#which we put in a little shelter to shield them from the rain and heat (with a fan and stuff)

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

tell me how i got in the position of taking care of 9 cats over the course of less than 6 months

[dcnatural]

Soaking Wet

Word Count: 2189

Pairing: John Constantine x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: During a storm in London, you find cover in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment.

There were many things you loved about London, but the weather was definitely not one of them. There had been no sign of rain when you left your hotel room for an evening stroll, the sun shone brightly on the clear sky. Then, almost by magic, the clouds turned gray, the wind began to hurl, and a heavy rain started pouring down.

Puddles of water splashed under your feet as you ran through the streets desperate to find shelter. The icy rain pricked your skin like projectiles, the strong winds blowing it at fast speeds. Strands of wet hair clung together in front of your face, blocking your vision and no matter how many times you tried to tuck them behind your ear, they fell off again.

Being mostly a residential area, there were no stores for you to seek shelter in and the open sidewalks offered no protection. By the time you finally found cover under the awning of a four-storey brick building, even your socks were drenched. Although the draped fabric prevented the water from falling directly above you, it did nothing to shield you from the gusts of wind and the droplets of rain it brought along. 

You hugged your coat tightly around your body in an attempt to keep yourself warm. You hadn’t dressed for the weather, your clothes weren’t thick enough to act as an efficient barrier from the cold. Not even your cardigan seemed to do anything against the rapidly dropping temperature. 

You considered walking into the building instead of simply hiding in front of it. The wooden door, however, was locked and without a key, you found yourself stuck where you were. Your battery had run out and, as such, you couldn’t even call yourself an Uber.

When you first heard his voice calling your name, you assumed that you had simply drifted off and were dreaming - no, if he was in it, then it must be a nightmare. But then he called again, each syllable coated heavily in his british accent, and you are pulled out of your musings.

Water beads clung to your eyelashes blurring your vision and you had to squint to see better, but there was no denying that it was actually him. His dirty blond hair was a disheveled mess on top of his head and his trademark trench coat flowed ever-so-gently behind him. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, which were slightly curled into a smirk. 

“John Constantine,” you replied in a mist of distrust and awe. It had been so long since your mouth had last formed those words that your muscles seemed to fight against it, as if trying to remind you what had happened the last time you did so.

He took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out, encircling the two of you in a grayish smoke and you coughed. “That’s me, luv.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he stated, grabbing a pair of keys from his pockets and rattling them in front of you, the tiny metal pieces clinking against one another. 

Your mouth opened in a silent “oh”. Of course that, out of all the apartment buildings in London, you would end up stranded underneath his. The wind picked up and a chilling breeze blew across you, causing you to shiver.

“How ‘bout you?” he continued, “Are you stalking me? ‘Cause it would have been easier if you just called.”

You roll your eyes at his insinuation. “Oh please, as if I’d want anything to do with you again. I was just walking and got lost. And then this damned storm started.” As if prompted by your words, a lightning struck the sky, followed closely by the deafening sound of a thunder and you jolted in surprise.

Constantine chuckled and you furrowed your brows. “It’s not funny!” you groaned. “It’s freezing out here and I’m soaking wet!”

He raised an eyebrow but before he could make a sound, you were at it again. “Don’t even start. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do, luv. Why don’t you show me how wet you are?”

You couldn’t believe his audacity. Making jokes and flirting when the last time you spoke to him he had acted like a complete bastard. Not to mention that you were clearly in distress. “Fuck. Off.” you replied harshly, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

“I can’t leave you out here to freeze to death, it would weigh heavy on my conscience.”

“Since when do you have one?” you bickered. 

“Do you wanna come inside or not?" he continued as if he hadn't heard your interruption. "I have some beers in the freezer and we could catch up while waiting for the storm to die out.”

You should’ve said no. But the cold was just too harsh and you could feel your toes going numb. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. 

"Fine. But that doesn't mean I forgive you or anything like that."

"Noted," he said, his smile widening a bit. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying something nasty about him. There was a huge list of unflattering adjectives you could call him, all of which would be true.

He unlocked the entrance and you rushed inside, immediately feeling better now that you were out of the wind's reach. John tried to make small talk as the two of you climbed the stairs up to his floor but you ignored his questions, dismissing most of them with a nod or a wave of hand.

His apartment wasn't the mess you expected. The small living room was tidy, there were no dishes on the kitchen sink and the floor wasn't littered with cigarette butts. It even smelled nice: lavender and blueberries, reminiscing of a warm summer day in the countryside.

You removed your muddy shoes and went inside. He turned on the heater and went to get the promised beers from the fridge. You sat on the carpet in front of the radiator and enjoyed the warmth. Constantine handed you an open bottle and you took it, shallowing half of it in one go, not minding the bitter taste. 

Despite the heat, you were still pretty much chilled to the bone, your damp clothes preventing you from fully warming up. You coughed and shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn’t notice your discomfort. Nor the increasingly damp patch that was forming underneath you in the carpet.

"You should take off your clothes", John suggested casually as he studied you.

You almost choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

"You are dripping everywhere", he took the now empty bottle from your hand, "and they say that you should never stay in wet clothes when trying to warm up. Do you wanna take a warm shower? I can lend you something to wear."

You squinted. You simply weren’t used to him being this… kind? Prestative? You didn’t even know what to call it. And once more, instead of declining his offer like any sane human being, you said yes.

He led you down the hallway to his bedroom, with its walls covered in posters of classic punk rock bands and sorcery books scattered around the floor, and to the annexed bathroom. 

“I’ll leave a change of clothes on the bed for you,” he said before closing the bathroom door. 

You locked the door, checking twice to ensure it couldn’t be open, and waited until you heard him move to the hallway before undressing. The shower was hot and you welcomed the scalding water, letting it run down your body and wash the cold away. You tried not to think of how his soap smelled like him - citric and earthy; as long as you had known John, he had always used the exact same brand of soap - and how you would smell like him afterwards.

Despite that, you couldn’t deny that it was pleasant to have a shower, and when you were done, you already felt better. Careful to keep your back to the door, just in case his intentions were less chivalrous than he was letting out, you picked the white button-up shirt he had separated for you and got dressed. It was clearly an old, worn-out piece and you could see the markings of cigarette burns and of the places where the fabric had been thorn in combat and had been sewn back together. The garment was too big for your lithe frame, the hem hung just above your knees and the sleeves covered completely your hands, forcing you to roll them up in order to use your hands. He had left a pair of black pants but, given your lack of underwear, you chose not to put them on, the shirt did more than enough to cover your private parts. You pulled your hair in a loose bun to get the wet strands out of your neck and, after a quick glance at the mirror to ensure you were decent, walked back to the living room.

Constantine was slouched on the couch, watching television with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He smiled as you crossed the doorway and his gaze drifted over your body, lingering just a second too long on your cleavage and making you blush. He scooted to the end of the couch and patted the empty space besides him and, seeing no harm in it, you slumped against the cushions.

“Feeling better?”, he asked, passing the bottle to you, which you gladly took.

“I hate to say it, but you were right, everything feels better after a shower.”

On the screen, a man jumped from a helicopter while bombs exploded in the background, and despite not having seen the beginning of the movie, and although you weren’t exactly paying attention, you soon got the hang of the plot. Indeed, John’s presence on your side was quite disconcerting, and throughout the movie, as the bottle emptied out, you found yourself inching closer and closer to him, until your legs were touching.

As the action came to a climax and the hero saved his beloved, you felt Constantine’s hand sliding over your leg, fingers drawing little circles on your skin that sent goosebumps to your core.

“John,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch and sighing as he ventured further upward and his calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh.

“That’s right, luv, say my name,” his words were soft as he whispered them into your ear.

You shook your head. “No, we can’t.” You tried to shove him off, but didn’t put any real strength in it. You knew it was wrong, but his touch was just so good, and it felt so right.

Ignoring your plea, his free hand began to open the buttons of the shirt to expose your breasts. “Can’t or won’t ?”

You lost any ability to form cohesive sentences when his lips closed around your peaked nipple, nibbling at the raised nub. His tongue swirled over your breast and you found yourself gripping tightly at his dirty blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

While he continued to place kisses on your chest, his other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers dangerously close to your already dripping folds. He teased you, scraping his nails where he knew your skin to be the most sensitive until you were squirming under him, basically begging him to give you the relief you craved.

He detached his mouth from your body with an audible pop. “Tell me, still think we can’t?”

You rolled your eyes. “You win. Just-” Your sentence was cut short as he abruptly kissed you and, wrapping an arm around your waist, picked you up from the couch and carried your body to the bedroom.

You giggled as he laid you onto the bed, legs wide open and back propped up against pillows. His eyes were locked with yours as he spread your lower lips apart and dragged his tongue lazily over your entrance. Your hips jerked forward when he made contact with your clit and you moaned as he began to flick his tongue against it. He knew how to get you all worked up, kissing, biting and sucking on the right places to send your mind into heaven. Or perhaps hell.

Praises and profanities rolled out of your tongue as the pleasure built inside of you. Your nails scratched his shoulders leaving red trails of blood behind, urging him to continue. Dark spots formed on your vision as you reached your peak, back arching over the mattress and a lewd scream leaving your mouth.

He laid on your side, a wide grin plastered on his face. “It’s still storming outside, perhaps it would be better for you to spend the night. Just to be safe, you know,” he added with a mischievous wink.

“Shut up,” you replied, leaning over to kiss him, the taste of you still on his lips. “Just tonight. And only because it is freezing out there.”

He nodded half-heartedly and draped an arm around you, pulling you against him. “Sure. Someone has got to keep you warm.”

[vvitchering]

for your idea thing...how about various star wars characters (pick one or a few) react to the fact it is raining on tattooine for the first time in over a decade?? and it's like, a downpour?? as someone who lives in a desert, when it rains it often is accompanied by high winds, usually it's night time, it's during the summer season so it can be warm and humid, and is often begins with a big sand storm. (we call them haboobs but in star wars i bet they call it something else)

Cobb Vanth, Tattooine born and raised, with the desert in his veins, can take one good look at the sky at dawn and interpret how the day will unfold with surprising accuracy. There’s an art to predicting the weather; part instinct, part mysticism, with a dash of plain dumb luck thrown in for good measure. Cobb calls it intuition. Says the sands will tell you everything you need to know if you just hush up and listen.

Din, used to seeing the world overlaid with a digital display of atmospheric conditions and temperature readouts, scoffs a bit at the Marshal’s fanciful backwater notions. Cobb just smiles that crooked smile of his and says “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

There isn’t much for him to do, grounded and aimless as he is, so Din takes to keeping track of Cobb’s predictions and calculating their accuracy. If only to have something to rib the other man about later, when he proves there’s no replacement for a good scanner. It’s possible he needs to find a hobby, at least one other than Cobb-watching which is somehow both excruciatingly boring and endlessly fascinating. But far from giving him gloating rights, Din’s data suggests that Cobb is actually right about the weather most of the time. His predictions are almost always in the form of hokey idioms and therefore up to a certain amount of interpretation. But if the man proclaims that the day will be “hot enough to melt the stink off a herd of banthas”, Din knows he’s in for an especially sweaty time.

There aren’t many weather events that interfere with life in Mos Pelgo. The people work through heat waves, dust storms, solar flares, and all other manner of intolerable things. Din has sand in all of his least favorite places inside a week, which makes his decision to pack most of his beskar away in favor of the protective but loose fitting garb the locals all wear much easier. He keeps his vambraces, his signet emblazoned pauldron, and the guards on his left leg that double as support for his bad knee, but stows the rest of his gear in an old sturdy chest that Cobb loans him.

It feels a little like stripping away part of his soul and a little like discovering it anew, but those aren’t feelings he’s ready to tackle just yet. So he doesn’t. He dons the desert colored hand-me-downs that the townsfolk so generously donated and sweats just enough, rather than too much.

Sand storms, while they don’t grind life to a halt, do tend to throw wrenches into the routine. There’s machinery to tend to, livestock to check on, and periodic miserable shoveling of sand buildup off of the buildings and walkways to avoid the town being buried alive. Cobb proves to be just as reliably accurate at predicting the arrival of a storm as he is everything else.

He leans his arm against the curved entryway of his home, face lifted skyward but still aware of Din’s early morning bleary-eyed presence, and says “You’ll learn.”

Din doubts it. Cobb has his planet, his home, hot and alive, in his blood. Din has nothing of his home but a handful of ashes, tucked away in his box of beskar, cold and dead.

They weather the storm together.

In the aftermath, there’s a slight shift in the air that even Din registers. Although the sandstorm has passed, the wind still blows through the dusty streets, warm and heavy like a sigh. Cobb, ever the protector, is first out on the streets to take inventory of the damage and check on his people. Din follows just behind and almost runs straight into the marshal when he stops dead in his tracks to sniff suspiciously at the strange lingering wind.

Din can’t make heads or tails of the marshal’s expression. Concern? Confusion? Consideration? He thinks it might be all of the above and possibly more. Whatever is coming isn’t something Cobb is familiar with and that more than anything is what puts a chill in Din’s bones. But the man’s sharp hazel eyes suddenly widen in surprise, recognition dawning across his face, and he smiles, big and genuine. It makes him look younger, Din thinks to himself absently as Cobb turns to face him.

“Smell that, Mando?” he asks, toothy grin still in place.

Din shakes his head. It all smells like dirt and dust to him, though he does note that the temperature seems to have dropped several degrees. The other townsfolk start to emerge from their homes and businesses to gawk at the sky, some of them mirroring Cobb’s happiness and excitement, others looking as lost as Din feels.

Thunder echos in the distance.

It’s nearing the end of the day and the binary suns would ordinarily be low in the sky, casting long shadows, but the retreating sandstorm has left the world in an eerie sort of grey twilight. Thunder rumbles again, closer this time, and Din feels something cold and wet land on his nose.

Rain.

It’s raining.

All around him, people raise their hands and cheer as the sparse drops turn to a steady downpour. Some rush to uncover anything that can be used to collect the water, others forget themselves entirely and dance in the streets like children.

Din begins to move towards the closet covered porch for shelter, less keen on being soaked through than the excited Mos Pelgoans seem to be. Cobb remains where he is, standing still like a statue, his own face turned up into the deluge. His hair is soaked, clothes dripping, and he’s closed his eyes, but his smile is still firmly in place. He looks like a man at prayer and Din thinks maybe a rainstorm in the desert might be something worth giving such thanks for.

He lets the marshal feel the rain on his face for a few moments more before he grabs him by the arm and tugs him towards shelter. Rain, rare and precious as it is here, will still give a man a mean cold. Din would rather Cobb stayed well. He’s needed, after all.

When they’re properly shielded from the storm, Cobb shakes his head like he’s waking up from a dream and stares at Din with bright eyes.

“It’s been so long. Thirty...no, more like forty years. A long time, Mando, since I’ve seen rain. I was just a boy, last time. Didn’t think I’d live to see it again.”

Din frowns. Rain is rare on the desert planet, sure, but not that rare. He tells him so and regrets it almost immediately as the smile dims slightly and Cobb turns away from him to lean his arms on the porch railing.

“Back then, I didn’t think I’d live to see a lot of things.”

The downpour continues. Thunder rumbles overhead. Din comes to stand beside the marshal and presses ever so slightly up against his side. They’re both wet and starting to feel the chill, but Cobb’s face lightens back up at the proximity and he leans just a bit into the contact.

Cobb Vanth, Tattooine born and raised, with the desert in his veins and a Not-Quite-Mandalorian at his side, looks out at his little town and recommits the smell of rain to his memory.

He’ll be ready for it next time.

--

Thanks for reading! Help a writer out and please reblog if you enjoyed :)

[lunarose-moonflower]

So I actually wrote something instead of doing a pretty picture this time. It's a fairy bench trio AU that is actually co-authored in my opinion by @im-a-star-boy I came up the idea for the AU but they helped me with like all of the planning and story beats and ideas so in my opinion he's the co-author and if he wants to he can write for this au as well! We made this au together and I want to acknowledge that because he deserves credit. I'm stalling because I'm insecure about my writing but here you go it's my first time writing something in a long time and it's a little out of my comfort zone some things may be OOC because I've never written for these guys before

__________________________________________________________________________________

Ranboo was tired so very tired. he has been separated from his nymph for days, was it days? it might have been weeks possibly even months he couldn't tell anymore. he was hungry not finding any healthy flowers or fresh fruit that he could feed from which means he couldn't produce his dust as efficiently, the fairy dust that kept him alive. not to mention it was going to rain soon, he was a fairy with a rare allergy of sorts water burned like it was acid that's why he had been rejected by so many colonies in the past before being found by his kind-hearted but Stern nymph. unfortunately luck was not on his side and the rain began to fall burning his skin through his leaf made clothing. he tried his best to find shelter but he was so hungry and cold and burnt so the minute he found at least a little bit of cover from the rain he passed out of exhaustion.

meanwhile two boys are running through the forest trying to get back home, they had originally been messing around at the creek but as soon as the rain started to fall they knew they needed to get back. the shorter one with brown hair, Tubbo, running rather fast to escape the rain his taller blonde haired friend / brother maybe?? Tommy, wasn't far behind an arm over his head to protect himself from the rain. eventually when they got to a thicker part of the forest they slowed down, catching their breath as the thick trees shielded them mostly from the rain. Tubbo looked around for any cool rocks because everyone does that but found something interesting. "Hey toms! I found a little person!"he shouted to his friend as if that was a normal thing to say. "what the fuck are you on about?"said the taller blonde very used to his friend's habits at this point. "there's a little person! he's got wings and stuff"said the brunette picking something up from the ground before showing it to the taller. Tommy was very surprised when he found out his friend was telling the truth is that right there in Tubbo's hands was a tiny person only about 6 inches tall, his hair was black and white it looks like it should be split down the middle but it was messy so the colors mixed, he had a long tail that was almost as tall as him, it was long black and rather thin other than the tuft of black and white fluff at the end of it. he was wearing what looks like a little suit but it was made of leaves so it was rather torn up and ragged, on his skin one half of his face seemed darker than the other the lighter parts look like old scarring and it could be seen all throughout his body. he had dragonfly wings that had an iridescent heat to them mostly red and green all four of his eyes were closed and all four of his arms were wrapped around himself. "holy shit that looks like a little fairy!"exclaimed the blonde as he stared at the little creature and his friends hand "let's keep him! I mean he obviously needs a home" Tubbo was already tucking the little guy into his pocket as if it was a normal thing to find in the forest and bring home "we would have to hide it from everyone else"said Tommy still looking at the unconscious fairy "oh come on Wilbur won't notice Phil is too busy and tech is out on a trip! it's the perfect time to bring the little guy home!"he said quickly making his way to the house Tommy following behind both boys already talking about all the exciting adventures housing a fairy could lead to.

when Ranboo woke up he wasn't cold or burning. he was actually rather warm and lying on top of something soft, softer than the forest bed could ever be. he opened all four of his eyes to look around and he was in a very unfamiliar environment. he immediately set up and tried to flap his wings but they were waterlogged and would take a while to dry, needless to say he was very very scared. "it's awake!"shouted a large voice the fairy had never heard a voice that loud before and it caused him to cover those elf like ears of his. "stop shouting you're going to scare it"suddenly in front of Ranboo there was a big person with messy brown hair looking at him as if he were some kind of insect. "hey little guy!" not only was the fea absolutely terrified but he was also confused at being called little, the average fairy was 3 inches tall he was 6 inches tall, he had never in his life been called 'little'. "stay away from me!"the little creature immediately called out backing up as far away from the big creature as possible "whoa it just made noise" with all the brunette said and then Ranboo realized that they probably couldn't understand his language, it was a language of sounds and not words, only other fea could really understand it. "I think we scared it" said Tubbo looking at the fairy who was now shaking with something that wasn't cold "of course it's scared! it doesn't know us and we're like a thousand times its size"Tommy pointed out and he had a point. "it looks hungry we should feed it something" said the brunette gently using his pinky finger to ruffle the fairy's hair causing the little creature to jerk back "what does it eat? do we just like give it a piece of meat or something I mean it has pretty sharp teeth"upon hearing that Ranboo immediately shook his head no very quickly, Forest fairies like him could not digest meat at all. "you don't eat meat little guy?"questioned the brunette and got another shake of a head as an answer. "well what do you eat" Ranboo began looking around the room for any pictures of fruit or flowers, luckily he found a packet of flower seeds and held it up pointing at the flowers on the front, before looking to the window and pointing at the fruit trees outside. "you eat flowers and fruit?"he nodded "okay so Tommy and I are going to go raid the garden then you stay put"with that both of the humans left the room the fairy still didn't trust them but the idea of food was too good to pass up he was hungry really really hungry. didn't take the boys too long to return with some blueberries and freshly picked tulips setting them down on the desk "I can't believe we had to pick my perfect tulips for this"the blonde pouted "what we were just supposed to let him starve?" Tubbo retorted as he watched the fairy carefully as he picked up one of the blueberries, which was actually pretty big for him, and took a bite clearly happy and ate the thing quickly before going over to the flowers. the humans were expecting him to eat the petals or leaves or something but no he went for the nectar, flower nectar helps fairies produce fairy dust not to mention it makes fairies excellent pollinators. since the flowers have been severed they aren't producing any more nectar but they're still the leftover from when they were producing it, it was wonderful and sweet like any well taken care of flower's nectar should be. both of the humans were looking at the fairy with wonderment and somehow Ranboo felt like he could stay here, at least for a little while.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

To Travel Through the World and Not Be Alone (Good Omens Fic)

Last week I asked for some more fluffy prompts, and @sparkkeyper​ suggested Crowley getting flustered and turning into a snake. Well, it looks like I’ve used up all my “Short Fic” mojo for the time being, as the result was over 10k and is available on AO3.

I really, really tried to make this one light and silly, but my brain does not operate that way, and so...a somewhat emotional deconstruction of the trope I guess?

--

Aziraphale stepped out from the dubious shelter of a sharply angled rock, shaking the last of the rain from his wings. Since leaving Eden the weather had certainly become much more variable. Days so hot his skin ached, nights that left him shaking with cold, a dryness that got into his mouth and eyes, and then – quite unexpectedly – more rain! Not as much as the first time, of course, but unpleasant enough.

The demon, Crawly, had been walking by his side, as he generally did, nattering on about the way sand moved in the wind and something about camel noses, but he trailed off as the rain began to fall. Aziraphale had lifted his wing to offer a bit of protection, until he noticed the rock in the distance, just tall enough for two man-shaped beings to crouch behind. Perfect, he’d thought and quickly gave Crawly’s hand a tug, intending to lead him over. Instead, the demon had all but run from him, vanishing into the night without another word.

Odd, that.

Stretching his arms in the bright morning sunlight, Aziraphale took a deep breath. Lovely, really, the slightly moist smell of the air after a rain. He suspected it would be even more pleasant once they found a place a bit more like the Garden itself – lush and green, rather than this endless expanse of sand, stone, and stunted trees.

He could see the humans up ahead, packing up their camp. The shelter they’d found had been no better, and Aziraphale hoped the cold and the damp hadn’t done any harm to the Woman or the child she carried within her. Quite a lot was riding on that yet-unborn human. There was still a chance the whole of humanity could end, now, here, in the blink of an eye. But the Man put a hand on the Woman’s shoulder, and she smiled, shaking her head, and helped him pick up their supplies.

As they moved out, Aziraphale began to follow after, but stumbled as some sort of black shadow twisted away into the brush, moving too quickly for him to make out. His body helpfully supplied a massive dose of adrenaline, which sent Aziraphale’s heart racing.

Steady on, he warned himself. It would take some getting used to, these human instincts, but there was no reason he couldn’t control himself. He was, after all, an angel. Aziraphale forced his breath back into a steady rhythm, expelled the unneeded chemicals from his system. That was better. He squinted at the line of dried-out bushes, then tilted back his head to scan the sky, but whatever had cast the shadow seemed long gone.

Well. Probably nothing important.

Already, the humans were fading into the distance, but it wouldn’t be difficult to keep up. Day by day, the Woman grew larger about the middle, and their pace slowed. The real danger was not accidentally overtaking them, or stumbling across them at rest and revealing themselves.

Both he and Crawly had received orders to observe the humans until their child was born. Not to protect, or disrupt, or involve themselves in any way – simply to observe. As for how to deal with each other – they’d been given no instruction whatsoever.

And so, for the past week, they’d passed their days traveling together, trailing behind the humans unseen. Aziraphale had expected it to be a time of silent contemplation, but Crawly had apparently never heard of such a thing. He constantly pestered Aziraphale with questions, tried to make conversation about topics that, if not technically forbidden, were certainly better left alone. He crouched sometimes, digging around in the sand, never saying what he was looking for. It was an annoyance, but whenever he was out of sight, Aziraphale found himself worrying. What is he getting up to now? And when will he be back?

He found he didn’t like being alone. Which was absurd – he was an angel – a Guardian. Being alone for long stretches of time was part of his job description, his very being. And yet, in the same way his body was programmed to overreact to every shadow, it also needed to have other bodies around, to see them, hear them, possibly even to touch them. Unfortunately, until the Woman delivered her child and Aziraphale was allowed to reveal himself to the humans, his only option was the strange demon who talked too much and wandered off without warning.

Just as Aziraphale was certain he would lose sight of the humans – and was making up his mind to leave without the demon, and let him find his own way – Crawly materialized, stepping out from behind a sand dune and shuffling over to Aziraphale.

“It’s about time,” the angel said in a low voice, ignoring the unwelcome wave of relief. “I hope you’re not planning to leave me waiting for you like this all the time. And where, precisely, did you go?”

“Not far.” Crawly shrugged, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Anyway. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you? We agreed not to interfere until the child’s birth – these humans been through enough, Crawly, and they don’t need you—”

“Sssss’not that.” His lips twisted as if he’d eaten something sour, then pressed flat again. “Didn’t go anywhere near them. Promise.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he believed that, but up ahead the humans had already vanished into the heat-hazy distance, apart from the flare of the flaming sword and a long line of dark footprints. “If you say so. Keep up now, Crawly, there’s a good fellow.”

--

After two more weeks, their path began to run alongside a stony ridge. The base of it was cool, a little damp, and small flowers grew there, shielded from the sun. The humans had paused up ahead, and so Aziraphale stood watching them, grateful for a chance to rest in the shade.

Crawly, on the other hand, was causing some sort of trouble again.

“Look at these!” He tugged at one of the plants. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Aziraphale glanced down. Tiny flowers, just a speck of white or red on a thick stem growing out of a mass of green, low but thick. “We had much larger ones in the Garden,” Aziraphale commented. The humans were gathering rocks, it seemed, tapping them against the exposed stone of the ridge.

“Yeah, but look!” He’d been going on like this all day, digging at plants, collecting funny stones, running over to show each to Aziraphale, as proudly as if the demon had created them himself. It didn’t seem to be harmful or wicked behavior, but Aziraphale couldn’t decide what to make of it. “No water, no sunlight, barely even any soil to root in. You wouldn’t think anything could grow here. But they—oops.”

“You killed it, didn’t you?”

“No, just – look I pulled off the flower. The rest is fine.” Crawly wandered over just as the humans seemed to finish their task. The Man took the Woman’s hand – how odd, to walk like that, yet it didn’t seem to slow them down – and together they headed eastwards. Aziraphale stepped out of the shadow of the wall, and bumped directly into the demon. Crawly skittered back, clearly struggling with his own adrenaline, though Aziraphale had mastered that particular unwanted reaction ages ago.

“Terribly sorry,” the angel said, brushing his hands down his robe. Crawly’s dirt-smeared arms had left a mark, but he found he repeated the action more times than necessary. “But, please, Crawly – learn to pay attention to where you stand.” Another brush of his hands. It was soothing, in a way.

“I meant to be standing there.” The demon scowled. “I was going to show you…here.” He thrust the flower towards Aziraphale.

It was a bit unusual. Formed into a little cup, petals strangely thick to store the rare water of the desert. A sturdy little plant, a survivor, but beautiful in its own way. He plucked it from Crawly’s fingers, in order to study it from every angle. Their fingers brushed each other in passing, and Aziraphale found he was rather more aware of the contact than justified for such a minor thing. “It’s…quite nice, I suppose.”

“Good.” Crawly stepped back, fingers twisting in his robe. “Um. You can have that.”

“I see. And…what am I meant to do with it?”

Crawly shrugged. “Whatever you want. Just thought, you know. Flowers. Very angelic. Let’s go.”

He hurried along the ridge while Aziraphale looked at the flower again, fighting back a smile. Did it look better after their now, after their brief exchange of words? He found himself admiring the way the petals faded from dark to light.

“Oi! Angel!” His head jerked up. Crawly had stopped at the same spot where the humans had paused. “Come look at this!”

