#i want gabriel to live so bad

[toopolar]

gabriel has no time gabriel has no time it doesn't matter how hard he atones for his guilt it doesn't matter if he beats the machine (he wont) in freeing himself he signed his death certificate

V1 also has no time it's scrambling to delay the moment it's circuits grow cool it's operating on pure instinct in a race against its inevitable end

They're soool. They're so. They both are kneeling at the execution block. The blade is currently falling. At least theyr not alone I guess. (Said in tears.)

[aro4aro-t4t-gabv1el]

the bs going on in my life is so horrendously terrible im going to (remembers suicide jokes just serve to help make me more suicidal) kill the authoritarial figures that i once truly knew and loved and trusted that i can no longer offer my true love and trust to due to the harm that they have dealt to me and those that surround us, ultimately allowing those that have been affected by their prejudice and oppression to be free even at the cost of willingly trapping myself in a death timer.

[fridgrave2-0]

i can't describe how bad mission impossible 7 is, it ruined my life

i wasn't expected it to be good or at least fine, but it's something else in the worst way possible

if benji is not the creator of the entity and not a twist villain, i will break something

[drdemonprince]

In a piece for The New Inquiry from back in 2017, George Dust states that when queer people complain about there being a top shortage, what they really mean is “nobody is fucking me the way I want, and I have no agency in that.” Alongside co-authors Billy-Ray Belcourt and Kay Gabriel, Dust suggests that many queer people align themselves with a passive or “bottom” position because they believe that role will absolve them of the guilt of really wanting things. They present themselves as what they believe to be the sexual party with zero power; the receiver, the accepter of action rather than its cause.

This position is drawn in contrast to the bottom-identified person’s idea of a top: the one who approaches, the person with hungers and desires, the person who decides which sexual activities will happen and how intense they will get. The top, from this perspective, is the stronger, more capable, more dangerous person. They’re the only one who can ever be guilty of intruding or harming somebody else. This power is scary, but it’s also compelling.

Dust calls this fantastical version of a top a “brute” — and they are the most cartoonish stereotype of what it means in society to be a man. Because it’s a cartoonish stereotype, no human actually lives up to it — and we’d probably revile a person even if they could.

Though queer people know we are harmed by the gender binary and heteronormativity and all the social scripts those things force upon us, its biases are still embossed on our brains. Without meaning to, we reproduce tired gender stereotypes in our relationships. And so we see expressing a sexual want as masculine, and being masculine as being more capable of violence and coercive control, and thus bad. We see failing to communicate one’s desires openly as desirably feminine, as well as a sign of blamelessness and purity — because on some level we still feel it is wrong to have desires.

But this entire worldview is a complete lie. Desire is not evil. Expressing attraction is not a violation. Failing to express oneself can be just as dangerous as not listening to someone else’s limits. Women can be abusive. Bottoms can sexually assault. No matter our gender, presentation, or sexual role, we are each capable of harm. And the only way to make a safe, mutually pleasurable sexual encounter happen is by going after it, actively, and communicating from a position of inner strength.

So how do you do that, if society’s been telling you all your life that you’re meant to date by acting like a deer passively snapping twigs in the woods, waiting for some hunter to hear you, and pursue you? (That really is dating advice that Evangelical Christian counselors give to women, if you can believe it).

By not fixating so much on what you’re doing or not doing to draw other people toward you, and instead thinking in terms of what you want and what you observe beyond yourself.

[azfellandco]

It's about Crowley bearing witness to Aziraphale's desire, about the way that desire is animal and visceral and enormous and terrifying*. And about how Crowley sees that and wants it. Crowley offers the ox rib and watches Aziraphale eat because eating provides them no sustenance, it's purely for pleasure, sensual, selfish. And Crowley introduces Aziraphale to this, and thousands of years later still takes obvious pleasure in feeding Aziraphale, in watching him eat. In watching Aziraphale's pleasure.

And I think it's significant the things we see Crowley put into his body in s2, and why: six shots of espresso, as something bracing before seeing what it is that made Aziraphale call him in his "something's wrong" tone; whiskey, because he has to give Aziraphale some bad news; wine, because they "might as well get comfortable" during the storm coming down on Job, after Aziraphale learns that Crowley is actually pretty unhappy with Job's suffering; and poison, to dispose of it so Elspeth (or Wee Morag, I've fogotten which is which) doesn't die. Crowley doesn't take Aziraphale's "something that calms you down", only consumes things that not only don't bring him pleasure but are an attempt to prevent pain. Crowley, who introduced Aziraphale to this important physical, sensual, selfish pleasure, denies it to himself. He denies himself the eccles cakes, he denies himself partaking in food, and he denies himself Aziraphale.

And we see throughout the rest of the season other things he's denying himself: the comfort and safety of a home in the bookshop in favor of the mobility and ready-made escape of living in the Bentley, the surety of saying what he really means during the confession. He cannot bring himself to admit what he wants, that he wants. Gabriel and Beelzebub "going off together" is not what he wants. He wants Aziraphale, but he doesn't say that, because he's never, in the years and years and years we've seen this season, let himself want or be seen wanting. "Going off together" is as close as he can get to speaking it. "A group of the two of us" is as close as he can get. So he has to watch as Aziraphale leaves and takes his pleasure in the world with him.

[countingdots-tc]

TEACHER/STUDENT BOOK RECS

*if you want me to add a forbidden romance list, let me know*

𓃠 This is a list with links to books that have teacher/student, age gap, and experienced/less experienced themes that I have read! These are in order from most recommended to least recommended based on my opinion.

𓃠 This will be updated as I read more! Think something should be added to the list, then let me know!

𓃠 To find the Age Gap/TeacherxStudent Movie list, click on the link on my pinned post!

⭐️= highly recommend/changed my life

😇= no smut

🌶️=contains smut

💦=read to really get your rocks off

highlighted=warning

PROFESSOR/COACH BOOK LIST

The Unrequited by Saffron A. Kent-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent & mental health themes

Cute little poet embarrassingly falls for her grumpy professor. Beautiful slow burn and perfectly describes what it feels like to want someone and not feel enough for them. She is such a realistic female lead and reminds me a lot of y’all 😂. This is THE teacher crush community book. If you don’t read anything read this!!

The Professor by Invi Wright-⭐️🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Cute romance by young, new, and self published author. Very relatable female lead. If you enjoyed The Unrequited, you will like this book for all of the same reasons. Quick and easy read, only 240. She isn’t perfect, she clumsy, and I wouldn’t even say she’s socially awkward, she just a normal college student in her early 20s. She’s a fun narrator. This author has a lot of potential and her writing will only get better.

Gabriel’s Inferno by Slyvain Reynard-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent

Such a good dark academia book. Beautifully written and actually has a movie adaptation. I would definitely recommend this if you want a realistic couple but a bit more serious. Characters have so much depth

Off Balance Series by Lucia Franco- 💦

CoachxStudent

Warning: female lead is age of consent NOT legal age.

If you want something really forbidden and fucked up, read this. If you want the MOST insane sex scenes, read this (MINORS STOP). I really don’t even want to add this series to this list but for the girls who wanna go there, have fun. I started this when I was still in high school, read the 3rd one as an adult, it’s not as easy to read now. Take that info as you please

Lessons In Sin by Pam Goodwin-🌶️

TeacherxStudent with 18 Y.O female lead

Troubled rich girl gets sent off to a catholic boarding school and falls for the asshole Dean of the school. Smut is pretty good, plot works. I’m not going to say it’s bad, I think whether or not it’s enjoyable depends on the person. It wasn’t bad, I just wasn’t obsessed. If you’re just trying to live vicariously through her (aren’t we all), then it works!

Teach Me by L. L. Ash-🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Really good start, and I do mean GREAT start… I just feel like the sex scene came too soon (Ch. 9/32) and it threw me off but I also like SUPER slow burns. It’s still a good book. I enjoyed the male love interest, Professor Harlo. They’re cute together. Grump and Sunshine.

Dark Notes by Pam Goodwin-

TeacherxStudent & themes of abuse

Probably DNF-ing

AGE GAP BOOK LIST

Something In The Way Series by Jessica Hawkins-⭐️😇

Sister’s Boyfriend/Husband & “I saw him first”

Most beautiful romance series I’ve ever read, best written books by Jessica Hawkins. I recommend all of her other books. Lake is 16 when she first meets Manning but nothing sexual happens between them for another 3 books until she’s in her 20s. Beautiful slow burn with characters full of depth.

Sinner by Sierra Simone- ⭐️💦

Brother’s Best Friend & religious themes

Amazing character creation and mapping. These characters feel real! This book is about “teaching” a girl about sex before she becomes a nun. It’s not just a bang bang, hump hump book. It has heart and it really good. If you enjoy religious themed romance, you may enjoy Priest by Sierra Simone too. I didn’t 💀

Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas- 💦

Ex’s Dad

Most popular forbidden romance so whatever you’ve heard about it, dump it. This might be the most tame book on this list. Pacing is good, well written main character. Insane amounts of smut but it doesn’t drive the story forward so feel free to skip it if you get tired.

Love Unexpected by Q. B. Tyler- 💦

Ex Stepdad & parent death

This book is HOT! However after the first few scenes, I got a bit tired of the smut. Well written enough female lead with a rushed ending. However if you just need something to read and not despise it, it’s good enough.

Strictly Off Limits by Jessica Hawkins-🌶️

Dad’s Best Friend

Jessica is my favorite author so I’m a bit biased but she definitely isn’t a smut writer. This novella would’ve been better without smut however it isn’t super present and doesn’t really drive the story forward so don’t feel like you’re missing anything if you skip the smut!

The Doctor by Nikki Sloane- 💦

Ex’s Dad

personally didn’t care for this book, smut starts off way too quick and I’m more of a slow burn girl. It is a novella however, it was still too quick. However! You may love it <3

𓃠 If I’m not reading fast enough for you and you want to see what I will be reading in the future here is my Amazon TBR, have at it!

𓃠 If you want to see a more organized bookshelf of what I’ve read, here is my Goodreads!

[callmearcturus]

The vinyl comes with... this. This is not the lyrics to the songs. I'm gonna transcribe it, because I think the first time you listen should be with this.

You are about to listen to an album by the Glass Animals. You don't always listen to albums from beginning to end, but maybe you will this time. It was written for you. (Linear Notes by Gabrielle Zevin)

SHOW PONY

You are a child. Before you were a child, your parents were children. Most origin stories begin with love, and yours is no different. Once upon a time, two people fell in love, and then it ended. It's the first love story you were every told, and it teaches you the one certainty in life is that all things end. From this point forward, you are not a romantic. They call you the cynic, and to protect yourself, you take on many forms.

WHATTHEHELLISHAPPENING

You are kidnapped. You are in the trunk of a moving car, fetal position, darkness, screech of the tires against the road, the scent of gasoline. You don't know how you got there, but it isn't the worst place you have ever found yourself, and in a way, it feels inevitable. You know you could die, so you find yourself thinking about all the people you have ever loved. The trunk is like a womb. You could live here forever but eventually you'd get lonely. Your relentless need for company is your hamarita.

CREATURES IN HEAVEN

You are a psychic. You ask your lover if they want to know the hour and the day that the two of your will part. They laugh at you, and they say they don't believe in psychics. You suspect that their failure to believe in your gift might be the problem that leads to the demise of your relationship. But who cares? This relationship ends in three months, and you may as well enjoy it. Evanescence can sometimes be a profound pleasure.

WONDERFUL NOTHING

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say, "It's a bad idea." (JAB, JAB, CROSS.) And the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work." (SLIP.) And you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." (CROSS. CROSS. HOOK.) The boxer swears they won't. (SLIP. JAB.) But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches. (JAB. CROSS. HOOK.) Just before throwing the knockout punch, you whisper, "I love you so fucking much."

A TEAR IN SPACE

You are a sock. You are an earplug. You are a miniature glass horse. You are easy to misplace. You are you, so you think you matter. You are nothing. No one even notices when you left the party.

I CAN'T MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE AGAIN

You are an astrophysicist. You believe you can use sound waves to control time and space. A song is a time machine, you tell your colleagues. If you sing the right song, you could transport the lover to a particular time and place. You could reverse time, and if you could reverse time, you could make them love you again. Your belief in science occasionally makes you pathetic.

