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chaosmagicss · 2 years

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spoilt brat (wanda maximoff x reader)

synopsis: wanda maximoff has a wicked attitude problem, and she’s annoyingly attractive. you hate her, and she hates you. or, well, that’s what you thought.

warnings: countryclub!wanda, enemies to lovers friends with benefits, semi-public sex, almost getting caught, wanda is kinda mean and it’s hot

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i finally got this done, everybody gasped! but um, sorry for not posting for a month, take this as a gift <3

Since you started work at the Stark Country Club last summer, Wanda Maximoff has proven to be a thorn in your side.

You’re really not sure what you did to make the girl dislike you so much. She seems nice enough to everyone else; polite and soft spoken to the other staff members and giggly with all her friends.

Hell, she’d even been nice to you the first time you’d met. It was your third day on the job and you were going around collecting finished glasses when you’d reached her table. When you’d asked if she was done with her drink, Wanda turned to look at you, eyes darting down and back up before she blinked rapidly and cleared her throat. You almost blushed the second you saw her cheeks were tinted red, but instead you just took the glass from her when she handed it to you and offered up a tight smile, trying not to shudder when your fingers brushed as she passed it over.

But then, only a week later, it was like a switch was flipped.

Initially, you dismissed the attitude, thinking maybe she was having an off day. But then the attitude didn’t leave. She took every chance she could to annoy you - one time, she spent a stupid amount of money on mocktails just so you’d have to keep going back and forth from the bar - and she seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

After a lot of complaining to Kate, who never once copped the brunt of Wanda Maixmoff’s attitude problem, you decided to just match her energy. Each sly comment was met with one of your own, and Wanda only rose to the challenge; she took each and every chance to annoy you, and she was good at it. The people her age who she tended to hang out with – mainly her brother Pietro and Yelena Belova, who Kate had told you was Natasha Romanoff’s sister – just ignored it, rolling their eyes each time you and Wanda ended up in the same space.

The first time you’d ever acknowledged that she was attractive (drop-dead gorgeous), you’d been working the bar with Kate when Wanda had waltzed right up in a dress that was incredibly low cut, and when she leant on the bar, effectively pushing her tits up, you honestly struggled to look away. Thankfully, she’d turned to Kate to order, so her attention had been off you long enough for you to pretend you hadn’t noticed at all when she finally looked in your direction.

You honestly can’t remember what snarky comment she’d made, or your equally as snarky response, but when she’d walked off with as many drinks as she could carry, Kate had turned to you, arms crossed over her chest.

“Y’know, I think you two just need to fuck.”

You’d turned to look at her so fast, you couldn’t believe you didn’t get whiplash. “What?”

Kate had just smiled. “You and Maximoff. There’s, like, tangible sexual tension. That’s probably why you’re at each other’s throats literally all the time.”

“We’re at each other’s throats because she's a bitch,” you’d corrected her sharply. “I don’t want to sleep with her.”

Despite your insistence, Kate was just as stubborn, telling you that it would probably help to “get it out of your system.” It��s been a year of that, now; Kate giving you leading looks almost every time you and Wanda interacted, but she’d yet to get you to even admit out loud that Wanda was attractive. She caught you looking sometimes, but who can blame you? She is attractive. Annoyingly so.

Last summer, somehow, miraculously, you’d managed to not ever cross paths with Wanda when she was at the pool. So, when you’re filling in for lifeguard duty for the afternoon, you find yourself struggling to tear your eyes away from where she’s sunbathing in a tiny bikini. The only reason you’re managing to do so is knowing that, if she caught you watching, you would literally never live it down.

You’re an hour into your shift when Kate shows up, and despite your best efforts, it takes her about ten seconds to notice.

“You’re drooling.”

“I am not,” you shoot back without missing a beat. “Go back to flirting with the Belova girl and leave me alone.”

“I can’t blame you,” Kate says, ignoring your comment, “she has very nice legs.”

Now, you aren’t sure why Kate commenting on Wanda in such a way makes your chest flare with what a more honest person would pinpoint as jealousy, possessiveness, even, but you sure as hell don’t like it.

You roll your eyes, settle back in the lifeguard seat. “She looks good in a bikini,” you mutter dismissively, “so what?” Kate’s about to say something when you catch a kid running, so immediately you blow on your whistle. “Hey, no running! You’ll get hurt!”

