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asmutwriter · 1 year

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We All Go A Little Mad (Dean x F!Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You find a case that you think might be linked to demon activity. So you investigate. Running into Dean along the way

WORD COUNT: 3185

One Shots / ‘You Saved Me’

WARNINGS: smut, dom Dean, sub reader, hair pulling, fingering, over stimulation, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, violence, demon Dean

DISCLAIMERS

- This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

SIX MONTHS LATER

"You sure this is the place? Like 100% sure?” you pick up your phone as you park up outside a motel, your hunter friend on speaker

“Defiantly. An eyewitness says they saw someone’s eyes turning black before they beat someone to death with an odd looking weapon. I don’t know about you but that defiantly seems like a demon possession”

“But how drunk was this eyewitness? Given that it was at a bar”

“Not the point. I plan on hacking into the security cameras and sending you over a picture of the man who did the attacks. Just give me a couple of hours and we’ll find our demon. If your worried about the accuracy of our eyewitness then you can do the holy water test as well and see if he is our man or not. Or if he’s just some psycho that the police can deal with”

“Yep send the picture on over. I’ll let you know when I’ve found and killed him” you hang up. Putting your phone in your pocket you go and get a room. Placing your bags inside it. You take off your rings. The chance of bumping into the demon being unlikely. Having your trusty necklace of holy water, just in case though. And you figure you might as well have one night of fun before murdering someone. So you put on a cute dress. Maroon, tight fitted. The kind of dress that sits snuggly against the body but is also giving the illusion of being baggy. The colour complimenting your skin tone nicely. You reapply your makeup and put on some little black heels before you head to a nearby bar.

You go inside. Smiling at the waitress behind the counter. “Vodka shots please” she nods. Going and making you your drink. You look around. Seeing if anyone in here is worth your time. None. You sigh. Taking the shot. You proceed to get tipsy. Downing drink after drink. After a few hours you decide to bail. Drinking the last of your drink. Going to stand up you hear someone speak next to you

“Two of what she just had. Please” you looks. Smiling as Deans green eyes meet yours.

“Hey there handsome” you smile at him. Hugging him as you stay seated next to him. One arm going around you as he hugs you back. You move away “you here for work reasons?” he chuckles

“No. More for leisure this time around”

“Ooh very nice” you look around “you here with your brother then or have you ditched him?”

“Ditched him. He didn’t want to come with me on this little road trip” you nod and smile. You get a text message. Looking you see it’s from your friend. He must’ve had a video of the demon. You go to open just as a man sits next to Dean.

“Who’s your friend?” he asks. Strong, British accent. You put your phone back in your bag. Holding your hand out for him to shake. You’ll catch up with your friends first before doing your work.

“Rose” he smiles, leaning across Dean and shaking your hand

“Crowley” you smile

“Nice to meet you” you move your hand away “always nice to meet new friends” he smiles at you. “How long have you two known each other for?”

“About five years now” the British man says. Smiling at Dean. He chuckles, teeth showing slightly. Eyes creasing in the corners.

“It’s been that long huh?” he nods. He turns away from you. Facing his friend “Why don’t you leave us alone for a bit?” a soft yet smug smile taunting the Winchesters lips. Crowley rolls his eyes before standing up and leaving. He turns to look back at you. His smug smile turning soft again as his eyes dance over your features. Lingering a few seconds on every bit of skin exposed.

“What are you here for?”

“Oh just work purposes. But if you’re having a holiday then you should let me deal with this one. You deserve a well needed vacation I’m sure” he smiles and nods

“Have you brought Anna and Lydia with you?” you shake your head

“They’re staying at a friend’s house this weekend” he nods

“So you have no one you need to get back for?” you shake your head “What do you say about us getting out of here then, hmm?” his eyes turning dark at the implication. You hesitate slightly. Biting your lip before nodding. He smiles, standing up as you grab your bag and coat. Following him out.

“The motel I’m staying in is about a 5 minute walk from here. If you want?” he nods softly. You walk to your room. Opening the door. You put the key down on the side. You go to take your jacket off.

“Let me” he comes behind you. Helping you take the fluffy coat off. Hanging it up. He takes your hand. Leading you to the edge of the bed he points “sit”. You don’t hesitate. Sitting down as he kneels in front of you. He runs his fingers down your bare legs. Fluttering your eyes shut at his feathery touches. You feel him taking off your shoes. Kissing your shins as you hear the plop of your heels hitting the floor. He pushes your legs apart as he sits up. Opening your eyes you see him mere inches away from you. He ghosts his lips over yours before kissing you. Moving away, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you trust me?” you nod with no hesitation.

“Yes” you whisper.

“Let me hear you say it”

“I trust you Dean. Completely” he smiles. A taunting smile. Pushing your shoulder so you lie down. You watch as he takes off his top half’s. Discarding his shirts on the floor. His hands run down your sides as you wait excitedly. He flips you around. Face buried into the soft bed. You turn your head slightly. Watching from the corner of your eye. His hands running up the back of your thighs. Pushing them apart. He lifts your dress up. Your lacy pants and perky ass on show. You feel him kiss your thigh. Sighing in pleasure as he gently bites your flesh. Feeling his fingers hook through your panties. Pulling them down your legs and tossing them on the floor. Adding to the pile of clothes. He pushes your dress up. You lift yourself up as he moves it over your head. His fingers unclasping your bra. Leaving you completely naked under him. His hands run down your spine. Pushing your ass cheeks apart.

“Are you still on the pill Kat?” you nod. You can feel the smile in his voice. “Good” he plunges a finger into you. You cry out. Hands gripping the soft covers near your head. Burying your face into the covers. Embarrassed by the noise you just made. He tuts slightly. Removing his finger from you. Hand gripping your hair as he pulls you up. Your body pressed against his as he holds you against him. The hand in your hair holding you up. His other hand gently tracing down you side as he kisses you neck. Your hands fall to your sides. Gripping at his trousers. “I want to hear all the pretty noises you make. Don’t hold them back from me” you nod. Feeling him kiss your jawline as his hand trails down to your core. The hand in your hair moving to your stomach. Keeping you pinned against him as he slowly pushing two fingers into you. He curls them inside you.

“Oh fuck...” you moan out. Shutting your eyes. One hand going to his that’s starting to work its magic inside you. The other going to his forearm of the hand that’s keeping you against him. He leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your high getting closer and closer. “Dean please. Please” you beg him

“Please what?”

“Cum... wanna cum” you feel him nod against your skin. Taking that as a sign you let the coil unravel. Nails digging into his flesh as you orgasm. His pace doesn’t falter though. Even well after you’ve come down. You whine out at the over stimulation.

“You think you can cum again?” you furrow your eyebrows. Feeling your second high already approaching. You nod. Moaning in response. “Such a good girl”. He continues his pace. Leaning your head back as your thighs shake. Your second orgasm hitting you harder than the first one. He slows his fingers. Pulling them out of your pussy. You tilt your face to watch as he places one of the fingers into his mouth. “You taste amazing...” you half smile. The hand that was holding you up goes to your throat. Gently squeezing the sides “Open”. You do. Feeling him place his other finger onto your tongue. You suck your juices off. Hearing his soft moan in your ear. His hand moves from your throat to grasp your jaw. Turning you to face him as he kisses you. Tasting yourself and alcohol on his tongue. His hand goes back down to your throat. Kissing you still as he pushes his fingers back into you. You moan into his mouth. His thumb going to your clit as he rubs circles onto it. Fingers finding your g-spot as he sets a steadier pace this time.

You push your hips into his. Feeling this orgasm building slower but it seeming so much more erotic. The soft actions he has making it so much more enticing. Your hips finding a steady rhythm with his hands. You start to twitch around his fingers. He smiles, pulling away from you as he watches your face. His hand tightening around your throat as your third orgasm hits you. Body collapsing back into his as your legs give out. Your whole body shaking as the hand around your throat is the only thing keeping you upright. He moves his fingers out of you, gently moving his hand and letting your body drop onto the bed. Whining as he toys with your soaked pussy with his fingers. Teasing the entrance and your sensitive clit. You shut your legs. Sensitive from your previous orgasms. He chuckles softly. Hearing him undo his belt. He lifts your hips up. Feeling him push himself into you. He groans out as you whine. The sudden stretch being a shock but the over sensitivity soon turning into pleasure. Feeling him pawing at the flesh of your ass cheeks. Resting a hand on the lower of your back he begins thrusting. Hard. Fast. Into your soaked pussy. You grip the sheets. Moaning loudly with each thrust.

“So fucking tight” his hands gripping your hips as he smacks his into you. The sound of moans and skin filling the room. The neighbouring guests can defiantly hear you making the most impure sounds. But you don’t care. His cock is hitting you in all the right places and right now you feel like you’re on cloud 9. Then your fourth orgasm hits you. He holds your hips still as you shake against him. Your walls tightening around him as he grunts out. Pushing fully into you as he cums. You moan in satisfaction as you feel him fulling you up. His hands holding your hips up. Them being the only thing keeping you from falling onto the bed. He comes down from his high. Pulling out of you and lying next to you. You collapse onto the bed. Eyes fluttering open as you see him watching you. You smile at him. Shutting your eyes again

“What?”

“Am I not allowed to admire a masterpiece?” you playfully hit his shoulder, causing him to laugh softly. You then hear your phone buzzing. Ringing. You sit up. Looking around for your phone. He leans down. Grabbing it and handing it to you. Just as it buzzes off. “Who’s Jake?”

“A work friend”. You put your bra and pants back on. “Sorry I got to take this” you smile at him. You ring him back as you sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling Deans eyes watching you “Can I help you?”

“Oh thank god you aren’t dead”

“What do you mean I’m not dead?”

“I thought you gone after demon man and had killed you. Considering you should’ve messaged me back by now”

“Sorry. I got... occupied” Dean chuckles softly as he grabs his underwear and places them on himself.

“Please explain. Actually, don’t. I don’t want or need to know. Ew. Gross”

“I’ll look at the picture now” you put him on speaker phone as you get the picture up. You catch your breath. “Are you sure that’s our guy?”

“Yep. Watched the tape about 10 times. That’s our demon” your eyes glance at Dean quickly. Him distracted as he does up his belt. Your eyes dart back to the picture. CCTV footage of Dean Winchester, the man you had just slept with, with black eyes. Beating a man to death.

“Y-you sure?”

“Yes. God I may not be good at many things but something I am good at is electronics and finding out who the monsters are” you nod.

“Shit. Ok. I got to go” you hear him go to speak but hang up before any more words can be said. Dean’s soft, playful face has gone as he watches you. What was once a small smirk on his lips is now a sterner look. Meaner. You stand up. Grabbing your stuff as the shirtless man watches you “I um. I have to go and do some work things” he watches as you grab out a shirt and trousers from your bag. He stands up. Walking over to you. You freeze as he gently tilts your head to look at him. His thumb and forefinger holding your jaw

“Give me your phone” you nod. Handing it to him. “Good girl” he keeps a hold of your chin. Gently stroking your jaw with his thumb as he opens your messages. Chuckling as he reads the text your friend had sent you a few hours ago “This is the man we need to kill” he says outload before he points the phone towards you. The security video screenshot being of him. You push your lips together. “Tell me. What are you hunting?” you don’t say anything. He grips your throat. Slamming you into a wall. Your hands grip his arm. Fear going through your eyes as you try not to cry out. “Answer the fucking question”

“A demon. I-I’m going to go back to the bar... see if I c-can find him there though. Or her. That picture was from a few days ago so it’s probably not correct now” he smiles.

“See. We both know you’re lying. To me and yourself” he lets go of your throat as he reach into his jacket. You move away as he grabs out some sort of weapon. He goes back over to you. You hold your breath as he slams his hand next to your head causing you to jump. His body about a foot away from yours as he holds the blade up, his tongue dancing across his teeth as he meets your eyes. “Do you know what this is?” You shake your head “It’s the first blade. Meant to kill anything so long as the user has the mark of Cain” he motions at the scar on his arm. Running the edge of the blade over your cheek. Then over your collarbones. You feel yourself start to shake from fear, clenching your fists as way to try and control it

“Dean you need to fight this” he laughs.

“You think I’m possessed? I have some news for you. This is all me sweetheart”

“I don’t understand”

“Let’s just say my soul decided to join the dark side” he smiles at you. Running the blade down your front. Over your chest. Down your stomach.

“Pl-please don’t hurt me...”

“I thought you said you trusted me?” he chuckles “but I guess you trust any man that gives you attention for more than five minutes. Desperate for that male validation that your sweet old daddy didn’t give you” he smiles. You avoid his eyes. But he moves his face. Mockingly in front of yours. A smile on his face as his eyes search yours. “Oh sorry. Did that hit a sensitive topic?”

“I’m sorry about this” you knee him. Hard. Right in the crotch. He moves his arm. Keeling over slightly. Allowing you an easy exit from being caged against the wall. You grab your bag. Pulling out a gun and aiming it at him. He chuckles as he faces you

“Go on then” he walks over to you. You take a few steps back before your legs hit the edge of the bed. Forcing you to stop as he continues his strides. Taking the gun and placing the end of it on his chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you” you whisper out as he scoffs. Grabbing your hand and bending it backwards. Breaking it. You cry out in pain. Dropping the gun. But he doesn’t stop there. Continuing to twist your hand until you kneel onto the floor. “Please Dean. Don’t do this. I-” you stop. Looking up at him. He laughs. Kneeling down and grabbing your face with his hand. You bring your broken hand up to your chest. Your other hand grabs his wrist as he grips your jaw

“You what? Care for me? Love me?” he chuckles. Spite on his tongue “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you think I could ever love someone like you. Or the idea that saying those words would stop me from hurting you” he smiles. Bringing the blade to your stomach and pushing it in. You scream out. Eyes meeting his as his shine with joy. Tears fall down your cheeks as you try pushing him away. His face smiling as he twists the blade in you. You grab at his arm. Trying to push him away. He strokes the hair out of your face as he pulls the blade out. You fall onto your back. Hand going to your bleeding stomach. You try and crawl away. Towards the door but he grabs your leg. Dragging you back so you’re under him as he kneels down. Straddling you. Your good hand grabbing his wrist with the blade in. Pushing him away from you as best you can. Gripping your face as he turns it to face him, hand covering your mouth as he keeps you watching him “I want you to watch me as I kill you” he says. Moving the hand from your mouth and grabbing your hand. Pinning it above your head as he places the blade onto your chest. You struggle against him as he slowly pushes the knife into your chest. Watching as you scream out. Pain engulfing your body as you watch him above you before the world turns black.

TAGS

@sojuxxi

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fantastic-artemis · 9 months

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Hello besties I've started posting my IB How it Happened fic and I am so very excited about it. If you want to see all the meetings left out of the show, here's your poison. Now including copious movie nights, Gabriel forced to chase a drunk Beelzebub down the streets of Edinburgh lest they get into trouble (they do), and a guest appearance by Anna's Beez. Actual plot summary below, but please consider reading and subscribing for updates I will love you forever.

Half Agony, Half Hope (2420 words) by disenchantedphoenix Chapters: 1/16 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Gabriel (Good Omens), Minor Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), all the missing scenes between the meetings we saw, canon divergence at the very end (bc fuck Metatron), Beez thinks they're going to manipulate Gabe like a wily demon, they are not, they are going to fall hard, Nice Gabriel (Good Omens), drunk Beelzebub, Dancing, First Time, the sex starts off very sweet and gentle, bc Beez is very nervous as it turns out, Gabe takes care of them, the author is projecting, Movie Nights, Beez uses romance movies to try and woo Gabriel, it sort of works, also Beez cries multiple times, Beelzebub is STRESSED, they are having a rough time, Gabriel cries once, Jealous Beelzebub, Jealous Gabriel, guest appearance from Anna's Beelzebub in later chapters Summary: Lust was Beelzebub’s domain as a demon. Though they had never indulged in the activity themselves, they understood it to be addictive. Comforting. More importantly, they knew it was a good form of stress relief. They had no intention of stalling Armageddon (if it was indeed still coming). But they were not going to work their ass off for it anymore. The time would pass anyway. Might as well find a way to make the wait tolerable. Or, Beelzebub takes one look at Aziraphale and Crowley’s “Arrangement” and decides to make an arrangement of their own. Tricking an archangel into sin can’t be too hard, not when they have so much in common. Not to mention the endless paperwork and constant vigilance might be more tolerable if they could talk to the one person in creation who understands. And when it’s all said and done, Beelzebub will be the one laughing. Right?

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #me

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sitp-recs · 2 years

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Hi! Your blog has been the best thing that’s happened to me since starting on my Drarry journey.

My favorite headcannon is like, sexy Draco. Piercings, eyeliner, etc. do you have recs for that? Thank you!