Tucking the flower into his sleeve, Aziraphale quickly stepped beside him, glancing over to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh, that is…” but words escaped him. Somehow, the humans had made marks in red and yellow, white and black across the stone. Not just marks, shapes.

Aziraphale could see two rough, humanoid figures standing hand-in-hand, one holding a brilliant yellow line. The sun illuminated the rock ahead of the figures, and cast a deep shadow behind. Other, simpler marks indicated parts of their journey – a hint of storm clouds, the line of the Garden Wall, a lion, crouched, ready to pounce.

“I think…” Aziraphale’s gaze traced it, east to west. “I believe this is what they call art.”

“Huh. Thought it was gonna be, y’know. Fancier.”

“Well, they’re just starting out. I’m sure we’ll see improvements soon.”

“Right.” Crawly was digging around in the dirt again, and stood quickly with a lump of charcoal. “Just need to make a few adjustments.” He rubbed the dark, crumbling stone against the ridge, making a black streak some distance behind the two figures.

“Crawly! What are you – you can’t – that isn’t allowed!”

“Oh, what, now it’s forbidden to make marks with rocks? Heaven is nothing but stupid rules these days.”

“No – yes – you’re distorting something the humans created!”

“I’m making it more accurate.” He stepped back, studying the newest figure. Thin and black, legs splayed in a funny way, arms spread by its sides. “That’s me, following behind. Hand me some red ochre, gotta do my hair, too.”

“This is, without a doubt – we’re supposed to be observers, not – not making ourselves part of the – what are you doing?”

Fingers now coated in ground-up lime, Crawly was dabbing another figure onto the stone. Brilliant white, and with a bit more care taken to the limbs, this one stood close beside the black one.

“Adding you, of course. Little me can’t be up there alone.” He glanced at the two human figures, then rubbed at his own one last time, extending the white figure’s arm to end…just where the black’s did.

Hand-in-hand.

“What do you think?” Crawly asked, rolling his neck as if he’d just finished some strenuous task.

“It’s…” Aziraphale stepped closer. “I mean, you really shouldn’t…” His mind raced, trying to think of any response that would be even remotely appropriate. This was a…a gross breach of protocol, surely, and Aziraphale had to…put his foot down, make it clear such things were not acceptable.

Instead, rather without his direction, his hand drifted over to clasp the demon’s.

Once again, it seemed the work gained more beauty the longer he looked at it. And Aziraphale found he was very aware of Crawly’s hand, just as he had been of his fingers. Crawly squeezed his hand, an uncertain, welcoming gesture, and Aziraphale felt a strange tingle, a rush of warmth roiling up his arm, filling his head. He squeezed back—

“Sorry. Gotta.” Crawly dropped his hand and bolted away, back up the path they had just walked down.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that isn’t even—!”

Vanished.

Aziraphale waited a long moment, wondering if he would return. It gave him ample time to study the wall, the little flower. His own hand.

Then, with a sigh, he followed after the humans alone.

When Crawly returned, just before sunset, he didn’t mention running off. Or the art. Or the flower that Aziraphale had carefully set aside on a rock where he had stopped to rest.

Probably best to forget it all, then.

--

More weeks passed, enough that Aziraphale lost count, and the humans came to a river.

Not perfectly clear-blue water running merrily over rocks and under sweeping trees, as they’d had in Eden, but a large brownish affair making its way between steep banks covered in reeds. There were some trees, larger than the ones in the desert, and fruits hung from them for the humans to gather. It was painstaking work, as they grew too high, or over thorny patches. Some fruits were too ripe, others not quite ready. The Woman was also in no state to be climbing trees, so the Man did most of the work, tossing fruits down for her to catch.

“I know we said not to interfere,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his palms together. Another habit that seemed ingrained in the body, but it seemed to help his worries. Perhaps he’d keep it. “But surely it wouldn’t hurt to – to lend a hand, would it?”

“Wuzzat?”

The angel turned, ready to repeat the question, until he saw something that put the humans out of his mind entirely. Crawly had tied his robe up around his knees and was walking along in the river.

“What on earth are you doing, you – you strange creature?”

“It’s hot,” the demon griped, scooping up some water to pour over his head. More of it got on his robes than anywhere else.

“Well, now you’ll be hot and covered with dripping wet clothing, does that really sound more appealing?”

“Don’t know, haven’t tried it.” Crawly reached into the water again, drenching his sleeves. He frowned as they emerged. “No, that’s…heavier. Not very comfortable. But…a little less hot.” He squeezed his sleeve, water dripping back into the river. “Could take the clothing off entirely,” he mused. “That might work.”

“Now you’re being absurd. It isn’t allowed!”

“It isn’t?”

“No! There are – Crawly there are rules.”

“Only for the humans. And look, they’re not wearing nearly as much as I am.” He tugged at his dripping garment again. “I can wrap some leaves around my bottom if that will make you feel better.”

“It’s not about making me feel better! It’s – it’s the principle of the thing. You and I should be setting a good example for the humans, not…not…” He waved helplessly as Crawly arched his back to dip his hair into the water.

“This is a good example! Problem solving! Using the available resources to make yourself more comfortable. If the humans bothered to look back and see us, they might learn a lot.” He flipped his hair forward, spraying droplets everywhere. “You wanna join me?”

“Certainly not.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, where itchy sweat was beginning to accumulate. “We have more important things to worry about right now, like—” He glanced back to where the Man lowered himself from the tree, seemingly entirely unharmed. The Woman smiled and handed him a piece of fruit, which he accepted gratefully.

“You know the humans are fine without you.”

That, surprisingly, hurt. Aziraphale found, more and more lately, he had a strong desire to join the humans. To walk beside them, to hear what they said, to laugh when they laughed. When he watched them walk away together, he felt…oddly empty.

An emptiness that vanished when he turned back to Crawly. Much as the demon grated on his nerves, Aziraphale found he enjoyed his company. When he spotted Crawly crouching in the shade of a tree, long fingers scratching at the ground, or scrambling up a ridge of stone to see what was on the top – there was always a bubble of anticipation, an eagerness to see what he’d found, to see that shining excitement in his eyes.

He felt it now, as Crawly waded deeper into the water to investigate a log floating in the current.

“I mean, m’not saying you should give up or anything, but…you can’t spend every day worrying about them. They’ll be fine.”

“Of course I spend every day worrying. I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature to want to help and protect those around me.”

“Ohhhh, is that why you’re always nagging me? Or is it because—”

Without warning, the log split into an enormous, tooth-filled jaw, lunging forward to snap at Crawly. With a yelp, the demon tumbled backwards, kicking water at the revealed crocodile, scrambling back towards the shore.

Aziraphale rushed forward, colliding with Crawly, wrapping one arm firmly over his chest to pull him back to safety; the other hand he flapped at the snapping creature. “Shoo!” he called and, just to be safe, put a note of angelic command in his voice: “WE ARE OF NO INTEREST TO YOU.”

The crocodile snapped its jaws one more time before turning away, lowering itself again to float downriver.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to settle his mind. The adrenaline had flooded him again, but this time it had helped, giving him the speed he needed to react. Perhaps these instincts could be useful, if properly regulated. Unlike Crawly, who still clutched at Aziraphale’s arm, heart racing so that the angel could feel it. He pressed Crawly back a little more firmly against his own chest. “I hope you’ve, ah, learned your lesson.” He wasn’t sure what lesson exactly they should take from this, but he needed to continue his policy of blanket disapproval of all demonic nonsense.

“That thing—” Crawly started, but his voice pinched off, too tight to speak.

“That thing could have bitten your leg off,” Aziraphale chided, brushing Crawly’s torso with his free hand, making sure everything was intact. “I’m not sure if I can heal a demon at all, and I certainly can’t regrow limbs. You must learn to be more careful, my dear fellow.”

His eyes met Crawly’s enormous golden ones, and a heat rose in Aziraphale’s face that had nothing to do with the sun and the desert.

“I, uh…” Crawly very nearly blinked. He tilted his head back a little further and his breath brushed across Aziraphale’s cheek in a startling way.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale let him go, though his arms seemed slow to obey.

Immediately, Crawly scrambled away, jumping into the thickest part of the reeds.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Crawly! Is it too much to ask that you comport yourself with a little…” But when he looked along the riverbank, there was no sign of the demon.

Aziraphale took a good long while to search – until the humans had finished their mid-morning meal and begun walking again – but all he managed to find was the usual wildlife: rodents, reptiles, a few birds.

“Typical,” Aziraphale muttered. Such strange behavior had become increasingly common as they traveled, and the angel had learned by now that if Crawly didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Best to just keep walking while the demon got over today’s mood; Crawly always managed to catch up in the end.

Sure enough, well after sunset, a dark-robed figure slunk over to the spot Aziraphale had chosen to rest in. “Angel,” he mumbled in greeting.

“And where were you this time?” He felt another wave of relief, but sternly reminded himself not to encourage the demon. “Honestly, I half thought some river creature had devoured you, and it would serve you right for – for disturbing it…”

Crawly didn’t say anything, merely dropped onto the ground and stared at the light of the humans’ fire, far ahead. Not even a glance at Aziraphale.

When the silence had drawn on too long, Aziraphale lowered himself to sit beside Crawly. “I…am glad you’re unhurt, you know.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, so they sat in silence for the rest of the night.

--

“Aha!” Crawly crowed, leaping from one rock to the next, pale skin flashing in the sunlight. “I knew this was going to be better!”

“I’m sure it is,” Aziraphale said as neutrally as possible, trying to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

“You can’t even imagine! I feel so much lighter! I can finally move!” He dropped into the river with a splash, Aziraphale turning quickly to make sure Crawly was unharmed. But, no, he stood in the shallows, tossing water all over his bare skin. “This is…Angel, you have to try this!”

“And why, precisely, would I want to do that?”

“I told you, it feels good. Washes off the sweat and – I dunno. Like the heat can’t touch you through the water. Just come down, I’ll show you.”

“Crawly, get out of there. I’m not about to see you be devoured by wildlife again.”

“It’s ffffine.” But he hopped out, dashing up the path to a fruit tree. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he’d pulled himself up onto the lowest branch.

“Crawly! No, get down, you’ll break your neck and…and…”

“Why do you worry so much?” He pulled himself higher and higher, vanishing among the leaves. “I’m a demon, I’m not going to fall unless I want to.”

“I’ve told you, I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature—”

But surely Crawly couldn’t hear him all the way up there. A head emerged from the crown of the tree, gazing out into the distance as the wind stirred his bright red hair, sending streamers in every direction. He glanced down at Aziraphale and waved and, quite at a loss, the angel waved back.

He almost wanted to join Crawly. Not with the nakedness, though his robes were getting to be something of a burden, ending each day heavy with dust and sweat. But it seemed peaceful up there, cooler. And ever since the incident with the crocodile, Aziraphale had been feeling a strange urge, to be near the demon, to touch him, to ensure that he was safe.

Perhaps it was related to the instinct that compelled him towards proximity to the humans. That made sense; lacking options, his mind was trying to reach out for the only other being available. Though that didn’t really explain the strength of the urge, or why it seemed to grow daily as they spent more time together.

Crawly’s head disappeared. Branches rustled, leaves falling along the riverbank, and suddenly he dropped onto the lowest branch, grinning like he had a secret. “Look, I know you’re hot, Angel. Just admit it.”

“Certainly not! I am perfectly content as I am,” Aziraphale lied, trying to subtly flap the collar of his robes to let in a little air. “Perhaps it is your…Fallen nature, but I am completely immune to the effects of the environment.”

“Are you? Here, catch.” Something flew towards Aziraphale’s head, and his hands barely snapped up in time to grab the oddly shaped, greenish fruit. “I think that’s a pear,” Crawly continued. “Also, pretty sure it’s ripe.”

Golden eyes sparkling with excitement, he grabbed the branch with two hands and leaned back a little with an eager smile.

Aziraphale studied the fruit, turning it over in his hands. Well. No point in being rude, was there? He raised it to his lips and took a bite.

The inside was soft, but not too soft, with an oddly gritty texture. More importantly, it flooded his tongue with a mildly flavored liquid, sweet and refreshing. He’d gotten so used to his mouth being dry, Aziraphale had stopped thinking about the discomfort, but this – this was exactly what he needed. He eagerly took a few more bites.

“Oh,” he finally said, glancing up at Crawly, who still watched from his perch. “This is absolutely marvelous.” He wiped the juice from his chin and smiled.

Crawly grinned back, swinging his legs with a bit too much excitement, but it was an infectious excitement, bubbling up in Aziraphale’s chest with every bite.

Until, suddenly, Crawly’s expression fell, as did he, dropping from the tree to scramble about on all fours, racing back the way they’d come. “Don’t wait for me,” he called when he managed to get his feet under him, and by the time Aziraphale had even turned around, he had vanished again.

Well. At least it was quieter now. Aziraphale took another bite of his pear and continued his walk.

He was, by this point, getting used to Crawly’s unexplained disappearances. He never arrived later than the following dawn, and sure enough he caught up just as the humans were settling down to sleep. Once again, he didn’t say much or even look at Aziraphale, merely crouched on the ground, watching the distant firelight.

The next morning, however, was a different story.

“Ow! Stop that, it hurts.”

“Well, I do apologize, but I need to know what’s wrong!” Aziraphale rubbed his finger again across Crawly’s now bright-red skin, peppered here and there with some truly nasty looking blisters. It was extremely hot to the touch.

“Sssstop!” Crawly tried to wriggle away, but he was firmly trapped: Aziraphale sat on his back, legs pinning the demon’s hips in place, one hand lightly on his shoulder, but ready to press it flat into the dirt if required.

“If you don’t stop moving around, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“You aren’t – this is torture, that’s what it is. Bloody sadistic angel!”

“It would appear you have burns covering every inch of your skin. How on earth does that even happen? What were you getting up to yesterday?”

“Nothing! Just – you saw. Walking around. Wanted some space’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Ngk. Might have. Stretched out on a rock to bask for a bit at noon. Felt good.”

Aziraphale sat, considering the boiled red of Crawly’s back and his own slightly pink hands, the itch at the back of his neck. He’d been working on a hypothesis, and this would seem to be his first clear bit of proof.

“Crawly, I believe you’ve been burnt by the sun.”

“Didn’t go to the sun,” Crawly grumbled.

“This is no laughing matter. I understand burns can cause permanent damage to humans.” He brushed his fingers down Crawly’s spine, carefully avoiding the blisters, but even that was enough to send the demon squirming. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes it hurts! What have I been saying? Are you even listening?”

“I am,” Aziraphale assured him, looking for any spot that was still mostly pale. “How about this?” He pressed fingers into the side of Crawly’s ribs, just under the armpit.

“Ssssssss…not as bad, but yes.” At least he’d stopped struggling, but still Crawly’s fingers curled into the dirt, scraping deeply in the brown clay.

“If I’m right, the burn is the worst in areas that received the most exposure to the sun, and only light or incidental in areas that were shaded or protected.” There weren’t many of those. Crawly was a very thorough basker.

“Wait, really?” He started to twist around to look at Aziraphale, then cringed and looked forward again. “You think human skin can be burned just from being out in the heat?”

“Perhaps. I’m still gathering evidence.”

“Well, the humans aren’t getting burned!”

Aziraphale bit back another remark about Crawly’s Fallen nature. That wouldn’t be helpful here. “I’m not quite sure why that is,” he admitted. “But my own burns are very minor, perhaps theirs are the same. Certainly, they keep to the shade as much as possible, particularly in the hottest part of the day. Meanwhile, you are the first one to spend half the day lying naked in direct sunlight.”

“Not half the day.” Crawly whimpered a little as Aziraphale pressed his shoulders down one more time. “Seems a major design flaw, you ask me,” he grumbled.

“Hush, now.” Aziraphale lifted his hands and rubbed them together, summoning just a thin line of celestial power. “This may sting a little.”

“What? What are you doing now? Everything stings!” Another squirm as Crawly tried to pull free, but there was very little chance of that.

“I’m going to heal you, if you can hold still, you ridiculous thing.”

“Heal me?” Crawly went still and stiff. “Why?”

“Why? Because you’re in pain. What other reason do I need?” He reached a finger towards the worst burn, then hesitated. Could he dilute his power even further? “What did you think I was doing back here?”

“Dunno. Thought you were just…curious. Or wanted to learn for the humans.”

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale traced his finger across Crawly’s shoulders. It left behind a trail of bright white, which rippled out several finger-widths in every direction, a wave of healing that left behind unburnt skin. He sighed in relief. “Well…there was that, too, but I thought I’d made it clear by now, I have no interest in seeing you come to harm. Even if it is harm by your own doing,” he added, so that Crawly could be sure he wasn’t entirely off the hook for his choices.

“So…you’ll…heal all of it? Entirely? No…leaving scars so I learn my lesson?”

“Crawly! How could you even think such a thing?” He pushed his fingers to the healed skin. It was a bit darker, browner than before, with a smattering of darker spots. “Does this hurt? Or here?”

“No…it’s…it’s good.” He lay his head on the ground, seeming subdued.

“Wonderful. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Down by the river’s edge, the humans finished picking up their woven mats and bundles of food. “They’re getting away,” Crawly muttered as they wandered down the river.

“We’ll catch up,” Aziraphale assured him, carefully applying just a touch of healing along his spine.

“You’re not worried? Thought it was your job.”

He glanced up, taking another look at the Woman, her blossoming belly, the Man helping her step over a patch of rough earth. He did feel an emptiness, a need to follow them, but it felt less important, less urgent, than the task in front of him. He smoothed away a particularly horrid patch of burn, and Crawly murmured with relief, a relief Aziraphale felt in his own chest.

What was this? The human need for proximity, an instinct he still couldn’t control? His own Guardian nature, perhaps, leading him to want to protect the being nearest to him?

Both of these, yes. And something more. Something that made him wish to see Crawly running across the riverbank, carefree and smiling again.

“Why did you disappear so suddenly anyway?” Aziraphale asked, carefully working on Crawly’s arm.

“Nrrrg. Just…wanted to be alone. Don’t you want to be alone sometimes?”

“Well…yes, but…” But I’d thought we were having a good time.

“Aaaaah, s’not fair!”

Aziraphale moved to kneel beside the demon, and Crawly rolled over, sitting up so he could watch Aziraphale heal his legs. “I used to handle actual stars, you know. In my bare hands! Now look, I can’t even stand in the light of one without…this.” He gestured to his still-burned front.

“You were fine for many days, Crawly. You just have to be careful.” The bottoms of his feet were fine, at least. Perhaps the thicker skin had helped protect them. “And, I think, keep your robes on. They seem to block the burning aspect of sunlight.”

“But I don’t want to be careful.” Aziraphale released his foot and Crawly crossed his legs tightly so the angel could start on his chest. “I want to explore. Experience things, everything, now while I can.”

“What do you mean, while you can? The world is going to be here for a good long while, regardless of what happens to the humans.”

“Mmmmph.” His shoulders hunched forward from something unrelated to the pain, and Crawly looked away. “Not supposed to tell you.”

“Ah.” His thumb ran across Crawly’s throat. “Then don’t.”

“I’m not…actually supposed to do anything when the child is born. Just, watch the humans, learn what I can, and then back to Hell until they decide what to do with me.” He shrugged, still not looking at the angel.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers moved slowly across Crawly’s chest.

“Guess I surprised them all, with everything in the Garden. Don’t know what to do now, right? Your side has a Plan. My side needs information, to figure out what to do. So they gave me until the humans have their child, then I go back, tell them everything. Maybe...maybe they’ll send me back to Earth. Maybe they’ll send someone else. Maybe it’ll all get locked up in bureaucracy and they won’t make a decision until everything comes burning down.”

“I see.” Somehow, Aziraphale had assumed they had the same orders.

While the humans were banished from Eden, no Word had come down whether they were to be considered entirely lost. The Archangels had determined that, regardless of the status of the Man and the Woman, it was possible their child had not been completely corrupted. So Aziraphale was to assist in raising the young human, and any others that came along, asserting as much Heavenly influence as possible.

He’d thought Hell would want the same, that he and Crawly would be working…not together, but in parallel. A Guardian and a Troublemaker, guiding the little souls.

“Is that why...you’re always running around...investigating everything? Gathering information for your side?” He kept his fingers as steady as possible, tracing across Crawly’s stomach.

“Nah. Hell barely cares about the humans, you think they want to know about...flowers, and rocks, and little ducks? The way ants follow each other in lines that go on forever? No one gives a shit. I just - I want to see it all. So...I have something to remember when I’m down there again.”

“I see.” Aziraphale wished he had something more to say.

“Except I can’t do everything! Stupid…things…getting in the way. Stopping me from…what I want to do.”

“Well, your time is limited, it’s true.” Careful strokes under the eyes, sending a ripple of healing across his cheeks. That long nose was absolutely covered in tiny darker dots. “But…I don’t think this should stop you from experiencing everything you can.”

“Everything?”

Aziraphale ran his thumb across Crawly’s chin. It wasn’t necessary – all the burns were gone – but he found he couldn’t stop himself. Each touch made him feel…jittery. Electrified.

It was like the human bodies were made for contact, fingertips picking up invisible details, the bristle of little hairs, the flex of muscles at the edge of the mouth. Look, how perfectly his hand slotted on the side of Crawly’s face, cupping his jaw and cheek, thumb moving across the sharp cheekbone.

“Hnnnnngh.” Crawly shoved him back – not hard, but enough to give the demon room to scramble to his feet. “I’ll catch up.”

And once again, he vanished.

Sighing, Aziraphale called in the general direction he’d run off to, “Just make sure you don’t lie about in the sun again, I can’t be doing this every day.”

--

Seasons changed – hotter, cooler, wetter, drier. Aziraphale hadn’t yet learned how to mark the passage of time, but Crawly explained it had been almost half a year, then explained what a year was, then tried to explain how he could tell from the stars, then gave up.

The demon’s newly-browned skin seemed more resistant to the sun, but he still sometimes burned himself if he wasn’t careful. He took to wearing his robes again, but with sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Every few days he slunk back to Aziraphale for a fresh round of healing, staring determinedly at the ground between them while the angel cradled his hands and gently rubbed the burn off his forearms, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Afterwards, he usually scurried off to sit against a nearby tree.

The humans moved more slowly now, not just because the Woman’s child was nearly ready to arrive. Sometimes they would stay in one place for days at a time, experimenting with creating shelters for themselves out of leaves or reeds or branches. When they did move, it was only over short distances, trying a little closer to the trees, then a little farther from the river’s edge.

Aziraphale found he had a great deal more time now, and not much of an idea what to do with it.

He tried keeping closer to Crawly. To keep an eye on the demon, yes, but also because…it felt right. It made the hollowness he felt vanish for a little while, particularly whenever he saw that look in his golden eyes, the burning passion that was woven into every disrespectful question, every ill-advised endeavor. It was unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen before. More and more, he found he could hardly look away.

He felt he needed to do more. When Aziraphale found a new and interesting type of berry, he wanted to share with Crawly, find out what he thought. When he greeted the demon on returning to their resting spot, he wanted to straighten his robes, his hair, rub a bit of dirt off his cheek. When they sat, he wanted to move closer, until their fingers brushed, until the warmth of another body tickled down his side.

And yet, any time he indulged one of these whims, the need for more only grew stronger.

Disgraceful, really. Maddening. If this was some sort of human instinct, perhaps he should return to Heaven and have the body adjusted. He could ignore the body’s need for sleep, for food, for almost anything else - there was no reason this one instinct should be so much more powerful than the rest, unless something was wrong.

Besides, his actions tended to send Crawly scampering off again, vanishing for most of the day.

It was very hard not to follow.

--

After the half-moon set, Aziraphale had very little to do apart from watching the banked fire in the distance and waiting for the sun to rise. Crawly wasn’t talking, for once, lying on his back nearby, either studying the stars or drifting off to sleep.

Aziraphale thought he saw some movement in the human camp, shadows at the edge of their shelter. They sometimes woke before dawn, but rarely did much apart from hold each other and talk in soft voices. Seeing it always made Aziraphale’s arms itch in a strange way. But there seemed to be too much movement this time.

“Crawly. Crawly!”

“Whaaaaa?” He shifted in his awkward, ungraceful sprawl but didn’t turn his eyes away from the stars.

“Can you see anything?”

“Mmmmh?”

“The humans!” It was Aziraphale’s angelic instincts this time, his Guardian mind telling him something was wrong, that he was needed. “Something is going on over there, but I can’t quite make it out.”

Slowly, too slowly, Crawly rolled onto his side and glanced at the shadowy figures. “S’fine. Just moving those reed mats around.” He slumped back, wriggling around again. “You think those things are comfortable?”

“They’ve been using them every night, so I imagine they are.” Aziraphale kept his eyes on the distant figures, even though Crawly seemed to have lost interest already.

“Cuz this ground. S’really starting to make my back hurt.” He arched his spine, stretching. “Another design flaw, you ask me. S’like this body isn’t even made to be bipedal. Hurts if you walk too much, hurts to sit, hurts to lay on the ground.”

“My back doesn’t hurt,” Aziraphale lied piously. “Perhaps you’re just using it wrong. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to just…fling your limbs all over like that. Not to mention the way you walk.”

“What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, a little too quickly, pressing his lips together. Lately, Crawly had been trying to swagger, but he hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. It was more a meandering progression of flailing limbs, an embarrassment to watch, and Aziraphale always had an almost overwhelming urge to pull Crawly against him and tell him to stand still.

“S’right. Nothing wrong with that.” Crawly turned back to the stars again, deep in thought.

A flare of light drew Aziraphale’s attention, but it was just the Man building up the fire a bit, crouching outside the shelter. Unusual, he supposed, but everyone got restless sometimes. Seeing the flames reflected off the Man’s dark skin, Aziraphale felt himself relax. He wasn’t needed here, a thought that was both soothing and slightly disappointing.

A few more pokes at the fire, and the Man picked up another woven mat and carried it back inside.

Aziraphale could just make out the shadowy shape of the Man offering the mat to the Woman, shifting her onto it to lay more comfortably. Once again, Aziraphale felt that itch in his arms, that ache in his chest for a warmth that had nothing to do with fire. He was often alone, in the Garden, in Heaven – but only now, wandering the world, did it have a physical effect on him. Aziraphale wondered how much longer he could bear it.

He glanced over at Crawly, and for some reason remembered a pear offered on a hot day. It wasn’t wrong to give his body the refreshment it needed. Even if the offer was made by a demon. Surely, surely if his body had a comparable need for contact, there was no harm…

Aziraphale made a decision and rose to his feet.

“Here, this should make you more comfortable.” Crawly twisted around, and Aziraphale smiled a little at the shocked expression that crossed his face. The angel shook out the mat he’d miracled up, making it snap in the wind. It was modeled after the ones the humans used, but better; Aziraphale had a little insight into materials they hadn’t yet found in the world, ones that would be a bit softer, provide a little more support.

“Angel, what are you—?”

“You’ve complained enough for one night, haven’t you? I know how to take a hint.” One more shake and the mat stretched across the ground. “Go on. See if this makes your back feel any better.” He crouched on the ground beside it and smiled encouragingly.

“Look…s’not that bad. I was just. Making conversation.” Crawly rolled onto his side, but still eyed the mat as if it might turn into a crocodile.

“Fine. Let’s make conversation. I’ve designed a new sleeping mat and would like your opinion.” He pressed his hand against it, showing how the mat compressed slightly. “Do you think the one is enough? Sometimes the humans pile a few together, but that might not provide much advantage. Come, now, I want to know your thoughts.”

Crawly’s eyes finally flicked up to look into Aziraphale’s face, then shot back down to stare at the mat again. “It’s, ah…” Crawly ran one finger along the soft surface. “It’s big enough for two.”

“Is it?”

Aziraphale doubted his tone sounded as casual as he meant it. Already the heat was rising in his face. It was, of course, a foolish idea. And painfully obvious. But these human bodies were not designed to go for half a year with only minimal physical contact. He craved it, like he craved food, rest, a comfortable seat, and he just…very much needed to feel…closeness.

He’d thought he could resist it. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

“You don’t sleep.”

“You do.” He’d seen how the humans slept, the Man pressed against the Woman’s back, arm across her protectively. He thought about it at night, and sometimes during the day. There was no reason Aziraphale should want that, no reason he should have any desire to protect a demon, and yet…he did.

“I nap. During the day. When it’s hot.”

“There must be a reason they sleep at night.” Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing his hands on the mat. It was more than just a physical need. He wanted to see Crawly smile. Wanted to feel him slowly relax inside the circle of his arms, trusting and content. He wanted to whisper secrets in the darkness, like the humans did. They had no need to whisper, there was no one to overhear, and yet they did, and Aziraphale wanted to know why. “Let’s find out. You’re the curious one.” Hands a little closer, until they almost touched Crawly’s. “You told me you want to experience everything.”