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB

You are a damsel, and you are in love with a monster. You're not sure how it happened. You'd been warned about such creatures by the fairy tales of your youth. But in bedtime stories, the monster always presented as monster. The beast was hirsute, the vampire had fangs, the wolf in your grandmother's clothing was clearly not your grandmother. But your monster is clean cut and has good teeth. They knock at the door. You invite them in, and just like that, you are fucking a monster. You should be upset about it, but you aren't. The thing they don't tell you about monsters is that they are sexy as hell.

WHITE ROSES

You are Proteus. You are a god and you can change forms when the situation calls for it. This is hand for work, but difficult when it comes to relationships. You have occasionally been guilty of taking a form that you knew would make you lovable to some unsuspecting mortal. But it always ends the same way. A terrible row at an inconvenient time-- say, just before you're about to leave for the airport-- and then, you're forced to reveal yourself. You don't always mean to change forms, but it's second nation for you to shift a bit here and there-- pretend you like a certain band, express an enthusiasm for sport. Are you shapeshifting, or are you concealing yourself, and is there a difference in the end? Still, you love making people fall in love with you. Every time you do it, you promise you'll never do it again. And they you do it again.

ON THE RUN

You are an escape artist. You are handcuffed, straitjacketed, loaded into a zipped and padlocked duffle bag, wrapped in chains, tossed into the bottom of the ocean. It is billed as "The Greatest Escape of the Greatest Escape Artist, and the Culmination of a Career of Death-Defying Acts!"

The spectators on the pier anticipate your deliverance. They are sure you'll surface because you always surface. They aren't fearful; they are waiting to be dazzled. What they cannot know is how bored you are of dazzling.

You exit the bag, careful to take the props of your confinement so there will be no remains. You swim to another, distant pier. You don't see the people on the pier cry. You don't read your obituary. It's no longer your concern.

A week later, you are homesick, and you concede that your plan has failed. You miss the people on the pier and your cat and your bed and your favorite restaurant and your wristwatch. You don't remember what problems your faked death was going to solve so you can't say if it solved them.

The greatest power in the universe is nostalgia, and it that's true, maybe the people on the pier will forgive you. maybe you could come back from the dead. Now wouldn't that be the greatest escape ever?

LOST IN THE OCEAN

Who are you, anyway?

Why are so many songs addressed to you?

It's simple, you think. The songs are for you because I love you so fucking much, and when you say you, you mean all the yours: the parents and the child, the damsel and the monster, the escape artist and the crowd on the pier, the sock and the one who forgets the sock, the prizefighter and the boxer, and the world that contains all these people. You are all the lovers you failed, and all the ones who failed you. You are the lovers you haven't yet encountered-- there will be many because this world is filled with people to love. You are the singer, and you are the song. And you conclude that the only way to resist the ephemerality of all things is by singing love songs to you, whoever you are, wherever you are in the universe.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 15.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, mentions of jk's unaliving attempt, explicit content: hickeys, fingering, they are so in love and can't stop saying it, unprotected sex, creampie

☆word count: 2.6k

☆a/n: i love them, and my bad if there are any typos this is heavily unedited haha let me know if you see any!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook feels anxious. Ever since Taehyung asked him to meet up to talk, he’s been feeling incredibly anxious, like his heart might explode in his chest. Even worse - he’s afraid he’ll run into you when he gets to the apartment, and after what you said on Thursday, he thinks he might break with no way to heal if he sees you.

He’s scheduled an appointment with his therapist later today. All he can do is hope that it’ll help. And that his conversation with Taehyung will help, too.

Taehyung is in the living room when Jungkook gets home, playing on the Switch. He pauses his game the second Jungkook walks in, and they both stare at each other for a time, an uneasy silence filling the apartment.

Taehyung breaks it first. “Hey.”

Jungkook takes off his shoes but keeps his coat on as he heads towards the living room. “Hey.”

“How have you been?” Taehyung asks.

It’s awkward, and Jungkook hates it. He’s been hating way too much stuff in his life lately.

“Fine,” Jungkook replies. 

He can’t bring himself to return the question, and he sits at the other extremity of the couch, as far away from Taehyung as he possibly can.

“Listen…” Taehyung says when he realizes Jungkook won’t say anything else. “I’m sorry I punched you.” He winces as his eyes go over the bruise and wound Jungkook knows adorn his cheek. “Shit, I actually got you good.”

“You did,” Jungkook coldly replies.

Taehyung eyes his knuckles, which have also turned red and purple from the blow. “I really am sorry for that. I don’t know why I punched you, and I’m a little disgusted with myself that I did.”

“You were mad. It makes sense.”

Taehyung shakes his head no. “It doesn’t make sense. But… man, why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Because you told me you’d kill me if I did touch her?” Jungkook chuckles bitterly. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Yet you still went behind my back and fucked her,” Taehyung states, a hint of anger flashing behind the words.

“I didn’t fuck your sister,” Jungkook spits. “It’s never been like that with her.”

Taehyung remains silent for a few seconds and then sighs deeply. “Then how is it?”

His tone is cool, composed, and a lot nicer than Jungkook expected it to be. It calms down the anger that was starting to simmer in his blood better than a cold shower would have.

“Wha - what?” Jungkook lets out.

Taehyung offers him a smile that seems forced, yet Jungkook sees it for what it is - he’s trying to make an effort.

“How is it with Y/n?”

Jungkook gulps, gaze widening. “Huh… well…” he trails off, eyes falling to his hands, where he’s been mindlessly pulling at the calluses he gets from working out. “It’s… great. I know she’s your sister but fuck… she’s amazing.”

“She is,” Taehyung agrees.

“But I fucked everything up in Paris when I kissed Gabrielle.”

The silence that follows is heavy, interrupted by Taehyung’s sigh what feels like an eternity later.

“Were you guys together then?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook shrugs. “We weren’t together together. But yes we were.” He pauses, and his throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper when he tries to swallow. “We started on Valentine’s Day.”

Taehyung’s nose is scrunched up, much like you sometimes do, when Jungkook looks at him. “That’s… a long time ago.”

“We ended in Paris, though,” Jungkook adds. “Except last Thursday.”

“I thought you and Lisa…” Taehyung trails off.

“It happened once last month,” Jungkook immediately explains, probably far more defensive than necessary. “And Y/n actually caught us together so… I ended things with Lisa right away.”

“I remember Lisa being pissed about it,” Taehyung admits. “But then she said that it was because of another girl, and looking back I was stupid to think it was Gaby.”

Jungkook purses his lips. “I haven’t spoken to Gaby in person since Paris. We only texted a couple of times.”

Including that one time she’d given him shit for not telling you about his promise to her.

“Right…” Taehyung trails off. He sighs, sitting back on the couch, throwing Jungkook a look. “What do you want with my sister?”

Jungkook gulps around a sudden lump in his throat. What does he want with you? He already knows, but can he tell Taehyung? Can he tell your brother that he’s so irreversibly in love with you he thinks he’s been dying since you said it was a lapse of judgment on Thursday?

That he almost died in July after he lost you?

“You want the truth?” Jungkook asks, his heart rate spiking. “I’m in love with her. I just want her to be happy, and of course I wish she’d want to be happy with me, but I don’t think that’ll happen after last Thursday.”

“You’re in love with her?” Taehyung repeats.

Jungkook gulps. “Yes.”

Taehyung nods and, to Jungkook’s surprise, taps Jungkook’s shoulder. “Noted. Come home, Jungkook. You should talk to her.”

Jungkook is stunned silent, and he just stares at Taehyung, just stares at his best friend unblinkingly, not understanding where the conversation went.

“What?”

“Come home,” Taehyung repeats. “I’m not mad at you. I was mostly mad that you both hid it from me for months, but clearly I was wrong.” He pauses, chuckles lightly. “At least that’s what Ari said. She quite literally beat some sense into me.”

So… this is it? The biggest obstacle to you and him… wasn’t even an obstacle?

“She did?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, gaze widening as if he’s reminiscing about what happened with Ariane. “She said that I was a dick for not letting you guys figure your shit out. I think Gaby told her about the two of you.”

That would make sense, considering that the two girls are best friends. 

“Oh,” is all Jungkook manages to say.

Taehyung surveys him for a few seconds, as Jungkook’s world crumbles down around him. It’s like the floor disappeared, and he’s plummeting towards the ground with no parachute to save him.

Taehyung is not opposed to your relationship.

If you want it, Jungkook can be with you.

“So come home,” Taehyung repeats. “Talk to Y/n. Fix shit with her.” Taehyung smiles, and this time it’s fully genuine. “I just want you both to be happy.”

Jungkook nods, and he has to take a deep breath to refrain from crying then and there. “Okay.” He nods again. “Okay, I will talk to her.”

There’s a moment of silence as Taehyung just carefully observes Jungkook. Jungkook wonders, can Taehyung hear the wild beats of his heart at the perspective of talking to you?

“Can I…” Taehyung starts, and then his eyes drop to his hands in his lap. “Can I ask you something?”

Jungkook’s heart seems to come to a full halt in his chest. “Yeah?”

“What happened last summer…” Taehyung trails off. “Is it related to Y/n?”

A bottle of wine crashing on the pavement comes to Jungkook’s mind. But he never told Taehyung - how would he know?

“What do you mean?” Jungkook replies, pulling on his piercings.

“In July.” Taehyung sighs, meeting Jungkook’s gaze for a few seconds. “Lisa told Sera, and she told me and Jimin.”

Jungkook hates it. He hates it so much, hating the vulnerability that it imposes him.

“Ah.” He gulps, and he thinks about you for a moment.

Thinks about the fact that you were the only thing on his mind when he was so close to ending it.

“It was partly caused by losing her, yes,” Jungkook finally answers, and he’s suddenly blinking back tears.

“Fuck, JK…” Taehyung trails off. “You really should have told me about her…”

“I didn’t think you’d be… open-minded,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders. “And she’d already ended things with me then.”

Taehyung nods once, and then sighs again. “Please don’t keep everything to yourself now, okay? I really don’t want you to think you’re alone. And I really don’t want you to ever feel like… that is a solution. So please talk to me, talk to Jimin whenever you need help, okay?”

Jungkook can’t speak around the lump in his throat, so all he does is nod. Taehyung understands - they’re best friends after all.

“I love you, bro,” Taehyung adds. “Please talk to Y/n.”

“I will,” Jungkook answers, his voice choked up with emotion.

All he can hope for is for you to be open to the conversation, whenever it comes. 

*****

For the first time in months, Jungkook feels at peace.

You’re here with him, and for the first time, he knows he won’t have to let go. Maybe that’s why he’s kissing you slowly, softly - you have all of eternity stretched ahead of you. Yet it seems you want more. Your kisses grow deeper, and soon his blood is pulsing at his ears, shooting down to his dick, and Jungkook pushes his tongue in your mouth.

It’s like he’s discovering you for the first time. He marvels at your sight, at your taste, at the way you moan softly against his lips. He swallows your sounds, inhales your inebriating scent, and he climbs on top of you, gently parting your legs with his knee so that he can be as close to you as possible.

He has half a thought that Taehyung is somewhere in the apartment, but the way you wrap your legs around his waist makes him forget everything until there’s just you and him.

He leaves your mouth to find your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you. A second later he’s sucking a hickey on your skin, and you moan softly, hand pulling at his hair.

“Kook,” you breathe out.

He pauses, just content with being close to you. “I love you, peach.”

Your arms wrap tightly around him, and though you have to be aware of his erection pressing against you, you both just stay there for a moment. 

“Love you too, Kook. So, so much.”

It’s the way you say the words. Jungkook immediately feels the need to be inside you, to be surrounded by you, and he kneels between your legs so that he can take off his shirt. You run a hand on his body, awe in your eyes like you, too, can’t believe you made it in the end. He takes a moment to look at you, to take in the way your eyes sparkle with emotion - with love, lust and yearning.

He loves you. And the best part about it is, you love him too.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

You sit up, taking off your shirt in one swift motion that reveals so much skin - you weren’t wearing a bra - and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane. It’s like he forgot what you looked like despite seeing you just a few days ago - it feels like a whole lifetime ago.

You’ve gained muscles over the months apart. You’re leaner, and there’s a strength to your curves that makes Jungkook’s dick twitch in his pants. The tattoo on your ribs is all too attractive too, and Jungkook takes a moment to trace it as you lie back down under his watchful gaze.

The art is beautiful. Delicate, with fine lines that have sunk perfectly in your skin. Jungkook wonders who your artist is, if they’d be able to tattoo something on him too, something to remind him of you. But then you’re whining from lack of attention, and Jungkook leans down, kissing you deeply.

