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cheeseplants · 6 months ago

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Writer’s Guild Presents: The Ecstasy of Eden: Chapter two

Welcome to the 6th Century.

Things are hotting up for round two of sex pollen through the ages.

Includes: banter, bed humping, sexy armour removal, Aziraphale getting his dom on, and of course pining

CW/TW: Sex pollen (obvs), dubcon (though it’s very consensual), dom/sub dynamics, orgasm edging/control, kind of undernegotiated kink, but they do talk about it.

The incredible illustrious_slimeman made some wonderful art for this chapter! Visit their tumblr for more amazing arts here.

Read from chapter two here Or start from the beginning here

Excerpt

“I - Crowley, we’re afflicted.” He swallowed. “Shouldn’t we deal with this - ah - alone?”

“Or -” Crowley said. He grabbed Aziraphale’s knees, and pinned them in place, his yellow eyes burning with a fierce unsated hunger. “Is that what you want, angel? For me to crawl over there, and hide under the bedsheets til we’re done. We could enjoy ourselves, that was the plan, wasn’t it? Maybe a bit more physical than I was expecting, but it could be fun.”

“I’m not sure whether Heaven, would agree with -”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Aziraphale’s mind drifted to slurping down the salty taste of oysters to drinking his first sip of wine, followed immediately by several more sips. The first time he did this, Aziraphale’s 🍆 swelled against the woollen fabric at his crotch, he swallowed and stared deep in Crowley’s yellow eyes.

“Tell me what you want, angel.”

“But-”

“Don’t play coy. You once made a wine farmer move his entire vineyard 100 meters to the left because the flavor wasn’t right.”

“The soil was far too acidic!”

“And you asked a bakery to re-bake a whole batch of sweetbreads because the texture was ‘too chewy’.”

“It was like eating leather.”

“And they all bloody do it, don’t they? Because of your sweet little angelic face.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You call the shots. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Take what you want, angel. Tell me what to do."

Aziraphale’s hands tightened under the bed sheets, bunching the fabric into his palms to steady himself. Crowley stared up at him, his beautiful face caught in genuine adoration. The hold Aziraphale was keeping on everything started to waver.

“What if I just watched you?” Crowley said, letting go of his hand and drifting his fingertips along Aziraphale’s thighs. “You watched me last time. You liked it.”

“That was for research.”

“Please, angel.” Crowley held his hands in prayer, his head bowed between Aziraphale’s knees. This sight stirred something deep within him, something that seemed both akin to and at odds with his angelic nature.

@goodomensafterdark Thanks to: @adverbian, @voluptatiscausa, @malachitegrey again for the High Sex Pollen Event! And to my lovely betas: @fuzzygoblin , @yes-its-unholy, and @happynachohologram. This chap would be 10x worse without all of you.

#good omens 2 #aziracrow #aziraphale #5 times they took sex pollen #high sex pollen event #good omens fic #they were knights #sexy armour removal #crowley #bed humping #you heard me #Kingdom of Wessex #But make it sexy #good omens fanart

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pisupsala · 10 months ago

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Faking It | Part III

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Ahhh you guys! Thank you so much for all the love on this story! Your comments truly make my day! Here is Part 3.. I actually had to split it up because it was too long.. oops XD

Hope you like it!

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: swearing, clingy ex, and a bit of protective Bradley for you (just a taste of what's to come, really)

Start from the beginning: Part I

You douse your face in one final misting of setting spray and, with your eyes closed, fan yourself with your hands.

“What are you doing?”

Your eyes fly open and, in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, you see Bradley standing in the open doorway with a curious expression on his face. “Setting my makeup,” you say matter-of-factly, as if you’re surprised that he’s not familiar with the practice.

He nods slowly. “Are you almost done in here?” he asks. “I was going to take a shower.”

“I’m done,” you say, zipping up your makeup bag. You squeeze past him in the doorway, careful not to let any part of you brush up against any part of him.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows, watching you squirm, and then narrows his eyes. “Everything alright?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to suppress a grin.

You glance up at him just as you clear his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He surveys your face suspiciously. Though, after a moment, he seems to reconsider interrogating you, turning and disappearing into the bathroom. Before the door is fully shut, however, he opens it again, sticking his head out and asking, “Will I see you before you go?”

You meet his gaze as you lift your bag onto the bed. “Depends on how long you’re planning on showering,” you respond.

Bradley purses his lips, but you can still detect the slim smile playing on his face. “I won’t be long,” he says. “Will you wait?”

You blink at him. “I’ll wait,” you say, suddenly curious as to why he’s insisting on seeing you again before you leave.

