#i tried to hard to limit this to one woman per fandom but.... choosing between lucy and mina is impossible <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[biwonderland98]

Tagged by @gravedangerahead

Tagging: @thegoldenlily @origin-en-route @belikov-barnes @academiaipromise @sydneysageivashkov @hiccuppedstudio @alessiaworld @goldensydney @ciceroisthefamilycat

[justkeeptrekkin]

A gift to all my followers!

This is something I whacked out a couple of weeks ago- just a thank you to all my followers who’ve stuck around, or who have just found me within the Good Omens fandom! It means the world to see you guys enjoy my fics. This is my gift to you guys, now that 2019 is coming to a close!

Enjoy! x

***

It’s hard to keep track of time when they're together on a good day. It’s even harder on the best of days. 

The Ritz is busy. The lunch table is inappropriately large for just the two of them. They’re sat right next to each other. Champagne is bitter-sweet on Crowley’s tongue and he could watch Aziraphale for hours, listen to him talking for hours. He measures the way Aziraphale leans towards him with a hand stretched across the table, sharing a story. Eyes bright, typically taut posture unusually relaxed. Entire aura relaxed. The feeling in his own chest, relaxed.

And so it’s harder than usual to keep track of the time. People leave after tea; people arrive for dinner; people leave after dinner. The waiters stare at them from the kitchen doors, waiting for them to ask for the bill, which they don’t. Crowley barely has it in him to glare at them. 

Their knees touch for almost the entire time. 

For Crowley and Aziraphale, time has only ever been a construct. However, it has also, always, been bound by celestial responsibilities. Now, they have no such responsibilities. And they are no longer being watched. 

The sky is darkening just a little when they finally leave. Green Park remains busy at-

Crowley checks the time on his phone.

-Greek Park remains busy at five thirty on a Tuesday night. People line up at the bus stop, heading home from work. Tourist stands filled with union jacks litter the streets outside the park. The colonnade of The Ritz shelters them from a light bit of drizzle. 

Crowley slides his hands into his negligible pockets and considers what comes next. Dining at The Ritz has always comes with a time limit, and somewhere to go immediately afterwards. Some sort of agenda. He doesn’t know what that is now. 

He looks over at Aziraphale, who hovers. Hovers and fiddles with his hands. Gaze flitting about as if he’s nervous, smile flickering on and off as if he doesn’t want Crowley to notice. He makes a feeble attempt at smiling again and gestures to the rain with a small nod. “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” he says. It’s followed by a shaky half-laugh. 

Crowley frowns at him, the bottom half of his face forming a smile. He feels as if he’s watching the Angel of the Eastern gate, introducing himself at Eden. And something about the sudden awkwardness fills him with intrigue- more than that, anticipation. 

He leans back against a column, hands in pockets, and surveys Aziraphale’s anxious flapping.

“Well, go on, then,” Crowley prompts. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Not on my mind, per se,” Aziraphale concedes. His eyes darting up to the roof of the colonnade, to Heaven- a habit that may take some time to kick. “An idea of sorts.” “You’ve intrigued me,” Crowley drawls. 

“Nothing exciting. Only.” 

The look Aziraphale gives him in the brief moment of hesitation is heart-breaking. It’s filled with hope, and a healthy dollop of apprehension, too. As if Crowley would ever deny him anything. Crowley has experienced these moments of heart-shattering, heart-squashing, heart-pummelling love many times before, and he very much hopes that he’s done an alright job of concealing it from his expression.

He raises his eyebrows at Aziraphale and waits. 

Aziraphale sighs, looking uncomfortable and apparently having no intention of expanding. He expects Crowley to make the move. Unsurprising.

“I could…” Crowley starts. Aziraphale looks at him in hope again. Christ on a bike I’m a pushover, he thinks. “I could. Invite you round to mine for a drink. If… you were thus inclined.” A great beaming smile. “Oh, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Crowley huffs an almost-laugh. They look at each other. And they both let the weight of that sink in. Slowly, like the rain that’s currently seeping into the stone pavement beyond the Ritz’s colonnade. 

“Right,” he announces quickly, before thoughts can escalate any further. “Off we go, then?”

“Yes, just so. Tip top.”

Crowley conjures an umbrella. It’s not as if anyone would have noticed, he tells himself, though he sees the doorman at the Ritz recoil a little in shock. They share its shelter until Aziraphale miraculously hails a cab. 

***

“Best idea you’ve had all week, angel- and that includes the body swapping nonsense.”

Aziraphale is sat on Crowley’s sofa. He has been handed a glass of wine. He holds it between cupped hands like he plans to take communion. His legs are hidden behind a tartan blanket. (Crowley will never admit that he conjured such a thing long, long ago, just in case something like this might happen. Something like Aziraphale staying for a movie night, or even, staying for the night. It had always seemed so unlikely. In fact, the moment he’d created said blanket, Crowley had been so infuriated by his blind hope of ‘having Aziraphale round’ that he’d burned it. 

He’d restored the ashes to its original, tartaned form just a couple of hours later.)

“It seemed like the next logical thing,” Aziraphale explains pensively, brows raised and peering down into his Malbec. “If I had a ‘to do’ list, this is what I would put on it. I haven’t sat down and watched a movie all the way through in such a long time.” This may well be true, Crowley considers, as he rifles through his DVD collection, knees against polished concrete and painted nails tapping the spine of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, he’s simply marvelling at the fact that they’ve never sat down and watched a movie all the way through together, the two of them, ever. They’d always had more important things to be getting on with, like saving the world or performing miracles or negotiating the terms of their Agreement. And now. Now they can-

Now they can what?

