#a very soft part of me wants to see it positively resolved in some way at least in the next season

[tattersdemalion]

i deserve multiple awards for being able to sit through midge's storyline in this season actually!

[winterarmyy]

Plot Twist | Part I

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Run-through: I just need to get this out of my system. Most of arranged marriage mob/mafia!au I've read has a strong/bratty reader. And a really mean/asshole Bucky. Which is absolutely fine btw but its getting repetitive for me. I wanted to see a reader who's actually soft but fierce when she wants to be. And Bucky who is generally cold and seems to be married to his job but notices small things that the reader do, thus subconsciously started to care about her. They don’t hate each other, nor do they are infatuated. I don’t know if this exist, so I decided write it myself just in case. Enjoy!

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 1.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just fluffy and wholesome stuff here. Nothing graphic or explicit.

P/S: I like to write in 3rd pov btw. There's a few mentions of y/n sometimes too. Beware of the grammar mistakes, English is not my first language. This might be 2-3 parts type of fic, so tell me what you think so far.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

“He's late.”

The soft clinking sounds of his rings colliding with each other and onto the dresser woke her up from her deep slumber. Though her body remained still, her mind continued to wonder,

“Late. Again.”  She thought.

The sound of fabrics rustling about hinted her of what was happening beyond her closed eyes. The shut of the bathroom door confirmed her speculations.

“So, what if he came back home late? Why does it concern you?” She questioned herself.

Only a fool would believe if she said that she didn't care at all about the whereabout and well-being of this man. He is her husband after all.

Six months ago, she stood on the alter with that man. They swore an oath. They sealed the kiss. He was hers and she was his.

James Buchanan Barnes; Bucky was what he preferred to called. He is what every man wants to become, and every woman wants to be with.

An Adonis of a man; impossibly tall, 6'5"; body armored with thick layer of muscles. Bucky is huge, that if he trapped her against the wall, she might just see the resemblance of him to a grizzly bear. His dark hair flowed just above his shoulder and his steel blue eyes were as cold as his personality.

Though she wouldn't compare him to a frozen blizzard during the winter, he was more like the first day of snow, when the white flakes started to fall.

Cold enough to make you shiver and warm enough to lure you out but most importantly, obscenely beautiful.

However, of course, the main reason of the marriage set up by her father was not because of how beautiful he is, but to fulfil his hunger for power. As if the territories that their family has wasn't enough, her father arranged this union to extend his reign.

Y/N protested at first but knew better than to fight against her father. Being raised in such family, at a very young age she learned to think always ahead; pass the emotions and intuitions. What's the rational and logical way to solve a problem.

Took her a week to wrap her head around the matter, research about Barnes and go through the agreement between her father and her then husband to be. Barnes had listed some main demands regarding the union and although most of them were about their business, but one particular demand had caught her attention.

“After marriage, the couple must be faithful to one another. Any romantic/sexual relationships prior must be severed/resolved immediately. Failed to do so will result to termination of the contract.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She thought.

Not that she was in any relationship at the time, and all the research result to possibly positive outcome. So, in the end, she complied.

Which then explained why she was sleeping in Bucky's bed six months later.

“I know you're awake.” Bucky's gravel voice startled her internal thoughts. She could feel the indentation of the mattress on his side of the bed, the fresh and clean scent wafting from him. She nearly purred from a sniff of it.

She slowly opened her eyes as if she was trying to peep and god what a sight to see after a restless sleep; Bucky's idea of pajamas was basic pants and nothing above and Y/N didn’t know what to feel about that. Does she hate it? Absolutely not. Does she like it? Well, he is easy on the eye indeed.

The room was dimly lit, but she could see his slightly damp hair; it looked longer than it is dry. Her eyes followed the outline of his body leaning against the bed. The soft light reflected on his metal arm particularly follows the gold lines decorating the dark surface.

She often had intrusive thoughts of tracing the lines; what would it feel like against her fingertips. Does he feel anything? Is it cold? Will it feel good? 

“You do know that it’s a waste your time to wait for me, right?” He huffed a heavy breath. She could hear the fatigue in his sigh.

And how does Bucky know that she waited for him before admitting her defeat to the drowsiness? Somehow, Bucky always managed to know things, to the littlest matter, even when he’s million miles across the world.

Just like when she found a copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bed a few months ago. The day before she received it, her copy was drenched in coffee; a young woman bumped into her in front of the café she often visit. He was in Russia that time. “Was it Clint? Did he tell Bucky?” she wondered.

“Whoever said I was waiting for you?” She scoffed, yet if the room was well lit enough, Bucky would’ve seen how playful her expression was.

He hummed a deep voice, “Hmm.” there’s a hint of doubt in his tone.

Y/N quickly follow her previous sentence, “I was simply enjoying my reading, that I lost track of time.” She shifted to face him and tucked herself further into the blanket, hiding the lower half of her face as she looked up at him. She wondered if he could tell that she was smiling just from her eyes.

Bucky’s gaze remained still on her, as if he was trying to reach into her soul, before he leaned closer to peek on the book on the table. Pride and Prejudice written on it.

He chuckled, which was rare. At the least the real ones are.

Of course, she had seen him smile and laugh countless of time. Especially during those gala they often attend. But those were just another set of armor he wore on a daily basis.

Bucky tried to bite back a smile, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, “Lost track of time, huh?” Yet, somehow Y/N can hear the smile in his tone.

“A good read?” he asked as if he did not know why his wife brought up about the book. She never said anything about the gift; not a thank you or a complaint. 

She simply cherish it in her own way. He heard from Clint that she rearranged her whole bookshelf just to make space for the book he gave her. Maybe this was her way of saying thank you.

He had been giving her books every week, since.

She pulled the blanket away from her face, lips curled into a genuine smile, “Always.”

Bucky preened to her reply before suddenly, “Okay, enough chit chat. It’s late.” he said almost monotone sounded, as he made himself comfortable under the blanket.

Before she could overthink of what went wrong, why the sudden drop of chemistry; that was when she felt his hand roamed to find hers. Bucky brought her palm closer to his face, she could feel his hot breath against her cold skin. 

He leaned his lips on her palm, leaving a soft and tender kiss as he mumbled, “Goodnight, doll.”

Rush of red shades bloomed on her cheeks, before caving into the feeling of his stubble on her hand. She gently caresses the side of his cheeks, hoping it soothes him to sleep. 

The corners of her lips curved upwards into a smile, "See? Like, the first day of snow."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: It’s my first fic so... share your thoughts? ily 🤍

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Plain Sight [1]

Concubine!Leto Atreides x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 26: Marking/Branding

Summary: The only way to keep Leto safe is to hide him in a very obvious position.

A/N: Sorry I am super unhappy with this one, feel like maybe I had to throw too much exposition into it.

Warnings: head of house!Reader, branding, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 986

This wasn’t how you wanted this to play out. Not by any stretch. 

You’d managed to get the Duke out of the Harkonnen’s hold before they had even left Dune’s atmosphere, your spies working quickly and efficiently as always. In some ways, they had been too neat. The Harkonnen soldiers had been slaughtered, their ship destroyed. No evidence left. But that in itself was evidence. There were few houses that would have been able to complete such a task, and even fewer that would have been willing to risk the emperor’s ire. 

Which was why Leto, despite not being back to full strength, had to take part in the ceremony. It was the only way the full might of your House could protect him, and it would be a suicide mission for anyone to risk all out war with you on your home worlds. 

You had argued with your advisors heatedly about it, barely a word away from full out refusal. “This is beneath the Duke.” 

“Viscount, he is a duke no longer.” Etra, your oldest advisor, had spoken plainly and calmly. “The Harkonnens want him dead, the Emperor obviously backs them. We have little choice but to hide him in plain sight.” 

Instead of listening to reason, you’d taken issue with wording. “He is still the Duke.” 

“Viscount-”

“I will not have these words spoken.” You didn’t want to admit the real reason, that having Leto as your concubine simply felt wrong. Like you were taking advantage of him in every form, even if the title was on paper only. 

The arguments had ended when Leto had simply agreed. It was, after all, one of the very few moves you had left. 

You try not to look at him as he is led into the hall for the ceremony, keeping your gaze straight ahead, just above the audience. But you see him out of the corner of your eye. How he is dressed in soft fabric that seems so unlike the straight lined uniforms you’d seen him wear before. These flow, ripple with his movements, in the deep reds and gold of your House colours. Slices of his tan skin are exposed, seemingly to try to tempt you into breaking your resolve. 

He takes his place kneeling next to you while you stand, quiet and dignified while you burn and rage inside. 

This practice was outdated. Inhumane. 

The officiator speaks in Old Atlaniun, gesturing to you both and you nod. Leto’s response is not necessary. 

You hold out your left hand when prompted, and the officiator pricks the side of your forefinger with a golden needle, letting one drop of blood fall into an ornate goblet half filled with water. 

He swirls the cup three times before taking hold of Leto’s chin and tilting his head up.

You have to hold yourself together and not break his wrist for touching him so roughly. You give a sideways glance to Etra who nods once, understandingly. They would be having words with the officiator afterwards.

Leto drinks the water without pause, keeping his gaze low to the floor as he had been instructed. 

You want to scream, you wanted him to scream. How could he be so calm about this? How could he just accept? 

You step back when the officiant motions, sitting down on the richly decorated chair. You shift a little, your ceremonial armour is stiff, awkward for movement. It looks grand, but you know it would do little to help you in an actual fight. 

Leto stands, head bowed and walks to your side before kneeling on the deep red velvet cushion on the floor next to you. 

You let your eyes linger on him for a moment and hate how beautiful you think he looks. You’d saved him from the Harkonnens to free him, and now it was you and your House that were imprisoning him all over again. 

The officiator speaks rapidly, touching your forehead with oil before he touches Leto’s chin. Then as he goes to fetch the other goblet of water, you see Leto shift forward slightly. 

Concubines were ‘allowed’ to just sit there meekly, they did not have to do anything to interact in the ceremony - much to your disgust. 

But Leto slowly rests the side of his head on your leg and breathes deeply, almost content. 

Part of you wants to smile at his little play. His show of outward affection is like a scream of vulgarity to those enemies watching. I am not being forced to do this. 

You place your hand on his head, lightly stroking his hair. Your action is just as loud. Threaten him and I’ll destroy you. 

The officiator sprinkles both of you with water from the Ever Well, announcing the readyment of the brand. 

You do your best not to let your disgust show. 

Leto moves back, turning to face the crowd. 

There is a large open space in his clothing, revealing the left side of his chest. He stays still, almost serene as the officator speaks, as the hand guard steps forward with the brand fresh from the fire. The metal end glows, white hot. 

The hand guard moves quickly, pressing the brand of your House, Cace, to Leto’s skin. 

The flinch is minute, his eyes fluttering closed as the metal burns. He swallows. You fight the urge to reach out to him. 

The hand guard steps back, leaving the insignia flawlessly scorched along the area under Leto’s left breast. 

You can see the sweat beading on his brow, almost feel the excruciating pain he must be suffering through. 

The second the ceremony ends he is whisked off to a private room for his new wound to be bathed and wrapped in a clear second skin, so that it may still be seen by any onlookers. 

Your eyes manage to meet his for only a moment before he is led away. 

Thank you for reading!

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[brbgottagetkfc]

My think piece (lol, I am looking into it 🔍):

Like...I sorta get the dynamic. Because it seems like despite being friends all of them are pretty lonely themselves. Y/N is sort of like a shard that kind of breaks the normalcy for them, so they kind of reject her in that sense. It easier to cling to coldness when its all you've known, warmth seems too scary. Maybe Satoru sees that and thinks he needs to hold them up in a way (not disrupt their normalcy), so enages in the way they like: the shots at Y/N, playing that game to act like Y/N doesn't mean much. Nice got them killed as you mentioned, being treated like weapons from a time when they needed to be nurtured. So maybe Y/N reminds them how hardened they have become, so they cling to the status quo of their loneliness in the friendship. Its like seeing how much more happy Satoru is but needing the reasurance that ‘You're still like us, she'll never get you because she hasn't been treated as disposable like we have, we have the same experiences you are better off with us, we only had each other, so it has to be the same'

Its not Y/N's respponsibility to heal them, but being open to her as a friend would do wonders for them. I just don't get Utahime posting that, it was mean. All of them were very mean. Utahime's reasoning seems like the same thing, she doesn't love Satoru but its that thing about familarity. Y/N's the other one, shining light on the ice in her friend group, the message may not be ‘He still likes me and wants me more' but may be more so ‘We're all fine, you didn't change him, or take him away from us, he's still our friend, with the same blood on his hands, the same fate as us as weapons, its okay, we'll all stick together'

But it would be nice to see it all addressed, because that video was like the final blow, she saw them post it, saw him laugh at the digs, the little jope she had shattered. Its necessary to hash out that instance. Love and friendship does help with wound and scars, both for Satoru and his little group.

Even the most simplest smaus show a lot things. You did an amazing job. Eager for part 3 (I hope you do it, give like a proper ending, I would hope a happy one, it would take him time given the extent to which it hurt).

OMG thank you so much, anon, for taking the time and dropping such an insightful ask, makes me ooey gooey inside knowing some of y'all liked my Smaus enough to put so much thought into it

As for your take of the post, it's almost exactly what I was going for, but I didn't want to make the post longer than it is right now, so I couldn't write all that in.