“Tempting me?” Crawly didn’t smile. He looked tense, almost panicked. Aziraphale lifted a hand to reach towards him, and the demon flinched. “I…I can’t.”

Aziraphale’s stomach plummeted, a wave of shock, of disappointment, of shame. “Crawly…”

No. He wouldn’t argue. What more was there to say? This was his foolishness, Crawly had rejected it. There was no need to drag things out. “Of course.” A wave of his fingers, and the offending mat was gone. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

Crawly still looked away, past the human encampment, away across the endless expanses of desert.

“I…didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said. No wonder Crawly always fled from him. He needed to learn…boundaries. Needed to learn control. His fingers had already reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Crawly’s ear, but Aziraphale forced them to stop, hovering in the empty night. “It was never my intention to—”

Crawly grabbed his hand and, fast as anything, pressed his lips to the knuckles. Then, just as suddenly, he surged to his feet and started walking away.

“Wait!” He hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel pulled him back, so sharply Crawly nearly fell. “Don’t just – we need to talk about this, Crawly! What I’m feeling – I don’t understand it, but – if you feel it too—”

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re…let me go!”

“Crawly, please!” Aziraphale still knelt in the dirt, clinging to the demon’s hand in confused desperation. “Yes, these – these human emotions are confusing and intense, but we can’t just ignore them. It was foolish of me to try and act on them, but—”

“Don’t talk to me about human emotions, Angel, you have no idea—”

“Then tell me!” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, wishing Crawly would look at him. “Regardless of – of everything else, Crawly, I want to help. I care about you!”

The words seemed to echo through the empty plain, across the river, up to the stars above.

It really was that simple wasn’t it? Human emotions and Guardian instincts and everything else aside, Aziraphale had simply come to…care about his enemy.

“You—!” Golden eyes turned back, wide with shock. “You said – But I’m—”

Crawly jerked his hand free, stumbled back two steps, and fell.

Except that what landed on the ground was not a red-haired, pale-skinned demon, but an enormous black serpent with a red belly.

“…Crawly?”

The serpent stared at him a moment, then shot out across the desert.

“No, get back here!” Aziraphale ran after him, fast as he could go, but the black shadow moved too quickly. “Crawly, wait!” Already he was vanishing into the night. “Crawly, please! Let me help you!”

But the serpent had vanished, as Crawly always did.

Aziraphale found his legs were shaking, trembling, until he could hardly stand. Even tugging his sleeves and smoothing his robes was not enough to set things right. He stumbled across the brown sand to sit on a rock, trying to make sense of it all.

Two puzzles presented themselves: What had he just seen? And what had he just said?

I care about you. And not in a…Guardian Angel way, aloofly wishing to ensure his charge’s safety. This was something different, something not at all of Heaven. He thought of the way the humans took care of each other, as equals. Not just providing safety, but happiness, and taking it from the other in turn. There was a gentleness in their actions, hiding a deep burning passion that would quite possibly consume an angel. He certainly didn’t feel that for Crawly, but…could he? Was this how it started?

What he felt just now was worry. He knew Crawly had come to Earth as a serpent, of course, had seen that with his own eyes. He didn’t think the transformation had harmed Crawly, but…it wasn’t supposed to happen. His shift to a human form was supposed to be permanent.

And the way Crawly had transformed…the suddenness…his distress beforehand…it hadn’t seemed entirely voluntary.

As he sat there thinking, one long streamer of shadow detached itself from the night and slid closer, coiling itself by his feet.

“Crawly?” Familiar golden eyes reflected the light of the stars as the serpent’s head rose. “Can you still understand me?”

Slowly, the serpent – Crawly – nodded, then tilted his head to the side. Yes, but not well, Aziraphale guessed. That made sense; this form didn’t have ears, and demonic senses could overcome only so much.

“Are you hurt?” Crawly shook his head. “Can you…change back?” Another shake, and he looked up at the stars, slowly progressing across the sky. Not yet.

“Why…” Too many questions, buzzing around Aziraphale’s mind. Crawly was the one who knew how to handle questions. Where to even begin? “Why did you run away?”

“Sssssshame.” It was hard to make out the word in the hiss.

“Shame? But why would you feel…” Aziraphale slid off his rock, kneeling next to Crawly. “There’s…you don’t have to be ashamed.” The serpent pulled back, coiling into himself, tucking his head somewhere along his body until everything appeared to be a black knot of night.

“No, listen. I’m the one who should be ashamed.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards the cool black scales, but stopped just shy of them. “I…I have behaved reprehensibly. Saying…all manner of things. Touching you when you didn’t want to be touched. And my actions tonight…no. It was my choice to – to indulge, to explore these new emotions, but I never should have attempted anything without seeing if you felt the same. Crawly, I never wanted to upset you…”

As he spoke, the narrow head emerged from the coils and shook, indicating a negative.

“No? Am I…wrong about something?”

A nod, but Crawly wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Something worse, perhaps? “Can you…tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Ssssss.” This time he could decipher nothing.

“That…let’s try another way.” Once again, Aziraphale stretched out a hand. Crawly pulled back his head, looking at it uncertainly until Aziraphale lowered it back to the ground. “Sorry. You don’t want to be touched, do you?”

A nod, followed by a complicated ripple down fifteen feet of serpent that might have been a shrug.

“Alright. Let’s see…did this happen all those times you ran off?” A nod. “And…do you have any control over it? Changing to this form, I mean.” A shake. “What about changing back?” A head tilt and another rippling shrug. What did that mean? Some control? He wasn’t certain if he had control?

Well, that wasn’t important right now.

“Do you know what…causes this?” Nod, again not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Can you tell me?”

“Sssssssss.” A defeated head shake.

“Well…I know it was usually when we were talking, or when I…reached out or…” He swallowed. “It’s my fault?” Of course it was. It was so blindingly obvious. Foolish Principality, invading Crawly’s space again and again, driving him away, forcing him to change form.

But Crawly shook his head frantically. “Sssssss.” This one sounded frustrated. “Ffffffff. Fffffeeeel.”

“Feel?”

“Ffffeeeel. Hhhhhhaby.”

“Feel happy? Feel…Crawly, are you telling me you – you change into this form every time you feel happy?” A nod, this one eager. “But you’re always happy! Or most of the time. Not tonight, though, you were very sullen and…”

But Crawly shook his head again. “Hhhhhhhaby.”

“You were happy?” Nod. “That…I came over with that mat and…?” Nod. “And that I said I…care about you?” Nod, and his snout moved a little closer to Aziraphale’s face.

“So, you change when you’re happy. Very happy, I assume.” Nod. “And…I’m the one who…?” Another nod, this one looking more embarrassed.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, feeling strangely pleased that he could have this…incomprehensible effect on another being. Oh, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but it made that warmth surge inside, to think that of all the things that made Crawly happy...

“Ah. But. Um. Why change? You said it wasn’t because you wanted to.” Head shake. “Then why?”

“Sssssss.” Crawly drooped. Whatever it was, he couldn’t explain it in this form.

“Never mind then.” Aziraphale stood up again, dusting off his robes. “Ah. How long to change back? You’re usually gone for hours.” A nod. “Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, back towards the human encampment. Surely…they would be fine on their own…for one night. “Should I stay with you?”

“Ssssssssssss.” The serpent pulled back into his coils again, but, after a long pause, emerged to nod slightly.

Aziraphale smiled, settling back onto the rock. “It’s my pleasure, dear fellow. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Ssssss.” Crawly reached forward and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. “Ssssss?”

“Oh.” Serpents were, after all, much simpler creatures than humans. A human body needed many things to be happy, physically, mentally, and emotionally, as Aziraphale was rapidly learning. But a snake only desired heat. “Yes. Of course.”

Crawly darted forward, twisting himself up Aziraphale, wrapping around his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, tail twisting down around one leg, head coming to rest by his cheek. Aziraphale managed to get one arm free, the other pinned against his ribs. A squeeze went through Crawly’s body, gentle and brief, as he settled into place. “Ffffffffffine?”

“Yes, this…this is perfectly fine.” He scratched one finger carefully on the back of Crawly’s head. The serpent leaned into it, then shook free to tuck his head under Aziraphale’s chin. Another brief ripple of a squeeze, before bit by bit Crawly drifted off to sleep.

“Have pleasant dreams,” Aziraphale said, fingers stroking the black scales wrapped around his belly.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined. And yet, Aziraphale did spend the night with Crawly pressed tightly against him. He did provide his companion with comfort and safety.

Not at all how he’d thought it would happen, but Aziraphale was still radiantly happy.

--

“Itsssssstupid,” Crawly muttered, still lisping a little after his change back.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Just tell me.”

Crawly had awoken just as the stars had begun to fade, quickly twisting free of Aziraphale to transform back into his usual shape. He’d explained, somewhat embarrassed, that sleeping usually helped him change back quicker, and that sometimes he even woke up back in his humanoid form. This had presented Azirapahle with a very interesting mental image that he didn’t have time to indulge just now.

Crawly walked beside him, golden eyes darting in the pre-dawn light, reading Aziraphale in an instant before turning to stare at the ground again. “It isssss.” Crawly clenched his jaw and continued more carefully. “Sspent too long in the sserpent body. All that time in Hell. But. Ssnakes don’t…have emotions. Not like human bodies. Sso…I get…overwhelmed. And I can’t hold my shhhape anymore.”

“I see.” Aziraphale carefully studied Crawly out of the corner of his eye, almost afraid to look at him straight on. “And all those times you ran away?”

“I can ssort of…feel it coming. I have a little time to get away, but there’ss nothing I can do to sstop it.” He swallowed, seeming angry with his own mouth. “Stop it.”

“But why would you need to get away?”

“Ngh. I mean. You’re the enemy, I’m not supposed to…” Aziraphale couldn’t hide his pained expression fast enough, as Crawly’s eyes flicked over again. “And…it’s embarrassing. Don’t want to be that snake anymore. This is me now. This body.” He took a breath. “I…didn’t want you to think less of me. Because I can’t control myself.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale stopped walking entirely, but managed to fight down the urge to grab Crawly’s shoulders. “My dear fellow, we’re both learning to control ourselves here. You might be struggling with it physically, but I assure you…” He thought back over the choices he’d made since leaving the Wall. Things he’d said, ways he’d reached out and pulled back with almost no warning. Blaming it on urges and instincts, but he could have resisted if he’d wanted to, could have spoken about his feelings, could have done many things that were better, wiser, kinder. “I thought there was…something between us. Some understanding. But I was completely unaware of your struggles the whole time. I have been abominably selfish.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Crawly watched his toe trace lines in the dirt. “I think this…whatever it is, that makes you act the way you do and makes me so…mind-numbingly giddy I can’t keep my shape…I mean. It’s meant for the humans. We’re the first angel and demon to feel it. Of course it isn’t easy.”

“But…you do feel it, too?”

“Think so, yeah.”

Aziraphale tried to fight back the smile, but there was no stopping it. He turned away, preserving at least a little dignity. “So…what do we do about it?”

“Dunno.” Then, softer, “I want to touch you. Your hands, your face. I’d only...you know…but I want to.”

“I as well. It’s…I’m resisting but…it seems to grow harder every day.” He smoothed his hands down his robe. “Do you suppose it will always be this way? Between us? With every being we spend enough time around?”

“I hope not. It wouldn’t feel as…important if it were common. And it’s…distracting. I miss just talking.”

“As do I.” Aziraphale turned back in time to see Crawly’s smile. “I suppose…if it’s a question of the human-shaped corporation, you could always have it adjusted. Remove the troublesome emotions.”

“No!” The vehemence of Crawly’s voice startled him. “Aziraphale, that’s the last thing I want. I told you before, I want to – to experience everything this world has, including stupid human emotions. I don’t need them taken away I need…I need to build up a tolerance.” He nodded, staring ahead. “That’s it. A little at a time until…until…”

“Until you can feel whatever you want. Without…repercussions.”

“Nh. Don’t know how I’ll pull it off but..yeah. It, ah…” Another quick glance. “What about you? Probably help with your angelic duties if you didn’t have to worry about…all this.”

“It probably would.” They started walking again, slowly, side by side. “But I think…I think I would also like to experience all this world has to offer. And I can learn to control myself.”

They continued in silence for a little while, each lost in his thoughts.

“Do you think it will take much longer?” Aziraphale asked, twisting his fingers.

“You definitely need to learn patience, Angel.” Crawly grinned. “Yeah. Um. Remember when I tried to explain what a year was? Probably lots of those.”

“Ah. Is there…anything I can do to help?”

“Ngk. Well. You—”

A high-pitched scream echoed from the camp ahead, long and drawn out.

“The humans!”

They both took off at a run.

--

In the end, despite half a year of careful observation, Aziraphale and Crawly did very little. By the time they arrived it was nearly over; by the time they’d finished awkwardly re-introducing themselves – and convincing the Man not to skewer them on a flaming sword in a blind panic – there wasn’t much to be done except provide encouragement.

The Child was born, a healthy young boy who shouted quite indignantly at the inconvenience of it all.

The human race had truly begun.

Much later, as the Man and Woman rested, Aziraphale held the tiny baby in his arms. The boy had settled down somewhat, now that he was wrapped tightly and warm, and looked in danger of falling asleep in the angel’s arms.

“How does it feel?” Crawly asked, sitting at the edge of the camp.

“Oh, I can’t – it’s incredible, Crawly. I know he’s just a little thing but – I can feel it, his presence, his potential. Everything he can be, good and bad, and it’s just—” The baby opened his mouth in a wide yawn. “…It’s adorable.”

“You’re pathetic,” Crawly said, but with a smile, rising to stand closer, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the Child. “So? Everything there? I know you spent about an eternity counting fingers and toes. Didn’t think it took that long to get to twenty.”

“They’re just the most precious little things! Look – look at his ears.”

“I’m looking.” One hand stretched out uncertainly, tracing along the Child’s cheek. The baby turned his head immediately, searching, sucking on the fingers he found. “Look at that. Not even a day old, searching for food, trying to survive. They just…they just keep going, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Holding the Child filled an emptiness in Aziraphale he hadn’t known was there, not the strange magnetism that drew him to Crawly, but that deep desire for connection, the need to walk with the humans, to be known. Accepted. Though it wasn’t all that different, he reflected. Two sides of the same…two-sided object. A need to not be alone. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Angel…” Crawly’s hand drifted back to the Child’s head, resting on the nest of dark downy curls. “Aziraphale. I really don’t think I can.”

He turned around, and was surprised to see tears in Crawly’s eyes.

“Sssstupid, huh? Child’s got nothing to do with me. But…” He turned abruptly and walked away from the camp.

“Crawly, wait!”

“Nope. This was it, Angel. Just on Earth until the kid was born.” He turned back and shrugged, arms spread wide.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“I can feel them calling already. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Longer I wait, more likely they’ll send someone to get me, and that’ll just be...messy. And what am I supposed to do now, anyway? Sit here and watch you...carry him around...wishing I could...” He bit his lip. “What would be the point?”

“But…but I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought, too. But what can we do?” Crawly looked down at the ground, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Look. Take care of them, alright? They don’t need your help. They’re smart. But…be kind. S’what you’re best at.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked down at the future of humanity in his arms. “Is that enough?”

“It’s everything.” Crawly stiffened, clenched his fists. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale took a step forward, and immediately the Child started fussing, sensing his anxiety.

“Well. Guess it’s not just happinessssss.” He swallowed hard, clearly fighting something. “Look. Angel.” Crawly walked back to hover beside Aziraphale again. “I – I really liked working with you. I hope…If I get another chanccccce…” He shook his head, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek.

It spread across his face, a warmth, a blush, a smile, blooming like a flower.

Aziraphale turned his head, catching Crawly’s lips with his own. He’d seen the humans do this from afar, and he’d wondered why, but now…

Now he knew.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Crawly was gone, and a large black snake slithered away, fast as a shadow.

The Child started to cry. Aziraphale rocked him, bounced him a little. “No, dear, don’t worry. We’ll see him again.” The taste of Crawly was still on his lips, new and intriguing. “Nothing ends today. This is the beginning of our story.”

--

Thank you for reading! If that ending wasn’t satisfying enough, I recommend the fic Snuddles (Snake Cuddles) as a very distant epilogue.

[filamero]

A Mother’s Rage

 [SEQUEL TO A MOTHER’S LOVE]

Word Count: 2885

Summary: 

- It is often said that a mother’s rage is incomparable with anything else in the world. Fierce, scalding, passionate as long as its coals are fanned.A mother’s rage is a force to be reckoned with.

( In which Niki thinks about her son, from both the past and the present. )

[ ao3 link!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952805 ]

(fic below the cut!)

It is often said that a mother’s rage is a type of anger that burns bright and hot.  It decimates anything that decides to get in its way, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.  Mightier than the worst of storms, drawing energy from deep within the heart and soul, strong enough to make even the most powerful bow down to its will—It is said that nothing in the world could ever compare.  Fierce, scalding, passionate as long as its coals are fanned.

A mother’s rage is a force to be reckoned with.

Niki remembers the night that Puffy brought Dream home with her.  

She was surprised that their windows were holding their own, the rain pounding down so hard on the glass that it sounded like the knocks of a madman looking for shelter.  The waves on the nearby shore came crashing angrily, filling the air with loud noises to accent the booms of thunder that seemed to shake the ground.  Her feet had led her outside, standing at her door and looking out for Puffy, just in case the former captain would need help carrying supplies home.  She was glad that she had listened to her instincts after seeing her strikingly red overcoat—in comparison to the blues, browns, and beiges that characterized their home—amidst the raging droplets of water.  Tucked into the shorter woman’s arms was a small child, clinging onto her as if his life depended on it.

She didn’t even bother putting on her shoes before lifting up the skirt of her dress and scurrying to aid her.

“Puffy!” Niki cried out once she was close enough, using her arms to shield herself from the rain.  Her efforts were in vain though, her own hair and clothes beginning to match the state of her lover and the boy in her arms.  “You’re both soaked…Come hurry back home,” she frowned, the chill of the air already nipping at her skin through the material of her sleeves.

“It’s a little hard to run like this, Niki,” Puffy joked lightly, bouncing the child and the bag of traded supplies to prove her point.

Pursing her lips, Niki held her arms open and sighed, “I’ll take one, we just need to hurry before it picks up even more.”

Puffy nodded, loosening her grip on the boy and looking at him.  He looked almost reluctant to let her go, his own hold on her tightening when he felt himself slipping.  “Hey, hey, now,” she cooed softly, giving him one of the softest smiles that Niki’s ever seen on her face.  “This is Niki, she’s a...really good friend of mine.”  (Niki would’ve snorted in laughter at the description, but she had higher priorities that distracted her from the comical part of things.)  “I trust her lots, so she isn’t going to hurt you, Duckling, okay?”  The boy hesitated for a moment more before slowly turning to Niki and extending his arms to her instead.

Niki put on a soft smile of her own, taking him from her arms and not wasting a moment to go running towards the safety of their cottage.  She used her arms and head to shield him from the rain; he already felt light and thin in her embrace, something told her that a storm like this one could easily make him fall ill without trying.  Relief coursed through her veins once the sand and gravel underneath her feet became wood, opening the door with practiced ease and stepping inside.  She couldn’t have been in the rain for more than a few minutes, yet the material of her dress clung to her skin almost as much as the boy in her arms held onto her neck.  Water dripped from both of their soaking figures on the floor.  The boy watched guiltily as the fallen droplets began to pool into small puddles, but Niki only combed her hands through his hair and tutted her tongue.  “We can worry about that later,” she hummed, carrying him to the washroom.

The tiles of the bathroom were cold against her feet as she leaned over the tub to get some warm water running.  She set him down carefully, taking extra care to let him stand on an extra towel instead of the floor.  “Do you mind taking off your clothes?” she asked softly, making a twirling motion with her hand.  “I can turn around while you do, if you’d like.  Privacy is important, after all,” she smiled, already making a show of turning halfway to let him know she was serious.

He slowly nodded his head, and she turned around all the way.

His clothes hit the floor in an almost hilarious ‘splat!’, though Niki made sure to keep any bouts of laughter to herself.  After a few moments, she felt a small tug on the end of her dress, accompanied by s soft, “I’m done, miss.”

“Do you think you can get in the tub yourself?” She asked softly, still facing away from him and looking at the wall.  “Or do you need my help?”

A beat of silence.  “Can I have a little help?  Please?”

Niki felt herself mentally coo.  “Of course.”

She turned around fully, hooking her arms underneath the boy’s and lifting him up once more, easing him into the warm water.  His eyes lit up with a certain glow, immediately sinking further into the warmth—and Niki couldn’t help but chuckle softly to herself.  

“Thank you for letting me use your hot water, miss.”

Niki grabbed a small bucket off of the bathroom shelf, dipping it into the water and gently pouring it atop his head to start washing him off.  “I appreciate your politeness,” she chuckled, leaning over to grab the shampoo, “but you don’t have to be so formal.  My name’s Niki.”

“That’s a pretty name,” he murmured softly, and she could see him playing around with the water a little.

“Mind if I ask yours?”

“Dream.”

Niki smiled.  “That’s a lovely name as well.”

Dream had ended up falling asleep as Niki washed him off, her heart swelling with a certain fondness for the boy she just met.  Gentle with wrapping him up in a towel and heading to the bedroom to scavenge something for him to wear, she set him down on their bed to sleep soundly.  It was hard—even if she and Puffy weren’t the largest people themselves, Dream was much too small and young to be measured by their standards.  (And don’t get her started on trying to find underwear that wouldn’t potentially embarrass him by wearing it.)  The smallest she could find was an old pair of shorts and a shrunken shirt from a laundry mishap, being careful not to wake him up as she slipped them on for him.  Tucking him into the covers and changing into another pair of clothes herself, she made sure to shut the curtains and close the door softly as she retreated to the kitchen.

Puffy met her in the kitchen—while she was midway through cooking soup—also changed and dried off.  

A conversation or two later, Niki found out how exactly Puffy knew Dream.

There was an ache in her heart, imagining just how long he must’ve been alone.  Everyone had their own lives and worries, but she couldn’t help but ask herself why no one thought to help him out sooner.  A kid, who couldn’t have been any older than six.  People ran their businesses differently, she was aware of that too—but that vendor couldn’t have let losing profits of one loaf of bread slip and instead chose to chase after the poor boy?  The ache grew into a small seed of bitterness at the thought, tugging her lips into a growing frown.  The heat emitting from the stove furnace mirrored the one threatening to ignite in her veins, though her thoughts were interrupted by the gentle patter of footsteps into the kitchen.

She turned her head to the side to see Dream looking bashfully down at his feet, playing with the hem of his clothes.  “Miss Niki?” he asked softly, standing on his toes and attempting to look into the pot.  “I’m a little hungry…”

Niki smiled, the sparks of anger at unknown faces extinguishing before they could even ignite.  “Soup’ll be done in a minute, Dream.  Say, why don’t you and Puffy set the table, alright?”

Puffy held her hand out to him, and the pair scampered off into the conjoined living-dining room.

They had their first ‘family’ dinner that night.

Niki managed to work Dream into her schedule perfectly; he was a delight to be around.  Though it took a little bit for him to warm up to her, their relationship eventually became like Puffy’s and his: a mother and her son.  She was fond of the days that he chose to stay home, begging her to let him help her bake.  An occasional crack of the egg here, a mixing the ingredients together there.  Nothing too hard, and nothing that he couldn’t handle.

One day, while she left the kitchen to go grab a damp cloth from the kitchen to clean with, a loud shattering noise quickly brought her back.  Shards of the plate that she had set her cookies on laid scattered on the ground, the cookies semi-piled where the plate must’ve made the first contact.  Dream stood sheepishly at the wreckage, putting on a tight smile and folding his hands behind his back.  “I…I wanted to try one.”

Niki put her hands on her hips, and Dream shrunk a little more into himself.  “Dream,” she started off, her voice gentle yet stern.  “You should’ve waited for me to come back.”  Leaning down and opening one of the cabinets, she pulled out a hand broom and dustpan.  Careful not to step on the shattered porcelain, she continued, “I would’ve come back in only a few seconds.  There was no need for you to rush.”

“Sorry, Niki,” Dream mumbled, his voice impossibly quiet.  She would’ve missed it if the sound of glass dragging against the tiles would’ve been even just a smidge louder.  Saying that she hadn’t been a little annoyed would’ve been a complete and utter lie; slight irritation did simmer beneath her skin for a moment.  But seeing the genuine look of regret written on Dream’s features, slouched posture, and soft tone to his voice made that small bout of temper dissipate.  She sighed softly, shaking her head and carefully making her way towards him.

“I’m just being cautious,” she explained softly, taking his hands into her own and crouching down to be in his line of view.  “I’d hate for you to get hurt, Dream.  You’re my little duckling,” she chuckled, tapping the tip of his nose and reveling in the subtle but clearly there perk up of his lips.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, tilting his head to the side a little.

Niki pinched his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.  “I could never.”

A flash of stark white porcelain brings Niki out of her thoughts.  Her grip is impossibly tight on the flint and steel in her hands, the metal warming in her grasp.  Not too far in front of her, explosives rain down from an eerily perfect obsidian grid in the sky, deepening the crater that replaced New L’manburg.  Though it is high and far beyond her reach, she catches glimpse of a figure—clad in a green sweater and dark jeans—navigating his way across them with an expert’s ease.  The sight alone was enough to make her blood begin to boil, her heart igniting with a strong fire that couldn’t be matched by anything she’s ever witnessed.

For Niki isn’t mad.

She’s livid.

At what, you may ask?

Well…

Everything.

Especially at the events of the world that led to the current moment.  A plethora of wars, failed elections, and countless conflicts piling on top of one another and shaping L’manburg into something painfully unrecognizable.  The place she had come to love as her home was now something that she felt no connection to.  Hell, there was a twisted satisfaction curling in her gut as seeing it all come tumbling down in flames.  The country was already ruined beyond belief in her eyes, and to finally see something so insufferable, so unlikeable, so infuriating meet the fate that she wanted so desperately to come.

She doesn’t realize that she’s ignited the flint and steel until the flames’ tendrils reach out to her, warmth caressing her face.  Taking a step back, she watches as the ‘L’mantree’—the only natural tree of the land left standing—gets overtaken in splashes of red, orange, and yellow.  An ironically beautiful ‘sunset’ in the midst of all the chaos and destruction.

Niki feels the fire grab ahold of her, tendrils curling around her limbs and sinking in through her skin—but it doesn’t burn.  Instead, it rages through her veins and heart, crying out with a feeling that she was foreign to.  Not a single tear dares fall, and if one tries to, the heat of her wrath seems to evaporate it without even giving it a chance to start running.  She lifts her hand up into a salute as the tree goes down, but solemn is far from what she is feeling.  It’s almost as if she had taken her sword by the handle and sliced clean through the ropes of the bridge that connected her to her past, her now-empty promises, her memories of long-ago whose importance scorched away into nothing.  They didn’t matter to her anymore, and as she watched the bridge fall and burn away into ashes, she’s sure that it never will matter to her again.

Her eyes drift up to the obsidian sky once more, landing on a figure—wearing a stark-white mask with a poorly scribbled-on smile—sitting casually atop it.  Watching, as if it were a Saturday-morning television show.  Grinning, as if nothing else in the world could be more amusing.  Laughing, as if everything were just a game to him, and everything could be reset with the simple click of a button.

Niki grits her teeth, the fire of anger within her suddenly blazing into an inferno.

Dream.

What had happened to him?

Her sweet little duckling, one that she said she could never get mad at, had thrown a lit match straight into a sea of gasoline, and Niki just so happened to be sailing in the midst of it.

The fond memories that should fill her with sorrow at witnessing such a drastic change in her son only ignite white-hot fury, seizing her mind until all she can see is red.  She can’t remember the fuzzy sensation that would overtake her senses whenever she heard him laugh brightly at a joke that she or Puffy made.  She can’t remember the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he would cuddle up to her side and fall asleep ever-so-peacefully in her embrace.  She can’t remember the fondness that would bring a smile to her face whenever she saw him grin toothily at her from across the room.  Dream has long been thrown out of her heart, back into the harsh storm that she sheltered him from all those years ago.

And she hopes it stays that way.

No son of hers was going to be known as cruel, unforgiving, manipulative—everything that she raised and expected him not to be.

Niki takes a deep breath and spins around, not a single ounce of hesitance in her step as she walks away from the scene.  From the burning tree of what once was, from the large crater of her former home, from the man who looked identical to her son yet was completely different in every way imaginable.  