He looks back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Aziraphale is looking at him. The angel’s gaze flicks away instantly, staring back down into his wine. It hurts something in his chest. A nice kind of hurt, like a dash too much wasabi. 

Crowley takes a moment to recover from this. Then- “You. You still haven’t given me any clues. What you in the mood for, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for the briefest moment as if he’s alarmed by this question, for whatever reason. Then he frowns to himself, purses his lips in thought. Casts his eyes around the room, for inspiration. “Something…” “If you say nice,” Crowley warns, knees hurting a little on the hard floor. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Aziraphale retorts. He pauses. He adds, more quietly, “I was going to say fun.”

Crowley groans. Turns to the DVD cabinet.

“I don’t do fun,” he says slowly, emphatically. 

“Alright, well. Something at least a bit light-hearted. I think saving the world rather calls for it, don’t you?” Crowley tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “It’s a fair point,” he concedes to himself more than Aziraphale. Pouts. “Don’t want to bring the mood down. Not sure I’d want to…”

The reason he doesn’t finish his sentence is because he’s just been, unfortunately, reacquainted with the more mushy end of his DVD collection. He’d forgotten that he has several Audrey Heburn films, as well as a couple of Julia Roberts classics. He glares at them. Hidden amongst the arthouse silent movies, they’re betraying just how soft he is. And Aziraphale’s watching.

The DVD boxes quiver under his stare. 

“How about we start with discussing what you have,” Aziraphale tries, reasonably. “Since we can’t reach a consensus. We don’t even have to watch a DVD if you don’t want-”

“Netflix,” Crowley remembers, standing up abruptly and immediately closing the cabinet. Then, “Netflix! That’s a thing. That’s a thing that we can do.” “Oh yes- I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says chirpily. 

“Oh, yes, well done, angel.”

Aziraphale glares. 

And so the Netflix loading screen bongs into life, Crowley collapsing onto the sofa beside Aziraphale. The red wine is jostled; Aziraphale tuts. Crowley props his heels on the coffee table. 

“Do you mind. I almost spilled Malbec on my shirt.” “Lots more choices now,” Crowley ignores him and begins flicking through. “Look, it’s all organised nicely in rows of genre. Love how tidy this is, look. And the search function is so much easier. Have you tried the search function on Amazon Prime, lately? Nightmare.” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replies lightly, spinning the wine in his glass like a whirlpool.

“Look, ‘s’got a whole section called ‘light-hearted movies’.” 

“Very helpful.”

They flick through the row. They go through all of them without choosing, and end up at the beginning of the loop again. Crowley growls and hangs his head off the back of the sofa.

“Oh, pass it here,” Aziraphale sighs, putting down his wine with a decisive clink and picking up the remote. He holds it with one hand and presses the directional buttons with his other hand, as if it’s far more complicated and delicate a process than it actually is. Like an octogenarian trying to use an iPhone.  

“How about this lovely looking Christmas film.“

"N- no. Anything but that. It’s October. And more importantly, no.”

“It looks ever so sweet, though. How lovely and romantic-”

“We are not watching The Christmas fucking-well Prince.”

He’d had a hand in inspiring that, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it even to himself. His evil deeds really are shit. 

“No need to snap,” Aziraphale mutters.  

“If you’re determined to watch something romantic and seasonal, I will accept The Holiday. If I must. Jack Black makes it bearable.”

Aziraphale lets the screen rest on the thumbnail of the movie. Then, quite thoughtfully, he says: “I like Kate Winslet. She seems like a nice woman.”

“Mm. Yeah, that’s. OK. I’m sure she is, angel.”

In all honesty, the idea of watching a rom-com with Aziraphale is border-line torture. It’s not quite as bad as waterboarding, but it’s close. More on the same level as those nightmares you get where you have to do a maths exam in your underwear, on stage, and all of your exes and crushes point and laugh at you. Not only are rom-coms pretty hit and miss- some influenced by Heaven, some by Hell, you never know what you’re going to get- they’re also a fantastic way of making Crowley feel incredibly exposed. Incredibly hot in the face from second-hand embarrassment. Incredibly aware that he’s meant to be sneering and heckling, when he’s just trying to concentrate on holding himself together. Stop the feelings from spurting out of his heart like water in a dam: feelings that he thinks are, embarrassingly, rather a lot like longing.

And yet, because it is Crowley, and this is what Crowley does, he lets Aziraphale select the movie and they watch The Holiday. They remark on the general cheesiness, the (at times) witty dialogue. The staggering amount of disbelief that has to be suspended for the plot to work. How nice Jude Law looks in glasses. 

Crowley’s only sort of watching. He’s concentrating on Aziraphale. Not outright staring at him (although he does often do that, it’s a wonder he hasn’t noticed and told Crowley to sod off). Rather, letting his brain tick over the knowledge that he is right beside him. Too much of his daft, devil mind is unable to ignore the fact that Aziraphale is there. 

Sometimes, it sends unhelpful thoughts his way. Like, you could touch his hand. Or, imagine feeding him popcorn- wouldn’t that be interesting. Or simply, there he is. He’s here. He’s with you. He’s chosen this. 

About half-way through the film, Aziraphale starts with those sad sighing sounds, making woebegone eyes at the television- which tells Crowley that he’s getting peckish but doesn’t want to bother Crowley with it. So, Crowley casually announces that he’s heard there’s a good new Chinese restaurant around the corner, and Aziraphale brightens up again immediately. And they have to pause the film to choose what to eat, because Crowley reckons he might actually order something for himself this time, and Aziraphale ums and ahs about these things for hours anyway. And once they’ve ordered- over the app, thank God for avoiding human interaction- the food arrives, quite miraculously, three minutes later. 