I think the friendgroup treats reader so horribly is because they never saw her as a permanent fixture to the group in first place, and they're assholes in general, all of them, including Satoru. Satoru doesn't stand up for reader when his friends mock her because (a) he's not sure how to display the "boyfriend" version of him in front of the friendgroup and (b) he tries to convince himself, and reader that they're mocking her as an extension of mocking him, which they actually do, the group is also very mean to each other in general

As for the reason utahime and shoko bully reader is because they think Satoru's gone soft (weak)

Ever since she came into their lives, and that makes them mad enough to extra hard on reader. They don't find it to be wrong, and they enjoy the reactions reader has to their bullying, as well as putting Satoru in that position, because they think Satoru is being a wimp if he wants to protect reader's feelings.

It's not just the girls that are mean to reader. Suguru and Nanami aren't particularly nice to her either, but they're also not invested enough to target her at every given opportunity. They're toxic to each other & horrible. All of them.

Satoru had 2 years to resolve his issues, to establish boundaries within his friends' group and treat reader with the dignity she deserved, but he failed to prioritise his relationship, and chose to be passive and evasive to avoid confrontation of any sort, even at the expense of his partner.

It's not readers responsibility to try to fix a man who doesn't truly want to change. Even if he does alter his priorities to appease reader, it won't be right, because he'd be doing that to hold onto the sanctuary reader provides him with, and not because he finds his current behaviour problematic.

With all that being said, I don't think a reconciliation is on the table for these two :(

[veliseraptor]

I don't know what hopepunk is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask

well anon, part of your problem here is that hopepunk is in a lot of ways a meaningless descriptor that means whatever people want it to mean.

took a bit of digging but I found the post that broke down a lot of my issues with hopepunk as a concept/subgenre, here; to quote from that:

You may notice that the philosophy is incoherent, mainly boiling down to “the things I like are hopepunk and the things I don’t like aren’t.” It builds a philosophy out of opposition to a strawman of “grimdark” that doesn’t really exist. So hopepunk means you keep fighting for what you believe in regardless of what that is, and violence isn’t the answer, except when it is. Hopepunk is about being kind and soft but also about punching the bad guy with the gun. Hopepunk is a morass of FEELING REALLY STRONGLY ABOUT THINGS!!! without a fundamental core of… anything concrete.

[...]

Hopepunk in practice is unbearably twee.  The goal is to be to inspire a feeling of hope in the reader, which means that nothing bad is allowed to really happen, characters aren’t ever allowed to mess up or be mean or have flaws, and any mistake is well-intentioned and quickly & easily resolved by talking about your feelings.

and I could just leave it at that because, like I said, pretty good summation of my perspective, but sometimes an ask hits me at the exact right time for me to go off about something that consistently irritates me but I usually keep my mouth shut about for one reason or another.

and I feel like the first thing I want to say is. look. it's not like I'm out here going "hope is for losers and all I ever want is tragic stories where everything is awful forever." but the thing about hopepunk, at least in the ways I see it described, is that, in its dedication to be "the opposite of grimdark," shies away from representing darkness at all, except maybe in the most cursory, glancing ways. there's nothing to confront, nothing to push back against. villains are easily identified and unproblematically evil. protagonists are unimpeachably nice and good, and always have perfect politics. moral complexity is to be avoided, because raising too many questions might interrupt the positive feelings the author hopes to evoke.

not only does this create, in my opinion, really dull stories about very uninteresting characters, it also blunts anything the book is trying to say. if you don't want to confront any kind of conflict or struggle in depth then you've kneecapped your ability to talk about the full range of human experience. if the only antagonist you allow is a hollow caricature, then there's only so much room your protagonists have to express strength in opposing them.

the whole framework results in a kind of tepid, anodyne storytelling that expresses meaningless platitudes that the audience is presumed to agree with, often with a side helping of didacticism and "teachable moments." it's weak storytelling.

there's a world in which "hopepunk" is referring to a kind of story that I actually really like; for instance, there's a world in which one could call Malazan: Book of the Fallen "hopepunk." I am tempted to do that, just because I think it would drive people nuts. I think hopepunk wants to be doing something like the line from The Silmarillion that opens the tale of Beren and Luthien: "Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures."

but out of a fear of representing anything actually ugly, or possibly making people feel kinda bad about something, or challenging the reader in any way, everything that might have been interesting gets stripped out and what's left is literature that feels like cotton candy: maybe it's sweet, but there's nothing to bite into, and nothing that lingers.

[jennycalendar]

coming back with some more thoughts on ted lasso --

i did not like how they handled sam. i think it's a mark of progress and how far things have come but at the same time a spotlight on the new problems created by underlying racism/racial anxiety, even within the most loving narrative.

sam's storyline was all over the place! there is definitely a through-line, but none of the things he faces are about him Growing and Learning, really, because he is Already Perfect And Good. his narrative purpose is to serve as an example of how a good dad can positively impact you going forward, which is great, but they will just throw random shit at him like the stuff w/ edwin akufo and then just never fully resolve it! i think it's so so clear that they were making an effort to research and represent nigerian culture, which is wonderful in and of itself, but there is this really sticky issue with race within ted lasso that keeps showing up and i do not like it.

edwin akufo is a one-note character who shows up, torments sam, and then disappears from the narrative after he is bested by rebecca, without ANY explanation as to how this besting impacts his stuff with sam. are we to assume that, because his plans for a football league fell through, he's backed off re: sam? his frankly obscene amount of wealth which the narrative CONSTANTLY alludes to is very clearly more than enough for him to torment sam until the end of time, and he very clearly expresses a desire to do this -- yet the finale shows sam ostensibly a part of the nigerian team, with no bumps or hiccups! edwin akufo is never brought up again!

and also like, shandy? why was she necessary? we have only had two women of color in semi-regular roles and one of them is presented as an impulsive, unkind, selfish nightmare. it really fucking sucked to see that, and it feels weird that ted lasso's line of defense against negative portrayals of women of color is having one Really Really Good One and one Really Incredibly Bad One. there was no need for shandy to be a woman of color if her entire point was to Be Terrible and Then Leave. she was a wholly unnecessary character to begin with & to make her a woc is just icing on top of the cake.

BUT I DIGRESS. i'm bugged the most by sam because, outside of nate, he is the nonwhite character who gets the most screen time! (and the fandom racism towards nate TURNS MY STOMACH, but that is not actually an issue that exists within the text of the show itself, so i'll leave that alone!) i think there was definitely an understanding within the writers' room that portraying a dark-skinned black man as sensitive, soft, and emotionally intelligent was a deeply important move for representation, but they just did not go that extra mile and actually create a consistent storyline for sam. he could have absolutely been that gentle, perfect guy without throwing in That Cartoon Villain Ghanaian Billionaire who shows up to yell at him and be terrible and ruin his life (and then, after one angsty episode in s3, disappear without explanation, clearing the way for sam to do whatever he wants).

it kinda reminds me of colin -- that finale bugged me re: him too a little! certainly it was utterly wonderful to see him kiss his fella at the end of the game, but the way we left things with him was very clearly "the team knows, and that's enough for me." this guy has been closeted for the entire time he's been a football player. telling the team was already so much more than he ever planned to do. kissing his boyfriend in public in the middle of the pitch, where any number of cameras would likely have picked up on them both??? PEOPLE ARE GOING TO SEE THAT. i found that one really hard to swallow as well.

it just bugs me because there is absolutely this understanding of systemic oppression that hovers around the edges of ted lasso, but then they will do things like everything that they did with sam! an awareness that There Is A Problem, but no time spent on the solution. and i totally understand that, tonally speaking, systemic oppression is not ted lasso's focus -- but this season they went out of their way to Make It Their Focus! & yet we get this absolutely bizarre storyline for sam where they just don't tell us what happened or why akufo backed down or ANYTHING. despite multiple hour-long episodes this season. don't like it.

[anmylica]

Like Slow Spinning Redemption

Chapter Two

@their-seafaring-ways Here is part 2 for your reading pleasure!

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Liam accompanied them to meet up at the loft with the others in Emma’s group.  He was quickly introduced to everyone, and he was a little taken aback at first that Emma’s parents were the same age as her (of course, they told him that that was only due to a Dark Curse, but still, it’s very strange).  He crowded around the kitchen counter with the others as David brought a wooden chest out and set it on the counter in front of his wife, Mary Margaret (or was it Snow White?  Liam was uncertain which moniker he needed to call her).  

Emma’s mother looked at Liam, noticing his confusion, and explained, “In the world above this is where I found the Storybook.  So…” she left off and lifted the lid, beginning her search by rifling through its contents, but coming up empty handed.  Crestfallen, she muttered a soft, “Sorry,” to the group.

Regina (or the Evil Queen?) frowned.  “Are we really surprised?” She asked the group rhetorically, continuing, “That book is the embodiment of hope, and there's not a lot of that here in the Underworld.”

“Let’s keep looking,” Emma’s father, David (was that his curse name or real name?), suggested, and they all began to go through everything in the apartment.  Emma wandered upstairs, and Liam, seeing an opportunity to address her privately, followed her.  Liam reached the top to see what looked to be a second bedroom, where Emma was opening drawers and storage cabinets, searching fruitlessly for the book.  When she had to pause her search because one was stuck, he decided that that was as good a time as any and popped around the corner.

“Emma, can we talk,” he asked.

Emma sighed and smirked.  “Is this like a protective big brother talk where you want to make sure I’m good enough for Killian?” She turned to him, seemingly both annoyed and pleased at the notion that he would want to feel her out as any other older brother would.  The notion just annoyed him.  How could she not see how negative an influence she was on his brother?  She was the one who had caused his death!

Liam’s reply was a little sharp due to his annoyance.  “Eh, no, because I already know you’re not good enough.”

Whatever it was that Emma had been expecting, it was clear to Liam that his response wasn’t it.  Her face looked shocked, as if the thought that he wouldn’t like or approve of her for his brother never crossed her mind.

“What?” She asked, taken aback by Liam’s outright refusal to give her the time of day.  Liam resolved that this was as much as she would get from him.

“Killian blames himself for ending up here, but he told me what happened.  Sounds to me like it’s not his fault.  It’s yours.”  Liam frowned at her, curious to see what explanation she could have that might possibly change his mind.  Perhaps if she acknowledged that her mistakes led to his brother’s death, she might move up in his esteem.

Due to his train of thought, her next statement shocked him.

“I think we both made mistakes,” Emma said slowly, as if seeming to hedge on whether she needed to outright state the horrible things Killian had done to her in retaliation for her turning him into the Dark One in an obviously misguided attempt at saving his life.  But Liam was no fool; he knew that Killian would not have made the mistakes he made if he hadn’t been put in the position of being the Dark One in the first place.  And her reply outraged him.  She was supposed to grovel for his forgiveness, not try to rationalize her actions as if it were some sort of lover’s spat that both were responsible for starting!

“You fed him to the wolves.  You led him down a dark path that he had no business going down!” Liam vehemently replied. 

“I’m trying to help him get back on the path of the light.  That’s the whole reason I’m down here!” Emma retorted.

“No, you don’t get it, Emma Swan.  My brother has struggled with the darkness his whole life.  He’s always been tempted by it; I watched him struggle constantly with it growing up.  He’s always wanted to be a hero, but he’s never been able to escape the darkness pulling him in.  It’s just how it is for him.  But for you to come into his life and pull him in like an addict picking up a fix after months of not touching the addiction… You pushed him off the bloody cliff!” 

Emma’s face took on an outraged expression.  “I was trying to save his life!”

Liam responded quickly in a sharp tone, “And it was a bloody selfish thing to do.  He had the chance to die a hero, to move on, and you took it from him!”

Emma took a deep breath to calm down before replying.  “That’s not fair.  I’m down here risking everything to save him.”

Liam shook his head, frustrated that she couldn’t see how right he was.  “And is that really what he needs… or what you need?  It’s just wrong, what you did, and I can’t forgive you for it.” He scowled at her.  “You shouldn’t have come down here.  You need to just let him find out what his unfinished business is and let him move on.  You’re no good for him.”

Emma tried not to let his words get to her, but she couldn’t help it.  Her temper flared as she responded, “I actually don’t think you get it at all.  I’m not down here on some selfish, I-can’t-let-go-of-him-because-all-that’s-matters-is-what-I-want mission!  I’m here because he sacrificed himself to rid the whole world of the Darkness, the very thing that you claim has always called to him, and it was all for nothing!  Rumplestiltskin is still the Dark One, the Darkness is still very much a part of my world, and Killian is down here in the Underworld for it!” Emma shouted.  “If he had no unfinished business, if his story was truly done, then he wouldn’t be here.  He would have already moved on, not be stuck here in limbo.  Whatever darkness you believe your brother is capable of isn’t true.  His story isn’t over.  His hero’s journey isn’t over!  In fact, from what I know of him it’s just getting started!”

“I think I know my brother better than you,” Liam replied tersely after a moment of tense silence.

“No, you don’t.  You died, Liam,” Emma stated baldly, moving a step closer to him to illustrate her point.  “You weren’t there to see him turn to piracy after your wrongful death.  You weren’t there when his first love’s heart was crushed in front of him and she died in his arms.  And you damn sure haven’t been there since I met him and he decided he wanted to work towards becoming the man he always wanted to be.  No, Liam Jones, you don’t know your brother half as well as you think.  If you did, you’d see that he is not the villain you’ve only heard about.”  

