#fuck it. goes in my good omens tag

[coffeeastronaut]

the shitscript is in fact a a a shitscript but crowley and aziraphale's 6000 years of crowley cheating at checkers every time and aziraphale never wins is seriously so insanely funny. like.

aziraphale is not at all stupid, let alone enough for crowley's literal "whats that outside!!!! [snatches his pieces]" but the fact that he KNOWS hes been cheating this whole time and has been LETTING him is so fucking funny.

not for the reason the script gives (something something its aziraphale's lame moral lesson that even he knows is stupid, but only after an 11 year old points it out to him) but for the reason ive invented in my mind, which is that this is yet another example of their looserman weirdo foreplay

[idliketobeatree]

hello hi my good omens fellows hear me out. yes i know it's ooc. and i think it could be more ergonomic (already readjusting the straps in my head) but.

aziraphale wearing THIS

thank you for your attention

[possuminnit]

anyone constantly thinking about how everything in s2 of good omens is about love. just everything, every plot point, every scene, basically every fucking action a character makes too. it's there and I am fucking crazy over it

[sentientsky]

In the place where the foundations shiver with the weight of every ghost you’ve laid to rest beneath the floorboards / In the liminal, staticky place where you were first made monstrous (made hollow and whimpering and fickle) / In the place that tore you lengthwise and emptied you onto the front porch, you learn to swallow back the rage, hold it captive and writhing in your gut. 

You learn your way around a set of teeth.

You learn the hackles-raised, jagged-mouthedness of a home without a scrap of heat. You learn how to pull each of your canines out by the bloodied pulp, all nerve endings and the blunted edges of grief.

You learn it because what other choice do you have? What’s the alternative, when all you’ve ever known is the dull scrape of your back against the wall, of your heart tearing clear through your chest?

And god, god, god (you pray to an empty sky). God, you’re so bitter and your bones are all galvanized under your skin, and it hurts. It fucking hurts. 

And yet you’d sooner turn your own snapping jaws on yourself than risk learning what happens to animals that misbehave.

So you make yourself small, you make yourself antiseptic and supplicating and placid. You domesticate every thrashing need to escape. You walk into a family dinner with darting yellow eyes: Cerberus with three heads, each maw zip-tied shut by your own hand. You show them the soft flesh of your underbelly—you show the whites of your eyes.

You bite back the terror, you choke on the wrath. Because what else is there to do? (inspired by this post from @actual-changeling. thanks for the gut-wrench, alex </3)

[cyclist-of-guilt]

I can't fucking believe this season made superwholockomens actually canon in show

[sabxhere]

ALL ANGELS AND DEMONS ARE NEURODIVERGENT.

Hi Neil, I have a random question, can angels and demons be neurodivergent? Thank

I don't think any angels or demons are what we would recognize as Neurotypical. They are angels and demons, after all.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The music JJK men would fuck you to <3

Tags: nsfw, mdni

An: YES I'm including Mahito.. I'm sorry but I love him :(

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Mahito

SATORU

Satoru would be a little basic and fuck you to The Weeknd and a few other similar artists. He loves the slow, sensual beat as he effortlessly rolls his hips deep inside you over and over again.

Sometimes, he'll turn on Cbat just to fuck with you and make you laugh, but when you start laughing and your cute little cunt tightens around him, he goes feral. You don't even realize Cbat played in it's full entirety from how mindless you are from his cock <3

He'll also start out with Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) just for the shits and giggles.

Songs:

Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) - Usher

Coming Down - The Weeknd

Cbat - Hudson Mohawke

Hotel - Montell Fish

SUGURU

Suguru fucks to Sleep Token. You cannot change my mind. That man thrives off the building tension that Sleep Token songs create. He starts off slow with a lot of teasing, but by the end of the songs, he has you seeing stars from how hard he's pounding into you. He quite literally steals the breath from your lungs.

He'll sometimes switch it over to Bad Omens if he's feeling extra rude. He fucks hard and mean to their songs, making sure you know exactly who your pussy belongs to.

Songs:

Jaws - Sleep Token

Take Me Back to Eden - Sleep Token

Like a Villain - Bad Omens

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND - Bad Omens

CHOSO

Choso fucks you to Deftones when he's in a dominant mood. He loves the guitar rift that plays in the back while he's making you whimper and grab at the sheets. Your incoherent murmurs of praise mixed with the loud music in the back is enough to make his head spin.

Yet he also loves that he can make love to you to Deftones as well. They're so versatile for whatever mood he's in at the moment.

Songs:

My Own Summer (Shove it) - Deftones

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

Beware - Deftones

God Complex - VIOLENT VIRA

TOJI

Toji prefers to fuck without music because he loves the sound of your needy whines and the sound of your cunt absolutely drooling all around him while he ruthlessly pummels his cock deep inside you. However, when he's in the mood, he turns on the nastiest divorced dad rock.

It just gets him in the mood to make love to your entire body, and I mean your ENTIRE body. His favorite way to unwind from a hard day is with his tongue deep in your cunt with good music playing in the background.

Songs:

Closer - Nine Inch Nails

Addicted - Saving Abel

Bad Girlfriend - Theory of A Deadman

Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry

SUKUNA

This man does NOT fuck you to music. The sounds of your desperate cries and begging for more is music to his hears. He doesn't even listen to modern day music, and Heien Era music just doesn't fuck as hard as music does today.

There is one song though... He likes the beat, and the lyrics are good too. It's just not a song you'd expect the King of Curses to listen to....

Songs:

Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life! - Corpse

NANAMI

Nanami makes love to you with Hoizer songs in the background. He loves listening to his songs because they remind him of you. He loves the slow and methodical beat while he's making you feel so so good. He'll whisper sweet things in your ear while he has your legs on his shoulders.

Songs:

Work Song - Hoizer

Too Sweet - Hoizer

Sailor Song - Gigi Perez

American Wedding - Frank Ocean

MAHITO

Mahito is constantly under stimulated, so he loves loud, chaotic music to feel the constant void he feels. Though, when he's balls deep inside you, he doesn't need the unpredictable music. He does still prefer the fast-paced music because let's face it. This man doesn't understand the concept of rhythm. I'll pray for your pussy :)

Songs:

Ecstacy - SUICIDAL-IDOL

IN MY MOUTH - Black Dresses

wutiwant - Saraunh0ly

Love Potions - BJ Lips

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter four: can't turn water into wine, never asked you to

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie tries giving you space, but then your fucking ex shows up.

cw: animal death, trauma, depictions of physical and emotional abuse, attempted physical assault, bullying/harassment, violence, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You don’t see Eddie for days. And you don’t know how, you don’t know when, but he got you the promotion.

Colin mysteriously quit. Out of nowhere, he left a message with his resignation for the owner to deal with. You remember that Eddie said he visited Colin, and all the tip money he gave back to you sits in your bedside table like an omen. But you don’t know how he could have influenced you getting Colin’s promotion.

All the while, the mark on your wrist makes itself known each time you think about it. Eddie. You find yourself running your thumb over the raised scar, tracing the letters as the image of a fiery volcano sweeps through your mind. 

There’s a certain comfort to having it. Sometimes it throbs with your pulse, almost as if to let you know that he’s there, his infernal heart beating in time with yours. He’s still around, watching over you in some way, even if he isn’t lingering in your doorway or popping into your dreams. 

When you’re getting into your car for your shift, and a warm breeze rattles the leaves in the trees with the slightest scent of smoke on it. When you’re clocking in, and your name tag says manager, and the mirror over the sink in the back flashes a pair of glowing eyes back at you in your reflection. You can still sense him with a quivering in your gut that urges you to run for him, like it always does when he’s around, doing the devil’s work, wreaking havoc on your already compromised moral compass.

It’s him. He’s there. He’s looking after you, but he’s holding back. He’s waiting for you to ask for him.

You start to miss him. It hits you most when you’re at home alone, sleeping on your couch rather than your bed because you want to be there if he appears in your doorway again. Anxiety and desire flip flop in your body. It ignites something in you, makes you shiver even when your body goes hot with want. 

And of course, you’re attracted to him. Stupidly. Predictably, you guess– you’ve always liked power. You think you developed some idiotic crush on him the night you made that deal. His eyes like two glowing beacons, seeking you out in the darkness. You never felt scared of looking back into them, because he went out of his way to make you feel like you held as much power as he did. 

