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wordsinhaled · 9 months

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Aziraphale returns to Earth, but his memory’s been wiped, like Gabriel’s was. He instinctively comes to the bookshop, but Crowley’s not there.

Muriel’s there, instead.

Muriel doesn’t really know what to do with him and Aziraphale… he doesn’t remember being Aziraphale. Just that something drew him inexorably to London, to this neighborhood, this street, this shop. He’s still wearing the bespoke new clothes he was given in Heaven, not a stitch of tan or tartan or vintage fabric anywhere on his person.

He’s subdued and pensive at first, robbed of his usual verve and lust for all of the beautiful things in life; and he doesn’t remember how he takes his tea, or even that this is his shop, actually—it couldn’t be. That’s absurd. He doesn’t believe Muriel that he is, in fact, an angel named Aziraphale. An angel owning a bookshop in Soho. Really, it couldn’t be any more fantastical if it came right out of a fantasy novel, could it?

Nina and Maggie come by, and when they see Mr. Fell’s condition Muriel very, very narrowly convinces them not to take Aziraphale to A&E right then and there.

And then Crowley shows up.

He’d stayed away, for a bit, at first. He’d wanted to stay away for always, maybe wish himself to another star entirely (not Alpha Centauri, that one was utterly out of the question, thank you very bleeding much). But being in his new, empty, hyperminimalist flat with only his plants for silent company is leagues worse than any torture hell has ever thrown at him before. It doesn’t really bring him the joy it used to. If he’s honest, which he would prefer not to be, nothing much does; but maybe that’s just what life as a demon is supposed to be. Joyless and colorless.

And so he’s taken to coming by; only for a bit, only about once a week if he’s very disciplined. Someone’s got to make sure Muriel hasn’t sold any of the books, don’t they?

And. Well. It hasn’t been that long, really, since Aziraphale left. Sometimes Crowley just walks up and down the street. Orders a nine-shot espresso from Nina. Visits Maggie’s shop, takes a listen through the records she keeps aside for him even though he’s never asked her to do it. But in the end, he finds himself back at the threshold of the bookshop, pulled there like iron to a lodestone. It’s all very… regular, very boring, very mind-numbingly bland and dull without Aziraphale there with him, and yet… it’s the only place Crowley’s found ever that feels remotely like home.

So. Crowley shows up.

But this time he looks through the window and almost discorporates on the spot, because that’s Aziraphale. That’s Aziraphale standing in the bookshop, lit gold by an afternoon sunbeam.

It’s worse, somehow, seeing him right there within reach, than it was simply remembering him. It feels a bit like being crushed slowly in a vise: a vise with great big spikes in it for good measure. Aziraphale is back. Back on Earth. Back in the bookshop, and he didn’t even look for Crowley, didn’t even try to find him—

(Of course he didn’t, Crowley reminds himself, because he’s not on their side any more. And there it is. There’s the lick of bitter, blunted anger he’s become used to, twisting round his heart alongside the aching, terrible grief he wishes he were too proud, or too disaffected, to still feel.)

He almost doesn’t go in. It would be better, not to go in, wouldn’t it? It would. He can pretend to himself, to everyone, that he’s there to look in on Maggie, or to pop into the brand new plant shop just opened a few doors over, he really has been eyeing the gorgeous Persian carpet flower hanging in the bay window. He doesn’t have one of those—

But blast it all, it’s almost like he’s summoned her because suddenly Maggie’s there with him on the pavement, and she’s a lovely girl, really, on most days, only he wishes she wouldn’t sound so distraught on this particular day, when Crowley’s already suffocating. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she’s saying. “It’s Mr. Fell. He’s back. And—I think he needs you.”

Crowley… well, he scoffs all the way to the shop door, scowls at the cheerful jingle of the bell, scoffs harder still as the door creaks shut behind him. It’s fitting that Aziraphale’s standing now turned away from the entrance, all the better not to see him skulk in. Aziraphale’d made perfectly plain that he doesn’t need him at all.

But all of Crowley’s thoughts go right out of his ridiculous, hopeless, besotted head the moment Aziraphale turns round to look at him.

He looks…

The tailored clothes he’s wearing are doing a surprising amount of wonders for him, actually. That’s Crowley’s first thought, he’s a bit ashamed to admit. The cool grey silk of the suit makes Aziraphale’s eyes an impossibly bright, crisp blue, or maybe it’s that Crowley’s forgotten somehow how blue they always were.

Crowley’s second thought is that he hates how much he’s missed him. He hates how, already, his shoulders are dropping down from where they’ve been perpetually scrunched up about his ears for weeks, just at being in the same room. He can’t stand the treacherous lump rising in his throat and the way the scent of violets follows Aziraphale everywhere and really, he’s got to thank someone in this hope-forsaken universe for the paltry sanctuary of his bloody sunglasses, because...

“Oh,” Aziraphale says to him. “Hello. I’m—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathes, a little wetly.

“—Ezra,” Aziraphale finishes.

Crowley blinks. He takes a swaying step backwards. “…Ezra,” he says. And a part of him, see, a part of him is still livid, it really is, still bruised and raw and curled in on itself somewhere deep inside like a wilting blossom. But another part of him is—is confused. Aziraphale hadn’t chosen him. He knows that. He can come to terms with that. But surely… surely they aren’t going to be like this, now.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale says, “of course. Ezra Fell. That is my name, isn’t it? And this! This is my shop. Naturally.” He smiles at Crowley beatifically. That smile, at least, seems unchanged, if the way Crowley’s chest seizes at the sight of it is anything to go by.

“Right,” Crowley says. “…Naturally.”

“And how may I help you, sir? Is there a particular title you’re looking for? Though I must tell you quite up front, I’m told I dislike selling books, but you might, if you’re very careful, be permitted to peruse them on the premises. You do look like a nice fellow, after all.”

And it’s then—only then (too late, he thinks, and isn’t he always too late?)—that Crowley begins to realize something is very, very, very wrong with Aziraphale.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #ANGST ANGST ANGST HAHA I CRY #my fic

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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hello! i read a work from your recommendation list, the "Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it." and i really enjoyed it. it has me wanting for more of scenarios where they like have to flirt for whatever reason or crowley attempting to (preferably shamelessly and obnoxiously) seduce aziraphale. thanks in advance!

Here are some fics in which Crowley seduces Aziraphale...

To Woo an Angel by AgentStannerShipper (G)

5 times Crowley tried to "seduce" Aziraphale, and 1 time he realized there was no need.

nothing else matters like us by Melacka (T)

The order came through on an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon in 2004. Crowley had just returned from a spot of low-level tempting in the south of London and was just contemplating an appropriate excuse to stop by at Aziraphale’s bookshop when the message arrived. It was pushed under the door by a courier so steeped in terror that Crowley could sense it from the other side of the flat. With some considerable annoyance, Crowley fetched the envelope and eased the note out, reading it quickly with a frown deepening on his face. Seduce the Angel Aziraphale. Failure will not be tolerated.

How I'm Imagining You by orphan_account (M)

Crowley gets up, walking slowly over to the bar. An onlooker might be struck by the stalking and languid ease with which he walks, like a lioness to her prey. His hips, so smooth and slow. And he tilts his head back, lips parted. Surveys the room and the man with covered eyes. But there is no one looking at him. Every other patron doesn’t need to look at the bar at this moment, look at the man and the prey. So, they don’t. - (Crowley has fun with a little temptation of his own)

shades of grey by IneffableStar (E)

After Aziraphale's West End debut was nearly ruined by Furfur's espionage attempt, Aziraphale gets to thinking about if Heaven may also be watching them, and decides it best that he go search for any evidence against them. Crowley will only allow Aziraphale to go on one condition: Crowley comes along. or Crowley accompanies Aziraphale on a trip upstairs, but he has entirely ulterior motives.

It's your job by falsepremise (E)

After a night sucking oysters with Aziraphale, Crowley just can’t sleep. Perhaps he should hang around in Rome a little longer... After all, tempting a certain angel is his job, isn’t it?

Gormless Seduction by munchmulch (T)

Crowley grimaces. "Nhnnnnggg, ok, alright. But, hear me out." They flick a hand dramatically. "An angel! A being who can make Holy water! Even if I can keep the whole human disguise thing up, what if they, I don't know . . . want me baptised?" Dagon stares at Crowley blankly for a second before handing them the assignment kit. "You’ll start tomorrow. The address is highlighted, if you get lost and have to call me for directions I will direct you through at least three traffic jams."

And the one you mentioned that everyone knows and loves...

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan (E)

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?" Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval. "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening." AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #seduction #mod d

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shotgunbunny · 1 year

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═๑♡𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬♡๑═

WC:4.7k+ GIF by gay-bucky-barnes

dark!Sherlock X reader

{warnings: NONCON/DUBCON!! reader is sold!! mentions of prostitution in Victorian era!! misogyny!! age gap!! blood but not a lot at all!! dirty talk!! virginity loss!! breeding kink!! insane Sherlock!! murder!! like this is dark baby!! manipulation!! brainwashing?/Stockholm syndrome!! kind of a sugar daddy?!! dacryophillia!! spitting!! }

Sherlock was accustomed to lady company quite often but the problem was the fact he didn't get satisfaction from any of the the ladies. After every intimate moment he shared, a numbness settled over him faster than he expected and he would lay there miserable all while his company was perfectly satisfied.

Sherlock heaved a sigh over his problem. He didn't want to be detached from his emotions during sex anymore. He craved to be wrapped up in pure bliss with the overwhelming feelings of love too. And that was apparently too hard for the detective to find. So he had decided to take on this problem like a case.

He stood at his desk staring down at the chart of paper. He needed someone who would fit his type perfectly, and even he didn't know what it was. He grunted frustrated over this. That didn't help him get any closer. By the time he had decided to just look at a local whorehouse, convinced that there would be a lady there who would help him due to their experience, night had fallen over the London streets.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and left his cane behind, trying his hardest not to be noticed by any that would recognise him. He headed down to the pleasure house that is simply known as 'THE PINK STRAWBERRY.' Apparently there, all the women smelt and tasted of strawberries and Sherlock was positively excited to see if this was true. He entered the establishment, allowing his eyes to drag along the men that were sat in the velvet chairs.

He headed to the desk where a man dressed in a dark 3 piece sat. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled. "What can I get ya' sir?" He spoke nasily and it made Sherlock irritated yet he hid it, determined to solve his issue. "Do you have anything new? Any new deals? Anything intriguing?" The man looked around before looking Sherlock up and down. "You ain't a pig are ya'?" He whispered the question and Sherlock leaned forward, "I am not." Technically not a lie, he was a detective not a police officer after all.