You run your hands on the skin of his back, nails lightly digging in his skin, and when he grunts softly, you whisper, “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He goes fully insane. Insanely in love, perhaps. He undresses you, kissing every inch of skin revealed, and though he wants to taste you, to eat you out until you come undone on his tongue, his dick is throbbing too painfully for him to ignore it.

You’re glistening, your arousal evident the second his eyes land on you. He still takes a moment to slip two fingers inside of you as he kisses you again, swallowing your soft moans as they come. And when he thinks you’re ready, stretched enough for his dick, Jungkook takes off the rest of his clothes. His dick springs free, already rock hard like it always is with you, and he jerks himself off a couple of times as he watches you, as you watch him through half-lidded eyes.

“Condom?” he asks, though he hopes you’ll say no.

He wants to feel all of you again.

You shake your head no. “Please just fuck me already.”

“Fuck,” he curses, his dick hardening even more. “Fuck, peach, I love you.”

He comes closer, rubbing his tip on you, collecting your juices. It’s so sensitive without a condom, and he has to bite the tip of his tongue so that he doesn’t come right away. It doesn’t help that you’re so wet. That a moment later he’s slipping in, inch after inch, your walls sucking him in. 

It doesn’t help that you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows bunch together from the pleasure. You’re so hot like this, so sinfully beautiful, and some feral part of him just wants to pound into you, to fuck you until the whole neighbourhood knows that you’re his forever now.

But he tames himself, slowly pulls out before pushing all the way in again. 

“Kook,” you moan, and your hand finds one of his where it’s holding your waist. “Come close.”

You don’t have to ask twice, especially not as he wants you close, too. So he bends down, cages you between his forearms, and then he establishes a slow rhythm. Your hips lift to meet his, your walls tightening around him from the motion, and he knows he’ll come fast.

You’re too tight, too wet, for him to hold on for a long time. So he tells you how much he loves you. Whispers on your lips that he never wants to be separated from you again, that he thinks you’re the reason he’s alive. You confess your love back, tell him that he’s so worthy of your love, that you wouldn’t want anyone other than him. 

You tell him that you’ll love him when you’re old, which makes him laugh against your lips. There’s beauty in the thought, in the knowledge that he does have a lifetime with you.

“You’re…” he trails off, because he has no words to describe how amazing you are, and his dick is stealing most of the blood from his brain.

So he kisses you instead. Kisses you slow, kisses you deep, his motions growing faster until they turn sloppy, and then he pushes all the way in, his dick twitching as he unloads his cum deep inside of you. You hold him tight, pussy pulsating around him, and Jungkook’s high keeps going on and on, your lips muffling his groans and soft moans.

“I love you,” he says again when he starts being able to think once more.

He’ll never get tired of telling you.

“I love you too, Kook,” you whisper.

He’ll never get tired of hearing that, too.

Read chapter fifteen here!

☆☆☆☆☆

he is so in love with her please send help. Let me know what you think of the drabble!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[burnttongueontea]

So, what is the deal with the world’s most conspicuously uneaten Eccles cakes? (A meta)

Well, I wouldn’t say it’s bad writing, not even the on-purpose-as-a-secret-message kind. I agree there is a visual ‘loose thread’ here that the creators wanted us to notice, but I don’t think the meaning has anything to do with Metatron or the eventual plan for S3. I think the eccles cakes are all about what’s going on in this episode with Crowley and Aziraphale, and they’re unsettling in exactly the way they’re meant to be, even if we might not register the full implications consciously on first watch.

On the most straightforward level, this shot is the punchline to a joke set up by Aziraphale and Nina in the coffee shop. Crowley orders six shots of espresso, bound to get him all worked up and stressy. Aziraphale, who desperately wants Crowley to be thinking clearly when he learns about the Gabriel situation, says to Nina: ‘What do you sell that calms people down?’ And she replies: ‘Eccles cakes.’ From this moment on the cakes are a visual symbol of what Aziraphale needs from Crowley right now.

That’s why they get so much screentime as we cross the road and go into the shop. Aziraphale won't leave those eccles cakes behind because he’s still hoping that Crowley will respond to the request they represent: Please stay calm, please be patient and listen to me with empathy.

But Crowley never does respond, and as he storms out we get that close-focus shot of the abandoned plate to make sure the subtext hits home. The cakes are framed sitting in front of the horse statue, brilliantly dressed up in Crowley's sunglasses, to remind us that they were brought there for him and he's dismissing them. (Crowley is the frantic horse who can't be managed!)

There’s another level to it, though, which doesn’t fully become clear until episode 6. The episode 1 meeting in Nina’s café is the first time that Aziraphale and Crowley share a scene in the present-day in S2, which means that the last time we saw them together was when they were dining at the Ritz. As viewers, we quickly recognise the visual language of their partnership: a table for two, a drink, a dessert. It feels familiar. But the food gets delivered and then nobody eats it. On that level, it is a set-up without a pay-off and it really niggles as you watch. S1 closed out their relationship with a happy toast after a resplendent dinner; S2 opens it with a snack that gets ignored. The dynamics of who offers food to whom are also off, atypical. It’s a sign of how things are going to go later on, hinting at the fact their dynamic is dysfunctional right now, even though it might seem OK on the surface.

Which brings me, finally, on to the other thing I’ve wanted to point out…

The punchline is that Crowley doesn’t eat the eccles cakes, but the really subconsciously disconcerting thing is that Aziraphale doesn’t. That he seemingly never planned to, and never orders anything for himself. In fact, we don’t see Aziraphale eat anything substantial in any of the present-day scenes in S2. The only things he consumes onscreen are sherry, tea, and a travel sweet. (Oh, and Manipulation Coffee, which is definitely a callback to Crowley’s disastrous sextuple-espresso.) We see him with food, yes, but primarily he wants to give it to other people.

For me this little detail of S2 – not something you even fully notice until you think about it – is a very telling understated cue in terms of Aziraphale’s post-Heaven state of mind. It's about what amuseoffyre puts so well in another meta: 'the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it.' At first glance, we see Aziraphale interacting with food and assume he is now living the happy Earthly life we wanted for him, but on closer inspection he's not engaging much in the pleasure of eating for his own sake. He gets a quick sweet pick-me-up on his way somewhere else in the Bentley - all alone - and that's it. He's too anxious, too busy, he doesn't have time. Crowley doesn't have time to invite him for lunch.

I find it fascinating that Gabriel gets a squillion cups of cocoa in this season, waxing all lyrical about them, and Aziraphale gets none. Aziraphale's mug becomes Jim's mug, even. And he mostly makes the tea to show Muriel how to blend in. In short, S2 Aziraphale is terribly preoccupied with looking after/managing others, and not taking the time to look after himself. Like the Maggie and Nina match-making, all that kindly treat-offering is displacement, displacement, displacement.

No wonder it all goes wrong.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝙞 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. stepping into your early twenties you move to live on your own. A couple months later you're surprised when family man Miguel O'Hara moves next door. How do you manage to get this sex symbol into your sheets?

wc . 7,625

tags . miguel o hara x reader.miguel o hara x reader smut. all characters are 18+ years old. alternative au. non spiderman au. family man Miguel. dad Miguel. husband Miguel. swearing, cunnilingus, praise kink, blowjobs, phone sex, masturbation, shower sex, squirting. age gap. 18+ mdni!

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : your girl by lana del rey

0:57 ————|——— -2:10

�� . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

June 21st

You remember it clear as day. June 21st when they moved in. You’d just come back from practice and you were about to head downstairs to check for any mail when you saw it go down. The moving van pulled onto the street, tailed by a red family-sized car. Curiously you peer out of your bedroom window. Out stepped a tan middle-aged woman in a floral sun dress and a woven hat. A girl with her hair in pigtails and a lollipop in her sticky little hands. Then came him.

Him in all his beautiful glory. Him in his staggering height and muscular frame. His hair dark, curly, unruly falls against his well-defined cheekbones and, further highlighting his strong jawline. Just his appearance alone has put you in a trance, you’re glued to your window and you daren’t leave until he disappears from your sight. Even the way in which he moves speaks volumes about the silent authority that he carries.

July 1st

Temperatures rise gradually, and clothes get skimpier, at least yours do. But it’s all part of your plan. With a couple of failed attempts at making cookies, you’d finally nailed it, once your friend did it for you. You arrange them neatly on a plate, trying to ignore the little voice in your head that questions your motives. But you’ve already decided, and there is no turning back now. You let yourself in by opening his front gate, before closing it behind you, walking down the grassy lawn and in front of his door. The soft click of it closing behind you sounds like a finality as if crossing an invisible line.

You can feel your heart in your mouth. Tempering with a family man, you were up to no good, but you can’t help that you wanna have a little fun and see what you can do. A couple knocks on their door and you don’t wait long before the door opens, revealing the little girl and woman previously.

Fuck. Not who you wanted to see.

“Hi.” you greet cheerfully, hiding your disappointment behind a friendly facade. “I’ve noticed you guys have moved in next door, I’m Y/N and I wanted to give you these cookies as a welcome gift.” The woman smiles a warm smile in gratefulness and her child seems to be eagerly staring the plate of goodies down.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate this, It’s so nice to see a friendly face out here.” she chuckles, pulling her child’s head close to her and stroking her dark hair.

You nod, your smile widening as you make small talk, though your mind is still on him. “It’s hard to get these guys to open up, takes a while, but I didn’t want y’all to have a bad impression of the area and I'm sure you’ll all love it here. Especially you.” you say, pointing to the child, who shyly turns away from you.

“Gabriel saluda a la simpática dama.” her mother gently prompts her and the little girl mutters a quiet welcome. For a brief moment, guilt twists in your stomach. This woman, her child—they’re kind and welcoming, and they see you as nothing more than a friendly neighbour. But the guilt is fleeting, replaced by a sense of determination. He’s set, devoted, maybe—but how devoted?

“She’s so precious.” you coo.

Sure, part of you feels bad, the man has a wife and a kid. He’s set and devoted, but you want to test the waters and see how devoted he is. So when they invite you to a barbeque night for the 4th, you seize your chance. Because while part of you knows this might be wrong, another part of you is already imagining what might happen if he looks at you just a little too long, if his smile lingers just a little too much.

The game has begun, and you’re ready to see just how far you can push it.

4th July.

The day tumbles into night dragging along its excitement and heat of the sun-soaked hours before into the darkening, night. Dense smoke from the barbecue rises slowly, curling and rolling into the night sky, wrapping itself around the gathering like a veil. It’s almost as if a hazy filter has been cast over the whole series of event, from the moment you step foot into their garden to the moment he offers you a drink. You can feel it—this strange, heady mix of anticipation and tension His significantly larger hand over the cool glass bottle, mimicking your cold sweat.

You take the drink from him, swinging it to your lips, feeling some of it trickle past your mouth and down your chin. A practised thumb swipes over it as your eyes reunite with his. “Thanks for introducing yourself to my wife. ” he thanks you, breaking the silence between the both of you- finally. “She really appreciates it and she’s glad you pointed out places for our Gabriel to play.” he finishes, eyes pulling away from the distance and back down to you.

“It’s nothing, don’t think anything of it.” now it’s your turn to look off into the distance, soaking in the scenery of others gathered near the table of roasted food. Their laughter mingling with the music that drifts from the speakers filling up the night. You’re unsure of when, but there is an eager flame dancing in a corner, adding a subconscious thrill to this gathering. The couple seem to have invited friends and family members and you start to feel a little out of place, like a fish out of water.

“Didn’t catch you name by the way?” he asks, widening his current stance, flexible in the subconscious hierarchy.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

“Well, Y/N, you’re always welcome here, drop by if you need anything, we’d love seeing your face around.” perhaps it’s pure delusion or mere obsession with fantasy, but the tonality of his voice is hinting towards something. Towards something deeper and secretive than what the world has to know. Before you can thank him for his kind gesture, you’re interrupted by Gabriel running towards her father screaming “Daddy!”, and hugging his leg fondly.

Of course. You remember your place in this scenario. You’re simply their neighbour, nothing more, nothing less. You see it in his eyes as he bends down to pick up his daughter, his expression softening as he sways with her in his arms. He apologises to you, saying he has to leave for a moment. And you're alone again, placing the bottle to your lips once more.

And your heart shifts uncomfortably when the couple stands together to make an announcement, his arm wrapped around her waist comfortably,of course. As if she belongs there, and she does. You see where you stand in this.

10th July

You like to keep yourself busy when you aren’t drowned in school work, practising or doing your

part-time job and you accomplish that by journeys to the club with your friend, never intending to stay long or do anything of an impact, so this night when a new fellow accompanies you back home, you’re left with the tough decision of rejecting his advances.

