time they saw each other. Aziraphale had just not been listening properly, or at least not been really hearing him properly. The kiss was a last ditch attempt, but it was to show Aziraphale how he felt. What they could be if he did stay. We could have been us. 

“Oh I…Crowley.” He stepped closer instinctively, reaching his arm out to grasp Crowley's hand. He thought for a moment Crowley would pull away, but he didn’t. “I've been such a complete fool. Please forgive me.” Crowley cursed quietly as a tear slipped down his cheek, looking away. Aziraphale pulled them closer then, his free hand reaching up to turn Crowley’s face back to him and wipe the tear away. His hand remained, gently rubbing his thumb on the demon’s cheekbone. Aziraphale’s heart could not have been beating louder in his ears as Crowley leaned in until their foreheads were resting on each other. A breath of silence and then quietly he heard,

“I’ve missed you, Angel.” 

“And I you, my dear. Desperately.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and brushed his nose against Crowley’s, cautiously. Slowly. With his eyes shut, the sensation of the demon’s breath was so close. His warm face was so unbearably close and the Angel pushed in further until his lips were barely caressing the demons, testing his boundaries. 

Testing to see if Crowley would push him away.

He didn’t. 

Aziraphales heart fluttered as Crowley wrapped his hand around the Angel’s neck, his fingers curling into the nape of the white curls and pushed in to deepen the kiss. It felt like fire. Warm, crackling and intense. Nothing like before, no feeling of humiliation or pain. Aziraphale sunk into it, letting out a small moan as Crowley licked against his lips. Crowley must have taken the moan as an invitation. He began to push off Aziraphale’s jacket and it fell to the floor. 

Aziraphale pulled back slightly, “Crowley, I- shouldn't we talk about this?” 

“I think we’ve done enough talking, don't you? Always talking, us.”

Crowley moved back in to claim the angel's mouth once more and Aziraphale agreed, they could talk after. After they- oh mother in heaven, has Crowley always smelled this incredible? He breathed in deeply, pushing his tongue in and getting a satisfying groan in return. He wanted all of him then. Wanted to touch every unholy inch of him. He felt Crowley start to push him backward and clung to him as they toppled onto a black velvet couch. He felt the weight of Crowley's hips as he settled onto his lap, one leg resting on either side as he straddled over him and cupped his jaw, kissing him feverishly. Aziraphale used one hand to pull the demon closer to him. The other gripped Crowley's neck, fingers gliding into perfectly soft red hair. He felt Crowley slip off his shoes and he did the same, all while not breaking their joined mouths even for a moment. Crowley chuckled affectionately as he broke their lips apart, “You sure you’re alright with this, Angel?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Aziraphale chided, “I have been around just as long as you. I know perfectly well what this is.” 

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, “but have you ever...” he waved his hands and the rest trailed off. Implied. “I haven't had the desire until now.” 

“Oh is that so?” Crowley teased, “Well well, Supreme Archangel...” 

Aziraphale blushed hotly and sputtered “Well I- I wouldn't say I didn't have the desire till now but I just- oh you know what I mean you impertinent demon!” Crowley rolled his hips then, and Aziraphale forgot to keep scolding him. 

“S’what I’m good at after all” he whispered, his breath hot in Aziraphale’s ear, “flustering you”. 

He then watched the demon's eyes go wide as he grasped Crowley's thighs and flipped them over on the couch. The angel was now resting on top, his legs splitting Crowley's apart. Aziraphale began running his nose along Crowley’s neck, his voice a bit deeper than usual. “You know my dear, I think you underestimate just how adept I am at flustering you as well.” He then pressed a number of light kisses along Crowley’s long neck, and was quite pleased when he heard a low growl. He had never felt quite like this. There was an unleashing of desire at seeing Crowley laid out so desperate for him. He nuzzled lovingly against Crowley's mouth, his eyes half lidded, as he asked “Where is your bed?” Crowley swallowed, noticeably. His voice was rough. “Down the hall to the left.” 

“Show me.” 