"Good then. I got a new deal indeed. A new girl just came in. Innocent as can be. Naive and dumb, perfect for molding. You can have her for the night. Or you can have her forever at the right price." Sherlocks interest peaked as he thought about the offer. The molding part definitely appealed to him. Don't get Sherlock wrong he was glad that feminism was making a move into society, but he needed a submissive wife. He had worked hard and supported enough so he deserved a reward.

"I'd have to meet her." The man stared at Sherlock suspiciously before he heaved out a sigh and slid a key to him. "You get five minutes. And then it's decision time. Got it?" The man stated it all firmly all while staring Sherlock down. "Understood sir." With the agreement made the man directed Sherlock to the room where this new woman was.

He unlocked the door feeling his palms slightly sweaty from nerves and excitement over the prospect that there might be someone by his side soon. He kept his eyes on the floor as he entered the room and then turned to close the door, preparing himself to see you. He turned and his breath was instantly knocked out of his chest.

You sat in the messy silk sheets. Clad in a white nightgown that was short on you and only just hid your lady parts. The sexy lingerie pushed your breasts together perfectly and you looked like an angel. Your hair framed your face perfectly and your big doe eyes stared up at him questioningly. Scared even. He scanned the rest of you, your lips were big and plush, your skin looked soft and your legs looked positively sexy to him.

Sherlock moved to the bed and sat in front of you, cooing as you slowly moved away from him, cautious of the strange man. "Do not worry angel. I am not here to hurt you. I wish to get to know you. My name is Sherlock, what is yours my darling?" You continued to stare up at him with those big eyes, mesmerising him. You whispered your name to him, your voice a melody to his ears. He repeated your name, feeling his heart flutter over how he pronounced every syllable of your name and how it would perfectly match up with his last name.

You stared at the hulking form of the man that sat on the edge of your bed. He was handsome yet he intimidated you. His eyes were a beautiful cold stormy blue, yet the way they observed you made you uneasy. It was like he knew everything about you just from a glance. His dark brown locks looked so soft and you couldn't help be drawn into the contrast of how he looked both hard and soft at the safe time. His broad shoulders and muscular arms that were tight against his suit had you squirming over how he looked almost godly. He was a specimen of a man, but you knew he was here for something you had tried to save. Your virginity.

"Is it okay if I call you angel?" He asked gently soothing you to a degree and you nodded your head at him. Still keeping your eyes on him. "You know angel, I was given an offer to buy you. I can get you out of this place and keep you safe and warm. All you'd have to do is be my wife. I can assure you there are no bad intentions behind this. I simply wish for a pretty girls company." His voice was soft the whole time and he allowed himself to reach out and hold your small soft hand in his large one. Embracing the size difference between the two of you and how he would have to go easy on you.

"I-I wanna get out of here. But I don't even know you sir. How can I trust you?" Your curious gaze lingered on him and he smiled softly bringing your hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "You just have to trust me angel. You can ask me anything you want and I shall answer." You examined him and his soft demeanour trying to conclude if it was fake or real.

"O-okay. Why do you want a wife sir? You're already h-handsome enough. I am confused as to why you've come to a whorehouse to find a wife. It's almost ironic." Sherlock chuckled at your mumbles. "I need someone pliable to my needs. I've struggled with connecting my emotions to sexual activities so I'm seeking an emotional bond first. A whorehouse is where women are used to finding a man's pleasure, I believed they helped me. And indeed they have, they've brought me to you."

You blushed at his words, yet you remained confused over them. You had no idea what to expect from the hulking man and if you rushed into a relationship with him, you were scared of where you'd end up.

"Can I confess something Mr. Sherlock?" He resumed his soft smile allowed his gaze to soften too. "Ofcourse angel, anything to keep hearing your heavenly voice." You blushed at him before bringing your gaze to his, allowing your eye contact to hypnotise him. "How do I know you won't hurt me?" Sherlock got off the bed before he kneeled down with his hand on his heart staring up at you in the bed from his bowing position and spoke confidently. "I promise you, I would never raise my fist at a woman and I would most certainly never even dream of hurting you angel." You smiled finally and nodded at him.

He stood up and resumed his place on the bed, allowing his final few minutes of getting to know you be filled with you shy mumbles of what you liked and who you are. A knock on the door startled you and he placed a large hand on your leg comforting you. The door then opened revealing the man from the front of the house.

He started displeased of Sherlocks hand on you thigh and spoke loudly and confidently. "So, do we have a deal?" Sherlock turned his head to look at you and you stared at him. You saw his eyes scanning your reaction and you looked away with a blush, not wanting to give away the fact that you were hopeful to be leaving here and even excited to become a wife. Sherlock grinned at your shyness. "Yes we do have a deal." And with that Sherlock threw a bag stuffed with coins and notes at the man making him gasp at the amount inside.

Sherlock turned to you, and grinned making you smile too. "Come angel, let's go home."

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

Adjusting to life with the detective was a hard one, a terrifying one. You never really agreed to be with Sherlock, you felt like a cattle being sold off to the next consumer where you would eventually be slaughtered and devoured. You were forever grateful to God above for saving you from marrying Sherlock as he had no time at the moment or the coming moments to take your hand.

He had often argued with himself over it and you stood looking at him. You remember when you came into his office and saw him staring at his chalk board filled with writing and conclusions and you heard his frustrated mumbles clearly. "Stupid fucking pricks. I will marry her, she will be mine and that'll show them. I'll make sure she's fucking filled with my kids, so that then you can't deny letting me marry her. And I'll ofcourse get kids. What a perfect scenario." You gulped and tiptoed away terrified.

You were often alone at Baker Street, staring longingly out of the window trying to figure a way out of this hell hole. Yes Sherlock never raise his hand at you but his insults were vile and left you heartbroken and self conscious. He often reprimanded you for ending up in the whorehouse rather than waiting for him, and when you went to respond about your father selling you he would cut you off with a glare filled with a darkness that filled your stomach with dread.

Because of the long periods of time being locked up in his house, you had become accustomed to the lay out and began to hatch out a plan of escape. You had to plan it carefully making sure that the detective didn't suspect and that you were 2 steps ahead of him. You mapped out the floorboards and the windows, even single structure of the place and began planning any route that would lead you to the streets where you would bolt and never look back.

After you had planned four pathways perfectly so that even the mighty Sherlock Holmes wouldn't even suspect, earth shattering news was given to you. You see while you thought you were cautious and cunning, you were actually sloppy. Sherlock noticed every move you made, he overlooked your plans while you slept and chuckled at how silly they were. From going under the floor boards to jumping out the window.

He knew he had to find a way to discourage this, afterall he had spent money on you and was promised a moldable doll that would fulfill his needs. And don't get him wrong, he was most definitely attached to you emotionally. Everything you did drove him crazier in love with you. From something as simple as you gentle morning breathing when you were at peace to your more fiery moods when you were planning an escape erratically. He loved your passion, your gentleness and your ever growing desires to escape.

See he also had a plan too which would boost his love for you and unite you both. Yet first he had to discourage you, crush you. And he did this by killing your parents, making sure it ended up in the newspaper where he then gave it to you. He watched with sadistic pleasure as your eyes filled with tears over their deaths. Yet he did not predict you throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing.

You longed for some form of comfort, even if it was with the man that held you prisoner. His arms were warm and for a small second that bled into a week, you felt safe. You felt comforted grieving in his arms, he promised to take care of you and he had. He was. "My Angel, you know that I adore you. I will keep you safe forever, you just have to stop fighting. Let yourself fall into being Mrs. Holmes and I'll promise you whole the world." He whispered gently into the crown of your hair, you hummed, your throat aching from crying so loudly.

And after hearing his words of adoration, you let yourself sink into him. Into his love and his comfy and soon he began surprising you. He brought you home beautiful dresses, jewelry. Anything you wished for he would bring to you. It was then that Sherlock realised the key to your heart was through money and beautiful things, so he decided to spoil you in hopes to catch you when you fell deeply in love with him.

He remembers the time he got you to wear your potential wedding dress. A long white dress covered in lace with long arms. You walked out shyly and coughed quietly. Sherlock turned and his mouth opened slightly, his eyes widened slightly and a blush coated his cheeks. With quick firm steps, he headed towards you and placed his large hands on your waist. You looked down meekly, mumbling, "What do you think?" Sherlock brought his hand up to your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. He flashed you a charming smile before he gently spoke with passion and love swirling around his eyes. "You look perfect angel. Truly sent from heaven."

All too soon you found yourself surrounded by gold and rubies, and as beautiful as they shined, but it only helped prolonged the aching in your heart. The need to run free and choose your own fate began to rise up in your blood again and you began devising your escape again. And Sherlock caught on immediately feeling his heart ache that his gifts weren't enough to satisfy you. But it was no matter, you would be thankful soon, you would worship him for the gifts he bought you.

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

Tonight was the night that you escaped. You were ready, Sherlock had told you he would be working late and you faked a pout and spoke gently, "I hope you hurry home soon, I get lonely with you honey." To which he placed a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips before rubbing your noses together and replied in his soft gruff voice, "Don't worry angel, I'll be with you sooner than you think." And then he headed out the door locking it.

You looked outside and saw the darkness spread down the streets and the with a sigh, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You were prepared to fight for your freedom. You stared in the mirror, you were dressed in your comfiest dress and you were thankful you took your corset and other accessories off. You put on sensible shoes and then heaved a breath in and out and started to undo the window lock. You heard a click and smiled.

You got up and pushed yourself out of it so that you were sat on the ledge. A cool breeze swept past you and you breathed it in. You looked down your heart hammering at the giant drop that you faced. There was a large bin beneath you thankfully yet you were still terrified. You closed your eyes and pushed off the ledge suppressing your scream the best you could. When you peaked your eyes open you saw your in the large dumpster and saw that many pillows were stacked in here to cushion your landing.

Your blood turned cold at this and you quickly scrambled out. You fell out and as you pulled yourself up, you heard the familiar taps of a cane. Sherlock knew. You froze and turned to stare at him. His face was blank and he stared at you. He spoke clearly. "You may have thought you were 2 steps ahead of me angel. But I am always a leap ahead of you. So I give you the choice. Go back to our room and your punishment won't be that bad and I will forgive you for your temporary lapse in judgement."

A pause played between the two of you and you felt tears gather in your eyes. You had come so far, you were so close. You waited for him to speak feeling your heart hammer. With a heavy sigh from Sherlock, he spoke again, his voice deepening a warning evident in his tone. "And if not, then try running and see what will happen angel. Because I can promise you, I will tear your wings off and break your halo before you can even apologize."