She pictures him in her head: scarred face obscured by the unbelievably aggravating smiling mask at all times; tousled, dirty-blond locks that were beginning to grow just past his shoulders; eyes that could pierce sharper than a poison-tipped arrow; and a malicious smile that she wanted to tear right off of his face whenever she saw it.  She compares it to the son that she loved way back when: freckled face with rounded cheeks; wavy, borderline-curly hair that he always begged to get braided by his mothers; eyes that were friendly and filled with a child-like wonder; and a big, impossibly contagious smile brightened her day whenever it came out to say ‘hello!’

Each note of a difference was just another coal tossed into the overheating furnace, and then and there is when Niki makes up her mind.

She wants that man—that stranger that killed her son, took his face, and replaced him—dead and gone.  To meet the same ill-fate that L’manburg met just moments before this one.  She doesn’t care how it happens; through the powers of nature, by the weapons of all the people that he crossed, or even by her own two hands if it came down to it.

A crack of thunder booms and echoes in her ears, a bolt of lightning striking nearby but steering clear of Niki’s path.

For even nature knows that a mother’s rage is a force to be reckoned with.

[ofdragonsdeep]

20: Petrichor

The wound only heals once you've pulled out the knife.

(HW spoilers, implied m!WoLxThancred and m!WoLxHaurchefant)

Soft snow tumbled down from the grey clouds above, a thin layer of fragile white settling on the shoulders of Ar’telan’s armour as he sat on the wall at Falcon’s Nest and stared out into the Highlands beyond. The stiff breeze brought a numbing cold, not that it made much impact on his statue-still vigil, his face stoic and his mind churning with regrets.

The peace conference had gone poorly, if one was being kind. Instead of the usual assault by heretics that Ishgard was used to, this time it was the victims of war rising up in anger. He could not even blame them for their anger, knowing intimately the wellspring from which it drew, but this?

He should not have accepted the drink. He should have known better. But it stung more than the cold that they thought he did not understand the way they suffered.

“I wondered if I might find you out here. Still hurts, does it?”

Thancred, solid and steady as always. He hopped up on to the wall beside him with customary grace, sitting easily upon the parapet and following Ar’telan’s gaze, as though there were anything of interest to be found at the end of it.

“I don’t need your pity,” Ar’telan said, and Thancred sighed, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “Maybe that was indelicate of me. Apologies.” Ar’telan made a muted noise of acknowledgement, looking away until he felt the touch of fingers brush the snow from his shoulders. A fleeting part of him yearned for what was gone - Haurchefant and the knights teaching him the proper way to dry snow-stained gear, coming in from training covered in sleet and mud, Thancred’s touch on the edge of his robe - but it quickly warped and distorted. A hole in a shield, a wound in his heart, Lahabrea muting his voice with a grip on his wrists. He stiffened, and Thancred withdrew.

“...Sorry,” Ar’telan managed, and Thancred made a wearied noise.

“I should think we’ve moved past that part of things,” he said. “How are you holding up? Beside the obvious, I mean.”

“You should not have hit him,” Ar’telan said, which made Thancred start in surprise. “He made poor choices, but so did all of us, at one point or another. He is small, and scared, and alone. It wasn’t needed.”

“You’re the only person who’s said that,” Thancred said, though he did not seem offended by the statement. “Maybe you’re right. You know them better than I do.” Ar’telan shook his head.

“Barely. Just- Just…” He cut himself off, a sharp inhalation of breath reminding him that he had been sat out here for a long time, and he was cold. ”I don’t want to think about it. How long before the Grand Melee?” Thancred shifted his position, resting one arm on a raised knee, considering the questions both asked and unasked, as he was wont to do.

“It will be some time before the Alliance gets themselves into gear, despite the initial offer,” he replied. “A few weeks at worst, a few days at best. What do you want the time to do?” Ar’telan made a noncommittal noise.

“I don’t know. It all feels like it’s too much,” he said. “It was horrible, what happened at the banquet, but at least it felt easier in Ishgard. Simpler, maybe. And then even that fell to pieces, and I… I feel like I break all that I touch.”

“Lahabrea was not your fault,” Thancred said, and Ar’telan flinched as though he was the one who had been struck, and not Emmanellain.

“No. I know that. But… Sometimes I wonder what the point of it is. The people, they… they see me as a hero. Here and in greater Eorzea. But what good is a bulwark if everything around it falls to pieces?”

Thancred was quiet for a while, an unusual state for him. Ar’telan looked over, saw the frown of thought on his face, the clouds in his aether-bleached eyes. It was easy to remember what had happened after the chaos at the Praetorium, the uncertainty and the anger of Thancred’s recovery - of his own. The wounds were undeniable, in both of them. But the way that the Flow had pulled them apart, even if Thancred himself had only tumbled out a few moons ago, gave them just enough distance for it to feel… distant, somehow. Less keen.

“Well, I can’t imagine that travelling on foot will be particularly fun for you, but I’ve a proposal, if you’ll hear it,” Thancred said eventually. Ar’telan nodded, keeping cautious distance. “It’s only a day’s ride by carriage to Thanalan, if you’ll come with me. Put a few malms between yourself and the pain, for a little while.” Ar’telan wasn’t sure there was anywhere on Eorzea that didn’t hold some poor memory, but it was far away from this pain, this betrayal, and he supposed it would do the job.

“Alright. You’re paying for it, though.”

---

Eastern Thanalan sat on the edge of the vast desert, where the Shroud gave way to high heat and cracked ground. The town around the aetheryte sat in a shaded dip just off the main road, which meant that when it rained - as it often did after the Calamity, and as it was when Ar’telan and Thancred arrived - the rain poured down the entry slopes and pooled on every available surface, leaving the townsfolk to slosh through it in despair.

“Not quite the weather I had in mind,” Thancred remarked as they took shelter in the tavern, Ar’telan shaking the water from his armour with a look of dismay writ on his face.

“I don’t even own an umbrella,” Ar’telan grumbled. Thancred chuckled, gesturing to a table with one hand before going over to the bar. Ar’telan watched with careful eyes, but he only ordered one drink, and did not try to pass it over.

“I think you’ve had quite enough liquid for one day,” Thancred said, though it was still obvious to Ar’telan that he had noticed his concern. He held in his embarrassment with the determination of a man who had killed gods.

“If you have not dragged me out here to watch you drink yourself under the table, why are we here?” he asked, trying not to let the bitterness show through in his voice. A look of annoyance passed over Thancred’s face, but it seemed he was being as coy with his emotions as Ar’telan was trying to be.

“Well, the idea was better before the weather turned, I’ll admit,” he said. “I thought it would be… nice, I suppose. Well, you’ve been collecting all of those seeds, haven’t you?” Ar’telan stiffened at the question, staring down at the table and feeling the fingers of his hands slowly curl against the wood. “There’s a clearing near the chasm here. Maybe you know it. Giant goobbue corpse, nothing too unusual - but it’s covered in odd flowers. They say it came down from the mountains before it died.” Ar’telan swallowed back the well of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Do you know why I…” he tried, his hand movements jerky and uncertain. Thancred took a long drink from his flagon, waiting in vain for Ar’telan to have the chance to finish, before sighing to himself.

“I’ve my suspicious, yes,” he answered. “If only because I’ve never seen anything else tether you so tightly. It’s for your elezen, right?” It was strange to hear it said without judgement, when they had all but ruined what remained of their friendship over his relationship with Haurchefant. When it had become clear that they would not, could not work again in the wounds that Lahabrea had left behind, the ascian’s spite tearing holes in them even after his forcible discorporation. He was dead now, truly dead, as Ar’telan understood it, but his shadow lingered yet.

“Yes,” he said, pulling his hands in close to his chest as he said it, the closest to a quiet word he could manage it.

“I said some things I regret back then, before all of this Ishgardian nonsense kicked off,” Thancred said, his tone light, but the admission was a serious one. “About you. About him. About a lot of things, if we’re being honest.” He glanced at the window, noting the rain hammering down on it, and shrugged. “I suppose we have time to be honest. I’m sorry.”

“You were not the only one who did things they regret,” Ar’telan replied, hands muted, head still bowed. “I don’t know if… if we could have made it work. If there was a solution for us after what the ascians did. But I did not help matters.” Thancred laughed at that, leaning back in his chair with a creak of old, sun-baked wood.

“Best not to spend too long dwelling on it, I think,” he said. “The ifs and the whys and the maybes - none of them matter in the now. Too many moons between them.” He tilted the flagon towards Ar’telan, who shook his head in refusal. “What matters is where we go. How we move forward. But on that, I would give the floor to you.”

“To me?” Ar’telan repeated, surprised. “Thancred, I… I don’t know. Finding a direction for myself is hard enough, never mind for two.” Thancred’s mouth creased up into a smile.

“It’s not a no,” he decided, draining the flagon. Ar’telan found the embarrassment on his face, the twist of his stomach, was not entirely fear or shame. The distance of moons indeed.

“It is not a yes, either,” he said, a stern look on his face. Thancred sighed.

“Yes, yes,” he said, a hand waving through the air as if to dismiss the concern. The look on his face was kind, though, as he brought his arms to the table to rest his head upon his hands. “I jest. Whatever life decides to throw at us, I will respect your distance. And I won’t ruin a friendship for a snuffed candle this time.” Ar’telan sighed.

“As long as you promise not to die, it is a start,” he decided.

“Well, on that front I can only promise my best.”

--

The sparse grass of the eastern reaches of Thanalan sparkled with collected rain, the ground still soft underfoot even though the clouds had cleared to make way for the stars of night. Ar’telan was knelt by the old goobbue’s grave, carefully collecting what few seeds the rain-soaked plants would offer him, Thancred leaning back against the swell of the ground and watching him work. It was a far cry from their first visit to eastern Thanalan, camped out by the little oasis in borrowed rags and a makeshift tent. It would not end the same, either, though Ar’telan noted the appreciative eyes on the taller man as he got to his feet. Not now. Not soon. But, perhaps, eventually. A bridge built between them by their suffering, instead of tearing out the planks in a misguided attempt to heal. The moon twinkled in the sky above them, a quiet witness to their sadness, and it felt a little like the storm had stopped.

If the clouds would abate, only time would tell.

[allycryz]

Duende - Uri & Haurche :3

PG because Haurchefant makes innuendo, set during early Stormblood.

The first draft of this was super easy to get out. The edits were a little harder because Urianger’s voice is very different from mine, but a good challenge all the same!!

‘Tis expected of a Scion to battle as expertly as one might pen a treatise. Urianger schedules two ventures per day to hone his physical talents: a bracing run before dawn and a lengthy solo training session at dusk. For the latter, he takes to the rocky shore along the coast line. The precarious climb to his preferred spot (providing both privacy and space) is part of his regimen.

Urianger picks the times when visibility is low and most residents occupied. Small talk is not his wont, nor is he at ease with those not in his immediate circle. There is something about his unmasked, unhooded face that gives strangers tacit permission to approach.

His position and decorum dictate that he engage somewhat in chatter during his errands. The residents do not press overmuch, for which he is grateful. Still, the task fits him worse than the too-small aldgoat leather gloves Lyse gifted him on his last Nameday. (Except, those he could not put on as easily as he might a polite demeanor. They refused to go past the breadth of his palm.)

There are days when the convenience of sunrise and sunset for sundry reasons, prove incompatible with other needs such as visibility and safety.

The unexpected rain pours down as he wends his weary way up the cliffs. It sluices through his hair, running rivulets over his brow. For the dozenth time, he swipes at his face and squints against the onslaught.

His feet remember where to place, his hands where to grip for balance. These are his cliffs and his winding, narrow path. No one knows it better. Should that memory etched into his muscle fail, a fall here would not be deadly.

‘Twould be painful though, and impact his duties for the next few days. For that latter reason–above all–he takes longer than usual along the rain-slicked terrain. 

There, he thinks as he nears the safety of the plateau. Urianger blows out a soft breath of relief, relaxing muscles he has kept tense during the arduous journey. For this stretch he has always found it best to walk sideways, arms spread for balance. It has never been a treacherous spot, simply steep enough to warrant caution.

Today, treachery comes at last. He takes a step up the incline, shifts to lift the other foot. The slippery grass beneath his boots gives way and both feet shoot out from under him. He has enough presence of mind to throw his gravity forward rather than backwards.

The impact is unpleasant but survivable; naught but his palms and dignity scraped. Dirt and mud bespatter the front of his shorter training robe. The cotton garment ends below his knees, the boots just above. Thus the joints are spared injury besides a dull ache. He chooses an ignominious crawl up to the plateau rather than risk another fall by rising on the sodden incline.

The rain is not so courteous as to clean his garments. It does offer some reprieve as he turns his stinging palms up to the sky and rubs the rainwater against the creases of grime and grass.

Ah, well. Rain is uncommon enough that he should be glad when it comes. Should his comrades ever summon him to battle in such precipitation, he shall be well-prepared. Lord Haurchefant oft speaks of how training in winter climes these five years have better forged him for difficult conflict. (Urianger suspects it is not only snow and ice that stood in the knight’s way.)

He finds himself smiling, thinking of his new colleague. Though their base is near underground, ‘tis not wholly cut off from the outside world. Vents let in sunlight, rain can be heard pouring upon the streets. Like as not, Haurchefant put a kettle on soon as he perceived the change in weather. 

The Waking Sands are enchanted to remain a cool temperature. If the sun does return in full force, they shall not overheat drinking cocoa.

Befouled, bedraggled, and besodden; he returns to the outskirts of Vesper Bay. The twilight and the rain have not put off the residents. A knot of people gathers near the market stalls, the hum of their voices rising just above the thrum of rain upon roof and stone and sea. The citizens hold cloaks and hands over their head as shields, one has a parasol meant for sun and aesthetics. 

‘Tis a lovely pink one with expensive-seeming trim. A shame it is likely ruined.

The reason for their cluster becomes apparent. Lord Haurchefant is the focus upon which they circle, tallest among them save two other residents. His silvered head is bent to them as they harken to his low voice. This eve, he has garbed himself in a long scarlet coat over his usual apparel. ‘Tis the first time he has donned sleeves since his arrival.

 (For all the good it did me to be tempered by winter, his lordship had said. It does make me rather pitiful in a desert. I shall do my best to acclimate to Thanalan.) 

They all gaze upon him with utter rapture. It has ever been so, since his lordship’s residence began in the Waking Sands while Urianger’s comrades and Haurchefant’s love continued on to Gyr Abania. Their adoration is not due solely to his fair countenance or noble title, though both must aid the cause.

There is an...openness in him that beguiles all he meets. Urianger has witnessed the surliest residents and most peevish of vendors open like blossoms to the sun when Haurchefant turns the glory of his attention upon them. Such an unusual power he has seldom witnessed and never from so kind a soul as this knight.

There is no avoiding this throng, even would it not be unconscionably rude to avoid his guest. At least there is a smaller chance of strangers engaging him in conversation. Not with a beacon such as Haurchefant seizing their attention, both intentionally and involuntarily.

“-suppose he will be alright, he knows the land better than I.” He hears Haurchefant saying as he approaches. His noble brow is drawn down, his battle-sculpted arms folded. “But do let me know if you see him. No one expected this rainfall.”

Doth he….speak of me? Urianger wonders. As if attuned to his thoughts, his lordship turns his way. Surprise, then relief, and then rapture all pass across his handsome features.

“Urianger!” He exclaims. “Thank the Fury. I was worried–I know you favor treacherous paths,and with the dark and the rain…”

“I am well,” says Urianger. “Thy concern is much appreciated and noted. ‘Twould have been a perilous journey had I not been close acquainted with yon cliffs.”

Haurchefant steps towards him, gaze sweeping up and down. Lingering on his bare face, throat, and collar. “It seems it was perilous for your clothes. Let’s get you inside and taken care of, yes?”

One of the crowd smiles at Urianger. Mara, he recalls, the tall Hyur woman who hawks fruit.  “Well, we’re glad you’re alright, ser. I was just telling June that I worry when I see you go off in the dark.”

“Ah,” he says, trying to recall which is June. The baker. Yonder woman with the braids who oft gives thee extra tea biscuits. “Tis not my intent to cause worry. I am well versed in the land and how best to scale it.”

“Even knowing that, do be careful.” Mara gives an imperious nod. Others nod as well, their eyes on him and not the handsome knight.

He can only nod again, bearing and smile stiff. He does not recall all their names. It makes him feel the most ill-mannered of scoundrels. He sweeps into a bow towards them, hoping it goes to some measure in repaying their concerns. “I shall endeavor to have a care, my lady. Your solicitous care bringeth warmth into mine heart, ‘tis only right I do well by all gathered.”

She smiles and pats his arm. This seems a signal for all to disperse, more residents bestowing upon him pats and nods. It is a wholly alien experience, and he considers he may be lying at the bottom of the cliff in the midst of a delusion. Surely he is not dear to all these people with whom he barely speaks.

“Come friend,” Haurchefant says. “You need to get out of those wet clothes and have something warm in your belly.”

“Thou art just as sodden,” says Urianger. “Pray also attend to yourself. Thou shouldst not catch sick for mine sake.”

“Ah but I would have done so gladly if I had to save you today.” The knight’s smile is wide again, fair dazzling in its potency. Again, Urianger is astonished any resident would look at him with Haurchefant there. Do they not sense the charm radiating from his very core? “I do thank you, for arriving when you did. There are much better games we might play in the dark than hide and seek.”

Urianger near trips on the steps up to the door. Of course, Haurchefant is there to catch him, strong hands righting his balance and smoothing over his back. 

“I beg thine pardon,” says Urianger. Regretful that he has no mask or hood to hide the heat upon his cheeks. As Lord Haurchefant is cheeky himself to everyone, he is likely used to it. ‘Tis not the first time Urianger has witnessed or received innuendo delivered so warmly from this man. “Mayhap I used more energy than I surmised, during my exertions today.”

“Yes,” Haurchefant nods, opening the door. “All the more reason for you to come relax with me once you have cleaned up. I shall not have you burying yourself in work when you have earned respite.”

“For a little while,” says Urianger. He glances back at the streets, at the residents seeking shelter in houses and under awnings. At the way some of them look at them–at him. Relief and concern and warmth in their gazes. He frowns and cannot lose the change to his mien, even in the warmth and dry of the building.

Haurchefant pauses at the top of the stares, giving his shoulders a roll before beginning his descent. ‘Tis late and his friend is often tense in his upper body by the time supper comes. He will need help working the knots loose again. Perhaps Urianger might put off his tasks even further to repay Haurchefant’s worry and concern.

As to everyone else in Vesper Bay, he is at a loss on how to make recompense.

His friend reaches the door to their sanctum and turns back, looking up at Urianger still upon the landing. “Dear Urianger, what is the matter? That’s a rather pensive expression.”

“...I didst not realise the depth of their regard for mine person. Yon residents and I art not particularly close.” He shakes his head.

“Oh,” says Haurchefant, that entrancing smile returning to his mouth. “Do ask me an easier one next time.”

Facetiousness is not Haurchefant’s way. The ironic reply seems out of character. “Yes, I am aware the reasoning seems difficult to determine-”

“‘Tis not.” Haurchefant’s eyes crinkle with laughter. It does not sting–there is no malice in it. He doubts such a quality resides in the knight. “You are quite charming, even when cloaked. It inspires others to take interest in you.”

For the second time, Urianger says “I beg thine pardon? I am not given to using mine wiles-”

“No, no. We should all be in trouble should you do it apurpose. But you have a natural draw that leads people to want to know you. As you signal that is not what you want, they have kept their distance.”

It is an absurd supposition that Haurchefant says with all the conviction of his noble heart. So much does he seem to believe it; that Urianger wants to also trust it, if only for his friend’s sake. “I am...uncertain of the validity of thy premise. However, thy kindness and belief warms my heart. Wouldst that every man hath such a friend as you, my lord.”

At this, Haurchefant lets out a clear, ringing laugh. Again, there is no mockery in it. The sound is joyful and pleased, as seductive a sound as every part of the man. ‘Tis a wonder such a man as he thinks his draw is mirrored in Urianger.

“So I must endeavor to convince you of it, till you are no longer agreeing to humor me.” Haurchefant opens the door, shivering at the blast of magically cooled air upon his wet person. “Well, I look forward to the process. One could do far worse than spending an evening convincing a beautiful man of his charms.”

To that, Urianger has no answer. Nor does Haurchefant expect one. He winks and enters the Waking Sands, door closing behind him.

It occurs to him and the rapid beating of his heart, there is a reason he perceives Haurchefant as charming and beguiling and the one who everyone should desire. Projection has not been a key failing of his, but he has fallen prey to it before. And presently, it seems.

And Haurchefant is correct in one thing: there are far worse ways they might spend the evening. Perhaps Urianger shall put his work on hold tonight, to see the knight’s endeavor in full.

[billantoinette]

Do you remember you took a thrashing for me?

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They say the countess keeps reproaching him with not marrying her, but he keeps putting it off.

[merakiaes]

Warmed Up - Arthur Shelby

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: #2, #3 and #4 from the common tropes-list. 

Warnings/notes: A bit of implied smut, maybe, nothing too major. Hope this was what you wanted and that you like it!

Wordcount: 3753

Summary: You get caught up in a storm with Arthur on your way home from London and have to seek shelter in an abandoned cabin in the woods, where you are forced to share body heat to keep warm. 

Driving all the way to London with Arthur and only Arthur wasn’t something you’d put in the top ten on your ‘things I want to do’-list. Not that you had a list like that to begin with, but you probably made your point clear.

It wasn’t that you disliked him, quite the opposite, really. You liked him really much. Probably too much. The problem was that he was so God damn socially awkward.

With everyone else, he could laugh and joke around like an absolute madman without any problem whatsoever. It was that side of him that had made you attracted to him in the first place.

But with you, he was the exact opposite. He was quiet, reserved and quiet as a mouse, so to speak. It was infuriating.

You talked a lot, especially when in the company of someone you genuinely enjoyed being with. So it was a given that you would have preferred it if the person on the other side of the conversation actually talked back.

But Arthur never did. He just listened, glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking, and fidgeted whenever you would visibly catch him in the middle of the act.

You weren’t an idiot. In fact, the reason you had been offered a position as a Peaky Blinder in the first place was because of your abnormally high intelligence and ability to talk yourself into and out of every imaginable situation.

You knew he fancied you, just like you did him. The first three months or so, you had just waited for him to finally gather the courage to spark up a conversation with you alone and act on the attraction everyone – yourself included - could see he had for you.

But that moment never came, so you had to take matters into your own hands. 

You had been trying to get him alone for another three months now, but Tommy kept you busy, and him as well, always sending you off in different directions.

And when you on the very rare occasion actually did get the chance to talk to him alone, he took any excuse he could find to get away from you.

He avoided you as if you had the worst case of the clap in history, which after three months of waiting around for him, and another three months of desperately trying to get his attention, caused your feeling of attraction to be pushed back and locked away in a chest at the back of your mind.

Now, every time you saw his face or heard his name, you would instantly get bitter and turn your head the other way.

Mature, right? Well, in your defense, the women in your family had always had a certain immature stubbornness to them. If anyone should be blamed, it should be the women before you for passing it down another generation.

The car ride to London had been so quiet it was actually physically painful, and the air hanging over the two of you was thick enough to cut with a dull butter knife.

But the entire situation only got worse when you made the mistake of driving home despite being warned about an upcoming storm, in which you were now caught with a broken-down car.

The rain smattered violently on the metal surface of the car, and just as violently on your body. 

You were soaked from head to toe and chilled all the way to your bone. You were hugging your arms close to your chest in a desperate attempt to preserve the little body heat you still had left, but you could sadly admit that it was doing nothing of the sort.

You sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, bouncing your foot lightly to get your blood running.

“Come on, Arthur.” You called out over the loud rain, squinting your eyes in order to see him cleared through the water that had built up on your eyelashes. “We should go look for some help, you obviously can’t fix it by yourself.”

But Arthur didn’t move and inch, barely even reacting where he was bent into the hood of the car, pulling and pushing at things he probably had no idea what to do with.

“I’ve got it.” He insisted in a snappy voice, without a doubt annoyed from your nagging. But you didn’t care.

You rolled your eyes and uncrossed your arms, taking three long strides towards where he was standing and roughly grabbed at the fabric of his soaked coat, pulling him up from the car to his full height.

He glared down at you, but before he even got the chance to yell anything back at you, you reached up and smacked the hood closed, missing his fingers by barely a millimeter.

“You obviously haven’t got it and that’s fine. There’s no shame in needing help. Now come on, I had a lot of things on my agenda today and getting hit by lighting was not one of them.”

Just as the final word passed your lips, a deafening clap of thunder hit right above you, causing both of you to jump slightly. It was getting significantly closer.

“Where do you suppose we’re gonna get any help then, ay? We’re in the middle of fookin’ nowhere!”  He yelled back, ripping his arm out of your grasp in all his furious glory.

“Well, anywhere is better than here!” You kept arguing, throwing your arms out in exasperation. “If we don’t find help, we can in the very least try to find shelter, somewhere to take cover until the storm’s blown over.”

“There’s cover in the car.” He threw his arm out towards the car for extra emphasis. “I’ve told you to get back in there for the past ten minutes but you just have to be so fookin’ stubborn all the time.”

He turned around to open the hood again, propping it open and getting back to not knowing what he was doing in the slightest.

You yelled out in frustration. “The car is cold, Arthur! There’s surely some place nearby where we could settle down and start a fire or something.”

Without waiting for an answer you re-did the procedure you had done only a minute before, grabbing the back of his coat this time and janking him away from the car so that you could slam the hood shut.

He whipped around to face you with nothing but anger behind his eyes, but before he got the chance to utter a single word, your fist hit his chest in a harsh and actually rather painful blow.

“Could you just stop arguing with me on every single thing and get your head out of your arse?!” You yelled while you delivered another punch to his chest. “I’m fucking freezing and if I stay out in the rain any longer, I’m going to get fucking hypothermia and have to amputate my limbs!”

You went to punch him a third time, but this time around he caught your wrist before you could hit him, and then your second wrist as well when you raised it to try a second time.

You glared up at him, but found that the anger behind his eyes was now gone as if it had never been there in the first place. Instead, he was just staring down at you with a look you couldn’t quite figure out the meaning of in your angry state.

“Alright.” He agreed, his voice now much quieter than it had been before. Once he was sure you weren’t going to hit him again, he carefully let your wrists go. “We’ll go look for help, or shelter. Just, calm yourself.”

His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft, calming you down easier than you would’ve like to admit.

You just gave him a curt and determined nod, straightened out the sleeves of your coat and turned on your heel, starting to walk towards an unknown destination.

He followed behind you silently, coming up to walk at your side. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him stuffing one of his hands to his pocket, while he used the other one to pull his wet hair out of his face, slicking it back over the middle of his head.

But it only stayed in place for a second before it fell right back into his face, and even in the midst of your fuming anger, you had to stop yourself from reaching over and fixing it. 

The longing to touch him wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you, but in the circumstances you were currently in, it just drew a scoff from you, and either he just ignored it, or the rain was too loud for him to hear it.

You walked around in the rain for what seemed like an eternity, not spotting as much as a shed to bunker down in.

It was getting dark and the storm was still raging on without any intent of stopping. You were just about to give up and admit defeat, when you finally caught a glimpse of something red in the middle of the trees in the distance.

You squinted your eyes to make sure you weren’t just fooling yourself, that it wasn’t just a trick of your mind caused by that uncomfortable lightning between light and dark. But as you walked closer, it became apparent that you were truly seeing what you thought you were seeing.

Your eyes widened, relief flooding your body at the sweet sight of the small cabin and your hand shot out to tug on Arthur’s sleeve out of instinct.

“Arthur!” You yelled over the sound of the rain, tugging more aggressively at his coat.

He turned to look at you, and you pointed towards the cabin, yelling out: “There!”

Once Arthur had spotted the small, red house, too, the two of you wasted no time in sprinting off, having to shield your faces as the wind started pulling even harder at your clothes and hair.

Luckily, you made it to your goal in just another minute, and hurried inside, Arthur actually having to force the front door shut as the wind was fighting back so hard.

When he finally got it shut after a few seconds of struggles, thanks to the shitty, loose lock and handle you allowed yourselves to take a look around.

Arthur went into a room to the right of the front door, while you ventured into the one on the opposite side. 

The big table in the middle of the room and the pieces of broken chairs littering the floors suggested that this had once been a kitchen, but judging by the state of the place, no one had lived here for years.

The floorboards were soft and rotten, a thin layer of moss covering a big part of it. The walls were yellow and damaged by water, and you could tell just by looking at it that the house was most definitely mold infested, and that you should get out of there as soon as you possibly could to avoid getting sick.

