fucking incredible art by @chernozemm (full on ao3)
flawless (E) (35k) (1/5)
When Crowley had snaked himself across the bar top, half purring, half snarling for Aziraphale to live a little, this wasn’t exactly what he meant by it. Not exclusively, anyway. If there was a list of possibilities, it may have been on there somewhere; scrawled as a hasty afterthought, perhaps under a subheading of Things That Would Surely Never Actually Happen.
But the sight of Aziraphale lying naked and debauched in the middle of his black satin sheets was not something he was about to hesitate over.
(If there was a second list, one surreptitiously scribbled on a napkin in the dark corner of a crowded bar, it would be titled Things Crowley Had No Right To Crave As Much As He Did, and it would start and end with this single bullet point)
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, toxic relationship, tomura’s just playing with your pussy tbh
words: 441
ever since you started fucking, tomura has developed an irritating little habit.
irritating, because it is unintentionally teasing. irritating, because he refuses to fuck you without performing this little ritual first.
kneeling between your spread thighs, his palm curls around the base of his cock, holding it steady as he caresses your slit with the head—back and forth, back and forth, easily gliding over your swollen clit, now slicked with your arousal and his pre-cum. he almost burrows the head into your folds, his eyes shimmering with awe, breath exhaled through parted lips in little pants, mouth licked raw and glazed with saliva, watching as your lips cling to him, try to pull him closer, to suck him in, delicate skin bulging while he slides his cock along it again.
his skin is flushed and hard and glittering so prettily in the dim light, coated with you, coated with you both, the tip just barely dipping into your hole on his stroke up, snagging on it slightly.
he’s fascinated by your body, by what he can do to your body, by the way your little cunt clenches in response when he rubs the head in slow, hard circles, then in fast, light motions, another little dribble of slick oozing out of it—another rush of heat to your core, another flame left to smoulder beneath his titillation.
it enchants him, the way his head skipping over your engorged clit sends bolts rippling through your flesh, chased by a wave of chills.
it enraptures him, the way your pelvis rolls up as his tip catches on your hole again, trying to fuck him into you, your sweet whine of frustration met with a self-satisfied chuckle.
“don’t be greedy,” he tells you, even as he defies his own order, selfishly stretching time as he plays with you, grinding the slit of his head into your clit. “you’ll get my cock when i’m ready to give it to you.”
there’s an implicit threat sewn into his singsong tone; behave, or you won’t get anything at all.
and so you still, like the good little girl you are, and let him have his fun, marvelling at your cunt as if it’s the first time all over again, sending tiny flares of pleasure searing through your veins, sparking hot cinders in the pit of your stomach to a dull glow, desperate to catch flame.
but he’ll never get sick of this, he swears it, he’s breathing as he finally pushes in, ill-prepped cunt straining around his girth, his gaze glued to your conjoined bodies. your body was fucking made for him, he’s sure of it.
This ending of this chapter has existed since the very beginning. To those of you who have stuck around to read it: thank you and I love you.
The painting mentioned in this chapter— “Woman-Ochre” by Willem de Kooning—is a real painting that had an exhibition dedicated to it in the Getty this summer. The story I tell about it is true; it was stolen from the U of A Museum of Art in 1985 and was recovered in 2017. The rest, of course, is fictional.
*****
“Let’s do a job,” Riley announced over lunch, causing Leanna to choke on an oyster.
They were at a Santa Monica seafood restaurant that overlooked the ocean and, since they’re both rich and could easily afford it, had gone all out on today’s lunch. They ordered a trio of appetizers—oysters on the half-shell, miniature uni tacos, and an off-menu surprise selected by the chef (an ex of Cage’s that the Five Eyes remained on good terms with)—and split a plate of caviar nachos. The tiny patio was packed with customers dressed in L.A. finery: well-made clothes that were a mix of trendy and timeless, paired with Rainbow flip flops and dark sunglasses.
Things between her and Leanna had officially returned to as normal and not-weird as they were going to get, so all that was left was to entice Leanna to come back to the fun side. Leaning forward, Riley conspiratorially whispered, “Tonight.”