Your heart raced and you slowly turned gulping. You had worked too hard and with that one thought playing through your mind you sprinted and a dark laughter soon followed you. And before you could even make it to the first lamp post you were tackled onto the ground by his hulking figure. He spoke hotly into your ear, "I warned you. Now you're gonna deal with the consequences." He pulled you up over his shoulder and stomped to your shared apartment. He kicked the door down and the kicked it closed.

He stormed to the bedroom and threw you onto the bed. You gasped trying to catch your breath from crying and the fear that was vibrating in your chest. You watched as he quickly stripped from his clothes in anger. His predatory gaze settling on you immediately after his cock sprang free. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it. Instead you continued begging with your eyes to stop this but you were only met with his cold, dominating gaze.

"Strip." He said, his voice a hiss. You shook your head crying more. "Do it or I'll do it for you." You let out a pitiful sob and within seconds he was upon you and tore your dress open. Buttons popped off and seams torn, your breasts spilled free and within a few moments of them being exposed, Sherlock brought his head down and took a nipple into his mouth. Licking and sucking it, you felt yourself grow wet for him yet you held back your moans. A squeal left your lips as he quickly bit your nub and smirked. All the hike his thumb was pinching and caressing the other.

He pulled away and stared down at your tits. "Just wait til these are full of milk for our children. Your breasts will get so heavy, and I'll happily hold them. Fuck this little body is so perfect. Pretty tits to match your pretty face. I can't wait to mark them up with my bites and my cum. And don't give me any crybaby shit, this was your choice whore."

He soon tore the rest of your dress off followed by the rest of your clothing. You quickly tried to shield yourself but he was too fast. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head and smiled wickedly at seeing your naked body on display to him. You slowly brought your gaze down his body, getting wet at the sight of his muscular arms and his chiseled body. And then staring in shock over his big cock. It was long and girthy. A prominent vein running from the bottom to just under the tip.

Sherlock settled between your legs, you were hip to hip and with a grunt, he grabbed his cock, and slid it up and down your folds before pushing into you ripping the air from your lungs and replacing it with a scream which was quickly muffled by Sherlock's massive hand. He stared down at where you both connected and groaned feeling your pussy tighten around him trying to lubricate itself around his massive cock.

"Fuck. You're tight little pussy is fucking perfect. So warm, so tight. It's fucking hugging my cock. Your pussy is a big a whore as you. You wanted this, you wanted me to fuck you. You wanted me to shove my big cock into your little pussy. Awwh look at your tears, you look like such a slut. Maybe that's why you were in the whitehouse, cause you're just a fucking slut."

He looked down at you and smirked and your closed eyes, he moved his hand from your mouth to your chin and then pried your lips open with his thumb and then spat into your mouth. He then held himself up with one hand, remaining perfectly still letting you adjust to his cock. He then spat on two fingers and brought them down to you clit and began rubbing viciously. He then stared down at you again and pressed his mouth to yours.

He swallowed your groans and moan and let his tongue swipe around you mouth letting him taste every part of you before pulling away while sucking on your tongue. When he pulled a way a wire of spit attached you both for a second before it broke and splattered on your face. He smirked and the felt how wet you were and licked from your cheek to your temple. You fluttered your eyes closed until his hand gripped your jaw, and took away the small bit of pleasure you were feeling. You stared up at him mortified.

"You will look at me. Understood, I'm warning you. You keep your pretty eyes on me. With your fucking pretty crocodile tears. You keep looking at me or else it will get worse. I'd hate to lay my hands on your pretty face an leave a nasty mark there."

He then began to rock his hips and let his thrusting start slow and steady. Letting your virgin cunt get used to his cock and his thrusting. He moved his gaze from your eyes to where he was in you. As he pulled out he saw bits of blood on his cock and he groaned feeling a sense of glory over taking your virginity. And after he felt that glory he let himself go and began thrusting with wild abandon.

"You were a fucking virgin. God that's so fucking perfect. My good girl. You saved this cunt for me didn't you. Ofcourse you did, you had no idea what to do with it until you met me. This is my cunt now. I'm gonna cum in it, so it's fucking mine!"

You began moaning and whining feeling bliss wrap around you everywhere. You brought you legs up to knot around his hips, needing more of him even though you didn't want more. Your small hands travelled to his broad back and began scratching it, needing to grasp something to hold onto reality from the pleasure you were feeling. You felt the knot in your stomach and unwinding and then you finally felt go and came all over his cock with moan that echoed in his head.

He placed his head in your neck and planted kissed and sucks everywhere. Covering you in his love bites and the pure fact that you were purely his in that moment nudged him closer to his climax. And then he felt your pretty pussy flutter around his cock and cum all over it. And soon he lost control and came in you. Making sure to fill you up and not let one bit go to waste.

"Fuck did so good. Did perfect. Gonna make me a father aren't you. Such a perfect little angel, such a good girl for carrying all my kids. Did so fucking good taking my cock, gonna get a ring on that finger tomorrow and then I'm gonna fuck you until you can't think of anything but me. My angel. Gonna make you love me as much as I love you."

He laid on top of you and peppered your face in kisses, whispering things into your ears that you didn't hear as you were too blissed out and were close to falling asleep while he still had his cock in you. You let your eyelids close and your breathing slow as you drifted to sleep with Sherlocks cum dribbling out of you.

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

You and Sherlock had moved into a much more spacious home and it was truly wonderful. The garden was big and filled with flowers and he would pick one single flower a day and present it to you before explaining the meaning. You were positively drowning in his love. So much so that you had stopped fight against it and allowed yourself to sink into it. And in return you gave Sherlock all the love in your heart too, allowing for your mind to be vacant with everything except Sherlock and your family.

Enola adored staying over to play with her nieces and nephews. In total you and Sherlock had 5 children, not counting the one that was currently in your stomach. With 3 strong boys and 2 gorgeous girls it seemed like life was complete. Enola taught them key things even if they were little, but they understood. You blamed that on Sherlocks genes afterall he was the smart one.

Speaking of, you just heard the front door close and the sudden parade of small feet dash down the hall to see their father. You giggled and continued making dinner for everyone all while pregnant and a baby in your hip. Little James was quite the mother's boy and he was clingy. Yet they all were at his age. He babbled to you as you stirred the stew, he listed colours and insects trying his hardest to remember what insect came out of a cocoon.

You heard the childish laughter getting closer and the heavy footsteps of you husband. Sherlock watched you, absolutely mesmerized by how perfect of a mother and wife you were. Don't get him wrong he still supported the feminist notion slowly rising, but he could not bring himself to allow you to do any of it. Seeing you as a reward for all his hard work. He drew his attention to James sat on your hip listening to his confused babbles.

"A butterfly my dear James." Your son's eyes lit up and you gently placed him down for him to wobbly toddle towards his dad for his daily cuddles. You smiled content at the homely and domestic atmosphere. You zoned out looking at the blue sky, still stirring the stew, completely missing Sherlock dismissing your children to go and wait in the dining room.

With gentle steps, Sherlock curled himself around you, and you leaned back into him and turned your head up and slightly turned it, and he placed a soft gentle kiss on you lips and gazed into your eyes lovingly. "How were the children, Mrs.Holmes?" You smiled, "Enola came over and kept them busy drawing, yet James decided to cling to my side and question me as to why my stomach has gotten so big."

Sherlock chuckled and moved his large hand up to your stomach cradling your pregnant belly. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of your neck before gently whispering, "And how are you my love, is our little one treating you okay?" You sighed happily feeling peace radiate through your bones and into Sherlocks. "I'm fine, they were kicking up a storm this morning but I think that's because they weren't ready for daddy to leave for work."

He hummed, "I apologize my angel. Truly, this one is going to be a little devil and I think that's my fault entirely." He said smugly. You giggled at him, and allowed him to keep cuddling you as you made dinner and settled into your husbands embrace and his dark love.

#henry!sherlock #henry!holmes #henry!holmes x reader #henry!holmes x black!reader #henry!holmes x woc!reader #henry!holmes x plussize!reader #henry!sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock x black!reader #henry!sherlock x woc!reader #henry!sherlock x plussize!reader #sherlock x reader #enola 2 #enola holmes #henry cavill #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x plus size reader #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x woc reader

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simplyavatrice · 4 months

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With the morning comes an instant realization of where she is.

Beatrice’s mind doesn’t give her a second of rest before she remembers everything. The flight, entering London, the long drive out of the airport and seeing her parents' new home for the first time, and…

She turns her head to the side where Ava is sleeping next to her. Ava, who has her face pressed against the pillow, pouty lips parted as each breath she takes blows against the hair hanging out of her face.

It’s hard to deny the feeling of how nice it is to wake up next to someone. It hasn’t happened since Lucia and even that was only a few nights a month.

Of course, she has to remember that Ava is only here because Beatrice has paid her a lot of money to be here. Last night did go a long way in making Beatrice think she made the right decision to hire Ava though, because it felt really good to have someone to support her through all the anxieties of their arrival.

Obviously it isn’t lost on Beatrice either that, if she wanted, she could have so much more from this arrangement. It’s something she’ll only allow herself to consider now, in the early morning before the day wears her down.

Beatrice has incredible discipline and patience - she’s trained her body and mind to deal with stress and anxiety and how to maintain control. She can and she will, but looking at Ava in her little white tank top that is far too small to wear in public. The way the sides of her breasts push at the sides, like they’re trying to claw their way out. The way her shoulders flex when she squeezes the pillow her arms are wrapped around.

It’s very hard not to imagine taking the added benefits of her contract.

She won’t though, because sex complicates things. If not for Ava, then certainly for her.

“Ava?” She calls, knowing they’ll need to make their way downstairs soon. “Ava? We have to start our day.”

“Hmm,” Ava grumbles and then sucks in a deep breath before squishing her face into the pillow. It makes Beatrice smile as she does it. “What time is it?” Ava’s voice is muffled by her position, but Beatrice gets the idea.

“Nearly nine, almost time for breakfast.”

She hears Ava let out a long sigh before she turns her head again, those dark brown eyes looking up at her, stealing a bit of her breath away. “Morning, Bea.” Ava says with a gentle smile on one side of her mouth.

#avatrice #warrior nun #avatrice fanfiction #warrior nun fanfiction #<3

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eva-and-jasper · 1 month

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Beware of the Ides of March

Quadruple Trouble at the Shelby Mansion...

TW - Blood, Murder, Death

The two couples entered together, devious smirks all around. Their host would have no inkling of the actual motivation behind their attendance. Had he, he might have considered revoking the gold leaf edged invitations that he'd had hand delivered to the ladies that were now entering his mother's mansion on the arm of a demon and an angel.