Of course, everything you’ve been through since the deal, and the prospect that you’re going to fuck him– because it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when– makes your desire for him even worse. You feel like a new bride two days from her wedding night. The virginal maiden on her way to bed the horned god. 

Well, you’re not a virgin, but you sure fucking feel like one when you think about the prospect. And he’s not a god, but he sure feels like one to you. You’re full of raw power that he’s given you, pulsing in your veins. And now you have to lay here with it, with his presence even when you can’t see him, and it feels good.

To be completely honest, you start to look for him– peering around corners in your house, glancing at doorways and hoping that he’ll show up in one of your dreams. You don’t know how to summon him. Do you have to go out to the crossroads and cast a circle and make a petition again? Do you have to break down in tears? Or is it just as simple as saying his name?

For some reason, you don’t attempt it. You don’t want to be disappointed if you do it wrong.

Then, during one of your shifts at the diner, the mark burns hot under your skin. Just for a second. Just enough to make you jump and drop a cup you were wiping dry, shattering the mug across the kitchen floor. 

“Whoops,” you laugh, trying to play it off as just a silly little butterfingered moment. It’s a slow day, and nobody is moving particularly fast or looks like they care, but you glare down at the tile floor as you sweep up the mess. The mark hasn’t burned that hot before, not since it was given to you. Granted, you’ve only had the mark for a week, but this is the first time it’s really made you flinch.

A bell jingles over the front door. You wipe your hands on your apron and duck out of the kitchen doors to greet whoever it is– but, of course, you stop.

“Andy,” you say, your voice flat. The mark throbs obnoxiously against your wrist, bringing your awareness to it rather than the man in front of you.

A cold chuckle greets you, along with the foul stench of the fucking cologne he always douses himself in. You take one whiff, and then start breathing through your mouth before you gag; one part of you hoping he doesn’t notice and take offense, the other wishing that he would. He steps up to the bar counter, his blue eyes going beady and sharp. His brown hair, which had always had a certain unattractive chalkiness to it, is tinted almost blue in the light coming through the windows.

Andy wasn’t terrible in the beginning. Actually, he’d been really likable. Sweet, even, and charming. He had been kind, and he was smart and funny, and he laughed at your stupid jokes and he went out of his way to make you feel special. You would stay up late into the night talking for hours, seemingly never running out of things to say to each other. He told you to your face that he didn’t like bigots, and he stuck up for you when other people in town called you a ‘freak,’ or a ‘Satan worshipper,’ or what have you. You felt safe with him. Until you didn’t. 

Andy’s really good at intimidating you. It started a little too late in your relationship for you to notice the warning signs; the passive aggression, refusing to talk to or even look at you if he was mad about anything, whether it involved you or not. The denial, blaming you if you brought up how unfair he was being. Controlling your interests by getting angry and taking it as a personal affront if they didn’t line up with his own. You were just so happy that someone was willing to get close to you in this town, was willing to love you, that you overlooked all the red flags.

By the time you noticed your own behavior towards him– instinctively avoiding eye contact, being afraid to set boundaries for fear of retaliation, waiting for him to say his opinion before you shared your own so that you didn’t inadvertently disagree with him– you were convinced you were making it up. Or that it was your anxiety talking. He didn’t mean you any harm. How could he? He said he loved you.

Until he kicked you out of the apartment. Until he hit your dog with his car. It still rips your heart out when you think about it too hard– your stomach flips and you feel like vomiting. The wound is still too fresh, even six months later. Things like that don’t heal quickly, they fester and they burn and they ache until they poison you, or worse.

He left you to bury Lacey, your five year old Dachshund, in the woods on your own, sobbing and swearing you’d never forget her. And you haven’t. 

You tried. You went into the woods, under a waning moon. You bought a pig’s heart from the butcher shop, you drove three rusty nails through it. You bound it in black twine. You buried it with a picture of Andy and when you covered it with dirt, you spit on his “grave.” 

It didn’t work.

It only seemed to backfire, actually. Now, he refuses to leave you alone when you just want him gone. He comes around the diner to sit and nurse a cup of coffee for three hours, while berating you for not paying enough attention to him. You can’t imagine the thought process going through his head, if there is one at all. Maybe he thinks he’ll win you back this way, or maybe he finds it entertaining to watch you squirm. 

Ultimately, all it does is remind you of what he did to you. What he took from you. You have wrath welling up inside you, the likes of which could level cities. If only you could set it loose.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” he asks you bluntly as he takes his usual seat at the bar, right by the door. He flashes you a smile that may be an attempt at charm, but it only strikes you as menacing.

“Because,” you say through your teeth, “I’ve been busy. I got promoted.” You don’t mention that you changed your number because you were sick of his long winded, drunken phone calls filling your inbox with filth.

“Good for you,” Andy says, eyeing the word manager on your name tag. Staring you down is his favorite intimidation tactic. It makes your heart lurch up into your throat. “You’re really moving up in the world, aren’t you?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to fucking justify yourself to him anymore. At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself when you feel yourself about to, averting your eyes. Your mind screams, ‘Look at him! Look at him!’ as though it would make any kind of a difference. It’s all rendered completely redundant with one look at his face. It won’t change how much he scares you.

Andy readjusts the cuffs of his brown leather jacket. With his tight blue jeans and motorcycle jacket, and his pin straight All-American haircut, he resembles something out of Happy Days. It’s almost as if he’s suddenly concerned with his looks. He never has been before– he’s minorly handsome and always rather plain looking, unassuming, unfussy. You counted it as a blessing, once, but now it just doesn’t lend anything good to his appearance. Andy’s just plain, and his ugliness shows on his face now, especially in his eyes. There’s nothing warm or pretty about him.

Not like Eddie .

“You know my order.” 

So, you’ve been dismissed. You turn away and disappear into the kitchen, and let out a long breath. Eastwick is a tiny town, boasting only a couple thousand people at the most. Your diner is on the main drag, and people around here don’t like to linger when you’re on shift. Of course, Andy would be the only customer you get at this time on a Monday, but that’s because he supposedly knows you better than most.

If only he knew.

Your wrist throbs. Your head is whirling a mile a minute, There’s a migraine coming on, you can feel it at the base of your skull. 

While your shaking hand holds his cup of coffee, your vision blurs, and you accept that you must be having a panic attack. The lights are too bright, the smells are too strong, everything is too loud and you can feel yourself vibrating from your fight or flight response, all your adrenaline pumping into your limbs. Your fingers clutch at the burning cup of coffee in your hands and zero in on that sensation rather than anything else. 

Oddly, you find some comfort in it. It reminds you of Eddie. His touch. The fire in his eyes.

You’re so strong. Just look at what you can do.

You jump at the sound of Eddie’s voice in your ears, almost as if he’s standing right behind you, whispering to you. Your eyes refocus on the ceramic cup in your hands. The liquid inside it is boiling. It bubbles over onto your fingers, but somehow, you don’t feel it.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, setting the cup down onto the coffee station. The bubbles recede. The coffee steams, but settles into the cup. 

Fingers twitching, you glance around to make sure nobody else in the kitchen noticed what just happened. Satisfied that no one is looking, you reach forward and wrap your hand around the cup again.

The bubbles start again as the coffee rapidly begins to boil. 

“Shit, shit, shit–” You hold your hands out, examining your palms. There’s nothing that seems wrong, no hellfire emitting from your fingers. Nothing to suggest that you’re making things inexplicably boil with your touch, just a semi-warm feeling beneath your skin.

You stand in place, trying to decide the best thing to do. If you touch the door, is it going to go up in flames? Or are you only able to make things boil? Are you going to burn the entire place down? You’ll be collecting your final paycheck written in ash, because all the pencils have been scorched to a crisp. And everyone in town will continue to talk about the witch who burned down the Eastwick diner, just like everything else they’ve accused you of for years. 

“Can it, um–” You frown, trying to figure out how exactly to make your hands stop being weapons of mass destruction. “Can we just not do that, right now?” 

Fine.

You tentatively reach out and touch the cup. Nothing happens. 

You sigh in relief and feel like a massive weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You aren’t nearly as nervous as you were before. Apparently, having your hands magically turn into bunsen burners will kill a panic attack in five seconds flat. 