“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. “ you explain, leaning against your car, not entertaining his attempts.

“Well I can be quick baby, in and out.” he pleads, his voice slurring slightly as he leans closer, his hand resting on the hood of your car. The stench of alcohol clings to him, and you can tell by the way he’s using your car as a crutch that he’s far too intoxicated to be thinking straight. You sigh inwardly, already knowing this is going nowhere.

“I don’t like sloppy hurried work, I’d want for you to take care with me.” You explain, glancing at your nails bored, waiting for him to tire himself out and head home, so you can head to bed.

“I won’t be sloppy baby, promiseee.” he whines, his voice taking on a childlike quality that makes your skin crawl. The desperation in his tone only solidifies your resolve. This is exactly why you’re drawn to older men—men who know what they want and don’t need to beg or plead for attention. Men like him.

Almost as if on cue, out walks the man, his hair failing in front of his fair, this time much more unkept and messier than usual. Curious eyes observe his frame hidden under the loose-fitting shirt he’s wearing. The sound of the guy next to you complaining and begging again perks his attention and when he lifts his head to peak at the commotion he makes eye contact with you. There’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that he’s seen you, that he’s aware of your presence even in this awkward situation. your focus is elsewhere now, on the man who just drove away, leaving you with a lingering sense of longing. The night suddenly feels colder, and emptier, as you watch his taillights disappear into the distance.

23rd July

Blue skies overhead and the sun pressing down on you heavily, aggressively biting into your skin. The sun beats down relentlessly, turning your skin warm to the touch and making the air shimmer with heat. Your friends and you have hosted a pool party, to cool off and catch up. So you’re wearing your strappy swimsuit when you realise that your hose won’t turn or budge. You try with all your might but to no avail. No matter how much you twist and pull, the stubborn thing won’t budge. You put your full weight into it, your muscles straining as you give it another try, but it’s no use. The hose refuses to cooperate. Only one thing left to do.

You find yourself in front of your neighbours’ door, this time in a two piece piece swimsuit, that seems to hug you in all the right places, and the colour makes your features pop even more. You spend a couple of quick seconds adjusting the fabric only your body as finalising touches and fixing your hair, before lightly knocking on the door. It doesn’t take long before the door swings open wide, revealing a shirtless Miguel.

Bingo.

His broad chest glistens slightly with a sheen of sweat, and for a moment, you lose your train of thought. You flash a charming smile, “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help with my hose?” you ask, your voice sweet and innocent, leaving the question hanging in the air. You can see the moment he registers your outfit, his eyes widening slightly before they travel slowly over your body, taking in every detail. It takes him a few seconds to pull his gaze back up to your eyes, and when he does, he leans casually against the doorframe, trying to play it cool.

“What hose?” he asks, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“The hose in my backyard,” you explain, your tone light. “I need it to fill up my pool.”

“Your pool huh?” his eyes keep drifting all over, he’s clearly distracted and your plan is set in motion.

“Yeah,” you continue, feigning a bit of helplessness. “I’m having a pool party with my friends, but I can’t seem to get the hose to turn on.” You pout slightly, batting your lashes at him, hoping to nudge him into coming over, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

“I can help you turn it on.”

“Great!” you exclaim, clapping your hands together, a smile on your face. You lead him to your back garden and the short journey there is filled with silence. He makes his way over the knob of the hose, effortlessly twisting it successfully, however, no water comes out.

“Oh no. Is the water broken?” you ask, lightly shaking the hose in hopes of getting a trickle of water to emerge.

“It probably needs a minute.” he explains, staring at the green hose in your hands in anticipation. The two of you wait the minute, patiently waiting for any spurts of water, but nothing.

“I guess, my water system’s broke. I’ll just call the-”

“I can help you. It’ll only take a minute, it may just be a connection issue, no need to ring them up.”

“Really? Thank you.” you gasp, ecstatic. You exaggerate your relief, letting it show in your eyes, hoping to make yourself seem more appealing, more in need of his help. Now, he’s in your territory, your domain, and you’re determined to make the most of it.

He nods and asks you to lead him to your kitchen sink. He crouches down on the ground and opens the cupboards, hands going into the darkness searching for something.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” you ask him casually, but he refuses, saying he’ll be in and out. To your disappointment. But even as he works, you can’t help but notice the little things—the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way his fingers move with precision as he checks the pipes.

Minutes pass, and though you try to make small talk, he remains focused, determined to fix the problem. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he emerges from beneath the sink, wiping his hands on a rag.

“There, that should do it,” he says, standing up and giving you a satisfied grin.

You walk back outside with him, feeling a little defeated, but as he tests the hose one more time, water suddenly gushes out, splashing onto the ground with a force that catches you off guard. You can’t help but laugh in surprise, the sound is bright and genuine.

“Well, I guess I owe you one,” you say, turning to him with a playful smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just doing my job as a good neighbor.”

But there’s something in the way he says it, in the lingering look he gives you, that makes you think this might not be the last time you find yourself needing his help.

2nd August

The days stretch on, each one hotter than the last, as the relentless sun beats down from a sky that’s perpetually clear, leaving the air thick with humidity. The heat has sapped the energy out of most people, turning every movement into an effort and leaving them sluggish, sticky, and desperate for relief. Miguel, too, feels the weight of the summer pressing down on him, the heat wrapping around him like a heavy blanket as he decides to spend his afternoon lounging on the chair in front of his house.

He’s settled in with a cold beer, the bottle sweating in his grip as he takes a long, slow sip, savouring the coolness against his lips. The golden sunlight bathes his skin, and for a moment, he lets himself relax, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of the day. He’s asked his family to give him some space, just an hour or so to himself, away from the noise and the demands of the household. But even as he reclines back, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, he can’t seem to shake the feeling of restlessness that’s creeping in.

The heat is relentless, and the boredom is worse. The occasional car zips by, blasting music that fades as quickly as it comes, leaving him alone with the sound of his own thoughts and the distant hum of cicadas. Irritated, Miguel lifts his sunglasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if that might alleviate the discomfort. The overstimulation of the day—the brightness, the heat, the monotonous sounds—is getting to him, and he’s on the verge of retreating inside when something catches his eye.

His gaze drifts across the yard, past the sidewalk, and up to the window of the house next door—your window. His breath hitches slightly as he sees you there, your bedroom window wide open, allowing the summer breeze to flow in and caress your skin. You’re standing in the middle of the room, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, and you’re slowly, deliberately, peeling off your clothes. One item at a time.

Miguel’s grip on the beer bottle tightens as he watches, his heart beating a little faster. You’re completely unaware of his gaze, lost in your own world as you remove each piece of clothing with a languid, almost sensual grace. Your movements are slow, unhurried as if you’re savouring the act of shedding the layers, of freeing yourself from the constriction of fabric. Each piece falls to the floor in a soft heap, and with every discarded item, more of your skin is revealed, glowing in the warm light.

He’s hooked, his eyes fixed on you, unable to look away. There’s something hypnotic about the way you move, the way you seem to bask in the sunlight pouring through your window, your eyes closed in what looks like pure bliss. It’s as if you’re performing a private dance, one meant only for yourself, and yet here he is, captivated by every second of it. The way you twirl in front of the mirror, the sunlight catching on the curves of your body, makes his pulse quicken. He watches, entranced, as you take a moment to admire your reflection, your fingers trailing over your own skin, before you disappear from view, leaving him breathless.

For a moment, Miguel just sits there, his body tense, his mind racing. The image of you, so free, so unguarded, is burned into his memory, and he knows it’s something he’ll replay over and over again in his mind. He tries to shake it off, to convince himself that it was nothing, just a fleeting moment—but the truth is, he’s in awe. He can’t believe what he just saw, and yet he can’t let it go.

He refuses to lay back down, to pretend as if nothing happened. His heart is still pounding, his skin tingling with the remnants of the sun’s heat and something else, something far more dangerous. He sits up, wide-eyed, replaying the scene in his mind, letting it linger. There’s no escaping it now. The image of you bathed in sunlight, every movement deliberate and intoxicating, will haunt him. It’s a secret he’ll keep, a memory he’ll revisit again and again, long after the sun has set and the heat of the day has finally faded.

5th August

Adulting means spending heaps of money on things which you’d rather not, like new appliances. You start to wonder where the money goes after, and why so much of it goes too. Today is one of those days. After making a painful dent in your bank account on a new appliance, you finally pull into your driveway, the stifling heat inside your car practically cooking you alive. The summer sun has turned your vehicle into an oven, and as you open the door, a wave of heat rolls out, making the sweltering air outside almost feel cool in comparison.

With a sigh, you climb out, your body already slick with sweat. You circle to the passenger side, pulling open the door to retrieve the heavy cardboard box that holds your new purchase. The weight of it nearly sends you toppling over, and you grimace as you try to get a better grip. The box is bulky and awkward, the edges digging into your arms as you begin the slow, torturous journey to your front door.

Every step feels like a challenge as the heat presses down on you, sweat trickling down your back. You’re already dreading the short walk, and as you glance at the distance between your car and your front door, you can feel the sweat start to gather at your hairline, your muscles straining under the weight. With another heave, you start to shuffle forward, side-stepping to keep the box balanced, your arms already burning from the effort.

Just when you think you might have to drop the box and rest, a familiar gruff voice cuts through the oppressive heat.

“Need some help with that?”

You look up to see Miguel, your neighbour, stepping out of his car. His timing is impeccable as if he appeared just when you were about to collapse under the weight of the box.

“I saw you coming out and thought you might need a little help,” he says, his tone casual, but there's a hint of concern in his eyes as he takes in your struggle.

You can’t help but tease him a little, despite the sweat dripping down your face. “Why? Don’t you think I can do it on my own?”

He doesn’t seem to catch the playful tone in your voice, instead taking your words at face value. “No, it’s just that you’re bent over double and practically becoming best friends with the ground with how far down you’re crouching.”

“Ouch,” you reply with a mock wince.

“Sorry,” he says, though there’s a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I mean, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate the help.”

Without another word, Miguel steps forward and effortlessly lifts the box from your hands, making it look as light as a feather. You can’t help but feel a little envious of his strength as he carries it with ease toward your front door. You quickly rush ahead to open the door for him, grateful for the assistance.

“Where do you want this?” he asks as he steps inside, the cool air from the house hitting his face.

“Just on that countertop will do, thanks,” you reply, pointing to the kitchen.

Miguel sets the box down carefully, and before you can even think to ask, he’s already heading back to your car to grab the remaining items. He makes a couple more trips, hauling the heavy boxes as if they weigh nothing, and your mind can’t help but fawn over his effortless strength. There’s something undeniably attractive about the way he moves, the way his muscles flex as he carries each load inside without breaking a sweat.

With the last of the boxes shuffled onto the countertop, Miguel turns to leave, but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.

“Hey, would you like something to drink? It’s the least I can do to thank you,” you offer, flashing him a grateful smile.

He hesitates for a moment, but then he nods, a smile softening his features. “Sure, why not?”

You grab a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to Miguel as the two of you make your way outside to the backyard. You find a spot on the steps, settling down side by side as he gulps down the cool drink, clearly appreciating the refreshment after the heavy lifting.

“You old enough to be having this beer?” Miguel asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“It’s not mine,” you quickly explain, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “A friend left it over.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your explanation entirely. “How old are you then?”

“Twenty,” you reply, your voice steady, though you can’t help but feel a bit exposed by the question.

“Right,” he says, his tone neutral, but you can sense the wheels turning in his mind.

The age gap between you is significant, but oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Not at all. In fact, there’s a certain tension in the air, a silent understanding that something unspoken hangs between you both. The way he looks at you, the way he’s been lingering a little longer than necessary—there’s something there, something neither of you has acknowledged yet, but it’s growing stronger with every passing moment.

“You know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth, “you’re pretty resourceful, handling all this on your own. But if you ever need help again... you know where to find me.”

His words linger in the air, heavy with implication, and you feel a shiver run down your spine despite the lingering heat of the day.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, your voice soft, almost a whisper.

Miguel stands, his eyes never leaving yours as he steps away, but there’s a promise in his gaze, something unspoken that leaves you feeling warm and slightly breathless.

10th August

It’s late when he’s in your car round the corner of your street. The outside world is still- void of movement. The only two being existing are the both of you. Concealed under the inky blackness of the night, that its shade has to conceal. It's thrilling, almost like a sparkler on your touch, ready to crackle at any moment. The moonlight basks him nicely, highlighting his masculine and broody features, and capturing his captivating essence. His dark curls run past his deep eyes that call to you from the other side. His lips, which lick themselves with sin, are ready to taint yours too. You’re finding it harder and harder to contain yourself.