“I don’t think my brother is a villain,” Liam snarled out.

“Obviously you do if you think he has no capability of being a hero whatsoever, which it’s clear to me that you believe.  He is the most heroic, noble, and decent human being I know.  Whatever stories you’ve heard about Captain Hook are not indicative of who Killian Jones is at the core of him.  He’s been through so much loss and heartache, and in spite of all of that, he’s done more good and helped more people than you will ever know.”

“I know what I’ve experienced, and my brother’s darkness is just as much a part of him, and he should be allowed to move on into the afterlife as a hero,” Liam stubbornly reiterated.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Were you this self-righteous when you were alive?”

“When it came to my brother, yes.  If he defeats Hades today, he’ll forgive himself and he’ll have another chance to move on as a hero.  When that happens, stop thinking about your own desires and let him go.”  Liam looked over the railing to the downstairs area to where Killian was rummaging through things trying to find the book.  Killian was all that mattered.  Emma Swan’s attempts at meddling in affairs she had no business in meddling with had no bearing on what was best for Killian.

“And if he forgives himself, he can come home, where he belongs,” Emma stubbornly shot back.  “He can continue living his hero’s journey and do even more good for the world.”

With that, Emma stalked off to continue searching through the rest of the loft for the copy of the Underworld version of the book of fairy tales.  She didn’t think she could stand a moment longer in Killian’s brother’s self-righteous presence.  

Liam, meanwhile, turned and stalked off in the opposite direction, fed up with Emma’s I-know-better-than-you attitude.  How his brother could stand to be in a relationship with her sanctimonious beliefs was beyond his level of comprehension.  He could see why Killian was attracted to her physically; with her blonde hair and bright green eyes, she was a beautiful woman, though Liam was a bit surprised that Killian had decided on her, as he had always known his brother to prefer brunettes. No, it wasn’t her beauty that was so off-putting; it was her personality that grated on his nerves.  He didn’t need some know-it-all woman coming between him and his brother.

But what was it that got under his skin so much? Was it the way she looked at Killian, as if he were the epitome of nobility, or was it the way she seemed to see right through Liam’s carefully constructed image of heroism? Nope, that was definitely not the reason why he disliked her so much. Her green eyes narrowing in offense and suspicion absolutely did not make him want to confront his actions all those centuries ago. He wasn’t going to lose his brother’s respect because of her. What did she know about what Killian needed anyway?  

He descended the stairs quickly, going to search another area while their altercation circled on repeat in his mind. Emma must have followed him down, because he heard Killian ask her, “You all right?” 

He watched Emma approach his brother out of the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah. Fine,” she responded, obviously lying. Liam was impressed for a moment by how she didn’t immediately run to Killian to tattle on him. He’d have figured she would have been quick to run to his brother and cry on his shoulder about Liam’s horrible treatment of her. “Let’s keep looking,” she said as she walked towards Killian, who watched her with concern in his eyes.

Before Killian could respond to Emma’s blatant denial of her emotions, the door swung open, revealing Emma’s son, Henry. “Hey,” he said as he entered, but stopped short as he looked at all of them ransacking the apartment. “What’s going on?”

Mary Margaret walked swiftly past Henry, replying gibly, “Oh, just looking for the Storybook. You know: Underworld edition.” She resumed her search in another area of the apartment.

“Really?” Henry’s eyes lit up. “Well, I think I might know where it is!”

David stopped his search and looked curiously at his grandson. “And how would you know that?”

Henry turned to David and said, “The Apprentice. I saw him at…” Henry broke off for a moment, clearly trying to think of an alibi for where he had been that he wasn’t supposed to be. “At Granny’s,” he continued. “He said the Sorcerer's mansion is down here and there’s a bunch of his stuff inside, like the Storybook.”

Regina sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “Finally, some good news.”

Henry winced. “Well, sort of? The house is locked with magic, and the sheriff has the key.”

Killian chuckled. “Your evil twin is the sheriff?” He asked David. “Oh, Hades has panache, I’ll give him that.”

David sighed and nodded. “Well, it’s time for my brother and me to have an overdue chat.”

Mary Margaret squared her shoulders and prepared her things to go with them. “Well, you won’t be alone. I still owe him a punch in his pretty mouth for kissing me.”

David scowled. “He kissed you?!” he exclaimed, turning to give Killian an outraged look, which Killian returned. It struck Liam as odd that David, who was Emma’s father and well within his rights to not approve of Killian dating his daughter, would turn to Killian for solidarity and support for his anger. It seemed like a gesture that brothers would share, and it rattled Liam to see that kind of interaction between his little brother and another man.

Mary Margaret cut a short, irritated replay. “Thought it was you.”  She headed briskly towards the door, David’s eyes one her the entire time. Once she exited the apartment, David looked back at Killian again before he grabbed his jacket and proceeded after his wife. “Let’s go.”

Liam turned to Killian and stopped him before he could head after David and Mary Margaret.  “In the meanwhile, we should all go about our usual business. Hades has eyes everywhere. We can’t have him learning what we’re up to.”  

Killian nodded his head once. “Fine plan. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he learns a valuable lesson… one should never mess with the brothers Jones.” Killian clapped Liam and on his shoulders and smiled at him encouragingly before moving to open the door for Emma, who had grabbed her coat and hat in the moment it took them to decide on the plan.  She left through the door, closely followed by Henry and Regina. 

Liam smiled briefly at his little brother before following them down out of the apartment. He really hoped that Killian could do what he planned because he really wanted him to be able to move on.  His brother deserved to have his hero moment and proceed to the rest of his afterlife without any emotional baggage weighing him down.  Liam couldn’t help but glance at the blonde hovering just behind Killian as he pondered over the situation.

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his brother being around until Killian was suddenly there.  There had been a hole in Liam’s life, and it’s only now that he was realizing just how large that hole had been.  He had hoped that Killian would have had a long life before his death, perhaps have a family of his own, but now that Killian was there Liam didn’t want to lose him.  He didn’t want Emma Swan to be able to change his brother’s mind about trying to return back to life.  It didn’t just have to do with wanting his brother to try and be a hero (though it hadn’t always looked as if Killian had the ability to be one); he didn’t want him to find a way back to life because he was tired of being without his family.

He didn’t think it was selfish to want his brother to remain here with him.  It wasn’t like his brother could go anywhere; Killian was dead.  Though Liam wouldn’t have wanted Killian to die to be able to join him, now that he was here, Liam didn’t think it was too much to ask to have his family stick with him.  Killian’s confidence in their ability to wreak havoc on Hades had struck a chord in Liam that was reminiscent of their days in the navy, but so much had changed since then.

Liam shook his head and tried to stop thoughts of wanting to keep Killian with him from taking over.  He hurried back to the bar, desperate for the semblance of normality before they opened.  He wasn’t working the evening shift tonight, but he had a lot of preparation to do to get the tavern ready for the evening.

Once he got back to The Rabbit Hole, he worked as quickly as he could to restock bottles of beer and sodas, fill the ice machines, and wipe the surfaces down.  He was working on washing and drying various glassware when Hades strolled in as if he owned the place.

“Wow.  Even for the Underworld, it is dead in here.”  Hades casually looked over the place, for what Liam didn’t know.

Liam placed the wine glass that he had been drying down on the counter.  “Can I help you?,” he asked.  “I can make you anything.”

Hades sat at a bar stool just in front of Liam but to his right slightly.  “That’s okay.  I can help myself.”  He waved his hand in a circular motion and produced two glasses of Scotch.  “This Scotch is a few centuries old.  I think it’s aged quite well.  The key is to store it underground.”  He waved his hand at the glass nearest Liam, and the glass slid down the bar close enough for Liam to grab.  “Here. Try some.”

Liam took the glass and raised it to his lips, sipping minutely at the beverage.  Liam, as a general rule, didn’t imbibe much alcohol.  It went against his code of good form.  He had seen too many sailors (including his brother) succumb to its ills to want to imbue much, but one didn’t refuse Hades in his own realm.  Liam made a hum of appreciation; though he didn’t drink much alcohol, it was pretty good Scotch.

“It’s good, right?” Hades smiled after taking his own sip.  “See, I’m… I’m not such a bad guy.”

Liam’s heart dropped, but he carefully schooled his facial expression so as to not give anything away.  Hades knows, he thought bleakly.

“But here you are,” Hades continued, “trying to stage some kind of a…. What’s that quaint nautical term you keep using?  A…” Hades snapped his fingers.  “That’s right… mutiny.”

Liam blinked.  “So, you found us out.”  

“Well, like you said, I have eyes everywhere.  What I don’t have is that Storybook.”

Liam frowned.  “And what do you want from me?”

Hades shrugged and took another sip.  “Not much.  I don’t even really care about that book, except for a few select pages… the ones about me.  So, find the book and destroy them.”

Liam crossed his arms.  “Do it yourself.”

Hades huffed a soft, dangerous laugh.  “Well I would, but it’s the Sorcerer’s house.  Light magic doesn’t agree with me, so I kind of need you to do it.”  

“Why me?” Liam asked.

“Because you owe me,” Hades replied.  “I’m the one that guaranteed your and your brother’s lives in that storm, after all.”

Liam thought for a moment.  “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll tell your brother the thing you never could, the reason you’re really down here.”

Liam stared at Hades.

“Yes, I’ll tell him that you traded the lives of the crew of the Hispaniola for your and your brother’s life and the Eye of the Storm.  I’ll tell him that the lives lost were worth nothing more to you than a magical rock.”

Liam looked down at the counter.  “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?  Tell me, why do you think you’re down here?  You’re stuck here because you can’t admit what you did.  You can’t acknowledge the role you played in those men’s deaths.  And you certainly can’t admit it to your brother.  How likely do you think it would be that he would choose to stay here with you when he finds out what you’ve done?  When he hears that his hero wasn’t as heroic as he once thought?  You’d surely lose him to Emma Swan and her fruitless attempts at resurrecting him.  Do you really want to test me on this?”

Liam took a deep breath.  He knew Hades was right, as much as he hated to admit it.  He certainly didn’t want to lose his brother after everything they had gone through to reunite.  He couldn’t have cared less about Emma Swan’s so-called mission; he resented the woman for her role in Killian’s death and her insipid insistence that Killian forgive himself and go home when there was no way to return to the living.  He made up his mind.

“How do I do it?” Liam asked, and Hades gave a smirk.

“Just take the pages and destroy them.  Find a body of water and throw them in it; they’ll make their way to me.”

Liam furrowed his brow in confusion.  

Hades got up and leaned in close to Liam and whispered, “All bodies of water flow through my throne room.”  He drew back and turned to leave.  “I’ll expect them later this evening,” Hades announced before disappearing in the blink of an eye, leaving Liam to contemplate his mission.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Secrets That Bind Us

Bobby Waterhouse x Original Female character

Chapter 2

Bobby watched Esther leave his office and felt a flurry of panic shoot through him. Had she seen him with Michael? Or had she just seen him in the area? No, she knew his name, so they must have been seen together. Maybe the beautiful, young man had told her? Thought the information worth something? Maybe this was a plot to destabilise his position?

He observed her carefully over the following weeks, noting that she was relatively popular in the office, many of the men and women who worked there always made time for her, including Wendy who always looked a little more confident in herself after Esther had spoken to her.

Despite not being attracted to her in anyway, he could appreciate the fact that she was pretty, naturally blonde hair that curled around her shoulders, firm brown eyes that saw everything, soft, pouted lips and rosy cheeks and a curved figure that Bobby could appreciate had other men drooling over.

Sarah rated her highly, but sometimes he couldn’t see it, she made the odd mistake that inconvenienced him as well as others, usually it would be resolved fairly quickly with a new solution being found, but-

���I think you need to ask yourself whether they really were mistakes, Bobby.’ Sarah commented after a meeting in the conference room.

‘What do you mean?’ Bobby blinked.

Sarah just smiled. ‘You remember Operation Twin? Took us weeks to find a lead and even then, we were always two or three steps behind.’

‘Yes, of course, I remember,’ Bobby scoffed. ‘But as always you assessed, planned and found a way to get us ahead and start thinking ten steps ahead of them. One of your proudest moments as I recall.’

‘And I would have been prouder,’ Sarah nodded. ‘If it had been me who worked it all out. Esther correctly identified all possible outcomes and then strategically manoeuvred the operation towards the path that we wanted, thus smoking our informant out of hiding and saving thousands of lives.’

‘If that’s true, surely Daddy would have given her adequate praise.’ Bobby chuckled, not quite believing a word of what Sarah was saying.

‘She doesn’t like the limelight,’ Sarah nodded as Bobby held the door for her. ‘Prefers to keep herself to herself. I’m sure she has her reasons, but she doesn’t like to talk about it.’

‘Really?’ Bobby pretended as if his interest had been peaked. ‘So you… don’t know much about her then?’

‘Only basic information that anyone can find in her file,’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Her father died before she was born, mother was a drunk, Esther was moved from care home to care home, when it became clear that her mother couldn’t look after her and she was never adopted. She left the care home on her eighteenth birthday, spent some time in rather less than desirable parts of London, and soon got tangled up with the wrong type of people, eventually leading me to her. We played chess of all things, with her presuming I was her next mark, she sussed me almost immediately and beat me in twelve moves.’