He immediately slows to a brisk walk. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Kate slaps your arm. “Alright, Miss Lifeguard, I’ll leave you alone now. Happy perving.” You shoot her a look, and Kate grins, turning on her heel and walking away with her hands clasped behind her back in faux innocence.

“Tell Yelena I said hi!”

“I would, but she doesn’t like you.”

You scoff, turning back to the pool, and as always, your eyes seem to be drawn to a certain brunette. Your gaze tracks up her legs, over her taut stomach, her breasts, and then, finally her face. Where you expect to find her eyes closed, face smoothed over as she relaxes by the pool, instead you find her looking right back at you, sunglasses perched atop her head.

You watch a smirk curl up one corner of her mouth, and she lifts her hand to waggle her fingers in a wave. You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look away from her.

The heavy door shoulders open with a creak, and you sigh quietly at the sheer abundance of used shower-towels sitting on the racks. It’s times like these you curse the popularity of Stark’s Country Club in the summer. You do your best to avoid the bigger pools of water accumulating on the tiles as you begrudgingly pull the towels into your basket.

Today has been a nightmare, to say the least. You had a god-awful sleep last night, your bus ran late this morning, you dropped a cocktail down your shirt during the midday rush and thus had to borrow one that was a size too small, and all you could think about was getting back to your apartment and sleeping for at least fourteen hours.

Bed, you keep promising yourself. Sleep.

All you have to do is check every shower room on this side of the grounds for used towels. And you were on your last one. It was fine.

“Oh, don’t tell me they’ve downgraded you to the bathroom cleaner.”

God, today couldn’t get any worse. You roll your eyes to the heavens, putting down the basket full of used towels with a little more force than necessary so you can start adding the ones on the last rack onto the pile.

“No, Maximoff, I’m on towel duty.”

“Oh, well, in that case… Hold this for me, will you?”

You turn to look at her, confused as to what she means, and almost choke on your own tongue when you finally see her. She’s holding out a towel, sure, but it’s hard to focus on that when she’s in a still-wet bikini, the white fabric sticking to her skin in all the right places, covered by nothing but a flimsy floral beach cover up. It’s a test of willpower to tear your eyes away from the water droplets rolling down her chest and between the valley of her breasts, but you manage. Barely.

“Oh, come on, have you forgotten how to take things from people?”

You dart your eyes back up to her face, glowering. Wanda’s lips twitch in amusement, probably at the blush you can feel rising to your cheeks. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you need a towel for after your shower,” you say dryly.

Wanda chuckles, dropping her arm to hold the towel herself. “What’s got you all riled up?”

You sigh, pulling the last towel from the rack. “I’m not in the mood for this,” you mutter, to yourself more than anything.

She tilts her head, eyes you up and down very obviously, and you feel it like she’d touched you. “Well, what are you in the mood for, then?”

You clench your jaw, do your damndest not to blush again at the implication. “Something much more relaxing than a conversation with you,” you snark, and Wanda clicks her tongue, takes a step closer. You straighten your spine just to gain that extra bit of height, and Wanda blinks up at you as she reaches up with her spare hand, dragging her nails featherlight over your arm.

“I know a way you can relax,” she murmurs, and despite your efforts, your body starts to betray you; your heart skips, your stomach tightens, your skin burns where she touches you. “Or get out your frustrations; either works for me.”

Your eyes dart to her lips like a magnet, and you can feel yourself softening under her delicate touches and sultry tone. Kate’s voice echoes in your skull - Get it out of your system - and for once, you let yourself actually consider it. You lift your gaze back to hers, and her face shifts; her lips curl into a smirk, eyes twinkling in amusement. You roll your eyes, pull away from her.

“God, you’re the worst.”

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Wanda laughs, stepping after you as you move over to the other rack of towels. “I was just messing with you.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny,” you say flatly, hardly looking at her. “Grow up a little, huh?”

You pick up the basket and move to step past her, to drop these off where they need to be dropped off so you can clock off and just go home, when Wanda’s smile drops and her hand darts out to catch your arm.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she says sharply.

You give her a look. “Or what?”

Her jaw flexes, eyes flashing with anger. “You can be a real dick, you know that?”