Oh wow, thanks so much for the kind words! I definitely have a few recs with sexy Draco, hope you enjoy these:

The Art of Seduction by playout (2015, M, 2.3k)

Harry and Draco are Auror partners assigned to go undercover at a muggle gay bar frequented by drug-dealing wizards. Everyone knows Draco's gay, but that Harry has been nursing a crush on the pompous arse for years is not so well known. What could possibly go wrong?

Under Your Skin by @p1013 (2020, E, 4k)

He initials another section and flips the page. Being a junior Auror is a lot more grunt work than he expected, and the paperwork isn't even the worst of it. He's also managed to catch intake duty. It's getting close to 2 AM, there hasn't been a single arrest brought in tonight, and he's still got another six hours before his shift is over. Rubbing a hand over his face, he prays for something, anything, to make the interminable evening better.

I'm lying when I'm looking away by InnerLilith (2022, E, 6.7k)

Sometimes it takes a Purim party and a flapper dress for Harry to figure out what he likes. (Spoiler: He likes Malfoy.) Or: Come for the hamantaschen, stay for the sex.

Ocean Eyes by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 7k)

Pale skin. Grey eyes. Sleek hair. Some things are a constant in Harry’s life, and Malfoy is one of them. Until he isn’t—not the way he acts, and not the way he looks. It might take Harry a little while to get used to it, but eventually he decides that change can be good, too.

Sex on Legs in Six-Inch Heels by Tessa Crowley (2017, E, 9.6k)

Draco Malfoy is a brilliant freelance cursebreaker and the only one who can help the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a very dangerous case, but more importantly, he's wearing six-inch heels, and Harry cannot handle it, he really just can't.

What Have You Been Hiding Under Those Robes, Professor Malfoy? by @thebooktopus (2021, E, 15k)

After an accidental explosion in the Potions classroom, professors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have to utilize the emergency showers at the back of the classroom. Harry is surprised to find that prim & proper Draco is positively covered in tattoos. And… are those nipple piercings? You can probably tell where this goes.

In the Shape of Things to Come by @academicdisasterfic (2022, E, 15k)

Existential angst and chronic boredom are plaguing Harry Potter in his cushy post-war life. However, a chance encounter with a tattooed, pierced, disgruntled Draco Malfoy in the middle of Muggle Camden seems to spark something in Harry again—and he never could stay away from Malfoy.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by @wellhalesbells (2015, T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore (2016, E, 21k)

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something?

Ink (My Skin With Your Name) by Kandakicksass (2019, M, 22k)

Several years after the war, an ostracized Draco Malfoy covers himself in tattoos, becomes best friends with a muggle, and debates abandoning magical society entirely to work in a tattoo shop. All in all, he's having a hell of a time trying to figure out who he is and what he wants to do with his life. The last thing he needs is to run into Harry Potter, who seems intent on becoming his friend, even if he has to get a lot of ink to do it.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #sexy Draco

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kaesaaurelia · 7 months

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your turn with the brain cell

For @whumptober day 31, using the prompt "setbacks."

This is the last installment of this fic.

Continued from Day 4, wherein Aziraphale receives an unwanted gift of a memory-wiped angel Crowley who is collared and chained and cheerfully obedient, and a tiny bit of hope that the Crowley he knows still exists somewhere in that angel, Day 7, wherein Aziraphale asked Crowley provocative questions, and failed to get the answers he wanted, Day 17, wherein Crowley began to become physically affectionate, and Aziraphale couldn’t handle that, Day 21, wherein Aziraphale decided he couldn’t keep going with this, and came up with a dangerous plan, and Day 24, when Crowley suddenly found himself in possession of all his wits, and a happy, obedient, wrong version of Aziraphale, and was exasperated.

Content note for explicit discussion of sex, but only in the crossed-out portions, so it's fine, right?

I know you're going to be all upset about being back, but I just couldn't get access to the documents I needed with you all bubble-brained. I've enclosed all my notes and my current plan. Also, fair warning, I think the Metatron noticed something the first time you gave me all the responsibility for everything. I've chosen to do it while his schedule's busy, I think, but it's difficult to check when you're not there and I'm not supposed to be there, and I don't know exactly what he's noticing since no alarms seem to go off.

Also. I don't know what you meant by that 'you can do whatever you like with me' thing, but please don't be if you're going to be angry you were all over me and I made a guess about what exactly you meant by that, and I might have been too hasty. I know it's inexcusable if If you wanted to ditch me here I wouldn't blame you. But if you're willing to work with me I'll help, even if you're furious. I care a great deal for I'm not getting you any more books, though.

Good heavens lord Really, Crowley, what did you think I might've meant? I've no complaints whatsoever -- not with your behavior, anyway. I do wish I had more than fuzzy memories of In fact, I would appreciate if you hadn't kept turning the other me down on my account after that first time. Until I read your letter I assumed I wasn't very Of course, if you're not interested, that's one thing, but it seemed to frustrate you, and I know it frustrated other-me.

I wasn't able to get direct copies of the documents but I do hope you can read my notes, they're in shorthand. Also took the trouble of transcribing some of the things before and after in the records, they looked related, but then that officious fellow who's in charge of the scriveners came by and wanted to be Helpful so I had to make my excuses and flee. Noted down the locations and numbers I could recall of other things that looked useful, but Uriel's been on me for neglecting my duties so I haven't been able to get at them. Frankly, I think I do a better job when I'm not in, as it were, and I think we're going to need to hurry up with this, so I'm handing the reins back to you.

You were right about the Metatron being alerted, by the way, but I worked it out! He gave me a very nice pen when I started out, and, as the humans would say, it's bugged. But not for audio, it's got some sort of miracle sensor. Have enclosed it in a miracle-proof seal and I try to remember to feed it bits and pieces of miracle every time I do something innocuous, but I did a few experiments and I think it's been successfully secured. It's in the top drawer on the left, it's the white one with gold filigree, because of course it is.

Oh, and regarding the book situation, I don't think you understand. Voyage of the Dawn Treader is the best one! Please do kindly leave out The Last Battle, nobody likes it. Well, probably the Metatron does.

What part of "I'm not getting you more books" was I not clear about? I just happened to stumble across that Dawn Treader one the last time I had you go on a "fact-finding mission" to Earth but that's it. Also, isn't this the fellow who got a hold of all that correspondence from Hell? It was a great scandal Down There, Dagon got internal stoats for two months over it. Didn't think you'd enjoy novels by such a noted demonologist.

Thanks for the heads up about the pen, I think you were right. Haven't heard anything from him this last time, and I also did some fairly major workings on my own, you'll see what I mean in the notes. I've been asking you to feed it the decoy crumbs of miracles, since I don't know if there's any difference between our miracles anymore.

I think I've got a plan, but we're going to have to distract Michael and get her out of her office for, oh, probably an hour or so, depending. Maybe two. Can you pick locks? The human way, I mean. I'm a bit rusty on it myself. I've outlined the plan in my notes, let me know what you think of it.

On your request regarding things I am allowed to do with you, I hope I've been thanks for clarifying. Also, you don't need to be such a bloody gentleman about that sort of thing when Stupid Me gets all clingy. Just push me away or go with it, I thought it would be clear I was all right with that given what I'd done with you. Where did you get so good at giving head, anyway?

Let me know what you think about the plan.

C.S. Lewis was not a demonologist!

I like the plan. I've made some adjustments re: timing. Had a long meeting with Michael about battle strategies so I could study the case, and I don't think we need to pick the lock, one of us could just take the hinges on the top off with a screwdriver. I think it'd be easiest if you stood on a chair and did it, I'd need a stepladder otherwise, so I think you should be in charge for this.

I've drawn up extra copies of the documentation so if we need to switch off in a hurry we can do that, and I think I've got a way to get Michael out of her office for three hours at least, because that fellow who supervises the scriveners has Ideas he would like to share with her, and good gracious, he can talk forever and say almost nothing. I'm ready to set everything into action as soon as you sign off on the plan; once Michael's out of the office I'll sign things back over to you, and then we can get out of here. Does that sound good?

Regarding... liberties to be taken with our respective corporations, I also appreciated your clarification a great deal.

I think all that bending me over your desk and fucking me really clarified how much you appreciated the clarification, but I'm gonna need more clarification of the clarification because

Good thought about the screwdriver; I swiped one from maintenance, it's in my inside jacket pocket if you need it for anything, but try to remember to put it back before we go through with things.

I'm ready if you are. I expect to be in Michael's office next time I know what the hell is going on. I love Hope this works.

It's all on you, my dearest. Good luck.

There were alarms, and they were very noisy, and they were in Michael's office, and Aziraphale did not feel that any of this was how things were supposed to be. He watched Crowley for a bit; he seemed to be struggling with a large sword, trying to cut the chain that linked the two of them. On the wall was a clear plastic case that had been partially unscrewed, where, presumably, the sword had been hanging for millennia.

"I don't know if we're supposed to be doing this?" ventured Aziraphale, wringing his hands.

"Oh, we definitely are," said Crowley. "God told me to do it."

"Oh!" said Aziraphale. "Well. That's all right, then." He didn't much like the sirens but if Crowley said something was true you could rely on it. Crowley had never lied once. He probably ought to get out of the way, though, and he patted himself down for the book he'd been reading so he could do that more effectively. It had been very exciting. There'd been a sailing ship and a mouse with a sword, and -- "Oh dear, I think I left one of my books in your office. My office, I mean," he corrected, because Crowley told him he should always call it his office, even though he was sure it was meant to be the Supreme Archangel's office.

Crowley sighed, not looking up from his trouble with the chain and the sword. "I told you to gather those up," he said. He stepped on the blade of the sword, but it just flipped flat.

"Yes, but you said I could keep out the one I was reading, and I'm reading it, and --"

"Never mind that, angel, just -- could you stand over there?" said Crowley, "and -- and think about that awful collar?"

"Oh," said Aziraphale, stepping away to stand in the indicated corner. "I'm sorry. Have I done something wrong?" He hoped he hadn't. Crowley was so nice, and he was clearly having a bad day.

Crowley looked at him and sighed. "No, angel, I just need this chain to go taut, you're doing everything right. Hang on..." He raised the sword above his head and brought it down hard, and the chain shattered and sublimated into the air, and everything came back to Aziraphale all at once, and he staggered a bit.

"Fucking finally," said Crowley. "Aziraphale? Are you --"

"Yes, I am," said Aziraphale, thrilled beyond description to be looking at Crowley again -- his Crowley, the real Crowley, Crowley who was good for drunken conversations about dolphins and awkward questions about the nature of evil and, as it turned out, actual heist planning, as unlikely as that had seemed. "Oh, you did it!"

Crowley looked away. "We did it, I was just, all I did was --"

Aziraphale grabbed his tie and pulled him into an impulsive kiss. When Aziraphale released him, Crowley looked like he did not know what had just happened. Well. Served him right, Aziraphale decided.

"Right." Crowley shook his head. "Anyway. You. Er. You take the sword, you know how to use it." He pressed Michael's sword into one of Aziraphale's hands, then grabbed the other one, and hurried toward the door. "Come on!"

They ran through the half-empty corridors of Heaven with wild abandon. Crowley, laughing like a maniac, nearly collided with three angels carrying stacks of paperwork and ran into a fourth on the way to the lifts. Aziraphale hurried to keep up, flailing a bit as he clung to the stolen sword, but if anyone looked askance at them he made it very clear he was going to use it on anyone who tried anything with him. The lift doors closed just in time for them to see Michael run out of the archives, look around wildly, and spot them.

"Well," said Crowley, "she's not going to be having a very good day. Or week. Or eon."

"Good," said Aziraphale. The serene downward motion of the lift felt bizarre after their giddy run through Heaven.

"About, um. When you..." Crowley said.

Aziraphale put the sword safely away into a different layer of reality. "When I what?" Crowley's expression was so serious.

"It's just." Crowley swallowed, and tried to say something, and gave up, and then grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him, and Aziraphale kissed back, pushing Crowley back into the wall of the lift with one hand flat on his chest, parting his lips for Crowley's tongue. It was a good kiss, and thrilling, and much better than the ones he'd had with Not Crowley.

The lift opened, and they parted reluctantly, hurrying to where they'd left their getaway car. It wasn't the Bentley -- Aziraphale had insisted it would be too recognizable, lovely as it was. But he'd let Crowley pick a modern car, so it was a sleek silver Aston Martin.

"Still a bit upset with you about the whole... redemption thing," said Crowley, holding the door for him.

Aziraphale sighed. "I think that's fair."

Crowley hurried around the car and got into the driver's seat. "But, you know, I could probably see my way to forgiving you," he said, pulling the door shut. He pulled Aziraphale in for another, much more heated kiss, and suddenly Aziraphale decided that this late model Aston Martin had, to its surprise, a bench seat with no glovebox in the front, just like 1926 Bentleys did, so it was very easy, actually, for Crowley to pull him into his lap, and very easy for Aziraphale to put his arms around Crowley.

"Oh? Do you really think you could?" Aziraphale asked, as Crowley kissed down his jaw.

"Mm. Maybe. Eventually," Crowley muttered against his neck. "Could see my way to it. S'pose we've got to get away with this first, though." He began to loosen Aziraphale's bowtie.

Over Crowley's shoulder, as Crowley was cupping his arse with almost proprietary interest, Aziraphale saw three or four people in the beiges and whites of Heaven run past frantically. "I think we had better get out of here first, my dear," he said, reluctantly pulling himself out of Crowley's embrace. "But I'm happy to give you my very best apology as soon as we're somewhere safer."

Crowley grinned at him. "I'll certainly consider it," he said, starting the car, "but it might take a few tries before I'm willing to accept."

As the car pulled out, Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley's knee. "And I'm willing to try as many times as it takes."

#whumptober2023 #no.31 #setbacks #good omens #fic #nsfwhump #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #text #fiction #kaesa op

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destielhasmedead · 3 years

Text

This is a post about Dean having undiagnosed ADHD by a person who has diagnosed ADHD. Therefore, I’m not a doctor and not an expert, but I know how I react and see many of those qualities in Dean.

Typical things that go along with ADHD are:

Hyperactivity

Hyperfocusing

Stimming

Hyperfixations

Impulsivity

Emotional dysregulation

Black or white thinking

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

Trouble maintaining friendships/relationships

Substance abuse

Risky behaviors in general and sexual

*some of these also go along with other neurodivergencies- Ex. Stimming and Hyperfixations. This post is about his ADHD and not another disorder. And not all are needed to have ADHD Ex. I tend to not struggle with substance abuse.*

I’ll just go down the list:

So hyperactivity

This can be seen through fidgeting, restlessness, being talkative, and the inability to sit still.

In this example, it takes Dean quite literally 20 seconds before he gets bored and moves his attention, https://youtu.be/o1eL-3BJihg?t=20 (watch up to 40 seconds)

The clip below shows Sam typing and Dean having to sit in a chair and wait. Dean starts making noises and in less than a minute he is up and leaving to go somewhere else.

https://youtu.be/zvy_IKIHH5k

This might also be an example of stimming.

The definition off google is: “behavior consisting of repetitive actions or movements of a type that may be displayed by people with developmental disorders”

In the video, it is known as a vocal stim.

When Dean gets excited he is also known to stim - at the time I stamped in the link below, you can see his hands wave/tap at the railing. People with ADHD feel emotions more strongly than others do. This is why he may seem happier than usual when he gets pie (when it’s something he has regularly), or in this case, celebrate a holiday.

https://youtu.be/b82JDE0d6C0?t=29

Many of these can go together, such as you may stim when hyperactive, or stim because you feel strong emotions. So, with that in mind, I’m going to bring up emotional dysregulation.

Same as feeling extreme happiness, he also gets angrier over things that could be managed differently.

I hate to do it to you, but I have to bring up the prayer scene.

https://youtu.be/tcNVxm8HAXM?t=89

Specifically, the part where he talks about controlling it. Here is a part from the transcript if you don’t want to watch

“I – Ohh. I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it. No matter how – [Sniffles] how bad I want to, I just can't stop it.”

He is struggling to manage it. It’s an impulse.

And that’s what I’ll talk about next.

Dean is known to get mad, but there are other forms of impulses. Such as his tendency to make rash decisions and just go out on hunts without backup, or make a deal for Sam without thinking through the consequences, or through any part of it really. Also, besides his life, his relationships are also put in jeopardy.

He unnecessarily risks his life when if he waited for Sam or Cas he would be okay.

Risk-taking occurs because of the dopamine deficiency in ADHD minds. For him, these risks often are seen through him making deals for others at the expense of himself.

Part of this risk-taking revolves around sex

He seeks the dopamine high that comes out (sorry no pun intended but) of these situations. Dean has only had a few more long-term sexual relationships, but even those ended fairly quickly. He is prone to one night stands.

Okay, I’m going to switch gears to hyperfocusing and hyperfixations

The difference is the state.