Bobby nodded, pretending like he’d read her file and this was not new information to him, and then did something a little uncharacteristic of him. ‘Yes, she never really gives me a chance to get my knights beyond my pawns, let alone-‘ Bobby pretended like he said too much and stopped himself just in time. ‘What I mean, of course, is… you know, when I’ve seen her play… not that I play against her or anything… just when she first arrived, you know… a welcome to the team type of affair… not affair in that sense, of course, but erm… yes…’ Bobby tried to make it seem like he was unable to look at anyone except Esther, while Sarah starting grinning at him. ‘Right, yes, so, best get on.’ He said and finally walked away back to his office.

Esther’s eyes had peeked up at himself and Sarah briefly, she surely knew that they had been talking about her, because she made a very good job of looking like her path was about to cross with Bobby’s. She smiled at him as she walked past towards a filing cabinet and Bobby nodded curtly, before making his way into his office and sitting down to work.

He spent a lot of the day wondering whether he should have asked Esther to come to his office, or whether he should have gone to her desk to speak with her, but somehow none of that seemed to matter. Sarah had given her the job of looking into a potential defector with links to the KGB, it just so happened to coincide with an operation that Bobby was running and he knew perfectly well what Sarah had done.

Esther had yet to come to him over the next few days, mostly working alone, sometimes in the office, sometimes not, but never seeing the need to go to Bobby.

He bumped into Sarah yet again on his way out, Esther was still working, pretty much in a world of her own across the main office, it looked as though she was reading through some information in a file, but was paying no attention to the two senior members of MI5 leaving for the night.

‘Waiting for something?’ Sarah tried to hide a grin.

‘What? No.’ Bobby locked his office and adjusted his coat, glancing over at Esther briefly. ‘What are you looking at?’

‘You tell me.’ Sarah began to walk out with him. ‘Goodnight, Esther.’ She called over to the young woman whose head snapped up.

‘Oh, Sarah, sorry,’ she got up quickly. ‘Sorry, just quickly before you leave, I just have something for you to look at.’ She showed Sarah the file she was looking into and Bobby tried to make himself scarce, lingering beside the exit. ‘It’s just that if these gaps are supposed to be filled with sensitive information, I don’t want to start prying into something I don’t have clearance for.’

‘Yes, quite right.’ Sarah agreed. ‘Bobby?’

Bobby felt himself internally roll his eyes. ‘Yes?’ He turned and pretended to be a little more cheerful.

‘Would you mind checking on Esther’s information for me?’ She asked with a knowing look. ‘It’s linked to your operation after all, would be a little inappropriate for me to source sensitive material from your books without your knowledge, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Bobby nodded and caught Esther’s slightly confused expression out of the corner of his eye. ‘Erm, why don’t you bring everything to my office first thing in the morning? We’ll go through it together.’ Bobby tried for a smile.

‘It’s time-sensitive, Bobby.’ Sarah went to walk past him. ‘I’m sure it won’t take long.’

Sarah eventually left Bobby standing alone with Esther, who could tell he was uncomfortable.

‘It’s alright,’ Esther shook her head, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and moving to walk away from Bobby. ‘If you want to go home, I can keep working for a bit and bring you what I find in the morning. I’ll not keep you.’

Bobby took a breath. ‘It’s fine, of course it is, why don’t we step into my office? Like Sarah said, shouldn’t take long.’ Bobby tried to smile politely and headed back towards his office.

It took her a few moments, but Esther soon followed him in with the files she had been looking into. He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa and then stood a little awkwardly while she put the files down for him to look at.

‘I’ll make it quick, Bobby.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve been looking through some of the transcripts of the interrogations that took place with key players and some of the information doesn’t quite match up to what I’ve been told…’ Esther looked up at him. ‘Well, aren’t you going to look?’

Bobby hesitated, before holding his hand out for her to give him the transcripts. He scanned over them and tried to assess what was missing.

‘I hate to ask,’ Esther suddenly said. ‘But why did Sarah ask me if I play chess with you sometimes?’

From the look of her expression, Esther knew the answer, she just wanted him to confirm it.

‘Ah,’ she nodded. ‘Does this mean you’d like to revisit my proposal?’

Bobby inhaled deeply and turned towards her. ‘Well, I suppose it can’t do any harm to put in place a contingency, can it?’

‘Not at all.’ Esther folded her arms and leaned back on the sofa.

There was an awkward moment between the two of them, Bobby wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. ‘Did you… I assume from what Sarah has said about your achievements that you… had a plan?’

Esther bobbed her head a little. ‘I never really have a plan exactly, but certainly I’ve thought on what could look like a plausible alternative to the truth.’

‘And what is the plausible alternative?’

‘That we’re lovers.’ She said it as simply as anything he’d heard all day, the thought of it was shocking, but not entirely dismissible as he had believed.

‘You want people to think that we’re…?’

‘It’s better than the truth, Bobby.’ She argued. ‘What would you rather, people find out about Michael or that they think you’re seeing a younger woman from the office?’ When she put it like that, Bobby knew perfectly well what he’d rather for the sake of his career.

‘You think people would buy that?’

‘I think,’ Esther grinned. ‘It’s very easy to convince people of something if the idea has already been planted. All we would have to do is plant the idea before any rumours about what we really get up to, make it into this office.’

Bobby breathed in and thought about the offer. Potentially nothing would come of it, but some of his colleagues might respond to him better if they thought he could bed someone considered beautiful and ambitious.

‘How would we go about planting said idea?’ He needed more information. ‘Would we have to…?’ He pointed generally between the two of them to indicate what he meant.

Esther just smiled and shook her head. ‘Not if we keep our houses in order.’ She said kindly. ‘Of course, should anything about our situations escalate, we will have to reassess accordingly. But let me just ask you about who is still left in the office right now? Who do you see sitting out there? Try not to make it obvious you’re looking at them.’

Bobby used his peripheral vision to see that three people were left in the office, two men standing over a file to his left and one woman standing up at her desk facing Bobby’s office. He relayed it back to Esther who nodded.

‘I think that’s Sally, she’s not that much of a gossip, but she might be tempted to misinterpret something she sees and ask someone else about it.’ Esther nodded and her dark eyes flickered around like she was doing some very quick thinking. ‘I think you should sit next to me, quite close, as if we’re whispering to one another.’

Bobby did as she asked and Esther sat up, looking down at the file. Bobby could feel her warm body next to his and found it somewhat uncomfortable.

‘I need you to be honest Bobby,’ she said, quietly. ‘Have you ever been with a woman?’

Bobby’s head snapped around to her, he swallowed nervously.

‘I thought so.’ Esther concluded, not thinking much on the answer.

‘No, well… does that complicate things?’

‘It doesn’t have to,’ Esther shook her head. ‘But you should be prepared to look a little more convincing if need be.’

‘You mean like… like kissing?’

Esther just smiled at him, thinking him almost sweet it seemed. ‘First and foremost, Bobby, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Nothing in the world could be more perfect than what you desire. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, but I am more than happy to guide you through slightly less than ideal circumstances.’

Bobby swallowed again. He just looked at Esther in a way that told her that no one had ever told him that before, no one had ever told him that there was nothing wrong with him and meant it in the way she did. Michael had said it on occasion, but Bobby assumed it was because he was being paid to make him feel normal for a while. Esther, it seemed, had nothing to gain by telling him that he was fine, she did it out of the kindness of her heart.

‘I think you’re better at this than you think.’ Esther smiled. It was only then that he realised he’d been staring at her for quite some time without saying anything at all. ‘Keep looking at me like that and people will start to formulate their own rumours, and I for one, am happy for them to do so.’

‘You-you think that this will be enough?’ Bobby clarified. ‘Just sitting here, staring at each other?’

‘I think it’s a very good start, Bobby.’ Esther smiled again. ‘Just make sure you deny everything out of frustration.’

‘Deny it?’ Bobby exclaimed. ‘I thought the idea was to get people to believe it.’

‘And they will.’ Esther frowned, looking back down at the transcripts. ‘But none of this will be settled over night, a long lasting suspicion plants itself more firmly than passing gossip.’

‘Ah,’ Bobby finally caught on. ‘So, you’re saying that we need people to think that we’ve been keeping things under wraps for quite some time now-’

‘And that the cracks are starting to appear,’ Esther finished his thought. ‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. Still one question,’ Bobby turned towards her. ‘How far will we have to take this? Realistically, what would I be expected to do?’

‘Oh, my lord, Bobby,’ Esther chuckled. ‘We can make up anything you want, that you’ve had a string of lovers that were no more than a one night venture, that you’ve not courted in a while and are a little rusty, that I’m the exception to you swearing off relationships, whatever it is that you want people to believe, whatever you feel you can do, that’s the story we’ll go with.’

‘Right…’ Bobby nodded. Esther leaned on her hand and observed him. ‘Do I have to decide now?’

She chuckled shaking her head. ‘No, of course not, but the sooner we plant those seeds, the easier this will be for everyone to believe. You’ll need to be patient, don’t rush anything, there will probably be long periods where we stay as far away from each other as we can get, but all of it will work. Trust me.’

Bobby hummed amusement. ‘Not an easy thing to do in our game, I’m afraid.’

‘No.’ Esther said, sadly. ‘Think of it as a balancing act then, the more you put in, the more we get out and the less questions people will ask.’

Bobby nodded and gave Esther a quick smile. She eventually turned his attention back to the transcripts and he filled in the gaps of what was being said. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Esther was in fact a very easy-going individual, wickedly smart, observant, tactical and a strategic mind that Bobby was sure he’d only scratched the surface of. He could suddenly understand why so many people liked her and why she attracted the attention that she did.

Esther stood up, having got what she needed and Bobby stood with her, looking a little sheepish.

‘Just, one more thing,’ he stopped her. ‘I would like an honest answer, if you please… have you done this before?’

She frowned a little. ‘Which part are you referring to? I’ve been with a man if that’s what you mean, how else would I have concluded my distaste for it?’

‘No, no, I meant, the… agreement, our agreement.’

Esther inhaled deeply and had a slightly sad expression. ‘No, I haven’t done it on this scale before. But once you’ve succeeded small time, you learn that the principal is basically the same… this is going to work, Bobby. It has to.’

She soon left his office and went back to her own desk, Bobby watching her as she went, suddenly catching Sally’s observant eye. Bobby remembered what Esther had said about denying everything and quickly looked away. He lit up a cigarette, grabbed his coat and locked his office for the night.

He didn’t bother saying good night to anyone, but he did give a small glance to where Esther was still working, she was clearly onto something and he chose not to disturb that in anyway.

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[videokilled]

Vox was, again, a quick study. He always had been. Easily identifying which things were the barrier elements and which ones were variables. It just made adapting easier.

He was making very little mistakes now, but again this was while watching Alastor's feet, his head tilted down and near the others face.

When the hand moved up to the side of his face, his head twitched away from it- focused. But his whole screen lit up with an abrupt cyan flush. His focus was on the steadily moving feet.

And then Alastor spoke in that positively soft voice. The flush on his face turned into a deeper shade, almost purply like there was some magenta under there somewhere.

"Don't patronize me." He muttered, but without his permission, his voice had mimicked the softness of the radio demon's voice. Not a speck of venom in his voice to be found. Regardless of his quick fire back, the words did soothe some part of him when his second thought about it was that he was probably being sincere. Fine wasn't the word he would have preferred- but he wouldn't have believed any other. Fine was at least not floundering.

His stomach flip-flopped a bit as he followed the urge (without thinking) to look up and meet Alastor's gaze- and then flip flopped hard enough that it knocked some nausea into his middle when the intimacy of this moment actually struck him- and it struck him hard enough that without thinking- he abruptly retreated. Pulling his hands away and taking a step back. He didn't want this moment to end here- it had just startled him, the sincerity he had so immediately seen in the others eyes. The startling was embarrassing.

He was trying to not let the intimacy be alarming, because he wanted it. He craved it so much that it drove him mad thinking he might ruin it- ruin his chance again. But just a few months ago he thought Alastor despised him. Vox was convinced he had taken it too far. Had taken his influential abilities to a level that he couldn't come back from with the only person he had wanted to take it back with. He thought the radio demon had fled the rings and him specifically. And regardless of the admission from Alastor that it hadn't been a choice, Vox had never once sat down and tried to resolve that turmoil. Never once had he told anyone what he had tried to do to keep Alastor here.

Now that he had stopped paying attention to the lid of that jar, willingly loosening it as he leaned into the intimacy he thought he would never experience again. Allowing himself to dance for one second it all came toppling out like a confetti popper.

Vox's mouth split in a wriggly strained smile, from one side of his screen to his other, pressuring the bottom of his eye.

"Um-" He said- but his voice sounded like it clattered around in the silence that was made between songs, and that seemed to be too much for his nerves because the little prickles lifted by the top line of his mouth and he gave a very anxious vibrating laugh before putting his hands up as if he were placating Alastor- not the other way around.

"D-don't go anywhere- I'll be right back-"

More than he'd gotten from the radio demon at least.

Vox took another step back, but didn't really give the deer any chance to say or do anything else before the humid air crackled and a large flash of white electricity blinked then turned into a thin arch as it bounced back the way they'd come and back into the hotel's room. The overlord stumbled as he landed on the wood and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and collapsed with his back against it.

