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aggsh-shs · 5 months

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Need You

this is the first fanfic i’m putting on tumblr, it is Nsfw, read at your own risk

pairing: aziraphale x crowley

plot: Az helps crowley get off in the bookshop

warning: contains swearing, SMUT, and overstim

requests for fics are open as i am on winter break and bored

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Crowley decided he rather liked sitting on Aziraphale’s lap.

The press of their bodies was nearly intoxicating, and the feeling of the angel breathing against him was grounding. Calming almost.

His head was placed snugly in the crook between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, with the demon pressing kisses along the exposed skin. Every now and then he would draw a sharp inhale from his lover, maybe a whimper if he was lucky. The only other sound was the soft turning of pages.

They’d been like this for an hour, Crowley curled up in Aziraphale’s lap. The angel was catching up on some reading, and Crowley was too needy to be on his own.

Now he was getting restless, rolling his hips every so often. He liked to tease, and was hoping to receive some attention.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was unwavering, and a hand came up to tangle in his hair, “you’re moving.”

“‘s that a problem angel?” Crowley shifted his hips again, fighting back a grin when he felt Aziraphale’s hard-on rub against his clit, “Am I distracting you?”

Aziraphale set his book on the small table next to them, then took his glasses off.

“Yes you are,” the angel paused, “but you look so desperate.” He cupped the other’s face, brushing his red hair back. He smiled kissing Crowley’s head, “I’ll take care of you first, but once you’re done I really must finish this book-“

Crowley cut him off with a kiss, he was so horny he couldn’t think straight (not that he ever could). He rolled his hips again, earning soft gasps from Aziraphale.

Hands slid up his thighs, palming at him through the soft pajama pants he wore. Crowley whined softly, mostly muffled by Aziraphale’s mouth on his.

Aziraphale was the first to pull away, focusing on getting Crowley undressed. He was incredibly gentle, taking each piece of clothing off and folding it before setting it down.

After an agonizing minute or two, the demons pants and underwear were on the floor, and Aziraphale was back to touching him.

“There you are,” He ran his hands over Crowleys thighs, watching as he squirmed, “Such a beautiful boy.”

Crowley whimpered, his head falling onto the angels shoulder, “Fuck. Please Zira-“

Aziraphale kissed the side of his head, before using his thumb to gently circle his clit, “How’s that my love? Feeling ok?”

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, nodding and trying to thrust his hips further into the sensation. It was too much, and not enough at the same time.

“There we go, such a good boy,”

Aziraphale held his hips, keeping Crowley where he was, “I’ve got you.”

The angel smiled as he felt his partner clenching, then whining when he felt empty.

“I need- fuck- need to feel you,” Crowley breathed heavily, hands scrambling for something to hold on to.

“You are feeling me darling,” Aziraphale smiled, combing through his hair with his free hand, “I’m still touching you.”

“wanna be full,” Crowley was still rocking his hips into Aziraphale’s touch, and he was starting to get close, “please-“

And who was the angel to deny his lover such a request?

He smiled and took one of Crowleys hands off the arm of the chair, guiding it down to touch himself.

Crowley whined in protest, but Aziraphale shushed him, “It’s ok love, I’m staying right here. Not gonna stop touching you.”

He moved his hand down to Crowleys vulva, gently pushing in one finger. He probably could have fit two with how wet he was, but he didn’t want to risk it.

Crowley sighed in relief, starting to circle his clit with his own fingers this time.

“Good boy, I’ve got you,” Aziraphale added a second finger, making his lover keen and shudder.

Crowley was so tense around him, Aziraphale knew it wasn’t long before he would come. He watched as his movements became more motivated, more needy.

“Az-“ It was the first full word Crowley had said in minutes, “Fuck, Az.”

Aziraphale kissed his head, holding him closer still, “I know, it’s ok Crowley. I’ve got you. You’ve been such a good boy for me, I’m so proud of you.”

That was all it took to have him shaking, his whole body practically folding over as he came undone. Crowley sobbed, not stopping even after the aftershocks had worked their way through him.

Aziraphale kept his fingers inside, starting to rub them against Crowleys G-spot.

“Look at you,” Aziraphale cupped his cheek, wiping away the sweat and tears. Crowley still didn’t stop touching himself, “You’re so beautiful, think you can come again? What will it take my love?”

Crowley let out a choked whine, trying to gather his thoughts well enough to articulate them, “Praise, need to be talked through it.”

Aziraphale nodded, rubbing Crowleys back with his free hand.

“Such a beautiful boy, look at you, so perfect for me,” He sighed, kissing the demons cheek, “go ahead and touch yourself, rub your fingers along your clit. It’s ok, just come when you’re ready.”

Crowley’s breath hitched, and he was trembling slightly. He couldn’t say it didn’t feel good, but it also hurt a bit. Just over sensitive was all.

Aziraphale saw this, and kissed his head, “I’m here, you can stop if it hurts too much honey.”

Crowley shook his head, closing his eyes, “ngk- feels good-“

He came again soon after, this time pulling his hand away and laying right back on Aziraphale’s chest.

The angel miracled Crowley’s clothes back on, returning to his book as he brushed through the demons hair.

“Good boy, get some rest for me.”

“mhm..”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #nsft #good omens nsft

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sparkly-key · 7 months

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The ebb and flow of a flatlining heart

An alternate timeline where Aziraphale and Crowley didn't stop Armageddon. Heaven and Hell get their war as Adam Young reshapes and rules the world in his image. Crowley and Aziraphale work with Anathema to save what remnants of humanity they can, but Aziraphale's guilt over possessing and losing humans drive him to plot a dangerous heist to get a corporation from Heaven - and Crowley's insistence on coming turns disastrous. The prequel to wayneveresque-phd's (Not) Fine.

Her tumblr

AO3: (Not) Fine, The ebb and flow of a flatlining heart

When your long-time writing partner offers to emotionally torture characters in connection with the physical pain you inflict, you don't say no - even if you end up whumping yourself along the way.

Other works in this series: When my presence brings you pain | The monster in the mirror | On AO3

Content warnings: Blood, violence, gore, mutilation, torture, gun violence, branding, beheading, major character death - as in a majority of the characters die. I give you all those and, in exchange, you get BAMF Aziraphale and self-sacrificing Crowley.

Whumptober 2023 Day 16 - "Would you lie with me and just forget the world?" | Gurney | Flatline | "Don't go where I can't follow."

Aziraphale felt the grace flooding through his veins as the corporation was finished, the flesh shell molding itself to his astral form. Gingerly, he tested his movements – flexing his fingers and rolling his neck as the mind and body reconnected.

“Crowley, it worked!“ he turned, exciting to have replicated the process he’d only seen done a few times. He was expecting to see the demon where he’d been when the process had started, but no one was there.

He scrambled for his watch, cupping the timepiece in his palm before he checked the log on the machine. 30 minutes.

“Oh no,” he whispered, his eyes wide as his gaze ricocheted around Heaven.

Crowley had promised they would stay together – He wouldn’t have lied, not about this.

BANG!

A demonic howl tore through Heaven after the gunshot, the noise piercing Aziraphale’s heart.

He ran faster than he had in ages.

Upstairs wasn’t designed for secrecy; with the way the wide expanse was mainly interrupted by columns. Only few spaces were enclosed, like the corporation chamber. But the open spaces made it feel like a labyrinth, each identical column adding to an endless illusion. Instinctively, he ran toward the lobby.

There was movement and while a part of him screamed to avoid this, for his own safety, he ignored it and rushed ahead. Crowley – he could see him, the taupe suit he’d miracled into to blend in enough of a different shade to immediately call his eye. There were angels on either side of him, forcing him to kneel. His head hung, a curtain of red curls shielding his face. A third angel towered over him, his arm raised.

BANG!

“Crowley!” He cried, racing into the lobby as the demon sagged against his captors’ hold. Aziraphale’s shout drew his gaze upward and the angel’s gut wrenched at the black blood staining his clothes.

“Angel, no!”

Something struck the back of his head and he fell to his knees feet away from Crowley, trying to fight the dizziness that suddenly overwhelmed his vision. He hissed as angels grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back and crowding around him.

“Ah, the traitor angel came for his pet demon,” the leader drawled, examining the gun in his hand. “Well, I suppose the volume of this weapon has some advantages – We’ve been cutting at him for 10 minutes and his screams didn’t manage to reach you.”

He moved out of the way.

Aziraphale flinched as he realized Crowley’s body was littered with wounds, blood seeping out from slashes and gaping holes along his torso and thighs. With Crowley’s lip was split and a gash along his forehead drenched his face in blood – what Aziraphale initially thought was shadow from Crowley’s bent head was partially the dark ichor.

“Sorry, Aziraphale – didn’t want to interrupt –“ Crowley gasped as the angel’s foot smashed into his jaw.

“No – Please, stop!” The blond struggled against his captors. “He didn’t do anything!”

The statement spurred a chorus of mocking laughter.

“The Serpent of Eden, not doing anything?” One of the angels trapping Crowley snarled, twisting her hold. The demon grimaced, gritting his teeth from the pain.

“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought if you think that,” the leader (Nithael, Aziraphale recognized belatedly, another Principality) snapped as he circled Aziraphale. “Not only is he a demon – inherently guilty and damned beyond redemption – but he is the creator of original sin. For millennia, his work has been humanity’s burden. And we are finally ridding the Earth of his crimes. When Armageddon is finished, we will have a clean slate to build paradise.”

He nodded toward Crowley. “But first, we should remind the demon of Her command as his punishment.”

