#bentley ticket | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [2]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

A/N: i’m fairly sure i’ve created two men made up entirely of red flags. Please mind the warnings, this work is dark.

previous chapter

The dry, arid heat that awaits you outside of the airport is a welcome change from the muggy Boston summer. Your phone vibrates insistently in your pocket as all of the notifications you’d missed come pouring in. Texts from your sister, pictures and videos of her excitedly documenting her landing and taxi journey to the cliffside resort.

You laugh a little as you scroll through them—she’s wasted no time getting comfortable. Her latest text appears at the top of your screen with a ping.

Nathalie: yooooo where are you? this place is crazy!

We just landed, I think Ransom’s getting the car now. Is it nice?

Nathalie: insane. it’s like all these cute little cabanas, and there’s like four pools, a tennis court, omg. you’re going to love it. i can’t believe it.

The pictures certainly seem to make you want to agree—from the looks of it, it seems like Lloyd’s gone all out. A hand settles onto your shoulder, and you look up from an aesthetic picture of Nathalie’s manicured toes in the sand. Ransom’s thumb rubs soothing circles against your shoulder through the fabric of your t-shirt.

“You ready? I think they’re pulling the car around now.” If it had been left up to you, you probably would have selected something a little more practical and inexpensive, but the Bentley that rolls to a stop at the curb in front of you is anything but. Ransom grabs the keys from the valet, and motions for you to hand him your suitcase.

“Is-is Lloyd not coming?” You cast a glance over your shoulder, searching the crowd for Lloyd. You don’t see him—in fact, now that you think about it, you haven’t seen him since the baggage claim.

“He’s got his own ride. You know him, everything with a side of business.”It’s kind of a relief, having him gone. Being able to lower the protective walls you raise to shield yourself from Lloyd’s… Lloyd. You slide into the passenger seat and buckle in, and Ransom push starts the Bentley.

“Can you do the gps?” He asks, and you oblige, pulling up the address from the chat logs between you and Lloyd. You can’t help but grimace as you read them. There’s nothing overtly wrong per-se, but his texts feel a little… over familiar, the same way it does when he speaks to you.

Lloyd: Here’s all the ticket information. I trust you two know how to have a good time. 😉

Lloyd: Held up, are we? My brother’s always been the impatient one.

All of his messages border on inappropriate, at least, in your opinion. Perhaps it’s because he’s his twin, but Ransom steadfastly ignores their rather promiscuous nature. You scroll through until you reach the link to the reservation, pulling it up in your maps app.

“It says it’s like five hours from here.” You set the phone up in the little holder, positioning it so Ransom can see it. He blows out a frustrated breath.

“Five hours? Jesus, Lloyd,” he mutters, shaking his head. You laugh.

“I think it’ll be fun,” you say, elbowing your husband. “It’s like we get our own little miniature road trip before the reunion happens and everyone gets here, right? Just us.” He looks at you before shaking his head, a small laugh erupting from between his lips.

“You and the goddamn silver lining,” he says, chuckling.

The summer sun beats down on the windswept landscape, the low bushes all vibrantly green as they fly by the window. It feels good, just the two of you. Well, three, technically. It reminds you of when you’d just started dating Ransom. Back when he’d only just started to feel safe showing you something other than the frat-boy facade. He reaches over to rest his hand on your belly. You aren’t showing yet, but the gesture still feels comforting.

You feel truly loved in this moment. Hopeful contentedness isn’t a feeling you are familiar with, and you bask in it as the two of you trade increasingly obscure inside jokes about things you’re sure no one but the man sitting in the car with you would understand. The hours pass so quickly that by the time the two of you arrive, starving, in the small city about thirty minutes from the resort, you’re almost shocked to be there.

Ransom pulls into an open spot after going around a few times, and the two of you exit the vehicle, stretching. The classic architecture on the faces of the buildings makes your inner art historian jump for joy. You don’t do much with the degree now, and it makes you feel a little less wasteful to rattle off facts to Ransom at light-speed. He does you the courtesy of at least appearing to be interested, even if he’s not. You don’t have to work, not really. After your internship with the museum had come to an end at graduation, slowly, doing things with Ransom—and inevitably Lloyd—had begun to take up much of your time.

There was always an event to go to, a celebration to be had, a trip to take. In fact, the only thing that had seemed to slow the two of you down at all was the positive test taped proudly in the baby book Ransom was already starting with you. You’re honestly a little grateful for the opportunity to take it easy, even if you don’t exactly voice that to Ransom, and perhaps take the space to figure out just what you want your future to look like.

After stopping at one of the carts, the two of you sit on the lip of the aged fountain at the center of the square. Ransom trades you a bite of his gyro for your falafel, and he brushes stray crumbs from your lips as he takes it back. You can’t help but smile up at him.

This is perfect.

You know it’s silly to think of fairytales and princes at your age, but you can’t help but feel swept off your feet. You don’t know that you’ve ever stopped feeling that way with Ransom. That new love tingle hasn’t gone away, not after two years of dating, and now almost two full years of marriage.

“Tell me about this fountain, brainiac,” he teases, grinning playfully down at you when you scowl. “Since you know everything.”

“I do not,” you insist, rolling your eyes, even though you’re already smiling good naturedly. “But, I mean, at first glance, you know, it’s old.” You run your hand almost reverently along the stone. “There used to be more of them, you can tell if you look at the way the tiling’s messed up.” You point to different spots around the square where the mosaic tiles don’t quite match up, patches looking newer than the rest.

“I’m glad one of us was paying attention during those lectures.”

“Why were you even in Brown’s class if you’re that bored by art history?” You tease, and Ransom fixes you with a soft smile.