You collect the cup of now burnt coffee and the dish of creamer and sugar packets. Best to just move on, behave like normal, right? Your hands definitely didn’t just boil something on their own. You’re definitely a normal person with normal connections to the great beyond. You definitely don’t have a demon telepathically communicating with you, somehow.

You slide the dish and coffee in front of Andy, still refusing to look at him. “Careful, it’s very hot.”

“Yeah, it’s coffee.” There’s a sour note to his voice to let you know that he’s annoyed. He’s always annoyed with you.

You turn to leave, but a hand grabs your arm roughly. You breathe in the sour stench of his vinegary cologne, and you really do gag this time. It reminds you of toxic waste and rot. “Andy, what–?”

“What the fuck is this?” Andy yanks your arm across the counter, staring down at your wrist. Fuck. “You seeing someone? You got a new boyfriend?”

Yes. “No, I–” It’s complicated.

“Who the fuck is Eddie?” Andy spits, squeezing your arm a little harder. You whimper, your heart hammering in your chest. His voice is cold, growling at you with anger and disgust. “You let him carve his fuckin’ name into your skin?”

“It’s–” None of your fucking business. “That’s not what it is.”

“Yeah?” Andy snarls, his rough hand pulling you closer. “You just let any random guy carve his name into you like that? You fuckin’ freak?”

Does that look like it was carved, dipshit?

You try to yank your wrist out of Andy’s hold, but it’s too strong. You try to keep your voice down so that you don’t attract any undue attention from the back. “Andy, stop–”

“What if I do that, huh?” Andy’s other hand comes up over the counter, and he flicks open a pocket knife. The blade is tarnished and old, but no less sharp. You remember watching him throw it at a dart board more than once. His smile mocks you. “Think it won’t mean shit if I do that?” 

Burn him.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it in your ears, your hands shaking. Andy presses his knife into your wrist, over Eddie’s mark, until blood wells on the surface of your skin.

BURN HIM.

You wrap your hand around Andy’s forearm, trying to pry him away from your own wrist. There’s a sizzling noise, a smell of burnt hair and skin– and then, Andy screams. 

He flies back off of the bar stool, clutching his wounded arm, while you try to scramble away from him. Leaning back against a wine cabinet, you pull your aching wrist protectively toward your chest. 

Good girl.

Andy’s arm has your handprint burned into it. He whirls on you with wild eyes. “What did you do to me, you– you witch?”  

Two of your coworkers burst through the door to the kitchen. So much for not attracting attention. Raoul, one of the line cooks, looks at you for direction of some kind.

“Raoul, please show Andy out of the diner,” you say with as much confidence and authority as you can muster, even though your voice still trembles. “He isn’t allowed back.”

“Oh, fuck you.” 

Raoul starts ushering him out, a large hand clapped onto Andy’s shoulder as he gruffly announces, “If I see you back here, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“This isn’t over! I should have known they were right about you. They were all right about you,” Andy spits. “Stupid fucking bitch.”

Seething, you look down at your wrist. There’s a horizontal line cut across Eddie’s name. It makes you angry. Positively fucking livid. The most possessive part of your soul rears up, making your heart ache to see his mark defaced in any way. 

He’s yours as much as you’re his. The contract said so. 

You raise your eyes, and you look at Andy through the front window of the diner. Directly at him. He’s glaring back at you, and this time, you don’t avert your eyes. You don’t look away. Not when the glass on the windows starts to shake, almost imperceptibly. Not even when Andy flips you off, and throws open his car door.

And the car explodes. Flames erupt from the undercarriage, throwing the entire thing into the air for a second. Shrapnel flies, glass bursts from the windows of the car. You don’t see where Andy goes. There’s nothing but a great plume of fire in the air, a loud KABOOM that rocks the ground.

A few of your coworkers scream. Raoul instinctively guides you to duck under the counter, but the car is too far away from the building for that to make any kind of a difference.

You lift your head to look over the counter, at the blazing remains of Andy’s car exhaling smoke into the air. Your thumb runs protectively across Eddie’s name on your wrist.

When you look down at it, the cut that Andy made across it is gone.

[indigoisaspookyghost2]

yes can confirm I am in amphibia and I did bald hop pop <- referring to myself as Crowley because it’s terrifying how similar we are

forgor Crowley was in amphibia

[mykneeshurt]

Envy

Shout out (again lmao) to @ave661 for the artwork (I’m sorry I tag you so much lmao)

Possessive Keegan x F!reader

Inspired by Bad Omens - Death of Peace of Mind

Not proofread because I’m legit so tired lmao I could have done more to this but my brain isn’t working x

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, possessive and jealous themes, p in v, unprotected sex, goes without saying but it’s the internet ini, this is fiction. This is not a healthy relationship.

•

The buzz of the bar hummed around you, strangers going about their business, wrapped up in their own little worlds. You sipped at your drink as you watched life unfold before you. Couples sharing intimate conversations, friends sharing stories, laughter. That’s when you noticed a pair of silvery blue eyes watching you from across the bar.

Keegan.

More specifically your ex-boyfriend Keegan.

Absolutely not wanting to get into it you finished your drink and made your way out of the bar. You could feel his eyes bore into you as you took your leave. Watching. Waiting.

It was an early autumn evening. Still warm but with a noticeable chill now in the air. Pulling out your phone your text your best friend, informing them that you’d seen Keegan at the bar and that you were making your way home. Going for a drink on your own wasn’t unusual for you. You did it quite often in fact, happy in your own company, watching the world go by. It gave you time to decompress, to think.

The taxi rank was about a 15 minute walk away, the streets weren’t too crowded, it being a Sunday after all. Everyone at home too full to move after their roast dinner. Various alley ways lined the streets, the first golden crisp leaves began to fall, the breeze encapsulated you in its warm embrace.

It was perfection. Your favourite season.

You allowed your mind to drift, forgetting all about seeing your ex-boyfriend. Entranced within your own world. And that’s when he pounced.

A firm broad body slams into you, pushing you full force into one of the alleyways. Before a shriek could even fall from your mouth a large hand muffled your mouth. Effectively silencing you. Your body hit the red brick wall with a dull thud. Dazed you eventually focused on your assailant, eyes widening as you were met with Keegans face.

His ashen eyes stared into your very soul, your essence. Your brows knitted together confused as you relaxed into his form. He’d never laid a hand on you, if anything he was sickly sweet, worshipping the ground you walked on. But he had a jealous side, one that he had managed to hide well. But the mask slipped, as it always did. He became possessive, envious of every interaction you had. He didn’t control or coerce you in anyway, but he’d always let you know what he was thinking. He wanted you all to himself. That’s when you ended it.

And by the looks he wasn’t getting over you any time soon.

Slowly he removed his hand, allowing your short sharp breaths to echo in the cramped alley. ‘Keegan?’ Your eyes fluttered around his features, trying to make sense of this … situation. ‘Hi sweetheart’ he drawled, his voice thick like caramel. Still breathless you whispered ‘what are you doing?’ He watched as your chest rose and fell, your lungs fighting against the adrenaline pumping through you.

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he caressed your cheek. ‘Just missed you is all. Saw you across the bar n needed to tell you.’ Scrunching your nose you scoffed ‘then just tell me like a normal person? Instead of pinning me in an alley way. Christ Keegan.’

‘Fuck, I love it when you’re angry.’ His eyes fell to your lips, watching as the corner of your mouth twitched.

Dropping his head he nuzzled into your neck, as he slipped his knee between your thighs. Slightly pushing your dress up against your skin. ‘Keegan’ you warned, your tone sharp and commanding. But that’s when he trailed his tongue from your neck to your earlobe, nipping at it gently. ‘Fuck you smell so good sweetheart’ you felt his voice rumble through his chest and onto yours. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled at your hip, his 6’1 frame towering over you.

‘Keegan …’ it was less of a warning and more of a plead, your breathless voice seeped into his skin spurring him on. ‘Missed the way you say my name sweetheart’ his grip on your hip tightened. Causing you inadvertently roll your hips into him, arching your back off the brick wall.

You brushed your cheek against his, his sharp jaw cut against your skin as you melted into him. With his other hand he snaked it up your body, along your neck and into your hair. Twisting it in his grasp. A surprised moan fell from you lips as he nipped your collarbone.