Hyperfocus: This is a highly focused attention that lasts a period of time, but then ultimately goes away. Dean is typically in this state when working on Baby or when they are going after something. Or, how he spent hours building the Malak box.

https://youtu.be/YAkIQb7Xtzo (peep the gay moment)

This is also a state in which someone with an ADHD mind is able to be less distracted and stay on that task.

Hyperfixation: Is being immersed or obsessed with one subject or activity.

So, I can hyperfocus on a hyperfixation.

Some of Dean’s fixations are cowboys and old westers, cars, cult horror movies, and cartoons.

This can be seen in Scoobynatural when Dean knew exactly what was supposed to happen in the episode and things about the characters Sam, who also watched the show hadn’t known.

https://youtu.be/yWRZsq8nQT8?t=221

As well as the numerous times Dean has information on cowboys- one example:

https://youtu.be/nIsxiYkoBKk

Substance Abuse: It’s no secret Dean struggles with alcoholism. ADHD is 5 to 10 times more common among adult alcoholics. I don’t have much to say on this subject, since it’s very obvious he has issues with it. And again, these issues are more relevant for people with ADHD because of the impulsivity, and behavior problems that may occur.

RSD or Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria: The definition is “a condition in which a person feels extreme emotional sensitivity and pain due to perceived or actual rejection, teasing or criticism”.

Say what you will, but Dean is a very emotional person. Typically, he shows his pain or sadness through anger or alcoholism. Any time Sam does something small, he takes it personally. He gets mad at Cas and feels betrayed for seemingly small mistakes, that for him feel huge.

RSD also contributes to his difficulty maintaining friendships and relationships: He pushes people away when things get hard and before they can get too close to him.

This is shown when he erases Lisa and Ben’s memories. https://youtu.be/rTBCWT9c9lo?t=159

As soon as things might get hard he leaves before they can get mad or reject him.

Black or white thinking: Or, also known as all or nothing thinking, means that an individual thinks in extremes. Your mind doesn’t recognize the shades of grey. It wasn’t really until season 6 or 7 when Dean started to sometimes accept the grey area. But, that was a hard lesson to try and learn.

He saw good and evil - monster and human. Meeting Benny, and later the good that came from Rowena and Crowley helped.

Even with Jack though, even though he hadn’t met the kid, he saw only one half of him. He deemed him to be bad, cause in his mind he can’t see the grey part, which in this case is “he’s half-angel, half-human. But, that doesn’t define his character”.

Overall, in my opinion, this is enough to convince me Dean has ADHD, but, now you can decide for yourself. :)

*these are only some examples - there are more I did not include because this has already taken me 2 weeks to finish*

#i spent 20 minutes highlighting the words in colors #so thanks tumblr for deleting it #anyway enjoy #supernatural #dean winchester #adhd #adhd dean #jensen ackles #spn headcanon

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finaledenialist · 4 years

Note

so in one of your asks you said you dont think cas was in love with dean since the beginning and idk its interesting to me because everyone seem to think he was from the start so what is your take on that? idk im just curious haha

ohhh I wanted to make a post about this so thanks for asking!

disclaimer: I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade I just have a different take on this whole thing!!!

So. I see people are like: OMG he was in love ALL THIS TIME SINCE 4x01 and I am like: no.

Was he lost since he laid his hand on Dean in hell? Yes. Was he instantly in love? Nah.

See, Cas in season 4 and 5 is starting to feel. He is conflicted, he is questioning, he doesn’t have ‘people skills’, he is confused by what he feels, he knows there is a ‘profound bond’ between him and Dean and he is rebelling for Dean, because Dean has a point and Cas feels Dean is right and apocalypse and destruction are wrong, and this human is so human and he never had that connection before. Add the sexual innuendos, the eye fucking and the tension between those two and this is what i call ‘classic destiel’. I do have a strong feeling this is partly Jensen’s and Misha’s fault though haha but I am also convinced that the jokes like ‘Cas, get out of my ass!’/’Blow me Cas’ are purely for ‘comedic purposes’ because haha gay so funny (keep in mind it’s still 2008/2009 and things were so different then BUT we still got Endverse which had not only sexual stuff implied but romantic as well - ‘all we have left, Dean and I, is each other, if Dean says it’s time to go in a blaze of glory, so be it’ (I am writing this from memory so these might not have been exact lines but you know what I am talking about).

And then in season 6 and 7 is where things start to get romantic. ‘I watched you rake leaves’, Dean’s blind faith that no, Cas can’t be working with Crowley behind their backs because come on it’s Cas and the whole 6x20 episode is *chief’s kiss* and then season 7 and Cas dies to make things right and Dean keeps his trenchcoat and moves it from every car they have been using that season to always have it with him because part of me always believed you’d come back. OK, but I was meant to be talking mostly about Cas’ point of view. Which takes me back to 7x23 and I’d rather have you, cursed or not. I think these words had a major impact on Cas. Something just clicked. Because he realized that he could say these exact same words to Dean and they still would be true.

And then we got season 8 which was a major shift and it really moved stuff from ‘sexual tension’ to ‘romantic tension’ and it’s still called ‘season fanfiction’ because I wanted to keep them away from you in purgatory and Cas generally not feeling worthy of anything but I think this is when he started to realize that what he feels is not like ‘brotherly friendship’ but something much deeper but he had his issues (I don’t deserve to be saved from purgatory thing) so he kind of kept it buried. But this was when the Real Love really started. But did he admit it to himself? Well I am not in Cas’ head but something must have been on his mind - Naomi had access too his mind and she immediately recognized that there is a certain Feeling that is dangerous and Cas needs to be fucking lobotomized (I still have shivers thinking about it). Did Naomi knew it was love? Idk, but she felt something was going on - that is why she tried to mess things up between Dean and Cas (I only wish he felt the same way ouch my heart....) and Metatron also recognized it, quicker and better (maybe because he spent much more time on earth and was generally a little more powerful and knowing as the scribe of God) and he immediately used Cas’ grace to banish angels from heaven because Cas was feeling love for a human. But did he, himself recognized it as love? Did he admit it to himself? I still have a feeling that no. I still think that his ‘I don’t know’ after Dean’s ‘What broke the connection?’ was honest.

Now let me fast forward to season 12, because this post is getting too long already and while seasons 9-11 had some good episodes and even good destiel scenes I feel this was the time many people - rightly so - were starting to lose faith in canon destiel, starting with Dean not letting Cas stay in the bunker in season 9 and bros acting like they only call Cas when they need him. I repeat - there were still some good episodes, even great ones. And we were shown Cas worried about Dean and being there for him anytime Dean called, there was so much pining but once again let me raise The Question: did Cas know what he was feeling was love? Or was he still confused, not letting himself believe, not being able to name his own feelings and emotions? And this is merely my opinion but this is also time where many people started to be bitter and negative by how writers treated Cas (and other characters in general but I am not gonna dive into that dumpster now, especially the Cas-having-sex-with-a-reaper thing which was awful, but in retrospect is even more awful because if it was Chuck’s writing this seems like some kind of sick attempt to do a conversion therapy and I want to throw up; plus he thought? he was into his boss at gas’n’sip and he thought she was into him and what even was it if not a. bad writing; b. Cas being confused; c. Cas being confused about this bad writing).

So season 12. First of all 12x12, when Cas thought he is gonna die and the infamous line ‘I love you. I love all of you’ happened. I am 100% sure this is when Cas realized. This must have prompted questions for him. Why did I say what I said? He blurted those words out but why like that? Aaaand after some thinking I think he realized why. He must’ve been like ‘oooops’. But then Jack was about to be born and he had to protect Kelly and then he died.

And then he is in the Empty who says - I know who you love, I know what you fear, there is nothing for you out there. She doesn’t know shit, she just has access to Cas’ mind and apparently those were his thoughts, already at that time, he thought there was nothing for him out there (again, his depression issues) BUT THEN CAS, MY SWEET CAS, THIS BAD ASS MOTHERFUCKER says fuck you Empty in one of his best monologues (before 15x18 I’d say it was his best but here we are) and she yeets him out, because HE decided HE is already saved and he doesn’t need a permission and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.

And then Jack dies and he takes the humiliating deal. And now we’re at 15x18 and he says: ‘I have always wondered.... ever since I took that burden.... What my true happiness can even look like... Because the one thing I want is the one thing I can’t have’. SEE THESE WORDS HERE ARE WHY I CAN’T SLEEP AT NIGHT. BECAUSE THEY IMPLY at least to me THAT:

1. He was aware of his feelings, he knew what he felt was love at the time he took the deal. and after that he was like ‘I guess I am immortal now’ because the one thing I want is the one thing I can’t have so nothing else is going to make him truly happy; this also implies that there is only one thing he truly wants and the rest is just not that important, whatever else happens won’t make him happy which is heartbreaking;

2. He knew what he wanted, so this means that at some point he wondered, he imagined, he took his time to picture the ‘thing’ he wanted. Which is life with Dean. Because he is in love. LIKE HE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS, HE REALLY DID AND HE CONCLUDED THAT THIS IS OUT OF HIS REACH (now people argue if that is because he thinks it’s unrequited or because he thinks that something something hunter life-fighting all the time-no attachments lifestyle won’t allow them to have this sort of life - and frankly, knowing that he learned everything, or almost everything about emotions from Dean, who isn’t really good at them, I am not surprised if he is sure that this feeling is one-sided, because maybe he conquered his fears in the Empty the first time around but taking the deal must have made him anxious and Chuck still calls him self-hating so he probably thinks this is one-sided and he is unworthy of love anyway);

3. He tried to imagine different scenarios that would make him happy but eventually it all came down to That One True Scenario, out of his reach, that couldn’t compare with anything else, and he tells Jack - you know about that deal, it’s ok, I don’t see myself becoming happy anytime soon AND IT HURTSSS

so to conclude and tl;dr - I think Cas realized that what he was feeling was love after 12x12 although he felt it before but might have been confused by it. I do not think he was ~in love~ since 4x01. There was tension and there was pining but no. This feeling evolved, it didn’t *just* happen in the barn.

also i am so sorry this took so long but i have thoughts and feelings and can’t form a coherent sentence since november 5th anyway thanks for asking nonny, ily!!!!

#ask #asks #anon #long post #destiel is endgame #cas is in love #everything is beautiful but it hurts #spn 15x18 #spn spec #spn speculation #Anonymous

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cherripeach · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is "I have the power of god and anime on my side, don't mess with me," and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it.Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 3-5: I wanna take a nap

Chapter Summary: Was everyone in this school an evil bratty child or was it just you?

Warnings: jokes about death(I think) and committing crimes and curse words, some sex jokes (but not the bad ones; middle school boys comments and stuff)

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: Pending twst x reader

Two boys-you assumed-were chasing after the cat, and while neither of them seemed to be very athletic, the cat really was not either. The cat kept bumping into its own fire and having to turn away, or trying to blast fire at the two chasing him and almost tripping both himself and the other two boys. The cat did end up getting chased into a corner after almost tripping the two boys, and the smaller of the two raised up a pen or pencil looking object and screamed the words “Off with your head.” The only thing that passed through your mind was that you need to get out of here.

After the boy screamed, a red light appeared from the top of the pen and was soon directed straight toward the cat. The cat horror-struck backed up as far as he could and even climbed a few inches up the wall to move away from the beam of light heading toward it. The beam smacked the cat into the wall and caused him to fall from his position onto his butt and falter in any movement. Once the light cleared, there was an obvious difference in the cat’s appearance. A red and white collar had shown up around his neck, and the cat still dazed to notice it screamed out, “Nughab! The heck is this thing?”

You mumbled out, “Kinky…”

“Law of the Queen of Hearts Number 23: ‘One shall never bring a cat into a festival.’ You being a cat means you’ve broken the rule. I shall have you leave at once,” Here we have another member of the crowd who also thought the creature was a cat, but apparently, this disappointed child also has the numbers of the rules for something memorized, and that threw you off. He straightened himself once he noticed that the cat was caught within the collar and put his pen away in his coat that you just noticed everyone was wearing.

You surveyed yourself to see what you were wearing and realized that it was the same thing, only leading your mind to one conclusion: “This has to be some kind of cult…” you mumbled the phrase so that anyone close by could not question your thought process, but this school and world just happened to get worse and weirder the more you looked around.

“...I'ma burn this collar right up and... ehhh I can’t use my fire!” You caught the rest of the cat’s declaration, and both him and you were in absolute awe for what the collar had apparently accomplished.

“Hmph!” The disappointed child straightened his back even more and tilted his face up toward the ceiling a little, “You won’t be using any magic until I remove the collar. Just like an ordinary cat”.

“Whh-what? I’m not some pet!” The cat was having none of it. He was clawing at the collar on his neck and pulling it as much as he could just sitting in place next to the wall in his time out corner.

“Don’t worry, I’d never keep a pet like you,” the kid really just can’t help himself can he, “I’ll take it off anyway when you get thrown out.” He turned away from the cat and began to walk back to the center of the room where the sus headmaster in the top hat who for a weird second kinda reminded you of Willy Wonka stood and fumed over the past events.

Once the kid began walking, the other male chasing the cat spoke up, “Wow, as wonderful as ever. Any and all magic gets sealed by your Unique Magic, Riddle,” the male even threw his arms out to match his display of amazement only to pull them pack in a second later to place one hand on his chin while the other held his elbow to his chest to allow the male to mutter some words to himself. The taller male then pivoted around and sauntered to follow the smaller male. Both of them held this formal air covered in arrogance, and you wanted nothing to do with either of them.

The end of their conversation must have halted the top hat headmaster because he straightened himself up and glanced at the crowd only pausing his eye movement when they reached you. He kept both of his eyes on you while he strode over to your wall. Your day could apparently get worse.

“You must do something about this! It is your familiar!” the man made hand gestures to point at you in his furry, and you decided that maybe now is the time you should speak up.

“Sir, with all due respect, stop assuming things,” this man was worse than some teenagers and teachers you have met, so you shut him up, “Please tell me when I told you that he was my familiar,” your flicked your hands and continued, “whatever that is, because I am clearly lost.”

“So it’s not yours?” The man put his hand to his chin and closed his eyes either to calm himself down or figure everything out.

“Yep. Never seen it before it asked me to strip” Please let this man listen for once.

“Ah, um You did.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, let's get it out of the school. We won't turn you into a stew. For I am gracious. Someone help, please.”

Several of the students crowded around the cat until finally two came out holding the cat who was yelling the entire time. He was a little too desperate to just stay in this school.

You broke off from the masked man’s lecture for a second until another voice joined the conversation.

“That’s not different from usual, is it?” You were lost as one of the taller of the five males from earlier spoke up. He was a half furry, but you had no clue what that was called again and you would rather not know.

“What?” The sun graced everyone with its presence, “Did nobody tell him about the ceremony?” His features turned into a sorrowful, sour look from his normal bright and upbeat feature; he even glanced around at all of the others who surrounded the masked male. You noticed that all of them were the five from earlier, not including the tablet.

“If you are going to complain, you should’ve done it yourself.” Another one of the tall gang of the five males spoke up; however, this one was the exact opposite of the half furry. He was incredibly put together and more breathtaking than anyone you have ever been in the same room in. The male must be the ruler of self care, even if he did give you arrogant vibes.

“Hmm. But I don’t really know anything about the guy.” The sun appeared guilty at his statement.

The people which you forgot about broke out into chatter about a man who was named something like ‘Malaus Drakconia’ or something like that, but you had no clue who he actually was or how to actually spell his name. All of the chatter stopped when another male, much smaller than most of the five males, strolled into the room through the double doors.

“I was correct. I thought he might come but ‘Malaus’ really didn't. It seems the invitation "never arrived" again.” The small male shook his head and sighed gently after entering the room.

The males in the middle all exchanged glances before two emerged: the two from before; the ones that were chasing after the cat.

“My deepest apologies. I promise, we didn't intend to exclude you.” The taller male closed his eyes and appeared apologetic.

“His aura makes it hard to approach him,” The shorter male just can’t stop himself.

You just had to butt in because no one was taking this seriously; you walked up from your wall to meet with the group in the middle, “Yo, dude that’s really not right. I mean what has he ever done wrong to ya?” Some teenagers just weren’t for you, and so you apologized to the new face that entered. “Tell the dude he has my condolences or something.”

The short new face just stared through your soul for the next couple of minutes, not blinking, but he finally did cough and twist away from you to face a group of students. “It’s not your fault child, but it is all right.” He took about three steps. “Members of the Diasomnia Dormitory can come with me… I hope this doesn't upset him.”

You in your brilliance decided to cup your mouth and scream out to the male leading the first group out, “Tell the dude that if he needs someone to talk to, I’m freeee! I hope he feels better!”

You even heard a slight chuckle from the group. And slowly all the groups left; most making eye contact with you, but you just carried on trying to think of how expensive the clothes you had one were; you rubbed the sleeve and found out that they were made of a fabric resembling silk.