And once the food is gone, the film is almost finished. And Netflix seems to have decided what they should watch next, because it puts on the first episode of The Crown without asking them. Which they watch, although Crowley’s not really watching. And Aziraphale is complaining about the inaccuracies. 

And at some point they end up sitting very close.

No. That makes it sound as if Crowley has no idea how they ended up that close. He knows exactly when this happened, because he hasn’t taken a breath since. 

It happened like this.

They’re halfway through the first episode of The Crown, and Aziraphale has returned from the kitchen with a new bottle of red- a Pinot, this time- and he pours for both him and Crowley. Aziraphale has been sat on his own side of the sofa, and Crowley has been on his, draping his arms and legs wherever he sees fit. Now, as Aziraphale resettles on the sofa, he sits right beside him. The way Crowley is angled, his legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, means that he’s leaning in Aziraphale’s direction. Very obviously. 

So he’s using all his (very little) core strength to keep himself sitting upright enough not to fall into his lap. Even if it would be very nice to let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap. And even if he’d really like to relax a little bit and lean his shoulder against Aziraphale’s. 

And for Heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be an issue for a couple of six thousand year old beings to sit side-by-side on a sofa, and yet, here’s Crowley, having a crisis about it. It’s not as if he thought twice about pinning him against a wall. 

Although he probably should have. That was a lot.

His eyes follow the way Aziraphale’s legs stretch in front of him, crossed over at the ankles. A little slouched on the sofa, shoes off. It’s about as relaxed as Crowley’s ever seen him. 

“Why do you think they decided to make this TV series now, when the Queen is still alive,” Aziraphale remarks. It almost makes Crowley jump a little, so deep in thought that he’d forgotten time hadn’t stopped entirely.

“Whassat?” “Well, why do you think they’ve made the series now? It seems a bit-”

“Right,” Crowley says brain finally processing the question. “No- dunno, angel.” They both go quiet. Crowley’s hand grips the back of the sofa. The fear that he’s going to slip and lean against Aziraphale is too real. As nice as it would be-

Perfect. Miraculous. Wonderfully human. 

-It would also be mortifying. 

He can hear Aziraphale’s breathing. Slow. Precise and even, like he’s measuring out ingredients for a recipe. It makes Crowley’s mouth go dry with painful self-awareness.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale starts quietly, “when you and I bumped into each other in Camden Town?” He takes a few seconds to pretend to think about this. “Yeah, ‘f course. Nineteen seventy-seven. What made you think of that?” Aziraphale shifts a little, looking at Crowley. Crowley doesn’t look back, watches the screen. If he turns towards Aziraphale, they’ll be-

“You were wearing that awful t-shirt.” That makes him laugh. A tipping-the-head-back laugh. “Oh yeah- my God Save the Queen t-shirt. Sex Pistols. Yeah, those were the days. Don’t knock ‘em, they were a good band.” “I’m sure they were.” “Don’t use that voice, they were. Anarchic music at its finest.” “I believe you, but bebop is still a little too baffling for me, I’m afraid.”

Crowley doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t know where it comes from- he thought he knew himself quite well at this point, but apparently not well enough. He feels something take over from out of nowhere. Rather, feels something erase everything else- a whiteboard rubber cleaning all the bullshit away. 

And now he’s turned to Aziraphale without the babbling voice of anxiety in his head. 

“It’s punk music, not bebop. And. I reckon you’d like it.” His voice is a murmur and his eyes are looking at Aziraphale’s lips. Thank Christ for sunglasses. 

When he looks back up and meets Aziraphale’s gaze, he’s watching Crowley. Looking for something. 

He feels his lips part, hears himself take a breath through his mouth. 

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks weakly. A small quirk in one eyebrow. 

“Y-” Fucking Hell. His throat’s all dry and he’s forgotten what words are. And now Aziraphale is definitely looking at his mouth. Fuck fuck fuck fu- “Yeah. You’re a rebel now, after all. Sort of. Breaking all those rules.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies in a whisper. Then, regaining his voice, “I suppose that’s true.”

“S- uh- mm- w- some of the songs, anyway, not all of them. You’d uh- h- some of them are a bit explicit than others and you’d probably not. Not get on with those ones.”

“Crowley…?” That’s all it takes. Thousands of years of keeping his feelings to himself and taking it slow, and all it takes is that little inflection in Aziraphale’s hushed voice. That hesitant request, draped over the sound of his name. Crowley leans in and presses his lips gently against Aziraphale’s. 

There’s that horrible moment when it stops, and everything else seems to stop, too. The what next? hangs in the air and Aziraphale stutters a shaky breath against Crowley’s skin. 

“Too fast?” is what Crowley ends up asking. Just to break the pause. 

And then the most dazzling, drunken smile spreads across Aziraphale’s face. Brows knit together. An expression that looks a lot like “To the world.” 

“No,” he half laughs, shaking his head infinitesimally. “For once, no. We… we saved the world, I rather think we deserve this.”

Something in Crowley relaxes, unhinges, collapses. It lets all the feelings free and they flood him till he swears he almost goes blind. And that is how they both end up falling asleep on the sofa, still wearing the days’ clothes and kicking off a tartaned blanket. Wrapped up in each other- starting this new era as they mean to continue.