Dropping the empty oyster shell onto her plate, Leanna hissed, “Are you crazy?” Her eyes widened and her head cocked slightly to the left—an expression that, after a decade of being on the receiving end of it, no longer fazed Riley. However, that didn’t make her judgmental stare any less annoying.
“Stop looking at me like that. And also stop worrying. I already have the whole thing planned out.” She tossed back an oyster.
Leanna muttered something that sounded like, “Good for you.”
The job came to Riley, quite literally, in a dream. After hearing on the news last night that a da Vinci sketch had been stolen from the Getty Museum, Riley reached out to a few of her old contacts—contacts she met through Nikki—to see if they knew which of LA’s lowlifes pulled off the job.
They did.
Unfortunately for her, Riley happened to be well acquainted with this particular group of lowlifes, on both a professional and personal level, although she hadn’t spoken to any of them in years. And for good reason.
The Getty job was pulled off by none other than the Coltons, a notorious take-no-shit crime family and Riley’s ex- potential in-laws.
The only positive was that thanks to Mama Colton’s desperate attempt to recruit Riley to the family business, she knew exactly how they operated. Which meant she also knew how to con them into screwing up their own con. Riley left that part out of her explanation, but Leanna likely knew her train of thought anyway.
“Ri, this isn’t a good idea.” Leanna chewed her lower lip—a nervous habit she broke years ago but had apparently returned. Her eyes flicked to each of the nearby tables, checking for eavesdroppers, but no one paid them any mind. Riley had already checked.
Despite Leanna’s doubt, Riley refused to be deterred. “Sure it is. Listen. It’ll be easy. All we have to do is—” Leanna cut her off before she could explain her plan.
“I’m not participating in this.”
“Sure you are.”
A measured sip of water. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m done with that life.”
Disbelieving, Riley’s voice fell to a near whisper as she said, “But you came back.”
“I came back for my friend. Not to be a criminal again.”
“Sorry to inform you, your friend is a criminal,” Riley spat. She’d had enough of Leanna’s new holier-than-thou attitude. She was no less of a criminal than Riley. The only difference was that one of them had a rap sheet and the other a government paycheck.
Leanna covered Riley’s hands with her own, and Riley stiffened. “You don’t have to be. You can leave, just like I did. Get a real job with a steady paycheck. Have health insurance and a retirement fund.”
“I don’t need a retirement fund.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice.
Rolling her eyes, Leanna pressed, “It’s about the principle of it all.” She squeezed Riley’s hands. “Let go, Ri.”
Riley pulled away, folding her hands in her lap. “I can’t.”
“Why.” It came out as more of a demand than a question. Leanna slurped down another oyster, her endlessly calm demeanor only pissing Riley off more.
“I like what I do. I like living on this side of the law.”
Leanna scoffed, “You’re an adrenaline junkie who likes attempting impossible things just to see if you can pull them off.”
“And I can,” Riley said, gritting her teeth.
“You got lucky.”
“Last I checked, you’ve spent years benefitting from that luck.” When Leanna didn’t rise to the bait, Riley muttered, “Whatever.”
Where did Leanna get off thinking she had any right to judge her? Her best friend of eleven years was no better than her, despite Leanna’s newfound superiority complex proclaiming otherwise.
Just growing pains, Riley thought. We’ll get through this.
But a petty argument wouldn’t sway Leanna. It never had, nor would it now. She would have to be strategic to convince Leanna to give up her 9 to 5. Riley resumed eating, pretending she didn’t feel like their friendship was fraying at the seams, and said, “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
Riley let her have the last word, biting her tongue hard enough that it bled.
*****
Perched on top of a hill overlooking West L.A., the Getty Museum was a haven for tourists and locals alike—at least those willing to brave the 405 in order to get there. Since it was technically autumn—although it still felt like summer—the gardens were in a sad, but natural stage of half-brown, and smoke from a distant wildfire plumed on the horizon. It was far enough away that Riley wouldn’t have to worry about evacuating.