Crowley, from what you remembered, sauntered up to you once the room was clear and both of you began to conjure in your head and make a conversation about what was going to happen:

“While I normally would have you leave this school, I do not know where you are from. Would you mind stepping up to the mirror to find out. There is no need to worry. The Dark Mirror will send you directly back from whence you came. Enter the Gate, and picture your home clearly in your mind... “ The male pushed you to the mirror again, and you thought of your home for as long as you could. You even heard him mumble words back and forth with the mirror when you were lost in thought.

However, a surprised noise came out of the man’s mouth and your mind buffered to process everything because both Crowley’s and the mirror’s gaze, if you would even call it that, were stuck on you.

“This is the first time this has ever happened since I became headmaster, what should I do?” You held contact with his weird mask eyes for as long as you could before you swerved your gaze to the mirror. “Are you positive that is where you are from? And that you have never heard of Twisted Wonderland, Night Raven College, anything?” He was moving closer to you at an extremely fast rate causing you to discreetly walk back to your wall.

“Yeah, sir, why would I ever lie about that? All of this seems like a weird movie for me.” You just could not believe how little this “headmaster” or whatever believed you.

“Our best option is to go to the Library and do some research. Come and join me.” Headmaster Crowley twirled around making his cloak follow his mystical movements like some fairy or evil villain and started to make his way out of the room.

You just as confused as before followed after him, wondering if anything in this world would ever make sense.

~~~~

After around an hour of scouring through books in the odd library you were in earlier, you and the headmaster both decided to take a break.

“Can you please believe me now?” You slumped in a chair and groaned as loud as you could for as late as it was and even massaged your forehead, just hoping the man would get your point.

“You are correct. There is nothing about your hometown anywhere…” The male halted his speech and glanced back at the books, “There is also a possibility you are from another world.”

“What a nice thing to say to the tired, lost teenager,” and you stopped your speech to turn to him and point at him, “That you are in charge of.” You could not believe this man, and so you deflated while he carried on with his speech.

“Did you have anything on you when you came here?”

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes out of his view.

“Do you have any identification, like a license for a magic car, name on a shoe... You appear to be empty-handed?”

Another shake and a hand placed back on your forehead, and you noticed that he was probably going to go back into one of his speeches when he stood up taller and paused speaking for a second.

“This is concerning…..My graciousness is limitless! I am a model for all educators.We had better be on our way. Let's head to the dormitory. It may be a bit old but there is a certain charm to it.” Apparently, you were going to stay in a dormitory. Always a new surprise with this man.

And you two were off again through the halls and outside to your new stay in this world, but from how terrible the place was on the outside, this was not a luxury resort.

It was a four or more story house accompanied by a broken gate guarding the house, spider webs on all of the molded dead trees, broken shutters, even broken window, and to top it off just an overall haunted vibe to the place. This was where smart, sane people in life would avoid; this was just the trap for those characters in haunted movies, and you were just hoping to find a peaceful place to sleep in it tonight.

Crowley must have caught your staring at the dorm and ushered you inside, “Right, right. Please come inside.”

You can confidently say that the inside of the dorm was incredibly worse than the outside; the streets might be a better option if you took into account all of the health hazards in just this room alone.

Crowley did not seem to agree, “Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain.”

You hoped to interject, “Isn’t there somewhere el-”

“I'm going back to do more research. Make yourselves at home. Don't go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” This man was going to be the death of you or the reason you commit murder.

The lounge area was terrible: almost everything was broken and covered in dust, including the walls, ceiling, and floor. This area was not fit for a person to live in, and even if you tried your best it might never be.

But of course with your luck streak, Crowley saying that it would rain had to come true. “Are you kidding me now!” You threw your hands up in the air and then grabbed your head and tried not to commit arson. “Nothing is ever going to go my way here, will it?”

Thunderstruck.

“At least you are on my side…” You gazed out the cracked window expecting it to break soon.

The thunderstorm caused more problems in your new dorm than it should have. The building would shake, as would the windows, and it allowed more damage than before. However, it appears that you are not alone with a caterwaul screech from behind you.

“Hyyyi! It’s really coming down!” And located on your broken couch was the cat from before. He was apparently a gift from someone, who probably was laughing at you, for you with how often he was popping up.

“What are you doing here?” You probed in an apathetic tone as you both deadpanned and glared at the cat.

“Gyhaha! You've got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun! I'll have no trouble sneaking back into school. Come on, come on. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you've got another thing coming!” The cat gabbed just as long as the headmaster.

Your day could somehow get worse, “Honestly, I don’t care. Please don’t cause problems or I’ll kick you out.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t understand, but I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But...Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this.So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world, humans just don't get it.” This cat might be annoying, but the sob story does make you pity him a little. That is if he started acting kinder and not like an annoying pretentious kid.

Now that you look at him, he resembled a small child disappointed that they did not get what they wanted, but you had sympathy for him. He never mentioned a family or had anyone who cared about around him. He seemed lonely. He wanted to get into school which honestly you don’t know why anyone would want to go to school, but people had their priorities.

A water droplet hit the cat, “Nyaa! So cold! The roof is leaking!”

Another drop.

“Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!” He pulled down his ears closer to his eyes and met your gaze.

“Fine, fine. I’ll get a bucket..” You uttered going to look around the building and ignored any more retorts the cat came up with.

You exited the living room and entered a hallway with a flight of stairs going up, and the rest of the house mirrored the living room and outside by how disgusting and hazardous it is. There was even a gigantic spider web spreading the top of the hallway, and the wallpaper was coming off and covered in mold.

“This is a great time for the first kill in a horror movie,” in this situation talking to yourself helped calm you down.

That is until three ghosts appear. All of different sizes and heights, and they look incredibly familiar like from a movie or something.

“Hihihihi…. Ihihihihi…We haven't had a guest in so long...I'm itching for some action. Ihihihihi!” Frozen in your spot, you watched as the ghosts chuckled and floated closer to you.

“Um, sorry, but like…. What?” You became more disoriented as the day went on., and this topped the cake.

The cat was not on your wavelength and followed you out of the living room and into the hallway only to freeze at the sight of the three ghosts.

“Gyaaaaaaaa!!!! G-g-g-g-ghoooooooooooootts!!” The cat bawled before he darted to cling onto your cloak.

The shortest ghost found amusement out of the cat’s reaction, “The people living here got scared of us and left…”

So did the largest ghost, “We’ve been looking for more ghost pals. How about you guys?”

“Dudesss, chill down. We are not here to hurt you.” You tried to placate both the ghosts and the cat clinging onto you, but nothing ever went your way.

The cat leaped out from behind you looking as ferocious as a duckling, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn't scared of some ghosts!!!” and blew fire at the wall, “Punahhh ~ ~ ~ nnn!!”

The ghosts were having fun with the cat as the tall one asked “Where are you aiming?” and the largest one ran around the hallway area chanting “Over here, over here!”

Apparently Grim-the cat- was actually taking this seriously or did not like getting teased, “Shoot! Stop disappearing!” He continued to blast fire in all directions, most not even where the ghosts were.

You were not going to put up with his attitude so you made a deal with him wanting him to either shut up or do his job right, “Grim or whatever, either you get a move on and listen to me or I’ll tell the headmaster that you are here so that a red collar can be placed on you again and get you kicked out on the streets.”

“Ughhhh, buttt.. I’m a genius.” Grim ran around the area but paused as another ghost came up behind him. “Bunch of cowards ganging up on us! Fine,” Grim circled around to face you, “tell me where the ghosts are!”

“To your left!” Helping Grim would never be easy, but you somehow made it work.

“I hit it! Alright, let’s get them all outta here!” Like a child, he bounced over the fact that he did something right.

And like a child you could not wait to take a nap.

~~~~~

um like exams such so there was that, but thanks for reading and I hope you have a nice day! Next chapter should be out around Monday or so.. maybe.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst grim #twst crowley #dire crowley #twst #disney twst #twst x reader

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wolfywordweaver · 3 years

Text

Absolute Boyfriend chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

-----

Grey eyes blinked blearily against the soft light of sunrise as Basilton tried to figure out why the hell his curtains were open. It was a Saturday. A movement at his side caught the young lawyer’s attention and he lazily lolled his head over to take in the glorious sight of the sun.

Not the flaming ball of gas that was a bane to his skewed sleep cycle, but the bronze god that had taken residence in his bed from their first night together. Blue eyes practically sparkled as Simon finished stretching and rolled over next to Baz.

“Mornin’ darling,” he whispered far too happily and coherently for that hour of the day. “I’ll bring you some breakfast.” With an affectionate kiss to Baz’s cheek he rolled off the bed and made his way to the kitchen while humming Mozart.

Baz watched him for a moment before rolling over and shoving a pillow over his head. Saturday. They had survived almost a full week together already. It had been an eventful week and Basilton was debated on whether he could get away with ignoring the box full of papers sitting on his desk at home for the full weekend. He usually just worked at home on these two days, but having that lively bastard bouncing around so energetically had completely ruined his schedule.

He chuckled into the sheets as he remembered Simon’s affronted face at being relegated to the spare bedroom that first night.

“But I’m your boyfriend!” he demanded incredulously. “How can I please you if I’m in a whole other room?”

“Plenty of boyfriends don’t live together,” Baz had pointed out.

“But I’ll be lonely,” Simon rebutted with a pout. An actual, Crowley be damned pout.

“You’ll live.”

It had only taken 15 minutes of Simon’s distressed puppy noises before Baz had relented and allowed the robot into bed with him with the strict instructions that it was to remain in pajamas for 100% of the night and was not to try any handsy (or other) moves on him while he was sleeping.

That apparently hadn’t forbidden cuddling, because the first thing Simon did when they got under the sheets was to pull Baz against his chest and nuzzle against his neck. It was completely ridiculous! Baz was at least three inches taller than the robot and he almost began complaining but...but it felt nice.

Having been activated, Simon was now pleasantly warm all over, and it was a warmth that easily soaked through Baz’s perpetually cold skin. The neck nuzzling never escalated, and embarrassingly quickly the young man found himself completely zonked out.

They had shared a bed every night since then, and Basilton had to admit (to himself) that he had never slept better in his entire life. It helped that Simon was very persuasive and could pull him away from his mountains of paperwork almost laughably easily.

And true to his word, Simon was an excellent cook and housekeeper. The kitchen was stocked with fresh fruits, veggies, and more for the first time since Basilton had moved in, and he had fresh food ready when he came home. The past week had also been the first time Baz had come home at a decent hour consistently.

Their first week together wasn’t without hiccups though. Basilton had rushed home that first full day with Simon because he was worried that the robot might have wandered off or gotten bored. (He later learned that Simon came with a tracking device that he could view via the app.) Upon getting home he was shocked (treated) with the view of a very naked Simon on the dining table wrapped in a bow and surrounded by freshly prepared leftovers.

It had taken years off his life (and required a cold shower after things had settled) but after talking through a few more boundaries they were able to enjoy dinner and then made a quick shopping trip to supply Simon with whatever he wanted.

The grocery run had been nerve-wracking for Baz as he worried that someone would recognize he was walking next to a robot worth millions of dollars or that they would make the connection that Simon was a sex bot. But no one had, and it didn’t take Baz long to finally relax enough to enjoy the errand.

“Here you go, darling,” Simon greeted as he settled next to Baz on the bed. “I’ve put a cuppa on your table and I’ve got some breakfast on a tray for you here.”

The pillow was gently pulled off of Baz’s mussed head and a warm hand worked at his already-tense shoulders. “Mmmmph.”

Simon chuckled and ran a fond hand over the tangled hair. “Any big plans for the day, Mr. Lawyer?” he teased. “Or could I maybe take my handsome boyfriend out for a date?”

“Hmmmnnnmm.”

With another laugh, Simon carefully laid himself over Baz and rubbed at his ribs in warning of an impending tickle attack. “Come on, Baaaaz! You’ve been working so hard all week, let me take you out!”

Pulling his face away from the mattress, Baz gave a half-hearted sneer. “I don’t need rest.”

Simon smooshed a very wet and sloppy kiss to his cheek and soon Basilton couldn’t help but fall into a laughing fit with him. His pianist fingers dug into those soft sides and Simon squealed and rolled over to avoid the tickles. Who knew that robots could be ticklish?

Grinning widely, Baz rolled over on top of his conquest and decided that maybe a date wasn’t such a bad idea.

#wolfy writes #SnowBaz #Simon Snow #Baz Grimm-Pitch #Absolute Boyfriend AU

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - Addiction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is addicted to affection. Addicted to touch. But being an addict, he can't seem to manage to find a healthy relationship, nor make any relationship last. After his latest break up, he decides to forgo the emotion and go straight for physical satisfaction.

... He just wants to find someone who needs his body. He's not particularly picky as to who - or what - that entails. (5792 words)

Notes: A major re-working of another piece I wrote. If you guys like this one, I will complete the scene that should come after it ;) Let me know. Vampire Crowley. Warnings for mention of blood and blood sucking. Sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale walks slowly around the perimeter of his bed, eyeballing the outfits he’d laid out earlier, scathingly critical of every item he chose even though, had you asked him two hours ago, he would have claimed each as tied for favorite. He’s 90% dressed already - cream colored trousers and a matching long-sleeved button down, a pale blue waistcoat (one he’s been told matches his eyes perfectly), tartan socks, and his best cocoa brown Derbys. All he needs now is a bowtie.

Does he need a bowtie? He doesn’t know exactly what the protocol is regarding neckwear where he’s going. He definitely prefers to wear a bowtie. Would not wearing one send some sort of message? Aziraphale assumes forgoing a bowtie might make him appear more casual. At ease. But in the context of the place he’s headed, might it also mean that he’s easy?

He sighs. He’s thinking too hard about this. This place he’s going - he’s paying to be there! What the Hell does the possible hidden innuendo of wearing or not wearing a bowtie matter under those circumstances? He hasn’t left the house without a bowtie on in over four decades!

He’s wearing the bowtie.

His gaze slides over his bed, the ties in the running lined up side by side on his comforter. He reaches for one, fingers hovering just above before he changes his mind and goes for the one beside it, picking it up between pinched fingers and holding it to his neck. He turns to his full length mirror and takes a peek.

“This one?” he asks no one, appraising the plain, gray fabric. “No. No, that won’t do.” He tosses it back on the bed and grabs another one - a tartan tie that matches his socks.

Heaven’s Dress Tartan. His family’s tartan. It’s pretty much the tie he wears for every occasion.

Naively, it makes him feel protected.

“This one?” he muses, already nodding his head. “Yes, this one.” Aziraphale slips the narrow strip of fabric about his neck and ties it. He looks himself over in the mirror, chest puffed with pride, but it doesn’t last long.

What is he doing?

He’s too old for this.

Maybe he should pack it in, wrap up his libido and call it quits. He’s had a good run, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need the physical. No more hugs, no more kisses, no more sex - that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Aziraphale’s eyes drop from his smart outfit to his feet.

Except it would.

It would for Aziraphale.

He can’t give up touch. He’s never done well without some speck of it in his life.

Deep down inside, he knows he can’t survive without it.

It’s not as simple as feeling lonely or unfulfilled. His need for affection goes beyond that. And it’s stronger - so much stronger - than him.

Being an addict is no small burden. Aziraphale knows that firsthand. He’s seen what addiction can do to people. He’s seen how it can devastate families.

He sat around for years and watched, powerless, as it destroyed his own.

Addiction tore his father apart – his need for money, a lust for more, more, more that he valued over his wife and child, turning him from parental figure into perfect stranger well before Aziraphale’s formative years, then into an enemy when Aziraphale decided against going into medicine, law, or business (the big three that would ensure the family fortune would multiply and thrive long after his father was gone) and instead majored in linguistics and literature.

His father’s addiction led to his mother’s. She’d hit the bottle to numb the pain of watching her husband, the man she’d loved since secondary school, drift away, drinking herself stupid until she couldn’t remember what day it was, where she lived … or that she had a son.

But addiction isn’t only cause and effect. It can be hereditary. It spread through the Fell family like wildfire, jumping from generation to generation. It started with Aziraphale’s great-great-great-great-grandfather on his father’s side and trickled down. Since Aziraphale is the last living Fell, his family’s vices have caught up to him, pooled around his ankles with nowhere else to flow to.

Threatening to drag him under.

Aziraphale has an addiction, too. Anyone who talks to him for about five minutes would say that his drug of choice is books, and indeed there are a good many reasons to believe that. Aziraphale loves books. He’s amassed such a collection that he even became an antique book dealer, but mostly as an excuse to find a place big enough to house his vast collection.