***

Crowley wakes up and finds his head on Aziraphale’s chest. He’s splayed on top of him, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa. He feels Aziraphale’s hand, warm between his shoulder blades. 

“What would you like to do today?” Aziraphale asks with a smile in his voice. 

That is how it starts. They think of the things they were too scared to do together, the things that they never found the time to do together, the things they always liked to do together. 

They go for a walk through Hampstead Heath, just as the weather’s beginning to turn- their breathes steaming in front of their faces as they walk. They haven’t been here since 1815. They both try to avoid the muddy parts and fail spectacularly. They make fun of each other for the mess they’ve made of their shoes. They begin by hooking their fingers together, until they’re brave enough to hold hands completely. 

They go home and cook together. It goes disastrously. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning, when they wake up on Crowley’s sofa again. 

They go to some hipster bar in East London- Tobacco Docks, it’s called. They find that there’s good food, lots of good booze and an ice rink- which Crowley absolutely point-blank refuses to go on until Aziraphale makes that wide-eyed, pleading face. They have a tipsy and very clumsy skate around the rink before returning to their drinks. Crowley’s better at wine than ice rinks. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks, when they’ve woken up in Crowley’s bed. His white hair against his white sheets. A new part of the landscape of his room.

They end up doing very little. They read together on the sofa and make tea.  Crowley introduces Aziraphale to the best music ever created- disco, of course. They dance in the living room in bare feet and laugh till they can’t see through the tears. 

“What are we doing today?” Crowley asks the next morning. 

“What are we doing today?” Aziraphale asks the next. 

They’ve saved the world, and that still seems surreal. But there’s waking up on Crowley’s sofa after a movie marathon, too. A dinner date, or a night in. 

And that feels perfectly real. 

[fics-not-tragedies]

Fuckin’ February: Day 28

Today’s prompt was requested by @thesadvampire​.

PROMPT: “I love your new lipstick… can’t wait to see how this shade looks smeared on my cock.” ft. John Wick; Words:  1345, I’m sorry I snapped again; Warnings: smut, sorta dress play, John is posing as a police officer here;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342​; @harrisongslimited​; @hhighkey​; @lunilate​; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login​; @sgt-morgan​; @coloursunlimited​; @childrenofthegun​; @weminiaturestrawberry​; @silverlambcaptain​; @scarletmoon83​; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day​; @krazycags01​; @charlottebonnie​; @moonlit-raven-haven​; @girl-at-the-verge​; @boopdedoop​; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch​; @ladyreapermc​; @wifeofdarklordsworld​; @mysticfluffyness​; @zombiepandajfish​; @kollover24​; @greenmanalishi​; @persephonehemingway​;

You felt completely alone in the world and capable of anything. Perhaps that was why you didn’t notice you foot pressing down on the accelerator, the speedometer in your car rising, the wind in your hair blowing stronger.

Not until the unmistakable sight of red and blue lights reflected in your driver side mirror.

Fuck.

You bit your lower lip as you glanced between the road and the reflection, the image of the police car growing bigger as it approached from behind. For a second, the crazy idea of taking off tickled your spine. But then the adult in you won and you regretfully parked your car tight to a fence on the left.

The police vehicle rolled to a halt behind you. You tried to spot the officer, but the sun was reflecting sharply onto the windscreen, making it impossible for you to discern anyone moving behind the glass. So you sat still, politely waiting with your hands on the wheel as you eyed the tips of your shoes.

At least I’m nicely dressed, you thought.

You were wearing heeled sandals, your skirt was black and fitted, and your maroon top cut loosely around your small frame. As the sound of a door opening reached your ears, you swiftly flicked a dried cornflake off your bosom and corrected the fabric to ensure no part of your red bra was visible down the opening.

The officer moved with slow steps. But you didn’t look up, you merely listened to the sound of gravel being kicked aside as a pair of boots nudged its way to your car. Only when a broad frame shadowed your right side you glanced outside.

There he stood. Broad and sturdy in his black uniform, the white collar peeking up from above the dark jacket. Atop, he wore a flat hat with a chequered band, and when your eyes dragged down his curly locks to his face, you met an intense pair of brown eyes.

You felt like they were eating you up. You shyly squirmed in your seat and muttered, “Good morning, Officer.”

“Ma’am,” the man offered back, his voice as gruff as he looked. He pushed at the visor, the shadow from it moving across his face as he tipped his head down to get a better look into your car. “In a hurry, are we?”

“Are you, Sir?”You said, choosing your words with care to ensure they sounded perfectly polite, “Well, if that’s the case, you shouldn’t have bothered pulling me over.”

The man smiled wryly, “What’s your name, Ma’am?”

“You already know it, Sir” you spoke.

He rested a hand atop your vehicle whilst the other closed around the bottom of the window frame. He was wearing gloves, you noted. The leather groaned as he tapped his fingers to the edge of the glass. “Now we know each other, I think we can stop playing games.”

“Didn’t realize we were playing any” you said, before adding, “Sir.”

John chuckled, “I see. Perhaps I wasn’t clear, Ma’am - I was asking why you’ve been speeding for the past few minutes. Are you in a rush?”

“In today’s day and age, aren’t we all?” You retorted, but somehow sensed you might be wearing the officer’s patience thin. You licked your lips as you glanced down his body before forcing yourself to look him in the eyes,“I fear I didn’t look at my speed.”

“Do you know the limit?”

You parted your lips to speak before they snapped shut with a pop. you glanced out of the corners of your eyes, silently hoping that a sign was displayed somewhere nearby but, seeing nothing but fields, you looked back at John as you shook your head, “No, Sir, I do not.”