"What is wrong with you-" he hissed under his breath angrily, his voice reverberating quietly for no one.

"You're in control. Relax."

He pulled himself up and caught himself in the mirror- seeing his own expression that unfortunately looked exactly as anxious as he felt and his own eyes looked so sad. His chest ached like it was going to come breaking through his glass face to escape how compressed it felt. It was going wrong- his eyes felt hot at the corners and realizing it made his throat clam up too.

"No!- Fuck- No. Get it to-fucking-gether-" one set of claws moved from gripping the sides of his screen to a fist and hit the wall, leaving a good sized dent in the drywall. He wasn't going to cry here. It wasn't that big of a deal. How he'd looked at him. Fuck. Sins looked at him like they would squash him and he didn't flinch. But this did him in??

Maybe Alastor was just tired. That's why he looked at him like that. He worked too hard too sometimes.

The explanation did nothing for the ache that had moved up to clog his throat. But it at least had it receding from making his eyes hot and wet.

Vox pulled himself up off the floor again, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror and started taking very deep breaths to calm the trembling in his muscles down.

Relax. Relax. You're in control. You're calm and in control.

The wrinkled squiggle that was his mouth, widened further when Alastor proposed leading first. His throat visibly swallowing thickly.

It was fine it was fine- this was why he picked the foxtrot- it was simple enough. Predictable enough. There wasn't all that much differences between leading and following step wise.

He just needed to predict where Alastor's feet would go- which he obviously couldn't do seven years ago.

His anxious brain made the jest- and he gave an anxious high pitched snort at it, but didn't voice the joke. Something told him Alastor wouldn't have appreciated it.

Alastor didn't leave intentionally.

He repeated to himself, but there was no way- at least yet- that he could say it, no timbre of voice that he could utter it in, where his rockhard sealed demon heart would let it in. He was rather infamous for grudges.. and this one had sat and gone stale.

Vox moved his arms up with Alastor's and unfortunately for his own ego, was distracted well enough by his own thoughts that he attempted to also put his hand up by the red shoulder. Which obviously cause some clumsiness since Al's arm was already up and on his. The TV's whole screen lurched and snowed over briefly before resettling with just a few of the pixel width snowy bars travelling up over his face.

Visible anxiety.

Had Vox known how telling his screen was being he might have just excused himself now. Rather than be seen at such an obviously vulnerable, imperfect, and unpracticed state. While performing no less. But wasn't he always. Luckily it was easy to forget about his own TV screen since he could see no part of it.

Instead his hand, after fumbling a bit, did find it's way to rest on Alastor's side, near his hip. He couldn't be monologuing in his head during this or it would go even worse for him. Thinking about the steps was like trying to reverse a mirror's image in his head though. Like trying to use his non-dominant hand- looking in a mirror.

"christ.." he muttered small under his breath like he hadn't meant to be verbal about it.

When Alastor started moving, doing simple steps- because that was all that foxtrot was- his chest tightened sincerely. Up by his throat even. It dawned on him then that he was being vulnerable, that this is what that was. He could tell because his throat felt poised to cry abruptly. But Vox would fall face first on a knife before he let that happen. Don't call him dramatic.

His claws gripped into Alastor's side, and despite focusing and trying to resist the urge- his TV head tilted down just slightly to watch Alastor's feet. To follow them. The top edge of his TV frame just an inch off or so from Alastor's mouth.

When they would come to a part of the song he knew, sometimes his foot would go in a direction that he would usually default toward, and would have to take a wider step to get back in line with the deer's. Vox was good at recovering very quickly though, near seamless at times.

But still every time he made an error that resulted in breaking the rhythm, conscious or not, his grip on the radio's side would tighten just slightly.

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[beyondspaceandstars]

Treacherous (12)

Relationship: Druig x Reader Warnings: angst (but not like that's new or anything lmao) Summary: Soulmate!AU - Soulmate tattoos are incredibly rare but you’ve never felt really proud to have one. Everyone else around you gushed over it while you found the whole thing ominous and a little inconvenient. Truthfully, you were never really convinced you’d find your other half… That is until a random camping trip leads you to a quaint village run by a dark and brooding man who just so happens to be your soulmate. Stuck in the forest with nothing else to lose, you agree to join his world, his little village, and see if there’s actually love behind the markings.

‘Treacherous’ Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"I believe I told you to get some rest," Druig replied after a heavy minute, completely dodging your question. You still refused to look at him, opting to keep your back to the doorway, where he stood. Your eyes were trained on the little table in this unsettling room, your fingers gripped your boyfriend’s wallet like your life depended on it. 

He… He had to have been here. Here. In the village. In the same space as you. He had found you. He must’ve known — but you never saw him. Never had a single clue.

Your brain was racing. Your hands were shaking. 

"Why won’t you answer any of my questions?" You snapped back. 

Druig cleared his throat. Was he close to crying as well, you wondered. "I was trying to protect you from this."

Protect? You could almost laugh. "He was here, wasn’t he? He came looking for me."

"He was just passing through—,"

"You’re lying," you cried. His words could say what they wanted, but the bond never led you wrong. You could feel the guilt, shame, worry, panic… "He had been searching for me, right?"

Druig’s voice turned soft. "Yes."

You angrily tossed the wallet back on the table and slammed the drawers completely shut. "Where is he now?"

"I sent him back on his way after we had a chat." He sighed. "It wasn’t until I found a makeshift campsite nearby that I realized he left behind some items. You’ve found the remnants."

"Druig…"

"Would you have gone?" Druig asked. You heard the floorboards creek behind you, signaling his approach. "Be honest with me, dear. Please. Would you have truly left with him?"

You nearly couldn’t believe he was asking you this. Like that was the most important topic at the moment. But you could just about understand his eagerness to propose the question. You hated that part of this the most, you think.

"I was never given the option so I don’t know," you answered briefly. Dismissively, almost, but this situation is anything but something you could dismiss. It was a cop-out of an answer and you both knew it. 

The floorboards creaked once again. And then you felt Druig’s burning touch on your hips. He couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep ending up in such positions that tempted you to give in to everything. 

"Maybe you do know," he muttered against your neck. "Maybe deep down."

"No." You shook your head and pushed yourself out of his arms, not wasting a second to get to the doorway of the bedroom, trying to put as much space between you two as possible. "Don’t you dare do that. Don’t… Don’t try to think for me or tell me what I’m feeling, Druig." You had to stop to take a breath as your voice cracked. "I—I don’t want to think about it right now."

You waited a moment for Druig to reply but nothing ever came. He just stared back at you, his eyes holding something unreadable.

He didn’t say anything to your heartbroken spiel. He didn’t say anything as you left the bedroom. He especially didn’t say anything when you left the home and went to the only thing you had left that didn’t resolve around your soulmate. The last thing you felt at the moment you could call yours: chores. 

***

You didn’t know why you were choosing to now obey Druig’s orders, but you let your feet carry you to the kitchen hut. Still being the very early hours, no one else was reporting for duty. You could see some early-riser villagers off in the distance but you were the only one in your area. 

Honestly, you probably would have preferred it if it stayed that way. You did not forget about the fact you probably looked like a disaster. You tried patting down your hair and rubbing your eyes to make yourself look like you’re…less of a disaster but you couldn’t dwell on it for too long. Vegetables needed chopping. 

You returned to the station you had been parked at yesterday and found a bag of potatoes where the onions had previously sat. After grabbing a knife, you put on an apron and got to work. 

It was just the right amount of quiet and focus you needed right now. The motions were repetitive and there was slight satisfaction in your work still. But that didn’t fully ease your scrambled brain. Where did you even begin?

Druig had sent away your loved one, someone who came looking for you, someone who was worried and probably desperate. He just…pushed them away. No doubt while flashing those glowing eyes and using his compelling powers. The actions were almost unthinkable, unreasonable. 

What did it matter if you would have stayed or left? You deserved to at least see your boyfriend — or whatever he truly was anymore. You deserved to speak to him. Hug him. Explain what the hell was going on. Would you have left? You weren’t completely lying when you said you just didn’t know. Deep, deep down you knew it was unlikely given your arrangement with Druig but still. You were here. Part of this world. 

His world.

And there was little you could do about it — actually, there was a little that you wanted to do about it. An uneasy feeling of defeat and acceptance washed over you.

The sound of a branch snapping made you jump, quickly pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up, ready to start another argument with Druig… But all that you came face-to-face with was the other kitchen workers. Their smiles were warm as they greeted you but you didn’t miss how their eyes lingered a beat too long on your features. You tried to ignore it and greeted them shakily in their native tongue. Everyone too soon fell into their own rhythm in the kitchen. 

You all operated like robots, a much grimmer version than yesterday, it felt. 

As you watched yourself move into the motions of it all, your eye kept catching glimpses of your tattoo. You wished the temperature was suddenly in the negatives so you could have an excuse to cover your entire arm. That little sun taunted you, and it reminded you. 

Despite everything, Druig was still your soulmate. You two were a pair, a somehow perfect match among the rest of the world, meaning… Was this what life was meant to be? You knew soulmates could be complicated but you truly had never anticipated all of this. Hell — you didn’t think anyone could plan for this. And yet, the universe believed this was as all should be in the grand scheme of things. 

There was no doubt in your mind Druig had faith in you two. Can’t faith make some people act peculiar?  

You were forced to ponder this all over as you continued chopping along with the other villagers. It appeared that a breakfast of fried eggs — from chickens you had yet to see — with a side of fresh fruit and bread was on the menu today. While some worked on breakfast, others, like yourself, were on prepping duties. Lunch seemed to be a hodgepodge of food, mostly stew, and dinner was sandwiches, mainly made from leftovers. From the looks of one station, bread had come in an abundance. 

But it all meant very little to you. Your appetite vanished after the debacle this morning. Despite some villagers motioning for you to join breakfast, you politely declined and continued your food prep. 

The others began filing out and taking their meal break. You had thought everyone had left until someone tugged on the skirt of your dress. You turned to look at the person who had approached you. It was one of the kitchen workers, a dark-haired woman around your age, who looked gravely concerned. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, softly. 

"Y-Yes," you replied, nodding your head quickly. The woman just glanced at you as if analyzing your face. And maybe she was. You weren’t sure what to make of this encounter. Her eyes were a normal shade of brown, indicating that Druig wasn’t the force behind this interaction. It was genuine.

The woman eventually accepted your response with no pushback. She just patted your hand, an action that somehow told you she was there for you, and then she left with the others. 

This whole ordeal only threw you farther into your work. You had never known you could become immune to the starchy, woodsy smell of potatoes. You became an absolute pro at dicing them, a talent you didn’t know what you’d ever do with, but it was good at continuing to keep you distracted for now. 

The morning flew by and before you knew it, it was lunch. The villagers paused their work for the day and began snacking away. You had considered only briefly joining them before a cold rush came over your skin. 

You looked up from your workstation and the curious glances the villagers gave you told you all you needed to know.

How dare he?

"What do you want?" You asked. You sped up your chopping motions. 

"I think we should talk." Druig’s rough, accented voice felt so close yet so far away.

"We have all the time in the world to talk," you retorted. "You made sure of that."

"Please," he borderline begged, "could we go somewhere more…private?"

At his question, you halted your movements and looked back up at the other kitchen workers. They were very much still staring, not even trying to hide their curiosity. Druig could’ve fixed that, so why wasn’t he?

"Just flick your wrist and make them all turn away, then."

Druig let out an exacerbated sigh. "That is not how I want this to go."

"Oh, really?" You let out a humorless laugh as you slammed down the knife on the workstation. You whipped your body around to face Druig. "You had no problem doing it to my boyfriend."

"He’s not —," Druig began but abruptly stopped himself. He shook his head. "I’d appreciate it if we could just speak in private."

Furiously, you undid your apron and threw it on your workstation. You were complying. Why were you complying?  Why did you allow yourself to keep doing this, your heart wondered.  Because of that tattoo on your wrist, your brain answered. 

Because despite all the ups and downs, this was somehow meant to be. 

Druig led you out of the kitchen and down a pathway, heading towards a structure in the middle of the village. It was what you had deemed as a community center but the inside looked more like a church. The location was odd, you had to admit, but it was the closest place for privacy which was nice. You didn’t think you could handle walking all the way home, grouchy and annoyed. 

You leaned against the wall, keeping great distance between you two, as you waited for Druig to start speaking. He stared at the floor, his arms folded. You tried not to stare. You really didn’t need that distraction right now, no matter how appealing he could be.

"I was scared," Druig muttered softly, a jarring contrast to his previous tone. You waited for something more he didn’t seem to be offering up anything else. 

"Scared?" You scoffed. "You acted like that because you were scared?"

"I panicked," he said between clenched teeth. "I — You — You would’ve left. Everything we worked for, all the progress we made, would have been for nothing because he would’ve wasted no time sweeping you away. I… I can’t even handle the thought of that, dear, you must understand."

You shifted your stance. "You… You don’t trust me?"

"Well, I—,"

"You really, truly thought I would just leave." 

"I… I don’t know," Druig admitted. "I want to say no, but I feared risking it. I finally found you, my beautiful, beautiful soulmate. Seeing him, remembering what is out there, made me panic."