“How else would I have met you?”

You finish your food and reluctantly head back to the car. You know that it’s just a matter of time before the little bubble that’s formed around the two of you is burst by the presence of other people, and you find yourself feeling a little resentful of Lloyd and your sister before you attempt to brush it off. Still, you’re a little pouty by the time you get back to the car, enough that Ransom notices.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you were having a great day?” He asks. You sigh as you start back up the gps, shrugging. He rolls his eyes at your silence. “Come on.”

“It’s stupid.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” he teases, grinning when you scowl at him.

“I just, you know. I don’t… want it to be over yet.” You say, shaking your head at yourself. “It’s been nice. Just the two of us.” Absently, you pick at a loose thread near the seam of your leggings. “I guess I’m just feeling a little… selfish.” It makes you feel childish to admit. It doesn’t help that Ransom flashes you a cheshire grin at your confession.

“Oh baby. You want me all to yourself?” He asks, running his tongue along his lips suggestively. His fingers dance up your leg, and he kneads the softness of your thigh with one large hand.

“What, the plane wasn’t enough?” You ask, a smirk of your own forming on your lips as he rolls his eyes.

“What? No,” he scoffs. “You know it’s not enough unless I get to stretch you open on my cock, sweetheart.” His casually delivered words send a hot pulse through your core even as your face heats. Ransom’s thumb rubs ever smaller circles into your skin through the leggings as he makes his way toward the apex of your thighs.

You whine low in your throat, glancing out of the windows at the lonely road winding its way through the cliffside. Ransom swerves over onto the shoulder of the road, kicking up a cloud of dust from under the wheels as he does so.

“Ran, someone’ll—”

“No one’s gonna see,” Ransom says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He reaches for you over the middle console, and after waffling for a moment, you clamor over it, settling yourself onto his lap. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding you steady as he meets your lips with his own. It’s different from the desperate, hungry way he’d kissed you on the plane—you’re not sure how to describe it. Slow, deliberate—possessive. That’s what it is. Ransom kisses you like he owns you. Like he can afford to take his time because he already has you—why rush?

It makes your cunt swell and twitch around nothing as you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, your fingers twining in his linen shirt. He smells so good, you can’t help but scrape your teeth against his skin as you trail light, teasing kisses down the side of his throat. Ransom chuckles low in his throat before his hands sink into your hair, tugging your head to the side as he does the same to you, sucking hard enough to bruise.

He slides his hands underneath your t-shirt, and he tugs down the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling over the bunched fabric. Ransom rolls your swelling nipples between his fingers, a low hum of appreciation vibrating in his chest. Your breath catches in your throat as his mouth closes around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue before trapping it between his teeth.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, his hands falling to your hips. He squeezes them almost reverently before he cups the cheeks of your ass in his hands. “Like you were goddamn made for me.” The brazen hunger in his words makes you shudder. Ransom holds you still as he bucks up, grinding his half hard cock into the warmth between your thighs. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it as he guides you slowly back and forth over his cock.

You reach between your bodies, fumbling with the button on his jeans. It comes open after a few tries, and you shove your hand through the hole. A growled curse falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock. He’s thick, the veins throbbing under your fingers as you stroke him. You draw your thumb across the thick, wet head of him, and he groans. He thrusts softly into your palm, his breath puffing across your cheek.

“Tease,” he rasps, his fingers tangling in your hair again as he forces your mouth down to his. His other hand bunches in the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down to your knees. You yelp as his palm cracks across the cheek of your ass. He kneads the sore flesh before delivering a second slap. You press your face into the crook of Ransom’s neck, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as he spreads your cheeks lewdly, his fingers sliding through the sticky wetness gathered there.

Ransom grabs your hand, tugging it away so that he can reposition himself at your entrance. You’d cum on the plane, but something about doing it on your husband’s cock was especially satisfying—and Ransom knew it too. You suck a sharp breath into your lungs as he begins to press your hips downward.

It’s delicious, the stretch of him filling you inch by inch until it feels like you can’t fit any more—and then you’re seated on his lap again, your leggings rucked up and stretched so far you can hear a few of the elastic threads snapping. Ransom hums low in his throat, and gives a few short thrusts upward, and your eyes roll.

“God, Ransom—” He lifts you up before slamming you back down to the base.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Sweetheart?” He coos, and you tighten around him at the praise. “Feels right.” He grinds his hips upward, forcing his cock even further into you. It does, it feels so good you can’t help but stare back at him, wide eyed as you nod desperately.

Despite your surroundings, Ransom takes his time. He thrusts up into you with languid, heavy strokes, seating himself firmly in your cunt with curses and deep satisfied moans.

“Fucking love how you feel inside,” he says through gritted teeth as his cock forces you open. “Like velvet.” Your head is spinning, your fingers digging into his shoulders as Ransom pushes you closer and closer. You whimper as he continues to egg you on in that teasing drawl.

“S’my fucking cunt, isn’t she?” You couldn’t help but nod dumbly. “Say it, Sweetheart. Say she’s mine, my pussy.”

“T-this is your pussy, Ransom,” the words come out in a pathetic little sob as you grind against him. “Yours!”

Your agreement seems to unlock something feral in him, and he drives into you with forceful intensity. You bury your face in his collar, gasping. It’s all you can do as he fucks into you with abandon, the car rocking with his efforts. You’re not thinking about that, though, not when every time he sinks the thick, heavy weight of his cock into you, stars explode behind your closed eyelids. He slams into you with a growl, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You should cum, Sweetheart,” he says lowly through his clenched teeth. “Wanna feel you fucking milk my cock.” You do, whining as you convulse in his arms. He groans, fucking up into you as you twitch around him. “That’s it,” Ransom throws his head back against the headrest. “That’s what I fucking need.” He thrusts in to the hilt, the head of his cock pressing tightly your cervix as he cums. You can feel every thick pulse as sticky warmth fills you.