No, Aziraphale gets addicted to people. To affection. To whatever feels like love at the time. And he can’t live without it. He’ll take it from anyone willing to give even a smidgen of it, usually finding himself in relationships that dry up before they fully blossom with people who weren’t worth his time to begin with. Not that these relationships would have gone anywhere if given the chance. That’s part of the problem. Aziraphale tries so hard to find the tenderness stolen from him at too early an age, he doesn’t necessarily look for substance. He plants the seeds of his affection in ground long wrung out, spots where rain won’t ever find them, away from the sun’s nurturing rays.

Tonight, walking alone through the city streets at a truly ill-advised hour, he’s suffering the aftershocks of one such break-up. But this time, Aziraphale was prepared … somewhat. Which is to say he saw the signs. He knew the end was coming, even if he couldn’t stop it. But instead of doing the adult thing and cutting ties painlessly, he let it play itself out, sucking from it every drop he could. And afterwards, when he’d brought home his obligatory box of random stuff from his ex’s apartment – toothbrush, shaving cream, CDs, a few shirts, underwear, the possessions that he’d used to stake his claim - he knew where he would go.

He arrives at the obscure establishment before ten o’clock, having fooled himself that he’s ready to move on even before his ex’s side of the bed is cold. He’s doing right by himself. No more leaping into empty relationships just to have his mind messed with and his heart broken.

He’s skipping straight to the physical.

This is the way to go.

But there is also the chance that he’s being phenomenally stupid.

Aziraphale has paid money for questionable things before, things that he’s looked back on and regretted, shoving them as far behind him as he could so as not to think about them ever again.

But paying to feed his addiction - he’s never done that.

The place he’s gone to, with its ornate wooden door set into the face of an everyday brick wall, looks like a day spa if anything – a rather foreboding day spa. In a way, Aziraphale had expected it to look that way. That or a bar. Where else did these kinds of transactions take place? A bordello, perhaps? He’d heard about one that operates out of a hotel downtown, but this one got far better reviews from people in the know.

Let it never be said that Aziraphale didn’t do his research.

From what he’d heard, this place isn’t only the most exclusive of its kind in London, it’s the most discreet.

Silent as the grave, he’d been told.

There is no buzzer, no knocker, not even a door knob. No indication at all that anyone is allowed in but Aziraphale knows better. He sends a text to a number he paid a hefty sum for, along with a selfie that takes longer than he’d care to admit to take, but that’s not entirely his fault. There are strict requirements for this photograph - angle, background, head tilt, etc. The phone number is one-time use. After he hits send, he won’t be able to follow up with another message, so his picture needs to be up to spec.

Each selfie he takes, he despises immediately. The first one … well, the first one always bites, doesn’t it? In the second one, his face is too fat. Chubby chipmunk cheeks and puckered lips? He looks like a frickin’ cherub! The third one … ugh! Where was he even looking? The fourth one - definite serial killer with that awkward, thin-lipped grin.

He can’t keep doing this. He has to pick one! He’s running out of time! Ten o’clock sharp the message had said! If he’s going to do this, he can’t afford to be even a minute late!

He decides that his next picture will be his absolute last. Whatever comes out of this shot, he can’t take another one. He holds his phone up at the pre-determined angle, holds his breath, plasters on his most sincere smile … and prays to God.

Just then, the unthinkable happens.

He fumbles his phone.

He’d been holding so hard to it and his smile that his fingers had begun to sweat. He loses traction, the traitorous thing sliding out of his grasp. The shutter clicks, the flash fires, and his phone makes a lyrical trill of affirmation.

Aziraphale’s stomach drops like a lead balloon straight to his feet.

That noise - that skipping of high-pitched notes that he chose at random because they reminded him of Rites of Spring - indicates that the picture sent without Aziraphale having a chance to double check it first.

“Oh … Hell!” he curses. He should have taken the damned thing at home! The glow from his reading lantern would have given his skin a soft, golden cast; made him look younger; mysterious; but he forgot that a picture would be required. In every photo he’s taken in this doorway, illuminated only by a chemical bulb above his head, he looks anemic, harsh shadows thrown by the overly bright flash elongating his nose, hollowing his cheeks, sinking his eyes into their sockets. But this one, snapped off while his phone was negotiating gravity, is likely to be the worst one yet! Instead of a solid face, he’ll look like a blur.

A middle-aged blur with absolutely no relationship prospects. Not even a cat.

Aziraphale scrolls frantically through his gallery to try and find the picture, see what disaster he’s unleashed, but he can’t locate it.

“Where are you, you little …?” he mumbles, heart thrumming so hard it’s beginning to make him nauseous. The picture isn’t in his saved file. Not on his SD card. It’s not in his sent messages. So where the frick is it!? Aziraphale has to see it, has to know what he’s done, has to know if he’s failed. Has to know if it’s worth waiting out here, or if he should turn tail and head for his bookshop. Somewhere in between bribing his phone and threatening to smash the screen to bits, the door pops open with a click.

Aziraphale’s blood runs cold, his head shooting up like a prairie dog’s on its guard.

The door.

The door is open.

He mustn’t have sent a horrifying photograph after all!

But it may not stay open for long so he’d better move his arse!

He pushes the door further and steps inside. It closes behind him the moment he’s through. He turns quickly to see who shut it since he didn’t notice a doorman when he entered.

But there’s no one.

He’s in the foyer of this large, imposing place completely alone.

As far as he can tell.

He has the distinct feeling he’s being watched.

Of course he’s being watched! he scolds himself. They probably have security cameras everywhere in a place like this! There’s nothing sinister about that! Why, he went to a thrift store not too long ago that had a security camera installed over every aisle, and the most notable item they had for sale was a velvet painting of Margaret Thatcher! Pull yourself together, Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake!

Now that he’s inside, the place reminds him more of a bank than a spa: long stretches of empty hallway decorated in shows of old school wealth - leather chairs, ornate mirrors, glossy wood drawing tables, a long Persian runner leading him to his destination with chandeliers marking the path every ten feet or so. There’s been more money invested in this one hall than Aziraphale’s father could afford to put into their entire house, even with his lofty inheritance.

He can’t help thinking it would make the old man pea green with envy if he were alive to see it.

Little does Aziraphale know that there are two other hallways ahead of him just like this one.

Aziraphale walks through a total of three locked doors to get to what could be deemed ‘the main lobby’. He’s not escorted, but he does need to be buzzed through, the same melancholy voice asking him to repeat his name through an intercom at every checkpoint. Aziraphale marvels at the embassy-level security but he can’t help but wonder: is this a common practice at these places? No one mentioned anything about this.

What sort of trouble are they trying to prevent?

Aziraphale imagines most people might turn around at this point, go back the way they came and forget all about this place, but not him. As he approaches the final door there is no going back for him now. Not when he’s so close to what he wants.

He goes through the procedure one last time – name and then buzz. But this door is heavier, takes a bit more strength to push open. Black lighting overhead engulfs the room, creates a void that makes everything within indefinable. A few feet in, a wraparound counter fluoresces purple. Aziraphale sees only a single occupant in this room - a man sitting behind the counter who looks, from the outset, like a regular human being.

Of course, Aziraphale has never met a vampire before. He has no idea what one should look like.

He walks up to the counter, the door behind him swinging close and shutting with the same poignant click as the rest. But once this door seals, it takes the light with it, plunging Aziraphale momentarily into near complete black.

The man doesn’t look up at Aziraphale’s arrival. Aziraphale clears his throat to get his attention.

“E-excuse me?” he says nervously, his stomach flipping somersaults from his pelvis up to his neck. His voice sounds thin and disappointing to his own ears. Then again, he barely speaks to anyone from day to day. Maybe it sounds exactly the way it should.

The man sitting behind the counter – dark-skinned but with an ashy paler - blatantly ignores Aziraphale, who’d be standing practically on top of him if not for the counter between them. He flips exaggeratedly through the pages of his magazine (Aziraphale can’t tell which one in the unhelpful light), but doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale repeats, louder but still weak.

The man sniffs the air. He shifts only his eyes to address Aziraphale, looks him over, then returns to his magazine. “Wot do you want?”

“I … uh … I have an appointment. F-for a session.” Session. Is that the right word for it? No one Aziraphale talked to about this gave him the in on the lingo. “With a man by the name of Crowley.”

The disinterested man flips another page. “An appointment, huh?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes dart around, looking for anyone else who might be willing to help him. For as popular as this place sounded, it’s surprisingly deserted. Aziraphale can’t see a single other soul anywhere. Of course, aside from the glowing furniture, it’s so dark in there – a darkness his eyes refuse to get accustomed to – someone could be standing right beside him and he might not know it. “I’m … uh … sort of new at this.” His statement is met with a silence as thick as a brick wall. He chuckles, anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He feels vaguely like he might be in danger.

If he backed out now, walked out the door, would the man behind the counter even notice?

Then Aziraphale realizes fuck! He’d probably need to be buzzed out the same way he was buzzed in. And the man behind the counter might have to be the one to do it. He has the same dry, unenthusiastic tone in his voice as the one that greeted Aziraphale at every door.

The man glances Aziraphale’s way, then blows out a breath, obviously annoyed he’s still there. “I’ll tell him you’re here Mr. …”

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Aziraphale Fell,” the man repeats but doesn’t reach for a phone or make a move to inform anyone that Aziraphale has arrived. He gives the air another disdainful sniff and scrunches his nose, raising his magazine to cover it. “Did you have sushi for lunch, Mr. Fell?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale clamps his lips together tight, self-conscious of what he must smell like to a creature with super-sensitive olfactory organs. He did have sushi, but that was days ago. There’s no way he could still smell like it, especially with the amount of Listermint he uses daily.

“Was it refrigerated properly? Or do you buy your food from the day-old section of your local market?”

Aziraphale’s hackles rise. He disregards the feeling that he’s in danger in defense of his favorite restaurant. “I really don’t think that Hot Stone would stoop to selling day-old sushi!”

“Did you even remember where you were going when you left your house today?” the man scolds without listening to him. “I mean, have some respect, for Satan’s sake!”

“That’s enough, Ligur.” A new voice, amused but stern, says from the shadows. “If you don’t stop badgering the customers, we won’t have any, and then how will you afford your flat? Hmm?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,” Ligur replies, barely bringing himself to care.

Inconceivably quick, their new guest goes from standing in the light to standing before Aziraphale. Ligur snickers at the move, like he’s seen it too many times before, but Aziraphale doesn’t pay him any mind. Ligur might not be impressed, but Aziraphale can’t. stop. staring.

Aziraphale has never seen such a man.

He’s never imagined a man like him could exist. He’s sure he could spend his entire life trying to think him up and still never come up with him. He captivates Aziraphale in a matter of seconds, mystifies him without lifting a finger. He’s tall, slim, and fair. He reminds Aziraphale of a prince from an old world fairy tale. In fact, Aziraphale knows just the book he’d find it in. He intends on searching for it the moment he returns to his shop (he thinks hopefully). The man’s eyes, even in the absence of light, are piercing, simmering in their depths with a light all their own.

The man doesn’t walk up to Aziraphale. He stalks. And the way he carries himself leads Aziraphale to believe he can take anything he wants with a snap of his fingers. At the moment, he’s stolen Aziraphale’s voice, his breath, practically every thought in his head.

Aziraphale’s entire focus becomes this man.

The man moves a step forward. Aziraphale takes a subconscious step back.

“I believe that you are my ten o’clock,” the man says.

Aziraphale nods, not sure if he’s expected to speak ... or if he’s allowed. “Are … are you … Mr. Crowley?”

“In the flesh. And you must be Aziraphale.” Crowley’s tongue curls around his words, the hint of an accent making an appearance. Several accents, actually. At his root, the man sounds English, but not born. But his accent is acquired, not practiced, bred from immersion. There are other touches here and there - a dash of Birmingham, a little cockney perhaps, an Irish brogue, peppered upon a foundation that sounds firmly Scottish. Lilts and rolls add flavor to Aziraphale’s name so that he feels he’s hearing it spoken out loud for the first time. Even lost in that dialect soup, Aziraphale doesn’t think it’ll ever sound more perfect than it does rolling off Crowley’s tongue. It tickles his eardrums, silently begs Crowley to say it again.

“I am,” Aziraphale says. “Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It will be soon.” Crowley winks. “Follow me, Mr. Fell.” He smiles, teeth impeccably straight and disarmingly white. It could be a trick of the black lights, but those teeth … that smile … make him look predatory, and Aziraphale considers again if coming here was the smartest idea, especially since he did so impulsively, took no precautions. He was so distracted by his break-up, so wrapped up in shoulds and shouldn’ts, what people would think of him if they ever found out, that he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

What if he simply disappears?

No one in his life would dream of looking for him here, and he left absolutely no clues to point them in this direction.

Regardless of the warning bells tolling in his head, new ones firing off with each pound of his heart, Aziraphale follows Crowley down several vacant hallways. The place was dark to begin with, but this section is nearly pitch black with the exception of a red light bulb here, a green light bulb there, their faint illuminations doing nothing more than throwing shadows on the walls – shadows deep enough to disappear in. Crowley walks swiftly. Aziraphale almost loses him twice, but he slows in a hall lined on both sides with doors. Aziraphale hears moans come from behind several of the doors and his heart speeds in his chest.

It slams to a stop when he hears a man scream – strained and blood curdling.

Aziraphale can’t tell if the man is screaming in pleasure or in pain.

Aziraphale points to the door. “Um … is he going to be alri---?”

“Right this way, Mr. Fell,” Crowley interrupts, opening the last door on the left. “This is my private office. No one will dare disturb us in here.” Aziraphale hesitates but decides to go inside, not because he feels any more comfortable with this than he did a moment ago, but because if he doesn’t, he might run the other way. Crowley waits patiently till Aziraphale steps in, then shuts, and locks, the door. “Now … what can I help you with today?”

Aziraphale paces the room, examining its violet walls with their black-and-white photographs mounted in minimalist glass frames. It isn’t much brighter in here than in the lobby, but it’s more inviting - the sort of space created specifically for people to spend time in together, get to know one another. A round, wooden table in the center of the room holds a pair of crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. Candles cover every level surface - some thick white pillars, some long white tapers, in holders of brushed gold, and scent the air with the sweet fragrance of vanilla. Their dancing flames reflect off the glass, the constant flickering making the room appear to sway. It’s disorienting. It gets Aziraphale’s adrenaline pumping and his heart racing, which Aziraphale assumes is the desired effect.

He’d heard that a speeding human heart can be a powerful aphrodisiac for a vampire.

They apparently get off on it.

Against a far wall sits a plush, red sofa, and against another, a four-poster bed.

Aziraphale bypasses the bed (it isn’t his gut decision, just the safest seeming one) and heads for the sofa. “I … I have a problem. An addiction.”

“Go on.” Crowley strolls over to join him, each step he takes deliberate, noiseless, as if his feet don’t make contact with the ground at all, gliding on the air right above. Aziraphale watches Crowley settle onto the far end of the sofa, sitting catty-corner to keep his amber eyes on him. That predatory expression he wears moves from his smile to his eyes, which track Aziraphale’s movements with unnerving precision. “Well, I … I’m addicted to affection, a-and everything that comes with it - touching, holding, kissing, sex, from anyone who wants me, really. And I fall irrationally in love with the wrong people over and over because of it.”

“A-ha.” Crowley crosses his legs. He draws it out, diverting Aziraphale’s attention purposefully to them. “So tell me why you think I can help you.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, mesmerized by the way Crowley moves, the fluidity of limbs that would look spindly on a human but not on him. Not in the slightest. “Because even though I need companionship, nobody seems to need me. But from the things I hear, you gentlemen … do.”

“We’re not desperate, Mr. Fell,” Crowley groans, rolling his head back on his neck, his eyes following along.

“Oh, no! No, no, no! That’s not what I …!”

“We service a distinguished clientele. We have certain expectations.”

“I understand that.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a thorough once over with eyes that burn through him, every move Aziraphale makes telling Crowley more than his words.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Fell?” Something about the way Crowley repeatedly calls Aziraphale ‘Mr. Fell’ shoots right to his stomach and lower, twisting everything up inside him, making him feel compliant, confused ...

“I’m an antique book dealer,” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley chuckles. “Ah. So you hawk old, worn-out romance novels to elderly women wanting a tingle in their lady gardens?”

“Uh … no,” Aziraphale says with a chuckle himself because, he has to admit, he’s gotten one or two of those in his lifetime. “Mostly literature, first editions, rare texts, misprinted Bibles, that sort of thing.”

“And you make a living from that?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says, a tad uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Not that I need to. I live mainly off the interest of a generous inheritance. I get to do whatever I want mostly.”

“I see.” Crowley’s tone shifts, as if Aziraphale passed some sort of test. “And where do you currently live?” With a flick of Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale’s hand crawls up his own shirt, reaching for his bowtie. He grabs a tail and pulls it, unties it, then goes after the top button. He toys with it, undoes it, feeling constricted, uncomfortable while it’s fastened.