But then again, you would without a doubt get sick if you left, too. Now that you thought about it, feeling the way your clothes stuck uncomfortably to your skin and hung heavily off of your shaking body, you were probably already on your way there, assuming Arthur was in the same state as you.

You got lost in your thoughts as you were looking around, completely missing that Arthur had entered the room and called your name. It wasn’t until he reached out and touched your shoulder that you came back to reality, or rather jumped back to reality.

Out of pure instinct, you reached your own hand up to grab the one on your shoulder, twisting it and turning around with your other hand fisted in the air, ready to strike.

Luckily, Arthur was well used to your jumpy antics after six months of knowing you and easily caught your fist in the air. 

You quickly registered his face and hurried to let go of his hand, noting by the way that he was clenching his jaw that the position you had twisted it into was less than pleasant.

Rather than apologizing however, you simply glared. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, if I had a gun I could’ve killed you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” He threw back tiredly. “So quit your whinging and come on. We have to get you out of your clothes and get you warm. Started a fire in the living room and found some old blankets that still felt alright enough to use.”

The second he spoke those words, the smell of burning wood reached your nostrils and you could feel your entire body tingling with excitement at the thought of getting warm. 

Taking another look at the man in front of you, you noticed that he was now only wearing his undershirt and pants, with his suspenders hanging limply at his sides, probably having discarded the rest of his clothes by the fire to dry.

Too tired and cold to fight back, you just let him lead you to the room you had watched him disappear into when you first got inside, pleased to see that he had, in fact, managed to start a fire that was now burning high in the long-ago abandoned fireplace in the middle of the room.

To the side of the fire, he had draped his clothes over an old chair, and in front of it he had pulled up an old, moth-eaten couch that he had covered with blankets so that you wouldn’t have to sit directly on the grime that had without a doubt been building up for however long this place had been abandoned.

Had it been under any other circumstances, you probably would have consider the whole thing romantic, even though it probably wasn’t meant to be. But as the circumstances were, in fact, not the best, you were just happy you would be able to get warm.

Arthur left you to undress on your own, crouching down in front of the fire and poking at the wood with a rusty fire poker to get the flames to dance just a little higher.

You raised your hands to start unbuttoning your coat, but soon came to the realization that it wouldn’t be possible. 

Your fingers were completely numb and your hands, and your entire body with them, shaking more than you originally realized, making you completely unable to grasp the tiny buttons between your fingers.

And it you couldn’t even get a hold of them, you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to push them all through the narrow, tiny holes of the fabric, either.

You sighed sourly, coming to term with the fact that now was the time you would have to give up your stubbornness. You needed to get out of your wet clothes in order to get warm, but you wouldn’t be able to on your own.

“Arthur.”

His name fell quietly from your lips, but as the room was silent if you didn’t count the crackling of the fire and smattering of the rain against the roof and windows, he still heard you, turning to look at you at the sound of his names being called.

You silently moved your hands up to the first button, demonstrating with shaky fingers that you couldn’t undo them by yourself.

He stared at you for a moment after you had let your hands fall back to your sides, before wordlessly putting the fire poker to the side and standing up, coming over to you where he wasted no time in starting to unbutton your coat with nimble fingers.

You just stood there limply, gazing at his face as he put all of his concentration on the task at hand. 

It was clear that it took some effort, his hands clearly, although not numb like yours as he was now on the fourth button, still very cold.

He quickly reached the bottom of your coat, and instead of walking away to let you undress by yourself like you had expected him to do, he instead started peeling the article of clothing off your arms to reveal your equally as soaked through white blouse.

And as always with white clothing, when it was soaked through, it was also very see through. And of course, this just happened to be the only day you decided not to wear a bra, as the trip to London had been a last minute call and you were originally supposed to have your day off.

No sane woman walked around their home on a day off with a bra on.

He was flustered by the fact that he could now practically see your bosom, something you could see clearly by the way his eyes flickered from your chest to your eyes before he hurriedly fled to the chair that had held his clothes with your coat in his hand.

He moved his own clothes to the side slightly so that he could hang your coat at the back of the chair, and then made move to go back to his spot by the fireplace. But before he could get very far, you cleared your throat, causing him to halt and turn back to you.

And this time, he wasn’t the only one to be flustered.

You were happy the warm hue of the fire illuminated the room, or else he would’ve for sure been able to see the faint dusty pink on your cheeks.

You cleared your throat again, motioning to the belt and several buttons of your black cargo pants. “I need help with this, too.”

Arthur didn’t make any sound of protest, only avoiding your eyes and coming back up to where you stood and wasting no time in getting to work on your belt.

He undid the clasp and left the belt in the loops, going straight to the buttons. One button, two buttons, three buttons, four, and your pants were successfully undone and ready to get rid of.

This time, it was Arthur’s time to clear his throat, as he slowly started inching them down your hips. But it was easier said than done, the wet fabric having sucked onto your skin like a leech.

He had to get down on his knees to even have a chance to get them off, and out of instinct, your hands went to his hair, holding on gently to keep your balance as you helped pull your legs out of the pant-legs.

Once they were completely off he stood back up, his face now much closer to yours than it had been before he kneeled down,

Your eyes locked together, both scanning each other with almost suspicious gazes. 

His breath was warm against your cold lips and smelled of the countless of cigars he had smoked on the way to, in and from London; a smell you had hated before you met him but had now grown to love because you loved him.

You caught yourself by surprise when thinking that, as it had been the first time you had really admitted your feelings towards him to yourself.

But Arthur took both you and himself by surprise when he in the next second with hurried motions leaned in, closing the small space between you and attaching his lips to yours.

Your eyes widened at the sudden turn of events and your body stood frozen on the spot, not daring to move a muscle. 

You didn’t get much time, at least not as much as you would have needed, to respond to his actions, as he pulled away just as quickly.

Even though the kiss barely even lasted five seconds, it left both of you breathless. 

He looked at you, clearly debating what to do next. And to be truthful, he didn’t look to have a clue.

So you did what you had been doing, or attempting to, at least, for the past three months; you took matters into your own hands, grabbing him by the backside of his neck and pulling him back down, crashing your lips against his with thrice the force than before.

And he responded immediately, hands coming to grab at your waist to pull you closer and moving his lips against yours desperately.

As you tensed your muscles, a rather harsh shiver ran through your entire body, causing Arthur to break apart briefly.

“You’re shakin’.” He mumbled against your lips, but you were too eager to even hear what he was saying.

“Yeah.” You only mumbled back, pulling him back in for another kiss by his neck. His fingers slowly started inching the fabric of your wet blouse up and just the intense anticipation building in your chest caused your breath to grow heavier.

But much to your dismay, he came to a stop just as quickly again, visibly flinching when his now somehow warm fingers came in contact with the icy cold skin of your waist, and this time, he broke away from your lips completely, taking a small step back.

“Fookin’ hell, you’re freezing.” He commented.

A trembling chuckle left your lips at that, but whether it was from the cold or from the feeling of his fingers absentmindedly caressing your hip that you were now trembling, you didn’t know.

“Yeah.” You repeated, this time with a shaky chuckle, and you quickly came to conclusion that it was probably the cold in your bones that was causing the tremble of your body when he placed his palm flat against the curve of your back and your entire body started to shiver violently at the contrast of his burning hand against your icy skin.  

How he had managed to get his hands warmed up so quickly when they had been cold only a  minute before, you had no idea.

But no matter what he had done, you knew that you needed his rapidly growing body temperature to get your own up, and he seemed to know it as well. 

He led you over to the couch and sat down, pulling you down on his lap and draping two of the blankets over your shoulders. 

Your hands found their way to his shoulders while his hinds moved to start pulling at the strings of your blouse, all while looking you straight in the eyes. 

“Let’s get ya warmed up, eh?”

[heli0s-writes]

Sugar

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: You are not made out of sugar! A/N: 3 of ?? Snapshots between you, Steve, and Bucky. In the same canon as Mystery of Love– check it out first :)

Is it trite and clichéd to say, as a human woman Bound to two Super Soldier, that they are protective of you? Often to the point of your exasperation.

Bucky has Tony design you a ring that tracks your location every second of the day. Steve has you text him before you head to work and as soon as you arrive. They ask for the name of every student who shows up to your office hours and linger in the background of your lectures, watching with matching blue eyes and scrutiny.

It’s sweet at first, and it’s what you expect. Steve is quiet about it-- doting, tender in the way he guides you over white paint panels of crosswalks and mud puddles after a storm. The way his hand touches your elbow blooms warmth all over your body. He holds on even after you’ve reached your destination and uses it as an excuse to link his fingers with yours.

Bucky takes a little more of your autonomy away. He’s old school chivalrous, to the point of embarrassment. Bucky doesn’t just take your elbow, he scoops you up by the waist and hoists you over puddles. He stomps through crowds just so you can follow him through the wide berth he’s given. He leers and snarls at any man who dares to look your way.

You tell them over and over again: I’m a woman. Not a baby. I’m your Soulmate! Not your baby!

“But baby,” Bucky coos.

“But baby,” Steve parrots.

“We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

-

On a walk, underneath the ripe, sweet scent of summertime and balmy yellow sunrays, the sky suddenly changes. Moist winds pick up scattered flower petals, gray clouds roll over from the east, and soon enough the yellow light overhead turns olive until the refractions are snuffed out completely. The three of you are too far from the compound to hide under any shelter but the oak and willow trees, which will soon grow damp with spray.

A leaf blows into your hair.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Bucky mutters. Steve takes you by the hand and you see in the way his eyes dart back and forth that he’s calculating the possibility of the three of you making it back. Maybe they could, but your ankles would probably break trying to keep up. Vibranium fingers wrap around your waist as the first droplet lands on your left shoulder.

“C’mon.”

You spin out of his clasp, refusing to be carried. But they protest, listing all sorts of reasons that you need to go right now. They don’t want you to be cold in the rain. They don’t get sick, but you certainly have and likely will again because of this. They hate how you hurt and burn in bed with a fever.

Your foot is ready to stomp but another droplet falls right on the tip of Steve’s nose and you giggle when he looks down at it, cross-eyed.

“Sweetheart, we have to get back.” He urges, when another drops right on his cheek and rolls down.

The tip of your pointer wicks it away before it gets lost in his beard, and you flick it at Bucky standing by his side. Shaking your head, your foot stills, no longer desiring to stomp and be upset. Your hands slide up Steve’s neck and into his hair, running through his flaxen strands, grown out and reaching down to his nape. He leans forward, letting your forehead touch his. His body transfer heat into your palms. Your palms send it back into him—a mutual exchange of warmth and fondness.

“Steve, I’m fine.” You press a kiss to the trail of rainwater on his face. “I’m not made out of sugar.” A coy smile is sent his way, and he finds himself momentarily stunned by your big eyes, all soft and adoring him.

Bucky steps forward and cocks his head at your statement.

You explain, “I’m not gonna melt, you know.”

A clap of thunder heralds the curtain of rain. The streak of lightning that follows is your signal to sprint off into the soaked distance, laughing all the while. The ground is still dry for now as the first few seconds hit but it soon becomes permeated, soil slipping away into mud and squishing underneath your sandals. Steve and Bucky give chase, and you know it won’t be long until they catch you, but the game is too good to give up.

You quickly slide your shoes off and put them in your hands, eyes barely open from all the wetness clinging to every inch of your skin. Heavy bulbous drops splat onto your scalp, fling themselves into your open and panting mouth, turns the white of your dress thin and clear like a new layer of skin. Bucky is calling to you, but the downpour drowns him out.

Your feet soon become caked with mud, and you can hear footsteps getting closer. An idea hits you with the next lightning strike, and you whip around, throwing one shoe at Bucky and one shoe at Steve. Of course, your goal isn’t to hit them at all.

Each sandal flies in an opposite direction and they pause to see where it lands. Steve cries your name in disbelief and you only laugh at the way his body jerks back and forth, not knowing if he should continue chasing or go back to recover it. Bucky is not so kind, sprinting even faster when Steve halts and retrieves your belongings. You yelp when both his arms wrap around your middle and your feet lift off the soaked earth. The both of you are slippery and slick, pelted into sopping wet masses on the greenery of the front lawn. Each bead that rolls off you splatters onto him as he looks up into your face, and into the countless other droplets that continue to fall.

“Baby…” he warns, “How could you do this to me, sweetheart?” Buck’s grin looks like a blurred slit across his face as he shakes the water from his eyes. “Now look at you. All wet.” He runs his tongue along your jaw, lapping the water mixed with sweat.

With a sigh, you surge forwards and crush your lips to his, licking away the cool trickles from his mouth, “See?” You ask, “Still in one piece.”

“I guess you are.” Steve is here, chuckling, with your sandals dangling from his hand. When Bucky sets you down, he can’t help but reflexively put his arm over your head to shield you even though the rain seems to cut right through his skin to make it onto yours. It’s a silly, futile attempt, but he does it anyway.

-

The next morning, you sleep in until noon. They knew right away when your fever peaked around midnight and spoon-fed you soup in turns. You whine and curse, and they glare and scold. Steve is no stranger to bouts of illness and Bucky could nurse you in his sleep from all the times he’s been the caretaker.

You shudder even under the mountain of blankets, teeth clacking together uncontrollably against the plastic measuring cup of the cherry-flavored cold medicine. Upon swallowing, you bite back a pathetic noise and flop over in bed, wiping your sweat off with the pillow.

Steve stands watch over you, hand on his hip. Bucky returns too, warm tea in his hand and a cool towel over his arm.

“Thought you weren’t made of sugar,” He teases as he takes the garishly red container away, “You look like you’ve melted to me, honey.”

“Mmf... I’m still sweet, though.” You sigh, closing your eyes.

They exchange smiles, shaking their heads at the way your hair falls over your forehead. Steve leans over and wipes a bead of sweat from your brow, kissing the tip of your nose.

“The sweetest.”

[candyajlf728]

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[softjeon]

Triple Plaisir

• Pairing: CamBoy!Namjoon x CamBoy!Hoseok x Jimin • Genre: Smut | CamBoy!AU • Words: 9,2k | AO3 • Disclaimer: /

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳  Part 2 of ‘Nuit Inoubliable’ in which you will follow three different stories about your favorite Cam!Boys and their unforgettable nights.  → Jamais Vu » Triple Plaisir »  Plaisir d'offrir

The room key slipped easily through the lock, a small sound and the light switching to green telling him that he was good to go. It felt a little like coming home, that it startled him how easily he had gotten used to it. He had been here a couple of times, always out of the same reasons. Jimin put his bag down and let his hand caress over the soft sheets of the bed, reading the sewn in name of the hotel. 

“Nuit Inoubliable,” Jimin mumbled to himself and went over to open the curtains. It was getting dark, rain heavily falling onto streets down below and he shivered. Thank god, he had taken a taxi, he thought to himself as his eyes followed the people that were trying to seek shelter. Closing the curtains again, Jimin got out of his phone and read the message again. 

‘A night you won’t forget. Meet me at 8 downstairs.’

The smile that pulled at his lips gave away how excited he felt and Jimin quickly got himself ready, passing the time by making sure that he looked absolutely perfect.

Walking towards the entrance hall of the hotel, Jimin’s gaze was wandering over the several of people around. It was always interesting to him who went with whom and to where. This was a love-hotel after all, one with a little secret. Once after their first time together, he had explained it all to him. The owner and boss of the website had bought this hotel to give the cam boys a safe place to shoot and without endangering any of them if they do it in private at home and of course, having also rooms for casual hookups for people was also a lucrative business. Jimin greeted the boy at the reception, which had recognized him before when he had checked in and sat down one of the benches. He was a bit too early, which almost never happened and Jimin had to laugh at himself quietly. He was always the last one to arrive but when it was for him - he’d always be there right away. 

“Jiminie!” A voice called out, making him look up from his phone, a bright smile on his lips. “Jin, hey,” Jimin reciprocated his tight hug and his kisses on his cheek easily. “I’m a bit on a rush but...you’re not here because you have something planned right?” Jin frowned a little, looking obviously nervous as he tapped on his phone, explaining quickly that he had been set up by a customer, “You’re not free tonight are you?” Jimin shook his head as an answer. “Ah, damnit. Well, you still gotta hold a date for me though.” Jin was starting to walk backwards already, “Loved to fuck you someday.” With a wink and a wave Jin had turned around already, leaving Jimin blushing and stuttering a ‘G-g-good l-luck’. Trying to calm himself after this sudden run in, Jimin sat back down. Humming to himself, he watched a pair check in, obviously a little drunk and it made him chuckle how the girl was clinging onto him trying to stand on her high heels when his eyes fell onto…

“Jungkook?” Jimin’s eyes widened and he pressed his hand onto his mouth quickly. He remembered how he had told him to apply for one of the cams, to get some adventure into his life but he had only done it to tease him a little, never in his life did Jimin think the young, shy boy had the guts to do so. Turning his back onto him and pressing his hand onto his heart, Jimin could feel how hard it was thumping underneath and then it skipped a beat and his gaze fell onto him.

Namjoon.

He was casually leaning against the wall, obviously just arrived as their gazes met. Jimin smiled, blushing slightly as he thought about what they had done last time and would be doing tonight. “Hey,” He spoke softly and let Namjoon lean in to place a kiss onto his cheek. 

“Hey, Minnie.” Namjoon gave him a comfortable hug, “I’m glad you came.” It was obvious that the other was a little more nervous than usual but Namjoon had expected it considering that Jimin was leaving his comfort zone tonight. Normally his cams with Jimin were soft and sweet, slow and intimate routines where Jimin was either in control or gave himself over to Joon knowing that the other would be nothing but gentle. But last time Jimin had asked him if Namjoon could do one of rougher cams with him and it had completely taken him by surprise. So they had sat down together and talked about what they were interested in and what they were comfortably doing and it had resulted in what they would be doing today.

Namjoon had done a few threesomes on cam before but never with Jimin and also never like this. Hobi was a colleague that he greatly appreciated but most of what he did wasn’t what Namjoon would enjoy himself per se so shooting with him was a bit of a challenge. But they would figure it out.

“So... are you ready to get upstairs?” He gave Jimin a once over looking for any signs that the boy didn’t want this, “You’re still up for it, right? Because if not we can arrange something different but you should tell me now before we start shooting.”

Jimin took Namjoon’s hand, lacing their fingers together as they had done it many times before. “Yes, I am. I know as long as you’re there it’s going to be good. I trust you and you know me well enough to read me like a book.” He nodded and followed Namjoon back to the reception first to sign the contract for tonight’s session (glad when Jungkook wasn’t around any longer) and then followed him upstairs.

“We’ll do it as we said though, right? First, you and me, then…us three?” Jimin still couldn’t hide that he was nervous. He was about to fulfill one of his dirtiest dreams and one of the guys he didn’t even really knew, which made it even more adventurous and exciting for him. Jimin bit his lip and sat onto the edge of Namjoon’s bed, feeling comfortable as he had been here a couple of times. 

“Yes, of course. We’ll shower together as always and I’ll prep you a little. Then we can get comfortable on the bed, I’ll set up the cameras and Hoseok will come over. We’ll go over the basic rules together - just a precaution as we’ve all done this a few times under different circumstances - and then we can start for real. Is that okay?” He took what he would need for their shower and then quickly got rid of his shirt as he had a habit of placing it somewhere where it would get wet in the end.

Jimin bit his lip, gazing at Namjoon’s honey dipped skin, feeling his mouth water already. “Hm,” He hummed in response, “Sounds perfect.”

The younger got up from the bed and mimicked Namjoon, getting rid of his shirt and his pants in the process, following the other into the bathroom. When the water hit him cold, he squeaked though, jumping towards Namjoon to push him under the stream of cold water instead and shielding himself. Namjoon spluttered when the cold water hit his face and he quickly tried to speed up the process by tapping at the regulation again. “You really think it's a good idea to tease me right before I’m going to prep you?” He joked, knowing that Jimin wouldn’t buy it. Jimin was always surprised how easy it had been with Namjoon. He felt good with him, comfortable to try out new things and Namjoon never left out an opportunity to give him compliments. When the water was finally heating up, Jimin began to rub the soap between his hands and then onto Namjoon’s chest, giggling softly, “I missed this a little.” Jimin left soft kisses all over Namjoon’s body, busking in the warmth and how his arms felt around him. He had to get on his tiptoes though to reach Namjoon’s lips, nibbling on them while his hands were caressing over his chest, exploring him anew.

It felt like it had been way too long since the last time. 

“Minnie…,” Namjoon chuckled, plucking the younger off of him. “As much as I enjoy this Hoseok will be here shortly and I really, really should prepare you. After our session we can kiss as much as you like. Actually I’ve got this new DVD we could watch so when you feel comfortable and well rested after we fucked you into oblivion then you could stay for a while longer and we could put it in. Don’t worry; it’s not lent so in case you fall asleep during it or we’re missing half from kissing then we can simply watch it again another time. I…,” He blushed a little before confessing, “I‘d just really like it if I could keep an eye on you for a while longer because of what we’ll be doing tonight. I want to be there for you so that I can keep you from dropping or feeling ...bad in case you’ll have a reaction you’re not used to tonight.”

Jimin stopped the water and looked at Namjoon, a sweet smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.” He couldn’t help but kiss him one more time, before stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel to dry himself up. When they were all done, none of them bothered to get back into clothes simply throwing their bathrobes onto the chair where their clothes were to reach for them later. “No cameras, yet?” Jimin teased Namjoon, just to get rid of his own nervousness, letting his finger wander down his body, stepping back carefully until he hit the edge of the bed. “Oh. That’s quite intimate, isn’t it, RM?”

“Oh, if it’s too much for you I can always press play,” He teased back although Jimins words and the way his gaze was heavy on him didn’t leave him cold. “You want them to see how nicely you squirm everytime I push my fingers inside you? Want the viewers to get a front row seat of you fucking yourself on my fingers?”

It was so easy for Namjoon to play him. He knew his soft spots, the way he needed to talk to Jimin to make him go weak in his knees in a matter of seconds. Jimin fell onto the bed, crawling back when Namjoon hovered over him. “Or maybe I’ll just want it all to be for you.” Jimin reached out for him, cupping his cheeks, loving how gentle Namjoon was, placing a soft kiss right on the palm of his hand, “I know you’d rather just keep it for yourself to look at for later.” Jimin turned around and on his stomach, pushing his ass up a little in a sweet motion. “You’d love to rewind it over and over again, right?” Jimin made a show of moaning sweetly, letting his hand caress over Namjoon’s side, knowing exactly how to play Namjoon’s possessive side in return. 

“Ah, don’t out me like that!” Namjoon laughed at Jimin’s coy look and the way he wiggled his bum for him to get on with it. He had a point though because even though he would never keep Jimin from doing cams with his colleagues he actually liked it a lot that Jimin had been completely ‘his’.

Until now.

He had no idea if Jimin was hooking up with guys in his free time - and he didn’t want to know - but he feared it might be a little strange to watch someone else having him. Though it would definitely give him an opportunity to appreciate Jimin in a way he never really could before as it was a little difficult to take in every detail of his orgasm face while Namjoon himself was so close he felt like he was bursting. However he did like to watch Jimin squirm and moan when he fingered him of course. So he took a little lube from Jimin’s favorite and warmed it up to be ready to go to work.

Jimin turned around again, laying back comfortably when Namjoon was settling in between his legs as he spread them wide for him. He gasped quietly, when Namjoon was soothing over the rim so easily, placing sweet kisses on his knee as he got himself comfortable to work him up. Jimin bit his lip, anticipation and excitement rushing through him and he willed himself to relax completely, closing his eyes. 

He didn’t tease as there was lots of time later for that on camera. He just wanted to make sure that Jimin was relaxed and ready to be taken as Hoseok could get a little impatient when he was turned on and so it was better for them all if they were ready to go. He pushed in right away and although Jimin took it with easy he still took his time to explore him, stroking his insides and draw his focus to what Namjoon was doing to him. Jimin’s moan were like the sweetest melody to his ears, the younger was arching his back, enjoying it thoroughly. He knew it was just about working him up, making it easier for them, but Jimin couldn’t help but feel so turned on already. But it was simply what Namjoon did to him. He probably could just stare at Jimin intensely and he’d come on the spot, having an orgasm of his lifetime. That’s how good he was. Jimin had to smile at that thought, pushing his hips closer to Namjoon. 

“Stop being so greedy, Minnie, you’ll get what you want later.” He pushed the younger’s hips down as he prepared him further, step by step until he was three fingers in. He could feel Jimin jerk when he met the right spots and because he liked the way Jimin’s moans changed whenever he massaged his prostate he did just that, holding the younger still down by his hips so that he couldn’t move away from him. 

“How can I…I stop when you’re so good at this,” Jimin desperately moaned, reaching out to hold onto Namjoon and placing his hand upon his. He hummed, biting his lip to not lose himself in the pleasure right away. “Ah, Namjoon, please,” He whispered, his thighs shaking a little from the way he was stretching him so perfectly, rubbing his sweet spots and making him go crazy with it. 

“Well, I think you’re ready now.” He patted Jimin’s thighs and pulled out, knowing for certain that Jimin would act cute now and put to get his attention back. Namjoon kneeled down and got a little box from under the bed that he placed besides Jimin. “I… I got you a little gift.” When Jimin’s eyes widened he quickly added, “It’s... It’s not much just something for you to use here… or at home if you want. Anyway it’s yours if you like it.”

Jimin furrowed his brows, confused and happily surprised at the same time. “What is it?” He asked while opening it up slowly, his eyes flickering between Namjoon and the gift nervously. When he put the top aside, and his gaze fell onto a heart-shaped sparkly pink diamond in the box his jaw immediately dropped. It was the first thing he saw, and then his eyes wandered over the shiny silver attached to it. “Joon!” He exclaimed, “When? Wh-why…” His teeth pulled at his bottom lip as he let his finger soothe over the sparkly diamond plug that Namjoon had gifted him. “It’s perfect!” He smiled brightly, before adding quietly, "D-do you want to use it now?”

“Ah, I’m glad you like it!” Namjoon’s shoulder’s visibly relaxed as he saw Jimin’s joy. He had found the plug online and thought immediately of Jimin. It suited him perfectly, the smooth shiny surface would make it easy to use and clean and the pink crystal added some extra cuteness. And honestly he couldn’t wait to see Jimin wear it. “Yeah, if you’re up for it I’d like to use it now. Then Hoseok will have you perfectly ready for him after the two of you got to know each other a little.

Jimin nodded, giving the box over to Namjoon trusting him to know how to use it exactly, because honestly, even though he had thought about things like that he had never used a plug before. Toys, vibrators, yes…but never a plug. He wondered what it would feel like to have the reminder to get fucked soon, the plug making sure to keep him perfectly prepared. An involuntarily moan slipped from him and Jimin leaned his head back. 

Namjoon smiled at how trusting Jimin was, giving it over to him without any instructions because he knew that Namjoon would know what he wanted. “It’s a little different than being fingered,” He explained while taking the plug out of the box and using the lube on it. “But you don’t have to worry it’s not bigger than what you can take. You just shouldn’t tense up or it might feel uncomfortable. I’ll be slow and careful as always and if you need me to stop just say so. It can feel really exciting when it’s in. You want to try?” He waited until Jimin nodded before he placed the tip against Jimin’s hole. He kept it there until Jimin relaxed and then started to push it in with slow, steady pressure. He kissed Jimin’s thigh to get the younger’s attention away from the plug for a second and it worked as Jimin relaxed a little more and the plug went in. He could hear Jimin’s surprised gasp and chuckled, feeling the younger’s abs clench from the sudden intrusion. “It’s all in. You can get used to it if you want. Or look in the mirror how pretty you look with that crystal heart in between your cheeks.”

Biting down onto his lip, the younger nodded eagerly as he slowly got up from his position. It was a weird feeling at first but it wasn’t unpleasant and Jimin had to admit quickly that he liked it way too much, especially when he saw how beautiful it looked his eyes widened even more. “It’s so perfect, Namjoon.” Turning around to him, he wiggled his butt once to show it off again, making himself giggle. He walked over to him, taking the bathrobe from him to cover himself up for now and not get too cold while they were waiting and kissed Namjoon on his lips. “Is this something you do for every boy of yours?” Staying close, he whispered it against his lip, gazing back into his eyes deeply, “Or am I allowed to feel really special?”

"Glad you like it. It really suits you!" Namjoon chuckled low. "Oh you're totally allowed to feel special. You're my pretty little playmate, aren't you? You've always been special to me. Always have been, always will be." He smirked. “Please be careful, sweetcheeks. Don't flaunt it like that. Cause you know, I'm supposed to let Hoseok have you first and I'm not sure if I can keep my promise if you keep wiggling your cute little ass like that, looking so delicious that I just want to have it all to myself." He sighed as if he was really fighting with his self-control.