“Stop!” Aziraphale begged, twisting to try to look over his shoulder at the leader. The angel on his right struck, cuffing his head.

“What use does a serpent have for hands or legs? Don’t you remember you were cursed to crawl on your belly, all food turning as ash in your mouth?”

“No, stop! Please, there is no need to hurt him. He’s just doing as I asked.” Aziraphale found himself begging. He was speaking so fast his tongue felt like it was in knots, but if they would just listen and understand they would leave him out of this. “He’s not on Hell’s side. He’s on his own side! Arguably, he’s done more damage to their side than—”

“Not helping, angel.” Crowley gave him a sad smile.

“Be silent, fiend!” He received a vicious blow to his jaw.

Crowley spat blood at their feet, laughing as they forced his hands out in front of him.

One angel held one arm, and another held the second while one pushed down on his shoulders and two held Aziraphale back. Nithael approached with a silver samovar. Aziraphale screamed curses. He fought and struggled in his new corporation as they brought the substance that would not only dissolve Crowley’s corporation but completely destroy him.

Crowley screamed as the liquid trickled on his skin, wrinkling the flesh with controlled heat. Nithael dribbled the Holy Water carefully, apparent delight on his face as the divine power scarred Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale screamed, the words sounding as though he were speaking in tongues with desperation, and his pleas drowned out Crowley’s howls, muffled by the demon’s gritted teeth.

“And lest any forget the curse you have wrought upon Heaven,” the tormenter intoned, turning to a new angel who carried an iron rod.

Aziraphale stilled at the sight of the brand, the sigil on the end glowing with sickening heat. “DON’T!” He screamed, as the symbol pressed into Crowley’s neck.

The demon screamed, unable to restrain himself, as the skin bubbled and warped beneath the brand. His struggles ceased, leaving only Aziraphale’s howls to echo in the cavernous halls of Heaven.

Aziraphale thrashed with unholy strength, his might surprising his captors. His wings burst forth, throwing the pair against pillars, the columns crumpling on top of them as the blond lunged forward. He crashed into the one wielding the brand, wresting it from his grasp, and forcing him to the ground, his foot on his throat. He felt nothing but cold fury as he twisted the rod against his victim’s face, marking the celestial with the same scar placed upon his friend as the angel screamed and thrashed beneath him.

Somebody grabbed his wing and Aziraphale spun, the poker still in his hand. The rod caught the angel whose hands on Crowley’s back had stilled the demon as the Holy Water touched his flesh. With a snarl, the guardian of Earth surged, driving the cooling brand against the angel’s skull with a sickening crunch.

“Traitor!” The second angel who’d restrained Crowley threw himself upon the blond’s back and wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s throat. His free hand clawed at Aziraphale’s face, scratching and gouging at his eyes.

Aziraphale rocketed into the air, their forms corkscrewing as his attacker struggled to hold on. Aziraphale pulled the angel off of him as he flew, one hand clenched around the arm that had choked him as he dragged his opponent higher. As vast as it seemed, Heaven still had a ceiling, and he threw the angel against it with as much force as he could muster, the ceiling fracturing around his victim. With a growl, Aziraphale wrapped his hands around the angel’s throat, squeezing as his victim clawed at his arms until his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slumped against Aziraphale’s hold.

He cried out as a blade pierced his shoulder where his left wing met his body, impaling him. His new attacker withdrew the sword, and grabbed his wing to throw him toward the ground.

“You should have stayed on Earth,” Nithael snarled, flying after Aziraphale.

The guardian of Earth bit back a cry of pain and rage as he beat his wings furiously to control his descent so he could land safely. He twisted to block Nithael’s strike, wrapping around the sword where the hilt and the blade fused, the metal biting into his palms as he forced the blade to the side.

“You’re pathetic, Aziraphale, deserving of the darkest pit of Hell,” Nithael hissed, matching his might. “Surrender and we’ll let your pet leave Heaven.”

He slammed his head forward, bashing against Aziraphale’s as the blond’s nose broke with a sickening crunch.

Aziraphale snarled as the blood flowed, the metallic taste on his lips. “Liar,” he hissed and drove his knee into Nithael’s stomach. With a vicious yank, he freed the blade, sending it skittering away from them. Aziraphale twisted, forcing the Principality’s body to roll with him. He straddled Nithael, his fingers digging into the angel’s eyes sockets.

Nithael’s scream of pain echoed as surely as Crowley’s had as Aziraphale felt his eyeballs rupture at his touch.

Aziraphale slouched over the body, ragged breaths escaping as he –

BANG!

His head shot up, cold blue eyes landing on the lone angel standing over Crowley with the divine firearm shaking in his gasp.

Crowley was curled on the ground, body convulsing in a pool of onyx blood.

“D-don-don’t move,” the last member of Heaven’s guard stuttered, turning the gun toward Aziraphale.

It was a fruitless order as Aziraphale was already charging toward him, swooping to collect Nithael’s sword. The bullet slammed into his leg, causing him to falter a second before he ducked under the angel’s arm and dragged the blade across his stomach, ignoring the startled gasp that escaped the last of Crowley’s tormenters. He twisted as the angel doubled over, the gun clattering to the floor, and swung the sword down, severing the angel’s neck.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale pleaded, dropping for his knees next to the demon. “Crowley, please – Please, I’m sorry.”

His hands flew to the newest bullet hole, flinching as Crowley hissed in pain.

“’S alrigh, ‘zira,” the demon moaned. “Jus’ hurts.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to heal the worst of Crowley’s wounds. A trickle of grace flowed into the gunshot wound in Crowley’s gut and the demon’s pained scream shook the angel. “I’m sorry, I’m –“

“Don’t touch – hurts like Hell,” Crowley hissed, curling further in on himself.

If he couldn’t heal him –

“We have to get out of here,” Aziraphale said, collecting Crowley in his arms. His skin burned where his body touched the brand and he tried to ignore Crowley’s sobs as he stumbled to his feet. The demon’s lanky frame spilled over the angel’s arms as he took halting but determined steps to the elevator.

“Just hold on, my dear, please,” he begged as the doors closed, shunting them from Heaven’s gaze. “We’ll get help – you’ll be alright.”

The demon didn’t say anything, his body trembling against Aziraphale’s.

A sigh of relief escaped the blond as they reached Earth, emerging in warehouse that reeked of charred flesh and blood. The evidence of a battle was here – had Shax and her demons held the angels at bay? There were too many bodies to sort between angels and demons.

He gingerly dragged Crowley out of the elevator, stumbling several times over carnage and refuse.

His face was wet, whether from tears or blood, he didn’t know. His nose was swollen and his breathing labored as he found a recluse to hide Crowley in, a paranoid sense of dread gnawing at his mind.

“Where’s – An’thma?” Crowley ground out while Aziraphale arranged debris to shield the demon.

“I’ll message in a moment,” the angel promised, settling back on his knees and untucking his collared shirt so he could start ripping it for bandages. If his grace hurt Crowley, he had to find some other option to stop the bleeding.

His hands trembled as he folded the rough strips, packing it into the gunshot wound as gently but firmly as he could. “I’m sorry – sorry, my dear – I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise,” he muttered, flinching every time the demon hissed in pain.

“Didn’ wan to leave you,” Crowley slurred, his head rolling to the side as though it took too much effort to keep it upright. “Ha ta keep ‘em away till you were fin-finished …”

Aziraphale stilled as the words sunk in.

He had a corporation because Crowley had heard the angels and done something to lure them away from the chamber.

“Oh my dear,” he murmured, a quiet sob escaping his lips. His hands inched toward Crowley’s face but he recoiled at the demon’s whimper of pain, barely recognizing his own burns.

“Crowley?” Shax questioned, appearing at Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Are those bullet holes?”

The angel jumped in surprise, looking over his shoulder at her. “He got caught. They have a new gun or something – It it it hurts when I try to heal them –“

“Where is Michael’s lance?” Shax snapped, looking around.

“What? We didn’t get it – I was too busy getting Crowley out,” He turned his attention back to his friend. “I – I – I need –“

His sentence ended in a shout of pain as something heavy collided with his jaw, his vision too hazy from swelling and blood for his brain to register the threat. The world spun as he crumbled over Crowley, struggling not to surrender to the pain.

“You pathetic fool,” Shax snarled, shoving him to the floor. She towered over him, a club in her grasp.

He couldn’t lose this body. This couldn’t have been for nothing.

He rolled out of the way as Shax swung,

“I should have known better than to think a soft, useless lump of meat like you could have fulfilled his end of the bargain. Now I’ll look like an idiot for assisting an angel with nothing to show for it,” the demon spat.

Aziraphale’s vision still swam as he looked past her to the handful of demons emerging amid the debris. He couldn’t count their number, his eyes uncertain.

“Shax, truce,” he warned weakly. He blindly fumbled for something he could use to defend himself. His hand closed around a piece of rebar, trapped beneath a pile of refuse.

“Fuck the truce,” she snarled at the same time Crowley shouted a warning. She dropped the club and lunged toward him with a dagger. She fell on top of him.

He gasped in pain as she plunged the blade between his ribs. “If I cannot have the lance, then at least I can take your head on a platter,” Shax hissed angrily.

The rebar forgotten, Aziraphale covered her hand with his, his grip cruel around her wrist as he forced the blade out of his body. She struggled against him, her free hand finding where he’d been impaled on a sword earlier and digging viciously into the wound.

With a pained grunt, Aziraphale threw her off him and climbed hastily to his feet. The dagger was clutched in his left as he wavered. He ground his teeth against the thundering pain in his body and snapped his fingers, pulling from a draining pool of grace to create a sword in his right.