The lights of the streets, aligned perfectly, flicker and twinkle before you, igniting your motives even more. Even the distance between the both of you is electrifying, scared that one singular brush of a finger or shared gaze between each other would cause worlds to collide and collapse. His deep chuckle, fills the small car, snapping back into the present moment. It’s like your body has a mind of its own the way your fingers retract when he calls your name. This is dangerous territory. The scene set up for you is seductive and alluring.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asks you, his gaze ever so slowly rising from the edge of your car seat into your calling eyes, and he holds it. He freezes time by holding the connection.

“No.” you crack a smirk, your fingers playfully dancing on the centre console, keeping your tone light and flirty, your soft voice barely coming out above a whisper, drawing him in.

“Really? A girl like you doesn’t have one? That’s new.” he replies, looking ahead of him, the curls atop of his head tickling the roof of your car, further highlighting his enormous build.

“A girl like me? What does that mean?” Every sentence shared between the two of you is mere foreplay and the both of you know it. It’s sick. Every syllable spoken is dragged out slowly and stretched by rising smirks.

“You know, a pretty girl.” he’s smiling at your reaction, your failed attempt of muffling the smile spreading across your face and the heat rising through your core to your face.

You’re charmed, “You think I’m a pretty girl?” you ask, a twinkle in your eyes.

“Very.” he responds, the both of you staring at each other’s lips, imaging each other’s flavour and the way you both taste. Not a sound passes through the vehicle, it’s deadly silent, the only sound is the ringing of your own heartbeat in your head, a signal of your misbehaving.

“Well,” you start off, your voice as thick as honey, eyes latched unto his lips. “I’ve never had a older boyfriend before.”

“Oh yeah?” it is slow and reverberating when he says that.

“I bet he would treat me so good, and look after me real well. Don’t you?” you play with your lips between your teeth, biting and tugging playfully.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a younger girl under my care. But I assume, he’d treat you real good. Who ever he may be be.”

You hum, “How good? Tell me.”

“He’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before, make you see things you’ve never seen before, give you the attention you deserve.” his voice is low and grungy, he’s falling into your stick trap and you love it. You fail to realise the distance between the both of you diminishing, faces drawn closer and closer.

“Sounds good to me. Such a shame there isn’t a hunky older man to teach me these new things.” you’re whispering now. “Would you show me, Mr O’Hara?” The temptation. The beginning of his fall. You. Teasing him shamelessly in your car, you're displaying faux innocence, dripping in arousal. The use of the formality, ‘Mr O’Hara’ a name to which you’ve never referred him, flips the switch from within him.

Your lips crash unto his, finally bridging the distance between the both you. The kiss is fiery and hot, when your lips tangle with each other, breathing each other in, from the sheer desperation in the kiss. Sounds of lips smacking fill up the car very quickly, and the taste of faint liquor coats his lips, it's intoxicating and you’re reeling. His hand wastes no time cupping your face, holding you close to him. Finger’s nestle in his curly dark locks and the kiss deepens.

The only time the both of you separate is for air, gasping quickly as you pant for air, resting your forehead on his, and keeping him close by keeping your fingers interlocked in his hair.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he breathes out, refusing to look up at you, knowing he’ll fall for the trap again.

“I know but you know you want to. It feels so right, doesn’t it?” you’re breathless and your lips have darkened in colour slightly, appearing rosier and more tempting.

“Fuck kid, the things you do to me.” he groans and he dives in again.

17th August

“Ngh- fuck.” you’re crying out as he thrusts into you mercilessly, drilling you deeper and deeper into your sheets. You're writhing and wriggling under his weighted grasp, as he uses one firm hand to pin your wrists above your head. Hair clings to your face, as you’re worked up by the intense pleasure. Back arching off the mattress as one stroke out the other’s seems to hit you just right, causing an involuntary reaction. Miguel is living for this, his eyes trained on your every move and shift, his ears memorising every one of your whimpers and cries. He’s relentless.

“Being such a good girl f’ me y’know that?” he says, his curls in disarray from the strenuous act, clinging to his forehead, his abs glistening in the sheen layering of sweat, from his dedication to making you feel like heaven. “You look so pretty like this princesa. Tan bonita. “

You’re fevershingly rolling and grinding your hips against him, eager and desperate for a sweet release. “Hold on, patience,” he growls, focused on getting you to cream all over him regardless. He can picture it now, your trembling figure spewing out a hot burst of yours and his warm white cum, making a mess of yourself. The thought of it alone nearly sends him over the edge.

“’ M gonna come Miggy.” you mewl out, toes curling from the heightened anticipation. You’re dripping and drenched. It’s absolutely filthy. From the moment you invited them into your home and tolerated the incessant foreplay, you’ve been needy and begging to feel him, to get a piece of him. So the moment when those lace panties came off, the man was met with a glistening, slick cunt, which is now responsible for the soppy sounds filling up the room. The sounds of your arousal. He’d call you a bad girl, for thinking of him so naughtily to get your pussy so needy, but he isn’t as innocent either.

“I know baby, I know, just hold out f’me, kay.”

“Fuuuckk.” tears are running down your cheek when Miguel lifts up of your legs, placing it over his broad shoulders. Your head falls back in pure bliss.

“Looks like we got a dirty mouth on our case. You’re gonna have to open wide for me.” he instructs and like a puppet you obey, opening your mouth more waiting for his thick fingers to invade. You’re slobbering all over the shamelessly, making eye contact with him as he ruts into you. “What a messy girl, is this how you behave when you get fucked, hmm?” his movement and sharper and faster and your body is limp, mind fogged. You forget to respond to him, too dicked dumb to do so.

“I asked you a question, you’re gonna fucking answer, is this how you act when you get fucked? Huh, princess? Like a sloppy slut? Or is it just with me?” you nod lazily in response, still moaning over the fingers in your mouth. Your eyes go wide when you feel yourself tightening, your walls gummy hot walls clamping down on him harder. Miguel removes his fingers from your mouth and his hand from your wrists, freeing them, his hands slipping down to your hips.

You can’t even scream about about your close approach because he can feel it and it's fast coming.

“Wanna come Miggy. Wanna feel so good.”

“Want me to make you feel good? Wanna come.”

“Yes, please,please,please,please.” you’re screaming and chanting ‘please’ as you feel your high incoming, and arch your back even further.

“Cum baby, come all over.” you screw your eyes tight as the knot in your stomach finally breaks and you’re cumming. With a couple of thrusts, Miguel follows soon after, his groans and your moans mixing together in the room. His dick is coated in a creamy white, leaving a ring around his base. You’re twitching as you come down from your high, gasping and trying to catch your breath.

With a soft kiss on your forehead, he congratulates you, “Did so good baby.”

23rd August

Sounds of the conscient stream of water fill up the soundscape of the bathroom, hot water, rushing down your back as you’re pressed against the wall, bent over for Miguel and his thick cock. You’ve got no stable supports, and your fingers are slipping off the wet wall, as you try to grip anything for support. It was a mistake for you to drag him along with you into the shower. What were you thinking? Expecting for him to remain composed upon seeing you all when and soapy, no chance. That’s how you find yourself screaming out his name as he places his large hands on your hips, using them to pummel you.

Beirfely, you turn to look back at him. A man on a mission, focused on your ass jiggling repetitively, it was hypnotizing.

“Go slower, slower.” you plead, dreading cumming early, having all of this fade so fast. But of course, the man refuses to listen to you, instead speeding up. Your words are cut off when he reaches deep, feeling as if he’s brushing against your cervix. You drop your head, your mouth following and you scream silently, thanking the Lord above for this blessing of man. One of his hands runs up your back, his thumb slowly stroking it. Bouncing back on his dick, your hips push back every time he pushes in, making you go dizzy.

“Atta girl, just like that, you eager to come on my dick huh?” he says lowly. You’re biting your lip as you nod, that is all you can think about. Your back arches as he speeds up, clenching down on him, warm walls giving him a tight squeeze, making him drop his head back as he lets out a low guttural groan.

“Fuck you’re sexy. Think you can come for me?” Not much else is aid when after three more strokes you're crying out his name, sounding like a sweet melody in his ears.

24th August

“Nice and slow princess, you sure you can handle it?” you’re gargling around his thick cock as he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him all. Making a mess as your saliva coats and lubes his hard-on. Your eyes are shut tight and your hands are gripping his thighs as he uses your hair to bob your head up and down his length. “There we go, such a pretty girl.” he coos, staring down at you, in awe at your determination and persistence to carry this through. Initially, he would’ve been fine with directing all his attention to you, but you didn’t want to seem like a quitter, you didn’t want to prove to him that you were a kid after all and he wasn’t right for you.

“You like that? Yeah, take it all in baby. Fuck” You feel a familiar heat pool in your panties, slowly dampening them. You fail to notice, that one of your hands has slipped down to soothe the building ache until he chuckles. “Don’t worry baby I haven’t forgotten about you. Gonna take real good care of you real soon.” He leans his head back, feeling his high approaching. His incessant repeating of your praise intertwined with praises of your good work seems to be working you up even more, the ache from before now developing into an urgent and deep throb. You moan, just thinking about it.

“Dirty fuckin girl.” he groans, taking his hands off your head and putting you in charge, his hand instead collecting all your hair. You hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, turning it to the side occasionally to sensually glide your tongue up his length, maintaining eye contact with him through watery eyes. “Fuck princess.” he groans. “ Want me to cum all over your face princess?” you moan in agreeance, feeling yourself throb in anticipation.

He hisses before pulling out of your mouth at the last minute, helping himself by finishing with a couple of strokes from his own hand. “Open wide baby.” You stick out your tongue ready, and hot spurts of coming land on your face, some coating your awaiting tongue too.

“Fuck you look good like this.”

26th August

You would say that you’re surprised that this man is a master pussy eater, but you’d be lying. He has successfully proven numerous times that he’s simply a sex god. So when your fingers are pulling on his hair for dear life, he isn’t surprised. With every flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit, you’re rolling your hips, getting his nose to nudge against your clit too in the mix. “Can’t go anymore, baby.”

“Why not, just wanna see you cum all over again, you look so perfect when you do it.”

His tongue laps over your sensitive bud again, slurping up and collecting all your juices and you’re crying from the intense pleasure wriggling and writhing again.

“So good.” you groan, leaning your head back and falling into the pleasure, letting it consume you. His hands are grabbing your thighs forcefully whilst his thumb is simultaneously grazing the flesh. He’s passionately making out against your soaked cunt, not minding that you’re dripping unto his chin. He loves it.

“Wait, wait, I’m gonna come, ‘M gonna come, gonna come.” you tell him too late, because when you do, you’re not creaming like you usually do, but instead a clear liquid sprays out. Everywhere.

“Well, you may you didn’t come, but you definitely squirted.”

28th August

“Rub that pretty pussy for me. Just like that.” his voice says through the phone, watching intently as your fingers repetitively circle over your clit, your speed slow and teasing, you bite your lips to suppress your moans, your drenched hole fluttering around nothing. Miguel has finally got himself a free house, but his wife’s suspicions are arising, not towards the two of you, but towards Miguel’s new sneaking out habit and leaving the house more than he usually would. Usually, you would feel bad for the mother, getting neglected by her husband and watching him distance himself from her, leaving the burden of their child unto her, but you were having too much fun with his married man. With the way he fucks you, and holds you and whispers dirty things in your ear- tainting your innocence. Your head is reeling from all this new attention, so you don’t think you’ll stop anytime soon.

“Fuck.” a soft groan comes from his side as he watches you devilishly slip your finger into your warm, desperate cunt. “Did I tell you you could put you’re fingers in, huh?” Miguel on the other end is pumping himself to the sight of you, needy and depraved. No matter how many times he’s been all up in your cunt, or had your gummy walls wrap around him, he can never seem to get enough. There’s something about you that pulls him back, you’re not just some option on the side for him anymore, but now more like a drug, the things you’re doing to him.

“Don’t care.” you giggle softly, pumping your fingers at a faster pace, rolling your head to the side. “I’m horny and you’re not here to do anything about it.”

“Watch it. We’ll see what I’ll do when I get back.”