Instead his hubris had overpowered all and he'd sent the invitations. Seeing them both now, a wide grin spread across his face. Those that doubted him would soon come to understand that he could come to run the family business just as well as any of them. He would show them, he would show the all! And with those two ladies on his side, no one would doubt that he could pull in contacts and associates that would form an empire.

Jasper and Adriel knew they had little to worry about from the mortals milling about. In fact, the mortals should be fearing them. Only slightly less lethal were the women they walked in with, the witch and the grigori. So, there was no fear that anything would happen as they momentarily left the beauties to obtain drinks from their host's bar.

With the latest bauble that Jasper had gifted her, a blood red ruby, around her neck, Eva was damn near untouchable, and Anna was a power immortal in her own right. Eva and Anna were the perfect juxtaposition of dark to light in almost all ways - magic, complexion, business dealings. They could both be ruthless and devious when the need arose, and it most certainly had this night.

For the next few hours, liquor would flow, conversations would as well, dances would be shared, and food enjoyed. The end goal would never leave the mind or sight of the foursome, but they would allow themselves some enjoyment before the pinnacle of the night.

There was supposed to be an announcement at midnight. One about the usurping of the throne of the Shelby dynasty. However, that announcement never would come.

At a quarter til, Anna lured their host into his office with seduction she had honed over the years of having to distract beings in New Orleans. The men were in the room, but kept to the shadows, they were mere observers in this endeavor. Once the door was closed, and privacy ensured, Anna pulled their host very, very close.

“Michael, you really never should have double crossed Tommy, cher. I'm afraid you have to die now. And then you can rot in Caligo.” Anna whispered it in his ear and then pulled back just in time to see his eyes go wide as Eva slipped her blade slowly between his ribs to embed it in his heart.

Both women then moved to the side, joining hands as they watched the life drain from Michael Gray. A large crimson stain growing on the beige oriental rug beneath him. Jasper and Adriel came to stand on either side of the two women. The quadruple being the last thing Michael saw as he slipped into the hereafter.

“Right then,” Jasper quipped with a devious smirk. “Time to take this bastard down to Caligo. Arioch is so looking forward to a new play toy. He has a new cerberus puppy, you know, needs a chew toy.” He winked and kissed Eva on the cheek before ripping Michael’s soul free from his body with a *pop*. “Be right back, love. Don’t want to keep the Demon of Revenge waiting, he gets testy, you know.” With a wink, the demon was gone.

“He does enjoy doing that.” Adriel chuckled as he waved his hand. All fingerprints and memories of the foursome were removed from the entire party. When Michael’s body was found, there would be nothing to tie them to it, and therefore, nothing to tie Tommy to it either. Jean Pierre’s attorney was getting him released from jail presently on the trumped up charges Michael had orchestrated with the Bowery Boys from London. They’d also brought over a few friends from the French Quarter to help him get some payback for that.

“He promised to take me to see the puppy tomorrow, I’ll have to give our regards to Michael again. It was such a nice ending to the party.” Eva smirked and winked. The surprise on Michael’s face had been quite delicious.

“Want to join us for dinner? We’re going to myst down to Tuscany for some authentic Italian. I know an amazing cook down there that is over a century old and has some tricks up her sleeve. You and Jasper are more than welcome to join.” Anna smiled. She was glad her friend had found a woman that complimented him so. “There’s also a siren down there that needs a talking to, so we’re going to take a dip in the Mediterranean. Always a fun time. We like to do it naked.” She winked at Eva.

“Now, how could I turn down an offer like that?” Eva grinned deviously. Naked fun with her demon was always a good time and if that siren looked at him wrong..well, accidents did happen and she knew Anna was always amused when Adriel had to fix things. She and the other woman did get along so well. Yes, this was turning out to be a very good night.

Eva Smith belongs to @evita-shelby

banners by: @cafekitsune

#writeblrcafe #writeblr cafe #writeblr #evacore #eva smith #jasper x eva #anna x adriel #ides of march #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #michael gray #tw: murder #tw: death #tw: blood #fiction #crime fiction #supernatural fiction #romance

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24-guy · 9 months

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Right I've put too much thought into even making this post to not do it anymore.

(A very crude)

Explanation on how every romance in Good Omens has connections to Ineffable husbands.

God I'm out of practice at this thing.

This will contain spoilers for Season 2 of Good Omens. Everything is below the cut.

Anyway. This is because I've seen some people pointing out how it's Maggie and Nina and Ineffable Beuraucracy in season 2 but it's not just them who we can look at for the husbands. And it's going to be really scuffed because I have no notes to pull off of, and because I'm relying on my memory.

First, we have Anathema and Newt in season 1.

They both come from descendants who are supposed to be enemies, a witch hunter and a Witch, and they follow in those footsteps - however crudely - and that is how they find one another. And once they do, they instantly seem to click. Anathema doesn't stop dating Newt as soon as she burns the second prophecy book (presumably). And Newt also doesn't return to London.

So what does this say about Aziraphale and Crowley? They come from opposing sides and find each other because of that (focusing on the garden of Eden, rather than Before the Beginning) and, once they meet, they always come back together again. And it's only after... Everything... Do they really part ways. The main reason I decided they were worth mentioning in this is because they are hereditary enemies. Demon and Angel, Witch hunter and Witch.

Our next relationship to look far too deeply into is, of course, Nina and Maggie. I'm a firm believer in Nina being a placeholder for Aziraphale, and Crowley is Maggie, and so I'll mainly focus on that but I will also go into the other option at the end of this section.

Maggie spends this season pining for Nina even though she is aware of her partner. And Maggie always goes to see Nina in her shop, not the other way around. And we see, in the last episode, that Maggie is willing to wait for Nina to be ready. She knows that she might have to wait a while, but she will always be there. Which just sounds a whole lot like Crowley. He is the one who goes to visit Aziraphale in the bookshop, he has been waiting (even if it's unknowingly) for 6000 years for something to happen, he's the one who ends up trying to move the relationship forward at the end, and even after "I forgive you", he still waits by the car to see if Aziraphale will change his mind.

On the other side of the coin. Nina is the one who stays in her place of comfort; the coffee shop, and entertains talking to Maggie as she walks in. She's the one who has doubts about herself ("I'm not your type") and pushes Maggie away both because of those and because of her toxic relationship she's in. I think it's incredibly important that we never see Nina's partner (who's name I have forgotten), because it only adds to the parallel that it creates. Aziraphale is always in his bookshop, unless he needs to be elsewhere. He entertains talking to Crowley, even though we all know he enjoys it just as much, and his relationship with Heaven is toxic as all. We watch as Aziraphale denies Crowley's proposition to run away in favour of changing Heaven, he wants to change heaven and he wants to do it knowing that Crowley is beside him but he is willing to do it by himself if he needs to.

The other reading is more personality based. Nina is sarcastic and snide but clearly has a heart, like Crowley. Is also probably insecure due to aforementioned toxic relationship. And Maggie is sweet and has a similar brightly colored - slightly dated - outfit range to Aziraphale. Also Nina calling Maggie "Angel".

Finally.

Ineffable Beuraucracy. They are successful because they affectively communicated and found common ground with opposing the Apocalypse. They also, you know, acknowledged being friends. And this is just an example of what Crowley and Aziraphale should have been doing from the beginning. It's all about the communication.

And that's ignoring the obvious angel and demon form an unlikely friendship which eventually becomes more through extended time together. :)

I have more thoughts but I've been typing this for about half an hour just trying to get my thoughts to be put to words but it was like trying to push grains of sand through paper.

As I said at the beginning. I'm very out of practice.

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teecupangel · 1 year

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I love Desmond time travel fix it fics. What if Desmond went back in time (starting at when Altair was just born) and Desmond is immortal (Isu bullshit) and wore a mask 24/4 and say fuck it and became a bodyguard or acolyte for all the assassin's creed protagonists (Ezio, Edward, Connor maybe Haytham, the Frye twins and Arno and maybe also prevent Shay from becoming a Templar). It would be so cool if Desmond became some legend or myth to all the Brotherhood like picking you as his master is like your fated for glory and for your AltDes heart, maybe some novice saw his face and see similar like Altair and thought it was some contribute or honor for his first master (Altair) or the Japanese legend that says your present face is the face of the one you loved most in your past life (If Desmond kept his immortality a secret)

(Okay, so I wanted to try something different. Like an outside POV of a preacher or something similar)

Come and let me tell you the tale of the being without a face.

They say he first appeared in front of the great Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. But many would say he appeared in front of Altaïr’s father first, to Umar Ibn-La'Ahad during his time of need.

A man who has lost his wife and gained a son on that very same day.

Some say he is a djinn who saw Umar’s grief and weakness.

Some say he is an angel who heard of Umar’s prayers.

All that we know is he is not a man.

But a being.

Perhaps a djinn.

Perhaps an angel.

Perhaps even one of the old gods.

What he is will remain a mystery but what is true about him is that he will support the ones who will bring glory to our Brotherhood.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad pushed our Brotherhood to new heights with his support.

House Auditore flourished with his help and the great Ezio Auditore destroyed the Templars in Italy with him by his side.

Edward Kenway turned from a glory-seeking selfish pirate to the best mentor the British Brotherhood ever had thanks to his guidance.

Shay Cormac saved Lisbon from an impending earthquake thanks to his warning.

Ratonhnhaké:ton destroyed the Colonial Rites of Templars together with his father, Haytham Kenway, with his help.

Arno Dorian brokered a peace between the Assassins and the Templars with his support.

Evie and Jacob Frye liberated London from Templar hands thanks to his council.

Our Brotherhood has prospered and evolved under his watchful gaze.

Yet now, he stays hidden, only appearing to offer words of wisdom to us when needed.

For a long time, he has not accepted any new master.

But if you ever see him…

And you are courageous enough…

Perhaps, you might be able to take his mask off and then you will see.

The face underneath is nothing but a mirror of the face of the great Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

For you see, legend says that, to this day, he still grieves the passing of his first true master.

And he waits for the day that Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad would live once more.

“What do you think about the story, hijo?” A woman with black hair asked as she held the hand of her child.

“It’s kinda sad.” The child replied as they continued to walk towards their small home in this little compound they were living in.

“Yes, it is. But do you know something?”

“Hm?”

“The blood of the great Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad flows through your veins.”

“Does that mean I can be Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad?” The child asked as he looked at his mother with wide eyes.

The woman chuckled softly before replying, “Maybe. If you work really hard on your training…”

“I don’t like training…” The boy pouted as he looked away from his mother.

“I know.” The woman stopped walking just as they reached their front door and knelt in front of her son. She placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders as she reminded him, “But you must do it, I’m afraid. You have to be prepared at all times. Because the Templars-”

The door opened and they both turned to see the stern expression of the boy’s father.