“Oh, is that so?” Jimin walked a little closer to where Namjoon was sitting on the edge of his bed, making him spread his leg so he could come in between. “Maybe I should do it a little more…” A knock on the door made Jimin jerk up in surprise. The sudden nervousness mixing with the excitement that he’d forgotten all about while teasing each other was right back and Jimin instinctively searched for Namjoon’s hand. Namjoon took it and squeezed it reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hoseok might be a little freaky but he is really nice. And you'll love it. Not just because he's a nice Person. Pulling out the plug feels even better than pushing it in. And then, when you are clenching around nothing Hobi will be ready to fill you up again. You'll enjoy yourself. And if at any moment you want to stop then we can. Hobi gets paid anyway so you don't have to worry about that." He left it to Minnie to open the door and let Hoseok in.

The bathrobe was hanging loosely around his body as he leaned against the door, eyeing the two of them with a smirk. It slowly turned into a warm smile when the door closed and Hoseok leaned in to kiss Jimin on his cheeks. “Hello pretty,” He whispered and Jimin couldn’t help but shiver, “I’ve always wondered when Namjoon will let me have a piece of you.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, looking back and forth between them, suddenly feeling shy about the thought of Hoseok watching a video about him with Namjoon before. “You saw them before?” Jimin asked just to make really sure, finally letting go of Namjoon’s hand and sitting down onto the bed while he was setting up the cameras, making sure they had the right angles. “I sure did.” Hoseok winked at him, “A pity that you aren’t into more kinky stuff...would have loved to use that ass of yours for one of mine...but Namjoon probably wouldn’t have let me anyways.”

"Exactly!" Namjoon chimed in. If Jimin wanted to do a Video with Hoseok he could of course. They weren't in any way exclusive therefore they all knew that Namjoon's words didn't hold any meaning. Still it felt good to pretend Jimin was his. "If it wasn't for Minnie than I wouldn't let you anywhere close someone this soft and pretty - cause you'd get off in completely ruining him and making him cry, wouldn't you? Just to see how nice he would look sobbing from overstimulation with your cock in his tight little ass." They were all used to dirty talking from the cams so a conversation like this wasn't unusual. 

Hoseok groaned at the image inside of his head that Namjoon had planted there, instinctively reaching out for Jimin and caressing through his hair and down his neck.

“Am I not allowed to make you cry and whine for me tonight, baby boy?” Hoseok cocked his head to the side and pulled Jimin up to be able to lean in closer, just a few inches away from his lips. His eyes flickering over to Namjoon who was stepping away from the cameras, the little light blinking signaling that it was recording. A smirk appeared on his lips and Hoseok pulled Jimin in by his neck and waist, kissing him deeply and devouring the other completely, leaving him breathless within seconds. Jimin had to hold onto the collar of Hoseok’s bathrobe, but he loosened his hold the moment Hoseok grabbed his waist and turned him around. “Let’s get rid of that,” He held Jimin close to his own body, untying the the strings, pulling of the robe to lust over Jimin for real. His hands were wandering over his shoulders and down his smooth silky skin and Hoseok couldn’t help but lick his lips slowly. Jimin leaned his head to the side, dwelling in the attention and the knowledge that Namjoon was watching right now how someone else was touching him, kissing him on his neck so softly. He squealed when a sudden rough push made him fall forward and a hold around his ass kept him firm in place as he steadied himself on the mattress. “Oh,” Hoseok cocked up an eyebrow, his finger soothing down over Jimin’s spine, making him shiver all the way down to the plug he was wearing. “Is this for me?”

"Actually it's for Jimin - because let's be honest you're not half as good at the prepping thing as I am. And I like to fuck Jimin tonight as well, which could be difficult if you ruined him for me. So I thought I save us the time and Jimin the experience of you opening him up. Be gentle though, it's his first time wearing a plug." Hoseok wasn't as bad as he made him sound he was just teasing - maybe because watching Hoseok handle Jimin like that both turned him on while also strangely making him feel jealous and left out.

Hoseok hummed in response, his hands soothing over Jimin’s firm ass softly. “Then get over here and let’s get started because I’m getting hard just from seeing him like this already.” He dropped his own bathrobe easily, making Jimin peak over his shoulder to see more of the handsome man behind him.  When the sound of more clothes dropping onto the floor reached Jimin, the younger looked at Namjoon, his eyes stuck on him immediately, while he looked mouthwatering delicious.

“Do you have the masks?” Hoseok asked, his gaze fixated on Jimin’s ass he pushed the younger further up the bed to make him kneel in front of him, his hands caressing down his thighs taking in everything that he could fuck tonight and he only pouted hard, when Jimin sat back, denying him the view of his beautiful cheeks further while Jimin reached out for Namjoon, first because of the masks but second because he needed him closer.

"Sure." He gave the masks over to them, a black one for Hoseok and a creme colored one for Jimin. Soft or pastel colors looked best against his golden skin and lightened hair. Namjoon himself went with black. He kneeled back onto the bed, giving Jimin a little kiss for reassurance. "Remember, orange is when you're not sure if you like something, red is stop. And Hoseok won't ask for green cause he assumes you'll just speak up for yourself but I might be asking out usual way; two taps on your wrist and then you either nod or shake your head no. Everything alright so far? Do you want to start?" Namjoon rather asked too often than pushing Jimin into something he didn't want. Jimin was eager to please and get praise or attention and Namjoon had figured out that Minnie had crossed his own boundaries in relationships for those reasons so he made it a habit to make sure that Jimin knew he never needed to do that with him.

The younger nodded in agreement, eyes staying fixated on Namjoon while he got onto the bed. Jimin wanted to start with something that he knew he was always comfortable with - kissing Namjoon. So he put his arms around his neck, falling against him as he pushed his plush lips against his, letting go off his control and give it to Namjoon with each kiss. Hoseok was watching it intensely, gripping his cock to jerk himself and get himself hard while his eyes were wandering down to Jimin’s butt, the plug sparkling so beautifully, luring him in with each desperate whine coming from the younger and the sensual movements of his body against Namjoon. Shifting closer, Hoseok’s hand followed Namjoon’s on Jimin’s body, placing kisses on his shoulder blades. First softly, feather light touches, until he reached his neck and he bit into the skin, sucking and licking to make Jimin gasp in surprise parting from Namjoon to lean his head back. 

Namjoon enjoyed kissing Jimin a lot. The younger always put his heart into it and you could feel it, in the way he moved his lips against Namjoon with intention. A sudden surprised gasp had heat rushing down Namjoon's body and he smirked as he realized what had Jimin reacting like that. "Already marking him up, hm? And you haven't even been inside of him. He really is a sight though, isn't he? I can promise you, he'll look even prettier pushing back on your cock, begging you to harder and deeper. And he moans so sweetly when you hit the right spot. Though you might not hear it this time as his mouth is going to be filled with cock, isn't it.”

Hoseok looked up at Namjoon, smirking and placing a kiss right on the sweet spot behind Jimin’s ear. “Oh, he’s perfect.” Hoseok let his hand wander down Jimin’s chest, locking him in effectively between him and Namjoon. Jimin gasped, his hands staying on Namjoon’s chest as they were manhandling him so easily. “He won’t be able to say a word tonight, right, baby boy? It’s what you wanted, hm?” He kissed Jimin on his cheek, before grabbing him tight by his waist and pulling him bag from Namjoon. Jimin lost his balance for a second, before he found himself at the perfect height to look right at Namjoon’s cock. 

"Such a mouthwatering sight..." Hoseok chuckled, leaving it open to interpretation if he meant Namjoon's cock at Jimin's lips or Jimin's naked body in front of him. Teasingly he drew a heart on Jimin's ass, and then a smaller one, closer to the heart shaped crystal of the plug until he was circling the crystal. "Do you think I can take it out now?" He pushed onto the heart, testing out how tight it sat, "Or do you want to mentally prepare yourself first? Because I'm not gonna do that fluffy stuff RM does - I'm gonna take you like you deserve it. If you remember anything further than your name after I'm finished with you then I did something wrong."

Jimin looked over his shoulder, biting his lip and nodded. “You can take it out.” He whispered, getting himself comfortable on his knees. From where he was, he could perfectly lean in and leave kisses down Namjoon’s happy trail. A moan slipped from him, when Hoseok pushed onto the plug again, making him a little nervous on when he was to pull it out. Jimin looked up at Namjoon, when he felt the sudden sensation making him shiver and gasp simultaneously and he held onto Namjoon’s thigh, feeling himself tightening around the toy.  

"Such a pretty little ass!" Hoseok lightly slapped at Jimin's butt, feeling how the younger tightened even more from surprise. He liked how directly and naturally Jimin reacted, he was an open book, sweet and vulnerable. Hoseok pulled on the plug again, waiting before it caught on the rim of Jimin's hole and the younger could feel the stretch - before pushing it right back in again. He leaned forward, reaching in between Jimin's thighs to get a grip of his cock to see how hard he was. "Ah I see you like being played with. Then we'll be a good Team. Oh by the way can I fuck you without a condom? I'd like to come inside you and fill you up. It would be a shame not to with a sweet ass like yours."

A sweet whimper was all Jimin could answer, while he let Hoseok play with him so easily. “Y-yes,” He answered a little breathlessly, biting his lip in sweet anticipation and then pushed his ass back eagerly onto Hoseok while he hovered over him like that. Jimin could feel how the excitement and arousal was making him more bold and he circled his hips deliciously beautiful and gazed at Hoseok, “Only if RM can fill me up right after.” He moaned sweetly, turning back to kiss down Namjoon’s stomach and right down to his crotch, where he took jerked him off once and then licked along his length slowly, sucking on the tip as if it was the sweetest candy he’d ever tasted. “Please fuck me Hoseok.”

Namjoon's eyebrows shot up at that. Hoseok was making Jimin more demanding and even though he hadn't expected it he kinda liked it. His answer got choked off when Jimin stopped playing and started to use his mouth on him, licking him with such finesse that he groaned lustfully.

"My pleasure, little one." Hoseok didn't let him ask twice instead he reached for the lube to pour a little bit on himself and then pulled out the plug, slow and steady. As it popped free he couldn't help but push a finger in to tease Jimin's clenching hole.

"Don't worry, you won't be empty for long." He positioned himself at Jimin's entrance and held the younger in place with a tight grip on his hips. Then he pushed in, hard and quick, as deep as he could go with his first thrust.

Jimin jolted forward, his eyes closed, the moan choked off. Hoseok’s length was reaching way deeper than the plug, stretching him out even more and making him feel every bit of his cock inside of him. His own hold around Namjoon’s thigh had tightened as he got used to the new feeling, the tight grip giving him no space to move. “It feels so good,” Jimin hummed in response, gazing up at Namjoon and blinking innocently. “Do you want me to make you feel good, too?” He didn’t wait for an answer though, dipping low again, lifting his ass as much Hoseok let him and sunk low onto Namjoon without any warning and began sucking him off for real this time - just like he knew would drive Namjoon crazy. 

Which it did. Not only did Jimin absolutely know what he was doing he could also feel Jimin’s pants or little gasps whenever Hoseok pushed back in. Jimin tried to take the force of Hoseok’s thrusts but of course his body still rocked with it and Namjoon felt that too. Hoseok was pushing in roughly right from the beginning. His mind and eyes completely focused on how his dick pushed into Jimin’s hole each time, pushing in a little more forcefully right after. He chuckled whenever Jimin was trying to push against him, his hands tightening around his waist. “Oh, baby, we’re not even starting yet.” Hoseok stilled, his hands gripping Jimin tight and the younger got pulled back so harshly that he slipped from Namjoon with a squeal. “Spread your legs for me,” He ordered, pushing his legs in between his to make Jimin completely lose his stance. Jimin moaned when Hoseok sunk in deeper again and he looked up at Namjoon with a smirk, while he was talking to the other, “Is that all you got? I thought you didn’t do that soft stuff?”

“Oh!” Hoseok laughed “You’re daring. I like that! If you don’t want the softie treatment I can take it up a notch.” His palm hit Jimin’s asscheek and although he had slapped him before this one was different. It stung a little and it made Jimin clench instinctively - which Hoseok used to push through the tighter grip that Jimin’s body had on him. “Fuck, you’re tight!” He panted but didn’t slow down one bit, just fucked into Jimin at a hard, fast pace while Jimin could barely keep his balance with his thighs being kept spread open. Hoseok nudged Jimin’s knees wider apart, just to see the younger struggle a little more and his thighs tensing up as it really brought out his muscles. The moans were vibrating around Namjoon’s cock while Jimin was eagerly sucking him off, licking along his length just to be able to look up at Namjoon again.

“Go deeper!” Hoseok ordered with a rough voice and Jimin had to blink for a second, one second too long for the other when a hard spank hit the side of his ass cheek again. Jimin gasped, clenching tightly around him. Each thrust made him jerk forward and he knew that if he’d take Namjoon deep it would sure make him choke around him. Licking his lips, Jimin leaned down again, his hand keeping a tight grip around Namjoon’s cock. Another slap and Jimin felt a hand on his throat that pulled him back up and against Hoseok’s chest. It wasn’t a tight grip, nothing that left him choking, but it was made to show Jimin who was in charge.

“You’re not giving my friend the care he deserves...,” Hoseok held Jimin down by his waist, thrusting upwards and circulating his hips slowly, “And you want to please us, don’t you? You know that’s what you like, right? Please us, be fucked and used until you can’t do anything else but shake and fall apart impaled on my cock. Be a good baby boy, now. Show him how much you love his cock.” Jimin had his eyes closed, soft little moans mixing with whispered answers. “Y-yes, wanna be good…for him.” He let Jimin fall forward again, urging him on with quick little movements of his hips. Hoseok watched how Jimin leaned closer, his hands slowly wandering down Namjoon’s chest and towards his thighs, before sinking back onto his cock so slowly that it made both of them gasp. Jimin could feel the tears stung in his eyes the moment it hit the back of his throat, taking a deep breath through his nose when Hoseok thrusted back into him hard, making him effectively choke around him with the sweetest noise Hoseok had ever heard. 

Namjoon could barely keep himself from jerking his hips up because the sudden pleasure made his mind go blank for a second. Choking Jimin completely was absolutely not what he wanted though as the younger was already pretty much struggling. It worried him a little actually and he considered asking if Jimin was okay but he didn’t want to ruin the scene for Jimin in case the younger got off on this and something like care or worrying could make his bubble burst.

Jimin could taste the precum on his tongue; each thrusts making him push back onto Namjoon’s cock. He closed his eyes, tears burning in his eyes from the rough sensation and the pleasure making him feel dizzy. Reaching out for Namjoon’s hand, he switched his mouth for his hand quickly, trying to sit up a little more. “K-kiss me, plea-,” The plead got cut off by a moan.  

“Then you need to give me a second to breathe or I could bite you by accident,” Namjoon answered, proud that he managed to get a comprehensible sentence out in one piece with the way Jimin worked him up. He gentle took Jimin’s hand away from his cock and kept it in his while he leaned into Jimin to kiss him. They lips met a little messy because Hoseok was still pretty much in control of Jimin’s body but Namjoon just adapted, moving together with Jimin to kiss him properly.

Jimin whimpered helplessly with each kiss, one because he felt completely overwhelmed and the arousal was rushing through him so fast that it was making him shake. He jerked with every spank, Hoseok’s hands leaving marks all over his body as he manhandled him roughly, pushing Jimin closer to impale him on his lap, while the other was pressed tightly against Namjoon. Jimin fell against him, Hoseok’s grunts getting louder. Squeezing his bottom tight, he spanked him once more.

“You’re so fucking good for me baby boy, so fucking good. You’re gonna look so good with the cum dripping out of you. Dirty one, aren’t you?” Hoseok made Jimin cry out, his thrusts hitting deep and the right spot each time. His hole tightening effectively around him, while Jimin tried to hold onto Namjoon, to keep himself upright. “I want you inside of me, too.” Jimin pursed his lips, placing open mouthed kisses on Namjoon’s shoulder, “He feels so good…I can’t.” Jimin shivered when Hoseok let his fingertips scratch on the inside of his thigh until he reached his cock, jerking the younger off simultaneously with every thrust. “Ah, oh god, please…please,” Jimin whimpered, searching for Namjoon’s lips again to ground himself in a sloppy kiss. 

“Me too? I’m not sure you can take it, baby.” Jimin shuddered and gasped, his eyes fluttering. Namjoon brushed back the younger’s sweaty hair, steading him a little when it looked as if he was about to collapse. He had stopped trying to push back against Hoseok, probably because he couldn’t which forced him to feel Hoseok's full strength everytime the other let his hips snap against Jimin’s ass. Namjoon could hear the slap of skin meeting skin everytime and he wondered if there would be bruises on Jimin’s ass from Hoseok’s hips. Though Jimin would probably have fingerprints on his ass as well from the spanking. Hopefully the marks would fade soon - or else Namjoon would have to make a special session with Jimin to cover them all with his own.

Jimin’s finger were digging into Namjoon’s skin, Hoseok’s moans turning into growls as he pushed into him deeply. It was nearly impossible for him to not come like this. Jimin was beautiful and he was taking him so willingly, every spank made him moan so beautifully, every thrust forced a whimper from him. It was heaven to Hoseok.

His thrusts faltered a little and he pulled Jimin back from Namjoon forcefully, to have him on his own terms for the last moments. He brought him back against him. His arms tightly wrapped around Jimin, while he moved his hips deep into him. “Look at him, baby, make him see how good you are for us,” Hoseok grunted low and Jimin blinked his eyes open, focusing on Namjoon. His plush lips parting with every moan and gasp as he bounced on his lap until he could feel the hot, wet cum spill inside of him. Hoseok didn’t stop for a second, instead he rode out his orgasm fast and hard until he was shaking and panting himself. Keeping his hold around Jimin’s chest, he pulled out of him, only to push two fingers back into his hole. Jimin flinched from the sudden sensation, shivering and shaking, not really understanding what Hoseok was doing until he brought his fingers back up to his mouth. Jimin’s heart was beating fast, still holding onto Hoseok’s arms, gazing deep into Namjoon’s eyes. “Be a good baby boy.”

Namjoon reached forward, taking Hoseok’s dirty hand away from Jimin’s mouth. “That’s enough now. You had him, you came inside of him, you spanked him. And you didn’t even make him come.” Namjoon smirked knowing that he was mean right now. Jimin’s cock was red and swollen and he had been so close to coming that Hoseok had probably just needed to touch him once and the younger would have burst all over his fingers. But this wasn’t a fair game so he could play as dirty as he wanted. “Now is my turn. You can take a shower and join us after or stay and watch how cute he looks when he’s coming hard on someone’s cock. If you want you can jerk him off while I fuck him. If he managed to stay seated on my lap with his abused backside. Look what you did to him!” He smoothed over Jimin’s red ass and in between, just to see how sensitive Jimin was - and from the way the younger whimpered it was a lot.

Jimin was still panting when Namjoon pulled him in and he easily followed to do whatever he wanted from him. “I won’t miss to see your thighs in action,” Hoseok cocked up an eyebrow and threw himself on the side of the bed, hands behind his head and ready to watch, “You know I love watching you and this beautiful piece of art.”

Even now, Jimin couldn’t help but blush and giggle at the compliment, squealing when Namjoon turned him around. “Will you finally fuck me now?” Jimin’s voice sounded breathless, but he smiled nonetheless. 

“Finally? You’ve just been fucked! Don’t tell Hoseok that it wasn’t enough or else he’ll take it as a personal project to wreck you. He might try to break our record of how often I could make you come in one video - and then double it. And I won’t come to your rescue then, not even when you cry.” He lifted Jimin up a little as he could see the younger’s thighs quivering a little from how turned on and tense he was, helping him to sit comfortably in his lap, murmuring amused to himself.

“Boy, about five seconds without a cock and you’re getting demanding.” It was easy to slip into Jimin as Hoseok had done a great job of fucking him open and he was still slick with Hoseok’s cum “You’re a little dirty tonight”, Namjoon teased him before placing his hands left and right of Jimin’s waist and starting to move the younger how he wanted to have him. 

“I’m always dirty for you,” Jimin hummed in response, twitching from the oversensitivity which made him tighten around Namjoon’s cock right away and dragged moans from both of them. “Please, fill me up,” Jimin whispered and making Hoseok chuckle as he watched the beautiful scenery unfold. This was better than any video or cam he could watch over his laptop. Watching someone live like this was everything one could dream of.  

Namjoon did as he was told, moving Jimin on his lap until he could feel the younger shudder and clench again. “There, that’s it, hm? You like that?” He kept the younger in place while thrusting up into his sweet spot until Jimin was sobbing with each thrust. His cock had started leaking and everytime Namjoon pushed inside of him harder his whimpers became more desperate. “What do you think, Hobi?” Namjoon was out of breath too. He hadn’t been inside for Jimin for long but all the teasing and Jimin’s heavenly plush lips around his cock from before had done a lot to melt down his stamina to almost nothing, “Should we reward our pretty...little boy here and let him come?”

Hoseok nodded in agreement, reaching out for Jimin to feel his soft skin under his hands once more while he was bouncing on Namjoon’s cock so beautifully. “He’s the most beautiful like this,” Hoseok let his hand soothe down Jimin’s backside, making him shiver and tighten his hole on instinct, causing him to cry out. He was barely able to keep himself upright anymore and if it wasn’t for Namjoon holding him, he’d probably already collapsed. “Such a sweet boy,” He pushed his hand through Jimin’s hair, making him bare his neck a little, “You belong on this cock, huh.” Turning to Namjoon, he smirked, “Make him come. I want to see that beautiful mess.”

"Yeah, he's made for this, bouncing on my cock like this, fucking himself into oblivion, so gorgeous, so needy...chasing the pleasure like it's all he ever wanted." Namjoon soothed over Jimin's thighs as he could feel them trembling from the strain but Jimin kept going, rutting desperately against him because he was so, so close. "Cutie," He mumbled softly against Jimin's neck, nipping at that soft skin there, glad that Hoseok wasn't bruised him up too badly there as well. He stroked shallowly over Jimin's length just to have him shudder and when he teased the head, red and swollen and constantly leaking by now Jimin's thrusts faltered. “Aww, baby, are you losing your strength? Let me help you." Namjoon chuckled, dark and low, fueled by his own desire. He placed his arm around Jimin's waist to pull the younger's back flush against him and then started to move again. "Come on, baby, chase it!" He whispered as he rocked his hips hard into Jimin's ass. Everytime the younger moved back Namjoon snapped his hips forward, sinking in deep and hard while everytime Jimin moved the other way there was a tight grip on his cock, jerking him mercilessly intense. Jimin cried out when the pleasure rippled through him, holding on tightly to Namjoon as he fell forward, his cum spreading all over. But he didn’t mind. He had no way to overthink this anyways while he was shaking apart right on Namjoon’s cock, while the other was chasing his own high enjoying the way he was clenching around him. Jimin felt like every strength of his body had left him, leaving him a quivering, whimpering mess in Namjoon’s hold while was fucking into him ruthlessly. 

Namjoon was panting, loud enough for it to be audible on the video. He knew that he would watch this moment over and over again later when he’d be editing the video; the second when the tension rose higher and higher and Jimin started shuddering before he came hard and helplessly and so utterly beautiful. Just thinking about Jimin’s face when he came brought Namjoon really close to the edge and so he held Jimin down, rutting against him and rolling his hips into him over and over, feeling his cock slide in and out of his fluttering hole until he couldn’t take it anymore and he came with a grunt. He kept on fucking into Jimin until the younger whimpered from the overstimulation and his own cock felt raw as well but being inside Jimin was like an addiction; too sweat, too delicious to let go of when he should.

Finally he pulled out of him, slow and with a slick sound and both his and Hoseok’s cum started dripping down the inside of Jimin’s thighs. It was a really dirty and really hot view and Namjoon turned Jimin a little by his hips so that the viewer would get a good view of his abused hole, swollen and wet from the mess they’d made inside of him.

Jimin felt weak and blissfully exhausted. Something that he’d never felt before. Not in this intensity. He was panting, still shivering when Hoseok cupped his cheek and made him blink up at him. “You’ve been so good, sweet little angel.” Hoseok patted his ass cheek with a smile, squeezing them tight and spreading them just a little more before he let go. Jimin whined quietly, which Hoseok swallowed in a sweet sudden kiss and then let go off him. “I’ll leave the rest up to you,” Hoseok chuckled and winked at Namjoon, spanking Jimin one last time as he got up from the bed. ”I’ll take a quick shower and then I’m gone.”

And with that Jimin just let himself fall into Namjoon’s arms, mask slipping from his face in the process, hanging loosely and awkwardly on his face but he was too tired to do something about it.  Namjoon pushed it back up onto his nose with his finger - even though he would edit out the real intimate stuff anyways. “How are you feeling baby? Do you think you can get up after Hobi is finished? Cause I’d really like to clean you up a little in the bathroom. Don’t worry, you won’t have to do anything, just move in there and then back out. And then maybe stand on your own two feet for about half a minute while I change the sheets. Then we can cuddle back in and watch that movie I told you about. Is that something you’d like?”

“D-don’t wanna move,” Jimin whined, pursing his lip as he talked in pout, seeking Namjoon’s embrace and stayed there. Closing his eyes, Jimin sighed deeply. He was feeling dirty though and the more the ecstasy and high from his orgasm was ebbing down, the colder he felt, leaving him shivering. He knew Namjoon was right, but everything sounded better than moving right now. “Hm’kay,” Humming the response, he tried to sit up while blinking his eyes open. Jimin hissed, feeling every ache of his muscle, his abused waist and bottom. 

Namjoon reacted immediately, “Are you hurting? Do you want me to carry you? I can’t promise that’ll hurt less though because you probably feel sore everywhere right now, am I right?” He gave Jimin an apologetic little kiss on the cheek even though Hoseok had done most of the ‘damage’ and Jimin had asked for it before.

“Mh, I only feel it now really,” Jimin mumbled, keeping close to Namjoon because he felt like he needed it to feel grounded. “I…I’m okay. Just tired,” Namjoon carefully pulled him up and Jimin held onto him as they made their way over and into the bathroom, where his gaze fell onto his bruises for the first time. Jimin gasped, his eyes widened for a moment and then a smile replaced his shocked expression. “Which are yours and which are his?” He giggled softly, nuzzling his nose against Namjoon’s chest. 

Namjoon leaned down, whispering low into Jimin’s ear, “I wished all of them were mine.” He placed a little kiss below Jimin’s ear and then chuckled, “…but I’d say the ones on the lower half of your body and your waist are probably his and I guess I painted the one onto your neck. They suit you.” He winked at him before dampening a wet washcloth and starting to clean Jimin up until the water would be warm enough so that he could wash Jimin properly. “Did you like it? Was it how you expected? Did you like Hoseok?” He tried to ask casual although his heart thumped a little harder at the thought of Jimin maybe preferring Hoseok over him and only doing cams with the other from now on.

Jimin hummed, leaning into Namjoon’s touches instinctively. “He’s cute. I liked it a lot,” He answered truthfully, before blinking up at the other, “I have my wish fulfilled now. A threesome: done. And it was awesome, and I felt good, safe, blissfully exhausted.” Jimin leaned his head back at the thought of what had happened, “And I got a lot more that I want to try…with you.” He opened his eyes again and reached for Namjoon’s cheek, “What else can you show me?”

Namjoon wasn’t good at hiding his feelings so the relief that Jimin still liked him showed, together with his dimples caused by his happy smile, “Oh, I’ll show you whatever you want! Though right now I’ll show you how fluffy my bed is and then how nice it is to be cuddled and comforted while watching a movie. You’re my favorite, Minnie so I want you to feel like it.” Jimin blushed slightly, biting his lip. Stepping out of the shower carefully, he let Namjoon dry him up as he held onto him, before answering, “You have to tell that every boy of yours, don’t you? You’re a flirt, Joonie.” 

“Am I?” His eyes got a little softer “Then I guess you should ask around who my special baby boy is.” A strong arm around Jimin’s waist kept the younger upright. “Cause I might have mentioned how much I like you in front of the other ones that sell their vids.”

Yoongi might have commented how sweet and soft Jimin looked, asking how it was like to shoot with him and Namjoon might have swooned a little while talking about Jimin. 

“Joon,” Jimin whispered, blushing even more at the thought of Namjoon talking about him, telling someone else that he was his favorite. The kiss that he pressed onto Namjoon’s lips was answer enough for him and Jimin wrapped his arms a little closer around his neck. He never wanted to let go off him. “Then I’d like to get that special ‘favorite’ treatment please,” He whispered in between kisses. 

“It’ll be my pleasure.” Namjoon hoisted him up so Jimin wouldn’t have to walk while kissing him back, sweet and full of promises.