Fires burning in the distance always led to fires burning at home. The stress of waiting for everything to go up in flames was a breeding ground for strife.
Living in L.A. her whole life, the scent of wildfire smoke in the air set Riley on edge. It was a slow kind of anxiety—always waiting for the other shoe to drop, prepared for the worst-case scenario to become reality. She’d only been at risk of losing her home once, as a child, but after her fair share of evacuations, even the slightest risk brought her childhood fear back to the surface.
She ducked into the museum quickly, not lingering in the gardens like she usually would, and the filtered air was a sweet relief.
To avoid suspicion, Riley planned on doing a lap of at least two wings of the museum, one of which would include the scene of the crime.
Ironically, one of the exhibits she passed featured a painting called “Woman-Ochre” that had been recently recovered after its theft in 1985. According to the plaque, it had been cut out of its frame; a man cut it out while a woman distracted museum security. Nikki probably knew more about it, including the identities of the thieves.
The rest of the exhibit detailed the restoration process, which Riley didn’t care about. Instead, she studied the painting itself to figure out what made this one theft-worthy. Depicting a woman’s torso, it was mostly abstract except for the boobs, which were perfectly clear. Riley rolled her eyes and continued walking.
She wound her way through the halls until she reached the area blocked-off with police tape, an empty space on the wall.
She thought about sandpipers and the risks she was willing to take for a reward. After two years of being clean, it was no wonder Leanna’s threshold of acceptable risk was so much lower than before. It was no wonder she hesitated. But for Riley. . . those two years only made her risk tolerance higher, not lower.
Automatically, Riley’s brain mapped the museum, cataloging potential ways in and out until she determined the most probable path the Coltons took to steal the sketch unseen. The LAPD had no leads on the thief, but Riley knew the Coltons’ style, and an immaculate job such as this was one only an elite few could pull off—a group that included both the Coltons and, until recently, the Five Eyes.
Maybe Leanna had a point, but at the end of the day, this was Riley’s life. She couldn’t just give it up. She didn’t know anything else.
She might’ve once, back when her teenage self discovered the power in hacking. She was good too, but all her attempts to get a job that would actually challenge her skills were ruined by doubting, sexist interviewers who saw a beautiful young woman and decided there was no way that face matched her resume.
Her friends at the time—Kai and Peyton, also hackers—diverged; privileged Peyton landed a nice job with assistance from a little nepotism, and Kai broke the trio’s promise of being “the good guys” and became a black hat hacker.
It was Riley who tried the longest, who kept applying to job after job, went to interview after interview, all with the same result: No.
Not to say that was all for nothing, because it was walking home from yet another failed interview that Riley met Nikki.
She stopped applying for jobs after that.
Entering Nikki’s favorite wing, Riley continued to wander, fantasizing about how good it would feel when Billy Colton realized she ruined his perfect job.
*****
She texted Leanna. Offer: meet me at this address in an hour. We’ll intercept the Coltons before they can finish the job
Leanna replied immediately. Counteroffer: Meet me at your apartment in an hour, and I’ll help you get back on the right side of the law.
Riley didn’t respond. Leanna would come around eventually. She was sure of it.
*****
Nails drumming across glossy red paint, Riley sat on the sun-warmed hood of the truck, leaning back against the windshield, and waited. The truck was sleek. New. Well, it probably had thirty thousand miles on it by now, but the Coltons bought it to replace their previous gas guzzler right after she’d broken up with Billy, right before she’d gone to prison.
The point was that Riley had never ridden in it, and thus it was new to her.
It was parked in an average suburban parking lot, part of an average suburban strip mall which housed an average suburban bank. It was one of the national chains, with locations in cities big and small. Riley kept her money in a better one, but she could see the appeal for a family who never stayed too long in one place.
When they weren’t thieving, however, the Coltons ran an art forging business out of their backwoods diner. While the diner certainly wasn’t as lucrative as their dealings in the art world, it had a most loyal customer base.
There was a time when Riley was one of them.
Now, however, she’d like nothing more than to take a chunk out of the Coltons’ profits, rather than contribute.