Ransom makes a low, satisfied noise in the back of his throat as he rubs soft circles into your lower back. After a while, he presses a kiss into your hair, and you sigh.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” he says, laughing a little breathlessly. “Now we’re late, and a mess.” You can’t help but laugh too, punching his shoulder lightly.

“I think I liked that more than I would have in the airplane bathroom,” you say, and Ransom cocks his head at you, as though the little inside joke has gone over his head.

“What?”

“You know,” you say as you begin to straighten your clothes. “What you said, on the plane? The bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, you know. A little more space here in the car,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you. Your husband frowns petulantly as you right your bra and pull down your shirt. You attempt to climb off of him, but slip, your sweaty palm sliding on the center console. “Easy, there. I know I’ve rendered you quite useless—”

“Shut the hell up, Ransom.”

“But I think I have some napkins around here somewhere.” You grimace as your thighs rub together wetly.

“I hope it’s more than some.”

—

As the two of you approach the gate, you suddenly feel like the word “hotel” is an inaccurate descriptor for what you’re seeing. There’s security stationed at either side of the white stone pillars, and one of them cracks the golden gate open just enough to slide through the gap. He jogs up to the driver’s side window, and pantomimes for Ransom to lower it. You are only peripherally aware of Ransom showing him your reservation—you’re much more preoccupied with the view.

The sea sparkles in the late afternoon sun, crashing against the rocky shore to your left. The water is clear and blue, winking merrily at you as you pass through the gate. Trees line the hard-packed dirt road, but as you round a curve, the path opens up into a courtyard with a small fountain. You were expecting a central building, a gigantic resort with all of the amenities—instead, you’re greeted by the sight of cabanas. They look like fairly new constructions, all polished wood and clean lines.

You hop out of the car after Ransom, intending to make your way around to the trunk and grab your bag, but the shrill sound of your own name stops you. You look up just in time to see your sister hurtling towards you. You have only a split second to ready yourself for her impact before she crashes into you like a many-limbed bullet.

“I’m so happy to see you!” She squeals, hugging you so tightly you swear you hear bone crack. Your little sister holds on for another moment or two before releasing you. She peeks around the car to address Ransom, who is still wrestling the suitcases out of the trunk. “You got this right? I’m taking her.” She loops her arm through yours.

“What, I don’t get the tour?” Ransom asks, closing the trunk of the car firmly. “I’m hurt.”

“How am I supposed to get her to talk about you if you’re there?” Nathalie quips, smiling widely when Ransom rolls his eyes. “I’ll return her in one piece, I promise,” she says, grabbing you by the shoulders and steering you away.

You shoot Ransom a rather apologetic smile over your shoulder, but allow your sister to direct you towards the cabanas. There are four of them total, ringing the little courtyard. You find yourself idly wondering how everyone’s going to fit—your parents, Ransom and Lloyd’s, plus their extended family. It seems a little… small for all of that. Regardless, the thought is pushed from your head as your sister drags you into the one she’s claimed as her own. The little covered porch leads to a well decorated room. It’s large, a canopied bed on one side of the room, and a small kitchenette on the other. In the center of the room, the little sitting area is dominated by Nathalie’s clothes. They’re spread haphazardly over all of the seats in random outfit combinations, the discarded items littering the floor.

She hugs you again before the two of you perch on the raised barstools in front of the breakfast bar.

“God, I missed you,” she says. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since your birthday party.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” you object, reaching for one of the complementary water bottles still sitting in the basket on the counter in front of you. “My birthday was only—” You pause to count on your hand. Three months ago. Shit. She raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to illustrate her point. You hold your hands up placatingly. “Okay, okay, it’s been a while. We’ve just been busy.”

“What, all of a sudden you’ve got too many vineyard openings to go to? We miss you, you know.” She teases. There’s a grain of salt clinging to her words though, and you can’t help but feel guilty. You hadn’t meant to let your other relationships slide in the wake of your marriage. It was just easy to fall into the pattern of well, just you and Ransom. You feel even guiltier about the earlier resentment you’d felt, swallowing against the sudden thickness in your throat.

“Anyway. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” You sigh. “So, why no Jaiden? I would think this would be like, the perfect couple getaway for you two.” You waggle your eyebrows, and she scoffs, shoving you. “

“I told you, we’re—”

“Not doing labels,” you imitate her, making air quotes with your fingers.

“Exactly. I don’t want him getting all attached just because he met mom.” She hops off of the stool, and walks around the other side of the counter to the fridge. “You want some prosecco? There was some in the mini bar.” You can’t help but snort as she pulls the bottle from the otherwise empty fridge door.

“That’s definitely not mini.”

“I know, right?” She giggles, opening the cabinets as she looks for glasses.

“I’m not drinking, actually,” you reply as she sets one in front of you. You watch the bubbles fizz and then disappear as the pours the alcohol into one of the glasses. Nathalie raises an eyebrow.

“Not drinking? What are you sick or something? We’re on vacation, girl!” She pours you half a glass, and pushes it back towards you. “Come on, let’s party!” She takes a sip and sighs with exaggerated satisfaction. “Get a little drinky-drink in you, and then we’ll walk down to the beach, it’s gorgeous.”

“I can’t, Nat,” you say, this time pushing it away with force. “Seriously, just drop it.” She squints at you, before snatching it up with a sigh. She combines it with her own glass, making it dangerously full before she takes an appreciative sip.