You arch your back as your fingers finally graze your G spot, causing you to moan out. Your fingers are covered in your slick. “Wish you were here to fuck me, Miguel,” you whine, not knowing the effect this has on him. If he could, he would run out of the house take you right then and there, stuff you full of him and watch as you get fucked dumb by him. You’re teasingly moaning louder than usual to work him up, but your mind can’t help but fill with a picture of him having his way with you, fucking you rough. “ Fuck Miggy, need you right now.” you moan out, your fingers pumping into yourself faster.

“Maybe if you come all of those pretty fingers I might consider it.”

“Mmhg shit, I can come for you, I can come real hard.” you put your other hand to good use, to circle your clit, the feeling immediately increasing my tenfold, now you’re really crying out, head getting clouded by pure lust and the urge to reach your high.” With a few more pumps and circles of your fingers, you release all over your fingers, laying back on your bed to catch a breath as warm cum ooze out of you.

“Come here and show me the mess you’ve made baby.” you don’t hesitate to sit up and grab your phone, angling it to reveal your white fingers. “Put em in your mouth and suck real good.” you follow his command, swirling your tongue around your fingers and sucking them clean, before taking them out of your mouth to show him the finished result. “Atta girl.”

“Look at the mess I made.” you bring your phone to your glistening cunt, absolutely covered in your arousal, your hole still leaking cum from your high, and your puffy clit.

“What a good girl.”

August 31st

The both of you knew this day would come. The last day before you returned back to college, the day where you’d have to say goodbye, but it happened all too soon. You almost wish that something, anything would happen to not have to pull you out of this situation and from the ecstasy you’re feeling. The room has picked up the scent of sex after all the rounds the both of you have endured, fucking for hours on end. The sounds of skin slapping and bed creaking has filled the room with pap, pap, pap’s. Your nails are digging into his back, definitely leaving him marked up with your scratches against his board back and he pummels into you, your body practically clinging unto him as he fuck you into oblivion.

“Gonna miss you, baby, you know that?” he says, placing gentle kisses on your hot forehead, some strands of your hair clinging to your face.

“Gonna miss you too,” you respond, pulling him closer as he reaches deeper and deeper, further and further into you. You place your lips on his neck, passionately sucking on it, with the intent of leaving a mark.

“You naughty, naughty thing, what have I told you about shit like this.” you ignore him anyway. Miguel has always had a problem with being evidenced. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to catch an accidental glimpse of it and start pointing fingers, but as this was a farewell gift, he let the scratching slide. Once successfully leave your mark, you giggle. “We’ll see who’ll be laughing in a second.”

In a second you’re moaning louder. There’s something that he’s doing that's working even better than a couple of thrusts ago, and you don’t know what it is. You thought you were already at 100% with him, but you suppose you truly underestimated him. Now he has you screaming his name, pleading and begging like prayer- music to his ears.

“Oh fuck. oh my fucking God.” One thing Miguel loves about you is how vocal you are, it fuels him, so whenever he hears your pleas to keep going or to stop because it’s too much, he carries right on. You’re high up with the way you’re being fucked, his hips rut into you and soon you’re unable to even scream out loud, all of them turning silent.

“Yeah, who's laughing now.” he chuckles, as you lay back on the bed, gripping the sheets beneath you. He takes his hand to your face, brushing the hair out of it before placing a is on your lips and you’re melting into it. The two of you don’t usually kiss, keeping it strictly to fucking, but this time it’s different, this one is different. Contradictory to his pace, you lips are slow and gentle as he savours your taste and your lips for the last time.

This truly is the end.

SEPTEMBER 1ST

+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +

count how many times i said fuck. miguel is sooooooooo sexy oh mi god. please give this the love it deserves i acc spent ages writing this.

[twilightcitysky]

Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 2)

Part one here

Okay, so that's how I think the pre-creation scene and Gabriel's arc connect to Aziraphale's choice. I also think the ineffable bureaucracy speedrun exists to prove totally different things to Aziraphale and Crowley: Aziraphale loves that they can love each other but notes they have to run away to be together; Crowley sees this and immediately thinks "hey, we can do that too!", forgetting that running away is not a solution Aziraphale has ever been interested in. It's the mentality of an individualist vs a group-oriented mind, and neither of them is necessarily wrong, it's just that their priorities are different and they HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT, which they don't.

Continued analysis under the cut:

3. Let's take the Job minisode. Why include it? We already mentioned that it proves Aziraphale remembers Crowley as an angel, since he mentions it. And he believes Crowley is the same person he always was, and that he doesn't want to harm Job's crops or animals or children. Crowley tries to convince him he's a Big Bad Demon who is all in on this assignment, but fails utterly to kill even a single goat, soooo... Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that he knows what Crowley wants. Alert! Alert! This is a big problem! Crowley says, "What do you know about what I want?" Aziraphale: "I know you." Crowley: "You do not know me." But because Aziraphale got it right this time, he goes ahead assuming he'll always get it right, which is a crucial failure when it comes to the final reckoning. He doesn't ever ASK Crowley what he wants, he just assumes. When you assume you know what someone wants, you usually assume their priorities align with yours... he couldn't be more wrong about that. The Job minisode sets up this dynamic for them, and they never really manage to change it.

The other thing happens at the end of the minisode. Crowley acknowledges two crucial points: 1) he's lonely ("But you said it wasn't!" "I'm a demon. I lied"), 2) he doesn't think Aziraphale would like Hell. Aziraphale DOESN'T like Hell. Aziraphale hates Hell for what they've done to Crowley. He doesn't see Heaven as innocent or benign, but importantly, Heaven has never tried to hurt Crowley directly. They never threatened his safety. They never tortured him (as it's heavily implied that Hell did). Fast forward to the last ten mins of season 2: Aziraphale excited to tell Crowley that he can be an angel again BECAUSE: he never has to go back to Hell. They can never hurt him again, not the way they did before. And he doesn't have to be lonely anymore.

Last point before I leave Job: Crowley has the chance to cause Aziraphale to Fall, here, probably. ("I lied to Heaven to thwart the will of God!" "You did, but I'm not going to tell anybody. Are you? ...good, then nothing has to change.") He doesn't take it. He doesn't want Aziraphale to be a demon. He loves Aziraphale as he is. "Angel" as an affectionate. Aziraphale certainly doesn't use "demon" as a pet name for Crowley. I think they set up this scene to contrast the final one, and show how deeply hurt Crowley is that Aziraphale suggest he change.

4. Moving on to Victorian Scotland. This one confused me at first. I was delighted that they brought back the "the lower you start the more opportunity you have to rise" dialogue from the book, but apart from that I didn't really see the point of it. It seems like the statue of Gabriel and the fact that he and Beelz ended up at that pub in the present were more or less coincidental.

The point, I think, is actually not the girl, but the doctor. He's a person who is trying to do good by working in a system that's deeply flawed, and engaging in questionable moral practices for the greater good. (Cadaver dissection is still an essential part of medical school. You need dead bodies to understand living ones.) He shows Aziraphale a tumor he removed from a child who died, and Aziraphale clutches it to his chest. The camera zooms in and lingers to tell us that this is a guardian through and through. He wants to protect people. He wants to do good with every fiber of his being.

To Crowley, it's enough to just "be an us" with Aziraphale. He doesn't really want anything more than that. That's an issue! For one thing, it fosters unhealthy codependency, and for another, Aziraphale would never be happy without the opportunity to help and protect people. It's an essential part of who he is. Metatron knows that, and he plays Aziraphale like a fiddle. The doctor showed Aziraphale that you can make a difference even in systems that are flawed, and even if you have to do things you'd rather not do. Aziraphale doesn't want to go back to Heaven, but he truly thinks he can change things; thinks he can be a guardian with some real power. In his mind, that's the right thing to do.

Last thing that happens in Scotland: Crowley saves a soul from Hell, arguably, by preventing a suicide. He gets in Big Trouble. Whatever happened to him downstairs resulted in him coming back up, leaning on a cane, and asking Aziraphale to give him holy water. Go back and watch that scene knowing what we know now about the Victorian minisode. Ask yourself how Aziraphale must have felt. He likely blamed himself for what happened, because if he hadn't meddled then they never would have been there in the first place. He knew where Crowley was, and why he was there, and he had to sit with that knowledge for years. He desperately wants Crowley to be safe; is perfectly willing to push him away to keep him safe-- which is what he does do, the minute Crowley gets back.

Now think again about what Metatron offered him. A chance to keep Crowley safe forever. He'd never be harmed again. Aziraphale is going to take that offer, no matter what else is asked of him. He's shown over and over again that he'll sacrifice his own happiness to make sure nothing happens to Crowley. And he'll do it without talking to Crowley about it first, because he is a moron who doesn't know how to use his words. Leading Crowley to assume that Aziraphale doesn't love him. The idiot angel is doing it all out of love, but because he doesn't make himself clear Crowley doesn't know that.

Part 3: Maggie and Nina, and their roles as mirror couple/ Greek chorus!

[sunkissedchld]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓. 𝒐𝒏𝒆

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don't be afraid to say if the message resonated or not; it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it's "bad".

good luck to you, reader 🔮

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Signs:

heavily craving or avoiding physical touch, prominent first house or major first house transits right now, 9/99/999, heavy fire sign placements or embodying fire sign energy recently (or needing to), archangel gabriel, heavy sagittarius and/or cancer energy, mercury, uranus

Shufflemancy: 

“Confessions” by Usher

“Lost Without U” by Robin Thicke

“Insecure” by Amare La Negra

“ICONIC” by Aespa

“3RACHA” by Stray Kids

Cards:

Ace of Cups, Page of Wands (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx), Broom, Knight of Pentacles (Rx), Queen of Pentacles, Justice, The Hermit, The Star, The Magician

Reading: 

It feels like there’s two camps of people for this pile: those with project ideas in mind for work or for their own personal lives and those interested in a potential crush or relationship. I’ll try to give examples for both and keep things semi-neutral, but sometimes things aren’t always that clean, so apply to your situation as needed. 

You may feel excited about this new project or relationship. You’re excited about potential prospects and have all these ideas running in your mind about how to go about things or how things will turn out, but this excitement is actually proving to be unhelpful or detrimental in a sense. Excitement with the right work ethic and listening ears can be a blessing, but without direction and input from others can cause you flail. It seems you could be rushing into things and trying to make pieces fit where they don’t so to speak. You could be thinking your plan is perfect and if everything just went the way you wanted, then all would be great, but this isn’t true. You need to get rid of this idea of you being this know-it-all who knows exactly what’s happening right now. 

For those of you who are used to always pursuing and making things happen; you need to step back and allow the universe to play out its wants. You could be the type of person who thinks they have to sacrifice everything in order to be happy or live comfortably, and the truth is that is not the case. You can have a balance between your work life and romantic or personal one; it’s okay to love working and coming up with all these ideas, but you also need to learn how to get comfortable with being with others and yourself outside of that professional, work-minded setting. 

For those of you who sit in the background and are a little more lazy, the opposite is true in that you need to step into taking control of your own life instead of leaving decisions and everything else up to the universe or other people around you. you could be too hedonistic and concerned about personal connections to the point where you put your livelihood and financial security at risk. In both instances, a need to balance is present. Also for both instances, there’s an emphasis on spending a little bit of time with yourself to determine in which way you need to expand and in which way you need to pull back from some of your habits. 

This pursuit versus lackadaisical attitude can also be applied to pursuing relationships. Some of you are constantly on the look for this person you’re interested in, or you’re always thinking of how you want to be in a relationship or how you can get into one when you need to step back and let it come to you when you need it. Others of you are acting as if you’re completely out of the game and are putting in no effort to create and maintain relationships when the reality is humans are interactive creatures, and you too need interaction! Again, a balance is needed for those this aligns with. 

Ultimately, you can have whatever it is you want: the lead on the project, the relationship, the good work ethic, the hedonistic lifestyle, but you also need to balance that with what it is you’re avoiding. The perfect recipe or spell concoction isn’t made with too much of any one ingredient. Everything has to work together in order for so-called perfection to be derived.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Signs:

lack of sight, “going in blind”, prominent twelfth house placements or transits, heavy pisces placements or energy, 1212, venus, 3/33/333, “i’m walking on sunshine”; “i’m trying to ascend”; “i’m crucified like my savior; saint-like behavior”

Shufflemancy: 

“in my head” by Ariana Grande

“Cry Baby” by Megan Thee Stallion (feat. DaBaby)

“Say My Name (Live)” by Beyoncè

“Emotional Bruises” by Madison Beer

“Streets Is Callin’” by B2K

Cards:

Page of Wands (Rx), Page of Pentacles, The Chariot, Ace of Swords, Seven of Cups, The Patient Witch, Three of Cups, Three of Pentacles, Good Luck Charm

Reading: 

Those choosing pile two might be in an intermittent state currently. Previously, you could’ve felt like you were on top of the world with everything set in stone, but now you’ve lost your footing, and you can’t necessarily figure out why. You might’ve started a project or new endeavor, and now you’re running into unexpected troubles which are making you want to give up. 

