#rival professors

Paradigm Shift by depraveddame

Part 8 of The Unity of Opposites, aka Old Man Disaster Professors

| 3996 | explicit | human AU, Professor AU, dom Aziraphale, sub Crowley, power dynamics, weekend meet up, booty-call-ish text messages, lots and lots of kissing, teasing, dirty talk, undressing, porn with feelings, a splash of sort-of kind-of virginity kink adjacent vibes, pining while fucking, revelations, and more!

| summary |

After receiving a scorching text in the middle of the night over the weekend, Aziraphale invites Crowley to his home for the very first time. Just as they’re about to take things further, he learns something rather shocking.

| excerpt |

“You wicked creature,” he murmurs. Heart contorting and tumbling as it totters along a twisted tightrope of strings Aziraphale has done his damndest to keep unattached. Staring into honeypot eyes, trapped and thoroughly compromised.

“Aren’t I just,” Crowley purrs with the subtlest of smirks, the filthiest of inflections. Aziraphale has half a mind to toss him back out into the night for his cheek.

The other half wants to tie him to his bed and never let him go.

His hands, ever practical, agree to a compromise.

Excited to finally share my work for the @anywhere-with-you-event gift exchange, written for @emmalostinwonderland! Featuring:

🎓Rival Professors

🎓Epistolary Elements (texts!)

🎓Enemies-to-lovers (ish)

Akrasia by depraveddame

| 666 | explicit | human au, professor au, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, rivals, D/s vibes, face fucking, boot grinding |

Professors Anthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell do not like each other.

They despise one another.

In fact, most would more than likely describe them as being mortal enemies if nothing else.

Rivals in their field of Philosophy at a prestigious university, they clash in nearly every sense of the word, doing their absolute best to either 1) go out of their way to metaphorically rip the each other to shreds, or 2) aggressively and/or spitefully avoid the other.

Most of the time.

| excerpt |

He opens the door, Fell’s unspoken permission to do so given by way of an unbolted lock week after week.

“Crowley,” his surname, uttered with barely veiled contempt edged with heat, has him swallowing a whimper. 

“Fell,” he tersely replies for what’s surely the last time.

He steps inside; the door clicks closed. 

Crowley’s already sinking to his knees.