“Fine, fine, weirdo. What are you, pregnant?” She says, laughing as she takes another sizable gulp. You swallow thickly as a thousand responses all rush to your tongue, each trying to leap out of your throat first. A joking What? no, comes to mind, as does a shocked You can’t be serious! But neither of those reaches your gaping mouth. You sputter, trying to think of what to say as her eyes widen.

“Oh my God you are! You’re fucking pregnant?” She shrieks, and you grab her arm, shushing her. “Ow!”

“Keep your stupid voice down, Nat!” You hiss, glancing around the empty room like you’re expecting Ransom to emerge from behind the ottoman with a disapproving frown. “Shit.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m not supposed to tell anybody, Nat.”

“Technically I guessed.”

“Yeah, you and Lloyd have that in common,” you mutter, glaring at her. Nathalie doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, instead, taking another sip of Prosecco.

“I knew there was a reason to celebrate,” she giggles, and you groan. “Ugh, Lloyd.” She grimaces. “I saw him sulking by the pool earlier. He’s a real prick when he’s upset, you know that?”

“He’s a real prick all the time,” you mutter. “You saw him? He’s here?”

“Oh he’s here alright,” Nathalie says, swirling the Prosecco in her glass conspiratorially. “I don’t know what had his panties all in a bunch, but he practically bowled me over.” She rolled her eyes. “Weird ass.”

“Hey, he paid for your tickets,” you remind her, and Nathalie shrugs.

“A weird ass with money, then.” You can’t help but giggle at her irreverence. “Come on, let me show you the beach!” She downs the rest of her drink in a few swallows while you use the bathroom, and then you follow her out of the little back door. “Isn’t this view unbeatable?”

You find you can’t disagree. The well manicured grass leading up to the fenced overlook is something to behold—the sea glitters aquamarine beyond it, the sun hanging low and orange in the sky. Nathalie leads you over to a set of steps, carved straight out of the rock. They’re a little slippery, but the railing is well constructed, so you manage just fine as you make your way down to the shore. It’s like a postcard, you think as your feet sink into the warm white sand. If Lloyd had spent fifteen thousand dollars on a bracelet, you can’t help but wonder what he spent on this.

I don’t even want to know.

“Isn’t it amazing? Like oh my God.” Nathalie kicks up a little sand. “In case I’ve forgotten, thanks for marrying a millionaire.” She giggles as you shove her, and she takes off toward the water. You watch her head down the beach, content to stand with your feet in the surf.

“The prodigal daughter returns.” Lloyd’s low drawl is unexpected, and you turn with a little gasp. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“I guess you’re just good at it.” You say with a thin smile. “This place is amazing, Lloyd, thank you for inviting us.” It’s the graceful acknowledgement you’ve practiced, and he looks pleased to hear it.

“You’re welcome.” His grin turns brazen. “Better late than never, am I right?” Perhaps it’s the hormones, the flight, or the drive, but you feel less than inclined to brush off his implication.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask irritatedly, and he licks his lips.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he holds his hands up placatingly, exaggerating the movements. “If you and Ransom found a sweet little roadside attraction, who am I to say a thing about it?” Your face heats with embarrassment and anger, and when you open your mouth to respond, at first no sound comes out.

“You—”

“Oh, hey. Lloyd.” Nathalie’s flat intonation takes the wind right out of your sails as she jogs back over. “Thanks again for inviting, you know, the extended fam,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s seriously the coolest place I have ever been.”

“No need to thank me,” he says smoothly, shaking his head as his eyes light on yours again. “Like I told your sister. I do for my family.” He flashes a charming smile at the both of you. “Glad you’re enjoying yourselves.” He sticks his hands into his pockets, his thumbs hanging lazily on his belt loops as he heads off down the beach, whistling.

Nathalie grimaces. “I saw him and figured I better come back,” she says, squeezing your arm. “Weird ass.” The two of you watch him go, and you shudder, a sudden cool breeze kicking up off the water.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Weird.”

previous chapter next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

978 notes · View notes

mrhyde-mrseek · 11 months

Text

I’m on a Good Omens kick because of the season 2 intro dropping (I saw a sneak peek on the official Good Omens Prime Instagram), so here’s some headcanons:

I’ve posted about this one before, but Beelzebub definitely has arachnophobia, being a fly demon.

Additionally, they also despise Venus fly traps, and refuse to go within ten feet of one. Crowley has three in his flat for this exact reason.

Crowley has been to EVERY Queen concert. He never bought a ticket even once, but he always managed to get the best seat at the venue (with the help of a little demonic miracle or two).

Before Almostageddon, Crowley would leave various things behind at the bookshop—neckties, tapes from the Bentley, even his sunglasses one time—on “accident” just so he has an excuse to go back.

(He doesn’t need an excuse anymore, but he still does this sometimes.)

He also listens to “Death on Two Legs (Dedicated To…)” whenever he’s feeling especially resentful toward Heaven and/or Hell.

Aziraphale’s favorite hot cocoa recipe is: one and a half cups of milk, four ounces of dark chocolate, half a teaspoon of vanilla, half a teaspoon of cinnamon, a quarter teaspoon of nutmeg, whipped cream, and six marshmallows exactly. Sometimes a spoonful of honey if he wants it to be sweeter.

War can sprint, climb, and fight in heels no matter how tall they are.

When Newt proposed to Anathema, he was so nervous he almost dropped the ring twice.

Pollution has never been misgendered once because besides the fact that they tend to go unnoticed, they exude such a strong sense of “weird supernatural entity” that most people have trouble trying to figure out if they’re even human, much less what’s in their pants.