Oversized purse slung over her shoulder, none other than Mama Colton herself exited the bank, her daughter Jesse in tow. Upon spotting Riley, her immaculate red manicure vanished as she momentarily clenched her fist around her purse strap. Good. That meant Riley caught her off-guard.
Riley’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk. “Nice to see you again, Mama.”
“Can’t say I share that sentiment,” Mama replied. Behind her, Jesse slowly reached for the gun Riley knew she had concealed beneath her leather jacket. She wouldn’t shoot—or even take aim—without an order from Mama. And while Mama likely still hated Riley, murder wasn’t her style. Riley was perfectly safe.
Mama and Jesse walked all the way to the front of their truck, but Riley didn’t budge from her perch on the hood. Instead, her sneer only grew.
“I’ve always wanted to do a job at the Getty,” Riley drawled, “but all that driving on the 405 never seems worth it.”
“Funny,” Jesse replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please.” Riley hopped down from the hood. The metal was starting to burn her skin through her black jeans. “I just came to see if you still stash stolen art beneath the backseat. A horrible idea, really. Anyone could break in and steal it. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
But Mama didn’t balk at her thinly veiled threat. Worse, she laughed.
“Bless your heart for looking out for us, but there’s nothing to worry about. The boys already fenced it.” Mama had a poker face that could fool God, but the victorious gleam in Jesse’s eyes made Riley inclined to believe Mama’s claim.
Riley was too late.
“Now,” Mama continued, “you best be running along. You’ve already screwed over one of my children, and there will be consequences if you come after my family again. Now kindly get away from my truck.”
For the record, what happened between Riley and Billy was not her fault.
Mama walked past Riley like she wasn’t even there, but Jesse shoulder-checked her—she learned that from her older brothers—and held up a middle finger behind her back. Mama couldn’t see the gesture, but Riley couldn’t miss it, and for a few horrible seconds she was right back in prison. Standing in the cafeteria, standing in the yard. Before she knew better. That move was the precursor to a beating, and she knew damn well that Jesse could brawl with the best and win.
Once, there was a time when Riley was beloved by the Coltons, instead of hated. Once, she found herself as the lynchpin in some of the family’s most ambitious jobs. Once, Jesse even worshiped her as the older sister she’d always wanted.
But breakups were between more than just the couple in question, and no matter the truth of the situation, family would always side with family, which means Billy would always have their full support and Riley would always be the villain of that story.
Just another example of people who swore they cared, and then left.
Riley watched them drive off, alone and empty-handed.
*****
She was thirty minutes late meeting Leanna back at her apartment. The key was barely out of the lock and she could already tell Leanna was pissed. She sat on one of the barstools, arms crossed and glaring hard enough to put a hole through Riley’s chest.
“You’re late,” Leanna snapped. The old Leanna did appreciate punctuality. Riley supposed the scolding was warranted. Sort of.
“Hello to you too.” Riley dropped her keys on the counter. Poured herself a drink of water.
For a moment, the only sound was the clinking of the ice in her glass.
“You went after the Coltons, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Refusing to give her the instant satisfaction of being right, Riley opened the fridge in search of a snack. She did a double take. Leanna had reorganized the whole thing, throwing out old leftovers and labeling everything else. It was immaculate. Nothing was where Riley had put it. Bristling, Riley challenged, “So what if I did?”
“It was a bust, wasn’t it?”
Damn her, for knowing. For figuring it out. Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.
“Who was there?”
Rapidly losing her appetite, Riley closed the fridge without taking anything out. She answered, “Mama and Jesse.”
“Describe their body language.”
“Jesse looked entirely too pleased with herself, but that’s normal for her.”
“And Mama?”
“If Mama Colton lied, we’d never know. She’s too good. You said so yourself years ago.”
Leanna persisted anyway. “That was before I became a trained interrogator for the CIA. Now tell me exactly what she did. No detail is too small.”
The reminder of Leanna’s new job stung. Especially after Riley had done such a good job not thinking about it. But even she had to admit Leanna’s new skills could come in handy.