Once he’s gone, you dig into your bag to pull out the sparkly, black dress you purchased for the occasion. You slip into the outfit, adjusting the twisted straps and pulling on the hem that had not appeared as short in the store’s changing room as it does in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the paneled wall of the chalet. It will, without a doubt, be riding up your thighs all evening. Nonetheless, the dress looks stunning on you, and you turn to the side, admiring your figure in the reflection.

You’re just touching up your hair when Bradley walks out of the bathroom, pulling a tank top over his head. When he sees you, he stops abruptly at the foot of the bed.

You look at him questioningly. “Am I in your way?” you ask, shifting closer to the wall.

“No, no,” he says, still staring at you. “You can stand anywhere you like,” he adds, waving his arm to indicate the entire space of the room.

“Thank you?” you say.

He lets out a resolute sigh and his expression darkens slightly. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, walking over to his bag.

You follow him with your eyes, but he seems distracted and isn’t looking at you anymore, so you bend down to slip on your heels. They are extremely high and extremely uncomfortable but, most importantly, they are extremely sexy. So, in summary, they rock. You straighten your back just as Bradley returns, his eyes sweeping over your face as he nears.

“You’re getting there,” he says, holding his hand over your head and measuring your new height against himself.

“Fuck off,” you say, laughing and giving his shoulder a hard smack, which sends you stumbling backward.

Bradley’s reaction is instantaneous; he steps forward, his arm sliding behind your waist before you fall to the floor. “Well, that was an overreaction,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face.

He helps you regain your footing but, with his hand still on your back, you are unquestionably at risk of losing it again. “Shut up, Bradshaw,” you say, ignoring the literal sparks set off by the friction of his fingers as they trail down to your hip. “You want me to hit you again?”

Bradley chuckles and you realize just how close he is when his breath washes over your cheek. “Kind of,” he admits. You glance up at him and he sucks in his cheeks, fighting to keep a straight face. “But you should probably pick on someone your own size,” he adds, his smirk widening.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. Bradley’s hand is slowly sliding down your side and you wish he would release you already. At the same time, you wish he would take a hold of you somewhere between your waist and your hip – you’re not too picky – and yank you forward unceremoniously, without any regard for the delicate material of your dress or the unpredictable nature of the situation. He could bring you in right up against his body and you could look up into his eyes and – fuck.

No, not that. No, you wouldn’t fuck. Yet.

You let out a sigh, realizing that the two of you have been staring at one another for the entire time you’ve been picturing him –

“I have something for you,” he says.

You break eye contact first. Because the tips of his fingers still lingering on your hip send wave after wave of exhilaration through you that you have intended to repress for the remainder of the trip. And looking at him only seems to be making it worse. “Okay,” you say, taking a step back.

He holds out his hand and you reach for it instinctively. He drops a small cannister into your palm.

You raise your eyebrows. “Pepper spray?” you ask. “Where do you think I’m going?”

“Just take it,” he says. “You never know.”

You take the bottle from his hand. “This is such an eyesore,” you say, stuffing it into your tiny purse and trying to zip it up over the bulge it’s created.

“Do you know how to use it?” he asks, ignoring your grumbling.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“That’s not good enough,” he says. “Let’s practice.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding, Bradshaw? I have to go.”

“This isn’t the same as setting your makeup,” he says, reaching for your purse and extracting the cannister.

“You mean I don’t aim it at my own face?”

He gives you a humorless look as though he’s severely unimpressed. Then, he holds the bottle out in front of himself. “You want to hold it against your palm,” he says.

“Is that what I want to do?” you say mockingly.

Bradley looks over at you crossly. “This is serious.”

You watch him with a small smile. “I know, okay? Safety off, press the red button.”

Bradley hands you the cannister. “Show me.”

You sigh audibly, making sure he’s amply aware of just how annoyed you are. You hold your hand out straight in front of you and pretend to push the red button with your index finger. But before your finger even touches the button, Bradley grabs the spray right out of your hand and points it at you. You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “You did not just do that,” you say.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Bradley, I am late. Come on!”

“You want to keep” – Bradley starts, then pauses, giving you an irritated look before rewording his instructions – “you’re going to keep the cannister closer to your body, while holding your other arm out to make sure your assailant can’t get near it.” Bradley demonstrates the position as he walks you through it. “You’re going to hold down the actuator with your thumb. That will make it easier for you to aim and harder for someone to grab it out of your hand.”

“Look, I don’t have time right now for a lesson in self-defence,” you say. “Maybe tomorrow during the wedding speeches, alright?”

He watches you coolly. “Try it again,” he says.

“For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw!” you groan. “You know, I have gone out before. This isn’t my first time –”

“Humor me,” he says, holding the cannister out. “Please.”

You take the cannister from him and bring it to your chest, holding out your other arm with your palm facing out just as he’d demonstrated.