Gabriel and Beelzebub would sometimes spy on Aziraphale and Crowley together, doing various human things (poorly) to avoid detection. During one of these surveillance meetings near a café, Beelzebub forced Gabriel to at least pretend to consume something so he didn’t appear out of place. He reluctantly bought a black coffee, took one sip, and immediately gagged. Beelzebub couldn’t stop laughing for five minutes straight. (They totally gave away the game, but it was worth it to tease Gabriel.)

#if anyone tries that hot cocoa recipe please tell me how it tastes because i just made it up off the top of my head #good omens #aziraphale good omens #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #beelzebub good omens #gabriel good omens #arachnophobia #war good omens #pollution good omens #good omens headcanons #anathema #anathema device #newt pulsifer #newton pulsifer #edit: I MEANT INTRO I FIXED THAT I’M SORRY

298 notes · View notes

hikarry · 20 days

Note

Aziraphale is a boba bitch send tweet

Can you imagine?

"This does not look like tea at all, Crowley."

"It is tea! Just-" He waves his cup around. "Ya know, new type of tea. Try it up."

Aziraphale looks down at the cup on his hand again. The orangy liquid looks back at him, expecting. Will you drink me, will you drink me not?

"What are the balls for?"

"Ah." Crowley was already drinking his tea, bursting one of the apple bobas with his back teeth. "You eat them. They are like...grapes, but made of tapioca. Really sweet. You'll love it. I chose orange for you. Beginners flavour and whatnot."

Again, the angel looks down at his drink. The orange little balls don't look apetizing at all.

"So...while you're drinking your tea, little balls just get sucked along with it into your mouth and you're supposed to pop them?"

"Yup." Crowley pops another one. "Give it a try. If you don't like it, I'll drink it myself. No waste of food and all that nonesense. Cmon." He nudges the angel with his shoulder. "Trust me on this one, yeah?"

Aziraphale looked up at the demon, trying to analyse his expression for any sign of malice, but found nothing. Just a joyful smile and a slightly raised eyebrow over his ever present sunglasses. Then, he looked down at the tea between his hands again and took a deep breath. There was a reason why he stood with the classics. He didn't like change and this bizarre beverage was changing his favorite drink into...into something mundane.

But, alas, he gave in. Took the straw on his mouth and sucked. The tea was good, he had to admit, but, even though he was expecting the little balls to make an appearence sooner rather than later, he still recoilled when 3 of them invaded his mouth without permission.

"Use your teeth to pop them."

He looked up at the demon sitting next to him, uncertain. Crowley's only response was taking his own straw on his mouth and suck the rest of his own tea and the couple of bobas that were left in the plastic cup. Defeated, Aziraphale used his tongue to position one of the small balls between his back teeth and, without giving it much time for thought, bit into it. There was a sudden explosion of orange flavour in his mouth and, surprised, he looked up at Crowley again, eyes big in awe.

"Good, hm?"

He didn't anwer. Instead, he poped the other two balls and went back to sucking on his straw.

"Wow, wow, wow! Slow down, angel!" Crowley held Aziraphale's wrist and pulled the cup away from his face, slipping the straw out of his mouth. "You are going end up chocking like that."

"I'm sorry, dear boy. But you were correct. This is delicious!" One, two boba popped inside his mouth. "By heavens, humans are so imaginative! Whatever shall they come up with next? Ice cream made of yogurt?"

"That already-" The demon took a deep breath, slightly shaking his head, before getting up from his seat. "C'mon. We can drink while we walk."

"But...what if I want more?"

"We can pass by the store and buy the ingredients. Boba tea it's not hard to make." He looked down at his (ridiculous) watch. "We're getting late to watch Macbeth at the Domnar Warehouse. You bought these tickets 3 months in advance. I'm sure you don't want to miss it?"

"Ah, yes!" Aziraphale finally gets up, hooking his arm on Crowley's and lowkey dragging him out of the store, boba tea still in hand. "The cast is magnificent! I've heard wonderful things about the actor playing Macbeth!"

"Uhum." Now arriving at where they had parked the Bentley, Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale. "I'm sure. Dinner on me after the show?"

Aziraphale, half inside the car half out, smiles up at him.

"If we stop by somewhere to buy the little balls for the tea first."

Crowley smiled back, rolling his eyes. No one was supposed to know he was rolling his eyes, but Aziraphale knew him well enough, and slapped his arm.

"Yes, yes. In you go, angel. I don't want to have you whining over getting late to the show again."

"You would never allow such a thing, my dear." The angel leaned slightly closer, laying a chaste and quick kiss on Crowley's lips, before fully entering the Bentley and closing the door himself.

Right. Yeah. Crowley would make him all the boba tea he ever desired for the rest of eternity if the angel kept kissing him like that.

#good omens imagine #good omens #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #asks #anon

51 notes · View notes

zeldahime · 3 months

Text

Highway to Pail Day 11

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 11: I heard they're looking for someone to perform in The Sound of Music. It's a Trapp.

It had been four hours since Crowley had sauntered into the bookshop, kidnapped an angel, and taken him out to dinner and a show. He'd wined and Aziraphale had dined at the Savoy, talking about nothing and everything. After Aziraphale finished dessert, Crowley had produced two box tickets to the new Rodgers & Hammerstein on the West End, a show about a nun outwitting some Nazis, and preened under Aziraphale's twinkling smile. In the dark box, they sat with just a scant inch between them. An important inch, an unbridgeable inch, but so much closer than they ever could be in the light of day in public or trust themselves to be in the gentle privacy of the bookshop.