“It’s sixty miles per hour” he said, and you nodded solemnly, “That’s the maximum, Ma’am, not a recommendation. Now, how fast were you going?”

You held your breath as you watched him; his square chin, nicely framed by his thick, black beards, his sharp cheeks, his ears hidden behind his curly locks. You resisted a need to push your hands through his hair to feel how it would tickle your skin.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve found yourself in a bit of trouble,” John spoke and smacked his lips with a headshake.

“Oh Officer” you sighed. You turned in her seat and pushed yourself toward him as you asked, “Have you never been distracted before yourself?” Your bosom rose. The deep cut was clinging onto the lacy top of your red bra. You could tell from the pink tint to John’s cheeks that he’d noticed how your shirt had shifted, yet he tried desperately to remain professional.

“We’re not discussing me” John said, and you shook your head.

“We are not, Sir, but perhaps we should be” you cocked your head to the side and licked your lips, your tongue sure to leave them glistening wet, “After all, officer, I admire how hard you work to keep our roads safe. A girl like me should be very ashamed not to feel grateful for your contributions.”

John’s doe eyes darkened with uncertainty. As he struggled to figure out whether you were mocking or complimenting him, you made a bold move; you undid your seatbelt, turned fully in the seat, and lean so far in that your warm breath crossed his lips. If you were to rock even half an inch closer, your mouths were sure to meet.

“Officer Wick” you said, your voice sultry, and you smiled a teasing smile, “please tell me - what can I do for you to make this situation better? There must be a solution that would be most, ah, pleasing to both of us.”

There was a tense pause as John stared into your eyes, and you felt goosebumps rise across your skin, worried if you might have crossed a boundary. More so when he straightened back up.

“Ma’am,” he said, his fingers correcting his hat as his eyes shortly glanced around them. He looked thoughtful, but only for a second - when he glanced back down at you, the amusing spark to his brown was gone. Instead, it had been replaced with a dirty darkness. “Lean out of the window,” he instructed, “I love your new lipstick… can’t wait to see how this shade looks smeared on my cock.”

His voice was commanding. Without pause, you climbed onto your seat, your heels dragging across the leather as you settled with your head poking out the window. You weren’t sure what about him was turning you on even more now, and yet you knew the moment you laid eyes on his crotch. Because as John unzipped his black pants and withdrew his cock, you were faced with his thick, throbbing member, and you felt your mouth water in the same.

Your body shivered with need when he stepped close to you, his cock just inches from your face, and you found yourself grabbing onto the sides of the window to keep steady as you leaned down toward it.

Yours lips hovered just above the cock’s head. When you breathed in, you could taste the sweat and salty pre-cum on him, his length already growing hard, and when you exhaled, you sensed your warm air embracing the sensitive skin, making John groan.

“Go on, Ma’am” he urged, and he leaned back onto your vehicle, one hand seeking the roof once more, “Thought you were a woman committed to speed.”

You rolled your eyes at his bad pun, yet you soon found yourself focused on his cock again. You parted your lips, allowing just the pink tip of your tongue to roll across the head as you wet it with his scent. The pre-cum left a thick line across you tastebuds.

“That’s a good girl” he grunted and pushed a hand through your hair.

You shivered at the feeling of his glove brushing across your locks. You weren’t sure what about the harsh scent of leather made your knickers wet, but you felt your knees drew together all the same.

[ckerouac]

Favorite Female Characters

Rules: List 10 of my favorite female characters in any fandom whatsoever and tag some people.

Tagged by @spaceorphan18

Ok, so -- GOD THIS WAS HARD.  I’ve limited it to just TV shows (sorry movies and books) and then to just one character per TV show (which was the worst because quite often if a show has one lady I love it has multiple ladies I love and if I hadn’t I could’ve made an entire list from Parks & Rec and Brooklyn 99 alone).  So -- one character, one show, and I’M CONSUMED WITH PAIN OVER ALL THE LADIES I’VE LEFT OUT.

10. Eleanor Shellstrop, The Good Place

Oh Eleanor, sent to the bad place when you really deserved the medium place at most *lol*  She lived her life like most of us lived ours, if we’re honest enough about our balance of bad and good, but she’s using this time to learn how to be a good person AND to pull a fast one over everyone keeping her and her new friends in the bad place.  All while being super supportive of her new found family. Also, ‘fork��� has made it into my vocabulary.

9. Mazikeen, Lucifer

It was a tough choice between her, Chloe, and Linda, but Maze wins out because girl did not want to be where she is, but she is making the best of it.  Plus, her affection for Trixie and friendship with Linda and now Chloe is just a delight.  She may have come just because she felt loyalty to Lucifer, but she’s found her own family and she has a purpose all her own now.  Plus she can kick your ass with two hands and a leg tied behind her back.  She. Will. End. You.

8. Elizabeth McCord, Madam Secretary

I love this show so much.  It scratches my ‘West Wing’ itch because it’s showing competent people doing good things in public service.  And Elizabeth is the most competent of them all -- an ex-CIA spy turned Secretary of State and she leads her department, and US diplomacy, with intelligence, heart, bravery, and not a small amount of wit.  She’s honestly who I want to be when I grow up, and she’s one of those people who you feel is making decisions on what’s best for the whole.  Plus she gets to go home to her husband played by Tim Daly and y’all... I enjoy him.  And her husband is supportive of her!  None of this ‘if you loved me you’d give up your high powered job’ shit that we see far too often in media depictions of powerful women.