“Angel!” Crowley warned as a demon pounced on Aziraphale’s back.

Aziraphale grabbed his attacker’s arm before it could circle his throat and pulled him over his shoulder, gritting his teeth as the demon clawed at his wounded wing. He placed his foot on the demon’s chest, ignoring the claws that tore at his legs, and held the tip of his sword against the demon’s throat, the dagger pointed at Shax.

“Last chance,” he growled, the words harder to form, but his gaze never left hers.

Her lips curled. “Kill him.”

Aziraphale did as the demon ordered, making a swift cut across the underling’s throat.

Shax stepped back as two more demons threw themselves at him, biting and clawing like rabid animals. He ran his sword through one, letting go of the blade to shield his face from the barbed tongue that lashed out of the other. When it curled around his arm, the angel grabbed further up its slimy length, ignoring the way the barbs pierced his palm and hauling the demon closer until he could jam his dagger into its throat. Black bile gurgled out of the wound as Aziraphale forced his hands into the demon’s mouth and heaved, cleaving its jaw in half. With a snarl, he threw the lower part of the skull at Shax as its owner crumpled to the ground, blood drenching its form.

A third, a little weasel-like thing, climbed him easily, claws digging into his flesh with each step. Aziraphale screamed as the demon’s fangs ripped the flesh at his side, tearing muscle from the bone. He collapsed to his knees, howling as the bites continued, teeth sinking into his wings and body.

He almost sobbed in relief as the demon climbed off him before a thought – why had it? – started form and he grunted in pain as a pipe collided with his left temple. He fell backward, every fiber of his being burning in agony, and watched as Shax towered over him, the pipe raised over her head.

“You should have kept your end of the bargain,” she snarled. The pipe arced down toward his head.

SNAP

Aziraphale’s gaze flew past Shax’s frozen figure to land on Crowley, teeth clenched as he slumped to the floor. “Hurry … up … Angel,” he ordered, the words slurred. “Can hold ‘em for long –“

He shouldn’t be holding them at all.

The blond scrambled to his feet, wavering slightly. Crowley was fading before him, the color draining from his face. “Crowley, stop – please –“

“Fin – finish ‘em,” the demon hissed.

Aziraphale grabbed the sword still buried in the one demon, pulling it loose.

He felt the freeze snap as he drove the blade through Shax’s chest, her corporation’s dying breaths wet as blood filled her mouth. With a grunt, Aziraphale freed the blade and slashed through the weaselly demon that launched himself at the angel, severing the spine. It fell to the ground, dead.

The sword clattered to the ground as Aziraphale stumbled to Crowley, still on the floor.

“You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? Stay with me…just stay with me a little bit longer.” Aziraphale gasped desperately.

“Heh…too…fast for you?” Crowley managed to speak past the blood, this putrid substance falling down his chin. “Always…too fast. Always…too late.”

His eyelids fluttered and his breath rattled in his throat.

“Stay…a little bit longer.” Aziraphale begged, one hand holding the bloody gash in his side and the other reaching for the demon’s face. “Or…or I..I’ll do my magic show!”

This was the most ghastly threat he could imagine. The other one was far too close to mention. He would keep talking. He would talk until he ran out of combinations of words. His hand shook as it neared the demon’s face, but he recoiled as the skin on his hand began to sizzle. The bleeding brand on the demon’s neck grew red hot. Crowley choked and Aziraphale could not push past the pain.

“It’s just the two of us now.” He murmured, his own voice becoming airy and faraway as more blood leaked out of his corporation. Quite inconvenient, if anyone asked him. “No Heaven, no Hell. Just us.”

He begged, not caring what he had to promise, as long as Crowley lived.

#whumptober 2023 #good omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #cw: gore #cw: blood #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: beheading #cw: torture #cw: branding #cw: mutilation #cw: mature content #Dead dove do not eat

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ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz · 11 months

Text

Toss You For Edinburgh

by CopperBeech

Aziraphale caught Crowley cheating on that coin toss at the Globe.

Crowley proposes an alternative wager.

Sleight of hand, so to speak, becomes a subject of discussion.

Crowley gazed wordlessly for several seconds, the light-skimmed lenses slowly raking up and down Aziraphale’s brocaded doublet and slashed breeches, the hose that clung to his thighs and calves, until the silence became uncomfortable.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Toss for it again.”

“You’d just cheat again.”

“No, I mean toss,” said Crowley. “As in toss one off the wrist. That is an Effort you’ve got there, right? Or is it just a codpiece?”

Words: 2624, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Post-Scene: Globe Theatre 1601 (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Bets & Wagers, coin toss, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley will fix that, Hand Jobs, Mutual Masturbation, References to Hamlet, Shakespeare Quotations, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Making an Effort (Good Omens)

From https://ift.tt/mKZfP5J https://archiveofourown.org/works/48273445

#ao3feed ineffablehusbandz #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthonyjcrowl

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edosianorchids901 · 2 years

Text

Rainbow Ribbons

G, 500 words

Crowley succumbs to Aziraphale’s plot to braid colorful ribbons into his hair. Demons don’t wear ribbons—especially not rainbow ones—but Aziraphale can argue his way out of any corner.

Written for SOSH Guess the Author! Read on AO3

Life in the cottage was colorful. Red roses lining the driveway, purple petunias spilling from a pot by the door, greenery everywhere. Light blue walls inside, Aziraphale’s favorite color. Red tartan blankets. They had every color in the rainbow somewhere.

Difference was, those colors weren’t usually collected in a single spot.

Crowley stopped in the doorway, alarmed. “Er?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale looked up from the spools of ribbon. One hand cradled a collection of long pieces in every color, and the other wielded a pair of scissors. The angel’s eyes gleamed with mischievous glee. “Do step into my lair, dear fellow.”

“What…?” Still alarmed, Crowley inched into the room with the same delicacy he’d use when creeping through a minefield. “Since when was our living room a ‘lair’? Did I marry a Bond villain and just not know it?”

“Well, I must indulge the famous secret agent, Anthony J. Crowley.” Aziraphale winked, abandoned the scissors, and wiggled his fingers. “Come here and let me capture you with my ribbons.”

Crowley obediently flopped down on the sofa. “What sort of capture are we talking about here?”

Aziraphale beamed at him, took his shoulders, and turned him away. “I’m capturing this long, gorgeous hair.”

Whoa. Wait. “Demons do not wear ribbons in their hair.”

“Mhm.”

“Especially not rainbow ribbons.”

“Naturally.” Aziraphale ran a brush through the red waves in smooth, even strokes. “But then, I don’t have rainbow ribbons.”

Crowley turned to glare at the undeniable assortment of colors all over the table. “Aziraphale. How is that not rainbow ribbons?”

With another bright smile, Aziraphale separated a single red ribbon from the bundle and laid it on Crowley’s thigh. “Because they’re all individual colors. Not a single rainbow ribbon among them!”

Crowley turned his glare on his angel. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Just enough,” Aziraphale agreed happily.

He gathered Crowley’s hair and ran a few more brisk brush strokes through it, then sifted it into sections. Humming, he picked up the ribbons and set to work.

Crowley closed his eyes, soothed by the rhythm of Aziraphale’s clever fingers. This was embarrassing, in a way, but he loved when Aziraphale braided his hair. It chased any worries out and firmly shut the door behind them.

Still humming, Aziraphale put the final touches on whatever he was doing. And then he planted a few light kisses on Crowley’s neck. “There, my dear! Take a look.”

Lips pursed, Crowley accepted the mirror from him and inspected the braids. Aziraphale had woven the ribbons through his hair in a complicated pattern that somehow looked absolutely amazing and well-coordinated. “Wow.”

“Good wow?” Aziraphale asked, hopeful.

“Yeah. It looks really cool.” Grinning, Crowley leaned back and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale. “Not the slightest bit demonic, but absolutely cool.”

Aziraphale wiggled closer to him, radiating joy. “Oh, I’m so glad! You look very ‘cool’ indeed.”

“These are absolutely rainbow ribbons, though.”

“But you like them, yes? So that’s okay.”

Defeated, Crowley sighed and kissed Aziraphale’s brow. “Yep.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale

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existentialflirt · 12 days

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Crowley ha lost track of the days since he'd delivered the antichrist into the care of his Earthly hosts, a week maybe more. Aziraphale had walked back into his life that same night. They'd made up, likely for the duration of the apocalypse. Who could say how long it would last after it got sorted? Hell, Crowley wasn't even sure how to go about it. He had a few ideas but wasn't sure what would work best in execution. Not to mention the wild card of Aziraphale. The demon embodied unpredictability. Would he really go along with whatever plot Crowley pulled out of his brain? He hadn't exactly been thrilled by the fact that Crowley didn't want to outright kill the boy.

He stretched a long leg that was draped over Aziraphale's thighs. They'd just gotten back from a dinner out and continued drinking. Their brains had been pickled in liquor and lust since they'd reunited, and if Crowley were to be perfectly honest, he hadn't been thinking that much.

"Wot if...wot if we...I dunno. Got involved in his upbringing?" Crowley drawled. "I could be his nanny and you could be...." He looked at the other demon thoughtfully. "Do you still play music sometimes?"

@v0litioncheck for d!Az

#v0litioncheck #d4d #need to find my tags still lmao

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dietraumerei · 3 years

Text

Femslash February 27: Home

AO3 Collection | Thank you to @ineffable-wives-central for the prompt list!

Two women, returning home after their wedding.