About five minutes after curtain, Crowley realized he had made a terrible mistake.

How do you solve a problem like Maria? sang the nuns on stage behind Maria's back, and Aziraphale pulled away from the relaxed warmth of watching a silly musical together to sit impossibly straighter, arms retracting to set his palms neatly flat against his lap, legs moving from slightly spread as though at parade rest to heels together at attention. Crowley turned to look at his face, and his expression had gone totally blank, a terrible neutrality he hadn't seen in years.

In fact, the last time he'd seen Aziraphale with such a careful lack of any expressions at all, he'd just returned from his centenary performance review in Heaven, and he'd then avoided Crowley entirely for five years.

If Aziraphale spooked like that again just because Crowley hadn't vetted the dumb musical....

That unbreachable inch became a yawning chasm.

Then the nuns stared at Maria as she tripped, not offering a hand up, judgement written on their faces.

Crowley took a deep breath, unnecessary but steadying, and looked straight forward as he reached over and placed his hand on top of Aziraphale's, heart in his throat. "Alright there, angel?" he whispered, squeezing lightly.

Aziraphale didn't answer, but he didn't push Crowley away either. When the Mother Abbess and Maria sang about their favorite things, he flipped his hand over and squeezed Crowley back.

They stayed like that through the first act, hand-in-hand, as Maria and the von Trapp children pranced and sang across the stage, as Maria and the Captain began to fall in love, as the Nazis threatened Anchluss. At the end of the act, as Maria packed her bags to return to the monastery.

Aziraphale's grip was like iron when the Countess or whatever told Maria that Captain von Trapp was in love with her.

Even when the house lights came up for intermission, he didn't let go for nearly two minutes. When he did, Crowley only moved his hand to the armrest, allowing human propriety but not wanting to retract altogether.

"Well, this is dull," he drawled. "Thought there'd be more fighting Nazis and less mooning over them. The war wasn't like this anywhere I was. What do you say we get out of here, angel?"

Aziraphale visibly shook himself. "I'm sure Leisl... well. Yes. Let's. I must be getting back to the bookshop." Aziraphale didn't look at him. "Early day tomorrow."

The short ride back to the bookshop in the Bentley seemed to take an eternity. With the space between them restored, Aziraphale seemed a million miles away in the passenger's seat, silent as a mouse. When they arrived, Crowley walked him to the door, wanting to fuss but knowing he wasn't allowed, that it would just make Aziraphale feel even more closely watched and anxious about Heavenly surveillance.

"Thank you for dinner," Aziraphale finally said, turning to look at him after unlocking the door. "I'm sorry the show wasn't up to your expectations." His gaze dropped, and Crowley again felt the urge to reach across, to comfort his friend in such clear distress. To hold his hand, to kiss his worries away, to pet his fluffy hair until he forgot all about Heaven and Hell and all the reasons they shouldn't. He did nothing except hold his breath. Aziraphale met his eyes again, the moment passing them by. "Good night, Crowley," Aziraphale said in a low voice, nearly a whisper, and vanished into the shop.

The Bentley hit 150 as he tore out of London, running like a bat out of Hell from the way the night had turned so sour.

Related works:

youtube

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #good omens #the sound of music #aziraphale #crowley good omens #aziracrow #azicrow #ineffable husbands #they like holding hands #Youtube

43 notes · View notes

kay-jaye · 2 months

Text

“i’m a little bemused as to why crowley should risk destruction for you. you don’t seem his type at all.”

aziraphale raises his eyebrows, but he would laugh if he wasn’t so stressed. the mention of gabriel almost had him crashing the bentley into the treeline, and crowley would never let him hear the end of it if aziraphale wrecked his prized possession. for heaven's sake, crowley threatened to sell his books at a mere color change.

he’s on edge. the driving (which he hasn’t done in decades), the amnesiac archangel in his bookshop (where he should be heading back to now), the demon in his (their!) car suddenly grilling him on his personal relations to crowley.

aziraphale won’t agree with shax. lying would be a sin.

“i can tell hell crowley’s got him.”

“crowley doesn’t have gabriel.” well, some lies…some lies are necessary evils. “where would he put him? gabriel would never go to crowley. he hates crowley.”

“he hates you,” says shax.

aziraphale glances at her, thinks about “jim” and hot chocolate, then returns to the road. “i don’t know where he is, but he isn’t with crowley.”

the denial comes easy. aziraphale’s been practicing it for so long now that it’s second nature. he’s mastered the art of deflecting, and what’s he supposed to say anyway? in fact, if you must know, i invented crowley’s type. slightly conceited, for an angel, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“you know what?” shax starts, and aziraphale is pretty certain he does not want to know. “sometime in the last eighty, ninety years, i remember hearing that you and crowley were an item. i didn’t believe it then. not really. poor old furfur. he thought you were his ticket to the big time. now he’s in requisitions.”

perhaps her plan was to catch him off guard, use crowley as a means to…what’s the expression, rattle the ship? it’s close enough, and it works enough because aziraphale can hear bombs and guns going off in his head like he’s back in 1941, even after shax gets out of the bentley.

aziraphale is still fretting over how much information he revealed. he considers calling crowley to warn him, but with that night so clear in his mind, he’s afraid of revealing more.

aziraphale thinks about it the whole drive home, though. even the parts he tried to forget.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley's type #1941 pt. 3?#an eyebrow raise is worth a thousand words #kayjaye writes

25 notes · View notes

the-apology-dance · 7 months

Text

Precious Book!Good Omens Moments

-Aziraphale and Crowley both leave St. James’s Park, and the notepad the traffic warden is using to try and ticket Crowley COMBUSTS, surprising Crowley, who says he didn’t mean to do that. Aziraphale blushes and admits that he did it as Crowley stares at the smoke in his rear view mirror.