“Pot callin’ the kettle black, Maximoff.” She doesn’t bite back at you, having lost your little spat, but her gaze doesn’t fall from yours, ever so stubborn. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go do this thing called a job.”

You watch her drop her towel from the corner of your eye, and then a hand curls into the front of your shirt, and before you can blink, Wanda’s kissing you so hard it hurts.

Wanda. Kissing you. Hard.

Her grip on your shirt is unrelenting, keeping you close as her other hand slides around to the nape of your neck. You should pull away, if only to maintain your pride, but all you can really think about is how great of a kisser she is and how good her mouth feels against your own. So when Wanda pulls back for air, eyes opening to find yours and gauge your reaction, you just smother a smile.

“I’d like to note that you kissed me—”

Wanda huffs, cheeks red, and mumbles, “Shh,” pulls you back in. This time, you put your hands on her bare waist and tug her closer, pulling her flush against you as she licks into your mouth, arms winding around your neck.

In between kisses, you mumble a, “Just wanna make sure it’s crystal clear—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

She leans in again, kissing you in a way that makes you dizzy, her hands up in your hair. She tastes like peach chapstick and cherry coke, and it’s addicting. You squeeze her waist, and when she lets out a pleased sigh, suddenly all you can think about is the other kind of sounds you can pull from her.

Your body starts to move on autopilot.

“You still wanna help me relax?” you mumble, leaning your hips back from hers just enough to compensate for the hand that moves from her waist to brush over her tummy, and then down, beneath the hem of her swimmer bottoms.

“Fuck!” Wanda hisses, knees wobbling at the first touch of your fingers. Your own breath catches when you find her already slick and wanting, arousal coiling tight in your stomach as you run your fingers through her folds. She breaks away from your mouth to suck in air when your fingers find her clit, running slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive nub. “Jesus,” she gasps, “you’re an asshole.”

You smirk, eyes glued to her face as it twists in pleasure. “And you’re soaked, princess.”

Wanda makes a breathy little noise, hands flying up to grab at your shoulders to keep herself upright. You scoff a pitying laugh, watch Wanda’s cheeks flush as she pries her eyes open to look at you.

“Look at you,” you murmur, “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already a mess.”

“Fuck off,” she spits, but the breathiness in her voice makes the insult fall short.

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” you say. “You want me to stop, princess?”

Her grip on you tightens at the words, perfectly manicured nails digging threateningly into your shoulders. “Don’t you dare.”

Now, you’re a simple woman. If you have an opportunity to piss Wanda Maxmioff off, you’re going to take it.

You pull your hand free and take a step back, watching Wanda gasp at the loss, swaying a little as she blinks at you. Her thighs press together, chest heaving as she catches up to what just happened.

“Oops,” you say.

Wanda clenches her jaw, eyes flicking down, and when she takes a step to close the distance between you and reaches for your wrist, curiosity gets the best of you, so you let her do as she pleases. She pulls your hand up, up, up, and catching your eyes, sucks your slick fingers into her mouth.

How your knees don’t buckle immediately is beyond you, truly. The arousal that pangs down your spine must be poorly hidden on your face, because Wanda smirks around your fingers and then, as she closes her eyes, tongue flicking between your fingers, lets out a drawn-out little moan.

You want to ruin her.

She lets your fingers go with a pop. “I want you to fuck me,” she says softly, in this faux innocent tone that has your mind spinning. She guides your hand back between her legs, and you cup her covered sex, watching her eyes flutter. “If you don’t, I’m just going to have to go home and think about you while I take care of myself, and that’s just getting boring.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. “Boring?” you say clumsily. “D’you do it often?”

Wanda nods, teeth catching on her bottom lip, her free hand finding your belt to tug gently as she leans in close. “I can show you pictures, if you’d like,” she whispers. “I get so wet.”

“Fuck,” you breathe out, and you can feel Wanda’s grin as you catch her mouth in yours. You grip her waist before sliding your hands around, and when you take two handfuls of her ass to pull her closer, Wanda moans.

“Showers,” she gasps. “Showers, now.”

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely,” you mutter, separating from her to pull her into the last shower stall nonetheless. You press her into the wall and kiss her again, fumbling to turn on the water, and Wanda makes a confused noise against your mouth as the spray hits your ankles. Luckily, the stalls are big enough that you won’t get your clothes wet, but you couldn’t say the same for your worn-in sneakers. Not that you cares. Not when they’re being sacrificed for this.