A/N: And here is the second pairing, or well...the threesome of this series! We hope you enjoyed it ;) Leave us a comment down below!

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[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Blood and Rain (Good Omens)

@whumptober2020 - Using Prompt 9 “For the Greater Good” and Prompt 30 “Now Where Did That Come From.” CW for injuries and cliffhanger ending.

The Bentley careened off the road into a ditch, narrowly avoiding the blast of lightning that grounded itself on the asphalt.

Aziraphale and Crowley both summoned as many miracles as they could in the three seconds before the front of the vintage car hit the tree. The windscreen shattered - branches speared in at driver and passenger. Crowley’s forehead hit the steering wheel, but though the impact rattled him, he’d managed to prevent any damage to his corporation.

“Are you--” Crowley started, but was cut off by a crash of thunder. Not from the bolt that had almost hit them, but from the next, and the next.

“They aren’t giving up,” Aziraphale called, as flashes of blue-white light crept closer and closer. “We’ll have to run.”

“Run?” Crowley glanced behind them. He tried to keep his tone calm, but behind his glasses his eyes were wide and serpentine. “You think we’ll be safer running through a field than in a car?”

“Do you believe this is a mundane storm?” Hailstones began to pound the roof of the car, shaking it. One left a dent so deep they could see it from the inside.

“I was...really hoping,” Crowley grumbled, even as he threw open the door and scrambled out. Despite the sting of the hail and rain, he paused for a quick glance at the front end of the Bentley - the tree had dented the front, but not crumpled it. The engine was probably intact. He lay a hand on the battered roof and whispered, “We’ll come back for you,” before pushing through the bushes and into the field beyond.

Rain and cold sliced his skin as he raced through the knee-high grass, catching up to Aziraphale. Already the angel was puffing and struggling, right hand pressed to his side.

“We need...someplace to hide!” Aziraphale shouted over the rising storm, wind catching his words and tearing them away.

“Where?” Crowley took the angel’s left hand, pulling him onward. “A church?”

“Probably not.” Aziraphale’s voice was lost in the next lightning strike, a blinding explosion far too close for comfort, showering them with mud and shattered rock. At least the hail seemed to have died. Crowley tugged harder, trying to speed Aziraphale up. “Feels more...like my side...than yours…” the angel gasped.

“Not your side,” Crowley snarled. “We have our own side.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

Crowley turned back in time to see the weak smile - but he also saw how pale Aziraphale’s face was, and the dark line above his brow, and the blood dripping just past his eye.

“Aziraphale!” He skidded to a halt in the mud, so abruptly Aziraphale bumped into him with a muffled gasp. “What - your head!”

Blinking in confusion, Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand to swipe at his face, looking at the mix of blood and rain on his fingers. “Oh...oh...the car…”

“Didn’t you protect yourself, you idiot?” Crowley pressed numb fingers to the wound, trying to heal it.

“Well...yes.” Aziraphale gulped and struggled to catch his breath. “Tried to...keep your car...intact at the same time. But...it would appear I...I failed at both.”

Lighting flashed again, searing into the ground ahead of them, then behind. The rain doubled, and hailstones fell once more. One struck the back of Crowley’s hand, another caught Aziraphale on the side of the head.

With a wordless shout, Crowley snapped out his wings, wrapping them both in a feathery embrace, shielding them from the storm. “We have to keep going, Aziraphale,” he mumbled, pulling his angel close.

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale started, the sound lost in the wind and thunder. His left hand clutched at Crowley. “No, my dear. You have to keep going.” Crowley started to growl an objection, but Aziraphale cut him off with a hand to his chest. “Listen, we don’t have much time. You were always better at running and hiding. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quickly, not giving Crowley time to interject, “but I’ll only slow you down. I’ll hold them off, you find a place to hide. Burrow, if you can. That should help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Crowley snarled. He crushed Aziraphale to his chest, wings tight around them. Through the feathers, they could see the flashes of lightning, drawing closer.

Aziraphale grunted in frustration. “Don’t be absurd. I’m the better fighter, Crowley. I’ll handle them, then I’ll come find you.”

“But--”

“There’s no time!” He shoved Crowley, a one-handed push strong enough to send him stumbling back. “Run! Just run!”

Another bolt of lightning and the air filled with the burnt-match scent of sulfur. Power from the sky and the smell of the pits. Strange how Heaven and Hell could be so utterly indistinguishable.

Crowley surged forward, grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels, and kissed him. It was rushed, fumbling, and tasted of blood and rain. The angel had probably bit his lip in the accident. One soft hand pressed against the small of his back, pulling him closer.

When Crowley released him, Aziraphale smiled and patted his arm. “I’ll see you soon, my love. Now, please. Go.”

And though it hurt more than anything he’d ever done, Crowley turned and ran, into the storm and hail and wind. He tucked his wings away and shifted forms - as a serpent he was faster than any human - winding his way through the jungle of grass and hailstones as large as his skull. He could no longer hear the lightning, but he could see it, and feel it, a gut-twisting surge through his stomach as the ground rolled and swelled like an ocean.

In a little more than a minute, he reached the far side of the field. Rearing up, head above the grass, Crowley could see a ditch, a hedgerow, probably some very upset sheep on the other side, looking for shelter. Not ideal, but he was running out of residual heat from his time in human form. A few more minutes and he would succumb to the torpor, but if he could find a burrow first…

Crowley slid along the ditch, looping around more hailstones and torn-off twigs. His back and sides already felt bruised from the icy assault. He flicked his tongue, but of course all he could taste was rain, and mud, and the lingering flavor of Aziraphale’s blood.

He flicked his tongue again.

It didn’t taste right, the blood, too thick, too...much for a bitten lip.

He’d been bleeding from the head.

And gotten out of breath far too quickly, even by Aziraphale’s standards.

And he’d only moved and gestured with one hand, the other clamped tight to his side.

And he’d grunted and gasped whenever Crowley touched him…

Rearing up again, Crowley looked at the hail, the damage it had caused. No chance it had only just restarted. The hail had been falling since the moment the Bentley crashed, and Aziraphale had been shielding them until…

Until he hadn’t had the strength anymore.

Crowley shot back across the grass, moving faster than he ever had before, ignoring cold and rain and pounding hail. In barely half a minute, he could see - up ahead - glowing figures of pure light, at least half a dozen, surrounding one who was pale and dim, kneeling half-collapsed on the ground.

The serpent shot past, no longer a serpent, some unnatural creature of fangs and claws and wings.

He threw himself at the nearest figure, mauling it, teeth sinking into its throat. Then he kicked free and launched towards the next, coiling around it, grabbing at its head with clawed hands while his wings flapped wildly.

Crowley wouldn’t last long. He was no fighter - he was a coward, a trickster, a being that lurked in the shadows. But right now, he had the element of surprise and six thousand years of protective instincts. He would not let them hurt his angel.

By the time the glowing beings had beaten him down and thrown him into the mud, too weak to stand, he’d put three of them out of the fight.

“Glad that’s settled,” one of them growled. “Which do we take?”

The voice wasn’t familiar - nothing about them was familiar. They didn’t quite feel like angels, but they certainly weren’t demons.

“Doesn’t matter,” another said. “Either’s as good as the other. Just grab one before they notice.”

“Take me,” Crowley said immediately, pushing himself up by his arms, crawling forward with teeth bared.

A foot lashed out, kicking him in the jaw. “The other one is less trouble.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder. Aziraphale lay on his side, eyes dazed, mouth moving weakly. His chin was still streaked with blood that he’d coughed up, dripping down to mix with the rain around him. Whatever they’d done to him, he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

Pushing himself up again, Crowley glared at their attackers. “You will take me. If you even touch him, I will fight you until you have to destroy me. And I don’t think you have time for that.”

“But if we take you, you’ll come quietly?”

Crowley nodded.

Glowing fingers grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright. Crowley bit back a shout and shifted the rest of the way to human form. As soon as he’d changed, one of the beings hit him in the stomach, nearly knocking him over again.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale, still in the mud, struggled to rise, half-dazed eyes in a panic. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, so it was something else that ran down his face.

“S’alright,” Crowley said as soothingly as he could, while bright white hands landed on his shoulders. “I know you’ll come for me.”

“Yes!” It was more a squeak, a strangled choking noise. “Wherever you are, I’ll--”

Everything turned white.

Then black.

Then white again.

And Crowley blinked, looking around a hallway that was neither Heaven nor Hell.

--

Sorry for the cliffhanger! I do know the next part, but not sure if I’ll get it out before the end of Whumptober. I’ll see what I can do! Thanks for reading!

[twitchesandstitches]

Commission for @alt-hammer, who asked for a story centering around a fantasty-themed AU where the major troll families are nobles, and focusing on Cronus seeing his long time girlfriend Porrim in person, along with her family of fellow gravid vampires!

-----

The land was scarred by ancient wars long since forgotten, but the land still remembered. Sometimes the memories were bad, with some bright spots.

This was the understanding according to the sages of the Leijon tribes in the dark forests, and the blind seers of Pyrope lands rarely liked to venture out there for fear of what their mystic gaze might reveal, and the great desert was the worst of it all. A terrible scar upon the world, it lay in a region where rain should have fallen, with no mountains for a great distance, and the climate was fairC. There should have been no deserts at all.

But their land was one with a dark and troubled history; war had touched it often, no less than the recent conflicts that had produced the modern noble houses of the troll lands and their human allies, and those wars had left terrible scars. Most of the points of civilization were islands of light in a dark sea, and there monsters in the dark places inbetween. Horrors arose, seemingly from the magical miasma that pooled out from the seas, vast and terrible monsters that required great heroes to slay them, and of course some weird wizard might decided to craft some abominations for the fun of it, completely forget about them, and be inadvertently responsible for a village disappearing when his Exploding Slime Tesseract wandered there.

Cronus Ampora, scion of the wizard-kings and hopeful master of the fleets that connected them to other lands, had a duty to hunt down such dastardly fiends when he wasn’t skipping very close to being one of them. This wasn’t a bad thing, per se, in the Amporan lands. Violet tradition held that a nobleborn prince, or bard like he had become, who didn’t periodically cause some manner of wacky catastrophe was going to be too unimaginative to make a very good successor. Archmage Dualscar, father to Cronus, tried to encourage his children to do more of that.

Periodically scouring the continent to put down rogue monsters and arrest wizards of inappropriate conduct was a task assigned to the Orphaners; so named as they killed evil wizards, orphaning their creations, at which point the Big Dad energy of the Amporas would take over and they’d adopt them all. As a result, the Amporas had a truly massive army of militarized constructs, thousands of caretaker monsters of all kinds of descriptions, and many more strange beings peacefully integrated into their society. Being used to such diversity also made an Orphaner uniquely suited for diplomacy; they dealt with ‘Things Not Like Me’ on a nearly daily basis, and it helped to expand the mind.

Cronus spent a lot of time on land, therefore. He hated it. Violetbloods like him were adapted for the sea, and individuals varied on whether they were land walkers who could live underwater, or sea beings who could stand to walk on dry land for a while. Cronus was the latter. But his duties, interests, and deep fascination with land walkers of all kinds drew him to the world above, even if it was the people there he liked and the world itself was just the worst.

And the desert was the worst of all. The horror of the place clawed at him with the memory of ancient atrocities, leeching vitality out of him like the sun drying his flesh. They moved on the landships favored by the Nitram feudal lords, an assortment of their mounted knights as protection and a little bit of showing off, and even though it was comfortable and he had a big tank of water to recline in, the whole land felt wrong. He was convinced that some ancient magical catastrophe had scarred the land so badly it had burned, searing it with the energies of undeath. The hordes of the walking dead currently reduced to several tons of ash flying in the air now was proof to that.

But now, the character of the sand was changing; it was harder for the knights at their side to articulate why, though they were notably calmer, the tension loosening from their armored forms. They weren’t magic users, and weren’t able to perceive the subtle details in the sand now. Cronus didn’t doubt that they knew that something had changed, though. The threat upon the wind felt less oppressive. The teeming hordes of the undead, hoarded in this deadly place over eons and mummified by the burning sun, shied away like magical constructs warded away. By now, they had passed one of several enormous towers, of dark marbled stone and brighter patterns of magic-infused metals that all glowed like a torch against the sand, visible for many miles, and Cronus saw the wall of magic flowing through it. It was a relay point, and seen from above, perhaps on a Pyrope airship, he might have looked directly down and seen the network of barricade towers, standing guard against the sea of death.

And they were new. There were many wonders in the world, that was true. But most were ancient relics, reactivated and barely operational, their masters struggling to keep them just working consistently. Very few of them were completely new.

There was a reason the Maryam Clan of rainbow drinkers and vampires, despite being the smallest noble family, commanded so much respect. In a single generation, they were tearing the bloody heart of undeath out of their homeland, and restoring it to life again.

The caravan journeyed onwards, as as they did, Cronus noted the move of magical essence around them took on a drastically different character. The hostile desert behind them, shielded away by the mystic barrier, stank of death where it had any nature of all. Mostly it was a hollow emptiness, yawning behind them like someone physically standing behind with obvious ill intentions. But the sands blew with the hints of life beyond them. Birds flew upon the wind, flitting up to the towers to attend their nests. As they journeyed further, they saw small oasis here and there, clusters of animals standing there.

Cronus watched them. They had to be imported. Surely they couldn’t have revived the beasts that had lived here so long ago… could they? The long-legged creatures, antlers growing out into swirling patterns, stared placidly at him and continued to drink, judging him no threat. They did not look like desert dwellers, but like creatures who ran through heavily wooded forests. Just as this land must have once been.

Despite himself, as the caravan journeyed to the very center of the desert, he felt a sudden sense of joy come over him. The desert had not always been a desert. It was healing.

What wonders were the Maryams making? He was never more excited to be able to study there.

Soon enough, the distant sounds of water grew closer, and a city appeared on the horizon, even taller than the towers, hardy shrubbery cut into fanciful shapes surrounding it. “My lord!” said the cheerful voice of a bronzeblood named Chixie, cheerfully. “We are nearly there!”

She rode before him, a troll significantly shorter than average and nearly twice as wide as she was tall, praticularly at the hips and bust; they all wore light clothing for this heat, but hers had to be especially roomy for her voloptuous body. She was in a prime position to be lookout, as it were, and Cronus honestly wasn’t sure if she should be there; she wasn’t an actual knight but an honorary one, a bard inserted into the ranks to get an insider’s view.

Sure enough, they soon acquired an escort. Several human women, unusually curvaceous and beefy, bearing the flowering robes and veiled attire of the Maryam clan, though their dark skin showed no signs of vampirization; they were not inducted into the clan in particular, it seemed. They did bear the signature saw-swords of the Maryams, and these rested in a relaxed way indicating they still could be drawn if need be. “Bard of the Amporas,” one said primly. “Follow me, if you please.”

The caravan did so, and they came to the great city of the Maryams.

They came through the high gates of the city, towering doorways open wide as if to welcome all visitors. Before the shining colored stone of the domed architecture, before the staggering array of fabrics fluttering upon the thousands bartering their wares at a bazaar their path took them through, the thing Cronus was drawn to was the oasis. The city itself, he understood, had been build upon that oasis. He didn’t know if it had already existed, some remnant of bygone days, or created through a work of grand and exhausting magics. Even now, as the city grew, the oasis grew, its surface shining brightly. To his magical senses, it was incandescent, painful to look on directly. Life streamed through it, so much raw vitality that it seemed magic distilled into a liquid form, flowing its life-giving energies into the land around it, gradually wearing away the corrosion of death resonance.

The oasis was almost an inland sea; a vast and improbably deep pool of water, replenished by mysterious means, threaded throughout this whole region and emanating magic with a very specific flavor. There were a lot of resonances it split into, but the big one was… well, fertile.

It seemed to have an effect on the women, Chixie noted bluntly, as they walked through in search of their secondary escort, who had gotten a bit lost.

Those women (not all of them, but enough to be notable) were very large indeed; the average breast size began at ‘larger than your head’, and they stood notably taller than average. Even the humans were reasonably close to the heights of some of the trolls from his home fleet. And, yes, there. He could see rainbow drinkers in the crowd, shining with an eerie light as they moved, an alien grace in their robes. And human vampires as well, sheltering themselves from the harsh desert light, though it was largely unnecessary. One quirk of the oasis’ architecture was buildings were designed to bridge together, creating overhangs, walkways, balconies, launch points and other similar features. The end result was a ground level that was almost permanently shaded most hours of the day, as well as upper levels that suited trolls fond of leaping and climbing.

For a time, they wandered through the great desert city of the oasis. There was much to see, and one after another, the knights peeled away from the group. Their task, as delivered by their own lords, had been to securely bring Cronus to the city of the Maryams. True, when his business was completed here (perhaps months from now, or weeks if you were to be cynical), they were to bring him to his next destination. Perhaps to home, if need be. But for now, their task was done.

They meandered to their next destination, and this eventually took them to the markets. One by one, the knights departed, to secure their own entertainment and housing. Both would be easy to find; temporary homes had been provided for them in the fabulous hotels of the minor clans, and the oasis city was a wonder of art from all over the continent, scrolls and tomes of all matter of disciplines, and its scholars among the most learned. Whether it was art, lore or simple dialogue one craved, the oasis would provide.

Cronus, his violet courtiers, several servants attending to the more bureaucratic concerns, and a few knights who insisted on attending his person continued through the city, to where they were intended to meet up with a representative of the Maryams. They walked over canals, and admired the beautifully carved pueblo bricks set into the bridges. These canals webbed over the entire city, flowing beneath the streets that blossomed over them like forests of mushrooms, so that everywhere you went, the oasis flowed beneath. The architecture, Cronus noted, was specifically designed to make that magic flow.

As they crossed a particularly large bridge, close to the central regions of the great city, he saw that the buildings rose up at certain geomantic angles. He suspected it was to channel the magic most efficiently towards the sky, and project certainly spells into the air and wind. He said as much.

Chixie looked fascinated. “That’s very interesting, lord. What are they doing with it all?”

Cronus shrugged. “Heck if I know, dame. Part of whatever it does that’s making the desert fix itself from whatever our dumbass ancestors did here? Hell, could just be making a ward to block out whatever it is in sunlight that hurts human vampires.”

Chixie blinked. “...Okay, yeah, I can see them wanting to do that. I, uh. I DID see the human-looking vampires carrying those cute little parasols to keep the sun off. Why bother if they can’t get hurt here anyway?”

“We find that it helps to get people into the habit if they opt to leave!” said a peppy voice. It sounded perfect for a den mother, a caretaker of children, and a consort protector. It was the sort of voice you had a mental image for; probably someone quite short, wearing a lot of fluffy fabrics in warm colors, and built like the more generously fluffy plush toys.

They followed it. The voice didn’t entirely fit the mental image at first glance; the speaker was an outrageously gorgeous and stupendously stacked rainbow drinker; a jadeblood troll, who stood easily a couple feet tall than even the largest of their ground. Cronus doubted he was even as high as her broad biceps.

The escorts who had brought them bowed deferentially, and departed, symbolically passing them to her. It felt like a very big deal, indeed.

She approached, and the jade veils of the Maryam clan fluttered around her mouth, the elaborate robes of office about her body. It revealed little of her face; jewelry of high station hanging in chains off her delicately carved horns, both curving gently upwards, one zig-zagging in a brief series of sharp edges. She didn’t so much walk, honestly, as sashay dramatically, as her hips were far too wide to walk normally. It was a distinctive walk, her broad thighs swinging wide beneath a secondary dress worn over her main one, brighter shades of jade against its pale colors to indicate her social status.

Her skin, though at least the nominal black of a grown troll woman, also shimmered with the eerie light of a rainbow drinker. Long hair, with a streak of green, flowed behind to an enormously large backside shifting the flow of her dress. Swirling tattoos traced around what skin was visible, but most significantly, she was also pregnant. Extremely pregnant; her belly was a monstrously huge, distended orb projecting out so much, with so much weight, that it was more oblong. Not exactly a gut; her thick and fit body type wasn’t quite the right shape for the more extreme of big belly builds, and Cronus could see the weight of something humanoid resting there. Pregnant, in the special Maryam definition.

Her dress, as was custom for the Maryams, was cut to show off her belly, all the way to where it joined her body. Massive breasts, larger than her head and suspended over that belly, were supported by brighter bands of soft fabric, and the overall impression was of competent power, seductive appeal, and raw motherly power. It was a strange thing to have coupled with a voice that sounded more at home gently lecturing small children on the fine points of not smacking each other on the head over a toy.

Chixie swallowed nervously, gazing up at the towering jadeblood. She wasn’t the tallest of her kin Cronus had ever seen, but she was taller than most they had seen going around. “Um. Hello, ma’am. We were, ah. I was told to expect someone fitting your description…?”

Bronya clapped her gloved hands. “Ah! You must be the Ampora delegation, then?” Cronus nodded to her. “Bronya Ursama, I am. Of the Maryam Clan. I’ve been sent to bring you to the matriarchs, if you please!”

Cronus nodded, smoothly shifting into the manners Dualscar had sternly taught to them. He bowed low. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Ursama. I am Cronus Ampore, of the Ampora fleets, and I apologize for not finding you sooner.” He smiled, winningly. “We simply could not resist a bit of sightseeing.”

Chixie and the others introduced themselves to the towering vampire, increasingly awkwardly and with their faces heavily blushed at how… sexy she was. Bronya smiled sweetly, greeting them in turn, praising their lords for producing such fine stewards of honor (Chixie nearly stumbling in sheer shyness from that), and the only significant surprise was that Bronya’s belly lurched.

A human-sized figure inside her stomach turned, like a baby shifting in the womb, and a hand briefly moved against the surface of her belly.

Cronus blinked, fascinated; the knights were less calm. Chixie actually clapped her hands to her mouth: “There’s someone in you!”

Bronya nodded, looking nonplussed. “Oh yes. A charming young scholar, I actually tutored her during my residence in the ancestral library. I believe she intends to go on pilgrimage after her stay with me.” The knights stared at her, bafflement written on them. She looked bewildered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cronus coughed. “Eh, sorry, but these knights… eh. I don’t think they know about the particularities of the Maryam transformation. The process, I mean.” Inwardly, he cursed; he should have given them a primer on that!

Bronya inclined her head, understandingly. “Ah! Of course! Well, never fear. Come along, I shall explain.”

They moved along, the knights shying a bit away from Bronya now save Chixie, perhaps dreading visions of themselves being pulled into that belly as well. Cronus walked behind her without fear, following the slow wobble of her broad backside, and she took them across the bridge.

They came to a large castle, of sorts; it was clearly not meant for sieges, and was so open to the sky and walls, but for some fortifications, that it had only a hazy notion of ‘outside’ to begin with. It was older by far, and Cronus recognized the same kind of geomantic designs on the walls, and it was a simple thing to gaze up and see the magic in the air, vibrating around the elegant carvings on the walls.

Bronya spoke a password to the guards, who were women built on largely the same look as her though not pregnant with someone, and they passed through without incident.

Inside, it was much cooler; so much so that it had to be a work of magic, or at least very skillful air conditioning construction. Great woven tapestries hung from the walls, detailing both beautiful artworks and stylized portraits, and many doorways lined the halls. Bronya led them down a staircase carved into the floor, going underground, and as she did, she spoke at length.

First, she asked: how did they think new rainbow drinkers, or vampires, came to be? When Chixie awkwardly said that she thought their blood was drunk first, she laughed.

“It’s certainly part of the process,” Bronya said. “But it’s not the important one.”

To become a vampire was a very serious thing; it was a magical ritual of great importance, derived from some quirks of jadeblood physiology, and while it worked on non-jades and humans and some other beings, it had to be very carefully down. It took a vampire mother to make another, her fertile body literally reshape them into a new form, bringing them into the clan and giving them new life.

Vampire literature spoke often of living a new life, of being reborn, of gestation and being remade by one’s sire. Bronya assured them, there was no metaphor there.

Vampires like her literally absorbed another being (in a ritual she implied she certainly was not allowed to discuss with them at length), and contained them in their womb. The strongest could hold many; Bronya was inexperienced, and one was all she could manage for now. And for a time, perhaps years, the fledgling vampire was infused with magical energies unique to the Maryam Clan, slowly changed into another vampire with all its perks, and all the very extensive physical alterations. A vampire wasn’t just an immortal that drank blood, they were an entirely different sort of being.

Bronya paused, and for a moment looked quite tired. Her belly swelled, the figure within visibly shifting, and then stopped. She panted, her glow dimming. “It’s not something you enter into lightly, either,” She said, perhaps glad for this emphasis. “For either of us.”

Cronus nodded solemnly. The knights looked shaken, or thoughtful; with so much effort put into the transformation, no wonder the Maryam Clan was small by the standards of nobility, and so very tight knit. Plenty of them still looked uneasy at effectively being reborn in such an intimate way, and were baffled at the idea of willingly being inside a troll’s womb like that. Cronus, poker-faced, gave no indication of his feelings one way or another.

Soon, they came to a sanctuary deep underground, where once the ancestors of the Maryams had held sacred rituals. Here, it was still a private place, and when Bronya paused, giving the knights an awkward look, Cronus coughed. “I’m thinking I’m the only one technically allowed to go from here. Is that right, Lady Ursama?”

Bronya nodded, regretfully. “I apologize, dear knights. But entering here is a rather important matter. I assure you, Lord Ampora is quite safe in the grip of the matriarchs!”

Chixie winced. “You could put that a little less ominously but.” She nodded. “We understand.” She glanced aside. “Yes?” The knights nodded.

Bronya looked relieved. “Well then! If you will come with me, I shall find something diverting for you all. Lord Ampora?” She pulled on a small statue, and the vast door before them opened enough for him to pass through. “The matriarchs await you.”

Cronus entered, as the knights and Bronya departed. The door closed behind him, and considering that he was entering the lair of the most powerful vampires in the world, it was surprising he felt no particular anxiety. But then, there were few he trusted as much, and none he trusted more, than the namesake leaders of the desert nobility, the Maryam Coven.

-------

The outer chamber was as spooky as deserved for a vampire coven, the carved walls high, and torches held on the mouths of fearsome sculptures. The whole edifice looked… not fearsome exactly, but in that general area. It was certainly impressive, and would put any ancient sacrifice to vampire hungers in the appropriately awed mindset before the big moment and then the sexy, sexy recuperation afterwards.

As he approached the inner chamber, though, he heard some muttered arguing that rather spoiled the mood. “Hurry, hurry! Just, oh, mother, please! Just sit down!” That voice was very familiar to him, admittedly usually through translocational images as they spoke through magical devices. He swallowed, standing up straighter and trying to look cool.

The next voice was very similar, but deepened by age, with a cool and wry amusement at the antics of the first. “Calm yourself, dear. I am absolutely not going to hurry, not with this much weight to move.”

“Mother!” the first almost wailed. “Bronya made the signal, he’s here! I’ve put so much effort into this meeting, please, do not spoil the drama!”

The second chuckled with the distinctive sound of someone who is good natured but still used to a child being unflappable and calm, and was absolutely going to milk this for all it was worth. “Oh? Don’t want to scare him with a preview of yourself in years to come, I suppose? Imagine him coming in here, seeing all this, and immediately fleeing!”

There was a scandalized gasp. “Please don’t, you might jinx it!”

A third voice sighed, a perturbed air to it. She sounded younger than the other two, but with that distinctive Maryam accent, a lilt to the words. “Porrim… please, don’t make this so serious. I was calm when Rose was here…”

“And I’ve no idea why!” The first voice said, with an air of petulance that Cronus, intimately familiar with that voice, found truly surreal. “First in-person impressions are so important! If this goes wrong, or if one of you frightens him, I’ll… I’ll…”

There was a long pause. Cronus leaned in towards the door, fascinated despite himself for the juicy gossip.

“...Yes?” the eldest-sounding voice said, with a hint of mocking encouragement.

“...I’ll give the tailors the most abhorrent designs for your outfits, right when you’re so big it will take weeks for you to get new ones made!” The first said triumphantly.

From the sound of it, this threat wasn’t being taken too seriously. “How cruel of you, dear sister,” the younger said dryly.

Cronus leaned a little too hard on the doorway. First it creaked loud, no doubt causing those inside to turn, and then-

It opened inwards, too fast for him to stand back up. He overbalanced, having leaned on it so much, and as it turned out his first proper introduction to the love of his life and her coven was flopping into their sacred chamber in an undignified heap, his ropes splayed over him.

“Ow,” he said meekly.

Someone rushed towards him, with an outraged cry, perhaps at his loss of dignity. A genteel chuckling, from the same older voice, greeted him, and the first one scoffed indignantly; Cronus looked up into the first speaker, into the eyes of Porrim Maryam.

Quite a lot up, in fact, and fortunately she was standing at an angle that her considerable assets didn’t block his sight.