-Aziraphale is feeding a duck, and as soon as it catches the crust, the duck sinks. Aziraphale simply turns to Crowley, who apologizes as he says he was forgetting himself, the angered duck bobbing back to the surface.

-Crowley is said to feel very alone after he returns Aziraphale to the bookshop after having his company for a while (yes he misses Aziraphale’s company😭)

-There are no parking lines on the road outside of Aziraphale’s bookshop, but they roll back on themselves when the Bentley pulls up to the curb (HE MAKES EXCEPTIONS FOR CROWLEY)

-Crowley complimenting Aziraphale’s dress when possessing Madame Tracy

-Aziraphale complaining that when he tries to do the decent thing it gets him nowhere, and being complimented by Crowley when he sends the guard to a location neither are sure of

- HOW MANY TIMES AZIRAPHALE CALLS CROWLEY “DEAR”/ HOW MANY TIMES CROWLEY CALLS AZIRAPHALE “ANGEL”

- THE ENTIRE DRUNK SCENE

-THE PAINTBALL SCENE

This book is such a gem. 10/10 would definitely recommend. 🤣

#good omens #book omens #book aziraphale #book crowley #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #cute moments #the little things #they are in love #theyre idiots your honor #theyre so silly #neil gaiman #terry pratchett

44 notes · View notes

blossom-adventures · 7 months

Text

Kupo Con: Pom2, London, 15th & 16th September 2023

Where do I even begin! What a weekend!

Long story under the cut, because I need to tell you everything 😆

Starting off on Friday the 15th, we drove down to our hotel in Watford, which allowed us to get a train into London for Pre-Reg, which was available for Patreons of KupoCon, to get our tickets.

A lot of people were there and I probably knew half of them, or more, from the Discord Server but I was too nervous and shy to go over and say hello. Until I saw the only one I’d met previously, I went over and said hello! She then introduced me to one of the other people there, the cosplayer who won the “People’s Choice” Cosplay award last Kupo and who has been incredibly supportive of me every time I’ve shared progress on Discord and our meeting went like this… (using initials for privacy ☺️)

L: “Hey R this is P, from the discord!”

R: “Are you Blossom!?”

P: “Yes!”

R gives me a big hug

I spent a while talking with him and I think we became fast friends, I felt like I’d known him for ages! (Technically kind of had, because we’ve been talking in the discord) and I was really nervous but he was so lovely and made it so easy to talk to him!

Then, because of train times, we had to leave, but I’d met several of the other cosplayers (mainly Clives… no joke! I met 3 all at the same time!) and I was absolutely buzzing for the main event!

Saturday the 16th, the main event! Me and my mum got to the venue just as the doors opened, within 10mins I was in an elevator with a Noctis cosplayer, who jokingly asked if they’d survive this elevator ride! 😆 I then had a Sephiroth comment on my cosplay as I walked past

I met up with R because I knew how excited he was to see my cosplay, we had another hug (as much as we both could manage anyway; I was in a tight black coat and he was in full Clive cosplay) and he went off to support his friend who was dressed as FFXs Ifrit!

While waiting for the Opening Ceremony to start, I got given my first Masquerade Token! I was beside myself with excitement! I couldn’t believe it!

The Opening Ceremony was so fun! I met a friend who I’ve known online since December, which was amazing!

And then the Cosplay Parade happened! John Bentley (Barret FFVIIR) and Liam Mulvey (Libertus FFXV Kingsglaive) were presenting it, they were both so enthusiastic about it! I was really nervous because I was stepping up onto a stage in front of a lot of people, but I did it, and Liam’s reaction was priceless!

Then we went on our way, wandering the stalls and doing quests. Every time I passed R and his group, he checked in with me, to make sure I was ok and having a good time, which I really appreciated as it was my first Kupo and Cosplay.

Then I joined the queue to meet Liam… I said hello and gave him a print of a commission I’d had done earlier in the year and then he signed my own copy of the print… and then he gave me a Masquerade Token and I was lost for words! Because I didn’t realise the guests would also have tokens!

Riding that high, I decided to join the queue to meet John. And WOW! That man is amazing! He’s so lovely and excited and genuinely loves the community! Once he’d signed my print we went to get a picture, and he complimented me on my cosplay, when I said it was my first one, he was amazed! So he told his wife (who was holding my phone to take the picture for me) to video a message, which is of him saying how awesome my cosplay was, then he gave me another Token! I couldn’t believe it! I excitedly told R what had happened and he said how amazing that was too!

By the end of the day and the start of the Closing Ceremony I had been given 9 Tokens! I had been saying in the Discord Server that 1 or 2 would be amazing! But I got 9!!!

I stayed with R for the Closing Ceremony, chatting and laughing, someone he knew from a past event complimented me on my cosplay, which R instantly agreed with, he was so supportive of everything and I will always be grateful for that

Both the “People’s Choice” and “Staff Choice” award was won by a cosplayer who made, and was operating, Hell House from FFVII which was a much deserved win.

It was at the end of the Closing Ceremony that I got a selfie with Ben, I’d spoke to him briefly earlier, after his panel, saying that I was hoping to get into the queue to meet him properly, to which he replied “Ok, Ardyn!”

But looking at the line to meet him I knew I would miss the opportunity, so as he returned to finish off the signings that were waiting for him I asked if I could grab a selfie, and he said yes, as he ran off to his table he said how good my cosplay was too.

I went over to Liam and John to thank them once again for the Tokens they gave me, and how much they meant to me, they both responded with similar things; that it was deserved!