Notes:

Set in my Bike Girls AU! Human, the entire plot is that they are disaster lesbians in love. (Although without the disast this time, just for their wedding!)

Aziraphale paused, just for a moment, just inside the gate to their front garden. Theirs. Crowley's by virtue of buying the house so many years ago, before they'd even met, and by making it beautiful and full of flowers. Hers because she lived here now, and even before then had helped with the gardening or, when she couldn't do that, had at least helped the gardener, supplying cups of tea and glasses of lemonade and, at the end of the day, glasses of wine. Theirs, because she half-owned the house now, and wholly loved it, and the woman who had bought it.

Theirs, because they were wives now. How funny to think that! They had been married just over six hours, and their little afternoon champagne reception was over and now they were home, and Aziraphale was standing in the garden a married woman. It was summer, and the air was perfumed, and everything was wonderful – the rain had even held off. It had been a bit of a longer engagement than they'd really intended, but that wasn't their fault; they agreed it was worth waiting for their hurts to heal.

(“Of course I'd marry you now,” Aziraphale had said, looking down at herself ruefully, not long after Crowley's proposal, and the aftermath thereof. “Just...well, I'd rather wait?”

“I don't want to marry you if I can't even hug you properly,” Crowley had agreed, twisting so she could rest a hand on Aziraphale's thigh.

So they had waited, until bones healed and limbs grew strong and physical therapy was completed, and a little bit longer to just have fun being engaged and each having a hen do because why not? Then they had to wait a bit longer still; but that's a story for another time. At least they were only banned from Nandos locations in London!)

“Everything all right, angel?” Crowley had caught up to her, and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's waist, cuddling her close. They had both worn dresses for the wedding itself, Aziraphale in lace and pearls in a classic silhouette, and Crowley in white silk cut tight and modern. She'd changed into a white suit for the reception, while Aziraphale had simply gathered up her train into a bustle, to make it easier to dance together. She felt a bit silly in a dress that required actual structural engineering, but she also felt...special. Beautiful. Even in their everyday front garden.

“Perfect. Everything's perfect.” Aziraphale leaned her head on Crowley's shoulder. “I love you. I'm just...savouring. I'm your wife, now. I'm your wife, standing in our garden. I can't believe it.”

“Believe it,” Crowley advised, turning Aziraphale to kiss her softly. “I love you too. You are breathtaking. Come inside, dove, and we'll put our feet up and be married together with a cup of tea.”

Aziraphale giggled and took Crowley's hand. (There would be no carrying anyone over the threshold, neither of them were quite that ready to tempt fate.) They opened the door and walked through, both of them home, together.

#good omens #ineffable femslash february #ineffable wives #my fic

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theres-a-goldensky · 4 years

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26 + 2 Various BL Series Fic Recs

Fandoms included in this fic rec list: Love By Chance, TharnType, Until We Meet Again, My Engineer, 2 Moons, HIStory3: Trapped (plus a bit of bonus Theory of Love and WHY R U?)

I’ve found a handful of good fics for all of these tiny pairings that I am newly obsessed with, and I thought I’d share them with you if you’re also looking for something good to read. Please, if you have recs of your own, point me in the direction of any other good stuff!

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

IT chapter 2 list one and two - Reddie

Good Omens - Aziraphale/Crowley

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

LOVE BY CHANCE / THARNTYPE

1. the count up series by sweetiejelly - Tin/Can - ~34,000 words, explicit - A fix-it fic post-canon where Tin and Can slowly work out their issues with some missteps and learning along the way.

So two weeks later, when Can first does it, Tin doesn't know what to do. For the longest while, he just turns off his phone screen. And then turns it back on.

good night, tin. it's been a while but i promised to say good night. so, good night, sleep well.

Every damn time the text is still there.

In the end, Tin deletes it.

The next morning, Can does it again.

good morning, tin. looks like rain today. don't forget your umbrella.

Tin deletes it.

The texts keep coming.

2. ** LBC Aftermath series by Mara - LBC/TharnType crossover- ~6700 words, mature - Were you too horrified by Techno’s ending in LBC? This author feels your pain and did her part to get some justice for Techno. This fic has zero sympathy for Kengkla, which I deeply appreciated. This will help you work out some of your anger. It features LBC!Techno and the TharnType versions of Tharn and Type. Mind the warnings, since this deals with the serious consequences of Kengkla’s actions.

Kengkla stayed at the house through the morning and Techno was so jumpy he nearly leaped out of his skin every time Kla looked at him or talked to him. Even though Kla had explained what happened and how he wasn’t upset to be dating, Techno still felt weird. He kind of wished he remembered what had happened. A guy should remember how he lost his virginity, right?

Kla grabbed him in a big hug and Techno froze, managing a weak grin when Kla pulled back to smile at him. “I’ve got to go home now. But I’ll call you later. Let me know if you go somewhere.”

“O-okay.” Techno stared as the boy let himself out the front door.

3. 5 + 1 by strokeofluck - Tin/Can- ~3600 words, rated general - This is a sweet story about the times when Pete sees Tin having feelings for Can.

Pete weighed his options as he glanced back and forth between Tin and Can. Can didn’t seem to be bothered by the whole thing, he even had a shy smile on his face. Or at least, Pete thought it was a shy smile, he had never really seen this kind of expression coming from Can before.

He could let this whole thing go, he supposed, but he didn’t really want to. It was time for him to finally say to Tin: I told you so.

“You were born in Bangkok,” he said, casting a wide net and hoping Can would find himself caught in it.

Can did.

4. That Testified Surprise by Mara - Techno/Tharn/Type - ~7000 words, mature - This is a LBC canon rewrite that stars the TharnType version of all three characters. Type realizes something is not...quite...right with Kengkla and invites Techno to stay with him and Tharn instead of going home drunk.

Pouring Techno into the passenger seat, Type sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled the phone out to check it, entering the passcode. (The passcode was the birthday of Thai national football team captain Siwarak Tedsungnoen, of course. Duh.)

Fuck, it looked like Nic had been either texting or calling every 20 minutes since they got to the bar. What was up there?

Scrolling back through the evening’s texts, Type scowled harder. Loving brother or not, this was fucking creepy. Going back farther, it looked like it was a pattern. Did the kid do anything other than pester his brother about his whereabouts?

THARNTYPE

5. everything he wants by minkit - ~5100 words, explicit - Type accidentally ruins one of Tharn’s shirts and agrees to do whatever Tharn wants to make up for it. Which means it’s porn stretched over the bare bones of a plot, and it’s great.

Tharn’s hands moved across the bed, slowly, inch by inch and it was frustrating because Type knew they were heading to him, but Tharn took his sweet time. And then they were covering his hands and Tharn’s face was mere centimeters from his and Type could barely breathe. It took everything he had not to lean forward and capture those lips that also belonged to him, but he had a feeling if he tried, Tharn wouldn’t let him. He had that look on his face and Type knew what it meant.

He knew he was in for a long rest of the night.

6. You’ve Got Mail by perthbysaint - ~7800 words, explicit - Type sends Tharn nudes at the most inconvenient times.

A selfie? From Type? Tharn was thanking all of his lucky stars as he happily taps to load the image. The picture loads and Tharn’s phone slips from his suddenly lax grip. Convinced he couldn’t have just seen what he thought he just saw, he picks his phone up hastily and stares very intently at the picture.

It’s a mirror selfie, obviously taken in a changing room, but that thought comes secondary to thighs. Type is holding the camera in front of his face to take the picture, shirt clenched in his other hand and pulled up slightly to show off the shorts. The fucking shorts. He had seen Type in his soccer gear before and yes, Type has most definitely asked for the wrong size and Tharn is more grateful than he’s ever been for anything in his whole life. The shorts are riding up so high they can’t cover more than a few inches of skin, Type’s smooth, powerful thighs on full display. On the inside of his left thigh, there’s a tiny purple mark peeking out from under the bottom of the shorts. Tharn knows exactly what it is because he was the one who left it there just two days ago when he sucked marks into Type’s thighs for a half-hour before he slung Type’s legs over his shoulders and ate him out until Type was sobbing fat tears and begging Tharn to let him come.

7. pet names series by LokelaniRose - ~50,000 words, explicit - A series of post-episode fics that gives us the sex that the show only hinted at, starting with the shower scene.

Tharn prides himself on his self-control. All his passion and intensity is saved for his music, when he’s safely behind a drum kit and can let it all out. He’s never been as irritated by anyone else as he is by Type and all his playground bullying nonsense. Something about the other boy just shakes something loose inside him, rattles at Tharn’s iron discipline until he has to grit his teeth constantly not to just – what? Kiss him? Kill him? Tharn has enough composure (and pride) to put up a front that’s all smiles and wry amusement, but really he regularly skips between one of two daydreams – twisting Type’s head off or fucking him into the ground.

(Tharn is absolutely not going to admit to the third set of daydreams, of curling up around Type when he’s cold or cheering him on at matches or bringing him home to meet Tharn’s father. Nope, no, definitely not.)

2MOONS SERIES

8. ** The universe where we do not commit reckless, unlubricated buttsex by startledoctopus - Forth/Beam - ~8700 words, explicit - This is a great story about Beam giving in and trying to seduce Forth the same way he seduced all of those girls in his past. This Forth is great, and the story retcons their first time to something far more pleasant for Beam.

"We're heading into a unit on disorders of the spine and I need to review my basic skeletal and muscular anatomy. But it feels stupid to keep studying these weird-looking diagrams and drawings." None of this was, strictly speaking, factual, but an engineering major wouldn't know any different. Beam gathered up all his bravado, walked behind Forth, and began rucking up his shirts as if this were completely normal.