“Desmond.” The man stepped to the side and the boy sees a hooded figure wearing a white mask with golden lines all over.

“Someone is here to see you.”

#it's not necessary altdes but i guess you can see it that way too if you want #still gonna tag it as such just to be sure #altdes #teecup writes/has a plot #ask and answer

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sea-owl · 7 months

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Little sisters Edwina, Posy, and Felicity terrorizing their older sister's stalker lover (aka the ABC brothers) is such a funny concept to me especially when I'm imagining actual little girls who probably don't even reach past the brothers' shoulders and haven't gone through puberty yet successfully bullying and cockblocking ABC like it's their sole reason to live. Then the BridgertonBros are tearing their hairs out because they are LOSING to a bunch of little girls. And the funniest part of this to me would be if Kate, Sophie, and Pen are slightly oblivious to all of the chaos and warring behind their backs like they know their little sisters are menaces to society but they are absolute angels who thrive in their older sister's affections so they couldn't be that bad, right??? And absolutely do NOT believe a word those horny Bridgerton men are saying about their precious little sisters.

Pfft this makes me think of an AU of where the Sharmas came to London early because they can't wait for Edwina to come to age to debute so Kate is trying to find a good match for her family. In an attempt to keep the Penwood estate in the Gunningworth family, Richard legitimized Sophie as the heiress, so now she's looking for a match in London too. Penelope was debuted early at 17 despite asking her mama to wait another year.

Anthony and Benedict are trying their damn best to woo Kate and Sophie at the balls. Unfortunately for Anthony, his reputation as a rake is coming back to bite him in the ass as is his duty as head of the family with Simon and Daphne coming up with this fake courtship scheme.

Benedict needs a better strategy than following Sophie around like a lost puppy. She thinks he's lonely, and since she actually knows his name without confusing him for one of his brothers, he's coming to her for a friendly chat.

Colin is sitting back, laughing at his brothers as he throws in his own matchmaking scheme or two. He may also be sticking to Penelope's side like glue claiming he wants to spend these dreadful balls with a friend when in reality he's claiming Penelope for himself while trying to plan how to best court her so there's no way she says no.

Enter 17 year olds Edwina and Posy, and 10 year old Felicity. All of whom are protective of their big sisters, and believe their sisters deserve better than some horny Bridgerton. Look at them! Those Bridgertons stare at their sisters like they're gonna eat them! They're not gonna take their sisters away!

Edwina believes her big sister deserves a love match, and no Capitol R rake is gonna give that to Kate! Kate may say she's looking for a marriage of convenience, but Edwina knows Kate is a romantic underneath. If only she were a year older so she may debute as well and she could truly see how these so called gentlemen act when they think no one is watching at the balls instead of only seeing them in their drawing room. One more year, Edwina tells herself. She has to convince Kate that she can help take part of the responsibilities of finding an advantageous match that way Kate does not choose the most advantageous of her current suitors. Which sadly for Edwina is that damn Bridgerton rake.

Posy also wishes she was another year older. That way, she could be at Sophie's side during balls. During their lifetime, Posy truly believes Sophie is the only one who truly loves her, and Posy loves Sophie more than anyone else in the whole world. She knows Sophie has lived an unfair life and Posy is determined to make sure the rest of her sister's life is filled with love. That starts by having her find a love match. Something she believes the bohemian Bridgerton would not be able to do. Love at first sight Posy's ass, that man is just horny!

Felicity has believed Colin to be a wolf in sheep's clothing for years, just waiting for her beloved sister to debute. Sadly, their families are too entangled with their mothers' friendship, Penelope's friendship with Eloise and Colin, and Felicity's own friendship with Hyacinth. There's no way Colin and Penelope wouldn't have interacted with one another. But it has also worked in Felicity's favor with their families being so entertwined. No one questions seeing one another in the other's house, and Bridgertons' prank wars have also definitely helped Felicity stop that horny Bridgerton's plan more than once. Colin is too fickle. He'll get bored and run off to some other country. Felicity will not stand to see her sister ignored by a husband after she has been ignored the majority of her life.

Edwina and Posy, who have become friends with Penelope and Eloise, also use the Bridgertons sibling rivalry to their advantage. Eloise loves messing with her brothers, so she's down for Edwina's and Posy's schemes.

At some point after Anthony, Benedict, and Colin ask for the parents' approval, they have to face the little sisters for their approval, too.

#bridgerton #kathony #polin #benophie #bridgerton men vs little sisters #edwina sharma #edwina sheffield #posy reiling #felicity featherington

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caterpillarinacave · 2 months

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I love Charlotte and Henry and they're super underrated. And I would VERY MUCH like to hear the headcanons whirring about in your brain.

Oh well buckle up cause literally all I think about is head cannons. Like, you know how cells replace themselves every few years? Mine have replaced themselves with head cannons. *Sorry it took me a hot moment to answer this ask, I was busy howling into my pillow whenever I tried to articulate thoughts.*

First of all, they’re very cuddly. They basically sleep on top of each other (Charlotte hasn’t needed a pillow in decades). Henry cant sleep well without Charlotte in his arms and Charlotte can’t sleep well anywhere other than Henry’s arms so it works out. Plus, they both do that thing where they jerk awake like the world is ending and scare the shit out of each other, so sleeping in a hug that basically pins them both down saves some energy at 2am. Henry’s perpetually cold and sleeps under like, four blankets, so Charlotte just wears summer nightgowns all year and wraps herself around Henry like a koala.

Naturally there’s an angsty side to the incessant cuddling because that’s just the way I role.

Charlotte sleeps with her head on Henry’s chest so she can always feel him breathing because, by the angel, she remembers when he wasn’t. She sleeps with a hand on his pulse point because she wakes up in the middle of the night and she’s still half asleep they might as well be on the floor in that mountain and she might as well still be desperately swearing she didn’t imagine his heartbeat.

While on the topic of soul crushing feelings of guilt, y’all remember from Clockwork Angel that Henry was the one who told Mortmain what a Pyxis was? And he wanted Charlotte to tell the clave that and she wouldn’t because “they already treat him so badly”? Because I do. And so does Henry.

(I’ve got a whole WIP that I love very dearly about this head cannon and this chess game hehe) There’s one random old tutor who goes to the London institute once a month-ish, basically to hand out a few weeks of homework to any shadow hunters who don’t have their own tutors. Most shadow hunters who live in a more rural area show up a few times a year so the clave knows they’re alive and at least somewhat literate. Charlotte attends them every month since, you know, she lives there, but Henry lives somewhere around Yorkshire so he shows up every few months. The professor is kind of a dick ngl. He doesn’t help Charlotte with any school why would a woman need to be so well educated? “Go on find a husband and stop worrying you’re pretty little head” sort of shit. Henry drives him insane because he’s a) some random kid who’s smarter than him and b) didn’t use any of the professors materials to get that smart. Professor Douche is constantly trying to get him to be wrong about something, or at least flustered about something and he doesnt ever do either of those things, and even more aggravating he refuses to get upset. (He honestly just assumed the professor wasn’t that smart.)

Charlotte’s a really good student of course, but she’s having a shit time with some mathematics and the professor absolutely refuses to help her with it. Eventually she asks Henry if he wouldn’t mind helping her with it, which he’s happy to do (once he figures out that’s what shes actually asking lol.)

Charlotte is incredibly distracted the entire time by Henry’s freckles (and eyes. And hands. And the way his hair curls on the nape of his neck. And the spots of gold and green in his hazel eyes that flashed as bright as the sun when the light catches them. And-), but they get through it in an hour or two which leaves them alone in a deserted wing of the institute. They end up playing a game chess. Charlottes a decent player and thought since Henry had never showed any interest in chess it would be a probably be an evenly matched game. She didn’t know what hit her. He beat her in like, eight minutes, eighty percent of which were spent on the last two moves by Charlotte who, upon realizing she was fucked, spent five minutes staring at the board trying to figure out when he even started beating her. She was sitting there having a whole crisis, (she’d been distracted by a man who probably doesn’t like her, and certainly doesn’t think much of her now after a pathetic loss like that and now she’ll have to sit hear and wallow in failure-) just preparing for him to start that whole smug gloating thing men do when they win and Henry you know. Didn’t. He just put the pieces away and thanked her for the game, in that very genuine way, with the gloomy London evening light casting a depressing shadow across the room, a shadow that he stood out against all gentle, kind, bright and brimming with a sort of barely contained passion. If Charlotte had ever doubted that shadow hunters had come from straight angels then sitting there, looking at a boy stained in soot, who she loved more than anything else to walk the earth, she would never doubt it again.

(It wasn’t until after Henry won and noticed Charlotte hadn’t said anything in a while that he remember people don’t like losing. Honestly he was playing just to be around her and he would have thrown the game if he could conceptualize how to do that on the fly. They spent like five minutes in autistic silence waiting for the other to stand up and declare newfound hatred.)

In true British fashion the a modern tea bag would kill them both.

When they were both 13 or 14 Charlotte mentioned she was dreading winter because it’s so bleak and dark (and her mom had died a few winters before, though she didn’t drop that in casual conversation). Anyways, come winter Henry brought her a marigold preserved in something like resin. She kept it in her jewelry box for years and after they got married she found out he had literally dozens of them. Whenever he came across a particularly bright flower he preserved it and set it aside. He was never quite brave enough to give them to her pre-TID, but he now leaves them for her when she’s particularly sad or stressed. She keeps them all in a drawer- they fit together like little tiles, and still look as fresh as they would had they just been plucked from the ground.

Somewhat surprisingly Henry doesn’t really lose stuff, with the singular exception being his own medical equipment. He’s lost the leg braces he wears every single day of his life before. Charlotte’s not usually speechless but she wasn’t sure what to say to that one.

Henry gave Charlotte a watch with a hands and numbers that can glow the same way a modern day one would. It’s absolutely beautiful, durable and accurate, even if Henry set himself on fire at least four times making it. (They can say with confidence that that watch is fireproof)

—-

Honestly, I could go on and on, then on some more, but technically I’m supposed to be writing a paper on gut micro biomes that’s due tomorrow, so I figured I’d cut myself of. In conclusion, I love them dearly, they love each-other dearly, they deserve the world, all I can think about is them, and the world can pry them out of my cold dead hands.