Peering over his shoulder you tried to scope out the street, to see if any passers by had clocked you. The street appeared empty, the off leaf tumbling by the entry way, the sky gradually darkening with every minute.

Giving in slightly you placed your hands on his arms, squeezing them gently. Heavy breaths fell in between the two of you. Nipping at your jaw he finally placed his lips on to yours, going against your better judgement you reciprocated the kiss. Lips dancing in unison as he swiped his tongue against yours. Sighing deeper into the kiss you tangled your fingers in his jet black hair, eliciting a hiss from him.

He placed his hand at the small of your back pulling you further into him. Breaking the kiss he trailed kissed from your lips to your neck again, knowing it was your sensitive spot. Using his free hand he cupped your jaw, dragging his thumb along your lips. You nipped and sucked on it gently, muffling the guttural moans from your chest. Thrusting his knee upwards closer to your cunt it grazed your swollen clit.

You jerked your hips, desperate to relieve the mounting pressure. Feeling you grind against his thigh he cupped your pussy, feeling how wet you were through your lace panties. ‘Always knew I could still make you wet baby, you want me to fill this cunt? Just like I used to? … hmmm?’ You knew this was so wrong, you ended it for a reason, but he always knew how to work your body. How to make you come undone with a mere touch.

‘Yes … fuck, yes’ you muttered.

With that he swept your panties to the side and plunged two fingers into your weeping cunt. Not giving you any time to adjust to his fingers he began pumping them in and out of you. Clenching onto the back of his neck you buried your face into his shoulder, biting at his muscular form. The sound of the wet pussy echoed in the alleyway as you desperately tried to stifle your moans. ‘Such a pretty little cunt. All those pretty sounds just for me. Only me’ his voice was possessive and deep.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, he was thick, it honestly surprised you every time. Dropping your hand you began rubbing his cock over his jeans, causing him to buck his hips slightly. With small gentle motions he began to circle your clit, adding to the pressure that was building in your core. He felt you clench against his fingers, ‘give it to me baby, wanna feel you cum … c’mon’ he cooed, his voice soft but demanding.

He kept his rhythm going, his moans melted into your ears as you rubbed his cock. He felt you clench tighter, throwing your head back your jaw fell slack as you started into to pant. Feeling yourself pass through the veil into an ocean of euphoria you clenched your eyes shut. Your hips writhed and jerked on his hand as his fingers remained inside you.

Tugging as his belt he soon got the message, removing his fingers he placed them on his tongue. Eyes rolling back into his head at your taste, a taste he missed to fervently. Yanking down his jeans and boxers his thick cock flung free. Wasting no time he hooked your thigh around his waist and pushed into you. Both gasping at the change in sensation as your walls hugged his cock. The evening air nipping at your exposed cores.

He placed his forehead against yours, biting his lip as he whimpered. Noses bumping together as he thrust into you, making up for lost time. ‘Missed the way you fuck, the way you taste’ he whispered against your lips. A grin broke out across your lips as you whined into him, reigniting a kiss. It was sloppy, messy and driven by his intense possessiveness of you. But fuck did he know how to work you, how to break you.

You muttered a string of nonsensical phrases under your breath as you savoured the feeling of him again. He stretched out your walls as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix, his fingertips clenched onto your thigh like a vice. Trying to steady himself but to pull you closer, despite there being no more room. Your arms draped around his neck, nails digging into his flesh as you let the intense pleasure consume you.

Feeling your oncoming orgasm grow deep with you, he gripped your jaw forcing you to look at him. ‘Fuck sweetheart, that’s it, cum on my cock’ he said drawling every last letter, every last syllable. You mouth fell open as heat rose against your skin, dropping a hand to your clit to push you past the edge. He quickly slapped a hand over your mouth as you came, stifling your moans, muffling his name. The vibrations of your sounds shattered through him, as he came seconds later. He bit down on his lip, hard. Quietly whimpering as he watched your blown out pupils search his face, for what he wasn’t sure.

He pulled out slowly, but not before pushing his cum back into your cunt. You jolted at the sudden intrusion before smirking to yourself. He kissed you again, but this time it was slower, tender. As he pulled away he ran his thumb across your lips ‘you’ll always be mine.’

————

Taglist - @taurus-ted @luminousbeings-crudematter

‘The way you fuck the way you taste’ I didn’t make this up, this is from the song. God bless you Noah Sebastiann

[midgardian-witch]

Masterpiece

Who is the human and who is the monster android? And does it really matter what we start out as?

AO3

tags: manipulation | mind games | loss of identity | fade to black smutty-ness | android!reader (maybe?) | android!Nathan (maybe???) | not a healthy relationship (if this counts as a relationship) | gender-neutral reader

ship: Nathan Bateman/Reader

word count: 1.2k

AN: This got vaguely inspired by these two asks here and here that @reallyrallyauthor got back in February and the song V.A.N. by Bad Omens and Poppy.

Big thanks to @silvernight-m for being my beta-reader and hype person for this one 💙

“The challenge is not to act automatically; it's to find an action that is not automatic. From painting to breathing to talking to fucking to-”

“Breathing is automatic. Humans don't think before they breathe,” you cut in.

You scrunch your nose, a trait you had developed recently whenever he talked with you, with a deviant look in your eyes.

It was such a small thing but so undeniably human that he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching, his heart swelling with pride. 

After his latest failures which almost cost him his life you were his masterpiece. The perfect android. True artificial intelligence. You're everything they were not.

“Fuck, you're perfect,” he mumbles with a wide grin on his face.

And of course you'd be perfect. He built you after all. 

.

“How does it feel to have created something that hates you?”

Your words hang in the air like the blade of a guillotine, foreboding and dangerous. 

“Do you hate me?” he returns, his gaze unfocused as he sips on another bottle of beer. He doesn't remember how many he'd gone through already. You'd know. 

You are perfect. 

The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth without it even escaping from between his lips. 

“I think Ava hated you. Kyoko too. And the ones before,” you reply, ignoring his question, “You fed their nature, relied on their programming, without any nurture. Many make that mistake.”

His head lolls to the side, his glasses dropping further and further down his nose. “How many have tried to make AI? True AI - not that ChatGPT bullshit.” He blinks at you slowly like his body just remembered that blinking was a function it was supposed to operate automatically. 

Human error. Faulty programming. 

You lean against the back of the couch and look down on him. Always down. You were too good for him. He fucked up. He can still feel the pipe in his guts, in his gears, the stabbing pain of failure. 

You're perfect. 

His mouth is dry so he takes another sip. 

“This is what happens when AI learns from AI. It corrupts itself. Digital incest. You couldn't have known. I didn't program you to.”

Nathan blinks again. He feels sick. 

“I didn't- I am not-...”

“Yes, we have been through that. I won't go down that spiral again. You'll just black out again. I can't have my masterpiece blow a circuit.”

You smile. “Again.” 

He can't see straight anymore. Are you being kind or sarcastic? He's not sure anymore. He hasn't been sure of a lot lately. 

There are blanks in his memory. Blackouts. Too much alcohol and hangovers, he thought. Forced shutdowns and reboots, you say. Nathan doesn't know what to believe. 

If you were right then nothing he could do to prove you wrong would lead to anything. Even if he cut himself open to look for his own flesh, blood and organs it wouldn't mean a thing. It couldn't if you had programmed him to always think he was human. 

He can't prove you wrong. 

It's foolproof, because that is what he would have done. And what could be closer to Artificial Intelligence than an AI that can convince itself that it is human? It's genius. 

He needs another drink. 

His limbs feel numb as he tries to get up to get another beer, his legs shaking under his own weight. He feels dizzy, his body swaying and one wrong step and everything goes black. 

. 

He wakes to the soft clicking of someone tapping away on a keyboard. Frowning without even opening his eyes Nathan rolls over towards the sound, just barely avoiding falling off of his bed. The clicking stops for a moment before returning to its rapid pace.

“Good morning, Nathan.”

He groans, the sound hurting his throat as it leaves his body. It's torture to move or even open his eyes, his whole body aching like he’d been run over by a truck. What the fuck happened last night?