"What! I..."

"Shut up, I need to look at a real back so I know what I'll be looking at as a doctor." Forth let him take the shirts off, glancing back at him several times but giving in meekly to Beam's stern look. Forth shuffled the papers some more.

"All right. Okay, um...Ah!" Beam smirked at Forth's reaction as he ran his thumbs down the nape of his neck.

9. Good Things Come To by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~4300 words, explicit - Kit gets drunk and reveals more of his feelings for Ming than he probably means to.

"Hmm." Kit closes his eyes and leans his head back on the headrest. "Ming, Ming, Ming. Do you know your name's a kiss? I'm kissing the air everytime I say 'Ming'!" Kit pops his mouth and it pops Ming's mind a bit. "And then I think about kissing you. Why do you make me think about you so damn much? You're so annoying, Ming. No one's ever..." and Kit leans to the side, almost like he's going to conk out or throw up, only to straighten back up. "... made me this crazy."

Oh shit. Ming doesn't know what to do with all of this information. He knew somewhere deep down that Kit likes him. Kit's eyes can't lie. Kit's mouth can't either, the cusses coming out whenever he's keyed up and flustered, and then there are his kisses.

10 + 11. ** how to fail flirt your way into his heart (a guide by Kit) and a little conversation (and a little action please) by sweetiejelly - Ming/Kit - ~30,000 words, explicit in the second part - This story makes a tiny plot divergence. It has Kit put a little more effort into finding out if Ming is really into Yo and then from there, it loosely follows the plot of the show with some key differences. I really enjoyed this.

"Can I have your number?" Kit mentally face-palms. Why? Damn Pha. Damn Beam. Just damn everything, ugh. He has never flirted in his life. Pin asked him out, okay? He doesn't know how to do this. "I'm Kit, Phana's friend," he says, trying to make it less weird.

"I'm Ming. And of course, P'Kit!" Ming flashes him an easy grin and holds out his hand.

Oh right, the phone. Kit shoves it at Ming, nearly hitting him in the chest. Great, he's acing this.

Ming smiles at him, bemused or confused, probably both, and brushes his hand, totally unnecessarily, over the back of Kit's hand as he takes the phone. "In case of emergency, right?" Ming looks up at him from under his lashes and boy, this nong is brazen.

12. ** In Control series by LokelaniRose - Ming/Kit - ~27,000 words, explicit - Kit struggles to tell Ming that he wants something other than the careful, gentle sex they’ve been having. Ming discovers that Kit has some anxiety and panic problems. He also discovers what helps him feel better. [spoilers: these two things are connected.] I love how attentive and caring Ming is throughout this series. The anxious Kit also rings true to the character we saw on the show.

But now that Kit is fretting over things, he might as well fret over this as well. So Ming is great in bed. And let’s be honest, Kit probably isn’t. He hasn’t had a hundred previous partners – okay, tiny exaggeration, but still – and doesn’t know all the fancy moves and techniques and tricks…and just like everything else, in bed Ming is somehow casual and sincere at the same time. He never seems to want anything except what Kit wants, is always happy to do whatever, to take his time making slow, gentle love to Kit. Kit knows that he always comes at least – he secretly really likes it when Ming comes, he’s not quite sure why – but what if there’s more that Kit could be doing, to make it better for him? If Kit was better in bed maybe it would make up for being a shitty boyfriend in other areas, one who can’t be nice in public or talk about his feelings.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

13. another nightmare fic by itsmylifekay - Win/Team - ~2300 words, not rated - Team tries to sleep without Win and it doesn’t go well.

Team’s room feels suffocating, the air too thick and the space too dark and the covers sticking to his skin with sweat. His breaths are too loud in the quiet, but the quiet itself is deafening. It reminds him of the water. The muted sounds. The frantic pounding of his heart. (The same one he feels now echoed in his chest.)

Flashes of the dream come back to him unbidden.

Everything is too dark, too bright, no way to see what way is up or what way is down. He’s trapped. Can’t get out. Can’t breathe.

14. ** Different With You by blackrose9212 - Win/Team - ~6900 words, teen - It’s open swim week, which means that the swimming club offers free lessons to any of the students who would like to participate. Team doesn’t understand why his teammates hate it so much - until he does. Great jealousy in this one from both sides.

“Nice to meet you,” the boy gushes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to join your group. Auntie said there needs to be at least three people, and no one was sitting across from you two. I’ve been paying attention so I already have ideas. Is that okay?” Team watches as he pulls out his books and drops them onto the table, pushing them a little farther out so they’re nearly touching Win’s notebook.

Team shrugs. “Sure, that’s fine. I don’t think Win has been paying attention so I’m glad you have an idea of what’s going on.”

Win hits him lightly at the back of the hand and Film giggles behind his hand. “Oh, no, P’Win looks very smart. I’m sure he’s been listening.” He looks at Win and smiles a little, blushing when Win gives him a smile back.

Team looks between the two of them. Then back at Film, who’s watching Win leaf through his literature textbook like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, and then past Film at the table he left from, where he sees three boys, laughing behind their hands and making cooing faces.

15. seven hundred thirteen by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~6800 words, mature - Win spends two years abroad in England, and he and Team have to navigate a long distance relationship. It’s very sweet and written very true to life.

“I kind of hoped you were going to show up at the airport tomorrow morning and chase the plane,” Win says. He kisses Team’s hair, lingering there to memorize the fresh, clear scent.

Team says, “Is it weird that I thought about doing that?” and Win feels him smile against his shoulder.

It’s late, nearly nine thirty, and Win had plans of how to spend tonight that can’t be realized anymore. He wanted to invite Team to dinner with his family. He wanted to play video games with Team and View. He wanted to talk about London with Waan and Team. He wanted to include Team in his family’s warmth in some small way, to make him feel less lonely.

He can’t do any of that now but he still wants to sneak Team upstairs and have him in his arms all night. He wouldn’t, but he wants to. It’s been a month since he moved off campus permanently, and weeks since he was last able to spend a night alone with Team.

16. ** You Can Cry by Kiranokira - Win/Team - ~19,600 words, mature - Win goes missing while on vacation with some friends. Team is left at home trying to handle it. I like the way the author built up to the accident happening. They did a good job creating tension and showing us exactly how Team felt about Win. And spoilers, this story has a happy ending.

“You’re going to fail out of university,” Team tells him. “You’re not really going, are you?”

Win rolls onto his side and perches his cheek on his hand. “What if I say yes?” he asks. “Will you miss me?”

Team’s warning look is more venomous than usual. “Not at all,” Team says, and Win smirks because that isn’t true and they both know it. “You still shouldn’t go. What if you miss the flight back? You’ll fail out and I’ll break up with you for being a dumbass.”

The very recent phenomenon of Team acknowledging that they’re a couple has its usual melting effect on Win’s heart.

2GETHER

17. ** Love Songs on Our Skin series by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~15,700 words, explicit - A soulmark AU where Tine is born with the notes to a song that hasn’t yet been written wrapped around his chest. I enjoyed how Tine’s obliviousness in the show carries over to this fic.

Only Mr. Chic would have a song no one had ever fucking heard of permanently etched on his chest. For fuck's sake .

Still, he waves it off, and he tries not to look too closely at other people's marks. Tries being the key word. He doesn't envy the elegant watercolors of a guitar pick and an open novel he catches sight of on the wrists of some couple's interlinked hands when he's in town. And he certainly doesn't envy the dude he once saw in a coffee shop with the words " I hate you " scrawled across the back of his neck. But yeah, okay, he might be a little jealous of the people who are lucky enough to have something as simple as their soulmate's name on their skin. That definitely isn't fair.

"Why couldn't it at least have been a Scrubb song?" he asks the mirror as he wipes it clear shower-born condensation. The mirror and him are well acquainted with this conversation by now. In fact, the mirror sees the stupid mark more than anyone, so it might as well put up with his equally stupid questions. "It could have been 'Together.' Just think of it, how romantic it would be to meet some cute girl's eyes after bumping into them at a concert, my favorite song playing . . ." He draws a nail over the winding bars of the music on his chest, frowning. "That would be so much easier."

18. Drown Your Sorrows by HyacinthsSoul - 2gether/Theory of Love - Sarawat and Third meet at a bar and bond over being in love with oblivious men.

“No, he’s an angel,” Sarawat says. “Unfortunately he’s a very stupid, very straight angel.”

“Mine’s stupid too,” the other man admits. “But definitely no angel. I’m Third, by the way,” he adds, offering a slender hand to shake.

“Sarawat,” says Sarawat. “Can I buy you another? I think we’re drinking the same thing, although I can’t remember what it’s called.”

20. ** Your Body Is My Instrument by Kari_Kurofai - Sarawat/Tine - ~12,000 words, explicit - This fic does a good job doing what, in this reccer’s humble opinion, the series failed to: showing Tine attracted to Sarawat. There’s great first time sex and some fun sexual tension. Plus, we get to see them switch off, which is extremely rare in BL. And most importantly: hand kink.

It starts innocently enough. Or, well, innocently enough for a guy whose first words to him were, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll kiss you till you drop.” So, you know. It starts kinda like that.

They’ve been officially dating for a grand sum total of three days and altogether not that much has changed. Except that Sarawat touches him more now. Normally this would be fine, no big deal, right? But Sarawat has magic, evil hands, and apparently all he has to do is glance Tine’s way to deduce the exact right places and ways to touch Tine to drive him up the fucking wall.

And the worst part is it’s almost never the same place or the same way twice, and the only warning Tine ever gets is that sneaky little glint Sarawat gets in his eyes just before he does it, the bastard.