Closing her eyes, Riley replayed her exchange with the Coltons. “She was holding her purse with one hand. Relaxed posture. She put her free hand in her pocket when she was done speaking.”
“She lied.”
“What?” Riley’s eyes snapped open. “How the hell do you know?”
“The oddly-timed gesture,” Leanna explained. “If she were telling the truth, she would’ve put her hand in her pocket before or while speaking, not after. Liars tend to have delayed hand gestures.”
“Damn, okay,” Riley said, impressed, but that feeling quickly melted into annoyance at being lied to. Thinking out loud, she said with increasing speed, “We can still salvage this. Even if they’ve already fenced it, I know what dealer they sold it to—they always use the same one—and we can convince him the Coltons sold him a fake. He’ll believe it too, since Frank and Billy run that forgery business on the side. It’s—”
“Riley, I don’t think—”
“—not that hard. Nikki and I have done it before and—”
“Riley!” Leanna yelled.
“What?” Riley yelled back.
They mirrored each other now, standing on opposite sides of the counter, arms crossed. Both used to the other listening when they spoke, not whatever the hell this was.
“For the last time, I’m not doing a job with you. Stop fucking assuming I’ll change my mind.”
It was her most blatant rejection yet, and it hit like a punch to the throat. Gasping for air, Riley scrambled to figure out why. This wasn’t like Leanna. This wasn’t who she was.
“I’m CIA. I can’t do shit like this anymore.”
“You’re a wanted criminal in seventeen countries,” Riley reminded her. “For grand theft.”
“I’m a wanted criminal in twenty-four countries,” Leanna corrected. Riley raised her brows. “You didn’t think I had a desk job, did you?”
Riley snorted. “You’re not the type.”
Finally, Leanna uncrossed her arms. “I’m serious though. I don’t do that stuff anymore. And maybe you shouldn’t either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a criminal, Riley! And since you clearly didn’t learn anything in prison, maybe you need to go back.”
Riley couldn’t believe what she was hearing. And after what she’d done. . . “What the fuck is wrong with you? I went to prison to save your ass! And Nikki’s! You know damn well it could’ve just as easily been you in there instead of me.”
“And I’m sorry that happened to you. What I’m trying to say is that I learned from that situation, and I had hoped you did too.”
“What,” Riley snarled. “What was I supposed to learn?”
“That what we did was wrong!” Leanna’s voice cracked. “God, Riley. Are you that blind? We’ve been awfully lucky for a lot of years. It was only a matter of time before that luck dried up and we were worse off than when we started. We can’t be criminals forever.”
Riley laughed, but there was no humor in it. “We can’t be criminals, so you decided to become a professional liar instead? No wonder your boyfriend dumped you.”
“I don’t blame him for not wanting to go through all the lies again.” Leanna clamped her hand over her mouth, but that only made Riley’s mind lock onto that last word even more.
Again.
“What do you mean, again?” Tears started to fray the edges of her accusatory tone, and Riley fought to hold them back.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Forget I said it.”
“Not likely. Start talking.”
“Fine.” Leanna sighed. “I knew it was only a matter of time before Bozer got suspicious, but it’s not like I could confirm or deny anything. I could get in huge trouble for just the little I’ve told you. But it kept getting harder as my assignments got longer and more frequent, and then he figured it out about Mac, and—”
Mac.
Mac.
Nikki’s Mac.
Nikki’s Mac who was a spy. A spy who lived right here in L.A.
“You work with Nikki’s ex-boyfriend?” The pieces didn’t add up.
“Different agencies. I met him through Nikki, but sometimes our work paths cross, yes.”
“And how does your boyfriend know him?” Leanna winced at the word ‘boyfriend,’ but Riley didn’t give a shit how she felt anymore.
“They grew up together. Been friends most of their lives. They still live together.”
Riley took a step back. And another. And another until she backed right into the cabinets.
“I cut ties with everyone when Mac was reintroduced to me as a spy. He’s a smart guy. I knew Nikki wouldn’t be able to fool him forever, and I wasn’t about to risk my new life by associating with all of you.”