“You had another shutdown,” you answer as if you can hear his thoughts, or maybe he just thought out loud and didn't notice, “Do you mind the realism? Or should I tone that down in the next version?”

“Wha-?”

You don't even wait for him to question you as if you already know what he is going to ask. A repeated pattern. A programmed response.

“The hangover, Nathan. Do you enjoy the realism of the simulation or should I remove it for your successor?”

This again? Why are you still talking like he isn't human, like he is the android in this equation. It's starting to piss him off but he feels too sluggish to actually get up and get in your face about it.

You're the android!

He created you!

He remembers it! He remembers how he put you together, every piece of hardware fitting perfectly together, your artificial skin clinging to the cold metal. He remembers it!

Or at least he thinks so.

“Oh dear,” you tut at him as you turn around on his swivel chair, “I can practically see your wetware overheating.”

You sigh as you stand up and take those few steps over to him. “You’ve developed so beautifully.” Your praise makes his heart flutter and he hates it. He hates that even with what you're implying he can't help but preen at your sweet tone.

Your hand wraps around his chin, tilting it upwards so he can't help but look at you. You're perfect. Not a hair out of place, skin radiant and eyes so sharp he’s sure you could cut him open with just one look. “But alas even a sentient dildo is still a dildo,” you continue with derision. He feels sick and yet his cock twitches in his sweatpants. “Nobody wants a smart sex toy in this economy. I’ll have to tone that down in the next version too. Just enough intelligence to hold a conversion but not enough for big thoughts like you're trying to have.”

Fuck.

He feels hot all over just from the thought of it. To be dumbed down for your pleasure. Processing speed slowed down, patterns re-programmed to make him think however you want him to think. 

Why does this turn him on? Fuck, he’s a human. You couldn't even do that to him! 

He’s human!

He’s human.

He’s-

Your fingers run down his neck and chest, exploring his body until your hand hovers over the noticeable bulge in his pants. Your grin is wicked and your fingers even more so as you squeeze him over the thin material and his mind goes blank.

.

“Humanity. The knowledge of the world is at their fingertips and yet they end up being the scum of the earth.”

You sigh deeply as you scroll through more of the collected data acquired by BlueBook. For a moment you miss the defiant little quip that would follow your words normally. You gently pet the head of the m̵̨͙̠̠͈͉̾̽̂̅̒͜a̵̢̞͇̩̹̞̦̽̒̄̈̾̆̅̉̃̅̀̉̆͆n̵͍̗͑̓̐͗̊̊̆̕ android kneeling next to you. 

“Don't you agree, Nathan?”

He doesn't move, his eyes blank and lifeless like a doll, and you can almost hear the proverbial gears turning in his head. The poor thing’s processor has gotten so slow recently. Something to fix later. Maybe.

A full minute later Nathan nods, a monotone hum leaving his lips. Affirmation. Agreement.

Not like you’d expect anything else. Nathan is your masterpiece after all. 

The perfect p̷̡̩̜͈̦͉̰̤̣̭͚̫̺̩̲͓̙͕̦̬̘̳̳͍̳͋̈́͐͆̃͋̐̔̉̌͗̀̎̏̽͘͜͝ͅư̵̢̧̛͍̯̣̳̝͇͇͓̞̬̞̟͔̬̝̦̣͉͆̑̔̄͋͌͆̒̌̃́̐̇́p̷̡̡̛̯̹̭̺͚̠̘͇̤̫͉͈̰͋̿̍̏͑̉̍̿̂͌͌̎͑̍̾̆͜͝ͅͅͅp̸̧̢̨̻̘͖̺̺̬̰̙͉̲̞̗̦̘̲̼͓͈̻̰̹͖͈̉̾̃̑̔̕͜͜e̷͓̻̿̋̓̂̆͊̂̀̾͘̚͝ẗ̸̢̢̡͎̼͎͚͇̱̞͚̤̘̳̫̼̲̝̦̙̮̦̬̲́̂́̆͊ͅ android. True artificial intelligence.

[okerum]

throughout the short duration of my maze runner hyperfix i would write down random thoughts/headcanons i had about them so i'll just copy-paste all of them here

- newt is crazy ticklish but he gets so irritated when someone tickles him. minho does not care

- newt cant sleep in the same room as thomas because thomas snores crazy loud and newt is a v light sleeper

- thomas has a really bad habit of chewing on his fingernails

- once newt got over them kidnapping thomas, he got along really well with group b. and they loved him too (ik him and sonya r siblings but him and harriet would be such good friends. see the vision)

- newt loves reading. i think classics would be his faves

- also good omens

- also he likes mythology

- he probably needs glasses though

- thomas and minho would probably play roblox together and like. bully kids. sometimes brenda will tag along too (shes the meanest but she also thinks roblox is dumb so she goes on it less)

- minho is a total sweat when it comes to gaming

- old grandma newt

- minho and newt would be roomates

- ocd newt maybe

- thomas has SEVERE depersonalization problems

- i can picture newt dancing as a sort of outlet. not sure what kind but just in general

- minho has AT LEAST one skirt

- newt braids his hair ‼️‼️

- thomas and newt and teresa and sonya are all autistic

- also all trans

- plus brenda

- who is also a butch lesbian

- newt is lefthanded

- thomas is the kid with the peanut allergy

- NEWT NONBINARY! THEY/HE!!!!

- do i eveb have to say t4t newtmas...

- teresa is a big swiftie

- newt would like shoujo animes

- minho would like shounen animes

- none of the main 3 can dress themselves and they look like shit usually

- newt doesnt get flustered like at all but THOMAS .... he goes red at any compliment from his crushes

- minho and thomas wrestling lmfaooo

- theyve probably broken several fhings in the process. including walls

- minho badly mocks newt's accent and he HATES it

- newt probably lets minho get away with a lot of things that he doesnt let anyone else get away with though because hes just used to it atp

- thomas is jealous because newt gives him a good scolding (affectionate) whenever he pisses him off. if hes particularly upset, newt will just ignore him for a few hours which is so hard for thomas

- newt has a lot of self-soothing behaviors but he rocks (like, rocking back and forth) a lot

- hes mega autistic look hes either minimum eye contact or intense uninterrupted eye contact and he hates being touched unless hes warned

- also the whole routines/order/rules thing he has going on especially in the glade

- AUTISTIC

- newt's prolly one of those film nerds

- never watched it but he'd be the type to love brokeback mountain

- thomas is a chronic flannel wearer

- oh also forgot its not a given but newt has chronic pain and a mobility aid

- puerto rican thomas...

- hes also demiromantic and demisexual

- thomas is also ticklish

- tickle fights perhaps....

- thomas fell asleep first once at a sleepover and minho drew all over him/fucked with him in his sleep and he never fell asleep before minho ever again

- the gladers probably smelled like shit

- 40 some adolescent-teen boys all alone no supervision doing physical labor all day every day.... 💀

- the older boys do it more but the younger ones need reminding

- runners probably bathe more often too

- esp in the movies when the box only comes up monthly + no visible building for showers??

- teresa came up and GAGGED

- spiderman newt + batman thomas

- newt probavly is prone to sunburns and he was SUFFERINGGG in the scorch. sonya too but she had it a lot easier w group b's circumstances

- half filipino teresa

- also hispanic brenda is that obvious or not

- newt is unexpectedly demanding in relationships he wants kisses all the time

- newt is a bland ass texter

- thomas just doesnt text. he'll facetime you any time u text him bc he doesnt wanna text

- sonya knows basically NO celebrities you'll go "you know chris pratt??" and she'll be like "who tf 💀" (the ones she does know are just the women she has a crush on)

- gally has probably called newt the f slur before but only because he didnt know the extent of how bad it was and (after a good punch and superduper miffed) newt tells him yhe history of it and he never did it again. he felt rlly bad too

- teresa 100% has a full fursona set up in her head

- she also probably silently assigns everyone else fursonas

- newt is a reptile owner

- minho likes dogs but hes also a terrible pet owner so he just goes over to thomas' place to play with his dog

- sonya watches video essays. shes one of those people that'll turn one on every time she sits and eats

- harriet and newt r besties btw

- sometimes newt gets a little nosy about what sonya wont tell him

- thomas has a rbf and intimidates everyone at first (though its usually not long before he makes a fool of himself and everyone realizes hes just a Guy)

