Do I,,, post this at nearly 11 pm,,, I think yes I’m too excited anyway have kiyazan cuddle hours (which are always) @cashweasel I was good and kept it after the last time I showed u lolll it was really harD bc LOOK AT THEM
a nightingale sang in berkeley square being aziraphale and crowley's song, the nightingale representing what they've felt for each other through the years, crowley being the one to say it out loud and address the fact that the nightingale was there, that it was real and then saying that neither of them can hear it now, aziraphale fully taking in what crowley meant, aziraphale looking away, aziraphale about to cry, crowley kissing aziraphale in a desperate attempt to mend things, knowing things were over but still trying all the same, aziraphale saying "i forgive you" but for what? for kissing him? for confessing only when everything was too late? for saying there were no more nightingales? and then we got crowley saying "don't bother" and walking away but still waiting outside to see aziraphale leave for heaven and maybe it's because he wanted to see aziraphale for as long as he could before they parted ways or maybe it's because deep down he was still hoping for things to change — either way i am GOING TO THROW UP
This creative boom I'm having is amazing. But for the love of all things written, can I please finish one thing before another jumps up and can I please at least get a summary written before another AU pops back to the forefront.
It's like CEO fuck buddy rivals, toxic, Mr. Steal Your Girl, accidentally married and keeping it a secret, and mafia boss are all duking it out and then Florida boy is inserting himself everywhere.
ya think henrys the type of fella to announce when hes boutta cum or is he a bitch who’s moans get higher pitched/louder
— flea
because i hold the strong belief that he wouldn't be outwardly verbal in bed, i think it's the sounds and his gestures that would announce his nearing orgasm to you. his grip upon you would tighten, regardless of position, long fingers digging into the flesh of your hips or your spine or your thighs or whatnot; his thrusts would become even sharper and more aimed. his face would scrunch up in exertion, nostrils flaring and mouth clamping shut in order not to produce too many revealing sounds — which wouldn't always work, and he'd still let a higher-pitched groan (or a few) slip, alongside hasty, sharpened breathing, of course.
i think the actual verbal announcements would flood out of him in a more dazed state — drunk or extremely tired — but they'd be silent; like a feeble, breathy i'm right there under his breath, concluded by a lengthy groan.