Feeling the lump in my throat from the emotions those compliments caused, I went over and said goodbye to R, knowing I’d likely not see him again face to face until February for the Birmingham KupoCon, I managed to keep it together until I got back to my mum, I started crying shortly after!

Please! If anyone has read this far who is a Final Fantasy fan I couldn’t recommend Kupo more! It was amazing! I’ve never felt so welcomed and included at a convention before and everyone I met was lovely and supportive

Next stop for me is Birmingham in February, until then… “Walk Tall, My Friends”

#blossom rambles #final fantasy #kupocon #cosplay

43 notes · View notes

darkhighness · 7 months

Text

Good Omentober Day 13 - Muriel

Prompt by @disaster-dog

Muriel ‘watches’ their first Shakespeare book with Mister Crowley at The Globe

It was interesting being stationed on earth, Muriel had decided. There was a whole world so entirely unlike Heaven that was laid out in front of them to discover and they didn’t even know where to start. They had called Mister Crowley whose number was written neatly on a notepad on the desk in Aziraphale’s cursive script.

Muriel looked at the phone and struggled for a little while before they worked out how to dial the number. They were shocked when the ringing started but once they heard the familiar voice they let out an excited squeak.

“Mister Crowley?”

“Speaking-” The demons words were slurred and Muriel almost couldn’t understand him.

“Mister Crowley, Aziraphale told me to call you if there were any troubles and I don’t know what to read next!” Muriel gushed. They had already read many books, starting at authors starting with A and they’d gotten all the way through C but some were terribly boring. Except for one book about different types of dogs. Muriel liked that book.

“That’s why you’re calling?”

“Yes! There’s so many books and while I want to read them all there's so many boring ones.”

There was a long sigh on the other end of the phone before the demon answered, “Have you read any Shakespeare? Aziraphale used to love it. It’s better to watch it then read it, but it’s a place to start.”

“You can watch books?” Muriel’s eyes widened and the opportunities seemed endless, “Oh that would be just wonderful!”

“No, not watching books, you-” Crowley’s awkward shifting caused some distortion in the mic before he continued, “Look, Muriel, was it? You just close up the bookshop and I will come over and we can find a book to watch.”

“Oh Mister Crowley, that would be amazing! You’re the nicest demon I’ve ever met.”

“Just be ready in 10 minutes, Muriel.”

The call was hung up and Muriel grew so terribly excited. They hadn’t really left the bookshop since Aziraphale left and it took a long time to read so if they could watch books they would get through them much sooner. Muriel turned the sign on the door around, proudly announcing that the bookshop was closed.

Very quickly after that, the Bentley was parked right outside and Crowley emerged. Muriel couldn’t help but note how long it had been since they had talked last. The demon was still in his usual attire but he looked tired. Demotivated. Slightly inebriated.

“There’s a show, Midsummer, you’ll like it. Lotsa fairies. We’ve got tickets we just gotta get to the theatre,” Crowley stammered, “I’m a little more drunk than I thought, if you give me a moment.”

The demon used his powers to extract the liquor from his system and slowly became more aware of his surroundings. Muriel was still absolutely glowing, however and left the bookshop, locking the door behind them.

“I’m ready to go Mister Crowley!” They beamed. The demon just gestured to the car and watched as the eager angel got in, “I love your car, Mister Crowley. Do all demons get cars? I know Supreme Archangel Aziraphale doesn’t have one!”

“We used to share.” The demon muttered before getting in himself and immediately fiddling with the radio. A song started playing and the demon scowled before trying to turn it off.

“What’s a nightingale, Mister Crowley?” Muriel asked excitedly.

“A bird. A lousy, boring bird.”

“That sings?” The angel asked softly, turning to face the demon who had finally turned the radio off.

“Yeah I guess so.”

Crowley planted his foot and began to cruise through London, making his way to the Globe. Muriel thought the place seemed super exciting but when they turned to face the demon, his face had fallen into a frown and he said nothing as he got out of the now parked Bentley. He helped Muriel out of the car and stood, staring at the theatre with his hands planted firmly in his tight pockets.

“Bit different than I remember, must say,” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh Mister Crowley, this is fabulous! Look at all the people going in.”

Crowley led Muriel into the theatre, showing the usher the tickets he had miracled into existence. Standing room, naturally. He wanted Muriel to have the authentic experience after all.

“So how do we watch the books?” Muriel asked innocently.

Crowley, attempting to be as patient as possible with the angel explained, “So there’s going to be actors who read the words and act it out. Instead of having to imagine the pictures in your head, they will all happen on the stage.”

There were a few strange looks at that from the theatre snobs in the audience but Crowley paid no mind to them. At this point his priority was making sure Muriel had a good time.

---

“Oh my goodness Mister Crowley that was fantastic!” Muriel gushed, latching onto the demon’s arm in excitement, “I especially liked the part where they turned him into a donkey!”

“I thought you’d like it,” The demon smiled. Usually, he couldn’t stand anyone in his personal space but Muriel was just so damn excited that he couldn’t bear to interupt them. He hadn’t seen anyone this excited over Shakespeare that wasn’t Aziraphale.

“Can we please go watch another book?”

“Not today. But…If you want to again in the future we can. You obviously have my number,” Crowley explained, gently guiding Muriel to the car.

“Thank you for today, Mister Crowley. It has been the most fun. If only Aziraphale was here!” Muriel rushed, swinging their legs into the car and sitting down.

“If only.”

(Edited for formatting and spelling)

#good omens #crowley #good omens 2 #good omentober #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ao3 fanfic #muriel

34 notes · View notes