#My rough drafts are a goldmine #I’ve got basically a full novel of Henry and Charlotte in the form of random chapters scattered around a google doc #The second to last one might have come about because Ive always had an affinity for losing medical equipment #Yes it’s normally attached to my body no I don’t know where it went #I love so much #the thoughts are suffocating #My brain replays “they believed right then that Shadowhunters came from angels” constantly #It’s one of the lines I made up and lives rent free in my head #I direct everyone to Qui Voltum Tolt Vultum Perdit on my AO3 which will eventually be full of henry and Charlotte #That fic is a very articulate example of some of my thoughts #The bit about the marigold I mentioned is just the surface btw it’s so much 💅deeper💅#I didn’t even mention the snow scene on here (scene I made up. And only I know about)#Or the scars. Dhegvgfg the scar thing #One of my own WIPs that makes me cry because I need someone to love me that way #Also left out the pajama thing the baked good thing the boat thing the “teaching original London institute gang to swim” thing #The newspaper thing floor thing the triplets thing the Yorkshire thing the bathtub thing the tiny little children #The smell of air before a storm thing the lemon thing the piano thing the music thing ugh I could go on and on #Tid #thanks for the ask!#fairwell #…anyone got any good articles on the gut microbiome

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kotias · 5 months

Text

Writer counterattack - Laura's comic

I looked at my kill list for the @goodomensafterdark angst war, and it would seem that @lauramoon1987 YOU'RE NEXT

The writing below is what I imagine was the scene before this set of pages by Laura

Word count: 1087 words

Trigger warnings: implied death, graphic depiction of torture and violence.

Tread carefully.

“Well, well… the ‘prodigal son’ returns. Are you with us?”

“Yes.”

A low chuckle resonated like thunder in the dark room. “Welcome home, brother mine.”

Ding.

Aziraphale stepped out of the elevator, holding his hands behind his back, and gave only a glance at the bookshop, chuckling. “Oh, memories, memories…”

“Supreme Archangel, sir!” He raised his eyebrows as he was met with a flock of the youngsters who had, it would seem, been dispatched in the area of Soho.

“Oh, my dears, how are you doing?” he asked with a sweet smile, caressing their cheeks with his hands.

“Aziraphale’s smiles are warmer than the Sun.”

“Show us, and they shall learn from you.”

“Of course I will.”

The Great War had taken a toll on the young ones, Aziraphale knew. Their feathers ruffled, their wings bent in sinister angles, fingers, arms missing, they looked immensely relieved by his arrival. “Not to worry, dears. I will take care of the rest here.” He passed through them, giving them all a gentle pat on the shoulders, and walked up to the bookshop to knock on its entry door.

“His bookshop is still, technically, an embassy for Heaven. He bought the land in the seventeenth century, but I don’t think he was done with the building until the end of the eighteenth.”

“Oh, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale?” Muriel said as they opened, their eyebrows raised in surprise. He smiled and gave a slight nod. “Um… may I ask why you made the effort of knocking?”

“Well, you are now the guardian and official owner of the Fell & Co. bookshop, are you not? I thought it might be a little rude to simply waltz in without announcing myself.”

“Oh- well… you will always be welcome, Sir. Do believe me, I am feeling at ease here, but this bookshop… it misses you, Sir.”

“Does it, now?” he asked, staying on the front step still. “Well…” He chuckled, with a heavy breath under his tone. “I certainly had that hope; we did spend most of our time together. But please, Muriel, humor me; are you sure it is alright if I come in?”

“W-Well, of course, Sir! Please, do come in and make yourself comfortable!”

He gave her a gentle grin and stepped inside, smelling the scents, discovering their nuances as he strolled into the alleys of the bookshelves. “I remember you liking tea, Sir, shall I brew you some?”

“Oh, that is very kind of you, Muriel, but no thank you.” His eyes settled on Machiavel’s Art of War and he chortled.

“Aziraphale thinks he’s soft, and Heaven probably agrees. In reality, I’ve seen him take arms in the most desperate situations, if only it could give his allies even just a minute of reprieve.”

“Tell me, Muriel, how are the troops looking on this side of London?”

“Very badly, Sir. We are all rather young, we had not lived through the last war… I, I cannot say the same thing about the demons attacking us.”

“Hm, alright. Thank you, Muriel, I will summon them for a talk and take the arms.” And thus he did, walking out of the bookshop, dusting himself off and calling upon the angels of the area to Whickber Street.

He waited for a few minutes for all of them to appear in front of him, all kneeling as a greeting. For a moment, a smirk dangerously starting to form on his lips, he considered leaving them in that position for the entire time they would be faced with him, but then he was stiffly reminded of his good nature. “Oh, please do stand up, you do not need to do that for little old me,” he said instead with his dulcet voice. “So, dear troops…” He cleared his throat and, waving his left hand, gave himself a more clamorous intonation. “I wished to talk to you all about the latest battle.”

As the young, naive angels watched him intently, as he stood proud in front of the bookshop, the ground below their feet started blurring out and letting out small bubbles.

“I think that you are doing an excellent job. You are all quite brave, going up against such…” He had a grim, crooked smile as hands were thrusted into chests, tentacles into throats and hairy wings into backbones, as ribs and legs and fingers were cracking before him, singing him the song of a victory they had longed for since the Beginning. “... monstrosities. Not to worry, however, I will take care of the rest for the time being. Please,” he continued in a languid voice, grasping at the hair of the closest, weeping little form and heaving them up to his face. “It is high time you rested now.”

“Aziraphale doesn’t refuse violence because he’s weak. He refuses it because if he were to let the shackles loose, everybody around him would bleed until they dried out.”

Aziraphale had a grim smirk as his fingers wrapped around the little angel’s trembling chin, two of their dark claws reaching and pressing into their bottom lip until they drew blood. The shrieks born in their chest died in their throat, leaving only the fleeting ghost of a whine. And from his stomach came the deadly chuckle collecting their remains, as the fingers of his second hand reverently cradled the skin around their left eye.

“Oh, my dear…” he breathed, “I am… awfully sorry, but you see…” The squelch of the socket being emptied made him hum with delight. “... I do need to collect those.” The bloody ball fell into his purse and, tutting at the angel’s sobs, pressed his claws around the second one and pulled, drawing a gurgling yelp out of them. “There we go, dear,” he said with a fawning voice. “It’s all over now. It wasn’t that hard, now, was it?”

The snivelling angel fell to the ground, slipping down the wall, their frail body shivering. “Oh, my… I believe you are in shock, dear.” With a wave of his left hand, he conjured a large blanket and wrapped it around them, smiling contently. “It would be very sad, now, if the cold were to finish you off.” With a sinister chuckle, he breached the space between them and pressed his cold lips on their forehead, sealing the blasphemy into their skin.

Behind him, the blood of the thousand victims he had skinned, burned and blinded alive was finding its way to the bottom of his shoes, leaving red spots on his perfectly pristine clothes.

#good omens #aziraphale #angst war #GOAD #good omens after dark #writing #fanfic

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rom-e-o · 2 months

Note

Before the Twins, that first year, Bess more or less being pressured into accepting a date with one of her coworker's cousins because, apparently, he's "super into her" and thinks she's "totally fit", and Bess is just sick of this girl pestering her with it.

The guy is admittedly cute and seems... nice enough. But he's got the energy of a middle school class clown that never grew up and his jokes only hit about 25% of the time. And he seems to talk just to hear himself talk; he doesn't care much at all about what Bess has to say. Needless to say, the conversation is very one-sided.

The guy disgusts and embarrasses Bess at dinner with his toilet humor and how he plays with his food (he and a group of teenage boys start a contest to see who can successfully through their food across the dining room to reach the other's table, several diners get caught in the crossfire). He makes her pay more than her share of the bill because he turns up "short". Then he takes her to--get this--a strip club. ("I thought you were taking me to a club." "This is a club, Yank." "No, that's not what-never mind.") He meets up with his buddies at this club, and all of them leer at Bess and make comments, both complimenting her and degrading her and also comparing her to the strippers. Bess' fingernails start digging into her palms, she has her fists clenched so tight at the ready.

Eventually her date leaves her trapped in the booth with his buddies as he goes to piss. He's gone an awful long time and Bess is starting to wonder if maybe somebody needs to go check on him, because he was pretty stumble-bum when he left, but then he comes back, hanging around the shoulders of two strippers. "Well, I'm headed out. Or should I say, we're headed out."

The strippers giggle. His friends whoop. Bess his mortified.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I just thought I'd let you know. Wouldn't want to walk out on you in the middle of our date without telling you."

"You're leaving me here by myself?! I don't know this place! It's dark out! How do I get back home?!"

He digs into his wallet and gives her an... Uber gift certificate? "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya, Yank. And don't take this personal, okay? It's just--I like my girls a certain way, right? They gotta be top of everything--I want the best right? And you're just... kinda average. Boring."

Bess doesn't even like this guy; she didn't even want to really go out with him in the first place. So why does that sting so much? Maybe because it sounds exactly like what Oliver used to say all the time?

She manages to get home, falls through the door to see her girls waiting up for her and she just breaks into sobs. She feels stupid but can't help it. "He ditched me in a strip club with a bunch of his guys! I went out with him on a date his cousin spent weeks trying to set up with me because he "was desperate to take me out", and this douche decided to ditch me and leave with hot strippers! He said I'm average and boring and told me not to take it personal. How am I not supposed to take that personal?!"

BESS ANGEL.

First of all, is this guy related to Jason? The assholery is top-tier. What a god awful sack of shit.

It's not Bess' fault for giving him a chance. The girl talked him up. He SEEMED cute and innocent enough. Bess is nice and wants to give him a chance. Why not?

Once her foot is in the door, he just switches it off and turns absolutely deplorable. (Throwing food, leaving with strippers??? SIR. You're a RAT.)

Poor girl. i imagine the girls are waiting for her, because of course. She's out with a strange guy - and they know how guys are. They've got their phones and are sitting up. Once she comes in, relief turns to immediate concerns She starts crying, and they are on her to help her out.

I imagine Gal taking her phone to get the guy's number. As for what she plans to do, well, this guy is about to become INFAMOUS among London's restaurant crowd. Good luck with him ever getting into a bar/restaurant again.

Addie helps Bess to the couch and Connie brings her tissues, water, and big blanket.

Addie: I can't believe he'd do that to you. To you!

Connie: His type comes into the bar all the time. He realizes a woman is too good for him and not isn't going to bend to his pathetic flirting attempts, and he defaults to BUYING the attention he wants.

Addie: That's pathetic! Ugh.

Connie: those ladies are going to be gargling mouthwash for ions.

Bess, you are a KNOCKOUT. If you were actually 'boring' or 'unattractive', he wouldn't have tried to take you to dinner first before dragging his loser ass to a strip club.

In the meantime, they all stay by her. They let her cry, hold her, reassure her. When she's ready, they even draw her a nice bath with her favorite rose bath salts. They treat her how she deserves to be treated.