She looked gigantic as she approached him; a towering motherly titan that would have loomed over even Bronya. She could have carried Chixie about like luggage; no, she could have towed Cronus like that! The impression was reinforced by her powerful build; her shoulders were broad, packed with muscle, her arms wide from years of training with sawblades. Her body had an hourglass curviness, her small waist making her shoulders look even bigger, and her hips even larger. And her hips were massive, making Bronya’s look smaller. In every respect, she was bigger than Bronya, not just taller than her, but wider. Bronya had big hips, yes, but Porrim would have serious difficulty getting through doorways; they were almost three feet around, at least.

And then, there was her belly.

It was so large, Porrim moved with an awkward, limping gait, her body clearly not adjusted to its sheer bulk. The vast, shining orb projected out before her body almost as much as she was tall, its lower slope descending gracefully to the ground, and she wasn’t burdened with just one new vampire in there. Cronus saw several arms moving against each other, the dimple of multiple bodies seated, a bulge of several torsos…

The question blurted out before he could contain it. “How many do you have in there!?”

Porrim blinked, but at this angle it was hard to tell; her breasts were so monstrously huge they got in the way of his sight, almost individually as big as her belly, and even with the supportive bands of her bodice, there was only so much that could be done to keep them pressing down on on her stomach. Cronus could have slept between them, and the thought was badly tempting. She laughed, putting a hand to her veiled mouth, and giggled helplessly. Her whole body shook; her big belly, her massive hips, her powerful thighs. Her great mane of hair, fluttering down past her hips like a luxurious mantle, shook with her laughter.. Even the new vampires in her body trembled with laughs, though he doubted they were even aware of what was going on.

“She has rather more than was wise,” the eldest voice said dryly.

“Probably six,” said the youngest. “Porrim gets attached too easily.”

Porrim went ‘hmph,” with the lazy dignity he expected of her, and helped Cronus up. The impression of towering height didn’t end even when he was stood up; his head was still barely level with her elbows, and given just how much mass she had, he felt stick thin next to her, and when she swooped down to hug him and straighten up his robes, he was lost between her breasts, and in her arms.

“I am so, so sorry about this!” She whispered furiously. “I intended for this to be so much more, ah, inspiring, but no, Mother and Kanaya just had to spoil the mood.”

Cronus made a squeaking noise. Her breasts and belly weren’t so much pressing against him as carrying him up, pinning him, and holding him still with a delicious sort of pressure.

Porrim paused. Much as her sense of drama had been spoiled, she could still appreciate a good moment. She leaned forward, and for a moment, Cronus was in a position to appreciate the coven tattoos winding across her body in the ancient patterns of fertility, motherhood and predation; swoops and curls, winding on the arms, the legs, over her breasts and belly…

Her veil was lifted up as she pulled him close to her face. Her lips brushed against his mouth, and long fangs against his lips.

“Not to be a hypocrite, but please do control yourself, Porrim,” said the eldest voice again, a hint of dry amusement in it.

Porrim dropped Cronus, with a squeak of mingled dismay and frustration. She turned aside, almost knocking Cronus over with a belly he could have fit into (and now he wondered what it was like, whether it was warm or cool, how her belly might feel hospitable or if you would be rewired to adjust to it), and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Now,” said the voice, with an air of command different from her jovial tone earlier. “Let me see this saltdweller you have spoken so fondly of.”

Cronus was brought forward, a glimpse of extremely large chairs around him, perhaps intended to seat women that were very big indeed, and he had an impression of size before him, and a hand fell upon his face. Long claws moved against his gills, though not painfully so, and then moved his face up and down with a delicate but irresistible firm touch.

“Ah. The Ampora profile, for certain. You look very much like your ancestors; do tell me, how is your father doing these days?”

Cronus looked up into a face that was suddenly smiling, and even through the veil he saw the fangs, and the vibrant lipstick, the calm and assured competence so charismatic that she could have conquered the continent diplomatically, and more to the point-

She was nearly twice as big as Porrim, while sitting down.

The Dolorosa. The head matriarch of the Maryam Coven, mother of all living true vampires; one of the few to have successfully fought the mad pirate queen Mindfang to a standstill, to have brokered peace with the Pyropes during the years of fiery vengeance from the mountains. The first of the troll nobility on the plains to open her city gates to the carapacians, it was said, and from her wisdom great riches and discoveries had flown.

It was a little surprising that the stories about her said much about her wisdom, said a great deal about her honor, and said very little about how terrifyingly, attractively BIG she was.

Sitting on a chair that could have been designed for giants was a troll so large Cronus did not even come up to her waist now, and so outrageously curvaceous that just as Porrim’s thickness made Bronya look slender, the Dolorosa made Porrim look malnourished. Hips nearly as wide as she was tall, with a monstrously huge backside rising as high as her waist, the wides merging with her thighs evenly.

Her hair was cut short, and her horns elaborately carved; jewelry of religious significance were strung between them, green cloth shining onto her. Her face was more severe than Porrim’s, though kindly, and her tattooing was even more extreme than Porrim’s, with the curling inks brought to her face, her horns, and extremely intricate patterns on her shoulders and breasts. Cronus didn’t doubt that her entire body was a mosaic of art, though he was unclear on the meaning of the tattoos.

Her shoulders, broad and slabbed with muscle, heaved beneath her robes. She smiled indulgently. “Come, young man. Don’t tell me you left your tongue with Porrim.”

Cronus swallowed. Porrim went ‘hmph!’ again. The Dolorosa was an intimidating figure, not so much amazonian as she was an apex of the concept; her arms alone were bigger than he was, though she wasn’t at all toned. She was built like a strongwoman, really. Her robes were not especially revealing, but they still showed quite a lot of breasts that were… well. So incredibly huge, so wide and so bulky, that they were larger than a good portion of Porrim herself. Perhaps five feet high each, and wider across than that by far, they rested upon an incredibly huge and round belly that flowed over her throne onto a specially arranged dish set before her, over a dozen moving inside her stomach in expectation of vampirism.

That belly towered over Cronus, just as the rest of the imposing woman. The tattoos swirled over it, lovingly outlining its bulk. It looked bigger than a hut, or some boats he’d seen, bigger even that the Dolorosa’s entire body. How did she manage so many!?

Cronus found his voice, even as her smile grew increasingly more mischievous beneath her veil. “My father… he does well. He, erm. He asked, that…” he struggled to recall it, and found it hard to recount the unsual wistfulness that had come over his father then. “He thinks a lot about you.”

For a moment, the Dolorosa’s gaze went distant, thoughtful, wandering into the past. “I should hope so, the dear man…” She smiled fondly. She returned from whatever thoughts were on her mind, focusing on Cronus again. She raised a hand, and he flinched instinctively, but her intent was not hostile; her hand ruffled his hair, rather affectionately. “Please, do say hello, Kanaya!”

“I apologize, mother,” said the third speaker, who had been sitting to the side, on one of the smaller chairs, with an air of watching an amusement. Kanaya Maryam, youngest of the coven, and she looked a lot like a much smaller version of her mother.

Much smaller, in fact. After the overwhelming size of Porrim and her mother, Cronus was a little alarmed to see that Kanaya was much smaller than either. She was larger than him, though. Later, he would see that she was a little taller than Bronya, though not significantly so; as vampire fostering went, he learned, Kanaya was a lot more cautious. Much more than, say, Porrim was, and as a result she was a lot smaller for the moment. The growth that came with power, for the Maryams, was tied to this fostering ritual.

Kanaya’s tattoos were subtle, graceful curls at the edges of her robes. Her carved horns were obscured by fine rings that, Cronus noted smugly, came from the lands overseen by the Lalondes and had the distinctive unsettling artistry; her hair was short like her mothers, but her face rounder than either Porrim or the Dolorosa. She wasn’t quite as broad as her mother either, but was more powerfully built than Porrim, and definitely more heavy set at the waist. Her breasts were unusually large for a troll, bigger than her head, and rested on a belly containing a single vampire, though a fairly fierce one judging from how much her belly was wriggling. She didn’t seem to notice.

Kanaya bowed. “A pleasure to meet you at last.” she smiled faintly. “Porrim has been eager to bring you here, into our fearsome clutches.”

Porrim scoffed. “Kanaya, stop trying to convince people we are up to no good!”

The Dolorosa chuckled. “Oh, Porrim, don’t spoil the joke! After all, it’s not as if we’re going to keep him here and do terrbile things to this poor, handsome man!” She chuckled, and winked in an openly flirtatious way.

“Eep,” Cronus squeaked, blushing bright violet.

“Mother!” Porrim said, scandalized, though she’d said sentiments very much like that to Cronus before.

The Dolorosa chuckled. “Now, now. Sit him down, will you?”

Grumbling to herself, Porrim effortlessly picked him off the ground and returned to her seat, and it was specially designed so that there was enough space for him to sit comfortably on her thigh between herself and the seat, though sandwiched by her belly and one breast. He did not mind.

Porrim put one arm around him, and Cronus did the same, relaxing into her embrace as if he’d spent his life in her company. He relaxed against her, and she into him. “Awww,” Kanaya crooned mockingly.

Porrim raised an eyebrow.

Cronus said, as if to himself, “Ah, that may put me in mind of some interesting stories I heard from a certain Rose Lalonde, during her own time here?”

The Dolorosa laughed. “Oh, do tell!”

Kanaya blinked, and looked impressed. “...Hmph, not a bad move…”

In time, of course, the teasing faded, and later on, they held a proper official ceremony of presentation, as was traditional for the noble families. It cemented ties, and given that they had recently been at war, also put all their cards on the table. Officially that sort of thing wasn’t needed, but the gesture of trust was important.

Cronus felt it was more important to make it official why he was there; to learn. About their unique magic, to spread learning from his own fleets (and presenting them with a vast storehouse of scrolls, rediscovered magical artifacts, and tomes that made some of the scholarly inclined vampires at the ceremony gasp in delight, and talk ensued of entire new wings that would be built for them all), and to foster understanding between their realms.

‘Understanding’, in this case, having significant romantic undertones, as was now traditional in the other noble families, or at least the parts of them their age.

The Dolorosa smirked at that in a way that rather spoiled the whole game for Cronus, but given that he could finally have the days with Porrim he always wanted, he couldn’t complain too much.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {7/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Hey, hi, hello! So as you can see, we have a chapter count, which means I’m finished writing the story (except for some edits I need to make in the final chapters), so I may post a little more often! I really appreciate the enthusiasm you guys have for this story, and I promise there’s going to be a payoff! 😉

Chapter 7 & 8 cover one day, and, well, that should tell you that something big may be happening soon! 

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her always incredible artwork, and her all-around support💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Sitting down on the bench on the balcony of his apartment, Killian props his feet up on the railing, crossing his right ankle over his left, and takes a long swing of his bottle of beer, letting the liquid trail down his throat while the rain pounds down around him, coating the edge of everything in a thin sheen of water. He’s thankful for the covering that he has to shield himself from it all because he loves watching storms happen from outside, getting to feel the thunder tremble through the air and hear the rain water mix in with the depths of the ocean as waves crash onto the shoreline and darken the sand. It’s weirdly soothing. The weather never gets bad enough up here for storms to make him nervous, for him to have to take shelter, so with the soothing sounds of the ocean roaring, he takes a few moments to relax and not feel any tenseness in his shoulders.

Summer has fully come into effect in Storybrooke, the sun heating up and the tourists rolling in with the summer storms, and he’s in the midst of most of his days being spent giving sailing lessons or simply taking families out sailing because he and Liam can’t seem to find anyone who is competent enough to work for them and not drink on the job or nearly cause a crash. He knew that this would be a part of his job when they decided on adding it as a service. He enjoys it, really, but it’s been especially busy for the last week of June and the first three days of July. Everything in the office seems to calm down as the peak of summer hits, so the lessons and community engagement are really for supplemental income and to keep their company name relevant.

Right now he could go for a little irrelevance.

It’s mostly because he’s got a sunburn on his shoulders that hurts when he stretches the wrong way and that makes him agitated because he almost religiously applied sunscreen to protect himself and his skin for all of the time that he spends outside. And he’s tired, so damn tired that he could fall asleep in this uncomfortable chair with the cushion that kind of hurts his ass.

Next week he’s buying new patio furniture, and he’s making Will and Robin haul it up here since the only reason he has this uncomfortable chair is because Roland broke his last one when he decided to jump up and down on it. And Will can help because he has to owe Killian at least five favors by now. Will always owes him something.

Really, he still feels like he owes him for that set-up with Emma, which Will fully admitted to being a set-up last week. It was a bit of vindication even if he already knew that.  

But he likes watching the storm, watching the ocean and the people who have taken it upon themselves to wander in the rain to get dinner when it would be so much easier to simply order in like he’s doing. Delivery from Granny’s is by far the most genius business decision that woman has ever come up with even if it’s always a toss up between whether it’s going to be Felix or Ruby delivering the food. Either way, it’s unlikely that he’s not going to be missing a fry or two. They tend to snack on the way here.

Every system has its flaws.

His doorbell rings, speak of the devil, and he swings his feet to the ground to stand, sliding open his glass door and walking into his apartment and the few feet through the kitchen to the front door. His place isn’t that big, but it’s enough for him to have nearly everything but the bedroom and the bathroom in one area. The view of the ocean is worth it.

Looking through the peephole, he sees Ruby standing outside with a red hood from her raincoat perched atop her head, and he unlatches the locks and swings the door open, a smile already on his face from how put out Ruby looks.

“Hello, lass.”

“I hate you for making me come outside during this weather,” she mumbles, shoving his food in his hand so that he grabs onto the paper bag. “Seriously. Don’t you know how to cook?”

“Not as well as your grandmother.” He hooks the bag on his wrist and digs into his back pocket for his wallet, opening it and thumbing through the bills. “It still $12.58?”

“And a tip if you want to thank me for my great service.”

He smiles to himself and pulls out a twenty, handing it over to Ruby. “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure. You coming to the Nolans’ house tomorrow?”

“Is the British man coming to a party to celebrate America’s independence from my home country?”

She pops her lips. “Yep.”

“Aye,” he laughs in response, shaking his head, “I am. I’ve been here for nearly half a decade, and your holidays are my holidays. Plus, I hear Dave grills a mean steak.”

He doesn’t know the Nolans that well despite most of his friends spending time with them, but he feels comfortable enough to go to the party with his brother, Elsa, and their kids. Their first year here they felt so odd not celebrating the holidays that everyone else was celebrating, but in the three years since then, they’ve really embraced it all. Luis and Luca definitely helped with that because all of their school friends celebrated Independence Day and Thanksgiving (bloody hell does he love Thanksgiving), and they’ve integrated themselves into the town ever since. Storybrooke feels like his home as much as Brighton did, and after the initial culture shock of moving countries and time zones to set up their business after retiring from the Navy and needing a change of pace, he enjoys all of the little charming traditions.

That first year he’d still been so heartbroken over Milah and her leaving that the fourth of July fireworks could have gone off in his apartment, and he wouldn’t have cared.

It’s...different now.

“He does. See you tomorrow, Jones. Wear your best patriotic gear.”

“I’ll wear my Queen Elizabeth costume. I’ve simply got to find my purse and my corgi.”

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “There’s a little surprise in your order, by the way.”

At that, she turns around and walks away while he shakes his head from side to side and closes his front door, locking it and turning to place his take out bag on his kitchen counter.

He opens his bag to grab his container of lasagna only to see a white napkin with black markings written across it. He guesses that’s the surprise.

In case you spill your lasagna.

PS: You’re going to have to imagine if my underwear matches because that is something you’re never going to see.

Your Secret Not Admirer

He chuckles under his breath at Emma’s note. He knows that’s who it’s from because it echoes his note from after he watched her spill her water on herself at Granny’s. He knew he was being a little cheeky last week when he’d left her the napkin teasing her about spilling her drink and about her wildly mismatched socks (he’s thinking it must be a thing for her to not take the effort to keep pairs of matching socks together) and implying that she did the same with her undergarments, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass it up. He didn’t see her after that, not for the entire week except for the one time he saw her across the street from the office while talking to Marcus, so he figured that he’d kind of pissed her off.

It’s a fine line talking to Emma Swan, whether it be risking it by actual conversation or by text. Sometimes he can flirt with no problem, sometimes she even flirts back, but other times he knows that he hits a sore spot that he needs to step back from. She’s a bit of a mystery to him, and she intrigues him. He wants to know more about her, to know her, and about half of the time he kind of thinks that maybe she wants to get to know him too. He knows that she’s against the whole soulmate thing, that she thinks this whole arousal thing between them is idiotic (it is even if he thinks it could have some rather pleasant results), but he’s sure that she can’t deny that they have some kind of connection.

Oh he knows that she would, but deep down, she has to feel it too.

To feel it past the physical attraction that they obviously both have for each other, weird aroused by each other’s voices thing or not.

Or maybe they’ll live a life of sending teasing notes and text messages and riling each other up whenever they’re in the same place and then not doing anything about it.

They’re both entirely too good at that even if his feelings of arousal and desire don’t feel quite as intense as they did on that first day. The day out on the boat had been bad, but he thinks a part of it was driven by how little Emma was wearing.

God, she’s stunning. Sometimes he still can’t believe that.

No matter, though, this is his life, and as confusing as it is, he’s having a damn good time having this little tete-e-tete with Emma.

He’s got to figure out how he’s going to respond to this note. But first, he’s going to eat this lasagna because his stomach is rolling nearly as much as the storm outside is.

Priorities.

-/-

“Uncle Killian,” Luca screams when he pulls up to his brother’s house the next afternoon, stopping before he gets to the driveway so that he doesn’t drive over Luca’s chalk drawing. It looks like she’s been out here for at least an hour drawing some kind of mythical forest, and he couldn’t mess that up after all of her hard work out in the sunshine. “Look what I drew.”

“That’s beautiful, love,” he smiles, closing his jeep’s door and jogging over to her, sweeping her off of the ground and into his arms as she giggles. She’s almost too big for him to hold her like this, but not yet. He’s going to kill his back to hold his niece, but he doesn’t care. He loves her too much to. “Do you want to tell me all about it?”

“Nah,” she sighs, tilting her head back as her legs swing, the girl practically a dead weight. “I’m not finished, so I can’t tell you about it because it’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yep.”

“And you can’t even tell your favorite uncle in the world?”

“Mommy said I can’t have a favorite uncle because it’s not fair to Uncle Kris.”

He snickers at that, knowing that she loves him more than she loves Kris, but that’s mostly because Kris still lives in England with Anna and not down the road like he does. And maybe it’s because he knows that he’s a hell of an uncle. Lifting Luca a little higher in his arms, he lugs her through the yard and up the front steps of Liam’s porch. Elsa has gone a little crazy with the gardening lately, and there are flowers blooming along the railing and pathway that seem to bring a lot of life to the brick home.

But not as much life as Luca and Luis bring.

“Hello,” he bellows as he walks into the house, tossing Luca over his shoulder so that she’s hanging upside down, giggles still rolling through her body. “I have found this interesting little creature outside, and I think that someone needs to come and capture her.”

“I’ll do it,” Luis yells, running to him from the living room and practically taking him down with the force of his hug.

“Hmm, I don’t think you’re big enough.”

“I am too.”

“I’m taller than you, Luis.”

“Only by a little.”

“Three whole inches.”

“Two and a half.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, ruffling the blonde curls on Luis’s head, “Luis is definitely big enough to help me lug Luca inside because he knows the most important information of all.”

“And what’s that?”

“Where is your mummy?”

His shoulder starts to ache so he puts Luca on the ground and plops himself down on the living room couch, making sure that he hasn’t gotten anything onto the cream material or onto their rug. Liam and Elsa have two eight-year-olds, but they somehow manage to keep everything inexplicably clean, especially since Liam isn’t as much of a neat freak as he used to be. Personally he thinks this entire house screams Elsa with its shades of blue and white with little bohemian touches everywhere. Honestly, it kind of reminds him of Emma and Belle’s apartment but with furniture that was definitely bought in a set and not found at different stores.

“She is putting her makeup on,” Luis tells him as he sits next to him on the couch and goes back to playing whatever video game he’s obsessed with this week. “And Papa is making a cake for the party.”

“That sounds good.”

“It’s not chocolate, so I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch and tilting his head to see Elsa coming down the stairs, her steps so light that he almost doesn’t hear them, “I think all cakes are good cakes.”

“Amen. My children are simply picky.”

“We are not,” the twins protest together, both of their mouths flattening into frowns.

“You are,” Elsa insists, stepping behind him on the couch and leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Have you guys been torturing your uncle?”

“They have been almost perfectly behaved, but I would like a piece of this cake to make up for it.”

“Nobody gets the cake until we are at the party,” Liam shouts from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation.

Elsa pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I have a cookie that you can eat to tide you over.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“And me?” Luca asks.

“Of course.”

He watches Luis play his game, which is apparently a Lego’s video game that he had no idea existed, for about twenty minutes before Liam announces that his cake is finished and that they can make their way to the Nolans’ house. He really should have driven himself, but he didn’t want to be the guy who was creepily sitting in his car outside of their house while he waited for Liam’s family to show up. Usually he’d march on in to whoever’s house it was, but not really knowing the owners has kind of kept him from that. Plus, he wanted to spend a little time with his niece and nephew because he knows that they’ll run off as soon as they get into the yard.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive out to the Nolans’ farm since they live on the outskirts of town, and by the time they get there, there are already cars parked all down the street, lining the gravel road almost as much as the trees are. It’s as beautiful out here as it was the last time he was briefly here for some kind of Christmas party, and he wonders just how David and Mary Margaret seem to host the entire town for a holiday each year.

The moment they’re out of the car, just like he expected, Luca and Luis run off to a group of children that are climbing on the treehouse and swing set, leaving he, Liam, and Elsa in their dust. He remembers what it was like to be that young and free in everything, even after his father abandoned him, and the thought of that has him reaching up around his neck to toy with the chain that holds his mother’s ring. His parents’ marriage wasn’t a good one, but the ring was his mum’s and is a memory of hers that he likes to keep resting over his heart.

When they walk in the door to the farmhouse, not bothering to knock, it’s a mess of people, everyone practically packed in like sardines. He nearly knocks Tink over when he’s trying to get past the staircase and into the kitchen so that he can place Liam’s cake in there. He doesn’t even know how he ended up with it in his hands, but he somehow did.

“What’s that?” Will questions, nearly making him jump out of his skin from surprise.

“Some kind of coffee cake Liam made. I’ve been told I can’t have any until we all eat dessert.”

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“It is.” He places the container down and leans back against the wooden cabinets, the cool marble digging into his waist just above his jeans. “Where’s Belle?”

“What? You don’t want to talk to me, so you ask where my girlfriend is? I thought we were mates.”

“Nah, I’m just in it for Belle. She has access to every book I’d ever need.”

“So does Amazon.”

He rolls his eyes and taps his nails against the countertop. “But no, seriously, I wanted to talk to Belle about a field trip idea for next month since she’s still looking for some for the summer programs.”

Will nods his head toward the window. “She’s outside with Emma talking to Mary Margaret and David as they grill the burgers. They must have spent a fortune buying the meat. I can’t imagine so many people in one place.”

“Me either,” he mumbles, twisting his head to look out the window to see the grill situated at the end of the patio, Mary Margaret standing at it with Emma and Belle next to her. Damn, Emma has on the same jean shorts that she had on when they went out on the water, and he doesn’t think he’s going to survive those again, not if she acts the same. Not even if she doesn’t. He’ll probably have to avoid her at all costs tonight. He can tell that Mary Margaret is the one talking, the way she’s swinging the spatula around pretty obvious, but he knows that Emma isn’t saying anything because he can’t hear her voice. He’s close enough to her to be able to hear her voice, right? That’s how this thing works. “Especially because that big head of yours takes up so much space.”

Will lets out a low whistle. “You have spent too much time with Rob if those are the kinds of jokes you’re making.”

“He makes a mean dad joke.”

“That he does. And, for your information, if there’s any part of me that’s big enough to be taking up too much space in this house, it bloody well isn’t my head.”

He doesn’t want to laugh at that, but he does, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes as he tries to keep from laughing out loud. Sometimes he swears that his humor is that of a teenager, even if he teases Will about that very thing.

“Where’d you get the drink?”

“They have a cooler of water and beer outside, but I know that Mary Margaret has some lemonade in the fridge and that David has whiskey in the pantry.”

He’d really rather have the beer, but he doesn’t want to be near Emma. It’s far too early in the day for him to be sporting an erection, especially when he doesn’t feel comfortable relieving himself in someone else’s home. He’d done it at Ariel’s, but that was a one-time thing. It’s not happening again. The thrill of almost being caught isn’t really there when he’s a gross man masturbating. That just...it’s wrong.

And he got caught the last time.

Damn, that was awkward and embarrassing, and he has no idea how he’s been able to look Emma in the eyes without melting into the ground or something. Probably because they had a few more pressing issues to deal with that day, and it’s hopefully almost forgotten.  

He knows it’ll never be fully forgotten.

Changing the weight on his feet, he turns to the side and opens the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, freshly cut lemons floating at the top, and pours himself some into a disposable cup, quickly writing his name on it with the marker that was left on the counter. He’s about to put the cap back on the marker when he sees the stack of napkins at the same time that he hears the faintest echo of Emma’s laugh. Scribbling down a note, he decides that maybe it isn’t too early for him to have to suffer from hearing Emma talk. And maybe avoiding her all day isn’t the best plan.

It’s certainly not what he really wants.

“Where are you going?” Will yells as he opens up the sliding door to their backyard.

“Use some common sense and guess.”

“Asshole.”

He doesn’t even blink at that as he strides across the yard, waving to the few people who wave to him, before he’s standing next to Emma and wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that his hand holding the napkin dangles down onto her biceps. Her feels her tense for a moment, all of her guards obviously going up, before her shoulders relax a bit.

Huh. Not what he was expecting.

“Hi, Killian,” Mary Margaret greets, a bright, cheery smile on her face. “It’s so nice of you to be able to make it.”

Emma groans, something he thinks only he hears, and he pulls her a little closer to his side. He will never get over how undeniably fun it is to bother her. “It’s nice of you to have us all here. I don’t think there could be a more gracious host in Storybrooke.”

He watches as Belle’s eyes roll at that before she takes a sip of her water. “Don’t let Killian charm you too much. He’s full of it.”

“Oh, love, don’t be jealous that I haven’t complimented you yet. I was getting around to it.”

“You spend too much time with Will.”

It’s funny how conversations with two different people still end up being similar.

“And what does that say about you?”

“That I am not as influenced by others as you are.”

“This is true,” he sighs, jumping a little when he feels Emma pinch his side under his button down. He was waiting for some kind of retaliation for her since he’s very obviously invading her personal space and talking to annoy her and drive her mad, not that anyone but the two of them knows that. “You are an unshakable force, my dear Belle. So do you need any help with anything, Mary Margaret?”

“You’re a guest. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Oh come on, lass, I’m sure there’s something you need help with. Emma and I would be happy to assist you.”

Emma pinches his side again, this time the force another to actually cause him a little pain, and he slides his hand down from her shoulder and deftly puts the napkin in her back pocket. He fully expects her to punch him and knock his teeth out, but he thinks he manages to give it to her without her noticing too much. Maybe she’s too on edge to even notice.

“Oh, well,” Mary Margaret says, taking a few of the burgers off the grill and placing them on the tray, “if you two could get all of the side dishes from the kitchen and set them up on the tables out here, that would be great.”

“It’s not a problem, milady. Come on, Swan.”

He steps to the side and starts making his way back to the house. He doesn’t check to see if Emma is following him. He doesn’t need to because as soon as he gets back inside and into the little alcove between the back door and the kitchen, Emma shoves him and slaps at his chest.

“What the hell is wrong to you?”

“Whatever could you be talking about?”

Her eyes roll in what he believes is her signature move around him now, and he has to suppress his smile at how red her cheeks are and how much of a scowl her lips have formed into. “You’re a jackass. I was in the middle of a conversation, and you come out there and wrap your arm around me and then start talking because you know what happens when you do that!”

Gooseflesh rises on his arms, and he tries to regulate his breathing as Emma keeps talking. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it has the potential to get worse.

“And what the hell did you put in my pocket?” she huffs, reaching behind her and pulling out the napkin. “‘You’re right. I wouldn’t know what kind of underwear you wore because the only time I’ve ever seen down your shirt you weren’t wearing any.’ You’re ridiculous.”

“Never claimed I wasn’t.” He bends down and whispers in her ear, making sure to get close enough that his lips brush skin. “For the reference, mine have a delightful blue and white striped pattern today.”

“J-just get the damn side dishes,” she stutters, her voice visibly catching.

“As you wish.”