You averted your gaze to the worn-down wood beneath your shoes as you rapidly tried to blink away the tears that were beginning to form. Quickly, your anger was evolving uncontrollably. 

His explanation was simple but what you sensed in the bond was powerful. Guilt and fear wrecked your soul. 

"You could’ve just talked to me about it," you muttered in response. "You told me before that we are partners. This is what partners do. They communicate, and they work through things together. I can’t keep getting brushed aside like this."

"I know," he replied almost immediately, panicked. "I—I know that. I promise. It was just a…lapse in judgment."

You looked back up at him, surprised. " Just? I don’t think it was just anything. It’s… It’s pretty serious, Druig."

Druig let out a frustrated sigh. He ran his hands through his hair in aggravation. You knew you weren’t making this easy but you also had the right to act like this. This was arguably a bigger deal than past arguments and you wanted to make sure you were heard and understood this time. 

"I know," Druig snapped, "and I’ll spend eternity, almost quite literally, making it up to you, but I can’t go back and change it now, can I?"

You hated that he made some points with that. "I guess not." You shrugged. "Unless you can work your magic and order him back here."

Druig smirked but it wasn’t a look of joy. "Why? So you actually can waltz off with him?"

You sighed, suddenly forced to come to terms with it all. "No," you mumbled in reply. "I said I would try, I would try this for us. I wouldn’t go back on my word like that." 

Hell — you didn’t even feel like you could go back on your word if you wanted to. You had found your soulmate, the bond was in action. An invisible rope in the form of darkened ink on your skin. 

Looking at Druig, you saw a flash of relief come across his face. It didn’t last long but his eyes clearly softened when as he stared at you. Everything in that moment felt…right. The air had changed in the community center but it hadn’t all been smoothed over. For you, you weren’t sure when, if ever, you could fully accept what he had done but a part of your tried reasoning it based on his words. This whole situation was intense and scary. You alone were no stranger to panicking. 

But, realistically, this still would never be the perfect love story you had always imagined for yourself.

Druig nodded as he took in your words. His mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something but then something caught his attention. You could visibly see the switch happen. His body became rigid, his eyes flashed gold. His hands become fists at his side. Despite him looking at you, he was outside this room, in the village. You didn’t know how you knew or even what you were sensing but it put you on edge. The whole thing lasted seconds but the effects were felt heavily. 

When his eyes returned to their normal hue, you immediately asked, "What’s wrong?" It was kind of alarming how in tune to him you were but you certainly didn’t have time to process that. 

"Stay here," he replied firmly and headed towards the door. 

Your eyes widened at his command. After your spiel, he was hitting you with that? You marched towards him, determined and borderline angry. "Absolutely not," you snapped back.

He turned back to you, shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Partners, Druig." You took in a shaky breath. "We’re partners, remember?"

His hands gripped the handles of the door as he looked over your features, probably trying to figure out if you were serious or not. But you stood your ground on it. You two were just inches apart. 

"Perhaps just this one time—,"

"No," you said, effectively cutting him off. "I deserve to know what goes on here as well, yes?"

You could practically see the gears in Druig’s head turning, trying to come up with an argument, but it all fell flat. 

Druig turned back to the doors. "Very well then," he said. 

But before he opened the doors, you had one more thing to mention. "Druig" —he glanced at you—"we’re not done discussing…this." 

Druig appeared hesitant but gave a final nod in understanding before he dramatically pulled the community center’s doors open, his attention now solely on whatever was happening outside. It was quite amazing, actually, how intense he could become. How focused and dedicated this man was at his core. You just wished he always paid attention to the correct things. 

Slowly, Druig stomped his way out of the center and into the village square. You followed closely behind, peeking over his shoulder. 

Two things caught your attention immediately. First was all the villagers sporting gold eyes, standing completely still, staring at the middle of the square. The second was the group of strangers (trespassers, maybe) watching you and Druig with mixed expressions. They all varied so much in appearance yet you could just tell they all belonged. That they were more like a group of strangers as opposed to people who just wandered in.

You cleared your throat and whispered to Druig, "Who…?"

"I’ve missed all of you," Druig said to the strangers, ignoring you. "Please. Make yourselves at home."

[bokuroskitten]

c-cockwarming with kuroo kenma bo ushi and iwa? 😳

I’ve got some real big brained anons asking me real big brained asks😌

ℌℭ ❦

〈 Kuroo, Kenma, Bokuto, Ushijima and Iwaizumi and how they like cockwarming

✵ genre: NSFW 18+ (Minors DNI)

✵ warnings: cockwarming, dom/sub dynamics (daddy, papa, & sir titles used), mentions of voyeurism

Kenma would have you warming him up all the time if he could, so every chance he gets he’s calling you over. Gaming, streaming, watching tv, doing just about anything, he loves sliding you down nice and slow on his cock. Your walls have been fit to his cock by now, so it’s always the perfect squeeze when you sit on him. Typically he’ll have you sit in his lap, back against his chest so you can do what you want as well, but mostly it’s so whenever he is live steaming he can suddenly thrust within you, watch the way you desperately try to keep your composure so the chat won’t start talking about how flushed you suddenly look.

“K-Kenma...” you murmur softly, feeling the warmth from your face slowly begin to spread along your chest. A smirk flickered over Kenma’s features, only for a brief moment, before he was back to that serious look, eyes glued to his game. “Yea babe?” He spoke, nonchalant as ever. That had your cheeks puffing up briefly, eyes darting from his game to the webcam that had the little green light on. You knew very well the stream was on, and considering the number in the bottom corner just kept steadily rising, you couldn’t just blurt out loud ‘Quit moving your hips’. Before you could even really get the thought out, Kenma knew, thrusting his hips up once more. One fluid motion of his body and his cock was hitting perfectly along your sweet spot. This time you couldn’t hold back the little Yelp that bubbled from your lips. Kenma had to laugh, quick to mute his mic as the chat began to pop off. He wouldn’t turn it off though. Oh no. He just got close to your ear, whispered in that voice he knew you loved.

“Better relax Kitten, or I’m gonna have to fuck you right here on stream. So sit pretty for me... unless my naughty girl wants it... you want it, baby?”

⋆⋆⋆

Kuroo is on his computer a lot, doing work and attending online meetings. He has set up a nice little office space for himself and he finds himself in there a little more than he likes. Especially since he has such a cute little kitty at home just waiting to be played with. Sometimes, when you just can’t stay away from him you poke your head in the door, the little mewl you let out making Kuroos brows twitch. Only a couple of pleas from your pretty lips has him caving. He likes when you straddle him, your little cunt fluttering so perfectly around his cock. He also likes how hard you cling to him, face in his neck and fingers getting lost in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Whenever he feels your hips begin to rock he’ll tsk, putting an easy stop to it.

“Kitty, don’t get greedy,” Kuroo speaks right beside your ear, goosebumps easily rising along your arms as you let out a needy whine. You hope it’s pretty enough to make Kuroo cave, or at least enough to make him let go of your hips. “P-Please Daddy, needa feel more of you in my cunny.” And it was true, you’re puffy walls were currently hugging him so perfectly, squeezing along his cock. Your legs tightened about his waist, wanting to add some friction to your clit that was currently throbbing for it. But Kuroo still had work to do, and even though your pleas made him weak at the knees, made his resolve wanna crumble so he could fuck you right here on the desk, he had to teach his pretty baby some patience. So he gave your rear a swat, a warning along with a hum.

“I know baby I know... your cunny is just fluttering like crazy around Daddy’s cock today. But just a little longer. So no more whining.”

You clung to him tighter, muffling your whines into the side of his neck and suckling the skin there instead. You stilled your hips though. Kuroo had to smile, fingers beginning to tap away at his keyboard again while your perfect velvet walls hugged his cock.

⋆⋆⋆

Part of Bokuto’s job was staying fit, considering he was constantly active out on the court. The gym he set up in your shared apartment was nothing short of impressive, and you couldn’t help poking in there while he was grunting away. Skin shining with sweat, muscles ripping as he lifted the next set of weights, you couldn’t help but lick your lips, or the little flood that happened between your thighs. Usually, Bokuto could wait until he was done, but sometimes you just looked too good, so desperate and needy as you clung to that door frame, basically drooling at him. He would take a seat, pulling you into his lap.

“12...13...14...” Bokuto’s voice was strained in the best possible way, his chest fluttering as you suddenly clenched down around him. He slowly lowered the weights to his sides a grin growing on his face as he felt your little nails dig deeper into his thighs. He pressed up into you, grin growing at the yelp you released. You could feel your cheeks heat up, pussy desperately milking his cock when it slapped against your cervix. “P-Papa!” You whined, looking back at him with tears swimming in your pretty eyes. “‘M sorry pretty Birdy... sometimes I can’t help but tease you when this perfect little cunt is squeezing me so good.” He pressed a few kisses along your cheeks, before he took hold of your jaw, forced your eyes back on the mirror in front of the two of you. “But Papa needs more motivation so he finishes his workout. So spread so legs back open, wanna see your pussy splitting.” And you had no choice but to listen, only thinking of how he’d pin you to the mirrors later to fuck you stupid. So you lulled your legs back open, biting your lip as he moaned at the sight of your stuffed hole.

“Perfect...” he breathed, keeping his eyes glued to the reflection as he hauled the weights back up to continue his count.

⋆⋆⋆

Ushijima isn’t much for PDA. Those little touches you always give him, running those pretty fingers along toned arms in public. It’s just too much for him. But Ushijima is a collected man, knows how to hold himself back. And know very well you’re doing it all on purpose. You’re his pretty baby, after all, he knows how you like to tease, pressing into his side on the subway or leaning down to look at something with a skirt that’s just a little too short. Ushi knows, when the two of you get home, your frame already vibrating with excitement, he had no problem pulling you onto his cock.

“More... more Sir....” the whine you release around his fingers as he stuffs them between your lips is high pitched, almost a little offended as tears swirl in your gaze. But Ushijima doesn’t budge, doesn’t move one inch other than his long fingers which are now pumping in your mouth. Your left whimpering around him, his cock throbbing within your walls and stretching you open without even moving an inch. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so handsy today and just asked for some dick like a good girl, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Ushijima huffed out, brows knitting together at the mess of drool that already started to bubble down your chin and around his knuckles. “But because you can’t keep your hands to yourself, you’re gonna keep my cock warm until I feel like fucking, are we clear.”

He knew you couldn’t respond, but the mewl you release as your fingers dig deeper into the skin of his thighs is satisfying enough to have a subtle smirk twitching on his lips.

⋆⋆⋆

Iwaizumi likes the closeness that comes along with cock warming, especially after a long day. There are some days where your schedules just don’t aline until late into the evening when the sun has already set. You’re both too exhausted for any sort of sex, but still want to be close to one another, want to share soft kisses and embraces. So once you two have dressed down for the night you curl up on your shared bed, finding a comfortable spot together.

“Princess...” Iwaizumi sighs into your ear, his palms slipping under the fabric of your shirt so he could the warmth of your skin. You mewl in response, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck before pressing wet kisses along the column. “Love you so much daddy...” you murmur back to him softly, your eyes fluttering a bit as he twitched between your walls. He was slowly growing, filling you up inch by inch until that familiar squeeze was apart between your thighs. It always felt so good, being stuffed by him when you drifted off into sleep. A smile curled on Iwa’s sleepy features, the familiar grip of your cunt around his dick making him sigh out in content.

“Love you too, my pretty princess.” He kisses along the crown of your head, hands massaging down your back as you cling to him tighter, sleep weighing down your eyes.

[bluemusickid]

Ok so I have been this fantasy about Chris Evans lately... the reader and he are friends and Chris has a girlfriend but she’s not satisfying him in the bedroom and you guys get a little tipsy one night and you end up making all his naughty dreams a reality... and there will be lots of dirty talk like, “she can’t make you feel like this... or does her mouth feel as good as my mouth does, etc”... I need you to work your smutty magic on this one! Could be for any of his characters too! Whatever you’d prefer! ❤️

As much as I abhor cheating........this is a sexy one. Thanks for this one, nonnie!!

Pairing:  Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, SMUUT, NSFW, minors DNI, drunk sex, dubcon (if you squint).

A/N: wHEW, this one was a toughie. I wanted to draw the line somewhere lol, but oh well. Hope you like it! MINORS PLS DNI. Not beta’ed, all mistakes are my own. You are responsible for your media consumption. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

This is my entry to my own challenge (lol). The colour I have chosen is red, which symbolises passion, danger, excitement. <3

You took a swig from your bottle, grimacing at the bitter taste, the sight in front of you even more bitter than the drink itself. It would have to be your worst luck that Andy Barber was here at the party, but his girlfriend as well? Killed you.

It was especially worse since you had a humongous crush on him, which didn’t seem to go away, no matter how hard you tried. It was even worse that you had to act normal around him at work, for fear of being mocked or ridiculed by your coworkers.

Andy Barber had completely encompassed your world and was a part of every waking moment. You watched him get tipsier as time passed, dancing around with his friends, his girl not leaving his side even once. If looks could kill, she’d be dead by now.

Deciding that you needed some air, you stepped out, only faltering a bit as the alcohol was steadily making itself known. Trying to light a cigarette, you heard a few voices from the garage. Your good manners were screaming at you not to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help it. The liquid courage was winning over.

“So she doesn’t go down on you?” a voice asked. You raised your eyebrows at the question.