You trail heated kisses along her jaw and down her throat. “Don’t trust you to keep quiet,” you explain. “You don’t wanna get caught, do you?”

A hand sinks into your hair, tugging roughly enough that you look up at her, and you find her with flushed cheeks and a determined look in her eye. “You don’t think I can keep quiet?”

You grin, fingers hooking into the hem of her swimmer bottoms and tugging them down until they pool around her ankles. “No,” you say, “not really.”

Wanda’s jaw clenches. “Anyone ever told you you’re cocky?”

You chuckle, cupping between her legs and thoroughly enjoying the way she jolts at the touch. “No, they’re usually too busy enjoying themselves.”

Wanda starts to roll her eyes, but cuts herself off with a moan when you slide two fingers into her. A hand curls into your shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric in an attempt to keep herself upright. You grin.

“That feel good, does it?”

Wanda groans, eyes fluttering open to find yours as you start a steady pace. She cups your jaw, pulling you in close. “Shut up and fuck me.”

As you work her up, kissing her deep and filthy as she struggles to keep up, her nails digging into the hard bone of your jaw, Wanda tries dutifully to maintain her pride and keep quiet; it’s a shocker she hasn’t bit her bottom lip raw yet, every moan and sigh that threatens to come out muffled into a small hum instead.

“Come on, princess,” you coo softly, curling your fingers in search of that spongy spot inside her. “Wanna hear you.”

Her chest staggers, and she shakes her head, opening her eyes to catch yours. So damn stubborn. “Ass-hole,” she says pointedly.

You click your tongue, free hand grabbing under her thigh and pulling it up to your hip, giving you better access between her legs. Your fingers slip in deeper, and you swipe your thumb over her clit, and apparently that’s all it takes. Wanda moans, high pitched and whiny, and you grin, doubling your efforts.

“There you go, pretty girl.”

“Y/N,” she whimpers, nails digging into the nape of your neck, her walls fluttering around your fingers.

You hum, leaning in close to press kisses to her jaw until you reach her lips. “Wanna come, princess?”

“Yeah,” she gasps against your mouth. “Make me come. Please. Please.”

You’re about to bury your face in the crook of her neck and fuck her fast and hard until she comes when you hear the telltale creak of the door opening. Wanda, lost in the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly, doesn’t notice, and you have to clap your hand over her mouth to muffle the whine she almost lets out.

Her eyes shoot open, brows furrowing as your fingers slow, but you just give her a crooked grin and whisper, “Shh…”

A moment later, there’s a small sigh from outside the shower stall, and realisation dawns on Wanda’s face.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but showers are supposed to be closed for the day.” You almost let out a sigh of relief at the voice - it’s Angie, a 50-something who is probably the biggest, most unassuming sweetheart you’ve ever met. Still, Wanda’s eyes widen in a panic; you just move your hand and mouth, Answer. There’s a few footsteps, and then a concerned, “Ma’am, is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry!” Wanda says, voice just a tad uneven; you twist your fingers just to watch her squirm, and squirm she does. Her fingers tighten warningly in your hair. “I’ll - I’ll be out in a moment.”

“That’s alright, dear. Just leave your towel on the rack and I’ll send someone to come grab it in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Wanda manages as you duck your head to suck on her neck. “Thank you.”

The moment Angie is gone, the squeaky door closed behind her, you lift your head to kiss her, hard and rough. Wanda moans when you start to fuck her again, failing to meet your kisses as she focuses completely on rocking her hips into your hand.

“You fucking loved that, didn’t you?” you growl, pulling back to look at her. You’d thought she was pretty before, sure, but now, with her face flushed and lips kiss-swollen, she’s fucking breathtaking. At your words, she opens her eyes, letting out a broken little moan when she meets your gaze. “You want someone to catch us like this? Catch me fucking you, pretty girl?”

Her eyes wrench shut as a new wave of wetness soaks your hand, head tipping forward. You tsk, wrapping a hand around her throat to pick her head back up. “Uh-uh, angel, eyes on me.”

“Fuck,” she gasps, fighting to keep her eyes open, “‘m gonna come.”

“Yeah? You gonna come?”