Crowley pushed Aziraphale off of him enough to stand and hastily lead him down the hall, their sock-covered feet sliding smoothly over the hardwood floor. He had reached out and grabbed the Angel's hand without another word. And Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as they entered the bedroom. Crowley pushed him back to lean against the doorframe and kissed him achingly and intentionally. The angel barely noticed the undoing of his bowtie as it dropped to the floor. They broke apart and Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath,

 “Crowley…” he exhaled as he lifted the silver tie over the demon’s head. The black leather vest came undone next and he captured the demon's lips in his again as Crowley set to work on his velvet waistcoat. With hungry confidence, Aziraphale pushed against Crowley until he was stepping backward toward the king size bed. The demon was finally sliding off the waistcoat and working his way down the buttons of the undershirt when he muttered with frustration,

“Too many layers....” and proceeded to rip the rest of the shirt off, the buttons clattering against the wood floor. Aziraphale, shockingly, did not object. He pulled the white undershirt off over his head and climbed on top of Crowley as they settled onto the black duvet, soft and inviting against their bodies. He ran a hand down the demon's side and Crowley hissed with pleasure as the angel ducked down and pushed the black t-shirt up to run his mouth along the demon’s stomach. The shirt was pulled off and got lost somewhere on the bed in the process. 

“Aziraphale...” Crowley breathed, and a vulnerability slipped out of him. He said the angel's name like it was a prayer. He brought his mouth back up to Crowley’s lips and felt the demon wrap his arms around him. When their lips met again it was a moment of devotion and reverence. He savored Crowley's mouth, trying to give him the worship and love he deserved. Please always say my name that way. Please always want me as you do now. He begged silently and he hoped Crowley could feel how much he adored him. The demon kissed back with as much affection, rolling them so he was now laying on the broad chest of the angel. He sunk his head down and began kissing his neck and down his chest. Aziraphale moaned and grabbed at the red disheveled hair of the demon, bucking his body upwards to bring himself closer to Crowley’s pleasuring mouth as he moved downward. 

“So naughty…” Crowley teased and Aziraphale let out a small huff of annoyance. But Crowley kissed his body tenderly, nipping and smoothing over the bites with his tongue. And slowly moved downward. Until Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the sensation of Crowley’s mouth on his cock, only a thin layer of fabric in between. He needed that fabric to be gone. Thankfully, Crowley was one step ahead and pulled the boxer briefs down the Angels thick thighs. 

The feeling was overwhelming, incredibly good but almost too much. His vision went blurry and all he could think was how he needed more. Every movement of Crowley's hot, wet mouth pushed the Angel further into utter oblivion. It was no surprise that humans found this so enjoyable, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it until now. He gasped as Crowley's tongue flicked out to pleasure him and lost all sense of anything but the demon's touch on his skin. 

If this was sinful, Aziraphale made a mental note to sin often in the future. 

_

It was some time later when they collapsed, the tension in their bodies melting away with the release. Aziraphale laid next to Crowley, his breathing a little ragged as he caught up. He rolled over and smiled into the crook of the demon's neck and Crowley smiled too as they both broke into a shared laughter. There was no denying what was between them. There was no going back now. And somehow, after everything, they found that it was incredibly funny. Crowley sighed pleasantly. He rubbed his hand on his forehead, pushing his sweaty red locks away from his face, 

“Well, now that that coming is over with, do you want to tell me more about this Second Coming then?” Aziraphale gaped with dramatic disgust, and nearly shoved Crowley off the bed. Crowley sat up laughing, “I'm going to grab the rest of that wine.” 

Aziraphale pulled him back down to sit on the bed, sitting up himself to wrap his arms around him from behind and plant a kiss on his cheek. He savored the feeling of intimacy as his bare chest warmed against the demon's back. 

Crowley laughed warmly, “I’ll be right back.” 

He got up and pulled on a black silk robe he had hanging on his door, and reached into his closet to toss an oversized Velvet Underground t-shirt to the Angel. 

Aziraphale tucked up his nose at the shirt, “Don’t you have anything a little more stylish?” Crowley rolled his eyes, “It's just us, you’ll survive. I’ll go grab you some new clothes tomorrow.” 

Azirphale watched him slip the robe on, wanting very much to rip it off later. Partly to wear it instead of the t-shirt, if he was being totally honest. He could miracle something, he supposed, but he’d already risked enough doing the small one earlier. And Crowley wasn't doing miracles either, he noticed. He thought back to the handwritten slip of paper. 

But he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pleasing silk covered view that sauntered down the hallway and out of sight. 

–

It turns out he had lost a little weight and the shirt did fit. Albeit a little tighter in the arms and shoulders than it would on Crowley but it would do. 

When Crowley returned, Aziraphale was wearing the offending t-shirt with his boxer briefs back on, blonde hair disheveled and flipping through the records Crowley had on a small shelf in the corner of his room. He noticed Crowley staring at him, a look of arousal in his eyes and he suddenly felt very self conscious. He was sure he looked like an absolute mess, but apparently the new look was appealing to the demon. 