“Uh..” you heard the answering voice sigh, followed by a nervous chuckle. Oh my gosh it was Andy. You waited with bated breath for his answer, not knowing what to expect.

"I mean we're happy with each other, she's a great girl, very kind and she's great with Jacob. But there's just no spark." He trailed off, slurring a bit at the end.

You didn't know what to feel about this little tidbit you heard; your brain was telling you that it was wrong to feel good but your senses, your mind was in jubilation. You scuttled off inside before you were caught, this new piece of information even more intoxicating than the alcohol.

You stumbled your way into a bedroom, trying desperately to find a washroom. Why was this place so goddamn big? You mused, relieving yourself, the earlier conversation playing in your head on loop. Shaking yourself mentally, you realised there was nothing you could do about it.

Stepping out, you nearly fell as you bumped into something, your foot getting caught in the doorframe. Strong arms grab onto your biceps, steadying you as you managed to straighten yourself. You looked up to thank the stranger, instead finding yourself looking into the eyes of your dream man.

"Are you ok?" He muttered, his voice soft against your ears. You inhaled sharply, your core tightening in response.

"I am now that you're here." You rasped, unsure of the words coming out of your mouth. Did you just say that? You had no game, generally.

He chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Who are you and what have you done with my sweet, innocent coworker?"

Mesmerized, you gaze at him in wonder. "Who said anything about me being innocent? I'm not a goody two shoes, I'm different." He looked at you, mildly amused. "Oh yeah? What makes you different?"

"Well, for starters, I know how to go down on my man." You whispered in his ear, moving past him, your hip brushing against his.

You had no time to register when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him, his chest colliding against your back. You gasped, turning around to face him, annoyance etched on his face. “What did you say?” he growled, his breath fanning your face.

Smirking, you ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing the crinkle between his eyebrows. “The walls have ears too, you know.” you murmured, stepping closer to him. The rough material of his pants was grazing your thigh, your core throbbing with need now.

Running a finger down his torso, you stopped at the button of his jeans, looking into his eyes, wanting some reaction. Silently, you softly palmed him through his jeans, revelling in the sharp intake of his breath. You looked up at him, for permission to continue, acceptance slowly seeping into his eyes.

Undoing his zipper, you graze your fingers over his boxers, the tent in his underwear causing your core to clench. 

“Can she get you this hard with just one touch?" You softly whispered, running your nose along his. He closed his eyes, his palms closing into a fist. You could feel him mentally warring with his emotions, his body betraying him.

You entangled your lips with his, tugging on his lower lip, as you pulled down his underwear. "I bet she can't do this."

You ran your tongue in one single strip along his length, the tip of your tongue circling around the tip of his member. He moaned softly, his hands undulating, as he tried to stop himself from burying them into your hair. Grinning salaciously, you said, "Answer me, Andy. Can she?"

He gulped, his mouth thinning into a line. "No." He muttered, through gritted teeth. That's just what you wanted to hear. And so you began your amorous assault, taking him in your mouth till he was buried to the hilt. You swirled your tongue, letting your underside work his length. He groaned, his hands finally making their way into your hair, his resolve now fully broken. Bobbing your head around his length, you could feel him slowly thrusting deeper into your mouth.

Suddenly, he pulled you up, throwing you over his shoulder and dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed. Stunned, you were about to retort, but were cut off by his insistent lips. Gathering your wrists in one hand, he tried to tug off your panties, his impatience winning over as he tore them off, the material dangling limply from one of your legs. He circled your nub, his need to be within you ebbing steadily.

Bracing himself on his arms, his fingers locking with yours, he thrust into you in one move, leaving you breathless. His eyes trained onto you, seeing every emotion on your face, spurred him on, as he pounded into you. There was no other way to describe it except frantic coupling. Crossing your ankles, you pushed him deeper, the new angle hitting your front wall, your thighs quivering from the sensory overload. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked thoroughly, like a whore?". You gasped, unable to form coherent thoughts, the depth and intensity in his eyes scaring you a bit. "Drop the act, sweetheart. I've seen you in office, swaying those fuckin' hips, batting your eyelashes. Don't act like you didn't want my cock in your pretty pussy, fucking you till you wept."

His words made you feel ashamed but in the deepest, darkest part of your heart, they turned you on like nothing else. They fed your libido, which was already wound tightly around his manhood. This man had you wound around his pinky, but you didn't mind. If that was the cost you had to pay to make him yours, you would pay it.

Pushing your legs up, he let go of your hands to caress your swollen bud. You screamed as the new position left you seeing stars, your legs nearly losing sensation, a warmth seeping through your body. Your silky walls grasped him tightly, to the point where you became one, as he shouted his release. Pulling out, he panted as he glanced at the sight in front of him; your overstimulated lips swollen and wet, messy from your intermingling fluids. He cleaned you up with a wet washcloth as you dozed, leaving as quietly as he could.

You woke up after some time, your limbs and pussy sore, you relishing the ache. You didn't see Andy anywhere, but you did see your clothes neatly kept in a pile at the foot of the bed. You were just about to reach for them when your phone dinged with a message alert. Bemused, you checked and saw it was from Andy.

"See you in office, sweetheart. P.S. Wear a skirt. Don't be late."

Part 2

Tags: @donutloverxo @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @gotnofucks @imdarkinme @ozarkthedog @savior-adriana @chrissquares @a-little-counter-esperanto @denisemarieangelina @chris-butt @patzammit @tenaciousperfectionunknown @worksby-d @starlightcrystalline @tinylumpiaa @whosmarisaaarw @jbreenr @melli0112 @harrysthiccthighss @bigchoose @violentyoshi 

[r0-boat]

Omega Melli part 3, as threatened about a month ago. I may not be punctual but you can't say I'm not horny. Don't think there's any trigger warnings except Melli is kind of an anxious mess at one point but Bitch same. (This was written in my notes app and not read through cause I'm a lazy hoe, hope you enjoy) -♡

You were awoken by soft whines and the sensation of rocking coming from beneath you, acutely aware of something gently rubbing against your thigh. Your brain scrambling to put the pieces together through the thick haze of rut driven lust.

Melli. Your mate.

Blinking your eyes, trying to get them to focus you come face to face with your Omega, his eyes squeezed closed and breathing slow as he tries desperately to get himself off without waking you. His thick cock trapped strategically between his abdomen and the thigh you had left wrapped around him in your slumber. It seemed that in his desperation he hadn't sensed you wake, taking the opportunity to see your new mate so vulnerable you comtinued to stay quiet and as still as you could for as long as your body would allow. Growing hotter and wetter by the second, you knew you had very little time you would have before he noticed. The scent of your arousal getting stronger the longer you basked in his.

"Please" A sharp whine hit your ears as Melli caught on to you. Bucking his hips harder now you already knew what he was doing, seemingly unashamed at his wanton state. "Please help me. I need you."

"Good morning, Dearest." You said with a chuckle before moving your thigh away from him, much to his displeasure. The hopeless sound that left his lips as a result of rutting against thin air made his pout all the sweeter to witness.

Pressing a brief but hard kiss to his lips    smirking at his resulting moan, you began moving your way down his body, leaving little kisses along his neck. Stopping to pay extra attention to his collar bone after he inhaled sharply at the sensation, nipping at the skin lightly then laving your tongue over the little red marks left by your teeth. You could feel the heat radiating from your lover's skin further adding to your own. Continuing your tormentingly slow decent down to where he wanted you, you regarded some tiny bruises left by your previous nips at the skin on his hips with a strange feeling. Part sadness at having bitten hard enough for bruises to form, part pride at having marked your lover as your own and a strong lust at the memory. Arriving at your destination, you kiss the skin in between the markings, just above where his cock rested against him, your breath ghosting over his tip.

From your new position you were able to assess the source of his issue. In both of your's exhaustion at your previous activities, your lover and yourself had fallen asleep with your toy still lodged inside him. It must barely kiss his spot when he thrusts. No wonder he's so riled, you thought as you grasped the glass toy and began to move it slightly, in a bid to see how it moved. More lube, you decided at hearing your partner's faint groan and seeing how much of it had gotten onto the sheets.

"Be patient for me, Darling. I promise I will help." You advised Melli as you removed yourself from him entirely to see where you had left the vial.

It took longer to find than either of you liked, seemingly rolling under the bed during the night. Finally you returned to your earlier spot on the bed, kneeling between his legs you find he had shifted, propping himself up on his elbows so as to get a better view of your actions. Showing him the vial, you notice him swallow thickly. You hesitate at his change in demeanour, knowing him well enough to understand that his insecurities were hightened during heats, you resolve to do anything he asked, hating to see him so anxious.

"Are you alright, Love?" you comfort him. Lifting yourself away from your current task to brushthe stray hairs away from his face. Feeling him inhale, and tremble against your touch, you decide to give him a moment, trying to help steady his nerves.

"You're shaking, Love. Do you want water before we carry on?"

At his nod, you get off the bed once again to fetch you both a cup of water before sitting by his side. Brushing more of his hair back into place as you feel him lean on you slightly, trying to get his head straight. After a few more minutes you feel him start to perk up.

"We can stop if you want to. My rut isn't so bad that I can't manage it. If you'd prefer to stay like this we can." You began, taking to just petting his head now that his hair was borderline presentable.

"I'd like to carry on. If thats ok? Maybe start again slowly?"

"Of course" you advise, taking his cup and setting it down with your own.

Bringing a hand up to cup his face, you press your lips to his gently, moving your other hand to hold his. You stay like this for a while, softly exchanging kisses and rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, before he pulls away to lie down again. His eyes betray his feelings as he stares up at you with doe eyes, he's not scared of having more sex with you but rather he's overthinking what it means for you both.

Leaning over to press a soft his to his forehead, you lean back up to meet his gaze.

"I love you, Melli." You smile at him and bring the hand you are holding up to kiss, entwining your fingers together. "Always have and always will. You are my heart."

His expression relaxes into a peaceful one as he pulls you down to lie on top of him. Letting out a soft snort as you feign being surprised at the sudden change in position. You share another soft kiss, smiling against each others lips, letting your hand cup his face once more.

Eventually, you find yourself straddling your mate as his hands begin to roam your body. Down your arms and your sides. Pushing themselves under your tunic, to grab at the flesh and caress your skin, pullimg the fabric over your head leaving you bare.  One hand settling on your hip and another grabbing your thigh as your kisses grow deeper. Tongues exploring each others mouths, moving against each other like the tide. Hips rocking in tandem trying to create much needed friction.

Pulling back from each other, pupils wide, you check for consent from each other silently, both giving it easily. You begin to move back to your earlier position before he stops you again, lifting your hips he guides you up, re-arranging your positions so you are hovering over his face. He smiles with lovesick gaze as he pulls you down, slowly lapping at your sex. Dragging his tongue all over your folds before moving on to slow and gentle kitten licks to your clit. Building up the pace gradually, he sucks at your little nub before moving againas he begins to tongue fuck your hole greedily. His groans mix with lewd wet sounds as your hips grind against his face, his tongue pushing past your entrance trying to lick up your juices as fast as you are leaking them. Your hips begin to stutter as his movements become harsher as he grows hornier, desperate to taste you, to feel your cum rush down his face and tongue. Pushing his tongue inside you as deep as he can a few more times before a well timed suck to your clit has you coming undone for him. Your hands fisted in his hair as you ride his face through your orgasm. Still lapping gently as you come down from your high, only stopping when you tumble down onto the bed beside him, trying to catch your breath.

Looking into his eyes as he smirks mischeviously, you decide to repay the favour. Keeping eye contact you slide yourself down to his cock, grabbing the vial of oil. Moving your hand to your cunt you coat your fingers in your slick before grasping his cock, pumping it a few times until Melli's breathing hitched, abandoning it in favour of prepping other areas. Tipping more oil as needed, you return to moving the glass slightly, intending to remove it fully before he stopped you.

"Wait. As its already in, do you think you could use it again? Please?"

It was your turn to smirk as you obliged with your partners wishes. Re-adjusting your position to take the tip of his cock into you, licking off the little bit of pre leaking from it before taking in inch by inch, each time fucking the dildo a little deeper. By the time Melli had bottomed out in you, you had pushed the toy in as far as you safely could and the sounds Melli was making was music to your ears. You began to move in opposition, pulling off Melli's cock before sucking it back in but removing the toy. Continuing in this rhythm, and picking up speed you abused his prostate never once taking your eyes off his face, until the pressure building inside him burst, cum coating the inside of your mouth. You fuck him through his high as he did you and only once you recatch his eyes do you flash the cum on your tongue and swallow, flashing again your empty mouth as he whines once more head hitting the pillow as he flops down onto the bed. Being sure to pull out the toy this time you laugh as he groans at the sensation and the little pop sound as you pull the bulbed head out of his hole.

Moving up to lie next to your mate, you pull him into your arms, kissing the top of his head as he rests against your chest. He was a little bit of a hot mess, but Arceus he was yours and you wouldn't have it any other way.

BARKBARKBARK

❤ anon you bring us the good shit

Onega melli is going to live in my head rent free

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, ��have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

(Because - as has rightfully been pointed out - the angel needs his cuddles, too.)

--

“Crowley?”

“Nnnnh?” The sprawl of limbs dozing on the sofa shifted, resolving into six feet of lazy demon.