She nods, eyes squeezing shut, and the second you swipe your thumb over her clit, she’s toppling over the edge. You muffle her unabashedly loud moans with your mouth, knowing full well that anyone who happens to walk by could definitely hear her otherwise. When she’s stopped twitching, you slide out of her, smiling at the disapproving whine she lets out. You let her leg down as she starts to lazily match your kisses, grabbing her waist when she wobbles a little.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out once you’ve moved your kisses to her neck. You hum quietly, pressing your body closer to hers, sliding a leg between her own. She gasps softly at the touch, but immediately winds a leg around your own.

“Told you you couldn’t keep quiet,” you snark, nipping at the sharp curve of her jaw. Wanda huffs a laugh, pushing at your chest and dragging a laugh out of you before tugging you back before you could get too far from her. She pulls you in for another kiss, this one so slow and deep that it turns your brain to mush in an instant. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere more private so you can be as loud as you want. How’s that sound, angel?”

“Next time?” Wanda asks breathlessly as she pulls back, grinning. “What makes you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

You smile, smug as you lift a hand to pull her lip free from where she’s trapped it on her teeth. “Act like you hate me all you want, Maximoff, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re soaking my pants like a slut.”

Her pupils dilate, a shaky exhale leaving her at the crass words, and you take that as a confirmation that there will certainly be a next time.

Two weeks later, there have been many next times.

A few days after your first… encounter, Wanda had practically jumped you while you were in the middle of bringing a bag of golf clubs back to the service desk, dragging you into a storage closet. It was the first time you’d seen her since, and it was a little jarring—disappointing—to realise that she looked annoyed.

Your worries had been swiftly forgotten when she kissed you and practically forced you onto your knees, muttering about how she couldn’t stop imagining how your mouth would feel on her as she flipped up her skirt. Needless to say, you’d gotten her off with your tongue despite the fact that you were at work—you’d have been stupid to deny a needy Wanda Maximoff.

That encounter had led to you inviting her to your apartment after your shift, and since then, the sex had been regular. You’re trying not to get so caught up in it, because it’s casual and fun and you’re genuinely enjoying yourself and her company, but you sort of can’t ignore the occasional flutter in your tummy or the way you catch her looking at you sometimes.

But for now, it’s your own little secret, and you’re happy with it being just that for the meanwhile.

Kate has noticed the lack of hostility between the two of you—she was right, of course, about it all being pent up sexual tension, but you’re not about to tell her that—and you’ve simply brushed it off as not being bothered anymore anytime she’s asked. If she suspects anything more, she hasn’t told you, but you really don’t think she does.

Well, until one fateful Saturday afternoon.

You and Kate are both on shift at the restaurant, and by the time you’re doing your final rounds, Wanda and Yelena have finished their drinks and the shared bowl of sweet potato fries they’ve been munching on for the last hour. It’s the last table you go to, balancing a tray topped with a handful of glasses and plates from other tables.

Wanda’s eyes flick to yours as you approach, eyes lighting up a little as she realises it’s you, and the sight warms your chest. You swallow dryly. “You done with that?” you ask, motioning towards her empty glass. She smiles a little, more a knowing smirk than anything, and picks up both her and Yelena’s glasses to hand it over.

“Yes, thank you,” she says.

You nod as you take it, doing your best not to have a visible physical reaction when your fingers brush hers during the handover. You swallow, avert your eyes, and start to reach for the empty jug in the middle of the table just as Kate joins you to grab the plates.

Your eyes flick to the blonde at the table, both to give her a polite little smile and gauge her reaction to Kate’s presence, to find her watching you closely. As your fingers curl around the handle of the jug, you try not to feel too intimidated by her rather intimidating stare.

Then, her face splits into a grin, and her eyes dart to Wanda.

“Did you two finally fuck?”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda smut #wanda maximoff smut #j is writing #mine

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kristsune · 2 months

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So while listening to Episode 6's case, I remembered that during the early premiere stream Jonny and Alex talked about Needles a bit. So I figured I'd put them together to make a nice little intro for Needles because I fell in love with him immediately.

#the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers #tmp #tmp spoilers #tmagp #needles #jonny sims #alexander j newall #my audio #let bloody hear it for #harry roebuck #what an incredible performance #i can see how that would convince alex if the writing wasnt enough #because wow #absolutely wicked #i hope we get to hear from needles again in the future

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goddess-of-silvers · 9 months

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I know everyone’s mad at Aziraphale right now because of how the season’s ended but I don’t think we’ve talked enough about the fact that Aziraphale has been keeping a diary for centuries (based on the fact the entry we see is from volume 603) and he literally starts his entries with “dear diary, last month Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh”.