MY ENGINEER

21. Cool Boy(friend) by HyacinthsSoul - Ram/King - ~22,000 words, explicit - So this is technically a WIP, but each chapter feels like a completed fic without a cliffhanger or anything. This is a very sweet, comfortable story about King and Ram getting to know each other as their relationship develops.

In the selfie King sends, he’s holding up a full shot glass while someone’s arm reaches into the frame to hand him another kind of drink, something tall with a straw and a paper umbrella. Ram frowns. Whose arm is that? The person is wearing a red long-sleeved shirt, which doesn’t match what any of their friend group was wearing, and the engineer bar doesn’t offer table service.

Frowning, Ram looks back through the previous photos until he spots a detail he’d overlooked before: a red-shirted man at a neighboring table. He’s visible in the background of two or three pictures taken by Tee, and in each of them he’s staring intently at King.

Not that it’s any of Ram’s business. Not that he cares.

HISTORY3: TRAPPED

22. it’s too late (to turn back now) by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~7200 words, general audiences - Canon divergence fic where Tang Yi pushes Shao Fei away after he saves Hong Ye in order to try and protect him. Shao Fei reacts to that about as well as you’d expect.

“Tang Yi, what do you mean-“

“I think you’ve fooled around for long enough,” Tang Yi interrupts, his voice cold, nothing like the man who had dabbed at his lips with a cotton bud last night, the man who had smiled at him when he made the cannon joke.

“You’ve disrupted my life, and the life of my family and friends in the past few weeks, Meng Shao Fei. This has gone for long enough,” he continues, unwavering. “I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. Take a good rest here in the hospital, and I’ll get someone to pack up your things back at the house. Jack will deliver it back to your apartment.”

23 + 24. ** just waiting, waiting (on you) and between you and me by stebeee - Tang Yi/Meng Shao Fei - ~16,000 words, general audiences - These are stories about how Shao Fei and the rest of the gang deal over the years when Tang Yi is in jail. Found family fics are my jam, so I loved this.

The thing is, it’s been almost three months of this. 90 days, give or take. 2,160 hours. 129,600 minutes. And more than 7 million seconds of this — not having Tang Yi at his side.

Shao Fei wonders for a moment if he will ever stop seeing Tang Yi in every corner of the house. When he comes down the stairs in the morning, some part of him expects to see Tang Yi standing at the kitchen island with a bright smile, asking him if he wants jam with his toast that morning. Shao Fei sees Tang Yi in that apron he loves, cooking at the stove when he fixes himself dinner, alone in the spacious kitchen. Seeing Tang Yi’s favourite blue bathrobe, Shao Fei can almost see Tang Yi leaving the bathroom, his hair all wet and falling over his eyes.

25. amuse bouche by sarahyyy - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~2400 words, general audiences - This is more of Jack seducing Zhao Zi through food and attention. So basically an extension of the show. Mother hen Jack is the cutest.

“Jack?” Zhao Zi murmurs blearily. “Why are you here?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Jack shoots back, herding Zhao Zi back into the house. He checks for Zhao Zi’s temperature with the back of his hand. “Fever?”

“Just the flu for now, I think?” Zhao Zi says.

Jack purses his lips. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I had some bread earlier?” Zhao Zi says, but he also looks shifty enough that Jack mostly takes it with a grain of salt.

26. Absolutely Nothing Goes Wrong by anon - Jack/Zhao Zi - ~4500 words, teen - This is an AU where Zhao Zi is the son of a rival mob boss, but he’s still, you know HIMSELF. And when his father says he’s useless, he decides to prove him wrong by seducing Tang Yi’s second-in-command. It’s absolutely adorable.

The man pulled him by the arm, resisting Zhao Zi’s attempts to unhook his claws without causing a scene.

“Hey, stop grabbing me!” he shouted, as the other man played deaf.

“While I admit this is a very loud bar, I didn’t think it was quite so easy to mishear what this young man just yelled straight into your ear,” a newcomer who’d witnessed their conflict said lightly as he walked up to them. His words were accompanied by a wide, almost chilling smile. Zhao Zi blinked once and the odd peculiarity of that smile vanished, leaving just a regular smile in its place. He must’ve just been imagining things under the harsh shadows of the dimly lit bar.

AND +2

Because I’m shameless, I’ll add my own two fics to the end, if you’re interested.

WHY R U?

27. Sorry A Thousand Times - Fighter/Tutor - ~3200 words, explicit - This is a canon divergence for the series finale. I needed more catharsis after the intensity of episode 12.

Tutor narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. He took a deep breath. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone before you listen?” he asked. I don’t know how many more times I can bring myself to say it.

“Only once,” Fight said and then added, “if you mean it.”

Tutor crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What makes you think I don’t mean it now?”

The corner of Fight’s mouth turned up and he took a step closer. Tutor stumbled back until he was stopped by his legs hitting the edge of the bed. Fight reached out a hand and gently ran the back of his fingers over the line of Tutor’s jaw.

Until We Meet Again

28. Dream On - Win/Team - 8900 words, explicit - Takes place alongside show canon, so that we see how the bed sharing began and how Win and Team’s relationship developed over that year.

“Do you want to do well tomorrow?” Win asked, throwing one of his legs over both of Team’s.

“Yes,” Team said as he did his best to put some space between them on the tiny mattress.

“Then you need to get some sleep. I’m helping.”

“How is this helping?” Team demanded.

“Would you stop…” Win said, shifting closer every time Team pulled away. “Five minutes, Team. Just be still for five minutes, okay?”

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notesoflore · 3 years

Note

Hi! :) 1,3 and 14 for the end of the year fanfic ask, please? 💕

Hello! I’m so happy you asked!

1. Favourite fic you wrote this year

So hard to pick, but An Angel’s Test is definitely one of my favourites. It feels very in-character to me and has a good mix of plot, action, drama, humour, emotion, and smut. It’s a fic about what might have happened if the archangels discovered Aziraphale had given away his flaming sword and decided to punish him. It was a ton of fun to write, especially since I got to explore Anathema’s character a bit and the plot was very clear in my head while writing.

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Oooh, good question. This prompted me to go reread a bunch of my fics and collect my favourite parts. I’ll list a couple here.

One of my favourite scenes is a flirty exchange between Crowley and Aziraphale from Reading, Baking, Kissing (and More), where Aziraphale is upset that he can’t get a manicure during the lockdown:

Aziraphale dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “I can’t get my nails done.”

Crowley’s eyes flick to his plump hand holding the napkin, to the nails that look fine as far as he can tell. Maybe a little longer than Aziraphale usually keeps them. He’d still call them manicured, though perhaps not exquisitely so. “You could miracle them how you like,” he offers, lips twitching, already aware of how this conversation is going to go.

“It’s just not the same,” Aziraphale says predictably, with that hang-dog expression he wears so well. It gets to Crowley every time.

He drops his cherry stem on his plate, leans back in his chair contemplatively. “You could do it yourself?”

The napkin is being folded with military preciseness. “There’s a whole ambience to the thing. It’s an experience, not a chore to do yourself.”

Crowley sticks out his bottom lip, nodding sympathetically. “Well, I mean…”

“Yes?”

He shrugs, crosses his arms, his heart beating in his throat. “I could do it.”

“You could?”

“Sure, sure. Of course, you’d have to teach me how, first.”

The tips of Aziraphale’s ears are pink, his eyes lowering flirtatiously. He has to know how he looks, fluttering his eyelashes like that. “Of course,” he parrots. “What a splendid idea.”

Another scene I quite like is from Rattle me all night long, where Crowley’s venom is an aphrodisiac. There’s a bit of an angsty part where Crowley thinks of himself as this dangerous thing that can’t help but hurt Aziraphale:

There were old scars scattered in the skin, shimmering twin punctures marking the other times Crowley had bitten him here. He was the pin cushion and Crowley the needle.

…

Give him what he really wants. He pulled back his lips and carefully slipped his fangs into his inner thigh.

...

He ran his tongue down his fangs, feeling the points with his tongue, wondering if sharp things were destined to cut into soft ones. If that was the only thing sharp things were good for.

Aziraphale petted at him clumsily, red pooling in the hollow of his groin. Two more pinholes for his collection. “Come here, my dear.”

Crowley crawled onto the couch to straddle him, careful not to jab him with his edges, and buried his nose in soft curls.

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

Hm, probably Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight because I never really write Christmas themed things - I’m much more of a Halloween fan. But I had a cute little idea this year and couldn’t resist the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley using the roles of Santa and Nanny Ashtoreth to get in some kissing. I also hardly ever write about kids, but this one included a bit of Warlock, which was fun.

Thanks for the ask! :)

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sushiandstarlight · 4 years

Text

Cookies: Chapter 8

Previous Story: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Chapters 1-3 / Chapter 4 / Chapters 5 & 6 / Chapter 7

Read this chapter on AO3

Rated: G, soft PG for suggestions

When he returned to the kitchen for the third time and dutifully joined Gladys' side of the counter, it was to find her already adding dry ingredients to a large bowl with an alarming lack of measuring. She had measuring cups and she had a scale on the counter, but she wasn't using either one. Just pouring scoops and spoonfuls of things in the sifter and then sifting them. He could feel the shock on his own face.

"Okay, close your mouth, that's unhygienic." He did. She handed him a fork and he took it, still at a loss.