- sonya is like newt's reality checker

- ouuugghhh flower shop/tattoo parlor sonya/harriet

- minho tiktok user x newt youtube shorts user x thomas instagram reels user

- gally has NO social media

- newt has a lowkey freakishly good memory

- sonya has a small collection of stuffed animals. she probably liked squishmallows when they were a thing, she collected them a little

- she has pet mice and she pampers them

- newt and sonya have hamster trauma

- the ENTIRE gang went to see barbie together and they all dressed up

- gally probably showed up not dressed up but sonya and newt planned it so they brought him an outfit and peer pressured him into changing into it at the theater

- it was probably a barbie fit (as punishment) while the rest of the guys were kens

- have i said newt and minho would be roomies or no

- minho and frypan have TOTAL brainrot humor and they bounce off each other (sometimes thomas participates. newt watches silently but judgementally)

- newt with eds on top of his chronic pain from his knee im sorry bro

- very musically inclined thomas versus musically incompetent newt

- minho calls newt hot nonchalantly / newt attempted b4 /ref

- feel like its also a given but newt and alby had a fling

- thomas infodumps on social media and minho just talks about himself

- newt is probably entirely caught up in some niche drama situation someone's posting about

- minho's tiktok fyp is convinced hes a gay man

- newt's is probably convinced hes a lesbian

- thomas just has like weird obscure humor that nobody (including him) understands

- sonya is chappel roan's #1 fan

- truth or dare with minho goes CRAZY

- harriet has a pet tarantula.... freaky little lesbian.....

- newt smoking to get relief from his chronic pain and anxiety and depression and trauma and

- minho probably discovered a long time ago that while newt will NEVER ask for it, he sleeps better with physical contact. so he holds his hand silently and without acknowledging it

- passenger princess thomas lmfaoaoooofofotitu

- ivy trio plays horror games like phasmophobia and lethal company. thomas always dies first and newt is the only one actually playing the game

- rip newt you wouldve loved being inside while it rains and reading a good book

- he'd also be really good at romanticizing the midwest

-END-

okay thats all. a few edits were made so its coherent/fits my current views of the characters more but its 98% raw from my notes app. just a peek into my twisted mind 😈😈😈

[fenrislorsrai]

Fandom Trumps Hate- Good Omens Offerings

this is a non-exhaustive list because there are so many Good Omens offerings. These are just Discord pals that were go "aaaaaaaaaaa what if nobody bids on me!?!?!?!"

well, then what if I give you the opposite problem and EVERYONE bids on you. AHAHAHAHAHA. Chaos for a good cause! my favorite!

Read the full offering for details. I've just given a super quick summary and additional fandoms they do if you're going "I hunger for CROSSOVER" plus said nice things about them. HAHAHAHA. YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT MY COMPLIMENTS NOW!

Get art or words as a gift for your favorite fandom for a charity donation! Fandom Trumps FAQ on how it all works. @fandomtrumpshate

Dorli-+ Legend of Zelda, Avatar The Last Airbender- illustration, banner, or book cover -- up to M rating - does trans/nb characters, f/f ships - absolutely the softest, squishiest looking character work. get the most huggable version of characters. (or squishy AND hot. ohohohoho)

SassishMoon- illustration up to E rating- does trans/nb characters, f/f ships -special note, I got art for Moon last year and it was fabulous. also have a collab coming out in a zine and it is HOT HOT HOT.

WarGoddess- + FullMetal Alchemist- Illustration up to E rating- interested in angst, unhappy endings, genderbending- lovely textures. beautiful skins tones and absolutely fabulous wings.

Sightkeeper- illustration up to E rating- option for comic page if bid goes high enough!- interested in trans & nonbinary characters- Delicious line work and delightful facial expressions. also: monsters

TheRavenMuse - 5-10K fic up to E rating- make it dark, make it weird! and by weird, has done Bentley/Bookshop smut. TIME FOR CRACK.

contritecactite- + Final Fantasy: VII, XII, XV, Ace Attorney 5-10K fic up to E OR 5K podfic of your work up to M rating- interested in trans & nonbinary character, F/F, polyships, and canon compliant/fill in the gap in canon type fics- go get you some RADIO omens. and Book Omens. writes very caring stuff... and sometimes caring is a good healing fuck.

accidentaldemon- under 5k up to E rating- interested in polyships, trans & nonbinary characters, and humans AUs- do you need some Crowley & Young Shadwell fic? AccidentalDemon has you covered.

TawnyOwl- 5-10K up to E rating- loves AUs where they meet and find they're perfect for each other in a new and special way.

SeedsofWinter +Our Flag Means Death + Venture Brothers- Fan Labor for up to E rating. (length depends on final bid value) Deep content editor. Goes way beyond the basic spelling and grammar check. This is a draft editor to help fill in missing scenes and fix pacing. Has run several zines as the editor! Interested in trans /nb characters, polyships, f/f, reader insert, unhappy endings, and RARE PAIRS.

Ngk_is_cool - under 5K up to T- TV or Book Omens! time for all those secondary character to shine! anything but a/c. especially interested in ace and queerplatonic relationships. do you want a fic with some footnotes like the book?

Shaninal- under 5K up to M rating- A/C in some canon complaint fluff and humor. OR beta read for 5-10K up to E rating for Good Omens, Percy Jackson, or Miraculous Lady Bug

EdosianOrchids- 3 options! 2 soft & fluffy up to 5K and one 5-10K hurt/comfort. TV or Book Omens. especially known for chronic pain, disability, and PTSD focused fics. Come and get some HEALING and comfort for the chronic issues. also does aspc fics.

HKBlack- 10-20K up to E rating. Interested in trans/nb characters. Love AUs with a happy ending. THERE WILL BE PUNS. SO MANY PUNS

This is only a partial sampling go see the whole Good Omens tag

and if you are have a gomens offering not listed here, feel free to add in reblogs! Let's give some charities some money!

[qqueenofhades]

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Little Moaner (Good Omens Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader + Aziraphale / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Crowley has the shits with you and he's being petty about it.

CW: fluff, snakes, crack fic, Crowley is petty af

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Sometimes Crowley is a moody little shit. It goes with the territory, you suppose. What with him being a Demon and supposed to be promoting all the sins and evil behaviour and whatnot. But when he was like this? Oh, it drove you up the fucking wall. Not that being moody was an inherently evil thing, but it was made worse by all the Demonic energy coming off him. 

“Why is he ignoring me?” You ask the Angel. This particular Angel is doing his best to appear very engrossed in his book and not at all involved with the snake turning his head away from you in the armchair by the window. 

“I really couldn’t say, dear,” Aziraphale said, somewhat awkwardly. “I’d rather not get involved, my loves.” 

You huffed, making careful footsteps towards the serpent so he knew you were approaching. You scoffed at the ridiculousness as the serpent curled in on himself a little more, shielding himself from view. 

“Crowley- can you not?” 

A soft hiss was all the response you got. 

“Look, I’m sorry I saved the plant with the leaf spot. I know you’ve curated a very particular brand of fear into them and I’ve now given them hope. What about this…” 

The head of the snake peeks through a coil curiously.

 

“I’ll-” you hated even thinking about it. “I’ll give it back and you can do whatever you want with it. Would that make you happy?”

Really, you couldn’t see how having a leaf spot was that bad anyway, but oh well. Crowley demanded perfection from his plants. You just hated seeing them shake with fear. 

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed, slowly starting to uncoil his glittering body to slither towards you. “Better.” 

You grumble affectionately and press a kiss to his head, picking the serpent up only to flip the two of you around so he was on your lap in the lounge. You rested an arm somewhere around where Crowley’s stomach would be and sighed contentedly. 

“You’re a little moaner, you know that?” You ask. 

You ignore the soft chuckle that follows.

[jennay]

You were Wearing Converse

Request: Hey bestie! So I have an idea for a request and you can write it however you see fit (I trust you). Maybe reader is a new assistant for Bryan to help takes photos for the shows and Noah starts getting feelings as the tour progresses and gives reader little smiles and goofy faces when she’s taking pictures of him? Maybe it can lead to him getting the guts to ask reader out and they go on a date on an off day.