#HE WRITES IN HIS DIARY LIKE A STEREOTYPICAL TEENAGE GIRL #HOW IS ANYONE NORMAL ABOUT THIS #also the absolute banger of a fanfic this would be #someone just writing all 603 volumes of Aziraphale’s journals which are all just meetups with crowley #you know his journals are filled of their misadventures as idiots in love #dear dork diary but its aziraphale #HA #ineffable husbands #good omens spoilers #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley x aziraphale #go 2x03

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katiefrog217 · 20 days

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AziraCrow | Book Reading

(Scroll down for mini story vvvv) + (Companion Piece)

Aziraphale liked books, especially the old ones. They were the main reason for owning his bookshop, after all.

He loved reading them, too. Sitting quietly in the back of his bookshop with a good book and the occasional accompaniment of an old record made for quite the delightful evening, in his opinion. Despite his being handless (and therefore, fingerless), Aziraphale was perfectly capable of turning pages on his own. Not with his talons of course; Heaven only knew the trouble that would come from attempting to turn the aging and potentially fragile paper with such unreliable instruments. It would be a simple enough fix if a page did happen to tear, but the memory would haunt him forever. Instead, all it took was a flick of his wing and woosh, the pages would turn themselves. Sometimes he just had to ask nicely. However, there were times that he didn't need to expend the effort.

Those times just so happened to coincide with a particularly serpentine visitor.

Crowley's visits were irregular and not always predictable. Most of the time he would pop in to complain about Who-Knows-What and disappear off to Who-Knows-Where. Sometimes he would stay longer, and they would share a glass of wine or some other alcohol, chatting a lot about nothing and reminiscing about times long passed until the shadows grew long. On rare occasions they would sit in comfortable silence, doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company. Aziraphale would then pick a book to read and Crowley would slither over to join him.

Of course, Crowley didn't like reading - or at least claimed he didn't. 'Not worth his time,' he'd say dismissively. Still, he (bored expression and all) would come, make himself comfortable by coiling around both the book stand and Aziraphale, and just watch. Just about anyone on Earth would likely be uncomfortable being stared down by such an intense gaze, but not Aziraphale. Over the many millennia, he has grown used to being observed by those golden eyes. Dare he say, he even found it comforting in a way, but that was besides the point.

He wasn't sure how it started; perhaps Crowley found himself overly bored that day, but he began turning the book pages whenever Aziraphale raised his wing to compel them instead. It had started him at first, and he had looked to Crowley with much confusion, though the demon had nothing to say in return. He merely shrugged (or at least it could be considered the serpentine equivalent of a shrug) and turned away. A few more pages in, and he'd turn them again. This happened over and over until Aziraphale heaved a sigh gave in, allowing the serpent to do as he wanted. At first, it was quite awkward to give verbal cues, and there were times when he became so engrossed in his reading that he forgot entirely, but eventually they settled into a comfortable rhythm. Nowadays he didn't even bother. It had become almost automatic: Aziraphale would finish the page and it would turn, no questions asked.

Aziraphale suspected it would baffle the minds of many to see a demon treat anything so gently, yet Crowley turned the pages in such a way that they were never bent nor crumpled. In fact, it seemed to him that the older the book was, the gentler Crowley'd be. He seemed... 'content' was the wrong word to describe his attitude towards the activity, but he never said a word otherwise. At least, not to Aziraphale.

He never pointed this out, of course. Crowley would stop doing it if he did, and he didn't WANT him to stop. He enjoyed it too much.

Once in a blue moon, Crowley would make a comment about whatever Aziraphale was reading at the time. It was often snide, mocking, not always audible. Hisses of exasperation or an exaggerated eye roll were not uncommon either. Then he would turn away, bored despondence washing over his face, shutting down any attempts to further the conversation. Not that he would respond if Aziraphale did, though that hadn't stopped him from trying. On one occasion Aziraphale had tried to push the topic, only for Crowley to deflect, insisting that he had only glanced the passage at random. He stopped turning the pages then. Aziraphale never tried again and settled with only giving him sidelong glances when he said something particularly egregious.