You might be someone who is obsessive about the things they want; you need everything to turn out exactly how you pictured it - to the point of refusing to be happy with anything less or slightly different even if the bulk of what you want is given to you. When you do encounter differences (or what you’d consider roadblocks), you have a habit of abandoning things or believing you must’ve messed up in some way – even when that’s not the case! You get so focused on “fixing” things that you forget to be appreciative of what you do accomplish. 

It seems you recognize you’re on some sort of journey, and you’re excited to do so much; you have so many ideas you want to pursue that sometimes you confuse yourself about what to do. In some ways, an abundance of choices is confusing you. You could inherently know that you likely can’t pursue everything (or that you shouldn’t), but your curiosity is getting the best of you. For some of you, I feel like some of these illusionary good choices have already come forward, and you’ve figured out the hard way that not every choice available to you is a good one. 

Those of pile two are being called to do a few things. One is to be patient and listen to yourself. Again, you can have all these ideas about what you want to do, but you need to figure out a way to “be still” and concentrate your energy on what’s best for you. You don’t have to be making moves or plans all the time; I know being told to meditate can feel frustrating, but the truth is that it’s hard to make good decisions without fully thinking them through. This act of listening to your inner self does not have to be done completely alone though (although parts of it should be). Don’t be afraid to ask friends, your guides, or other people around you for advice or help. Talk through your ideas, work with others to achieve them – you might see more success creating a community as opposed to acting totally alone. 

Overall pile two, things will work out for you depending on how you act and whether or not you listen. If you keep pursuing things faster than you’re ready to, then you can expect rude awakenings about needing to slow down and think before acting. If you take the time to get in tune with yourself and determine what it is you truly should be going after, then you can expect better outcomes and results.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Signs:

9/99/999, feeling sick recently, not trusting yourself, “don’t trust yourself”, uranus prominence, the color red, lack of fight, dogma, fire dominance or being drawn to fire, 3/33/333, swords, prominent air energy or dominance, 6/66

Shufflemancy: 

“Right Here” by Alex Aiono

“Princess Going Digital” by Amaarae

“King’s Dead” by Kendrick Lamar (feat. Jay Rock, Future, & James Blake)

“Muwop” by Latto (feat. Gucci Mane)

“Die A Little Bit” by Tinashe (feat. Ms Banks)

Cards:

Six of Swords, Six of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Nine of Swords, Five of Swords, The World, Nine of Wands, Temperance, The Tower, Ten of Cups (Rx), Ace of Swords

Reading: 

I think this pile is mainly for those thinking about or experiencing a romantic situation – not everyone will be, so don’t be alarmed because the overall message will be able to be applied regardless of whether romance is in your life right now or not. Those who chose this pile may be the type to close themselves off from others; in a lot of ways you’re hiding your light and existence from people who would appreciate and celebrate you. You could be someone who has social anxiety or worries often about the way people perceive you; you might find it hard to make friends or to establish relationships (romantic, platonic, maybe even familial) where you feel comfortable revealing your authentic self to others. 

You’re being called to leave this unsure part of yourself behind. You could be insecure when it comes to interacting with others – maybe you have a stutter or there’s some other factor that impacts your speech or how comfortable you feel when talking to people. For some of you, you may not understand what makes you special or what would draw people to you as a person, but Six of Wands in the deck I have says, “you’re kind of a big deal, so start acting like it!”. Even if you can’t see your own beauty, draw, or light other people can and want to connect with you because of it and because of who you portray yourself to be. 

Going back to relationships and trying to make connections with others, you may be someone who always thinks the worst of people. You may often think, “no one will like me”; “I won’t be able to make friends here”; “I’m not interesting enough”; “all my relationships go to shit in some way, so why try”, and the advice to you is “you can’t be right all of the time”. The worst possible outcome is not the only outcome. There’s almost a guarantee that if you get out of your comfort zone and be intentional in establishing relationships with people, then you may find the outcomes you fear so much won’t happen. “You have to give people the chance to show you they’re not like the people who have been in your life previously”. 

There’s an emphasis on the fact that you’re still standing even though you may have experienced times when you didn’t think you would keep going. The only/main thing holding you back right now is not your guides or the universe or the people around you or some outside evil force that you think only has it out for you – you are imposing limitations on yourself because of your fear of being hurt again. Although you’re being urged to try and pursue relationships out of your own volition; it’s important to note that some people are coming forward regardless. You must get rid of this idea that you’re unlikeable or unlovable, and you’ll likely have a Tower moment regarding your idea of and the way you act in relationships soon.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

Signs:

the color purple, feeling restless or tired, sun dominance or needing to go out in the sun, prominent capricorn, libra, and/or gemini placements, red orange/blood orange, second house placements or transits, “trust yourself”, artemis, poseidon, water dominance or working with water, hades

Shufflemancy: 

“libidO” by OnlyOneOf

“Focus” by H.E.R

“Victory” by Yolanda Adams 

“UGOMDN” by chlothegod

“Star Lost” by Stray Kids

Cards:

Page of Pentacles (Rx), Seven of Cups, The Patient Witch (Rx), Queen of Swords, Page of Cups, Five of Wands, Ten of Wands (Rx), The Lovers (Rx), Ace of Pentacles, Eight of Cups. Judgment

Reading: 

The message for those of you who chose pile four is going to be a little harsh – just as a disclaimer. Your guides may be at their wits end in trying to tell you nicely or in trying to contact you in general, so this could be a message you’ve been ignoring or not understanding for a while. This could be a lesson you keep running into; I heard “you’re tired? We’re tired too”, so take that as it resonates. This pile also feels adjacent to pile two because some of the same cards came out, but I think this pile is for those of you who have little time to make your decision to change your ways because you’ve already been warned multiple times. 

At your core, you embody the Queen of Swords; you may be quick-witted, steadfast in your knowledge of who you are and what you want, outspoken, and independent to a fault, but currently these attributes are manifesting in the most negative ways. Currently, you could be acting childish and “rotten”; I’m reminded of Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. You’re so stuck in this idea of how you want things to play out and what you want that you’ve backed yourself into a situation where you come off as immature and lazy if things don’t go your way. What seems to be coming through is “oh, you’re stubborn? We can be stubborn too”. 

Your guides are wanting you to loosen up and be open to experiencing what’s thrown to and/or given to you. You have the ultimate control over your life, but I’m seeing some of you specifically asked for your guides’ help and aid, so if you want it, then you have to listen to their suggestions also. Your work with them is not a one-way affair, so stop treating it as such. They are not magic genies who are to drop everything and give you everything you want at your beck and call. I heard “cruisin’ for a bruisin’” which could be related to your need to control things. 

The advice of this reading is really to be mindful of how you're treating your guides and your intentions in your journey with them. For one, you’re shouldering too much responsibility to the point where you’re burning yourself out. It is not possible to go through life all by yourself with no help or input from anyone else. It’s also not possible to have a relationship with your guides and never listen to them or treat them like they’re your servants. If you keep running into obstacles and misfortunes going on your own, then maybe try their way for a while and see how it works for you. 

Overall pile four, your guides want to work with you. They want to provide you with abundance and see you prosper and above all happy, but if you refuse to listen, then you will keep stumbling.

[timkontheunsure]

Some of the reasons I think Stolas is on the spectrum

(finally getting around to popping this on up too).

He has special interests & misses social cues while being happy in them.

It not really normal to be happy reading legal documents when someone's life is on the line. But Stolas is just vibing that he gets to help with his love of words. Yay him!

Stims

He stims when both happy & sad to help regulate his emotions.

His happy stims are:

*clapping when he gets to take Via to the circus, because he thinks they can enjoy it together.

He also does this with contract reading.

*He hopps up and down when his dad gives him a new books. Also when getting ready for his date with Blitz. He's just so happy he needs to hop.

His sad stims:

*are bang his head again and again about the engagement.

*He self sooves with chest strokes when Blitz says his outfit is too much.

*He hand rubs and wringing his hat when worrying about Via in LA.

Special interests

The there's that Stolas info dumps on the playdate with Blitz all about his books and about plants.

Stolas also feels he has to explain why Blitz horse joke was soo funny. And why's it so funny?

Because it's accurate. I love his little cutie.

But he's also kept up his love of plants as a major hobby now he's an adult. When most people tend to swap interests as they age.

Side bar

His comfy resting hand position is t rex hands. This tends to be an autistic thing. Also works well as an owl.

Sensory issues

Stolas appears to also have some sensory issues too. When his a child he appears to be struggling when Mr Butler touches his hair out of nowhere.

But he's fine with Blitz doing it when they're kissing. This shows a lot of trust between them.

I think it's likely sensory issues are the reason why he swaps into his comfy, very old robe, as often as he can too.

Specific communication issues

While Stolas is very good at some communication styles, he's pretty bad at others.

When the audience think it's another joke about wanting to keep a puppy; he immediately knows Blitz's is panicking the studio. And tries to get to him.

However he doesn't get that his dirty talk is way OTT, because he's mostly likely coping it from the erotica. Not lived experience.

Speaking of erotica.

There's obviously a rule that reading is allowed at the diner table. But Stolas doesn't get This book isn't appropriate to read there.

Another rule he appears to follow more rigidly than most probably would; is that when you get an appointment you wait till you're seen.

Ozzie's ment to met Stolas at noon, but doesn't make it till 4 pm because of problems with work.

Stolas is only a couple of days out of the hospital and is probably feeling horrible.

But he sticks around a minimum of 4 hours to be seen, because he feels he has to.

(I'm assuming he also got taught you turn up earlier rule, but this just a guess).

Stolas genuinely wants to do something Via will enjoy, and he's fine taking Via to stylish occult when she asks.

But didn't get it till she's crying and sad that she wasn't enjoying Loo Loo Land.

"I take it you are.. not having fun." She needs to spell it out. Sarcasm isn't easy for him to interrupt.

His was obviously thought taking his daughter and his lover out to a theme park would be a good way to introduce them.

It's the sort of plot that only works on a novellas. And that's probably when he got it from. (Probably worked great for Gabrielle and Alejandro).

These are examples of him Masking, and not understanding why it didn't work.

Stella's being dangerous to be around = take Via out somewhere for her to have fun to blow off steam.

Wanting your lover and daughter to like eachother = ask IMP to tag along as the completely unnecessary bodyguards.

He doesn't really get that flirty with his affair partner, in front of his kid while going through a divorce isn't a good idea...

He also struggles to understand when his flirting comes off as condescending too. With "ittybity imps like you" or calling him Blitzy in public. He's most likely him coping language from other goeita.

But Stolas is very good at knowing when knowing when Blitz is fine being picked up, when to reassure him with face stokes, or how to calm Blitz down from a panic attack in just a few seconds.

So it's not that he's just never learnt these skills. It's just that some communication skills are harder for him than others.

But if you disagree that fine. 🙂 I just wanted to put down some of my thoughts why I think he could be.

[dalliancekay]

The 'Aziraphale Still Believes in Heaven' Take

Is one that I see so often. Too often. The way many fans (still) say Aziraphale is so naïve, he's never learned anything, he never changes, Metatron just offered him a promotion and he happily jumped on it. Happy to go back to Heaven. Still in their clutches. Leaving Crowley behind. Cos nothing lasts forever. Amirite? Poor long-suffering Crowley. So patient. Goes through so much. Aww. Takes that say that because Crowley never told Aziraphale about the venom in Gabriel's "Shut your stupid mouth and die already", Aziraphale has no idea that Heaven is not the good guys, that he still believes they are on the side of truth and light.

Takes that claim Aziraphale wants Crowley to come to Heaven and be an angel again so they can be happy like in the good old times. Takes that basically say that Aziraphale is stupid. And blind. LISTEN Do you mean this Aziraphale:

Who knew before Crowley did that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, that things are wrong and one can get in a lot of trouble for a thing as minor as a suggestion to improve things. Is this the Aziraphale that would seriously suggest to Crowley, who he was immediately deeply anxious over, to go back to 'good old times'? What good old times? How is Heaven a place of light when:

A bunch of angels comes down to Earth to bully and PUNCH ONE OF THEIR OWN?