“I live over my store front in Soho.”

Crowley slides an inch closer. “With a roommate or …?”

“A-alone.” Aziraphale moves on to the second button. “I live … I live alone.”

“Impressive. And your blood type is AB negative?”

“As far as I know.”

“Interesting.” Crowley moves another inch closer. “Alright. Let’s give you a shot.”

“A-and how do you do that … exactly?”

“Give me your arm so I can take a taste. Then I’ll know if we can use you.”

Crowley holds out his hand, long fingers with black painted nails motioning for Aziraphale’s, but Aziraphale doesn’t take it. He has a second of doubt, of Are you nuts!? that stays him. But it’s been so long since Aziraphale has felt truly wanted. And this man … or this creature … wants what he has to offer. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes. It’s cut and dry. No muss, no fuss, no emotions involved. Giving in should be easy. This is what he came for.

“If you’re nervous, I could always …” Crowley makes a gesture toward Aziraphale’s neck and smiles an alluring, toothy grin – charismatic, hard to resist. But Aziraphale might not be ready for what Crowley’s proposing. It seems a little too intimate.

“O-oh no.” Aziraphale rolls up his sleeve. “It’s not that. I was just … uh … thinking.”

“Oh.” That single syllable sounds tragically disappointed. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. But just so you know, it’s always an option.”

Aziraphale gets a sudden image in his head of Crowley lying on top of him, licking down his neck, his fingers undoing the rest of his buttons and reaching beneath his shirt, nails scratching lightly down his skin. He envisions Crowley removing his clothes one piece at a time, marking his flesh with kisses, with bites, taking small sips as he paves a trail to his trousers. Sharp fangs slice through the threads that keep the button sewn on and he pulls down the zip with his teeth. There’s a mouth on Aziraphale’s cock, sucking, hands massaging his chest, the gentle brush of silky hair against his thighs, the occasional sting of a cut opening, a tongue collecting, and Aziraphale writhing with the sweet agony of it. He doesn’t picture himself cumming quickly, but sees himself sliding along the beveled edge, getting to that point, hanging from the crest of it, just to be sent back to the beginning, to start the process over again.

It feels planted, a suggestion. Aziraphale isn’t sure how. He’s not savvy to the abilities of vampires beside the blood sucking thing. It’s not real. Aziraphale knows he’s still dressed, can feel the fabric of his shirt sleeve balled in his fist, but he starts to sweat at the thought of it. His cock aches because of it. That’s what he wants – the give and the take.

It changes his mind, stops him rolling up his sleeve.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, gaze fixed to Crowley’s seductive eyes, “that does sound like it could be … nice.”

Crowley grins. It’s almost too easy. “Oh, it will be,” he purrs. “I promise.”

Aziraphale scoots closer until they’re sitting beside one another, knees touching. Crowley wastes no time kissing Aziraphale’s neck, cool lips pressing against hot, sensitive skin. Aziraphale moans. God, it’s been so long. And whatever Crowley is doing with his tongue, circling the same spot, nibbling with just enough pressure to make it tingle, feels so intense, it overshadows the hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, creeping up steadily to his crotch, squeezing along the way as the excitement of kissing builds.

As Aziraphale’s heart beats faster and faster, until individual thumps are no longer distinguishable from the whole.

Crowley wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, fangs lengthening as he searches for a place to sink in and drink. He finds the perfect spot and bites. Aziraphale’s eyes go wide.

“Oh … God.” He becomes rigid as the sensation of smooth and sharp assails his skin, but he succumbs to the sublime numbness and melts into Crowley’s arms. “Oh … oh God …”

Crowley retracts his fangs, licking them clean. “This isn’t really the place to be praying,” he says, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent – fresh, rich, healthy, untainted blood. The blood all vampires crave - not from unconscious drunks in the alley behind a night club or filled with preservatives like the bagged gunge they have the option to buy down at NHS Blood and Transport. But whole, pure, and willingly given.

Oh, yes – Aziraphale is an exquisite delight. A rare treat. He’ll make Crowley rich … if he can bear to share him.

Crowley might just decide to keep Aziraphale to himself.

It’s not just Aziraphale’s blood that tempts him. There’s something else, something sizzling beneath his skin that Crowley suspects Aziraphale doesn’t even know about himself. But it sends sparks through Crowley’s skin with every touch, a white light that nearly burns too hot to hold but fuck it all! The second Crowley moves his hand away and it’s gone, it makes Crowley want him more.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles, following Crowley’s mouth, whining like a kicked puppy when it seems he won’t be returning to the task of biting his neck. But it’s not that. Crowley has every intention of taking his time with Aziraphale. Savoring him. He wants to hear Aziraphale beg for it, beg for Crowley’s teeth buried deep into his neck, beg for the euphoria that comes with being fed upon.

“Do you like that, angel?” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s skin. He punctuates his question with a nip around Aziraphale’s jugular, carefully so as not to prick it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing Crowley’s knee and squeezing. “Yes, please.”

Crowley hums, lips pressed to Aziraphale’s neck so the vibrations travel down his skin. He licks over the pinprick marks, exploring with his tongue for a spot to take another bite. “You know, I think we might be able to help each other out.”

“You … you do?” Aziraphale rises from the sofa in a trance, following Crowley when he moves their soiree to the bed, preparing to make Aziraphale his own private nightcap.

“Oh yes.” Crowley lays Aziraphale out on the mattress and crawls over him, like in the vision. His fingertips creep up Aziraphale’s neck, up his cheeks, the pads coming to rest against his temples. A blue spark, an arc of static electricity, and Aziraphale’s brain fills with images that cloud his vision over so that Crowley’s eyes disappear, replaced by what promises to be a long night in this room, and all the methods of pleasure Crowley plans on using to distract him while he feeds. Skin against skin, Crowley’s hands covering his as Crowley enters him, his body possessing his. Aziraphale can already feel how hard Crowley would claim him, how sore he would be after, and Aziraphale wants it. Wants it more than life itself.

And he’s willing to pay with every drop to have it.

The vision rolls on. With every fantasized thrust of Crowley’s hips, it monopolizes all five of Aziraphale’s senses - his own moans in his ears with Crowley’s voice dripping honey underneath, the pungent smell of sweat and sex around them, the coppery taste of Crowley’s mouth, the slide of a flesh against his so smooth it feels like marble, and Crowley’s eyes - those snake-like eyes with pupils razor blade thin - watching unblinkingly as Aziraphale comes apart beneath him.

Trapped beneath Crowley’s body on the bed with Crowley’s fingertips rubbing circles against his skin, Aziraphale watches this fantasy in awe - open-mouthed and without an inch of fear. He shudders when he sees himself coming, the memory of similar sensations igniting every nerve in his body, turning fantasy into reality. Crowley absorbs every tremor, the way Aziraphale thrums beneath him, his hips bucking up in search of friction. Crowley smiles, reaches between them to start unbuttoning his own uncomfortable trousers.

And let the feasting begin.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, nose nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck, following the pounding rhythm of his heart for a place to tuck in. “I could become very addicted to you, Aziraphale Fell. Very addicted.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

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Sabriel

I genuinely have no idea where this ship came from, but it is pretty cute, and I was curious to read a couple fics of them. Besides, I’m currently on season 13 and we deserve more Gabriel content in this time of stress. All of these also have Destiel in them, but which one the fic is focused on varies. I hope you enjoy them!

Rewriting the Book by MonPetitTresor on AO3. (37,224 words).

Tags: Dimension Travel, Alternate Universe, Gabriel in the Bunker, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam Remembers Hell, PTSD, Post-Gadreel, Mark of Cain, Hurt Sam, Scared Sam, Emotionally Repressed, Sam Has Panic Attacks, The Cage.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When Sam gets a little too close to stopping Metatron’s plans, the angel decides to use some of his extra juice to get Sam out of his way by sending him to a completely different reality. He never could’ve predicted what Sam might find there – or what he might bring back home with him.

Notes: The trauma in this was written so well, and it is part of what made this amazing. It was really respectful, realistic, and clearly well researched. And, as a bonus, an excellent plot!

In All Your Borrowed Finery by vanishingact on AO3. (67,950 words).

Tags: Winged Dean Winchester, Winged Sam Winchester, Winged Castiel, Winged Gabriel, Spells & Enchantments, Hunters & Hunting, Case Fic, Harpies, Canon-Typical Violence, Major Character Injury, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor and Smut and Angst, Wingfic, Fan art.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean finds an interesting symbol in Kevin's angel tablet notes and, against Sam's counselling, uses it in the heat of battle with a pair of angelic assassins. Side effects include pain, disorientation, and uncontrollable new appendages for the Winchesters. A disgruntled Castiel and a delighted Gabriel show up to help. Hunting (and life) gets interesting when wings are involved.

Notes: Okay this was literally adorable and you can not convince me otherwise. Every time I read a fic with everyone’s favourite archangel, I miss him just a bit more.

Black Swans by omphalos and Wolfling on AO3. (66,455 words).

Tags: Post-Apocalypse, Road Trip, Blasphemy.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A post-apocalyptic road trip with a still recovering archangel wasn't how Sam had envisioned the aftermath of their big plan, but it sure beat a lot of the alternatives.

Notes: This was absolutely brilliant, so well written, and the plot was phenomenal! The misunderstanding was painful, and the original characters were great.

omni gladio ancipiti by lifevolutionary on AO3. (10,892 words).

Tags: Wingfic, Telepathy, Psychic Bond.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: The archangel Gabriel had never chosen a Bearer for his sword. Until now.

Notes: This was so freaking sweet, and I love the idea of Sam just casually having a flaming sword.

Dies Irae, or Something by AlchemyAlice on AO3. (51,223 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Blasphemy, Alternate Universe - Canon, Biblical References.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It starts with headaches, and it ends in a clusterfuck. So, business as usual, Apocalypse-wise.

Notes: I know it says Good Omens as well, but it is just a brief mention of Aziraphale and Crowley, so you don’t need to know anything about it! And this fic was written beautifully. Is it bad that I miss the apocalypse days?

That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).

Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn't kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It's a pretty awesome feeling.

Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.

Bing Crosby’s Pennies From Heaven by twentysomething on AO3. (9,613 words).

Tags: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Death.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Sam always asks inappropriate, poorly-timed questions, so what comes out of his mouth doesn't exactly surprise himself. "Where were you?"

Notes: This was brilliant - the little gifts that Gabe left for Sam were adorable, and I burst out laughing at the image of trying to get Bobby’s wheelchair on top of a toilet.

‘Star Wars is Overrated’ by leftdragonpainter on AO3. (38,186 words).

Tags: Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Pining, Drinking, Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Neighbours, Swearing, Winchester Logic, Big Brother Gabriel, Clueless Dean, College Student Sam, Awkward Dates, Pie, Dean Cooks, Slow Burn, Injured Sam, Fixing Cars, Emotional Constipation, Angst, Confessions, Smut, Love Confessions, Temporary Amnesia, Star Trek References, Star Wars References, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: When Dean Winchester turned sixteen he was disappointed by the words that appeared on his chest. He never expected that it would take so much to find his soulmate. He never expected to not remember meeting them…

Notes: Every time I thought I knew what was going to happen, it either went in the complete opposite direction or something totally different happened, and I loved it.

Start Quoting Shakespeare and We’re Done by pyrebi on AO3. (15,579 words).

Tags: Romantic Comedy, Misunderstanding, Banter, Libraries, Food, Ridiculousness, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Human.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Dean has the hots for a librarian named Cas, Cas may or may not have the hots for a mechanic named Dean, and Gabriel joins Sam in the peanut gallery in the hopes that he might just get to do a horizontal tango of his own.

Notes: Damn, the misunderstandings in this were so unbelievably painful. Overall, though, it was very funny and quite cute. Also, I love the idea of Gabe owning a sweet store.

Bring it On Home by lilyleia78 on AO3. (34,482 words).

Tags: Romance, Alternate Universe, Drama, Bonding, Angelic Soulbond, Angels, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: When John sells his sons to Heaven in exchange for the Colt, Dean and Sam find themselves separated from each other and in the care of two very different angels. Dean and Cas work together to find out why Heaven wants Sam and how they can reunite the brothers - all the while growing closer every day. Meanwhile Sam should hate Gabriel and his endless string of conquests, but Gabriel's twisted sense of humor and attractive smile inspire something much more complicated.

Notes: First of all, I would like to say that John absolutely does not deserve any redemption or forgiveness in this fic, but okay. The idea - especially the Sabriel side - was a little creepy, but it was executed fairly well.

Our Mornings by entanglednow on AO3. (2,155 words).

Tags: Morning After.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: That would be the sound of his brother having sex with an angel three rooms away.

Notes: This was fairly cute, but a bit short for my tastes.

And, for all the Sabriel fans who don’t ship Destiel:

Highway of Love (Or: How Sam Winchester Learned to Stop Worrying and Relax Already) by Jassy on AO3. (24,536 words).

Tags: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, The Trickster.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: AU. Sam noticed a few things weren't quite right after they killed the Trickster. After going back to check things out, his life will never be the same.

Notes: This was probably the first Sabriel fic I ever read, and honestly I just didn’t understand it. I mean, not complaining, because I’ve read Mystrade fics before and we all know they don’t even share a scene, but I was still confused. Then, I read a really nicely done thing on Instagram explaining it, and I kind of got it. So I read this, and I really enjoyed it, and now I ship Sabriel.

So, they may be this fandom’s crack ship, but I hope you enjoyed this edition of Destiel + other ships. I’m thinking that I might do a Saileen one in the future, because she may have only been in one episode I have watched but oh boy she was an icon, and it’s good for my heart to ship things that actually happen (I think. No one tell me otherwise. I will cry).

#sabriel #ficrecs #fanfic #spn fanfiction #spnfamily #supernatural #destiel

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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 4 years

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The Rabbit of Night Raven Chapter 1: Demons in high places Pt 2

Part 1 is here

For the next few days, Amane was running her dry with all his demands, as well as her money. They ranged from annoying to atrocious. But she bared through it all.

Jack, Epel, and Sebek found not long after, been informed by Ace and Deuce. They offered to take care of Amane so she could rest but declined. Amane might blackmail her that she wasn't doing her job as a hostess, not to mention he might make them uncomfortable as well. She just had to soldier on.

"I forgot to ask, how did you end up with those wounds?"

It was a Sunday morning, and Valerie just brought his breakfast. A plate of raspberry and chocolate waffles, and Darjeeling tea. He demanded it to be made since he said he wanted his favorite breakfast. He nearly emptied her wallet, because of how expensive the raspberries are.

She also decided to eat with him this time, to hopefully build a better level of trust. Grim was downstairs, saying he didn't want to be in the same room as him. He paused mid-bite and narrowed his eyes.

"Why the fuck should I tell ya? We don't exactly see eye-to-eye ya know."

"I know, but I thought I could understand you better. Despite, the sexist nicknames, and overall rudeness. I can tell you're not a bad person."

Amane studied her face to find any hint of mockery, or deception. However, to his surprise there was none. Her face was earnest, as she patiently waited for him to speak. He sighed.

"My shitty dad did this to me."

This shocked her, but he paid no mind and continued.

"I did something he didn't like and got punished."

"Wha-What did you do?"

"I gave some information to our rival company, safe to say my old man was not pleased. My friend is the CEO's kid, my dad was planning an assassination attempt on him, but I eavesdrop on one of his meetings and managed to phone her just on time. He saw this as an act of betrayal and punished me for it."

"Didn't you're mother do anything! What about the rest of you're family?"

"My mother had no power, and the rest of them agreed with my dad."

She went silent and contemplated. She had one question in her mind.

"But...How did you manage to end up in that crater? Night Raven is miles away from any other piece of land."

It was his turn to be silent. Amane looked away as he pondered for an appropriate response. Finally, he faced her.

“You see Sugar tits, my family and I are demons, sex demons to be exact. He probably used teleportation magic to get rid of me, and erase any evidence."

A demon, an incubus no less, well, that did explain why he didn't die so easily when she found him. Though she should have guessed he was a supernatural being, his ears were a dead giveaway. Speaking of which, she remembered what she first thought he was and let out a giggle.

Amane furrowed his brows. "What's so funny?"

She turned to him still giggling.

"I thought you were some kind of fae, with you're ears and all."

He knit his brows at her answer, before giving out a hearty chuckle.

"Haha, you actually thought I was one of those guys. Fairies are overrated Hun, demons are what's hot."

"Oh really? they've been so overused in the media, I thought they were the overrated beings." She smirked. He gave out another chuckle.

"Oh, honey. That just means we're more lovable."

They let out another good-hearted laugh before the girl asked another question.

"So...Is there anything else I should know about you or demons?" He let out a thoughtful hum before answering.

"You know about demon pacts, yeah?" She nodded.