Reeling, Riley gripped the counter for support as the world rocked under her feet. Leanna didn’t just leave. She left because the Five Eyes were no longer advantageous to her. That selfish bitch.
She knew Mac. She abandoned her best friends because of Mac.
Mac.
Mac, who was at the Louvre that night. Mac, who nearly ruined the heist of Riley’s dreams.
The heist, which Leanna knew about. Because Riley told her. Standing on the porch of her boyfriend’s house, which was also Mac’s house.
How was Paris? Leanna had asked.
Leanna knew perfectly well how Paris went because she fucking set them up.
“How could you?” Riley screamed. There was no stopping the tears now, and they ran down her face in steady streams, blurring her vision. “After everything we’ve been through together, how could you do that to me? To us?”
“I did it to save you.”
“From what? Because clearly it wasn’t from going back to prison.”
“From yourself! You could do anything with your life, be anyone, yet this is what you choose? Riley, as a thief you will never be able to stop running. Never be able to live an honest life.”
“An honest life. That’s rich coming from you.”
“At least I can be proud of what I do now. I don’t have to live with that sinking feeling after a job anymore. You know, when the adrenaline has finally worn off and you have to face the fact that what we did was wrong. I hate that feeling.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” In truth, Riley didn’t experience the guilt at all anymore. She hadn’t in years.
“I’d hoped prison would change that. Change you.”
“Well it did fucking change me. Just not the way you wanted it to, apparently.”
“It’s still not too late to help yourself.”
“Go to hell.”
Leanna stared. Riley stared back.
A decade of friendship lay between them, dead.
Hammering the final nail into the coffin, Riley growled, “Get the fuck out of my house.” Leanna flinched. “And stay out of my life while you’re at it.”
Shaking with hurt and anger and betrayal, Riley could do nothing but watch as Leanna calmly packed up her stuff. Then she fished around in her bag for something small—Riley couldn’t tell what it was—and approached the kitchen counter once more.
“This belongs to you,” Leanna said, dropping her copy of Riley’s apartment key onto the granite.
When she let herself out, the door softly clicked closed behind her.
Since the Louvre, Riley had been balancing on a knife’s edge. She could go forward or backward, but either way she’d end up sliced and bloody. So she kept to the straight and narrow, just like she promised her parole officer. She kept moving forward. Better to hurt herself in the future than do it while dwelling in the past.
But if this was where the future led, it fucking sucked.
Betrayal, on both ends of the line.
Even standing still, the knife’s edge cut deeper into her feet. She felt the sting, felt the metaphorical blood slicking the metaphorical blade.
To her side was the abyss. To her side was no knife at all. No moving forward or backward, but no pain either.
Jump, the voice said. It’ll be easier.
For once, Riley didn’t question it. She simply let herself
Aziraphale steadfastly reminded himself this was a good thing. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, but the silver lining was actually bright, and broad, and glistened like diamonds. If he focused on that light ahead, he might not even feel the chill of the rain where it continued to pummel him.
“We can’t.”
“I know,” Aziraphale said mournfully, his brows pinching together as his gaze wandered down to Crowley’s lips. “I know we can’t.”
The tut of his t was a muffled thing against Crowley’s mouth, and his sigh was easier felt than heard.
Aziraphale was good at burying things. Not exactly putting them to rest, but plenty skilled at ignoring the worst of them until they simply… Went away.
Only, Crowley didn’t go away. Crowley persisted.
Aziraphale kicked and shoved and buried, but his want was an exhausted dead thing that would not stay dead. He could feel it relentlessly scrabbling up his throat whenever he spotted that jagged smile across a room, the soil embedding deeper into his fingernails with every frantic climb out of the grave.
so i wasn't actually planning on drawing any more illustrations but yall have been SO good to me... i wanted to make you one more lil treat 👀 uncropped, extremely nsft version on ao3 (@goodomensafterdark)
i have a book binding question tho! the text that shadows through the page is so noticeable and distracting, but online guides say to avoid anything thicker than 80gsm or the paper will be too thick for a book. all i have is standard 80gsm printer paper, is there some special kind i should be using to prevent all this bleed?