Why would he think they are the light when they shame him for being who he is?

And yes, Aziraphale wants to do good. But that's not tied to him being an angel. And it's not a bad thing ffs! Crowley does good as well. Aziraphale might be the only one who knows, but he knows. Maybe getting humans out of the Garden to seek knowledge was always a (certainty) possibility, and maybe not, but it was Aziraphale's decision to arm them.

And She didn't make him Fall for it. And do you remember when:

Aziraphale first openly questioned that Heaven was actually doing what God actually wanted? He had a think after the Flood, didn't he. He did what he thought was right. He trusted Crowley over his fellow angels, with his own sense of rightness. He and Crowley saved the kids that Aziraphale triple checked the Archangels saw no problem in letting die to make things easier. And She didn't make him Fall for it. In Edinburgh:

Az re-evaluated the thinking he was taught and did a full 180 degree turn, trying in few hours to save the grave-robbing girl AND the possible future lives of children that could be helped via more learning. And when we come to Metatron and his threats, we don't see the full conversation, but don't we see enough? Aziraphale says that he's not interested. Metatron keeps nagging at him. Pushing the symbolic coffee from Coffee or Death at him. Flattering him with obvious untruths. After all, Aziraphale knows what Heaven thinks of him. He tried to reason with Metatron before. Metatron tells him they know how deep his disobedience lies:

Aziraphale is not a fool. He knows this is an offer of come quietly or we will find a way to destroy you and your demon this time. Aziraphale didn't have to hear Metatron's quip of: "For one prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem." He knows the system is rotten. He knows for a LONG time. Did you see his face when he met Muriel and realised what a lonely sad existence they lead.

AND Crowley doesn't love Aziraphale despite the fact that he's being used to get out of trouble, being made to listen about random things the angel enjoys from symphonies to food and plays, and who continues to believe in goodness and kindness. CROWLEY LOVES AZIRAPAHLE BECAUSE OF THOSE THINGS AND because he sees Aziraphale for what he is, an angel who thinks for himself, changes his mind, learns, angel who is brave, who stands for the right thing, who sacrifices his own happiness for the safety of others, especially the demon he loves. They are the same. They are lonely. They are one of a kind. And they love each other.

Aziraphale wants to stay at home. In the home he built for himself and Crowley. On Earth where he's found so much to love. But he knows it is impossible. As Crowley confesses his love, Aziraphale struggles to stay on his plan to push him away, to make him stay. He'll miss Crowley terribly. He wants them to be together. For him, they were an 'us' the whole S2. However tenuously. Fragile existence and all that.

But even this was ripped away from him. And whatever he's planning, he knows he needs to do the first steps on his own. He can't submit Crowley to the torture that being in Heaven is going to be for him, an unwanted, despised angel. And that would be even worse for an unwanted demon. He had to push him away.

So he leaves. Furious. And determined. Whether it is to burn the place down or find God and ask Her all the questions to Her face I don't know. But his love will push him through.

And if I see one more simplistic take of the snarky demon is really good isn't he, so that means the stuffy angel is bad (and needs to change to be worthy of the demon) I will curse their dreams with lines about shades of grey. AZIRAPHALE AND CROWLEY ALREADY LOVE EACH OTHER

[moonlight-prose]

I either want to tend to Gabriel’s wounds or make some with my nails 😏

bound in the strands of permanence

a/n: knowing how intense his battles get when monster hunting, he must be so numb to the pain. because of course he is. it's been centuries of life, countless wounds, and he's unable to stop from wanting that infliction back. but in a different way. i really just word vommitted cause this was meant to be a drabble. my bad.

summary: he walked with monsters in the night, claiming their lives for a vendetta placed upon him by the church. but he found peace in daylight with the touch of your healing hands.

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: gabriel van helsing x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, love, tending to wounds, pain kink, masochism, tw: blood, breeding kink, p in v sex, rough sex, they're unhinged and in love, dirty talk, forever.

Pain was inconsequential in the grand scheme of being God's right hand. Immortality ran through his veins like a poison without an antidote. He couldn't necessarily die. People have tried, monsters have nearly succeeded, but death never asked for him to deign its doorstep.

He was bound to life on a planet riddled with evil—destined to drag each horrid creature to the pits of hell with him.

But pain was a different matter altogether.

After so many wounds, knives, bullets, arrows, he could no longer register the nerves that stretched to and fro beneath his body. They were there. Unmistakable with the phantom aches and near deaths that still plagued his eternal soul. But remembering why they came to be eventually rescinded to the back of his mind—an afterthought to all the detriments of his waking life.

Years went by before he dared to ask someone for help. But a particularly nasty wound to his shoulder was out of reach even for him. Which is how he came to stumble onto your small quarters in the furthest reaches of the Vatican.

There were other healers, other doctors who could have easily stitched up his wound. But you weren't a member of the church.

He found that ironic.

Neither of you mentioned how long it'd been since he stumbled through your doors, shoving a bag of coins into your hand, before falling onto the cleared wooden table meant for patients in the city. Not that either of you couldn't remember it. Two years, three months, and two brand new flesh wounds that barely needed wrapping.

Yet he still came anyway.

"Turn into a beast again?" you questioned, wrapped the cloth tight along his scarred abdomen.

He smiled, shuddering at the icy touch of your hands. "That was one time."

"One time too many."

"And if it hadn't of happened I wouldn't have a reason to come here."

You scoffed, tying the knot painfully, relishing a bit in the harsh grunt he let out. "You don't need a reason to come see me Gabriel."

"It's impolite to knock on a lady's door this late without a reason." He shook his head, unconsciously sliding his hand over yours that remained on his wound. "I'm not one to mistreat a lady."

"I'm hardly that. They won't even let me in the fucking church–"

Sharp eyes dragged up to your face, glaring at the pout in your lips that formed a curse. He may have been a man who found your way of life refreshing, but he was still devoted to the God above. Your mouth curled into a wry smile—hand moving to tip his chin up. To remove his gaze and place it where you wanted him to truly look.

"It's not right how they treat you," he rasped.

The familiar dark cloud of grief began to drip into his iris, shrouding his once sharp gaze that pierced each part of your soul. They called him God's right hand. The man who was sent from the heavens above. You merely thought of him as the man who gripped your heart in an iron fist—reluctant to let you go.

"I'm not one of you."

He sighed. "You could be."

"Only through the binds of marriage would I enter that place and even then, I don't entirely wish to follow rules not made of my own volition."

"Marriage," he mumbled, eyes dropping to the lip you worried between your teeth. "To whom, if I may ask?"

"To no one."

"Why?"

The way he looked at you is what threw you off guard. Intense, without boundaries that may have been set in place for other patients. He weeded out your deepest fears and silently vowed to rip each one apart with his bare hands. Monsters walked beside him in the night, but Gabriel Van Helsing was doomed to wander the daylight alone. Yet he found...he didn't want to anymore.

"If I were to ask..."

Your knees almost buckled - the weight of his inquiry slamming directly into your chest. "Ask me what?"

Gabriel looked at you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. As if nothing felt more right than the words about to spill from his lips. To be bound to a soul meant permanence in the eyes of his God, and how lovely it might be.

To have someone he could be permanent with.

"To marry me darling."

There remained an answer to this madness. A final solemn vow you might have otherwise been able to say. But his confession hung in the air like a cloud that refused to dissipate with the change in weather. When had he fallen in love? When had he finally relented to the ache that built in his chest?

When did he realize that he came here at night for you and not for his wounds?

You wanted to give him something in return—a promise that could outlast all that threatened to rip him from you.

So you kissed him. You dragged him close—your hand tangling in his hair—and caught his lips in a kiss that damn near threw him off the table. He didn't expect to finally taste you, his heart hammering an unsteady beat in his chest. But he certainly wasn't about to complain. He met your actions in kind, gripping onto the flesh of your hips with a soft groan.

His tongue met yours—hesitance bleeding through each action—and when he found no resistance he finally devoured what he hungered for. Standing to his full height, he licked into your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your neck painfully to keep you close. Neither of you even registered what happened when he crowded you against the heavy wooden door sealed shut with a lock.

"Gabriel," you sighed, bending to let him drag his tongue down your throat.

"Say yes," he growled, rucking up your skirts as you worked the belt of his pants still coated in grime and dust. "Marry me. Be mine forever."

"God above." A gasp tore from your chest when he notched his dripping cock at your entrance.

He held you there, fixing his gaze on your face, even as you tried to drag your hips forward. "Darling."

"I want..."

"What?"

A moan rumbled in his chest when you finally looked at him—the love you kept locked away pouring out into the furrow of your brows. The tears that fell down your cheeks. Hiding it felt pointless at this time. Because you knew your answer, you knew the second he stumbled through your door demanding you help him. You knew it the moment his gaze locked on yours.

Forever would be spent here. In the safety of his hold.

"I'll marry you," you breathed.

There were few times you managed to see this man smile. Once or twice when you told a joke. More often due to the biting pain on his body as you stitched him up—a defense mechanism rather than agonizing grunts he used to give you. And now when your words settled in his mind - solidifying something he wondered about for years.

His lips bloomed into a smile that met his eyes for the very first time. Light practically shone directly from the hazel iris.

You expected him to give you an answer, a shower of words full of love. Instead he sunk into you with a harsh groan, his forehead falling to yours, mouth swallowing the cry that erupted from your chest.

Lovers existed in your life before him—a sprinkle of men who once or twice believed you'd be their wife one day. But none of them compared to the one before you. Gabriel stretched you wide enough to hurt, but he quickly sought out the small bud pulsing for attention—circling it slowly with each shallow thrust.

Your legs shook under the sensations, nails digging into his bare shoulders, and for the first time...he felt pain.

A fractured cry escaped his mouth, finding its way into yours as you sharply cut him to ground yourself. Panic flooded your veins at the thought of hurting him. Only to feel his hips slam into yours, impaling you on his twitching cock spurting precum like a broken faucet.

"Again," he rumbled, pulling out at an achingly slow pace. Only to punch back in and drag out a shout from the depths of your stomach. "Hurt me again."

"But–"

"Do it."

Cutting your nails down his back—blood welling to the surface immediately—you felt his entire body shudder. His head tipping back as he fucked into you fast enough to hurt. There was no rhythm to how he moved. Rutting into you wildly like the beast he once became—his body overwhelmed with a mix of pain and pleasure. Agony merging together with the love he felt for you.

The wet squelch of your cunt swallowing him in with each thrust echoed in the small confines of your room. Each one followed by the loud resounding echo of your moans and his ragged grunts. You felt unhinged. Probably looked like it too.

But pleasure was creeping up on you faster than you could anticipate. Your nails marred his skin with each blinding strike of his cock against your walls. It drowned you. Swallowed you up with the promise to spit you back out later.

You'd never felt so whole before.

"I can feel her begging," he gasped against your lips, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his. "Will you let me?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled, harsh and unforgiving. "We'll have a little one running around by the time our vows are exchanged mea amor."

His words struck something in your chest—dragging out the darkest secret you kept hidden each time he looked at you. Binding yourself with him through the bonds of marriage was one thing. Having his child remained something else entirely. You almost loathed how much you loved the idea.

"Oh–"

"You'll make me a sinner," he babbled, stimulating your clit until pain began to spark up your spine. "A child before marriage. What will God think?"

"G-Gabriel!" A violent tremble began in your legs, working up your body until he was forced to hold you up with his body weight. "I-I can feel it."

He chuckled, speeding up just enough to push you over the edge. A scream echoing off the stone walls—ringing in his ears as your walls clamped down, a gush of cum coating down to his balls. What he wouldn't give to see that again. Your face screwed up in pleasure, pain bleeding into his body with each scratch of your nails.

"It will simply have to take," he gasped, spilling into you with a cry of his own.

Seconds bled into a minute and yet he couldn't stop cumming. The sticky warmth of it trailed down your legs and dripped onto the floor. And he merely shoved back into your—keeping it from spilling out entirely. Intent on keeping each promise he made.

Kissing your cheeks, he found your lips with a sigh. "Take this."

"What?" you mumbled, vision blurry with tears.

The cold kiss of metal on your finger stirred you back to life. "Until I find a jewel meant to sit on your hand."

His insignia burned through your chest, claiming you under the very name he sought to learn more about. You were to be his. A Van Helsing of your own volition. It should have terrified you.

Yet the fear was nowhere to be found.

"I love you Gabriel. I should have told you years ago..."

With a soft kiss to your forehead, he curled his arms around your back. "Then tell me again tomorrow."

And each day after that.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.