"Well, back in the old days my family would perform blood pacts with people who they are eternally grateful for and give them gifts as a sign of their loyalty."

He gave her a close-lipped smile.

"But of course, you won't see me that Sugar tits, I ain't exactly grateful to be in your care but it will do.'"

"Keep that attitude up, and you'll be relying on Grim."

"He's cute but unreliable and a bit whiny for my tastes."

She laughed. She was about to reply when she heard the said monster calling for her. Valerie muttered under breath on how he's such a whiny baby, but there was a smile on her face.

"I'll see you later. Call when me you need something." She got up and left. Leaving Amane in his thoughts.

No one, but his mother and his best friend were that kind to him.

Maybe she ain't so bad.

_____________________________________

Night came quickly. Valerie decided she and Grim will have dinner with Amane. Technically, she had to bribe him with her tuna casserole to get him to cooperate, and just like that he's happily eating his third serving with them.

"Mmmmm~ The cheese complements the tuna so well! You really outdid yourself Henchwoman!"

"Is he always like this?" Amane whispered as he watched Grim loudly eating his food with a blank look on his face.

"Yeah, but it's his charming point, I guess."

Unexpectedly, after their conversation this morning. Amane didn't bother her as much, just an occasional glass of water or a trip to the bathroom. She didn't know what changed his attitude, but it was welcomed regardless.

"So. After you get better, wanna hang out sometime?" He glanced at her mildly surprised, but a cheeky smirk made it's to his face.

"Asking me on a date are you Sugar tits? So bold~ But alas, girls aren't my thing, but if you're setting me up with one of your boy toys I'll happily oblige."

She giggled and lightly punched his shoulder. "No, I mean for us hang out as friends, and I don't think I should introduce you to guys just yet. Unless you want to traumatize their minds with all your flirting."

"Their loss if they can't handle this firecracker."

Valerie smiled. She liked this side of Amane better, he was easy to talk to and made great jokes, even if his humor is a little...Vulgar. After dinner, she helped Amane get ready for bed, then her and Grim's turn to retire.

"Kid, hey kid." She groaned and turned over. But she felt the covers being forcefully removed. Groggily she sat up, she asked what's wrong.

"It's Amane, he's been crying for thirty minutes. We tried to comfort him but it got worse." Wilbur answered, concern evident in his voice.

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, finally registering the loud screaming and crying, and the ghosts concerned expressions. She rapidly got out of bed, waking Grim up in the process, and sprinted to Amane's room.

He was a mess when she got to him. Amane was thrashing around, covered in sweat and tears leaked out of his eyes. He was mumbling in his sleep.

"N-No! Stop it!... Please I-I'm sorry, no more." He choked out a sob. Her heart clenched at the sight. She climbed on the bed and managed to wrapped her arms around him.

"Amane! Amane it's alright, no one's here to hurt you. It's not real!"

He jolted up and she caught the sight of his face. His eyes were red and his breathe were ragged. He started to chew on his bottom lip, and his eyes welled up with tears again. He buried his face on her chest, his body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

She rubbed circles on his back in an attempt to comfort him and whispered more words of reassurance. It took a while, but he managed to calm down. They sat in silence, save for Amane's occasional sniffles.

"Hey, Valerie." This was the first time he said her name properly. "Ratting my dad out wasn't the only reason he beat me."

He confessed that the other reason he was actually a bastard child. His mother had an affair with one of his father's employees once she found out he had a mistress. She was going to announce the divorce during their anniversary when his father blackmailed her to stay with him. Amane didn't know what it was, but it worked.

He told her that since he was the only child, his father expected him to take over his place one day, and produce an heir. Unfortunately for him, he was interested in boys and didn't like the idea of taking over his father's company.

His mother was the only person who accepted him, while his father was outraged. He argued he could just adopt a child, but it only made it worse. The rest of his family expressed their disappointment in him, in everything he did, and voted him to be banned from the family.

Valerie, just sat there as he continued to cry. She soothed him, telling him that it's okay, that it's not his obligation to live up to his family standards, whatever he does his choice only not theirs. That he should be free from their hateful opinions.

She spied the ghosts and Grim at the doorway but didn't say anything, opted to just comfort the man in her arms.

_____________________________________

After that night, their relationship changed drastically. He was more open to her, more friendly, and used her name often. He told her stories about his childhood and his best friend Lorelei, who was also a demon descendant, notably a spider demon. A famous idol who's known for incorporating spiders into her aesthetic. He promised her to introduce them sometime.

In return, she confessed to him she was from another world and he didn't look a leased bit surprised.

"Honey, after all the shit I've been through, nothing surprises me at this point."

She told about her life in Night Raven, how she constantly solved the school's overblot problem, and how she's basically Crowley's errand girl.

"The school is lucky that I don't have any magic. With all the stressful situations I've been through, I would have overblotted and destroy the entire school.'"

She shared stories about her and her friends' shenanigans, and the rest of the boys. He questioned if any of the boys were her boyfriend, cause he noticed how affectionate she was to all of them. She told him no, she was just like that normally.

"I don't understand why they turn red whenever I hug them or kiss their cheeks. I mean, showing affection to friends is normal."

Ahh. The oblivious type.

_____________________________________

It was finally the day Amane recuperate, and to go home. They were in the mirror chamber and Crowley was there to wish him the best of health, (and maybe exploit some money from him.) He wore the clothes when she found him, all clean and fixed.

"Mr. Mania I hope your stay was pleasant, and I wish for you the best of health, A reward is not needed, a simple thanks will do for I am gracious. But if you like, then I am in no room to argue."

Valerie mentally rolled her eyes at that but gave Amane a soft but sad smile. She was slowly getting used to his company and almost asked if he could stay longer, but she refused to be selfish. Instead, she just hugged the man, which he reciprocated.

"I hope you come back soon."

"Of course I will Val, ain't nothing gonna stop this firecracker." He turned his attention to Grim and gave him a noogie.

"Of course I'll come back for you too, ya little shit."

"Fguaa! Just get out of here!"

He gave them a crooked grin and walked away. Valerie watched as he walked away, hoping she could meet him again. However, after a few steps, he stopped and ran back to her. This perplexed them, especially when he got into one knee and took her hands.

"Valerie Kemonihito, I wished to have a blood pact with you, I am forever in your debt."

They stared at him as if he grew three heads. None of them couldn't believe his words. A blood pact? What was he doing? Valerie was the first to recover.

"Amane you don't have to do this, you don't have a debt towards me." She tried to reason, but he furiously shook his head.

"No, I do. You have saved my life and brought me peace and comfort when I am at my most vulnerable, you have accepted me as I am, and have not judged me for my past, and for those reasons. So please, accept it."

They all stared, waiting for her answer. After a few agonizing seconds, she responded.

"It won't hurt that much right?" Amane smiled.

"Not much, just a tiny prick will do."

"Alright let's do it."

"Are you sure Ms. Kemonohito?" Crowley cut in. "Blood pacts are a serious oath that should not be taken likely if ever one of the party's' will break it, death is the only punishment."

Valerie gazed at Amane, there was no hint of mischief, the determination is clear on his face.

"I'm sure." Amane smiled and got up.

"Okay." He brought his hand up, claws grew and took his index finger and slowly cut a small line in both their hands. Valerie winced but bared with it.

"Now we hold hands and recite our own oath, I'll go first." He cleared his throat.

"I, Amane Mania will dedicate my life to serve you. Wherever you are and whenever you are, I shall protect you with my life, and bring you justice if ever I failed to protect you."

"I, Valerie Kemonohito will do my best to be kind and just to you. So you may never suffer or feel lonely, you are welcome to be with me as much as you want so you may never feel ostracize again."

As they said these words, a dark reddish light enveloped them. The blood on their hands swirled and mixed together before engraving it in their skins like tattoos, going up to their arms all the way to their faces.

Grim and Crowley watch the spectacle, astounded but frighten as the light died down, and their marks disappearing.

Valerie blinked, she stared at their hands. All healed as if he didn't cut them. She cut off from her musings when Amane spoke.

"With this blood pact, you can summon me anytime time you want, no matter the place I will be with you. All you have to do is either call my name three times or use your blood and call my name." He informed.

"And now for my tribute. Give me a moment."

He raised his hands, chanting words under his breath a pinkish glow covered his hands, when the light died down a silver necklace inlaid with pink quartz appeared.

“Alright, c’mere.” He turned her around and clasp it on her.

“This was an heirloom, but only those who we think are worthy may have this and I want you to take it.” Valerie admired the the craftsmanship of it and beamed up to him.

“Thank you.” He ruffled her hair.

“No problem, now time to to get my ride. Y’all better step back.”

They did just that. Amane closed his eyes before muttering incomprehensible words, a star pentagon appeared before their eyes, it glowed a red malevolent aura, then a screech.

It was horrendous. The sound shook the ground and cracked the windows but weirdly not the mirrors, finally, a giant figure swooped up and landed next to Amane. It was a monster, it was twenty-foot tall, it had a humanoid body but its hands and feet had dangerously sharp talons, its wings were big as its body, and it’s head reminded her of an owl but the sharp teeth made her reconsider.

"Mr. Mania! Do you realize what you have summoned!?" The fear and shock were clear in Crowley's voice as he stared at the creature.

'"What is that!? It's so ugly!" Grime cried. He hid in Valerie's clothes as it's glowing amber eyes glared at him for his comment.

"This is a Strix. A demonic vampire owl that feasts on human flesh and blood. Lucky for you, this girl likes what normal owls eat so your good." The strix's feathers were the colors of pecan and it had small tufts of white.

"Her name is Lisha, I saved her when she was being bullied from her own kind. Lisha that's Valerie." Valerie shrunk when the strix's gaze shifted from Grim to her.

Lisha tilted her head curiously before leaning towards the girl, sniffing her hair and clothes. Valerie stood still as it goes on. Finally, she let out a happy chirped and nuzzled her. Valerie let out a surprised gasp but laughed and wrapped her arms around her head.

“How about that? Lisha doesn’t usually like strangers, but it seems your an exception.” He grinned

Valerie ran her fingers in Lisha feathers, they were soft and smooth. The monster purred in content.

"I'll be off, for real this time." He got onto Lisha’s back, but Valerie spoke up.

"Wait where are you staying?"

"I'll go to Lorelei. Her dad and I are cool cause I saved his life." The star pentagon glowed. He looked back, he gave one final smirk and disappeared.

Valerie smiled fondly, she scratched Grim’s ears as an attempt to comfort him.

"Well." Crowley coughed. "Now that's over, Ms. Kemonohito I hope you learned something from this experience.”

"Yes, sir."

"Good now I must be off. Crewel will have my hind if I keep him waiting." He muttered as he walked off.

Just as he walked out, her first-year friends ran in. All with worried expressions on their faces.

"Valerie! We heard a screech and it came h-"

"Oh, it came from Amane’s familiar.” She answered.

“Damn, nice ice Val.” Ace commented looking at her necklace.

“Thanks. Amane gave her to me as a gift." The mentioned of his name sent shivers to the ADeuce duo as they recalled his...Advances towards them.

"Its beautiful." Epel was sure Vil would approve of it.

"He didn't do anything obscene, Valerie?" Sebek eyed at the peice of jewelry, feeling something different about it.

"No, but we did a blood pact though." That made them froze.

"You did what?" The fae's voice was low for once as he and the rest of the boys stared her, wide-eyed and slacked jawed.

"A blood pact."

All hell broke loose.

The boys were screaming at her, asking why would she do that, and promising to beat the life out of Amane, thinking he forced it on her.

Valerie pursed her lips, she set Grim down before hitting their head. They grunted in pain.

"Okay before you guys go off. Amane did this as a sign of his gratitude and gave me this necklace as a sign of loyalty. He was actually a great guy once you get to know him, and he's just misunderstood. He even promised to come back and hang out, you should join us."

Ace and Deuce paled at the mention that he was coming back to Night Raven, but jealousy grew in their stomachs like the rest of the boys. Hearing her talked so fondly of him irritated them, but she didn't notice.

"Fine, we'll consider your offer Princess. But we won't hesitate to gut that guy if he makes you upset." Ace huffed. She grinned.

"Thank you so much. Now if you excuse me, I'll have to buy groceries." She kissed their cheeks.

She happily walked out leaving five red-faced boys and made her way to Sam's shop.

"Hey while we're at it, can we buy some premium tuna. I need it after all I've been through."

"Fine, you've deserved it." He cheered.

She giggled. Admiring her necklace, it glinted brightly under the sun. Her thoughts drifted to Amane, hoping he was alright. She knows she'll see him again after this is Twisted Wonderland

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #ace trappola #deuce spade #twisted wonderland grim #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #dire crowley #twisted wonderland x mc #twst x mc #valerie kemonohito #amane mania

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goodomensblog · 5 years

Note

I have a parrot and he loves when I snuggle him. His feathers are so so so soft and he can be a little dusty sometimes. I think about Crowlet would run his hands down Aziraphales soft snow white wings :3

Restraint

Look but don’t touch.

The sentiment was as old as - well, at least as old as the garden. The Garden (all capitals, mind you) is, of course, the most famous example of failed restraint - with regard to apple touching and then consumption, respectively.

Crowley, being the original tempter, had a unique relationship with restraint. His day job was to advocate against it, seeing as he was a temptation demon. When it came down to it though, Crowley was actually very good at resisting temptations - when he wanted to. Not that he often wanted to. Demons are, after all, creatures of indulgence.

When Crowley wanted to get drunk, he miracled himself a bottle of his favorite vintage wine. When he wanted to drive fast, he used London as his own personal speedway. When he wanted sex, well - you get the idea.

It wasn’t often that Crowley felt the need to utilize his surprising talent for self discipline. There was, however, one very notable exception.

In his bookshop, the angel Aziraphale sat, surrounded by books.

Considering Aziraphale lived and worked in a bookshop, he was obviously always surrounded by books, in the general sense. But in this case, he was quite literally surrounded by books.

Aziraphale sat in the middle of his bookshop, the CLOSED sign prominently displayed on the door, with what appeared to be a good seventy percent of his formidable collection placed on the floor in neat piles. If asked, the angel would claim this was all for “inventory purposes.”

In reality, after feeling a bit nostalgic, he’d decided to flip through a few of his old favorites, and had, er - well gotten just a bit carried away.

Not that anyone did ask.

The only individual who would have asked - since Aziraphale had kicked out his customers - was distracted by the one other notable feature in the room.

A pair of large, snowy white wings.

Crowley, who’d miracled himself into the book shop to see if Aziraphale was interested in going to lunch, saw the windows first. They were propped open, and bright sunlight poured in, lighting and warming the cluttered space.

He turned, Aziraphale’s name on his lips - when he saw them.

Magnificent, they stretched out, extending over the nearby stacks, and resting atop the sturdiest of the books. Beneath the sun, the white, downy wings seemed to glow.

It was as Crowley stood, staring at the wings Aziraphale so rarely brought out on this plane of existence, that the age old adage again came to mind.

Look but don’t touch.

Crowley circled the angel - who was so immersed in reading he didn’t even appear to notice the new entrant.

Stepping carefully around the books, Crowley observed Aziraphale; looking from his hair - standing up at odd angles, appearing even lighter in the sun, to his eyes - half-lidded, fair eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked down at his treasured words, and finally to his wings, white, and ruffled, and looking soft enough to touch.

Crowley swallowed, unaware that he was flexing and clenching his hands at his sides.

He couldn’t even say he had a good reason for wanting to touch the angel’s wings. They were likely soft, he supposed - would probably feel nice. That and, well -

They were a part of Aziraphale.

And Crowley, sometime around the fifteenth century, had come to the uncomfortable realization that the world was a brighter, livelier, more wonderful place when Aziraphale was nearby to him - and Crowley was already very fond of the world (don’t mention it to Hell), so this was really saying something.

Throughout the centuries, Crowley had found excuses to touch the angel - because if being near Aziraphale made the world better, touching Aziraphale made Crowley’s world transform into something radiant. So Crowley got creative. It was a handshake here, a clap on the arm there. Brushing shoulders as they walked. Even one notable instance where he’d plucked a speck of dirt from the left side of the angel’s nose.

Aziraphale had only taken his wings out in front of Crowley three times since they’d been assigned to Earth. So far, Crowley hadn’t dared touch them.

Not that he should have dared. Wings were intensely personal part of an angel - or demon’s body. A respectable being didn’t just go up and touch them.

Crowley, of course, was a demon. And demons are not respectable.

But Aziraphale was an angel, and...admittedly, very special to Crowley.

So Crowley resisted.

He contented himself with stepping nearer to the angel, and watching as the wings twitched, feathers swaying beneath the light afternoon breeze. All of Aziraphale’s feathers were somewhat ruffled, but a few stuck up from the rest.