7. Claire Fraser, Outlander

How would you handle things if you got thrown 200 years in the past?  Probably not as well as Claire.  She’s competent (can you sense a theme in the type of lady-types I enjoy?) and devoted.  And also a bit selfish.  AND I LOVE THAT ABOUT HER.  She selfishly wants her hot Scottish husband back, and she tries to make it work with her present day husband, but she’s still bitter.  And I don’t blame her one bit.  We get to see her want, and choose, Jamie over her daughter, and that’s not something that we get to see a lot in media.  They never allow women to choose ANYTHING over their children without presenting them as misguided harpies who are just waiting for their comeuppance.  Claire openly and unambiguously chooses Jamie over Brianna and I love that she’s allowed to narratively make that choice.

6. Liz Lemon, 30 Rock

Oh Liz.  For someone who feels like she doesn’t have her shit together, she actually does have her shit together.  I mean, she runs her own TV show and oversees 200 employees (and was willing to do naughty bang bang *fistbump* stuff to help them keep their jobs).  She has a whole speech about not needing a man but wanting to be loved, which resonated so fucking much with me.  And who among us haven’t had shitty co-workers that got away with things that us mere mortals couldn’t?  We’ve all had a Tracy or a Jenna to deal with.  And she comes out on top.  Plus, we get a mentor/mentee relationship that doesn’t devolve into sexual tension, which again is rare.  

5. Peggy Carter, Agent Carter

AGENT PEGGY FUCKING CARTER.  We only got two seasons of the show in addition to the movies, but god I love Peggy Carter.  Competent as fuck, and she’s not breaking glass ceilings as much as bulldozing through them and daring anyone to stop her.  Rampant sexism but she knows her worth and she keeps going forward until it turns out that she is the brains and the organization behind the creation of SHIELD and is basically responsible for the entire MCU that y’all know and love.  Add in that she wears a great red lip while kicking ass too.  And did I cry at her finale (for now) in Captain America: Civil War?  Damn straight I did.  (Still hoping we see her in Infinity War or more likely Avengers 4, but I have my own headcanon about how that will work :D )

4. Martha Jones, Doctor Who

Hands down my favorite companion.  Martha Jones, training to be a doctor and decides to go on an adventure with the weird man who shows up in a phone box after she gets transported to the moon.  She’s the woman who walked the earth and is responsible for saving the Doctor and the entire world through a long game plan and nothing but her fucking words.  And when she isn’t getting what she wants out of the adventure and the Doctor, she walks away.  She leaves on her own terms, which is rare for a companion.  Yes, she pines for the Doctor, but c’mon, who among us wouldn’t in that sort of situation?  I would.  But she doesn’t let it consume her, and she makes her choice and she leaves with the statement ‘Yeah, I am that good’ because she is that fucking good at what she’s done.  I love her and I want everyone else to love her too.

3. CJ Cregg, The West Wing

CJ is the queen of ‘on top of it’.  She’s navigates both the presidency and the press and that’s a job that’s hard as fuck.  She’s smart and charismatic and who among us hasn’t imagined walking out of a shitty job to go work for the president (no? just me?) and she has so many balls in the air but keeps them all going.  As Press Secretary she is nothing if not quick on her feet, and it is hard to trip her up.  She is another who I want to be when I grow up because she is just so capable.  Plus, her Secret Service code name is ‘Flamingo’ and who doesn’t love that?  Of all her great scenes, the one on my mind recently is the press conference where she starts listing gun violence victims and lord it just makes you yearn for competent people in the white house again.  

2. Amy Santiago, Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Do you know how hard it was to pick only one character from B99?  Like, the fight between her and Rosa for queen in my heart? HARD AS FUCK.  But Amy wins out.  Amy who is so driven that she doesn’t take no for an answer, who wants to be the youngest police captain in the NYPD, who makes binders for everything, who gets excited about paperwork, and is competitive as fuck.  She could come off as irritating, but she doesn’t.  She’s eager to please and a bit of a suck up, but it’s because she just wants to soak up all of the knowledge and wisdom she can from her mentors.  Plus, she’s allowed to be all of these driven things even when dating/engaged to the lead character on the show.  The show doesn’t make her change to deserve love, but has Jake fall in love with her BECAUSE OF all of these aspects of her.  It’s canon that Jake always knew he’d work for her and loves her for it, and I love her for that too.  

1. Leslie Knope, Parks and Recreation

There is no list of characters I love that is complete without Leslie Fucking Knope.  She is driven to make people’s lives better, and she does that in any venue she’s given -- be it the Parks department of a small city in Indiana all the way up to the Presidency.  She’s TOO MUCH a lot of the time, but it’s presented as a good thing.  She just cares a lot and she works hard to get things done.  She doesn’t take no for an answer and she’s always striving to be better and to make the people around her better too.  I want to be her.  And even being TOO MUCH she is shown to have friends who love her and make themselves better to live up to her standards and has an uber supportive husband in Ben, who is shown, like Amy and Jake, to love her BECAUSE of her too much-ness and not inspite of it.  The things that would annoy people are the things that attract him to her.  And honestly, as someone who is TOO MUCH a lot of the times and has been told that I’m hard to love, seeing someone like Ben love that about someone like Leslie is really empowering to me.  I. Fucking. Love. Her.

And let’s tag some people, shall we?  How about @razorsharpquill @47mel47 @slayerkitty @slayediest @black-john-lennon

[seenashwrite]

The Nail: June 2017

The Nail isn't about perfection. It isn't about award-level contenders. It's about seeing focus and effort and hard work radiate off of the screen. 