Bradley walks around you and places his hand over yours on the pepper spray. “That’s a little too close,” he says somewhere in the vicinity of your ear.

A little too close, indeed.You hold back a shiver, looking up at him as he lowers his face to examine your grip on the bottle.

He brings his hand up to reposition your arm. “Hold it tightly, like you’re making a fist around it,” he says. He squeezes his fingers around your hand while you try to contend with your galloping heart as it knocks around inside of you as though it’s determined to break free of your ribcage.

You close your eyes when his chest brushes your shoulder. “I think I get it, Bradley,” you say quietly. “Thanks.” You step away and drop the cannister into your purse. Swinging your purse over your shoulder, you look back to see him watching you soberly. “Have a good night,” you say.

He nods. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You step outside and close the door behind yourself, letting out a long sigh. But your hand doesn’t even release the doorknob when it turns in your grasp and the door is pulled open. You look up at Bradley, who nearly runs into you trying to get outside.

He presses his lips together into a smile. “I, uh, forgot to say have fun,” he mutters sheepishly.

You stare at him in a daze. He’s backlit with the warm lamplight coming from inside the room and his stupid, lopsided grin is summoning more butterflies than your stomach could handle. “Yeah,” you respond, tapping on the bulge in your purse. “So far, so good.”

He chuckles lightly. Then, his eyes drop momentarily before meeting your gaze once again. “You look nice,” he says.

You roll your eyes and start to turn away. “There’s nobody around, Bradshaw,” you say, making your way toward the road. “Who’re you trying to impress?”

“You?” he calls.

You laugh, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you shake your head. “Have a good night,” you call back after looking away. You raise your arm over your head to wave goodbye as you walk.

…

“What is he doing here?” you say when you spot Steven making his way through the crowd to get to your table at the club.

Your sister, who is already heavily inebriated, blinks in the direction you are looking. “Aww,” she says. “Are you guys back together?”

You roll your eyes at her and glare up at Steven as he slides into your booth.

“This is a private party,” you say incredulously. You’re a bit concerned that your first thought upon seeing him is to reach into your purse for Bradley’s pepper spray. Unfortunately, wiping the idiotic grin off Steven’s face is not exactly its intended use.

“How private are we talking?” Steven wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Your fingers curl around the cannister in your purse. “You need to leave,” you say.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says. “I just need a minute.”

“Give him a minute!” one of your sister’s friends chimes in.

“He’s so romantic!” another girl squeals and you throw her an annoyed look.

“Why aren’t you at the Bachelor party, Steven?” you ask, shoving him out of the booth to avoid further mediation from the other well-meaning bridesmaids.

“Let’s dance,” he says, pulling you to your feet.

“I’m not dancing with you!” you say through gritted teeth, wrenching your hands free of his grasp.

“Y/N,” he says. “We don’t have to get married, okay? I’m over it.”

“Oh, you’re over it?” You let out a spiteful laugh. When, two months ago, Steven had proposed to you and you insisted on taking some time to think about it, he blew a goddamn gasket. Now, apparently, he’s over it.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says, his hands curling around your arms to bring you closer.

You struggle against his grip. “I don’t want anything,” you respond in exasperation.

“I love you, okay?” he says forcefully, pulling you closer so that he can nudge your head with his. You detect the alcohol on his breath. “Why do you think I came to this stupid wedding?”

“Let go of me,” you say, ripping his hands off and backing away. “You need to leave,” you repeat threateningly.

He shakes his head. “You know you still love me.” He watches you levelly as the girls in the booth make whooping and kissing noises.

You continue glaring at him angrily. “I’m dating Bradley,” you say.

“But you’re not in love with him,” he says confidently. You wish you could slap him.

“He’s a good guy,” you say, trying to justify yourself even though you don’t owe him an explanation.

“If you say so.”

“If he finds out you came here –”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Steven says, stepping closer to you again.

“Steven, I don’t want to be with you!” you yell. “I’m over it. Over you.”

He narrows his eyes. Then he laughs derisively, shaking his head. “You’re making a mistake.” He turns to leave.

You let out a breath, your body shaking with anger as you watch him disappear into the crowd. Then, you rejoin the girls at the table and pick up the bottle of Grey Goose out of the ice bucket. “Let’s do this,” you say, nodding at the shot glasses on the sparkly tabletop.

You’re done thinking about Steven. You’re done thinking about Bradley. What you’re going to do now is get wasted.

Read Part IV

Tag List:

The rest of the tag list is in the comments.

You guys, I'm sorry to say this but these tag lists are getting a bit out of control haha I'll also be closing the Rooster one shortly. I *might* re-open it in the future, possibly with some sort of automation so that there's less room for error XD

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