Crowley didn’t know why he reached out, when he’d definitively decided not to. The only explanation that came to mind was that perhaps the body he rarely fed was finally rebelling - because his hand was most definitely moving.

His fingers were inches from the wayward feathers when reason returned to him. Muscles locking, he froze.

As if sensing the anxiety in the air, Aziraphale looked up from his book. Blinking his eyes into focus, he turned partially around - and caught sight of Crowley, hand extended toward the wing.

Crowley stood, caught. Hot with shame, he rushed to explain. “I wasn’t-”

Aziraphale interrupted.

“Oh Crowley! I didn’t even notice you come in.” His gaze flickered to Crowley, and then to his hand, and finally, the wing he’d stretched out atop the books.

Crowley cut in, desperately afraid that Aziraphale might never again trust him. And why should he?

“Aziraphale-”

“I know, I really should take better care of them, shouldn’t I?” Aziraphale sighed. “Were you going to fix those for me?” he said, nodding toward the jutting feathers. “You can go ahead.”

Crowley blinked, removed his sunglasses, and then blinked again.

Aziraphale’s gaze had returned to the book. He’d left his wings open to Crowley and his back deliberately exposed.

“I’m almost done with this one,” Aziraphale hummed into the book. “Feel free to tackle some of the other messy spots while you’re at it, dear. I trust you’ll do a good job.”

“I- yeah, of course,” Crowley said, his voice hoarse and his heartbeat thudding absurdly loudly in his ears.

Surrounded by books, he knelt behind the angel and extended a hand.

If you happened to pass that particular bookshop on that particular day, and if you just so happened to glance in an open window at just the right time, you would have seen the following:

An impossibly bright man, blonde and very nearly glowing, holding an open book in his lap which he was no longer reading. The pair of wings which stretched out from his back were being attended to by another man, who wasn’t so obviously effervescent, but also had a bit of bright something around him. The second man ran reverent hands over the white wings, carefully brushing feathers into place, while the winged one stole a look over his shoulder - one you couldn’t quite make out, but it was followed by a long, distinctly meaningful sigh.

Of course, you’d suddenly and inexplicably remember that thing you’d completely forgotten about and were now ten minutes late for. And as you hurried away, the scene you’d witnessed would slide ever so smoothly from your mind, and you’d be left with a strange, vaguely warm feeling that you couldn’t quite define - kind of like you’d very recently had a good hug.

Much later, after you’d gone to bed following an admittedly confusing day, you’d sit up in a cold sweat and think to yourself - love. Of course, the feeling was love.

#asks #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley fanfic #my writing #good omens wing fic #drabble #fanfic #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK #YOU INSPIRED ME TO WRITE A THING #also your parrot sounds adorable :)

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khiroptera · 5 years

Note

Do you have any fic recs? Smut preferably? If not it cool

this anon asked so long ago but i took forever bc i had to finish reading stuff! i feel like a librarian (in a good way). which speaking of librarians, have you pals checked out @aziraphales-library bc they got lots of fic recs over there too! never go a day without some peer-reviewed gomens fics LMAO

anyway, smutty fics ahead! heavy sexual content!! under a cut this time bc there’s quite a few in here.

first, some links to carsextober fics because they were fun as fuck and i want to make sure everyone reads them! they’re all different flavors of sex in the bentley:

I’ll Be Wrapped Around Your Finger by @soft-october-night – fluffy, humorous take, established relationship, outsider POV, implied sex, everyone in soho ships them

and in this way their love rewrites the universe by @letmetemptyou – fluffy, established relationship, very romantic, lots of cute build-up, explicit sex, i’m dead they’re so in love

as certain dark things by @drawlight – lots of pining and desperate longing, quiet sexual tension, first time, explicit sex, switching, killed me with yearning omfg

you hit the spot by @weatheredlaw – oops they got stuck in the car, established relationship, seriously filthy, marathon sex, no refractory period, this poor bentley lol

and then some other very good, non-thematic fics (all explicit)!

tar was dripping from his brush by @chrononautintraining – crowley and aziraphale hold hands on a park bench for three days straight when aziraphale realizes “oh he might be willing to have sex with me.” it’s a first time fic but they’re both really playful and comfortable with themselves and each other! i like a little giggly happiness with my smut, A+

blame it on my juice, baby! by @areyougonnabe – it’s a fake love potion fic (the tag ”fun with the placebo effect” should tell you everything lol). these fools fall for a little prank and end up revealing everything to each other. emotionally, and physically. omg they’re such soft fools…. i love them so much 😭

until you say it out loud by @areyougonnabe – yeah ANOTHER one of theirs, because hhhhhhfhfhf. this one, oh my god. this is a very wound up, nervous kind of crowley, and an aziraphale who does such a good job of taking care of him and showing him he’s loved. with sex, of course. 😘

The Sharper Edge by @spockazilla – aziraphale appreciates crowley’s more demonic traits. very short and sweet and cute with just a bit of smut tbh, but i had to put it on here because (despite being a monsterfucker myself) i’m not always into the husbands having like, eldritch appearances. this is just some light stuff, like crowley getting some claws, and i like it a lot! ❤

to steal light from dawn by @focusfixated – crowley wants aziraphale to decide when he gets to finish, as it were. problem is, crowley wasn’t exactly clear about what he wants. i won’t lie, this gets feelsy and kind of sad thanks to miscommunication issues, but they work it out beautifully by the end and it’s very very satisfying, emotionally. also satisfying in other ways too, bc the porn is real nice!! 👌👌👌

When in Rome by @reserve – i read this a good few months ago and it stuck with me. the husbands are both present at an orgy and they get handsy with each other. very sexy, with hints of pining and crowley very obviously being in love already. not gonna lie, the end is kinda sad but it’s mostly to keep the story canon-compliant – it does take place in rome, so there’s still 2000 years for them (mostly aziraphale) to get their shit together 😏

These Captive Stars by @darlingred1 – i didn’t think i was into thigh-fucking. turns out i am into thigh-fucking, at least as far as this story is concerned. so yeah it’s pretty hot, but also very loving and sweet from aziraphale’s POV, how much he wants crowley to know he loves and trusts him 😭 11/10 i love it

#mail #fic recs #good omens #ineffable husbands #also guess who learned how to use emojis on desktop #yes i really took that long to figure it out #i can't be stopped now #i only know how to communicate my feelings via way too many emojis and constant misuse of 'lol' and 'lmao'#i'm going off on a tangent ANYWAY ENJOY READING SMUTS #this isn't even all the good smuts i've read lately but come on i gotta save some for future rec lists right?

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kaesaaurelia · 4 years

Text

nature is healing

For @whumptober2020 day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops (specifically "accidents" and "hunting season").

Continues on from day two, wherein Aziraphale was kidnapped by very health-conscious Satanists, day nine, wherein we find out how Crowley got there, and what the Satanists are after, day ten, wherein the Satanists took a lot of Aziraphale’s blood and made a potion, day sixteen, wherein they fed the potion to Crowley, who is no longer thinking clearly, and not entirely sure what he should do with this delicious prey the Satanists have given him, day twenty-one, wherein Aziraphale would be a very happy monsterfucker but being bitten by a venomous snake is a bit much, and day twenty-five, wherein Crowley is himself once more, and Aziraphale gets them both free.

Aziraphale/Crowley; not explicit, but many allusions to sex, xeno, and sex pollen; also discussion of 2020 Stuff. Implication of offscreen physical violence and psychological torment.

Aziraphale watched Crowley slither off, and then sat in one of the very uncomfortable, badly-warped pews of the ruined church to clear his head for a few moments. Poor thing, he was all wound up now. At least maybe he could take some of that aggression out on the Satanists.

What happened after that... well. Aziraphale would try not to get his hopes up too much, but he thought that probably after this he had learned his lesson about hoping for Crowley to break the rules and come see him during quarantine.

Aziraphale overheard shouting from outside the ruined church. He miraculously replaced some of his lost blood -- not all of it at once, that didn't always go well -- and wandered outside to see what the ruckus was about.

He poked his head out of the door to the church and saw Crowley, still extraordinarily serpentine, gripping the leader of the Satanists by the neck and holding him about a foot off the ground.

Crowley was speaking too quietly for Aziraphale to hear, but he imagined that whatever he'd said to the fellow must have hit home, because he was shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. Crowley shook his head in disgust and slithered away. He was terribly handsome, Aziraphale couldn't help but think. Although he did hope Crowley wasn't stuck that way; he'd be so put out about having to refit his car so he could drive it without feet. And there would be no more of those very tight trousers he'd been wearing for the past few decades.

Aziraphale supposed he ought to go and offer comfort to the Satanist, even though the fellow had tried to kill him; it was only polite. "Hello," he said, ambling over to the man, who was still sitting in the middle of a dirt path.

"I'm sorry, I'm -- I'm sorry!" the man told him, shivering. He began to sob.

"Yes, well, all water under the bridge," said Aziraphale, agreeably. He ignored a horrified screech from another one of the Satanists. Might've been the one who'd been looking forward to the fires, now Aziraphale thought about it. He decided that that wasn't important. Crowley would do what he felt was best. But a lovely thought occurred to him. "You don't happen to have a copy of that recipe you used, do you? For reference," he added quickly, "not to use, obviously." And, in fairness, this was not entirely a lie; he wanted to see if it had any nasty side effects that might hurt Crowley down the road. But, also, if... if there weren't any nasty side effects, and if Crowley was amenable...

"I'm -- oh, oh, god, I'm sorry," said the Satanist, wiping his tears away on the very elaborately-embroidered sleeves of his robe and reaching one shaky hand inside his robe to pull out a worn, folded scrap of paper.

"Thank you very much," said Aziraphale, smiling at the Satanist. But the man didn't stop weeping, and Aziraphale's face fell. "Good Lord, what did he do to you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't -- I didn't want --"

Aziraphale cut him off by putting a hand to the man's forehead and looking inside him. "Ah," he said. "I see. Well. You did want that, didn't you? In a way."

"I'm sorry!" he said, lost in his own head.

Aziraphale knew he would gradually come back to himself, but he'd always remember having slain two people in a poorly thought-out but surprisingly effective Satanic ritual, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. "Chin up," he told the man. "At least now you know you're not cut out for this sort of thing. Takes some of us a lot longer to work that out." And he wandered off towards the van.

"No, no, please!" he heard somebody shout. Wherever that unfortunate cultist and Crowley were, Aziraphale couldn't see them, and he ignored the shouting as he leaned up against the van they'd kidnapped him with and perused the recipe.

It did not appear to be designed with an angel in mind; that little wrinkle had been added by the Satanists. In fact, Aziraphale couldn't really tell if this was a ritual to get a demon to go after somebody you didn't like, or a ritual to summon up a demon for... personal and private amusements. Aziraphale felt it would have been easier to just go to an appropriate venue -- a private club, say -- and engage in polite conversations and lovely meals and let things take their course, if one was lonely in this particular way. He did not pretend to understand the ways of human demonologists, though. And he couldn't really fault them for finding demons attractive.

"Help! Somebody? Anybody!" a man cried in the distance.

There'd been six cultists; Crowley had dealt with four of them. Aziraphale still had a bit of time. He squinted at the recipe.

Was it possible -- oh no, Aziraphale thought, that was silly, why would anyone do that?

Desperation, perhaps? And a lack of knowledge of the fundamentals?

It had been an awfully bad year.

Given that, Aziraphale began to suspect that the Satanists' precursors had failed to keep particularly good records, and these particular ones, in their desire to quickly pull together a ritual to make things better, had accidentally combined two potions; one to set a vicious demon against one's enemies, and the other to summon an amorous demon. And now poor Crowley was a bit of both.

His eyes settled on the note at the bottom. Effects to last until demon has taken (?) its target. And underneath that, with an arrow pointing at the word taken, the same hand had written How is this defined???

Aziraphale could think of several ways he might have defined taken in this context, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"No, no, let me go! I’ll give you anything! Please, don’t hurt me!" Aziraphale heard one of the Satanists shout. That was number five. He supposed he ought to be getting ready to go, then.

Aziraphale opened the door to the van, and then remembered that these things needed keys to start, too. Of course, he could just make the thing start, but he was woozy and he'd rather just have the keys.

He wandered back to the head of the cultists. "So sorry to trouble you again," he said, "but I'm going to need to borrow the keys to your van."

Apologizing and sobbing, the man fumbled around for a few moments before producing a handful of jangling keys.

"Thank you!" said Aziraphale, brightly, and left him alone again to go to the van. He wondered if there were any snacks in it. That was supposed to help with blood loss, wasn't it? Aziraphale thought he'd earned it.

He was just opening the back of the van to look when he heard Crowley shout, "Angel!" He looked to see Crowley slithering over, carrying the last Satanist by the scruff of her jacket. It was the one called Gemma, who'd got all the ingredients for the potion. "That'ss the lot of them."

"I thought you were going to deal with them all," said Aziraphale, frowning at her. "What do you expect me to do, I'm not going to smite anyone."

Crowley dumped her on the ground in front of the van. "No, you idiot, 'coursse I don't want you to ssmite her, but we need a driver. I can't drive like thiss," he said, gesturing down at his scaly torso.

"Well -- I mean... I could do it," said Aziraphale, feeling a bit overlooked.

"No, no, no, angel, have you even got a licssensse?" Crowley asked.

"Have you?" Aziraphale asked; he was going to be very surprised if the answer was yes.

"That'ss not the point," Crowley said.

"Well, how hard can it be? I've watched you drive plenty of times," said Aziraphale. “You barely even look at the road. And you take your hands off the wheel all the time.”

Crowley looked taken aback by this. "How -- how hard can it -- angel, what'ss -- why do you --"

"Excuse me?" Gemma asked, brushing herself off and standing. "Hey! Hello?"

"Thiss iss not your problem," said Crowley, waving her off. "Angel, do you want to learn to drive?" he asked. "Becausse I'd -- I'd be willing to show you -- but right now I'm in no sstate to --"

"Excuse me," said Gemma, again.

"Not now," Aziraphale snapped at her. He turned back to Crowley. "I don't really want to drive, only -- is she even willing to do it?"

"Willing doessn't really come into it," said Crowley. "She wasss part of thiss whole thing and she'ss not horrible enough to punish in any of the ways I could think of sso --"

"Fuck's sake, I'll drive, I haven't got transportation otherwise," said Gemma. She grabbed the keys from Aziraphale. "Thank you," she said, and stomped around the other side of the van to get into the driver's seat.

"Well. That'ss ssettled, issn't it," said Crowley, smugly.

"Out of curiosity, what exactly did you do to the others? And why didn't you do it to her?"

"I gave them all exactly what they thought they wanted," said Crowley, "but then..." He rolled his eyes. "I found her hiding in a tree trying to get recsseption sso she could look up how to de-esscalate a demon ssummoning without phoning the police."

Aziraphale processed this. "De... escalate?"

"All she sseemed to want out of thiss wass a fun ssocial event without loadss of people about, and then they sstuck her with the grocsseriess and she felt obligated. D'you know, she wass the virgin ssacrifice Mr. Fancssy Robess mentioned earlier?"

Aziraphale made a face. "Oh dear."

"Apparently Ssatanisstss are rubbish in bed, though, which, I mean, I could've told her that," said Crowley. "I told her to get an app or ssomething."

"Or, you know... mail order... devices," said Aziraphale, trying to strike a balance between sounding very worldly and not sounding like someone who'd actually sampled such devices. He tried especially to not sound like he'd gone with mail order because the devices he wanted were too esoteric for the shop next door to carry.

Crowley grinned. "You gonna give her ssome recommendationss, angel?" he asked.

"No! No," said Aziraphale, firmly.

"Come on, let'ss get back to London," said Crowley. "I can't turn back -- I tried -- sso I think I'd better ride in the back where there's room. You can be in the front, keep her out of trouble, ssort of thing," he suggested.

"Of course," said Aziraphale. "And... about changing back... I think you had better come stay with me at the bookshop until we sort that out."

"I... I don't think that'ss a good idea," said Crowley. He looked very worried about this, for some reason.

"I got the recipe for their nasty little potion, and I think I know how to get you turned back," said Aziraphale. "But I'd rather discuss that in private. So. Have her drop us both off at the bookshop?"

Crowley looked pensive. "Yeah," he said, finally. "All right."

"It'll be all right, Crowley," said Aziraphale, smiling at him. "And if it isn't, you know, we'll just... find a way to make everyone think you're normal."

"We will, will we?" Crowley asked.

"The snake people of London are returning to terrorize the streets in vintage cars once again," said Aziraphale, loftily. "Nature is healing."

It was the first genuine smile he'd got out of Crowley in -- well, in months, actually. So that was something, anyway.

[next part]

#whumptober2020 #no.28 #such wow. many normal. very oops #accidents #hunting season #good omens #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #fiction #dubcon #sex pollen #xeno #slightly spicy #text #kaesa op

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