Aziraphale walked over to meet him and accepted the glass of wine he had neglected to drink earlier gratefully. He felt so content it was almost dizzying and he heard himself say without thinking,  

“I hope you know that I am very much in love with you.” And he couldn't very well take it back, and realized he actually didn't even want to. He leaned in for a kiss before sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt the weight of it shift as the demon joined him. 

“I caught on, I think,” Crowley teased. “Seeing as you left your very important heavenly post to pop down here and seduce me.” Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he caught Crowley smiling devilishly, clearly enjoying it. 

“T-that wasn't the plan! Initially.” Aziraphale fussed absentmindedly with the bottom hem of the shirt, “Oh I don't know, perhaps it was. I just couldn't stand being there anymore. They are all so dreadfully dull and awful. I needed to see you. I couldn't leave it as it was and- oh dear,” Aziraphale remembered, “Do you think they’ve realized I'm gone?” 

“Probably.” Crowley shrugged, stilling the angels' fussing hand with his own. Aziraphale was grateful for the secure touch. “But they have no idea where you are.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I warded this place after I moved in, against angels and demons. No one enters here without my permission and no one can see it or who’s inside. We can hide here until we sort this out.” 

“Impressive,” Aziraphale sipped his wine, “How did you come up with such a thing?” “Muriel has been reading a lot of your books, the ones in the back. Spell books. And, I had my own ideas. I wasn't sure it would work but I tested it on Muriel, they couldn't come in until I let them. I don't know for sure about the second part of it. So we will see what happens, I suppose.”   

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “You really are such a clever demon. I’ve always thought so.” Crowley blushed, and it did not go unnoticed. Aziraphale let Crowley pull his face in and give him a long, affectionate kiss. His mouth was warm and supple from earlier, a hint of wine on his tongue. 

“I'm in love with you too, Angel.” Crowley stated, like it was as obvious as the stars in the sky. “And I thought, maybe, you would come back so I- I, you know, came up with a plan. Just in case.” 

Aziraphale beamed at the confession. He wasn’t sure if he ever would say it out loud and honestly didn’t need to hear it. But, actually hearing it was like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for years. But that initial meeting in the park, if he’d wanted him to come back then why-

“You didn’t seem to want me back at first.” It was more a question, and he looked at Crowley to see how it landed. Crowley was staring straight ahead at nothing. Lost in memory.

“I did,” he said finally. “But missing you and actually seeing you again were very- it was hard to know for sure why you came back.” 

“Ah,” Aizraphale felt a small twinge of guilt, “Well, I hope it’s clear now.” 

Crowley chuckled, “Just a bit, yeah.” And for the first time, Aziraphale felt truly forgiven. 

They talked through the night, among other things that distracted from the conversation. By morning light, they had the beginnings of a plan to save humanity and each other. Again. 

_ It had been a few hours after Aziraphale had left the bookshop. Muriel was busy cataloging books when Michael stormed through the doors seething, Uriel following behind. “Where is he?” 

Muriel smiled, “Oh hello! Where is who?” 

“Aziraphale.” Michael snapped, “who else would I come here asking about?” 

Muriel winced, “I don't know actually. He was here for a moment but then he left. He didn't say where he was going.” 

Michael let out an aggravated groan. They had been tasked by a very irritated Voice of God to locate the second missing Supreme Archangel and bring him back immediately. 

The only problem was, there was no trace of him anywhere. Or the demon Crowley. 

Ugh. 

Michael was going to get so much shit for this. 

_

Author Notes: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like me to continue this story. :)

[bloombubs]

Adrian Chase x reader dating headcanons where reader had worked alongside Harcourt and John for years and was forced to relocate with them to since they also helped Task Force X defeat with Harcourt and John. Maybe here, reader has done gymnastics for years and incorporated their gymnastics skills into their fighting styles. And maybe they are pretty shy in the beginning, often times clinging to John or Harcourt (which they don’t mind) but once reader gets used to the new recruits (Adrian, peacemaker, Leona), they’re pretty energetic and bubbly and also an idiot

I'm going to apologize now and say I definitely did not hit the head of the nail with this one.

notes: ....idek. mentions sexual themes. 1kish words. thank you for being the first request <3

In the midst of the team's activities and occasional chaos, Adrian always noticed you. Your silence amidst the noise intrigued him, and he saw it as a challenge to get to know you. But you clung around Economos and Harcourt in the beginning.

Despite his boisterous nature, Adrian made a concerted effort to get to know you. He sensed a potential for humor and snark beneath the surface and was determined to uncover it. He had a gut feeling that you were full of funny comments, snarky replies. He always noted how you bit your lip, rolled your eyes, and shook your head. Some ideas caused your eyes to widen, whether it sounded exciting or completely stupid.