#scroogeverse #try hurting Bess #see what its like to have hellhounds after you

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purplefixations · 1 year

Text

I am finally out of my depression spiral, and now it is time for:

What The Redacted Characters Would Get

(this is just my opinion, but as a barista this is also the correct opinion /j)

Shaw Pack:

David- you might think he'd just get like, a black coffee, you'd be wrong. He gets a hot white mocha triple with no whip, only sometimes he'll get it iced. Depending on how exhausted he is, he'll add more shots.

(dumb head cannon time, a regular (s) comes in and gets a hot triple white mocha and a iced triple white mocha with no whip. It's a couple, and they alternate who gets the drinks every couple days. I think it'd be kind of cute if David's dad and mom used to do the same, and now David drinks a hot triple white mocha with no whip because of his parents, specifically his dad)

Asher- he used to get pink drinks all the time, but then David realized that all the refreshers have a shit ton of caffeine, so now he gets a strawberry creme frappe with a scoop of vanilla bean powder. It's still very sweet, and a lot of sugar, but it does not have caffeine which everyone is appreciative of.

Milo- iced caramel macchiato with almond milk and a quad shot, this man is lactose intolerant and you cannot tell me otherwise. And no, he does not care that Starbucks doesn't make a 'correct' macchiato, it tastes good and has caffeine, so he doesn't care.

side note, Aggro has tried a pup cup before, it did give him explosive diarrhea (as it does to a lot of pets). Milo will never give him another one, however, sweetheart did make the mistake of feeding him one early in their relationship, and it also ended an explosive diarrhea. So Aggro is no longer allowed pup cups

Christian- Normally he gets a iced Americano, but if he's going to a pack meeting he gets a pink drink just to spite Asher.

Angel- a Connoisseur of seasonal drinks. Tries each of the seasonal releases until they find one they love, and drinks it until it's gone. If there aren't any seasonal drinks, or they don't like them, they get a peppermint mocha frappe (because yes, Starbucks does have peppermint year round)

Baabe- Iced matcha latte with caramel syrup and drizzle. Matcha has a decent amount of caffeine and Starbuck matcha is also mostly sugar, so it's a nice pick me up. If it's too cold for that, they'll get a hot chocolate.

Sweetheart- This bitch (affectionate) gets two vanilla sweet cream nitro cold brews and a venti cup of ice, bc the biggest size of nitro cold brew Starbucks can legally sell is a grande bc of all the caffeine. So this bitch (again, affectionate) gets two and pours them into one cup. Milo is very concerned for their health.

Darlin'/Tank- like sweetheart, I see them wanting/needing a shit ton of caffeine, so they also get two nitro cold brews. But they'd probably go from the salted caramel cream cold brew and would drink them separately.

Solaire Clan: (idc if canonically caffeine doesn't affect them, I make my own rules bitch)

William- Hot mocha with raspberry syrup. I know that sounds weird, but it basically tastes like chocolate strawberries. His drinks have changed over time, but currently this is his favorite.

Alexis- Blonde roast with caramel and oatmilk. This sounds simple, but fun fact: Starbucks stops brewing blonde & dark after 11am (mostly smaller stores do this), and she always comes after that and ends up having the baristas make a pour over, then bitches over how long it takes to get her drink.

Vincent- French vanilla latte, which at Starbucks is vanilla and hazelnut, so it's very sweet. He also gets it with oatmilk, just bc it tastes good. Gets it either hot or iced depending.

Sam- London fog latte, no water. I see him as a tea guy, idk. Sometimes he gets a few shots in it, but it depends.

Lovely- chai creme frappe. They like chai (even if the Starbucks chai is not even close in taste to real chai lol) and normally get it with cinnamon powder on top and in it.

D.A.M.N:

Gavin- Changes every time, since he doesn't need nutrients, he just wants sugar and fun tasting shit (this also goes for the vamps, but more for Gavin) he will make up the most random combinations, but if it's super busy he'll try to be simpler for the poor baristas. Mostly fruity combos and overly sweet frappes.

Damien- iced soy latte with 3 stevia, with a minimum of four shots, maximum he's done is, like 11 (Yes, I have put 11 shots in an espresso drink, I imagine it tasted like shit). He's basic but really just needs caffeine and something to hydrate so he'll ask for a water too.

Huxely- matcha. and if you say it tastes like grass to this man, he will say yes, it does, but he likes grass. Probably gets a matcha frappe to be specific, sometimes asks for vanilla syrup. Very sweet and caffeinated.

Lasko- here's the dilemma, tired boi needs caffeine, but anxious boi does not need caffeine. So with friends around he gets decaf, but by himself... Iced brown sugar shaking espresso with six blonde shots. No, he's not hiding his caffeine intake, he wouldn't be very good at it if he tried it lol.

Kody- tiny bitch boy (extremely hostile) gets an extra dry vanilla cappuccino, and will send it back at least once because he says "it's not dry enough".

Freelancer- strawberry acia lemonade refresher, with peach juice, no strawberry pieces, and light ice. That's their go to, however, if they need more caffeine, they will order just an iced quad espresso with liquid sugar.

Calleum- there's this weird "secret menu" item called the cotton candy frappe, which is really just a vanilla bean frap with raspberry syrup, that is what he gets, and he would also like chocolate drizzle and chocolate crumbles on top. He is not allowed to have caffeine, I don't care if it affects daemons or not, he's not allowed to have it.

Everyone else:

Aaron- boring bitch (affectionate) just gets a medium roast coffee with light cream. He wants to put the splenda in himself, I don't know why but he does. Smartass has convinced him to get an espresso frappuccino with a shot on top, he didn't hate it. So that's progress.

SmartAss- gets an espresso frappuccino, three shots, add whip. Basically an iced expresso with milk, but blended with some sugar. If it is freezing cold, they will just get it a triple expresso with heavy cream and sugar, but that is rare.

Ollie- very simple, non-fat vanilla latte, sometimes gets it iced, sometimes it's hot. However, he will always ask for a pup cup to take home for his cat (Yes, I did forget his cat's name) because unlike Aggro, it does not give Ollie's cat explosive diarrhea.

Baby- Get a sweet cream cold brew with light ice and extra sweet cream. Also asks for extra vanilla. For some reason I get vanilla flavored vibes from Ollie and Baby as a couple, not in a sexy way, just in a flavoring way. idk.

Geordie- He needs caffeine, but if he is over caffeinated his brain will basically short circuit and then he will take a two hour long nap. So he sticks to iced coffee, with sweet cream and caramel syrup. However, he also likes the hot chocolate with caramel in it as well. It depends on the day.

Cutie- iced shaken espresso with chocolate cream cold foam. The shaken expressos come with classic sweetener, which they like, and an extra shot. They will mix in the cold foam and the espresso so it tastes more like chocolate, without having to add any other syrups.

Elliot- French vanilla iced coffee with two blonde shots and soy milk. He gives me soy milk vibes, for some unknown reason. He doesn't always get the blonde shots, but more often than not he does. Iced coffee only has so much caffeine, and he has lots of work to do.

Sunshine- a medicine ball, which is another name for a honey citrus mint tea. It is jade citrus mint & peach tranquility tea, half steamed lemonade, half hot water, with honey blend. They like it because it's sweet, and doesn't have too much caffeine.

Guy- He tries all the different TikTok drinks, his favorite being an iced white mocha, sub whip for sweet cream cold foam, with caramel drizzle and lining the cup (This started being ordered like a couple months ago, and it hasn't stopped lol)

Honey- a honey almond flat white, with extra honey blend (This was not intentionally a pun, but now it is) it's sweet, but they can add as many espresso shots as they need. And they need it.

(a lot of characters are not included because I don't really know their story lines or personalities. There are some audios that I haven't listened to yet, or just won't)

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted headcanons #redacted shaw pack #redacted shitpost #redacted milo #redacted vincent #redacted asher #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted darlin #redacted freelancer #shaw pack #redacted solaire clan #redacted lasko #redacted hc

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darklydeliciousdesires · 1 year

Text

Edge of Seventeen - Chapter Five.

HUGE thanks to everyone enjoying this and leaving such wonderful commentary! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 2,856

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“I hope you don’t think this is crass or nothing, but it must pay well, being a botanist, for your mom to be able to afford such a fucking nice house,” Angel commented, lying in bed with Bella, content and comfortable after their second round of sex that night.

She looked up at him from where she’d been lain against his chest, reaching to stroke the side of his neck. “It isn’t crass, it’s quite legitimate a wondering, what with the price of La Jolla real estate, especially on an ocean front property,” she began, sitting up properly, reaching for her cigarettes. “Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be able to afford a house like this as a single woman, no matter that her salary is pretty decent. When dad died, though, his life insurance meant that the mortgage on our old townhouse was paid off, so when she sold up prior to us moving here, she had a very large wedge of cash to spend on a nice home, London property going for what it does.”

He could imagine, being that it was the capital city. “What was your old place like?”

She reached across to her nightstand, grabbing the large, black stone ashtray with the Aboriginal paintings all over it, one that she’d bought from a car boot sale for three pounds. She missed scouring those with her mother on a Saturday morning during the summer. “It was like this, but on three floors as opposed to two. Our house was five bedrooms because mum and dad always intended to have more children. They nearly did, but mum miscarried who would have been my little sister when I was four.” When pausing for breath, Angel squeezed her thigh, smiling thinly. That must have been tragic for her mom, he thought, losing a baby and then her husband three years later.

“Anyway!” she brightened, shifting a little. “The house. It was bloody lovely, eclectic, just like this place. It reminded me so much of my dad. I think that’s the reason mum stayed there, even though it was way too big for us and freezing cold in winter. We struggled to afford to heat the rooms we weren’t in, so we had an abundance of thick socks and lots of blankets, big sweaters that my gran would knit for us, too.”

“Was it just as full of plants as this place?” he asked, turning onto his side.

“Oh blimey, yeah. My dad always used to despair at seeing another one being brought in, saying the same thing every time, ‘Deb, if these were cats, you’d be in crazy cat lady territory by now’ whenever he noticed something new, and he always did.”

“Crazy plant lady,” he snickered softly. “So, you got anything you like to collect, other than the, one, two... thr... four fucking guitars you have in here?”

She snorted a small laugh, feeling a little called out. “Well, they’re all special for a reason. The acoustic on the wall was my first, but it plays like shit so I don’t use it any longer. The wood got warped in a pipe leak back in England, but I can never part with it. The other three are all new, as I couldn’t bring my old ones with me, so the black Les Paul is because I love the sound of it, plus is replaces my old one, and the Fender Venus is because it’s the model Courtney Love played for some of Hole’s more notable performances, so I had to have it. Then the newer acoustic is simply because I needed one that actually played, so I got this from a second-hand instrument store in San Francisco.