And so they would read, the silence broken only by the ticking of an old clock and the occasionally rustle of a page.

...

Aziraphale liked his books.

He liked reading them alone in his bookshop.

But he liked them best when Crowley was there to turn the pages for him.

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idliketobeatree · 27 days

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listening to Too Sweet for the first time and, damn, Crowley never got his flat back, did he? can't believe he's been crashing on Hozier's couch all this time drinking booze and waxing lamentations about his angel. strange world we live in

#hozier #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #but for real. this man is insane “you treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate” how do i keep going with my life after this line.#he'll take his whiskey neat his coffee black and his bed at three? 'kay.#i'll never write good omens fics or poetry half as good as this fucker (affectionate)#anthony j crowley #music #unheard ep #too sweet #marcela talks

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thelov3lybookworm · 1 month

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As a slut for angst today “tolerate it” has been stuck on a loop and now I am imaging an angsty fic where Az just slowly begins to forget about reader and she threatens to leave but he doesn’t take her seriously and is so utterly destroyed when he comes back home and she’s gone…

Like I feel like it’s on brand with him and his duty to his job and whatnot. Plus the lyrics are so him coded “while you were out building worlds where was I” / “took this dagger in me and removed it” LIKE HELLO???

(But I also love a good happy ending so I feel like if azzy groveled hard enough… 👀)

Tolerate it.

Summary: She is fed up.

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A/n: ehehehehehe angsttttt yummy yummyyyy

Enjoy!

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Y/n laughed at Feyre's pathetic attempts at skipping the large puddle on the ground accumulated due to the rains that had Velaris freezing overnight.

Feyre failed miserably, her boots and leggings getting wet from the splash that signalled her downfall against the watery enemy of hers. But Feyre was not fazed. She simply laughed alongside Y/n, her eyes crinkling as the two of them made their way back to the river house.

It was visible already now, Y/n could even make out the grains in the wood of the door as it opened, and her brother in laws, along with her mate, spilled out.

Y/n could see from the corner of her eyes as her sister lit up at seeing her mate, her husband and the father of her child. The moment his eyes met her, she took off, her arms spread as she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Rhysand did not hold back either, clutching Feyre to her chest with as much enthusiasm as she held him.

It made Y/n smile.

Y/n then glanced behind the embracing couple to her mate, the overwhelming urge to hug him too and to claim him in front of anyone watching making her start walking towards him without even realising.

Which was reckless, as the moment he realised she was walking towards him to hug him? He took a step back.

Y/n knew that he hated being affectionate in front of others, but this was cruel.

So to not get embarrassed by his rejection, Y/n turned swiftly towards Cassian, her other brother in law, who stood not too far from where Azriel did, and hugged him instead.

Cassian, Mother bless his heart, did not even question it.

He wrapped his arms around Y/n and literally lifted her off the ground, cackling when Y/n's fist made contact with his shoulder over and over again as she demanded to be put down.

Y/n had to stop herself from thinking back to that day. She did not want to relive the pain she had felt, the sadness and anger.

Y/n watched his eyes fluttering, wondering if he was dreaming. Wondering who he was dreaming about.

It definitely was not her, that was for sure.

Y/n, feeing a little sadness taking root in her heart, returned to the portrait in her hands, questioning if it would even be worth it finishing it up when he sure as hell wouldn't even acknowledge it. Or her.

Y/n glanced at the paint supplies she had placed on the coffee table next to her, having wanted to capture a moment of him letting his guard down, of him being vulnerable using her best paints, knowing he would not care.

She guessed living for as long as he had, life and the small things didn't matter as much anymore. Maybe that was why he loved to go on the missions Rhysand, Y/n's brother in law, gave him.

It probably gave him the thrill nothing else did anymore.

With Y/n's sister just having given birth to the starlight of the court, Rhys had become more and more protective, sending his brothers and anyone and everyone at his disposal to check and report about every trivial thing that made his primal mate and father side get protective.

Slowly, Y/n reached for the brush that rested in the cup half filled with coloured water, deciding to finish the half done portrait. If he did not care... she did not now what she would do then, but she did know she was tired of being tolerated by him.

But what could she even do? It was not like she could just up and leave.

Y/n blinked.

Or... could she?