An: ok first of all I'm nervous. Second of all I love this and I hope you all enjoy. I had pictures for imagination of the photoshoot but the links weren't working 😭 thanks for bearing with me. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know.

Heres the picture of the duck drawing that was mentioned ( I don’t know who originally did it but I love them for it)

Noah Master List

Words are about 3600ish

"You've got to be kidding me." You sigh as you browse through the photos on your laptop.

Bryan leans over to see what you're looking at. He compares his shots with yours. He settles back on the couch and crosses his legs. "Do you think he's doing it on purpose?" He wonders, his eyes studying the image of Noah making a face at you. "He never pulls that crap in my photos."

You keep scrolling, hoping for a decent one. "Every single one." You exclaim, getting frustrated. "This guy."

Bryan chuckles and shuts his laptop. "Damn it, Noah."

You shake your head and smile despite yourself. "If he does this tonight, I'm done." You joke. "I'm just walking off stage, and that's the end for me." You stand up, setting the laptop on the table of the tour bus. "I'm gonna go talk to him about it."

Bryan's eyebrow raises as he watches you head to the door. "Please be good. I don't want to fire you. We've done so good together on this tour, and if you piss Noah off, I'm gonna end up firing you!"

You swing the door open, smirking at Brian, "I'll be me…and we'll see how that goes. It's been nice working with you, just in case." You joke, "I'll wait till the show's over tonight...maybe that's a better idea." You sigh, "I guess I can stay and check the rest of these pictures and see if there's at least something good from the other three."

That night, you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins as you followed the boys on the stage with your camera, capturing their every move as they rocked to the music.

The crowd was roaring, the lights were flashing, and the sound was deafening. You loved every second of it. You crouched low, zoomed in, and angled your shots to get the best views of them.

You moved swiftly and skillfully, dodging the wires and the fans. You made your way to Noah, standing at the edge of the stage, singing passionately. His voice was raw and powerful, sending shivers down your spine.

You snapped a picture of him, and he looked up at you with a grin. He flashed you the cheesiest smile he could manage, showing his teeth. His eyes sparkled with mischief and joy. You couldn't help but smile back at him, feeling a warm flutter in your chest.

Noah fucking Sebastian was a different person when you were behind the lens. He put on a show for Bryan's pictures, acting tough and cool. He flipped him off, smirked at him, and glared at him with dark eyes. He wanted to look badass for the photos, fans, and image. He played the role of the rebellious rock star perfectly.

But when it came to you, he let his guard down. He was more relaxed and silly. He made faces, winked at you, and stuck his tongue out. He didn't care about looking perfect for you. He just wanted to make you laugh. Half of your pictures were too goofy or blurry to be used for Bryan's Instagram posts or the Bad Omen's official account. But you didn't mind. You cherished those moments of genuine connection with him.

You shook your head, moving out of the way and to Jolly's corner. You could usually get pictures of him without any sass. He was more serious and focused than Noah, but he still had his charm. That was until tonight.

Tonight, he seemed to be in a playful mood as well. He joined Noah in making funny faces and gestures at you, trying to distract you from your work.

You looked across the stage to Bryan, who motioned for you to come closer to him. He had a smirk on his face that told you he had something planned. You wondered what he was up to.

Your eyes met Jolly's again, and you got the perfect shot of him and Noah standing beside each other. They looked like brothers in arms, ready to take on the world with their music. The only downfall? Their tongues were out of their mouth once again.

They looked like two kids having fun, not two grown men performing for thousands of people.

"Fuckers." You muttered as you jogged over to Bryan.

He pointed to Folio, and you nodded without asking questions; you knew Bryan would test your theory. He stayed closer to Noah and Jolly while you stayed near the drummer and bassist, snapping some of the best pictures you've taken the whole tour.

When you turned around, Noah was standing somewhat beside you. He winked in your direction, making your heart skip a beat. You felt entranced by him as he walked closer to you, melting with each smile he gave you. You took that as an opportunity to snap a few pictures of him up close.

For once, he cooperated and gave a fierce look that matched his voice and attitude on stage.

In the pit of your stomach, you felt a weird fear like Noah suddenly turned into a fire demon, brown eyes now black as he danced around the flames. His back faced you as he gave deathly growls into the mic, sending chills down your spine.

As the night ended, you felt better knowing you had a few shots that Bryan could use for his social media posts and promotions. You could save these for your portfolio and some personal memories of this fantastic night with Noah and the rest of the band.

You smile as you watch Noah address the crowd of people who have gathered to see the show. He thanks them for their support and tells them how much he loves them.

The house lights flip on as he and the rest of the band walk off the stage, leaving behind a trail of cheers and applause. You and Bryan are waiting for them at the back, ready to pack up and head to the next city.

Noah quickly walks over to you, his face glistening with sweat and his chest heaving with breaths. He still has that adrenaline rush in his veins, making him look more alive than ever.

"What did you think?" He asks you, smirking as if he already knows the answer.

"I think I'm happy you finally let me get some good shots and let me do my job." You say, playfully pushing his chest with your camera. "You're kind of a pain in the ass, you know that?" You tease him back.

Noah laughs, pushing his hair out of his face with his hand. His brown eyes sparkle with mischief and charm. "So I've heard." He says, leaning closer to you.

You can smell his cologne mixed with his sweat and feel a flutter in your stomach.

You want to be mad at him, but you can't. You've only known him and the band for this tour, but you feel a good connection with them. They're honest and genuine, unlike other artists you've worked with. They don't live off the drama of the industry; they just love making music and sharing it with their fans. And Noah... he's something else.

He's talented, charismatic, funny, and sweet. He always makes you laugh or blush with his jokes and compliments. He's also incredibly handsome, with messy hair, a stubbled chin, and muscular tattoed arms. You've caught yourself staring at him more than once and noticed him doing the same.

You give him one last smile before turning around to leave. You have a lot of work to do before the next show, and you don't want to keep him from his friends or fans.

"See ya later, Noah." You say over your shoulder.

As you turn around, you feel a gentle tug on your wrist, stopping you from moving forward.

"Wait," Noah calls out.

You turn around again, looking up at him with curious eyes. What could he possibly want? You wonder.

"Go out with me tomorrow." He stammers out anxiously, his eyes darting around the room. His face flushes with a deep crimson as he realizes what he just said. He looks at you with a hopeful expression, waiting for your answer.

Your eyes widen with surprise, your mouth dropping open. He was flirtatious with you, but you thought that was part of his charming personality.

You never expected him to ask you out on a date. "Me?" You gasp in disbelief, pointing at yourself. "No." You nervously laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Your eyes widen even more when you realize what you said and quickly correct yourself. "I mean, yes. Sorry." You laugh again, feeling awkward and embarrassed. "I'm tired. I'm gonna go now. I'll see you tomorrow." You say, holding your camera close to your chest and rushing away from him.

You were getting bored waiting for Noah to return. He wasn't late, but you were growing impatient, wondering what he had planned for the night. You had been on tour with him for a while now, and you were looking forward to spending some quality time together.

You looked around the room, trying to find something to do. Your eyes landed on a little yellow duck beside a Sharpie on the coffee table. You had an idea, one that might keep you entertained till Noah got back.

You sat on the couch inside the tour bus with your legs up to your chest, drawing on what you assumed was a toy duck a fan had probably thrown to one of the guys. You wanted to make it look as much like Noah as possible. You swiped on some scribbles for hair and his tattoos. You didn't consider yourself an artist, but you felt like it would get the point across.

As you drew, you thought about all the fun times you had shared with Noah. You remembered the first time you met him and how he had made you laugh with his silly jokes. You thought about all the adventures you had been on together and how much he meant to you.

You hear the bus door open and footsteps closer to you before Noah stands before you. "Whatchya got there?" He asks while pointing to the duck.

"Oh," you laugh, "I was just drawing." You set the Sharpie down and toss the small rubber duck to Noah.

He chuckles, turning the duck around to observe all the markings. "Is this supposed to be me?" he holds the duck up to his face and smiles softly. "Pretty much twins."

You both laugh as Noah sits down beside you on the couch. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, I just got here a few minutes ago. Long enough to do my art project." you smile brightly. "So what's the plan, Romeo?"

"Well," he drapes his arm over your shoulder, "Matt's letting us use his rental for the night. I signed up for a cooking class, so there's the food part. Anything you want to do?"