“As for what I collect, it would be anything with this.” She held up her first finger on her right hand, tapping the gem set in the silver ring. “Amber. I’m a fucking hoarder! Cherry and honey ambers are my favourite, and blue, too, but it’s so rare to find it and stupidly expensive whenever I do see it turn up. But yeah, I love it, it’s so pretty.”

Angel nodded, grasping her dainty hand, pulling her down against his chest again. “A mental note has been made of that.” he began, fingers lazily wandering up and down her spine. “But now, though, it’s time to make use of some other mental notes I’ve made.” Sliding down the bed a little, he lifted her leg to rest over his hip, his mouth laying hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck and chest, his hand slipping between her legs, beginning to stroke at her. Pleasingly, she was still silky from their earlier passions, his long fingers gliding through her folds, tongue tickling at her collarbones while laying soft strokes over her clit.

Her nerves began to bounce in awakening immediately, her hips softly swaying against the drag of his fingers, Angel moving to suck at her nipples, the pretty, little pink buds pebbling against his tongue. A rush of heat began to flush through her core, his fingers pushing within, teasing the coil to wind tighter with her as she panted, soft moans pooling in her throat, the pleasure snapping through her.

He worked her with talented strokes, fingers curling, pummelling within her until she cried out, his mouth gliding back to her neck, Bella clasping his face in her hands and lowering her mouth to his, reaching between them, her hand curling around his cock, satin swathed iron, too deliciously hard to resist. Pushing him onto his back, she straddled his hips, guiding him to her dewy hole and sinking down, little shocks streaking through her as he stretched her again.

As she rode him, she wondered to herself how on earth she’d gotten so lucky. He was good to her, he made her laugh, he was loving, he was gorgeous, the fucking body, the big dick, the sexual prowess. Angel Reyes was the entire package. The only thing she found mildly worrying were his criminal activities, knowing that maybe one day, they could result in him being taken from her, to a prison cell for a lengthy stretch, or worse. Instead of panicking, she reasoned that in that moment, he was right there below her, inside of her, leaning to kiss him, his arms wrapping around her as he began to fuck up into her rapidly, evoking her bliss filled cries, Bella losing herself to the near crippling pleasure.

They slept after that, but both awoke extremely horny a few hours later, had sex again, drifted off once more, and then again after they’d been awoken by Bella’s alarm at 8am. She hated having to detangle herself from him, wishing they could stay in bed. She had a job to get to, though, Angel too as he had ‘outlawing shit’ to attend to, as he worded it while they ate toast in the kitchen.

“So, I’ll pick you up again at six?” he asked, after pulling up outside of the salon, leaning back against his bike, sharing kisses with her, reluctant and then some to let her go. She was staying at his for the rest of the weekend, since she only had an afternoon at college on Monday, so would get to sleep in with him two mornings in a row. She could barely wait to spend time with him uninterrupted by life, nowhere to go, no one to see. Just them.

“Yep, see you then. Love you, baby,” she cooed, kissing him.

God, how good it felt, to hear those words from her. “Love you too, B. Have a good day.” Putting his helmet back on, he started his bike and road off, Bella heading into the salon and getting the coffee order, surprised not to see Yolanda, the owner there, since she usually did visit of a Saturday. She was one of those women who owned an entire chain of businesses, though, salons and nail bars stretching right across San Diego, so divided her time as best she could throughout all of them.

Once hot beverages and slices of caramel laden brownies had been purchased, Bella headed back to hand them all out, going over to wipe down the wash basins and chairs after the first two washes of the morning. It was her, chief stylist Bridgette, colourist Gloria, and black hair specialist Ruby, a six feet five, louder than hell drag queen (who came to work in full drags, too!) in that morning, the gossip fluttering through the air as usual.

“Now, ladies,” Brigette began, her head turning in Bella’s direction. “I think we need to address the fact that little one here turned up this morning on the back of some guy’s Harley, meaning I sense some serious girl talk coming!”

The rest of the staff and few clients alike began fussing, Bella ducking down behind the wash basins, hiding.

“Mami, come on! It’s just us girls!” Gloria cooed, leaning over and grasping Bella’s arm, bringing her back up again. “Oh, look! She’s gone bright pink!”

“Awwwww!” the women all chorused, Bella covering her face with her hands.

“Come on, honey,” Bridgette prompted, combing through her client’s hair ready to do her dry trim. “Tell us all about the guy, because from what I saw, he was hot!”

Bella eventually got over her shyness, taking a big swig of her coffee as Gloria led her back to sit next to her in one of the wash basin chairs. “Okay, so his name is Angel, we’ve been dating for three and a half weeks, so it’s all really new, but oh my god, we are absolutely crazy about each other! He’s so different to other guys I’ve gone out with, which fair enough has only been two, but yeah. My ex-boyfriends were both just that, boys, but him?”

“Child!” Ruby interrupted, coiffing her client’s hair with a comb and volume spray. “I saw him this morning, too. You ain’t in your boy phase any longer. That’s a man you got yourself there, sugar!” she exclaimed, all the women cooing a chorus of ‘oooooh!’

Bella fanned her cheeks, feeling herself growing warm in the blushing department again. “Yes, yes, he most definitely is. And I knew that already about him, but last night, he proved it.” More cooing. “Five times.” The women exploded.

“Yeah, girl!” Ruby hollered, scurrying over to offer a high five. “She got the D!” The women were all whooping and laughing, Bella finally feeling a little more comfortable. How could she not be, though? The small salon had a wonderful vibe of sisterhood. “We want the details now, Bella! Don’t y’all be holding out!”

“Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Size?” Bridgette, Gloria and Ruby all chorused at once, snickering thereafter at themselves.

“Erm... big,” Bella confirmed.

“How big?” Gloria questioned. Everyone nearly died when after looking around, Bella picked up a can of root lift spray and held it aloft. “Yeah, pretty fucking huge!”

“And did he know what he was doing with it, honey? Because it’s just the worst, when you get with a guy who’s hung and then he doesn’t have a clue how to use it!” Bridgette’s client asked, turning in her seat a little, Bridgette paused from her snipping for a second.

“Oh my god, he bloody knew! And it wasn’t just that either, I mean... am I alright to go into details?”

She was so cute, the women thought, all gesturing rapidly with their hands. “Yes, chica! That’s what we want!” Gloria confirmed.

“Alright, so like I said it wasn’t just that he knows how to fuck like a fucking champion, the bloody foreplay game he has is unreal! With my last two boyfriends, the first couldn’t even find my clit, the second just pressed and poked at it like he was flicking a light switch on and off, but Angel? Oh my god, girls. He knew! Not just where it was, but exactly how to touch it! I mean, I had a little preview of that before with him, but it was nothing like last night. I’ve never had a guy make me cum before him, and last night, I came so many fucking times, I could barely shut my legs once he was done! I swear, he’s just... magic! Sexual voodoo!”

“Praise be!” Ruby hollered, all the other women scream laughing and cheering, even more so when Gloria picked up her phone and scrolled her music library, linking it to the shop speakers, the opening bars of Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa beginning to play.

“You feeling these song vibes, baby?” she asked, Bella in hysterics.

“Oh blimey, yes!” Gloria threw her head back and laughed, entertained as ever by her British-isms, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet to dance in the middle of the tiled floor. It was just another typical morning in the salon, all girls together, laughing, being silly, having fun. It reminded Bella of a scene from a feel-good chick flick, but it wasn’t. It was her life, and she loved it. She had her band, her friends at the salon and now, the man of her dreams. The man of her dreams who was in love with her, and she him.

The day went quickly, luckily for Bella, climbing onto the back of Angel’s Harley again at just gone 6pm, being whisked away to Santo Padre. He took her back to his first to drop off her stuff, shower and change before they went out, as well as other things he’d had on his mind pretty much all day.

“Oh, I appear to have a very gorgeous, very naked shower friend,” she purred, feeling Angel patter his fingers up the back of her thighs, his breath hot at her neck before he scattered kisses there.

“You do,” he hummed, one hand slipping between her legs, the other winding around her, stroking her tits. “One who wants to bend you over and fucking pound you until you scream.”

She grinned, a little gasp leaving her mouth when she felt two fingers slide deep inside her. “Words I’m very fond of hearing.”

Feeling her tighten around his fingers, the sumptuous, warm hug went right to his cock. “Thought you might be.” She felt as if a rainbow blazed through her, each colour a different hue of her arousal, his other hand sliding down over her wet skin, joining the other at her apex, rubbing sweet heat at her clit with his middle finger, his mouth attentive at her neck. Her body rocked back against his, the width of his firm chest her anchor, turning her head and receiving kisses edged in smouldering sin, her arm reaching back to graze his scalp, a soft moan tumbling from her mouth into his.

She felt as if tiny firestorms burned through her, turning, kissing him with force, her nails raking down his chest, his big cock hard at her abs, Angel grunting lustfully when she reached to grasp it.

“Uh, uh,” he mumbled, removing her hand. “Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles.”

Bella arched an eyebrow. “Oooh, I think I like you forceful.”

He smirked, watching her turn. “You’re about to like me a whole lot more in five seconds.” The thick spear of him parting her sweepingly had her gurgling in delight, suddenly unbothered that her hair was becoming drenched when she’d intended to keep it dry. Why not get wet all over?

His big hands clutched her waist, watching himself sinking into her, the way his cock parted the pretty petals of her cunt making his pulse throb, his hands gliding to grip her ass, trying to contain himself, but failing. Oh, how he failed, but to Bella, it was the furthest thing from it, feeling his one hand grip her hip, holding her steady as he fucked her with brute force, the other hand pounding off her butt cheeks in turn, the spanks echoing through the bathroom.

It was absolute sexual carnage, Bella feeling herself turned inside out quickly, her ascension blazing, Angel’s chasing it like flames meeting tinder, both of them cresting loudly and without reserve, his hand sliding up her back, clutching at her hair to yank her back to standing straight, the move all rippled in the lingering dominance, but his words anything but.

“Fuck, I love you, baby.”

They were meant to be going out to eat that night, but after they’d made their way from the bathroom to his bed and enjoyed one another for a further hour, decided ordering in was preferable. Pizza, hanging in his sweats while Bella looked adorable swathed in one of his t shirts, and the hilarity that was his introduction to the Monty Python movies, of which his girlfriend was a huge fan, was all Angel needed.

It was simple with her, stress free, drama free. It was everything he needed but hadn’t know he did until he’d found her. For the first time in years, he was truly content, and it was because of her. As far as he was concerned, he’d found his person. This? This was for keeps.

A/N - Please, be good to your author and reblog if you enjoyed this. Don’t want to reblog because it doesn’t match the aesthetic of your blog? That’s fine. Leaving a little comment of appreciation goes a long way!

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