The Nail's purpose isn't to highlight genres of fics or specific ships written during a certain time frame - the sole focus is quality.

Character dimension. Writing with clever readers in mind. Solid world-building. Tension through boundaries. Crazy crisp dialogue. Incredibly tight plotting. Big emotion.

And though yours truly - nice to meet you, new folks, I’m Nash! - is editor of the list, the goal is for YOU to curate the content. 

Read more about how all this came to be, find past editions, see what factors are considered when constructing the list, and learn how to get your recommendations in HERE.

Now - on to the stories!

For your reblogging convenience, here’s The Nail Master Post of Editions!

* ~ * ALL FROM THE WORLD OF "SUPERNATURAL" UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED * ~ *

Stand-a-lone stories with moderate-to-heavy sexual content will have 😳 beside them; series with such must have this either clearly noted in the overall info and/or clearly note it in the chapters/parts which contain such, so you'll need to check those on your own.

SPEED READS [from scene do-overs to gif-inspired one-shots to dripping drabbles, all less than 500 words]  

These won't be reviewed separately in Nash's usual three-point manner à la #Nash Gives [Feed]back due to their length, excepting those cases where the author pulled off a fleshed-out plot/character or had a unique take that was well-covered in the short amount of space. If there is no title provided by the author, Nash/the curator will pick one for them.

A HORRIFYING CONCEPT  - @ozonecologne

A visitor to the bunker offers Dean a chance for closure that empty bottles can't provide.

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MAKING IT WEIRD - @helvonasche

This is the tale of that time Cas discovered porn, and with your help, he’s actually going to get some answers this time around.

.

12x21: A SCENE RE-WRITE - @prettymessedupsituation​

In script format, a better way of handling an incident that hit a sour note in the fandom is proposed that is logical, loving, and legitimately canon-worthy.

.

HOW THAT 'DUE DATE' TALK SHOULD'VE GONE - @tippitv

Dean and Sam discuss what just might be panning out to be more pattern than coincidence... after twelve years.

.

CLEAN-UP CREW - @senselesssamii

We all need help cleaning sometimes, that’s the simple truth. And some of us will need, shall we say, more specialized cleaners than others - get ready to giggle through the gross.

POEMS & POETICAL PROSE [mostly quick reads, these are actual poems of any structure/length, as well as short prose that sings like a songbird]

These also won't be reviewed separately in Nash's usual three-point manner à la #Nash Gives [Feed]back due to the typically short lengths & structure. An excerpted line is used in lieu of summary. If there is no title provided by the author, Nash/the curator will pick one for them.

WHAT IF - @saminzat

"Because once you’ve crossed the event horizon there is no going back."

.

MAMA TRIED -  @ariannnawinchester

“Dean is the boy your Mama warns you about.”

.

AN ANGEL'S PROMISE - @webcricket

"I promised you forever, and forever doesn’t end."

.

THE VALIANT - @littlegreenplasticsoldier 

"A valiant brother took the weight, the fall; The valiant’s brother took a throne, and guilt.”

* Nominated by @butiaintgonnaloveem, who said: “A poem from Dean's point of view that made my heart ache for him, from the way the guilt settles deep within him and how he contemplates his situation."

.

CASTIEL'S FALL - @vintagesam

"I fell at 60 miles per hour, on a back road in the middle of nowhere."

ON THE SHORT SIDE [500-ish to 1.5K]

STRATEGIC MOTHERING - @butiaintgonnaloveem    

A look at how Mary Winchester, in the words of the author, "deal[s] with trying to control her hunter’s instincts while living the civilian life", and the pros-and-cons that come along with them.

.

BREATH(E) - @withthedemonblood    

A well-written, thoughtfully played-out vignette on brotherly bonds that captures both sides of a stressful situation.

.

SO WHAT - YOU LIKE HIM BETTER, OR SOMETHING? - @atwistoffate

It's a simple question, and it should be a simple answer, but when dealing with the Winchesters - can it ever be?

.

FOR CAS - @jhoomwrites / @casbakespie 

A stunning coda to the season twelve finale, looking into a focused, driven, yet serene Dean’s response after he rose from his knees.

.

THE LITTLE THINGS - @melissaj616

A nice little piece showcasing Dean's observations of a hunter colleague who could be more, but there's no rush on either of their parts.

.

GOOD BOYS - @defilerwyrm

A poignant look into an alternative history wherein John Winchester chooses to allow Dean and Sam to be adopted into a nurturing home, far from the supernatural - to say more would spoil, though rest assured: the ending will take your breath away.

MIDDLE-OF-THE-ROAD [around 1.5K - 2K]

SPRING BREAK - @winchester-family-business

Fun, witty, easy read of a story about that time the Winchesters showed up on the author's doorstep... and proceeded to drag her along for a helluva ride.

.

SHOCK HORROR - @lipstickandwhiskey

After Dean is dealt a blow by a witch on a case, his closest friend offers support and stays by his side, carefully navigating over, around, and through the initial stages of shock.

.

HALLOWEEN HIJINKS -  @roxy-davenport

This is a tale of what it's like for Crowley to date a younger [and in a centuries-year-old demon's case - *much* younger] woman, one who still gets excited for the supernatural crowd's least favorite holiday: Halloween.  

LONGER [2K to  3K-ish]

IMPERFECT - @zepppie

Lives weave together, then pull apart, happens every day - this is the story of a hunter looking back on the portion of her life spent with Dean, told with such fluidity your heart will be ached and be soothed, all at the same time.

