Elenawrit

After "How to Get Away With Murder", here is « how to get away with the ex-wife of your boyfriend ». Which is substantially the same in terms of problems created.  It had been three years since Aaron Hotchner, the (very hot) FBI profiler, and you, a passionate bookseller of art history and archaeology, Christian art, Byzantine and High Middle Ages ( yes, Christian churches in Armenia in the seventh century can be extremely sexy ), were dating. You were Penelope Garcia’s cousin, and you met Aaron Hotchner, going to visit her in her office at the FBI headquarters in Quantico. The introduction wasn't the best, especially ho

There were always four in the Impala. Sam and Dean in the front, and then me and Lucifer kissing in the back. He was not really there, it's more his grace (grace, the only good way to live distance sex, but that's not the point). I was still buried between his thighs, his arms crossed over my stomach and floating his lips upon my neck and my shoulder. I know, it's super weird for me to hunt with the Winchesters, and at the same time be in a relationship with the devil. Don't hit me, and don't get me with tomatoes, please. It had started so, completely banal compared to the Apocalypse, one will say. *** Flashback *** (imagine Ash arriving, c

In view of what Sam had told me, Becky was a strange mixture of Christian Grey and Ana Steele (a young virgin, a bit silly, completely freaked out, which attaches her partner on the edge of consenting in bed, and the gags). So I didn’t hide the fact that I was panicked when she called me (you cannot imagine what I could do to obtain images of Destiel, and Sam, too, if it was not for Becky) about big business. Sam was nervous as he sat next to Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala. He rubbed his hands against his jeans and fidgeted in his seat (if I didn’t know him, I would say that he had a lemon stuck in his…). We arr

It sometimes happens that God in his incredible humor, giving you the love of music, but a sense of rhythm as developed as a teapot. I enjoy the fact that I was alone in the bunker to put loud music throughout the kitchen, while I was trying somehow to make me a sandwich. I sang "I believe I can fly" loudly (love, sweetness, sweets, small birds, etc ... Relax and happiness), stirring hips and trying to move the hips as best possible. I finished making my dinner, and seizing my plate, I turned around ... To let go immediately after surprise. I looked at the plate broken down, and I was trying to calm the chaotic beating of my heart. «

There's one thing that I find particularly enjoyable. You know what a plate is? And a wash basin? And a sponge? Okay! You're amazing! There is nothing more enjoyable than being in front of the sink in your little kitchen, washing dishes at 11pm (because facing the Devil? No problem, I do it with a lollipop in my mouth and two buffers in my ears. But my pile of dishes? Brrr! Vade Retro Santa Nanas!). So in the beginning, you grumble, you imitate Crowley, then you say to yourself, "What is the one thing to do when you have a sink before you? Singing something from Disney, of course!" And now, who is found singing "Zero to Hero" in the kitchen