Y/n shook her head, as if to dislodge the though, and with a sigh, she let herself get lost in the soft skill of painting her sister had taught her long ago, when staying up and huddling under worn blankets was the only thing bringing any warmth.

Trying not to think about the fact that the last time she remembered him caring for her, genuinely caring for her, was only when the two had been in their early stages of relation ship and the mating bond was a very new experience to a newly made fae Y/n, she continued using the soft and strong, long and short strokes to finish up her latest masterpiece.

Of course, Y/n never would call herself a creator of masterpieces, but any and all art that included her perfect mate was destined to be a masterpiece.

Time lost its meaning, and all that mattered was capturing the perfect angle for his eyes, nose, lips, shoulder.

Nothing existed but Y/n, her art, and her muse.

Nothing existed but the soft rise and fall of his back as he lay sprawled on his stomach, the effortless way his wings draped across the whole bed, taking up space three wingless fae could have slept in.

Where Y/n would have slept in, on days when everything had been filled with stars and dreams, wrapped under his warm wing like it were a living blanket.

When he pretended he was nothing, absolutely nothing but her mate. Her husband. Not a spymaster, not a shadowsinger, not a brother. Just her mate, her lover.

Those days were far gone now.

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Despite the fact that she knew he would most definitely not care, Y/n was excited.

And that was downplaying what she felt.

The wait was killing her, the amount of adrenaline in her bloodstream making her want to jump around to get rid of the energy that made her shiver, her limbs going cold and warm at the same time. She had to push her fists together and shove them between her thighs to keep them from shaking, which did not help at all.

So Y/n waited, her body clenched in anticipation as she stared at the doorway that led into the living room, a big grin on her face.

She glanced once at the sketchpad in front of her on the table, admiring her artwork for a moment.

She never liked whatever she made, always feeling like it lacked something. So for her to be excited to show off her art to her mate was a huge indication to how much she loved the portrait.

The familiar scuff of worn boots drew Y/n's attention, and she shot to her feet, pressing her fists to the back of her thighs.

It had become a habit of Azriel's, to purposefully make some noise before he stepped in view so as not to startle her with his appearance.

The action melted Y/n's heart every single time.

He stepped into view, as ethereal as the day Y/n had first seen him as a human, just as beautiful as he had looked that day as he tried to get comfortable on the small chair in the manor on the other side of the wall, just as loveable as that day when she had ended up losing her heart to the low born fae that should have intimated her.

He was fumbling with his armor, making sure it was all secured properly before he left for whatever mission Rhys assigned him for that day.

He glanced up just as he walked past Y/n to the kitchen counter, a small smile gracing his face before his attention was again diverted.

Y/n tried not to deflate at his lack of enthusiasm.

"Good morning love. Look-"

"Good morning Y/n." He cut her off, his voice void of emotions, as if he was tired of saying the same thing every morning and wanted to get it over with. He didn't even glance at Y/n as he said it, and Y/n pretended not to notice that he used her name instead of whatever endearing name he would have picked before.

"I will be on a scouting trip to Illyria, and after I have a meeting and dinner scheduled with Rhys and Cass, so I will be late coming home. Don't wait up."

Y/n's smile faded. "Don't wait up or stay out of my way?"

Azriel froze. "What?"

Y/n released a humourless laugh. "Nothing. Go have fun."

Azriel turned, giving her a hard look. "You know I would rather stay at home with you."

Doubtful.

Y/n so badly wanted to say it to his face, but she did not want to fight with him so early in the morning, so she sighed, smiled and nodded.

He started walking towards the door, and despite her anger, Y/n walked forward to kiss his cheek.

She did not miss how he recoiled.

Y/n masked the hurt before he could see it, and he gave her an awkward smile before he maneuvered to walk around her, careful not to brush against her.

Y/n watched him walk away, staring hard at the door even long after he'd left.

She then glanced at the portrait she had abandoned on the table, and, her heart hardening, turned away.

She was tired of having her love be tolerated, and she would not have it be that way anymore.

Either he accept her love the way it was, loud and clear, or he go find someone else.

And so, she turned, walked up the stairs to the bedchambers she shared with Azriel, and began to turn it back into just his bedchambers.

She would no longer be tolerated only because some godly entity thought she and him would make great, powerful kids and tied them together with a string.

She deserved to be cherished.

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