“You know what, before you use that, you might want to get yourself an apron. Black clothes are not very good for baking. Well, if you want to keep them neat, anyway. Over on the other side of the oven.” She continued sifting. Crowley picked out the most frilly apron hanging- a green and pink gingham with honest to goodness ruffles at the bottom- and returned to her side, fork at the ready. Whatever the fork was for.

“Okay, now what?”

“You're going to cream the butter and sugar.”

He stared at her. She handed him a bowl, slightly smaller than hers.

“2 sticks of the butter, that's it. Now 248 grams sugar. Use the scale.”

“You aren't using the scale.”

“Mmhmm, didn't put it there for me.”

“Cheeky, you some kind of kitchen witch, then?”

She only smirked at him and pointed at his bowl. He weighed and dumped in the sugar.

“Okay, now mash it all together until it's creamy.”

He poked at the sugar-covered butter with the fork then turned the fork and pressed it down. Actually, it was kind of fun.

“That looks good. Now add the eggs, one at a time. And the vanilla. Now we put them together!” She produced a large spatula from somewhere and after he tipped the wet ingredients into her bowl she stirred until a dough formed. But, instead of baking the cookies, she took the bowl to the large kitchen refrigerator and popped it inside.

“We'll start actually baking later. For now, let's see how much dough we can get going.”

And so it went for the rest of the morning: she sifted bowl after bowl of dry ingredients while he made bowl after bowl of wet. She'd mix them up, cover them, and put them in the refrigerator to chill. Bowl after bowl after bowl.

“Just how many cookies are we making?”

“I promised 50 assorted baskets.”

“Wha- and you thought you and Edie could do that in a couple of days?”

“Oh, dear, no. The whole thing takes at least a week.”

“But, I thought...”

“Well, you don't have to stay the whole time if you can't. I understand. I already told them I would do what I could, but that circumstances were a bit dicey around here with one woman down.”

Crowley sighed and pulled himself together. This was more important than his plans, wasn't it? This was what Christmas was really about? Family- and Gladys was family, regardless of what anyone might say- and giving. He had been suckered into it, but now he was in for the long haul. It would take some rearranging of his plans. Maybe he wouldn't have to throw them out entirely... Just, change the location.

“I get the feeling you would like us to stay through the Christmas holiday.”

“Oh, oh would you?” Her eyes glittered with what looked like hope, but what he thought was much more likely the fruition of her own plotting and planning.

“I'll talk it over with Aziraphale later. He might have to head back and leave me here.”

“I think he'll stay.” She went back to her sifting so he returned to his butter and, this time, cream cheese.

“Because he loves me.”

“Yes, that's it precisely.”

They broke for lunch in the sun room, light slanting in warm and bright through the wall of windows. The tree stood off to the side of the windows, now laden with ornaments that twinkled at random between the lights on the tree and the light coming in from outside.

Aziraphale joined him on the little loveseat, sitting properly, but with his thigh pressed all along his. The heat coming off the angel only reminded him of what he'd said earlier- “I know I can have you again tonight”- making him so distracted he stopped following Aziraphale's and Gladys' chitchat.

“Okay then, enough dawdling, back to our sugar mines!” Gladys clapped his shoulder, making him nearly jump out of his skin, “Alright there, Crowley, dear?”

“Think I'll go read on the porch for a while,” Aziraphale stood, taking his warm thigh with him. This was becoming the theme of the day. But, while Crowley was disappointed by the loss, he was also suddenly thrust back into the present where Gladys was looking at him like he should be responding.

“Okay, darling, you have a good time. Put on a jumper.”

Aziraphale smiled at her and then leaned down to kiss Crowley's cheek, “Until tonight, love.” And then he was gone, but the place he had kiss tingled.

“That means your mine yet for a few hours, come on,” Gladys lead the way back to the kitchen without looking back, knowing he would follow. It should have rankled his ego, but she had a way of detouring around that part of him. He followed her without complaint.

Four hours later saw so many more bowls of dough that he had stopped counting. The apron had helped, but couldn't cover him from everything. When he removed it, there was a subtle outline where it had covered his jumper: clean and black under the apron, slightly greyer everywhere else from the flour. He picked at it, sending the flour flying in little puffs.

“I don't suppose you have any clothes that aren't black.”

“No, not really.”

She sighed.

“It's fine, even if it was white the flour would be there, wouldn't it? You just wouldn't be able to see it?”

“I'm sure there's a deep and wise metaphor in that somewhere, but do you know? I'm pretty tired.”

“I'll clean up, you can go rest.”

“Oh,” he thought she might argue, but, “that would be lovely, dear, thank you.” She patted his cheek, crossed the kitchen, popped her own apron on a hook, and left without another word. He knew he had been suckered again, but couldn't bring himself to be the least bit upset. It had been... fun, baking with Gladys. Making something with his hands; working in tandem with someone else toward a goal. It felt homey, which was something he wasn't quite accustomed to feeling. Outside of one special angel, that was.

Speaking of Aziraphale, the quicker he cleaned up, the quicker he could take him up on his evening threats.

The angel wasn't outside or in the sun room by the time Crowley was done running the dishes, wiping down the counters, and mopping the floor (this baking business was a messy task), so he climbed the stairs and made his way down the hallway. Turn the door knob, he called,

“Angel, I'm home!”

“Took you long enough.” And Aziraphale was wrapped around him, from where ever he had come, pressing a deep, if somewhat sloppy kiss to his lips, “you smell like sugar and butter.”

“Probably covered in more of it than is any of the cookie dough, I suspect,” Crowley held him close by the hips.

“You've got a bit...,” Aziraphale cocked his head, smiling, “I'll get it.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley's jaw, sneaking a little lick before sucking the spot.

Crowley groaned, his knees going a little weak.

“Got it.”

“I'm sure there's more... maybe along my neck?”

“Ah, yes, I see it now.”

“Careful, though, you leave marks and I'll be hearing about it all day.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You wouldn't, you bastard.”

Aziraphale smirked and Crowley wriggled, slipping out from under his arm and dodging into the room.

“Me? I'm an aaaangel. I wouldn't put you in an awkward position.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Crowley put the bed between them, “You'll have that woman teasing me all day tomorrow.”

“Maybe the day after, too,” Aziraphale was kneeling on the bed, approaching slowly while Crowley stood still, letting him- he would always let his angel catch him, consequences be damned, “besides, awkward aren't the only kinds of positions I want to put you in...” When Aziraphale pulled him onto the bed he went willingly and happily. Suckered from all sides, he was, and loving every moment of it. Maybe that's what family was.

Chapter 9 is now up!

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #of all the beds in all the hotels in all the world #sequel #i am so thoroughly enjoying this i can't even tell you

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chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years

Text

Intermission: The Demon In Detail

You think a great way to enhance your experience in watching anything supernatural related is to have an actual demon beside you but.... that’s just your opinion.

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff, romance, supernatural, slow-burn, comedy

Related Works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin

A/N: An intermission! Can you guess what I’ve gotten myself into recently? LOL I thought it’d be cute to have something like this happen since once we get the ball rolling...not so many cute moments later on 🤐🤐🤐 (and the next chapter I have a feeling is going to be CHUNKY so...a little treat for you before that ;)) So anybody who hasn’t watched Good Omens yet but were planning to, some spoilers in that chapter! And as such, I don’t own anything related to Good Omens the show or the characters involved. Otherwise, enjoy!

“I thought you were supposed to be napping?”

Your gaze only shifts marginally away from your laptop screen to the sound of your sudden guest before flitting back.

“I was gonna just watch one episode….” You mumble petulantly but it was the honest truth. You really were planning on watching one episode of this series you picked up as a way to get you started and use it to give you that final push to knock out from being so tired.

Clearly that’s not gonna happen anymore.

Jimin gives a shake of his head, a little exasperated from your antics, not really annoyed but he does have to wonder; why are you lying on your bed like that? From his place by your doorway, all he sees is a mound of blanket that had been wrapped up into a lump with no doubt you underneath it. You’re using the giant plush calico cat shaped like a bean as a pillow, the one he got you on a whim one day and he hasn’t seen you without it since. He thinks its cute but there’s an actual, perfectly good pillow that you could use just laying not even two feet away, in fact, there’s plenty of room for you to be laying comfortably in and yet for some reason —

You’re curled into a ball, at the very end of your bed, your desk chair facing you, laptop propped onto the seat.

It’s like you MacGyver-ed your way into making things a lot more difficult for you.

You feel your mattress dip, causing you to shift with a grunt, pausing the episode so that you don’t miss out on anything as you turn your attention fully to your supernatural guardian. He’s taken a seat beside your head, one muscular thigh resting temptingly close to you. You bury your cheeks further into the plushness of your stuffed animal in hopes of hiding a creeping blush and smother the urge to jump ship with your pillow for something better.

“What are you watching that’s so interesting you forget the need to sleep?” Jimin asks, dark eyes staring inquisitively at the paused screen which has David Tennant and Michael Sheen bickering about what to do once they find the antichrist.

“It’s called ‘Good Omens’ — it’s about a demon and an angel who’s trying to prevent the apocalypse from happening when the antichrist, who’s a kid, realizes his true powers.”

You miss the way Jimin blinks, brows furrowing and absolutely flabbergasted at you when you push play again to continue the episode. He cocks his head from left to right like a puzzled puppy before he’s able to finally let the synopsis settle.

“I’m sorry what now?”

“So there’s a demon named Crowley, right? He’s the one in black there and an angel named Aziraphale who’s the one in white and they’ve somehow became really good friends throughout the years so they’ve like — oh you know what,” You pause, getting distracted yourself and not being able to re-explain the plot up until now while also taking in new developments. “Just rewatch the last two episodes, the series is only like six episodes long anyways.”