DEEP DIVES [3K and beyond, including completed multi-parters with lengthy chapters]

😳  NOT EMPTY NOW - @sp-oops 

This is a heart-grabber, one that will make you think and laugh and sigh, the story of the evolving dynamic between a hunter and an archangel, featuring a pristinely characterized Gabriel from beginning to end - and it's a damn fine ending.  

.

😳  5, 6, GRAB YOUR CRUCIFIX - @butiaintgonnaloveem

A story rife with sexual tension built around a bartender's most recent entanglement with Dean - now with his inner demon in full effect -  written with a slow build that doesn’t limit its evocative nature to just the bedroom.

.

A HAUNTED LIFE  -  @idontneedasymbol

Deferring to the author's on-point, pitch-perfect summation: "Some hauntings require salt and fire. Others aren't that easy. Dean runs into someone he knows, and Sam tries to make things right."  What I call in my own works a "Behind-the-scenes canon compliant", this is a piece that fits that bill, as it rings absolutely true/plausible, and all characterizations feel real/accurate. 

.

A LESSON IN INTERNATIONAL ETIQUETTE [Part Two] - @imagines-oneshots-blog

A certain Mr. Ketch may very well have met his match in an experienced, no-nonsense hunter who can go toe-to-toe with him, be it in attitude, in wit - or in killing.

SERIES SPOTLIGHT : SUPERNATURAL & SPN CROSS-OVERS [works that are ongoing series with at least 3 parts already published / completed series]

Due to time constraints, series are not read in full. They are given a cursory once-over for the quality basics, most importantly that the author has put maximum effort into world-building. 

The first chapter / first handful of chapters / first third of the first chapter - depending on length - are read to ensure there are no gross grammar / spelling errors, as well as ensuring the story's premise is made clear.

Thorough summations of the overall series, brief summaries of each individual chapter, and master indexes are highly preferred. Descriptors below are taken directly from the author/the story, edited only for length/clarity if needed. Same applies to series from other fandoms featured on the list.

THE PERFECT CRIME  - @mysaintsasinner

"Another storm is on the horizon, a war unlike any New York has seen before, and [Detective Sam Winchester] is about to find himself smack bang in the middle of it. Secrets will be revealed, bonds will be tested, and the perfect image Sam held of his parents will be distorted forever."

.

HUNTERS ON THE HELLMOUTH - @whatdoyouthinkmyjobis

[Supernatural + Buffy the Vampire Slayer]

"After a last-minute rescue from the clutches of Lucifer lands them in Sunnydale, California, the Winchesters run into an unusual hunter."

* Nominated for inclusion by @impandagrl , who said: "This exceptionally-written crossover series manages to believably blend the worlds of two of my favorite series while somehow nailing each of the many characters and treating them with equal care. It always leaves me anxiously awaiting the next chapter and is packed with all the action, humor, snark, drama - and occasional smut - that fans of either series should expect." 

.

CELEBRATE ME HOME - @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit       

"If you took a moment to ask her how long she’s been driving, she’d tell you she doesn’t know. Not because she doesn’t remember or because she doesn’t know where she started, but because after a while, all the roads just sort of blend together..."

.

SONS OF LAWRENCE  -  @mrs-squirrel-chester

[Supernatural + Sons of Anarchy]

"The Winchesters run the most notorious biker gang in Lawrence. They traffic illegal drugs, weapons, and anything else that makes them money and keeps them on top."

RANDOM FANDOMS  [all types, all lengths, all the things that aren't SPN but are still pretty dang super]

5/4/17, 18:00  -  @buckykingofmemes [Mod: @hellenhighwater ]

[FANDOM: Marvel - Avengers]

In which Friday kindly provides the transcript of a conversation between Bucky and Steve, so that a question may be answered with accuracy.

.

WHO'S STEVE? - @bjorkshirepudding

[FANDOM: Marvel - Thor I & II / Avengers + HIMYM]

Have you heard the one about Steve Rogers walking into MacLaren’s Pub and running into Jane Foster’s research assistant Darcy Lewis, who’s sitting in a booth with Barney Stinson and the rest of the “How I Met Your Mother” gang… including that gal who bears a striking resemblance to Maria Hill?

* Unfortunately, this author has left Tumblr as of June 16th & the links have been removed so as not to cause confusion, however you can still find their [extensive!] body of work HERE at AO3, should you desire. - Nash *

.

BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH - @withstarryeyes

[FANDOM: Marvel - Avengers]

A short vignette taking a look at a moment in Bucky Barnes' life, how it feels for him to just be, to simply stand amongst the living.  

.

THE PART THAT COUNTS  (in-progress series, parts 1 -5 reviewed as of this writing) - @youre-on-a-starship

[FANDOM: Star Trek (current cinematic)]

"Two weeks after waking up with no recollection of the people and ship around you, you take your future in your hands and try to piece together your past and the events that lead up to you losing your memory of the last five years."

ORIGINAL WORK [anything from haiku to novella]

HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE MONSTERS - @rainygalaxynerd

A short pop of a gut punch to the senses, wherein the author drops you into the middle of a conversation - a situation - with no real bearings of which way is up, no way of knowing whose side we should be on, and then starts dropping revelations as fast as you can pick them up. It is bare, it is dark, it is gritty, it is unapologetic, it is chilling, and it reads like a scene straight out of a Scorsese flick.  

Happy reading & see you in July!

* ~ * Shameless Self-Promotion * ~ *