“Can you help me with this?” Rising up on his toes, Aziraphale gestured with the book in his hand. “I can’t quite reach the top shelf.”

“Don’t you have a stool or something?”

“It’s on the other side of the shop, and you’re right here.”

With another groan, Crowley rolled off the sofa in a strange, almost fluid motion, and sauntered across the room. “Where does it go?”

“Just there.” He pointed again as Crowley took the book, glaring at the top shelf. It was, in reality, slightly too high for either of them to reach.

Crowley stretched, standing on his own toes, one hand resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder for balance, until he could just barely get the corner of the book into the gap between two others, and shoved it hard into place.

“There. If that broke the thing, s’not my fault.”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of…thank you, my dear.”

“Mmmh.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a half-grin before wandering back towards his favorite resting spot.

Behind his back, Aziraphale pressed his own hand to where his shoulder still burned with lovely heat.

--

“Crowley? I think I could use a hand again.”

“Are you serious?” he groaned. “You going to tell me you can’t reach your own mugs now?”

Aziraphale glanced at the cupboard again. It did look too low for that, didn’t it? “Of course not. I…I think I should reorganize my wine. I need you to hold some bottles for me.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Some of those wine bottles haven’t moved in over a century. Why would you need to do this now?”

“That…” He felt a flash of embarrassment, quickly turned it into indignation. “That’s hardly any of your concern, now is it? You come to my shop, day after day, just to lounge about. This isn’t one of your – your ancient temples, you can’t just laze around while the human worshippers fan you and feed you peeled grapes…”

A shadow fell across Aziraphale, and he turned to see Crowley, leaning against the doorway to the little kitchen, lopsided grin on his face. “That’s a very elaborate fantasy you’ve concocted.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and turned back to the wine, grabbing a few bottles at random. “It’s not a – a fantasy. I know what you used to get up to in Egypt. And Greece. And a dozen other snake-worshipping cultures.”

“I was hardly—oof.” He grabbed the bottle of red that Aziraphale had all but thrust into his stomach, long fingers dragging across the back of Aziraphale’s hand, leaving behind a trail of fireworks.

“Good. That.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, staring at a row of champagne bottles. “That should go in the, er, Italian section. Tuscany.”

“You going to arrange them geographically now?”

“Of course! Region, then year, then type of grape. Perfectly logical. These are from, um, Piedmont.” He held out two more bottles.

Shrugging, Crowley put the first on the table and reached out. Aziraphale stood perfectly still, so that he couldn’t miss Crowley’s smallest finger brushing against his thumb in passing.

--

“Now what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m – I’m sweeping under the sofa. Kindly move those – those pipe cleaners you call legs.”

“You never sweep.”

“That’s entirely untrue.” Aziraphale reached as far as his arm would go, vaguely sliding the brush from side to side. Shuffled a little to the left, until his shoulder bumped up against Crowley’s calf, fire bursting through him again.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, and in an instant the legs were gone, neatly folded up beneath him.

Blast. Aziraphale glanced up with feigned concern. “You better not be putting your boots on…ah.” Crowley wiggled his toes, covered in a black snakeskin sock that was a little too skin-tight and convincing. With a grin and a shrug, the demon curled in on himself again, neatly out of the way, and turned his attention back to his mobile phone.

“Right. Well. Good.” Aziraphale ducked his head, and scrubbed hard at the floor.

--

“Crowley, help me move this chair.”

“Crowley, hold this ladder while I climb.”

“Crowley, hand me that cloth, I dropped it again.”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley…”

--

“Crowley, come over here, I need your hands again.”

“Are you going to pay me for all this work?”

“Nonsense. I’m exploiting you, like any good capitalist.” He pressed his hands down on the cover of the book, sharp scent of glue filling the air. “Come along, I can’t actually go over there to get you.”

Another string of garbled syllables, and once again Crowley stood at his shoulder. “What are you doing this time?”

“I’m rebinding this book. The glue sets overnight, so I need you to hold it while I get something heavy to put on top.”

“Um.” A long pause. “I can get something heavy for you.”

“No, I need you to hold this.”

Another pause, this time the silence tinged with suspicion. “Don’t you have a – a press or something?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly forward, away from Crowley. “Will you just…stop asking foolish questions and do as you’re asked?”

Two hands slapped down onto the cover, perfectly between Aziraphale’s without touching either of them. He could feel the warmth of Crowley’s shoulder, so tantalizingly close.

“Well?” Crowley finally prompted. “Aren’t you going to move?”

“No.” He swallowed. “Not when you’re holding it wrong. Look. You need to be here, in front of the book.”

“Yeah. Where you’re standing.” Aziraphale could feel the look Crowley shot through his glasses.

“Oh, fine.” Removing his hands, Aziraphale stepped back and to the side, letting the demon take his place. “No, not like that! Honestly, my dear fellow, you need to pay more attention.”

“Wha—?”

Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale’s hands shot out, carefully encircling Crowley’s waist, just above the hips. “Center yourself,” he said, nudging to the left as his arms soaked in wave after wave of heat. Not enough. “And a little closer.” An infinitesimal push, enough to bring his chest almost, almost against Crowley’s back. He ached for it, that last bit of space.

Well. There was one option.

“Good. Now. Just need to position your hands correctly.”

Leaning forward, Aziraphale placed his hands on the backs of Crowley’s, pressing against his back. His feet shifted, and now his chin rested on that black-clad shoulder, and his legs bracketed Crowley’s, his arms rested against Crowley’s…

Every part of them, together.

With his eyes closed, everything else fell away, except for Crowley, his presence fluttering under Aziraphale’s skin like a second heartbeat. He drank it in, more and more, trying to fill every empty space inside himself, but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough—

“Angel?”

In an instant, he was back in the shop, stumbling away. “Yes. That. That should…I’ll…”

Aziraphale spun and hurried away, closing his ears to the worry in Crowley’s voice.

--

“Crowley? Can you—”

“Nope.”

“I…” Aziraphale tried to muster up his indignation again, but after the bookbinding fiasco, it was impossible. “Of course. I’ll just…”

“Nope, I need your help.”

He turned, slowly, to where the long shape of his companion sprawled across the sofa, one foot over the arm, the other dangling off the side, hands folded behind his head.

“What…what do you need.”

Crowley lifted one hand and pointed to a shelf behind the sofa. “That one.”

“I…” Aziraphale moved closer, trying to see what he was pointing at. “You want a book?”

“Mmmh. Right there.”

Frowning, he took a few more steps. “Isn’t that a dictionary?”

“Nnh? No, not that one, that one.” The finger didn’t move.

“Why…why can’t you…?”

With a snort, Crowley dropped his hand, tucked it behind his head again. “Sprained my back doing all your chores. I’m out of commission. I need a book to entertain me during my long convalescence.”

“And what happened to your clever little telephone?”

“Finished it.”

“You…you finished it?”

“Yup. Browsed the whole internet. Found the end. Lousy twist in the last chapter.”

From the tilt of his head, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley’s eyes were shut, lost in the perverse joy of his silly claims. That should have made this easier, but he still hesitated as he leaned across the sofa, rested his hand on the back. His arms passed over the top of Crowley’s head by several centimeters.

“Did you mean…this one?” His fingers hovered over a likely tome.

“Hmm. Nope. Further down.”

A step to the side, knees coming close to where Crowley’s leg carelessly hung, as if it were too much work to pull it onto the sofa with the rest of him. “This one?”

“One shelf down.”

He bent even lower, until his stomach hovered, just above—

Crowley struck, fast as a serpent, his lazy sprawl suddenly a flurry of motion as arms and legs grappled Aziraphale, constricted, twisted around to slam him into the sofa cushions, to lie there with Crowley straddling his middle, hands pressing down on his shoulders.

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered so that he could hardly breathe.

“Good. Now. What do you want?”

“I…” Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t…”

“Yes. You do.” One hand shot up and ripped his glasses off, tossing them aside, then pressed down again on the angel’s chest. Golden eyes bore into him. “Bless it, Aziraphale, all day you’ve asked me to do everything except for – whatever it is you need! Just tell me!”

“I…” He pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way his skin burned, electrified, alive. “I can’t. It’s…it’s foolish. It’s too much…”

“Angel.” Softer now, so soft it could break his heart. “Nothing will ever be too much. Just ask.”

“No…”

“I can’t help you if you don’t ask.”

With an effort, Aziraphale managed to press one trembling hand against his eyes. Tried hard to steady himself. “Crowley. I…I don’t know how to explain it. I feel…cold. Empty. Alone, even with you here. Like something inside me just…died, and left me hollow…”

The weight shifted, easing off his shoulders, and when he looked, Crowley was sitting up. Further away.

“Do you…did Heaven do something to you? When you left?”

“No.” How his voice shook! “No, I – I thought that at first, but…in truth…it’s been coming on…for simply ages.” The shop grew misty, and Aziraphale closed his eyes again. “A little worse every time I – I felt my superiors’ disappointment. Every time I failed at a task. Every…every time I visited Heaven and realized…I didn’t belong.” He tried to rub his eyes again and found they were wet. “No…no this isn’t anything but…my own…inadequacy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true! I’m not…not strong they way you are.” His hand reached out, grasping, and found Crowley’s, wrapping gently around his fingers. It surged through him again, warmth, strength, solidity. Everything Aziraphale lacked. “I can feel it in you. It’s beautiful. And I want – want to drink it in, fill myself, but I’m bottomless, I just take, and take, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough!” He pulled his hand away, ready to flee from the sofa, to hide from his shame. Ready for his only friend to pull away in disgust at his selfishness, his greed.

Instead, Crowley lowered himself, stretching his long body across Aziraphale, head tucked under his chin, hands resting on his arms. “Is this better?”

It swept through him again and again, with every beat of Crowley’s heart. Not just heat. Something that Aziraphale had been lacking, craving, for more centuries than the Earth had existed.

Love.

A sob escaped him, pitiful, even as he drank it all in, greedily, more than he ever deserved, possessive arms twisting around Crowley as if to pull him into Aziraphale’s chest.

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured, and his hand pressed against the curve of Aziraphale’s cheek, brilliant as starlight. “How’s this? Any different?”

“Yes, it’s…” There was no hope he’d ever be able to control his voice again. “It’s stronger when…ah…when we touch…directly.”

“Got it.”

And just like that, the weight on his chest vanished, leaving him empty and cold again.

Of course.

Aziraphale sat up, trying to wipe his eyes dry, humiliated by the loss of composure. “If you want to leave,” he managed, blinking them clear, “I won’t…”

Crowley stood before him, jacket and tie discarded, fingers flicking down the buttons of his black shirt.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“You said touching directly, right? Skin to skin?”

“You…you can’t be serious.” A different sort of heat began to race into his cheeks.

“Nrg.” Crowley shrugged, rolling the shirt off his shoulders as he did. “If it helps you…”

“No, my dear – you don’t understand. I want more than – than you could ever give me. I’d – I’d drain you entirely if I could.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He pulled off the last layer, a blac vest, then bent forward, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides. Everything I have is yours. Our side, remember?”

Aziraphale bowed his head, fists clenched in his lap. “You…can’t mean that…”

“Angel.” He felt the warm press of Crowley’s forehead against his own. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

Slowly, slowly, Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie, trying to remember how to loosen it.

--

Moonlight filtered in through the bookshop windows.

Crowley lay on the floor, Aziraphale curled up against his bare chest, arms around his shoulders, one leg hooked over his knees – clinging to him like a lifeline even in sleep. Some of the strain was finally starting to leak out of his furrowed brow, though he was still a long way from looking like himself.

The fingers of one hand ran through Aziraphale’s curls, carefully, rhythmically. Crowley had never seen the angel sleep before, but as soon as he’d started carefully scratching at his scalp, those blue eyes had begun to drift shut. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but if there was even a chance that this was helping him rest, Crowley would be damned, blessed, and cast into the void before he’d even consider stopping.

Everywhere they touched – which was just about everywhere – Crowley could feel something, an energy buzzing off Aziraphale’s skin. He’d felt it before, many times, but never this distinctly; it curled into him, whether he wanted it or not, flowing through his veins, keeping his heart beating.

“Y’know,” he whispered, slightly worried that the motion of the air would be enough to waken the angel. “You really shouldn’t have worried. Steal my strength? Ridiculous.”

Aziraphale shifted, just a little, pulling himself closer.

“I don’t have a blessed ounce of strength of my own. Or warmth. Solidity? Give me a break.”

A cloud must have moved out of the way; the moonlight suddenly grew brighter, and the pale angel seemed almost to glow in the silver light. Ethereal beauty.

“No. Whatever I’ve got, whatever’s kept me going, for thousands of years – it all comes from you.”

His angel shivered, just faintly, and Crowley quickly miracled up a thick blanket, wrapping it around both of them. Aziraphale sighed, fingers kneading and relaxing across Crowley’s skin.

“So you see, s’not a problem if you need it all. It’s already yours. Everything I have. Everything I am. Yours.”

--

Crowley was wrong for two reasons.

First, the warmth they felt hadn’t begun in Aziraphale, any more than it had in Crowley. It was a different kind of force, generated by their proximity to each other, and flowing constantly from one to the other, an eternal cycle. The strength belonged to both of them, and neither of them.

Second, of course, it would never run out. After all, love is increased – never diminished – by being shared.