Jimin goes to complain, thinking how utterly ridiculous it would be from your paraphrased explanation alone but you’re already clicking back to the first episode. He clamps his mouth shut, purse his lips and exhales a quiet sigh through his nose, leaning back to might as well get comfortable. He’ll never quite understand a human’s obsession with his kind and angels to the point where they’ll come up with a million different ways to interpret their image — from monstrous looking creatures (on both sides) to simply more human-like supernatural entities, he thinks he’s seen them all over the years.

Oh whatever, he thinks, it’ll just be one episode and that way, he can at least say he didn’t give it a shot.

Four episodes later, you’ve somehow managed to sprawl out over each other, both equally as invested in the show. You had to hide your smile every time you glance over at Jimin who, every so often, tilts his head and then either snorts or hums noncommittally at the show’s interpretations. It also piques your curiousity on what Jimin finds approving or disapproving so whenever that happens, you usually ask him a question, even if you do sound like a two-year old discovering the world for the first time.

“So are there really four horsemen of the apocalypse?”

“There are…. Or were. They’re like Greek Titans now…. It’ll take a lot to summon them all at once.”

“Like the anti-Christ?” 

“I can probably assure you that Satan won’t be having a son any time soon.” Jimin replies and as an afterthought, his nose wrinkles. It’s weird to imagine one of your bosses having a kid, let alone imagine him to be the father type.

“…Huh.” You leave it at that, flopping your head back to rest against the mounds of pillows. Halfway through episode three, Jimin started to scold you in the way you’re laying on your bed and took it upon himself to actually drag you to the head of the bed so he can prop you on the pillows. Well…For the most part you were resting on the pillows behind you but with Jimin’s arm thrown out in the mix, you find at times you’re lying on the pillows and using Jimin’s arm as one too.

The stranger thing is that he hasn’t said anything about it.

“Have you ever met Beelzebub before? Are they like the ‘celebrities’ of demons?”

“They work in a different office division than mine, so I never see them — heard they’re not that great though.”

“Office division?” You laugh, tilting your head to shoot him an incredulous look. “So Hell runs like a corporation?”

“Where do you think concepts like capitalism come from?”

You let out another boisterous laugh, head flinging back and knocking lightly against his forearm. “Well, damn…”

His own lips curl into a smile at the sound.

It’s late into the evening by the time you get to the last episode where Crowley and Aziraphale help Adam have the confidence to tell Satan that he’s not his dad (always wanna hear something, ugly ass fucking…). You were very taken aback by the scene when it happened, finally seeing Satan for the first time, the big reveal but you found yourself more interested and far more amused by Jimin who had bursted out laughing so hard he was squeaking and creasing over himself. It then goes on to Adam restoring the world but then Aziraphale and Crowley get captured to be punished for treason.

“Is there such thing as ‘The Great Plan?’”

You vaguely feel Jimin’s fingers idly twirl and comb through strands of your hair as he thinks. Normally you’d feel embarrassed and shy away but the sensation is so nice and relaxing that you’re practically melting into his side. Plus, you’re very warm and cozy next to him.

“No, not that I’m aware of. I think angels already have too much of a superiority complex to instigate a war on Earth just to prove that they’re better than demons.”

“Well, that’s reassuring to hear I guess…”

You hear him chuckle breathily. “If it does happen though, I’ll save you…I guess.”

You scoff playfully, “Oh don’t worry, you won’t be able to get rid of me even if you tried.”

“And strangely, I don’t doubt that.”

It makes you smile smugly. The scene plays out in front of you as Crowley, disguised as Aziraphale and vice versa, gets their appropriate sentences (death by hell fire and death by holy water bath tub) but come away unscathed thanks to their switched disguises. You’ve long since learned holy water does in fact, harm demons the way its portrayed in the show (at least common demons, Jimin had explained killing someone like Satan with holy water would probably require a whole tank full and a soak for seven days) as well as other confirmed myths, like how demons and angels are actually supposed to look like.

“Demons and angels both have the ability to take on any sort of appearance they wish, as proven.” He cups one hand against his cheek and bats his eyelashes at you. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes but point taken.

“But how do they really look like? No glamour or anything.”

Jimin pauses, face slipping into a sort of rueful pensive look before he says, “Not pretty, I’ll tell you that. Demons are creatures deprived of the light, so they lurk in the dark, twisted by their very nature and obsession to corrupt. Only those who are foolish or wish to die would stand in the true face of one.”

You blink, taking in his words completely entranced even though he’s explaining something that should be terrifying and sounds a lot like a warning. Well, you suppose it would’ve worked if you didn’t already have your fair share of encounters (and would also help if you weren’t currently snuggled up against one). Besides that, you could’ve also sworn that you had seen Jimin in his ‘true’ form before, right when you first met him in fact. But then again… You pause, correcting yourself by recalling back the memory — he had been shrouded in shadow so the most you had seen of him were his striking, glowing red eyes.

So in conclusion, you hadn’t seen his true form.

Your lips purse; call it morbid curiosity but you’re a little disappointed. You’re pulled from your thoughts by a tap on your nose.

“Don’t get any funny ideas.” Jimin reprimands and though it sounds lighthearted enough, you hear the underlying seriousness of it.

“I wasn’t.” You say defensively, but then add, “What about angels? Do they fit the stereotypical halo and wings image?”

Your guardian smiles but it comes off more like a grimace and simply says, “I think you’re better off not knowing.”

Well that doesn’t sound ominous at all.

You voice as much however Jimin never goes into further detail than that. You begrudgingly drop the topic.

The episode closes with Aziraphale and Crowley changing back to their original selves and going on a lunch date. You let the credits roll, too comfortable to move otherwise. Jimin doesn’t bother moving either, that or maybe it’s the fact that you have his arm trapped underneath your head.

“How’d you find the series?” You ask, turning slightly to Jimin.

You see him shrug, angling his face towards you as he says, “It was…interesting; got a few things right surprisingly. But an angel being friends with a demon….” He shakes his head, “Yeah, that will never happen.”

“Hey now, I’m sure not all angels are assholes…” You argue, “Just like how not all demons are either…”

“Oh? And how are you so sure of that?”

“Well, I’ve met you and Jungkook and you’re both not that bad.”

Jimin hums, a low sound that vibrates from his chest and you barely register the flex of his arm beneath you before you’re hauled up from your spot. A squeak escapes past your lips as you’re suddenly chest to chest with Jimin, face mere inches from each other and those gleaming red ruby eyes staring straight back at you.

“Such sweet words, but I’m afraid that’s how you get killed my cherub — if not by them,” His voice drops until it’s nothing but a husky whisper when he says, “then by me.”

You think you stop breathing for a second, so caught off guard from how close you are to this unnecessarily gorgeous demon. His warm breath tickles your cheeks and you can practically count each long lashes over those mesmerizing eyes, and how full those pretty pink lips are….

You swallow nervously, only hoping that he wouldn’t notice but who were you kidding, being this close to him — if that doesn’t give you away then no doubt the rapid beating of your heart would’ve. You turn away, no longer able to withstand eye contact lest you want to end up drowning in those crimson depths and in a last ditch effort to distract him by any means, you mumble weakly, “D-Don’t be a such Crowley….”

Jimin blinks, confused. You think he’s going to laugh at you until his brows furrows, completely displeased. “I’m not a Crowley… at all.”

“Yes, you are.” You shoot back, grinning at the way he pouts. He scoffs, rolling you off of him in disgust and you laugh as you go, plopping back onto the bed.

“Be grateful I don’t have big creepy snake eyes. I could if I wanted to you know, but that would completely ruin my aesthetics.” Jimin argues, arms crossed.

“…What about wings?” You ask, blinking owlishly to meet Jimin’s eyes which had faded back to a warm brown. When he quirks an eyebrow at you, you elaborate. “You never really told me if demons have wings like in the show. Or if it’s even possible.”

His mouth opens as if to respond to you but then after a brief thought, he stops himself. You don’t mean anything by asking, simply curious is all but the way Jimin looks off, deep in contemplation has you a bit concerned. Just when the thought to break the sudden tension crosses your mind, Jimin exhales through his nose.

“To be honest, I don’t really know the answer to that one cherub. Maybe we did or maybe not at all — demons were once angels after all, or so I was told.”

You think he sounded a bit wistful near the end, the quiet sombreness of his tone tugging at your heart strings. However, Jimin doesn’t let you linger on it as he abruptly gets up, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a loud, exaggerated groan, effectively erasing any traces of it. “Anyways, I’m off. Your roommate should be home soon so I’ll see you whenever.”

Jimin turns to walk out of your room but you’re overcome with the urge to ease whatever emotion you unintentionally triggered for him. So you find yourself blurting out, “Well whether you did or not, I think wings would’ve looked p-pretty cool on you regardless…”

Your face feels like it may as well be on fire as you tense in trepidation, seeing Jimin halt in his steps. You can’t tell what his reaction is with his back turned towards you, so you wait, teeth chewing on your bottom lip and your calico plushie clenched in your hands like a stress ball. Then, you see him tilt his head, throwing you a look over his shoulder and that infamous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, obviously that’s a given.”

The breath you’d been holding wheezes out in a silent laugh. You shake your head and watch Jimin disappear, obviously very pleased with himself if the swagger in his step is anything to go by.

He might deny that he’s anything like Crowley, but to you, Jimin is more like the fictional demon than he realizes. Perhaps that was why he was your favourite character in the series. However when it comes down to it, you'd choose Jimin over Crowley being your guardian demon any day.

With or without wings.

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