Not content with simply observing you, Adrian took his curiosity to Harcourt and Economos. His relentless questions about you, ranging from your music preferences to your quirks, often left them a little annoyed but entertained.

“So, do they like Taylor Swift?” “I don’t know, Vig, you ask them.”

“Do you think they’d go out to the bar?” “Are you going to ask them out on a date?” “What? No, what makes you say that?”

Adrian made it a habit to sit beside you whenever the opportunity presented itself. Whether it was during briefings, downtime, or meals, car rides, he strategically positioned himself next to you, ready to engage in conversation.

Your reactions became his focal point. Adrian would glance at you whenever something noteworthy happened, waiting for your response. Majority of the time when he spoke, it was directed at you–hoping to get a reaction.

Adrian’s jaw visibility hit the floor when he saw your style of fighting. You’re so flexible, so grateful on your feet. He didn’t know you were a gymnast, but it was a lovely surprise. You felt more confident in showing your ability, mostly prepping yourself with Chris would make a lewd comment about your flexibility and how it piqued his interest. It definitely piqued Adrian’s.

Adrian compared you to being the next version of Nightwing, which was far from the truth, but you found it flattering either way. “You’re no match for Judomaster,” “He knocked me out with the first punch, Vig.” “…Maybe it was a fair fight.”

Maybe it was the first time in the car that he saw you singing along to the song, nodding your head and smiling at everyone. Eagly perched in your lap once, you were petrified. Adrian saw the sight endearing and wholesome–a photo for him to take to add to the collection of his best friends.

He added you on Facebook randomly at three AM.

Eventually, he did invite you out to the bar. As well as the others because he was a bit nervous himself to be on a date with someone like you–he thinks you're the coolest, sweetest, talented, badass person he had ever met.

On this date, everyone took a hint and left you two alone, Harcourt and Economos giving you a look before they left.

The two talked about everything and anything–once you fully peeled back from your shell–with a few drinks to help–Adrian just couldn’t get you off his mind.

Somehow it spiraled to the two of you doing drunk karaoke.

He definitely didn’t drink as much to make sure you got back to where you were staying–he even took you for a ride in his Vigilante mobile.

The night finished and he asked for another date, but just him and you this time right off the bat. You agreed and kissed him on the cheek before ending the night.

Adrian definitely texted Chris all about it. You definitely texted Harcourt all about it as well.

Everyone just knew the two would wind up together at this point.

Leota and Chris placed a bet when Adrian would ask you out.

Chris said he would would be too chickened to ask you out.

Leota was convinced that he would wait at least two months–in the similar fate that Adrian just needed to build courage to ask you to be his significant other.

False.

Adrian never formally asked you to be his significant other. After a couple of months filled with constant dates, sleepovers, and quickies in the Vigilante mobile, both of you assumed exclusivity without the need for explicit conversations.

You would always support his decision on any choice of weapon. But you adamantly believed that Economos had the right to use a chainsaw, passionately advocating for his moment to shine.

Seeing you in action became one of Adrian's biggest turn-ons. Whether in a protective or provocative way, his eyes were always glued to you in the field, often causing distractions as he couldn't help but admire your skills.

One day you both come into the headquarters, covered in hickies. No one was surprised, but god they had a field trip making fun of you two.

The classic, did a vacuum cleaner suck on your neck?

Adrian would just claim that he was testing the limit of what his body could handle–turns out, he can endure a lot.

Chris just made a remark that you were claiming dominance over someone that never needed it in the first place.

But you two are safe, nothing could ever top seeing Leota’s wife’s nudes–unless Adrian would accidentally leak the homemade videos the two of you on a whim decided to make.

After missions, you two would watch whatever movie Adrian wanted to see, have a small dinner, hear him ramble about anything and everything.

He tries teaching you DND.

You scared Harcourt, Adebayo, and Economos once when they were needing to have an emergency meeting and you weren’t sleeping in your bed–but you were over at Adrian’s.

Chris would definitely try to convince Adrian for a threesome. A man’s gotta try.

Adrian would refuse to let you get hurt on the field and he would be damned if anyone was trying to harm you. He would not let you do anything alone–which didn’t necessarily mean you had to be paired with him, but you wouldn’t be alone.

[zot3-flopped]

Thought you might appreciate this article for snark purposes. They try to bootlick her and her family and they still sound insufferable to me 😭 her privileged ass and her and family's obsession for her to become a star. No wonder she ended up fucked up

https://www.thetimes.com/culture/music/article/taylor-swifts-early-years-by-the-people-who-knew-her-d98sn0ws3

Hugely privileged upbringing.