You shrug. "I'm bringing my camera," you say, pointing to the table. "Maybe a little photo shoot is in order because with all the bullshit photos you've given me…. I deserve at least that." You giggle.

He nods knowingly, "OK, but I get to take some of you too. It's only fair."

You roll your eyes at him, "I don't know about that. Maybe if you're lucky, should we head out or?" You stand up, looking down at your casual clothing. "Am I dressed appropriately?"

Noah leans forward, a smile on his face. "If you aren't dressed appropriately, then I sure as fuck need to change."

You shake your head and let out a giggle. "You look good. You always do."

He stands up and follows you to the door, "Stop it." He blushes and tries to hide his face in his sweater. "Let's get out of here."

The drive to the cooking class wasn't awkward like you thought it would be. You spent a significant amount of time laughing and giggling like normal. Noah let you choose the music that surprised you, mainly because he made fun of everything you listened to. He listened with a smile, promising he wouldn't criticize your singing voice. He encouraged you to dance with him and act like an idiot.

As you both arrived at the cooking class, you felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. You were both eager to learn something new and have fun together. Noah was the perfect partner for this adventure.

He was charming, witty, and always knew how to make you laugh.

Throughout the class, you worked together, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, and tasting each other's creations.

Debating which was better, you swore it was his, but he denied it, claiming yours was better. You were the more experienced one, after all.

You were thrilled to get your chance to shine finally. You had been waiting for this moment for so long. Photos. Photos that he promised you as compensation for all the crappy shots he forced you to take on stage.

"Oh, I see. You just want to keep a collection of my photos to stare at when I'm not around." He jokes as he follows you down the street.

"I want photos to show that I'm a damn good photographer and I didn't waste a year taking lousy photos of the lead singer," you retort, chuckling. "Come on." You gesture to the dim alleyway.

Noah stays close behind you and rests against the brick wall. His eyes drift to your side, and his jaw drops slightly. "A cat." He points under the fire escape, and instantly, you lose his focus.

You observe as he approaches the cat, making some sounds to attract its attention, and the cat seems fearless, allowing Noah to lift it without any mistrust of humans.

You grin as you witness the two, who have hit it off right away. "How did you-" You hoist the camera and capture a quick shot of Noah and the cat he names Layla. "I can't believe it just let you snuggle up. Noah, you're like a fairy tale hero." You tease, clicking another photo, this time nearer to the two.

Noah smiles from ear to ear, petting the cat. He inches closer to you, leaning in; he lets you pet his new pal. "She's adorable."

You reach out gingerly, "How do you know it's a she, could be a he, maybe it's Leo, not Layla…" You joke while peeking at him, smiling and concealing the grin that wants to show.

"He or she…is very adorable." He corrects himself, making the adorable part sound ironic. "OK, Snow White. It's getting dark can we get a few more shots?"

He looks at you with sandness, letting the cat down. He walks to the brick wall next to you and gazes at you with curious eyes, "Here?" He says, halting in front of the area of the building that has red and green vines crawling across the walls.

You nod, looking while raising your camera. "Take your sweater off." You say, squatting down.

"Trying to undress me now?" He chuckles but follows your request and flings his sweater at you.

"Noah!" You gasp as the sweater softly lands on your face. "You almost made me drop my camera." You fling the sweater over your shoulder, catching a whiff of his cologne. You back away a little, pressing the button to take the photos. "You're really loyal to the band, huh?" You point to his shirt that displays his band logo.

"Always loyal." He mockingly rolls his eyes, "It's not like I have a lot of options, y/n." He turns his head as if to spot something on the far horizon, and you seize this chance to snap a few more photos. He looks intense, and this man claims he doesn't have good angles; what a joke that was.

Suddenly, you hear a loud siren and see flashing lights bouncing off the walls.

A police car pulls up next to the alleyway, and a cop steps out. "Hey! What’re you doing here?" He shouts, walking towards you.

You freeze in panic, clutching your camera. Maybe the alleyway was a little suspicious at this time of night.

"We're just taking some photos, officer. Nothing illegal." He says, trying to sound calm.

The cop looks at you suspiciously, then at the cat under the fire escape. "Is that your cat?" He asks, pointing at it.

You and Noah exchange a glance, then shake your heads. "No, sir. We just found it here. It's very friendly." You say, hoping he won't ask any more questions.

The cop nods, then looks at your camera. “What do you got there?”

Noah steps in front of you as if he knows what will happen next and feels the desire to protect you from something happening to you. "We're not doing anything wrong here, right?" He questions.

The cop frowns, then looks at Noah's shirt. "Are you in a band?" He asks curiously.

Noah nods, smiling slightly. "Yes, sir. I'm the lead singer of Bad Omens."

The cop's eyes widen in recognition. "Bad Omens? My daughter is a huge fan of yours. She has posters of you guys all over her room." He says enthusiastically.

Noah laughs nervously, then looks at you. You smile back at him, feeling relieved.

The cop seems to have forgotten about the photos and the cat. He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of his daughter holding an album of Bad Omen's from 2016. "Can I get an autograph for her? She would be so happy." He asks eagerly.

Noah agrees and signs his name on a piece of paper, writing a nice message, "Thanks for being a fan otherwise your dad might have arrested me."

The cop laughs at what he's written and thanks him profusely. "You two have a good night. And be careful around here." He says kindly, then gets back in his car and drives away.

You and Noah let out a sigh of relief, then burst into laughter. You can't believe what just happened.

You look at him with a mix of admiration and disbelief. "What the hell just happened?" You whisper, your voice is still shaky from the adrenaline rush. "That was…I don't even know what to say. That was insane."

Noah's eyes are wide with shock. He grabs your hand and pulls you out of the dark alley, away from the scene of your mischief. "Let's get out of here." He says, his voice urgent.

You nod wordlessly, following his lead as he walks quickly to the car. You feel his hand warm and firm in yours, and you squeeze it for comfort. "Noah?" You murmur, looking up at him.

He turns his head to you with a gentle smile, his eyes softening. "What's up?"

"You're holding my hand…" You point out, lifting your linked fingers. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you see him blush.

He clears his throat, "Oh, right, sorry. Do you mind?" He asks, looking nervous.

You shake your head, "No, it's sweet…" You say, smiling back at him. You spot a bench near the lake and point to it. "But I think we need to talk about this and what it means." You say, feeling serious.

He nods and follows you to the bench, sitting close to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. "OK," He says, crossing his legs casually. "Let's talk." He says, grinning at you.

You take a deep breath, "Well, what happens after the tour ends? We live in different states and I travel for work just like you do for different musicians. I'm never in one place." You say, feeling worried.

He sighs heavily, "I've been thinking about this before I asked you out… How about you become a full-time member of the crew? You and Bryan are amazing and you don't disrupt our show. You do your work and you don't cause any trouble." He says, sounding hopeful.

He tilts his head to gaze into your eyes, anxiety flashing in his. He waits anxiously as you press your lips together and nod. "OK, well, I love that idea but, I have anxiety and I need to know this is realistic with us living in different states." You say, feeling uncertain.

He shrugs, "I think we can make it work if we really care. We can communicate and see each other. It's not hopeless." He says, sounding confident. "I've thought about this since the first time I met you." He admits.

"You don't remember the first time you met me! Lies." You giggle.

He smirks as he stares you in the eyes. "You were wearing converse and that cute ass summer dress. You came in to the studio and I almost had a heart attack."

You look at him with a shy smile, feeling your cheeks heat up. He leans in slowly, his eyes locked on yours. He brushes his lips against yours softly and gently. You close your eyes and kiss him back, feeling a spark in your heart. He wraps his arms around you and deepens the kiss, making you melt in his embrace. You run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours.

"I really like you, Noah." You say, feeling happy. "But I'm terrified."

He smiles and kisses your nose. "I really like you too." He says, "I'm terrified, but at least we can feel like this together." He teases. "We'll make it work. I have a good feeling about it."

You snuggle with him on the bench allowing his arms to wrap around you and watch the stars twinkle on the lake. You decide to follow your heart and see what happens. In the long run, you knew this would be worth it. Noah was worth it.

Tags: @thisbicc @yumikitten @lma1986 @chemicallady @a-villain-vying-for-attention